#i can’t believe this. you’re making me want to oc post

[medi-bee]

-pleh-

Here you go :]

🚘💥🚑 🤸‍♀️car crash 9999 causalities (my evil clones)(they crashed the car)

[2hightocare]

APOCALYPSE!

“I could go a fair bit crazy over you.”

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend loves doing corny things with you… he also loves doing you.

Genre: established relationship.

Pairings: boyfriend!jungkook x fem!reader

warnings: smut.. car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up bro) creampie, praise, size kink, belly bulge, cussing, fluff at beginning and end, banter between couple, oral, overstimulation, squirting, making out, reader crying out of pleasure, choking, spanking, dirty talking, reader fucked ‘dumb’, mentions of ot7, they’re so corny it’s sickening.

author note 🗒️: wrote majority of this shit being faded as fuck so forgive me if it’s ass and ignore the mistakes (I’ll get to them eventually) js wanted to thank everyone for 3k🤍… writers block has been an thing these pasts months so sorry that I haven’t posted anything new. Here’s more of kuwtb oc and jk dating era 🤍

“I should’ve brought my glasses,” you whisper, a loud laugh ripping out of Jungkook's chest. “I can’t see anything, baby.” You turn to your side before swatting him on the chest— a pout displayed on your face, before going back to your original position, looking up at the dark milky way.

“We were having a cute moment, and you just blurt that out,” your boyfriend quips, his eyes focused on your side profile. A small smile tugs on his lips as he sees you scrunch up your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“You’re so right, we are so corny.” You playfully stick your tongue out with a small “yuck,” before bursting into a giggle when Jungkook tickles your side.

“‘Can we lay on the grass and look at the stars?’” Jungkook mocks your voice, changing his tone into a much more high-pitched version to match yours.

“Stop! I wanted to have a moment like Noah and Allie,” you puff, a smile threatening to come out.

“Baby, you know they look at the traffic lights and not the stars, right?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you.

“Of course I know, but I feel like we would actually get run over. Plus, I like you too much to just let you get run over.” You shrug, your fingers pulling on the grass on the floor. Your eyes connect to the sky as Jungkook stares at your side profile— taking in every imperfection and turning it into another reason why he loves you.

“Like?” he asks, his thumb running over your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side by your chin, making you look at him.

Your heartbeat skyrockets as he stares into your eyes, the twinkle in them prettier than the stars you were just trying to see. Your stomach lights up as if millions of fireworks exploded in heart-shaped sparkles.

“Love.” You correct yourself, rolling your eyes playfully.

“That’s better.” Jungkook clicks his tongue, pursing his lips out. You let out a giggle, dropping a small chaste kiss on his lips before turning back to the sky with a goofy smile on your face.

“You believe in aliens?” you ask, cracking a smile from Jungkook's face— his dimple carving into his skin as he bites his bottom lip, trying to contain the biggest smile.

“Fuck yeah.” Jungkook nods excitedly.

“We are literally a rock when it comes to the whole universe. There’s gotta be something out there.” Jungkook explains, expanding his arms and pointing to the sky, as you nod happily beside him.

“I agree, my mom said she saw one of those spaceships or whatever they’re called,” you pipe in, turning to your side to face your boyfriend.

“You mean a UFO, baby?” Jungkook's face scrunches in adoration.

“UFO?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Unidentified flying object,” he explains, scooting closer to you— dropping his head to your bare stomach.

“I like spaceships better.” You shrug, and he laughs, adjusting himself slightly. Your fingers find their way into his fluffy hair, combing through it. He moans slightly, melting into your touch, closing his eyes, and dropping a gentle kiss on your abdomen.

“What would you do if an alien kidnapped you?” Jungkook asks, his voice muffled.

“Funny for you to think I would allow it,” you say nonchalantly.

You both could hear a hairpin drop from how quiet you both went before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “Smartass.” Jungkook laughs, jokingly biting your stomach and earning a small squeal from you.

Your laughs die down after a while, replaced by silence, the only sounds being your guys breathing. Your eyes flutter shut with a smile, small goosebumps raising on your arms as Jungkook runs his fingertips on your belly— outlining ‘mine’.

“Tell me about your books,” Jungkook murmurs against your bare skin.

“Wanna know about my current read?” you ask, your fingers tugging softly on his hair, making him look up at you.

“I wanna know everything about you, baby,” Jungkook coos.

“Corny.” You scrunch your nose, placing a palm over his face and pushing softly backward, making him laugh. “Tell me about the thick-ass book I bought you two days ago.” Your boyfriend drops kisses all over your stomach.

“The dragon one?” you poke his cheek, before letting your finger play with his lip ring.

“There’s dragons?” Jungkook gasps, looking up at you.

“Yeah, and they have sex,” you say with a smothering giggle, whispering the last words in a hushed tone, making Jungkook's eyes widen.

“That’s enough, baby.” Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow before shaking his head, changing the topic to the latest drama, including Eunbi and Yoongi.

“Lora and I saw them coming out of the guest room while you were doing cartwheels with Taehyung,” Jungkook chuckles, the amusement on his face rubbing off on you.

“You’re lying,” you gasp, your jaw dropping open.

“I honestly didn’t see it coming.” Jungkook bites his lip, containing a smile. “Do you think Yoongi is the sub?” he continues before bursting out in a laugh, you following along.

"It's going to rain," you observe after a while, noticing a lightning strike in the dark sky. Jungkook hums in agreement before sitting up. He holds out his palm for you to take, which you do, and pulls you up onto his lap in a quick, soft motion.

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, adjusting on his lap and straddling him. His thumbs rub circles on your bare thighs.

"I want another tattoo," Jungkook murmurs, his lips pressing kisses along your collarbone and neck. You nod slightly, enjoying the sensation of his lips against your skin.

"Where?" you ask, holding his head in place with your palms. He bites his bottom lip, looking up at you with dilated pupils.

"My forehead, and it'll be your name," Jungkook says with a grin, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"You're annoying," you retort, pushing his head backwards, making him gasp dramatically.

"I think it'll look good, you know? Just got to pick a cool font," Jungkook jokes, poking your side, sending you squirming on his lap.

"You're never ever getting my name tattooed on you," you shoot him a glare, which he only responds to by sucking in his lips and widening his eyes before shrugging.

"I think your lips tattooed on my hip bone would be hot," Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.

"You're crazy," you pout, scrunching your nose as he gives your cheek a kiss.

"Yeah?" Your boyfriend smirks, his hands gripping the sides of your waist, squeezing softly, pulling you closer to him.

"I could go a fair bit crazy over you, baby." His lips brush against yours.

Suddenly, the air is knocked out of your lungs when his lips crash against yours. It doesn't matter how many times he has kissed you; you just can't control the utter madness of butterflies swarming your stomach. The fuzzy feeling fills your senses with every touch of his fingertips on your hot skin. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips against yours, all conspire to make your heart flutter with the same giddy excitement as the very first time.

His touch is electric, sending shivers cascading down your spine as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw, his hand gently cradling your face. With a tender yet insistent pressure, he deepens the kiss, his lips parting yours in a silent invitation.

You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours as you move your hips against his. A soft moan slips past your lips into Jungkook's mouth as he guides your hips on his hardened length.

Jungkook's hand travels up, tangling in your hair, small, light rain drops start to fall down from the dark sky.

"Car?" he says in between kisses. You nod, moaning at the sensation of his lips on your collarbone, leaving purple, reddish marks.

You could never get tired of the way Jungkook looked at you, his eyes shimmery with a mix of love, need, and adoration. It was intoxicating, making you forget all your problems. The universe could have collapsed around you, and you would only care about his mouth on yours.

Everything about him was perfect, his scent, his touch, his voice, those beautiful lips, the way he looked at you, as if you were the only one that mattered in his world.

"Yes, car," you agree, breathy and disheveled.

In a swift motion, Jungkook stood and lifted you, carrying you to the car as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn't until you reached the car that he broke the intense kiss, leaving your lips tingling with desire.

With a wicked grin, Jungkook, laid you on the backseat of his car. Jungkook’s fingers found the hem of your crop top, lifting it up, and you helped by throwing your hands over your head- revealing your lacy black bra.

A soft moan fell from your lips as he freed your breasts from the lace, by tugging downwards.

Your soft moans echoed within the car when your boyfriend cups your tits, massaging and kneading, your nipples hardening.

His lips found your jaw, kissing your neck— his eyes darted up to meet yours before his lips met the peak of your nipple, hot breath, then suckling gently, keeping his gaze locked before shifting his attention to the other breast.

Moaning, you bit your lip, head falling back from the sensation. Jungkook loved how responsive you are, the way your nails dig into his upper back.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Jungkook moans, his calloused hands grip your waist in place to stop you from squirming on the leather seat.

He leaned in close, planting a trail of soft kisses along your neck and shoulders. “Mine.” Your boyfriend whispered into your skin.

You licked your lips, not able to find the words to say what you wanted, as all your thoughts were consumed by lust. Your back arched, encouraging the caresses he was giving. His hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, deep and hungry, claiming your mouth as his. You let out a soft moan, your hands finding their way to his face.

“Spread your legs princess.” Jungkook says, his voice deep and gentle— he taps on your inner thigh.

You hum softly, watching your boyfriend work on the zipper and buttons from your denim shorts. Jungkook pulls down your shorts down your legs— your panties following quick after.

“Look how pretty this pussy is,” Jungkook chuckled, his eyes making contact with yours raising an eyebrow. He runs a finger down your slit making you choke out a desperate whine.

“Feels good baby?” He says, he adjusts himself— pushing your legs back, giving him more space to be face to face with your dripping core. You only moan in response when he drops a soft kiss on your clit.

You couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your lips, He smiled against your heat, He licked his lips as he slowly parted your folds with his thumbs, revealing your glistening clit. He took it into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. You let out a desperate moan, your hips bucking in desperation.

He started flicking his tongue against your clit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your back arched, grinding your pussy against his tongue, feeling it flick deep inside your folds.

“Ngh, right there,” You dug your nails into his hair, your toes curling.

“Right here baby?” Jungkook smirked, inserting two fingers into your sopping hole. You couldn't help but moan and nod, as his fingers curled inside you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“Ass up, princess.” he ordered. Without needing to be told twice, you did as you were told, with wobbly legs you flip around. He roughly grabbed one cheek, squeezing it and spreading you, giving him a view of your tight, puckered hole.

Jungkooks cock twitches in his pants as he watches your holes clench over nothing. “Feeling empty?” He chuckles, a rough hand makes contact with your ass with a hard smack— your back arches. You let out a loud squeal, pleasure and pain mixing together.

He lets out a low growl, his cock straining against his pants, Jungkook moans as he watches your wetness begin to drip down your thighs onto his seats.

“Actually, do you want to tell me about the dragons you were reading about?” Jungkook jokes behind you making you snap your head backwards with a glare.

“You’re annoying.” You pout, Jungkook eyes twinkle with amusement— he bites down on his bottom lip containing the smile that is threatening to spill out. “Annoying? I have you spread out in front of me baby… your pussy is literally dripping.” Jungkook tilts his head to the side cheekily.

Your boyfriend taps on your ass for you to turn around.

He didn’t have to tell you twice as you flip around, before reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull down on the waistband, alongside his boxers. His cock springs out, the head red and aching.

Jungkook watches you wrap your hand over his thick length, giving a slow pump causing him to blow out a sigh. Jungkook stops you before you connect your lips with his cock.

“As much as I want you to give me the head of my life, I fucking need to be inside your pretty pussy right now baby.” Jungkook rushes out, tugging on your loose hair backwards.

You pout at him. “Let me fuck you.” Jungkook whispers, the grip on your hair tighten pulling you upwards— his lips milliliters away from your face.

“Fuck me.” You whimper.

The moment the words left your mouth jungkook is picking you up and placing you on top of his lap. You’re leaning your back against Jungkook's chest, your legs spread open on each side of his big thighs. His arm is snaked around your waist pulling you closer into him.

“Cramps?” Jungkook whispers into your neck, “not yet.” You joke, he shakes his head with a small laugh before you wrap your hand around his cock aligning it to your entrance.

“Going to take my cock like a good girl?” He guided your hand, aligning it to your dripping entrance. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your pussy before pushing his cock inside you. You feel the familiar pressure as he slowly slid his length inside you, your pussy sucking him in.

“So big.. fuck.” You moan, your pussy clenching around him making him moan against your ear. “If you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He chuckled.

You dipped down onto his cock, his cock hitting your cervix when you completely sat down on it. Your legs shake beside you, his hands fastly grip underneath your thighs.

“All up my belly.” You moan, arching your back against him.

The sight of his cock inside you, buried up to the hilt, made him moan. "You're so tight," he half-whispered, half-growled against the shell of your ear, the roughness of his voice only fueling the intense passion that already burned through your veins.

He wove his fingers into your hair, guiding your head with an almost possessive need as he tilted you to give him better access to your lips. Jungkook crashed his mouth against yours, his tongue invading, claiming. His eyes closed for a moment as he savored the sensation of your wet, tight pussy engulfing him completely.

He groaned as you lifted yourself, his cock popping out momentarily before sliding back in when you slammed down on it, your cervix meeting his tip with each movement. It was a merciless, primal form of pleasure, your wetness coating his length with every thrust.

His eyes remained locked on you as you got lost in the sensation of his thick length filling you up, throaty moans leaving your lips as you moved on top of him, grinding down onto his cock, your hips moving in a circular motion. Jungkook couldn't help the low growl that left his throat

He pulled you back up, forcing you to bounce on his rigid cock, watching as your full lips parted in an ecstatic moan. The sway of your hips in time with the motion of his cock sliding in and out of you was so fucking erotic it was almost a crime.

You gasped, leaning back just enough to give Jungkook better access to your exposed neck. His cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly which each bounce.

Jungkook's hips bucked up, meeting your bounces, desperate to get as deep as he could, to fill you up completely. The sensation was almost overpowering. A familiar heat was building inside you, a sweet ache that craved release.

Your eyes rolled back, waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

His hips pumped faster, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching you in the most exquisite way. Jungkook took your lips in another deep, greedy kiss, muffling the sounds of your cries as you rocked your hips wildly, trying to take him as deep as you could, desperate to reach that peak that felt so tantalizingly close.

“I can’t.” You cry, "That's it, baby, feel every inch." He urged you on.

The thrusts grew rougher, deafening the world around you except for the sound of your moans, his grunts, the soft squelching of your bodies coming together and the rain pouring outside.

The pressure built and built, coiling tighter and tighter until you could no longer contain it. Your entire body trembled as you came undone, shattering the quiet of the car with a lustful cry. Your pussy clamped down around Jungkook's cock,

"Cum for me, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust.

You let out a loud whine as his cock slipped out of you. Your body continued to rock back and forth, the ache of denial from not having his cock buried inside you being too much to bear. You glanced down between your legs, flushed when you noticed the stickiness that coated your inner thighs.

Jungkook picked up your trembling body and placed your back onto the leather seat. “Gon’ fuck you missionary so I can see your pretty face when I fill you up with my cum.” Your boyfriend growls.

Jungkook wasted no time, returning home, his cock sliding inside you once more as you let out a needy moan.

His thrusts were relentless, deep, and hard, driving himself into you. The way your pussy immediately clenched around him, took him in so greedily, made him groan, his eyes locked on yours.

A hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you eager for air. “H-harder,” you pant, your voice growing hoarse as his grip tightened.

The car rocked beneath the force of his thrusts, the sounds of wet slaps echoed, mixed with your cries of pleasure, your head tossing back, your eyes rolling back at the ferocity of his thrusts, the sensations building once more, the climax burning beneath your skin.

"Harder...fuck, harder," you cried out, your voice high-pitched and desperate. Jungkook chuckled, releasing his hold on your throat, you gasp as you inhale deeply for air.

Jungkook fingers find their way to your clit once more, his thumb rubbing it in circles while he continues to thrust into your soaked cunt.

The mix of the insistent pressure on your clit and the rough thrusts was too much, a wave of pure pleasure crashing over you, your pussy gripping his cock, your body pulsing around him. Jungkook pulled out, watching with a devilish grin as your pussy squirted all over the two of you.

Jungkook slapped his cock on your swollen clit— watching your pussy spasm with spurts of juices, before pushing his cock back into you.

The sensation of being filled once more, the echo of your screams, bouncing off the car roof, and the overwhelming orgasm had left you lightheaded. You clung to Jungkook, panting, drool sliding down your chin.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me..." He groaned in pleasure, the sensation of your slick walls gripping him, almost drowning him.

"You... fuck me so good, baby," you panted, the words slurred, your voice bordering on sounding completely fucked-dumb. Your body shuddering, your pussy spasming around his cock, your orgasm brewing fast. Jungkook's hips sped up, his cock pulsing inside you.

Suddenly, your back arched, your vision filled with a white haze as another orgasm crashed over you. The delicious agony coursed through your body, your pussy clenching down on his cock, Jungkook grunted, feeling you contract around him, the sensation sending him over the edge. His cock pumped inside you, the warmth of his seed filling you up completely. He moaned against your neck, his heart pounding, lost in the sensation of having you completely wrapped around him

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his eyes closed as he rode out the intense wave of ecstasy. His breath hitched, his hips jerking, before he collapsed against you, his cock still throbbing inside you, spent.

Your body continued to tremble, the aftershocks of the powerful climax lingering. Your heart raced, your breaths coming in ragged pants, sweat beading on your forehead.

With a low growl, Jungkook slowly pulled out of you leaving you feeling impossibly empty. The slick sound of his withdrawal accompanied by a heated chuckle of his.

Jungkook looked down, the sight of your pussy dripping with his cum— your wet pussy gaping, waiting for him to fill you once again.

Jungkook watched, captivated by the scene, as you reached down to collect his cum, watching as you pushed it back inside.

“Fuck.. that was hot.” Jungkook groaned, his lips landed on your face, trails of wet kisses from your forehead, down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally landing on your lips. The storm outside, the rain and thunder providing the soundtrack to your post-coital bliss.

Your limp, spent body sprawled over his car seats, your heart still racing, your breaths coming in shallow pants. You gazed up at him, the sweat on his forehead, the flush on his cheeks, the lust still in his eyes, his breathing heavy. A hand cupped your cheek, his fingers gently stroking your jawline as his lips moved against yours in a tender kiss.

Jungkook traced his fingers along your jawline, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

"You good, baby?" He asked, the tenderness in his voice, an unexpected warmth to the intensity of what had just happened.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him and giving a slow, lazy smile. "Yeah, just a bit sore," you responded, blatantly referring to the aching between your legs.

"You're cute, baby," Jungkook whispered into your lips, the simple remark warming you, leaving your heart fluttering. You hummed in content.

The two of you lay there, naked, your skin still glistening from sweat, the weight of the storm outside more comforting than daunting. Your breaths slowly returning to normal.

A beat of silence permeated the car until Jungkook finally broke it, his voice brimming with mirth. "So... do you think we fucked better than the dragons from your book?"

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[beneathashadytree]

A TASTE OF HONEY - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : insecurities & body image issues, chubby & curvy!reader, mentions of stretch marks, body worship, praise kink, marking, very mild breast & nipple play, implied cunnilingus, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : smut n loooots of comfort☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 1.4K words

Additional notes : This was a paid commission I made of a lovely OC with Sylus, and this version is just the slightly more non-specific version I took permission from my commissioner to post, so that all fem!readers can see what my commissions are like! If you’re interested let me know💗

Commissions are open here!

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Masterlist

“Another event, another dress with your name on it, sweetie.” Sylus’ grin as he walked into their bedroom would’ve almost been infectious, had her mood been entirely different than it currently was. Right now, though? His words seemed to have cast a curse onto her.

She had to fight against her growing irritation. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything to deserve it—unlike the majority of the times he’d earned her ire. This time, the dismayed feeling in her chest at the sight of the exquisite dress draped onto the back of the dresser’s chair was entirely because of her own racing thoughts.

“Skipping out tonight,” she simply mumbled under her breath, collapsing onto the bed with weary bones and an exhausted expression like she’d run a hundred miles. And she really had, just inside her head.

Sylus—ever perceptive Sylus—frowned at that, taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside her. “Tired?” Concern filled his eyes, and it only grew worse as she seemed to curl in on herself and burrow deeper into the mattress. “I could cancel.”

With a sigh, she shook her head “You’re Onychinus’ leader. You have to be there. My moods shouldn’t dictate whether or not you go.”

“You have the privilege of commanding me to do whatever you want. I say you abuse that right.” It was clear from his teasing tone that he was trying to get a lighthearted reaction from her, and upon receiving none, his voice turned softer. “Seriously, what’s wrong, darling?”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheet, blinking back the tears as she trained her gaze on her fingers. “I just… don’t want to wear that dress.”

Sylus was silent for a few moments, before he nodded. “Okay. Is it not to your liking?”

“Not really.” With a shuddering breath, she sniffled a little, trying to calm herself down as Sylus’ hand gently stroked her calves in a soothing motion. There was no point in getting so worked up after all, it’s always been the same. “Those types of dresses always show my stretch marks. They’re… kind of short. And tight. And weird-looking on me.”

Screw not getting worked up; her tears were dripping down her face at this point, her vision blurry and her heart heavy with each word that spilled forth. “It feels like every single one of these outfits makes my thighs look big, and my body’s not made for wearing them. It’s just… wrong, like I’m unworthy,” she choked on the last word in despair.

She could hear Sylus sighing, a twinge of sadness she’d never heard before lacing his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Firm in tone, yet not unkind, her boyfriend leaned in and rubbed her forearms gently, making sure to meet her watery eyes as he did. “These dresses only show just how breathtaking you are, and how you belong by my side.” A crooked grin made its way on his face. “If anything, it feels like I have to earn my place next to you.”

“No! You—”

“See how absurd it sounds?” His deep voice was soft as he gently nudged her on her back, climbing in on top of her as his fingers delicately brushed back her hair. “I can never get enough of you. Of every inch of you. I almost refuse to believe you.” His gaze grew impossibly softer, voice even quieter, and his hand even gentler as it traced down her ear, rhythmically stroking at her neck. “But I know that really is what you’ve driven yourself to believe. And I can’t blame you for that.”

Wiping at her own cheeks, she tried her best to make herself feel less sorry. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. It’s not like anyone else has been telling these things to me.” What on earth was she doing, crying to him over dresses? Or her appearance at some stupid events? Or was it simply her body? She didn’t know at this point. All she knew was that she wanted to stop feeling so distraught over something so…

Before she could continue that train of thought, Sylus had silenced her rushing brain with a slow, open-mouthed kiss and a steady grip on her waist. Even now, he was ever the tease, nipping at her lower lip and huffing out a fond laugh as he heard her breath hitch, before pulling back. In half-defeat, he said, “Maybe I’m the one to blame for neglecting to remind you of what I think of you.”

He peppered kisses down her jaw and to her neck, his teeth grazing and sucking at the warm skin there. With a hiss, her hand reached out to pull him closer by the back of his head, and all he could breathe out against her was a stilted, “How often I think of you.” Practiced hands almost blindly pulled down the strap of her silk slip for more access, as he left his bold marks across her neck. His hair tickled her, but she reveled in the feeling even more as he traced a path down the top of her breasts.

They were heaving with the effort of having to pretend she wasn’t falling apart at the seams with his mere touch, and he let out a half-groan as his hand reached out to cup one, while he sucked more hickeys onto the flushed skin of the other. It was too much, but somehow not enough to ease the growing ache between her legs. “Sy,” she whispered, a plea in his name, quickly turning into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue boldly flicked at her nipple through the silk. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Mm. I could never. My pretty girl likes it when I indulge her, I know,” he muttered, ruby eyes flicking up to meet hers and pinning her down with just a gaze as he kneaded at her soft breasts through the thin fabric, his touch burning through her like wildfire. “Tell me where you want me. What you want me to do, to show you how I could never stop wanting you and your body.”

Swallowing thickly, her fingers dug into his silvery hair, like it was second nature, guiding him where she needed him the most. “Want your lips on me, please,” she whispered, as if it were explanation enough for the sudden dizzying heat of the room, and her eyes swimming with unwrought desire. “Tell me you want me like this. I… I need it. Need you.”

The chuckle that spilled from Sylus’ lips was lovesick, and then his large palms pushed her smooth slip up to her waist and expertly tugged down the ruined lacy underwear. “As if I could stop wanting someone so divine.” He sweetly kissed her navel, then completely diverted from his path for a second to squeeze at her thighs, hooking them up on his broad shoulders.

Even between her legs, he looked invincible—more so when he maintained their intense, passion-riddled eye contact as he suckled at the skin of her inner thighs. “So sweet, so perfect right in front of me,” he sighed, almost in just as much pleasure as she was while he brushed his thumb back and forth near the apex of her thighs, mapping out every stretch mark under his adoring touch, and giving her hips a firm squeeze as his hands wandered everywhere they could reach.

Her head was filled with cotton, all her senses consumed by him and all he was. “I can spell out just what you want me to say with my tongue instead.” The very prospect of it sent even more molten heat pooling to her core. Sylus’ tongue would be her undoing. She knew it, her body knew it, and his grin that turned wicked meant that he could see perfectly well just how dripping wet the idea made her.

That smirk was almost predatory; like she was his prey, all prepped and prettily pinned for him. It shouldn’t have aroused her so badly, knowing that he’d torture her with sheer blinding pleasure and a sinful tongue, and yet she could feel herself clench around nothing. He was her undoing, and always would be, especially when his voice was such a low purr. “And you can ride my face until you can translate every filthy word. What do you say, sweetie?”

Taglist: @mrlovesimps @snowyfragrance @malcarconia @jaysbookofnothing @kitsune25 @monohopeworld @lara635kookie @xinnn6 @moonlight-inthe-sea @canyonlouist @number-1-harumi-hater @2angelbaby2 @jinnieats @blobfishbumblebee @aesmstar @klutzycora-san @mxrissaauuu @rissaaaaaa @lilithmoonlite @wooyoungsfairygf @lemonsupernova @kpop-and-otome @elizabeth916 @cherrikissez @xcalkenf @i-am-fork @vergillvrr @billie-lover8 @musiclover2119 @rafayelsheart @loveyluv7 @foiledbug @xxaviibee @estelleokami @asherengel @wimpyvamps @witch-of-the-teapot @kttriangle @ayumi-darling @colorfulotaku @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @secretmoneybearvoid @kurov1864 @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @afterdarkwithkaeya @blossomingrose @uselessnewt @sleepydang @nikkitc0703 @this-gave-pidgeon-further-shock @luna-usagi-chan @darkflowerav @kei-tsuki21 @oharasmommymilkers00 @b3gonias @urfavvmars24 @viscade @crookedmoonsaultpunk (more in replies!)

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[airborneice]

can we talk about how @the-hilda-librarians-wife is just out here writing poetry in the tags like it’s no big deal

@sketchbookweek Day 3 - Sun & Moon / Family

you know I had to bring up my sketchbook kid Mattie for this one. in my mind this is like…impromptu midnight storytime bc someone woke up the entire household and now she’s almost settled no one wants to get up or go back to bed

(Kaisa has become a little more comfortable with openly doing magic by this point, partly because of reconnecting with Tildy in season 2 and partly because no matter how shoddy her spells come out, they never fail to entertain her kids, especially her youngest. Kaisa does the best stories in this house. no child can resist magic floating pictures)

[whatlurksbean]

Hello! I’ve been reading WLB from some time now, and I am still absolutely loving this comic every time.(on my 4th reread lol) WLB has inspired me greatly along with WC content and (also great!)creations by other creators to the point that I am almost about to script my own comic, with a few scenes that WLB had a huge influence on. Though, I can’t help but be a little overwhelmed when I actually think of creating one, mostly because of the fact I lack the skills to draw comics. Believe me, I am shit at panelling lol. But also l‘m a bit scared because even if I actually end up making my own series it absolutely could end up flopping and that would probably make me lose enthusiasm. I don’t necessarily want to make money out of my comics but rather show others my stories and characters that I love, but I have a history of making and posting oc art just for nobody to watch and kinda giving up.(even though I’m aware of the fact that this happens to practically everyone all the time, it still hurts) The (real)question is if there is some advice you can give to beginner/wanna-be comic artists, and how did you feel when you first posted The Recruit if that’s your first comic. I’m sorry if this sounds like a vent, and feel free to pass this if you want-just know you’re a great inspiration for many people. Stay safe, remember that YOUR well being is number one, and Love from Korea♥♥

Hello! I'm very glad you've enjoyed WLB!

A webcomic can for sure be a daunting and overwhelming thing. Most artists are a one man show, and knowing how to do Every Aspect Perfectly is an impossible task. I think it's important to remember everyone starts somewhere, and it is hard to get better unless you Start.

I mean, the first comic pages I drew digitally looked like this.

The comic lasted 6 pages before I got tired of it, and then I started The Recruit.

(which was over 430 pages long and started and had quite a style/writing change throughout the 7 years I worked on it)

You learn so much by just doing. There are a lot of helpful free resources online now a days to make the learning faster! There are tutorials on how to panel! And I think just reading comics in general is a great source of learning. Pay attention to the things you like (paneling, simplification process, color palettes ) and implement them in your work!

I think it's really important to figure out the level of detail you want the comic to be. I don't think it's wise or sustainable to put 100% effort into every aspect of it. It will burn you out. It's good to consider what level of shading (if any) you'll be willing to do for hundreds of panels, what level of background detail, how many colors the characters should have, and figure out what your focus is.

I've met a lot of comic artists over the years, EVERYONE has a different method or different focus. Creating is not a universal experience!

As for having your work be seen, it is honestly a lot of luck. Back in the day for TR I would just submit to all of the deviantart warrior cat groups and people would find it that way. deviantart groups are pretty dead now so I am unsure if that is any good now.

I personally really think ComicFury is a wonderful place for new artists. It's default page always shows the latest comic, so everyone always has an equal chance to be seen. You can be on the front page every 12 hours (i think, it might be 24..) and with a striking icon and consistent posting, you WILL find people.

It's not the largest site, but it is my favorite for comics.

I do not like the mindset of a comic "flopping." I think it takes time to build an audience. It is very unlikely for people to find your comic overnight, it will very likely take at least a few months of consistent posting to find a few engaged readers. I know it sucks to feel like no one is seeing your work, but it's just something that takes time.

Cat comics do tend to find readers faster though, so if that is your goal, I do hope you find success!

You could also post your updates in comic/art related places, like discords or post panels on bluesky or instagram. really any site or app that posts an image.

I also think consistent uploading is a strong key to building an audience. And to do this, it really helps to have a backlog. Meaning you draw like the first 10-20 pages of you comic (or however many) and upload one or two pages a week. The more your comic is seen popping up on their feed, the more likely people will be to finally click it. I usually do not click on comics I see once or twice, it usually takes a few weeks of me seeing it pop up before i decide to check it out. (talking about on Comicfury to be clear)

Once you've established you are dedicated to your comic, people do not mind if you take breaks. (and if they do, fuck em)

Also, having a community of friends or creators is a huge motivator. Show your work to friends! Share in a community of comic creators! Some things my friends have said to me about my comics has lifted my creative spirit more than anything.

This is turning into some 3am ramblings but to summarize my points:

•Find a style that will work for you to sustain a comic. (do not make 100% effort art pieces)

•Upload on comicfury (great comic site, equal opportunity for new comics) (I would also cross post to other platforms and link back to CF as a primary comic site)

•Work on some pages in private, so you can upload consistently once you begin your comic! (I would update daily for maybe a week and then switch to weekly pages, just to get the best chance of being seen + consistent posting. so that would be good to have at least 10 pages of backlogs. 7 for the first week, plus 3 weeks of backlog at that rate)

and the point most dear to my heart;

•Don't be scared of change.

I know a lot of folk wait and wait to make their comic until they are perfect artists or writers, but like, you'll never make anything if you wait for that. Change is so natural and normal in webcomics, in all art really. I think if you shade for 10 pages and decide you hate it, it's okay to change how you shade or drop it entirely. Change your art style. Change how you panel pages. Change how you do backgrounds. Change anything and everything you want. Enjoy the process and tell the story you want to tell.

Best of luck on your comicing journey, I hope you really enjoy it.

[ovrgrwnivy]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!oc, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; changes are being made! see this post to learn more. to me, this part seems a little like a filler, but i want to explore veronica as a character and develop each relationship with each character as something more than a side character, not just honing in on her relationship with jj, which of course is a huge part of the story also.

part one. part two. part three.

when veronica begins to stir, the sun had long set. there was no way of knowing how long the pair had been asleep, all she knew was the lights of the chateau were off and there was a bright pink post it note stuck to jj’s head.

‘gone fishin’. jb pissed.’

pope signed off on the note, a small smiley face drawn inside the o of his name. veronica knew the pouges hadn’t actually gone fishing, that is was some sort of code jj would decipher when he came to.

in this moment, veronica was content. wrapped in the arms of the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

what could only be described as a war was ongoing in her head. she wasn’t exactly one to believe in love at first sight, she thought this entire ‘spark’ thing was something made up by male authors to keep women reading their shitty romance books to keep them hooked, waiting for it to happen to them.

but then she met jj, and he was like a magnet. every time veronica was in his presence she was mesmerised, whenever he was gone she felt like all the colour was drained from the world.

there was only two problems.

there was a maximum of forty eight hours that they knew each other, add to that he was her brothers best friend, then add to that said brother made it crystal clear that inter-group dating was not allowed.

oh, and then the whole ‘nobody knows i’m his sister but us’ thing.

“you’re staring, baby” jj mumbled, his voice low and tired as he stirred beneath her “can’t say i blame you”

with a sarcastic scoff, veronica sits upright in the hammock, her legs laid out across the blonds lap “just admiring the drool on your face”

“aren’t you funny.”

comfortable silence follows, jj crosses his arms behind his head and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. even though she was staring off into the water, veronica could feel jj’s eyes on her.

“can i help you?” veronica quipped, a teasing lilt to her words as she face the boy in question “use your words, you’ll get there.”

unexpectedly, jj sighs and lets his head fall back “what am i doing?”

veronica knows he didn’t intent for her to hear him, but she did. she would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed, but she was even more disappointed in herself at the pang of sadness that hit her.

before she can say, or do, anything, jj is sat up a little straighter and speaking again.

“listen, you’re a really cool girl,” he pauses, shaking his head and starting again “you’re hot as shit, damn it!”

barely, veronica manages to mask her giggle with a cough.

“don’t ask me how or why, but i gotta tell you i’m super into you.” he blurts out “yeah, makes no fuckin’ sense, we barely know each other, no pouge on pouge macking, you ain’t feeling me like that-“

her body is moving before her brain can even comprehend what she’s doing, chipped nail polish framing blond hair as she held his face in her hands and pressed their lips together.

then, her brain kicks in, and veronica jumps back like she’d just been burnt.

“fuck, jay i’m so sorry. i wasn’t thinking,”

seconds pass agonisingly slow and veronica can’t help but think about just how badly she had just fucked up.

but she doesn’t get to overthink for long.

a calloused hand tangled in long, brown hair. the other gripping her waist like it was a lifeline, helping her into his lap as his tongue makes its way into her mouth.

the kiss is messy, it’s desperate. like two people drowning, taking in the other like they were air. hands cling to whatever they can, afraid if they let go it would all be over.

any reservations veronica may have had about ‘the spark’ were discarded, undermined even, this wasn’t a spark, it was fireworks.

but fireworks don’t last forever, and when the sound of john b’s rickety van can be heard drawing closer. the newfound excitement being dulled by the shadow known as a protective older brother, a protective best friend.

by the time the missing pouges pour out of the twinkie, veronica and jj are in much less compromising positions, now sitting beside each other trading menial conversation about the earlier events of the day.

“welcome back to the land of the living,” kiara teases, a yellow vape coming up to her mouth as she took a hit “you two were out cold.”

instinctively, veronica’s hand shot out, wordlessly pleading for a hit of her vape. with a groan, kie handed it over.

veronica lets her head fall back against the hard oak of the tree behind her, relishing the feeling of her first hit of nicotine in two days. she had a vape when she left home, but it died before she even made it to the outer banks and being broke meant she couldn’t even go buy a replacement.

“you could’ve woke us up, y’know” jj defended, trying his hardest to act as if nothing happened, reminding himself to stop staring.

pope scoffs, not missing the longing stares sent the brunettes direction but purposefully ignoring them “we tried, it nearly cost us our lives.”

unamused, john b walks past the rest of the group in silence. when he gets to the door of the chateau he looks over his shoulder and nods for veronica to follow.

the girl is suddenly more attentive, climbing over the human embodiment of a golden retriever and padding her way into the house behind the older of the two.

“does the name redfield mean anything to you?” john b questions, passing a beer from the fridge and getting one for himself “like, the surname.”

veronica is quiet, her finger tracing the rim of the can as she goes through every crevice of her brain in search of any name even remotely close, there’s only one.

“chris redfield.” she answers with a nod, popping the tab of the can and taking a swig “but i don’t get how he’s involved.”

“why not? who is he!?”

“a video game character.”

with a huff of annoyance john b drags a chair across the kitchen to sit beside veronica, unscrewing his compass and placing it down on the table. the name ‘redfield’ is carved into the metal.

“we went back to the boat, found a motel key, whatever.” john b shrugs off the rest of their findings, more invested in whoever this redfield person was. “then i remembered when you showed me that note, the one in the compass. then i found this, figured you would know more than i do.”

veronica gently traced the carved metal, it was definitely their fathers scrawl, she’d memorised it from the note she read over and over and over.

it couldn’t be a coincidence, her fathers note asking her to meet, the matching compasses. now this?

“if i’m going to help you, i need to know..” she trailed off, biting at the edges of her nails as she wondered how to phrase her next question “does this have anything to do with dad dying?”

“he’s not dead.” john b’s voice is louder, stern. then his face softens and he tears his gaze away from the compass and to the floor “sorry, just, i know he’s out there. and this? this is proof.”

“john b, i get it.” the younger routledge speaks slowly, trying not to tread on any toes “you’re not the only one who wants him to be alive, that needs to see him. but i don’t see how this—”

“dad found the royal merchant. four hundred million dollars in gold, and he found it. he’s trying to tell us where to find it.”

veronica sighs, fingers rubbing at her tired eyes as she once again tried to think of any connection to any redfield. when it came to family, she only knew the bare minimum, her fathers name and her mothers maiden name.

what she did know, however, was the royal merchant. as a child her father sent her maps and books on birthdays and christmases without fail, until one day they stopped.

“you’ve got books and stuff, right?” she finally asked, not wanting to get either her or john b’s hopes up. a nagging feeling was telling her their dad was alive, but she knew he wouldn’t just up and abandon his son.

the walls of her fathers study feel like they’re closing in on her, john b let her inside and left her to it. veronicas hand ghosts over the framed maps and dusty books. blueprints of ships with her fathers messy scrawl written randomly around the paper.

there’s pictures of john b littered all over the office, all different life stages, a few feature jj and veronica can’t help but smile at the photo of two little boys holding a fish between them.

on the desk there’s a picture frame, immediately veronica recognises her mother, years younger and a gentle hand placed on her tummy. in the same frame, there’s an ultrasound that veronica almost bypassed as john b, but when she looked at the date it was a long time after he was born.

it was her ultrasound.

it was her in her moms tummy, framed and proudly placed right on her fathers desk.

everything comes back at once. finding the note, and in turn the years worth of letters her mother had hidden from her. the dateline special with john b pleading for information about his father, their father. the fight with her mother, packing a bag in the middle of the night and making her way to the address stored safely inside her compass.

the tears don’t register until they hit the glass of the frame, the last few weeks of pent up anger, sadness and hurt bubbling over from the flame that single photo sparked.

her dad loved her.

for years she’d heard about her absent father, then the absent father that passed when she was a baby. the father who didn’t want the responsibility of a child and ran away once he found out.

but the letters, the compass, this picture? john routledge loved the daughter he was forbidden from seeing, from the second he knew about her he loved her.

and now he was dead.

a sudden wave of anger rushes from her head to her toes, glass shattering when she throws the dusty old frame against the wall with a scream. papers fly and maps fall from the walls as she turns her fathers office into her own personal rage room.

the racket coming from the small room shakes the chateau, so it’s no surprise when the pouges come crashing through the door.

the pouges eyes briefly flash with fear when their eyes land on the destruction caused by the newest arrival, but it’s quickly replaced by a familiar sadness when veronica crumples to the ground, screaming as loud as her lungs would allow for them to get out.

they don’t know what’s wrong, but it doesn’t matter. veronica was now considered a friend, and they gathered that’s what she needed right about now.

jj is the first to enter, drawing closer slowly as if he were being cautious “it’s okay, ronnie.” he mutters softly, dodging shattered glass as he knelt beside her “we’re here, we got you.”

kiara, john b and pope are close behind, wrapping veronica in what could only be described as a group hug until her tears subsided.

taglist!

@ren-ni @marleymarleymarleymarley @miidollaasignnn @rainingcecilias @tanyaherondale @xspideyhollandx @sluterainterlude @loverofmarsss @xoxo-ada @gigistalked @genderlessmenance

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

the tortured poets department

a story told in multiple parts

vi x reader

Summary: As Caitlyn Kiramman’s younger sister, you already were expected to uphold certain ‘values’ persay. Your big sister definitely left big shoes to fill as one of the best criminology majors Oxford had. Whenever you had to take a couple years off after high school for mental health reasons they were already disappointed. Whenever you said you wanted to major in creative writing and literature with a minor in music they were more disappointed and quite nearly withdrew your college fund. But they have no idea that after the people you’re about to meet this year that just might be the least of their problems.

Contains: college au, dark/light academia, writer reader, singer reader, neurodivergent/autistic reader (i’m autistic so i’m writing from my own experiences), sporty vi, hockey player vi, big sister caitlyn, best friend ellie williams, roommate ellie williams, will contain other familiar characters you know and love as well as some potential ocs. no use of y/n, reader does have a name because it’s just easier for me to write that way 🖤

A/N: EEEEK for some reason I’m beyond nervous to post this. I know I did NOT need another wip but I had such a huge itch to finally get started on this idk what possessed me! First things first I DO want to say that I know the trope of hockey player vi and college aus are popular within the vi fanfic community and just want to make it so abundantly clear that I’m not trying to copy anybody and am going to aim to make this as different as possible.

Secondly, the idea of a tag list seems very overwhelming for me so the best way to keep up with parts will probably be to follow me! Also not giving myself a specific updating schedule since I AM working on so much right now and I want my long form stories on wattpad I currently have to take first priority so- it might take a while for me to post! Just bare with me!

Thirdly, I have never been to Oxford and probably will never go to Oxford (in fact I’m not even from the UK so whoops) so all of what is portrayed on here will be from what I’ve read from other english university media and research. So if there are errors I apologize! 🖤

ANYWAYS, enough rambling. Hopefully this has left you excited or at least morbidly curious and I can get part 1 up soon 🖤

Part Masterlist

Moodboards

Part I: You’re on Your Own, Kid

Part II: The Black Dog

Bonus Chapter: Gold Rush

Part III: Bad Blood

Part IV: The Bolter

Part V: The Alchemy

Part VI: This is Me Trying

Part VII: False God

Bonus Chapter: Midnight Rain

Tag

Can’t believe I didn’t just think of making a tag earlier so you can also follow the tag- #ttpd vi x reader 🖤🥹

Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics 🖤

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (01)

chapter one: flutter

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genre: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: implied smut, aftercare, mentions of alcohol consumption, hints of oc being a little emotionally constipated lol, barely edited but we should all be used to seeing that from me atp word count: 2.3k note: eeeek my first lino series is here 🥺 there's not much substance in the first part bc we're mostly just setting things up. thank you to my wifeus in the obs server (you know who you are ofc) for being the best cheerleaders, bc i don't think i would've gone through with writing this fic if it wasn't for you. fwb lino probably would've had to gather dust in the attic if you hadn't encouraged me to write him. thank you and love you <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › series masterpost › taglist › ko-fi

Tomorrow when it's over and we're sober I just want to believe that you'll miss me But I shouldn't 'cause we're just friends Now we're day drunk in the back seat of a taxi And you're telling me you wanna kiss me But we shouldn't 'cause we're just friends

Just Friends - Virginia to Vegas

“Minho.”

“Hmm?”

“Get off of me.”

He doesn’t, of course. Because Minho is stubborn and Minho does whatever he wants sometimes. “No,” he mumbles against your neck, pressing a soft kiss there that makes the stupid thing in your chest flutter against your will. You don’t let yourself indulge in the feeling for too long though, only a second. “You’re too warm.”

“Min,” you scold lightly, but you can’t say that you don’t enjoy having his body on yours like this. It’s different than when you’re having sex, because this is more intimate somehow, just him holding you - or rather, resting the entirety of him on top of you like the human version of a weighted blanket. Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am! but with a Minho-esque flare that he doesn’t have to appease you with, but chooses to anyway.

One of the reasons why you don’t let yourself relish in the moment is because intimacy isn’t what you signed up for. In fact, it’s the complete opposite of what you both agreed on. No strings attached - it was the only instruction, plain and simple.

And so you nudge his shoulder again, making him sigh and begrudgingly sit up, in all of his post-sex glory. Disheveled fluffy hair, a couple of fading marks on his neck courtesy of you, kiss-swollen lips and a kind of glow that you’re fairly certain matches your own.

“Hang on,” Minho says, I’ll get you a towel.”

He quickly throws on his boxers - previously discarded on the floor - and heads to your bathroom. He returns to your side just a couple minutes later with said item in hand, dabbing the soft cloth at your core tenderly.

“You okay?” he asks. “I wasn’t too rough on you tonight?”

You like the aftercare, and how tender he always is with you. You’re not sure if that’s the extra effort that he puts in with everyone he’s ever hooked up with, or if you two are just naturally comfortable around each other, but it’s reassuring. It’s nice to know that this agreement between the two of you hasn’t tarnished your friendship.

Yet?

Yet.

“You were perfect,” you tell him with a coy smile. “I was the one who asked for it anyway.”

Minho chuckles, then pats your bare thigh for good measure as he takes one final swipe at your core before chucking the towel into the laundry basket in the corner of your room.

He plops onto your bed again, propping himself on an elbow so he could look down at your face, highlighted only by the dim light of the small lamp on your bedside table. The way that his bicep flexes still puts you in a bit of a trance, even though you’ve seen it probably hundreds of times already.

“You know, I was pretty surprised when you asked me to try that with you,” he says, eyeing your mouth again. “Didn’t think you’d be down for experimenting new things with me.”

“Well, who else am I supposed to try things out with?”

You’re not even sure what you meant - the words just rolled off your tongue - but you don’t miss the instantaneous look of pride on his face. To hear something like that from you is clearly an ego boost for him.

You don’t miss the subtle blush that tints both of his cheeks and the top of his ears either, but you don’t dwell on it for very long.

Come to think of it, you don’t let yourself indulge in a lot of things when you’re around him.

His free hand comes up to draw imaginary patterns along your arm, starting from your shoulder, down to your elbow, then across your forearm until you could feel his fingers on the back of your hand. “I forgot to mention earlier,” he says, tracing what you think is an invisible outline of a heart on your skin. “Hyunjin knows.”

“Knows what?” you ask.

“He knows that we’re hooking up,” Minho tells you, then clarifies when he sees your eyes widening. “Well, he doesn’t know that it’s you. He knows that I’m hooking up with someone.”

You mimic his position, propping yourself up on one elbow so your face is more leveled with his, evidently alarmed at the mention of your friend finding out about a secret that you've been trying to hide for months now.

No, a secret would imply that you have more things you have to conceal. It’s probably more accurate to refer to it as the secret.

Sometimes, even you yourself wonder why this is something you need to hide from everyone. 

It’s not like you’re living in the Victorian era where people are scandalized by the appearance of a bare knee. It’s not like your friends are prudes either; most of them have had their fair share of friends with benefits. It’s all casual, all in good fun.

But maybe it’s because it’s Minho that you’re currently… preoccupied with, that makes you feel less inclined to share with the rest of the group.

If any of them catches wind of this, you know they’ll have loads to say about it, starting with a thorough but well-intentioned lecture from Chan. 

You were good friends before your thing started.

You had a friendship. You had something to lose.

You don’t know why you would even risk it in the first place.

It just happened.

One particularly lonely night. You had some alcohol in your system, and that always made you more sentimental than usual. There was something romantic in the air, or maybe that’s just what you thought looking at everything through the lenses of three glasses of wine. Not drunk, just buzzed enough to be reminded that Minho was one of the most beautiful people you’d ever laid your eyes upon.

But the accumulation of all those factors didn’t matter - couldn’t have mattered - more than the fact that he was there for you.

He listened to you brood over how suffocated you felt, how stagnant your life was, how nothing seemed to be going the way you wanted no matter how hard you tried. He didn’t offer you unsolicited advice, didn’t make you feel silly for moping. He was a soothing presence and that was enough for you.

Sometimes, your friends liked to say that you two would make a good couple because of how compatible you were. Chan once commented that you and Minho were a perfect fit, and that was what kept plaguing your mind moments before you kissed Minho for the first time.

Maybe you’re the missing piece of my puzzle, you had thought back then. My perfect fit.

You had pulled away after a couple of seconds, mortified, but his reaction was immediate. He’d chased after your lips again, no questions asked.

You knew it was a rash decision, spurred on by the heat of the moment and cheap convenience store rosé. Minho was so… goddamn addictive after just one taste that you couldn’t resist anymore. Having him felt like you finally had a taste of water after spending years deprived.

Needless to say, he ended up in your bed that night. The rest is… well, it doesn’t take a genius to deduce the subsequent series of events that led you here.

“Elaborate,” you say with an arch of your eyebrow.

“You texted when he was hanging out at my place and I was in the bathroom.” Minho shrugs. “That nosy little thing. He scrolled through quite a bit of our texts too.”

You frown. “He read our texts but he doesn’t know it’s me?”

“I don’t have you saved as your name.”

“Then what do you have me saved as?”

Up until now, you never even thought about this, and you’ve always just assumed that you’re in his contacts under your name, like he is in your list. Well, technically you have him saved as ‘Min’, but anyone who comes across it could still easily identify who you’re referring to.

Minho purses his lips, contemplating for a minute before he ultimately decides to withhold this information from you. He gives you a teasing smile, another shrug, before saying, “That’s for me to know and for you to find out when the time comes.”

“I don’t get to know what my own name is in your phone? Even Hyunjin knows, apparently.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know it’s you, so what does he really even know?”

“But I have a right-”

“Shhh.” Then he’s leaning forward to shush you with a quick kiss to your lips. It does the job, because you shut right the hell up. It surprises you every time he kisses you when you’re not in the middle of sex. Moments like these are rare, but you’re always rendered speechless by how casually he does it, how familiar the simple action is even when it shouldn’t be, and most of all, you’re dumbstruck by just how right it feels.

“Am I gonna see you before Yeonjun’s party on Saturday?” he asks, like nothing even happened. Your lips are tingling from a simple peck. It’s so silly, considering how just half an hour ago, he was literally inside of you, pounding you into oblivion until you had tears streaming down your face. Until you were crying out his name like it was the only word you’d ever known.

You quickly regain your composure. “I don’t know, maybe. I have a final paper to finish so I’ll probably be holed up here or at the library,” you tell him. “Maybe we’ll catch each other on campus. But if not, then, yeah, I’ll see you at the party.”

Minho seems disappointed, evident from his immediate and adorable pout. 

“It’s just a few days.” You roll your eyes harmlessly, lying back down again to snuggle into your pillow. “You’ll live.”

“Will I?” he grumbles. “What am I supposed to do for four whole days?”

“Don’t you have your finals too?”

“All presentations and papers. Finished the last one today.”

“Oh,” you say, mildly impressed by the fact. You always forget how studious he actually is. “Internships?”

“Already sent in my applications.”

“Changbin says you’ve been talking to that girl Hana in your class.”

You don’t know why you brought it up. You don’t even like hearing the words coming out of your own mouth.

Minho makes a face, almost like he’s taken aback that Changbin would even tell you that. “Because we’re in the same group for our final presentation,” he informs you.

“She seems nice, from what I’ve heard about her. Seems like she has a big fat crush on you too.”

“Not to sound mean, but I don’t really care about that.”

A feeling blooms in the pit of your stomach, a feeling that you cannot and will not give a name to. There’s just something about the way he said it, steadfast, without any hesitation.

“It does make you sound a bit mean,” you tell him.

“I’m just not interested in her.”

“I don’t want to hold up the Minho train if there are other options out there that you want to explore.”

Do you mean it? Yes and no. Part of you wants to be nosy and prod until he fesses up about a potential love interest in his life - if there even is one - so that you could be a good friend that tell him to just go for it, but your curiosity is eclipsed by your selfishness, because you realize that you don’t really want to know if it means the end of this.

Are you being a hypocrite?

Yeah, probably.

He bites his bottom lip as if in thought, just briefly, before he rolls over to lie on his back, staring up at your boring ceiling. “I told you, I don’t care. I’m not interested in any other girl,” he says.

Realistically, you know there will be a finale. It’s only inevitable. One day, he’ll get a girlfriend, or you’ll get a boyfriend - the former seems more likely than the latter - and this arrangement between the two of you will have run its course. Null and void.

It’s part of the reason why you never let yourself relish in him, because you will only be thoroughly disappointed when he gets taken away from you.

As if he’s ever been yours to begin with.

You’ve never belonged to him either.

Neither of you owes the other anything at all.

You blink away the dazed look in your eyes, humming a noncommittal noise in irresolute agreement, before reaching for your phone to check the time. It’s not that late, half an hour shy of midnight, and his place isn’t that long a walk from yours. You know full well that it isn’t much of an excuse, and yet…

“It’s late.”

“Can’t I stay over?” He turns his head to look at you. “I’ll be good. I’ll just sleep next to you.”

“No can do,” you say. “I have a class at 10AM.”

“Me too. I can walk you to campus,” he insists.

There’s something unspoken in his gaze that you can sense but can’t translate. It’s been happening more often lately - you not being able to read him as easily as you could before. You have to admit that it makes you a little unsettled. The unknown that swims in the dark sepia of his eyes.

But maybe you’re overthinking this. Maybe you’re making something out of absolutely nothing.

“Go home, Minho,” you decide, leaving him no room to protest. The instant kicked puppy look on his face makes you feel a little bad, thus prompting you to continue, “I’ll try to see you on campus, okay?”

He looks at you for another moment before he sits up unwillingly. It seems like he has something else to say - something other than a butthurt comment about being bored out of his mind over the next few days - but in the end, he gives up. You notice the way his shoulders slightly slump as he exhales, “Okay.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 27.11.2023]

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐘 - 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 🪩 ❞ - 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; Nadia

summary: most of the social media post made throughout the miami gp weekend!

warning: twitter environment (you know the deal), cussing.

saint’s team radio: hi everyone! just wanted to give y’all a little something something before releasing ‘break my soul’ ! i’m a bit sick rn but i will get back into my groove very very soon 🤭

dividers by: @cafekitsune

pls like, comment and reblog! 🫶🏽

taglist: @queenshikongo3 @mauvecherie-writes @httpsserene @lorarri @goldenalbon @yeea-nah @non-stop-imagines (lmk if you want to be tagged!)

-

twitter

instagram

nadiahamilton

liked by lilymhe, badgalriri and 1,383,994 others

nadiahamilton yes i know where he keeps his music and no, i won’t be telling you where 🫶🏽

view comments

nadiahamilton it was sooo nice meeting you guys this weekend 🥹

pinned by author

user i swear you’re his lucky charm

fransisca.cgomes mother ‼️

alexandrasaintmleux and if i ask for your hand in marriage?

nadiahamilton let’s run away

user i fell in love everytime you appeared on screen

user her energy is so refreshing, even if it’s through a tv or phone 😭

user where do you get your clothes???

nadiahamilton i’ll make a highlight for all the stores i shop at 🫶🏽

herstudent i hope school’s open soon, we need the tea!!

nadiahamilton you’ll be getting the pamphlets for the medieval times instead 😚

user his arm…dear lord

nadiahamilton i know, can’t believe it’s wrapped around me rn 🥹

user13 no way she just said that????

yungfilly bestie takin over miami!!

chunkz i think this is where you’re wrong brotha 🤨

niko you’re right, i’m the bestie

nellarose_ YOU’RE ALL WRONG 🤣

nataliatheedon and if i smack your ass, i’m wrong 😔

nadiahamilton bc it really hurt plus you were running behind me????

mercedesamgf1 Mrs Mercedes 🤍

user lewis is washed, never going to get that 8th

nadiahamilton watch your mouth 🙏🏽

lilymhe tinkerbell 🥹

liked by nadiahamilton

user is this a inside joke???? a fun nickname??? we need to know!

sza do you think your man will have a problem if i take you away?

nadiahamilton when and where? 🤭

lewishamilton ???????

hater ad21 was deserved 🤣

nadiahamilton i know where you live 🫶🏽

hater as if

nadiahamilton Glendale right??

hater oh shit

user now how tf did she find that man’s address 😭

user don’t question her mastery 🗣️

lewishamilton my angel 🤍

nadiahamilton my superstar 💗

lewishamilton

liked by bellahadid, charles_leclerc and 3,383,929 others

lewishamilton miami, you’ve been good 🙏🏽

view all comments

nadiahamilton steal my captions why don’t you 🙄

lewishamilton it’s my job 😋

user blonde is so her colour

raye you both are so lovely 🤍

lewishamilton thank you Raye and btw, she’s crying because of this

nadiahamilton DON’T TELL HER OMG????

spinzbeatsinc king and queen of england

nadiahamilton do you want me to get deported??

user just accept your fate guys

user now i need to know if he speaks any south african languages

nadiahamilton he tries to but he says it in a british accent so i end up laughing at him

user mr, does this mean you’re the class dad?

lewishamilton i guess so?

herstudent YEAHHH OUR DAD’S SIR LEWIS HAMILTON!!!

user her face should be trademarked

user how many cars do you think they own together?

f1wags what a woman!

user petition for Nadia to be team principal!

mercedesamgf1 we back this 🫡

hater her tattoos were everywhere and stole the attention off Lewis! She’s so ugly

nadiahamilton never that 🙏🏽

user did you guys see that drake reposted her post?

user wasn’t he friends with lewis at some point???

zendaya see you guys soon 🫶🏽

racerbia mother and father

nadiahamilton my man is so fine y’all damn

user SHE’S SO REAL FOR THIS

nadiahamilton like he looks so delectable, my goat fr 🤭

lewishamilton nads 😧

f1 mother of the paddock ‼️

nadiahamilton pls not while Susie is right there ☹️

badgalriri i hope you do know there’s a group of us planning to take her

iamcardib heard she’s a stylist, need one rn

kehlani i second this !

latto777 if she ever needs flowers, i got her ‼️

nadiahamilton y’all 🥹

lewishamilton can you guys stop planning to take my wife away from me?

user idk, something’s fishy

user yeah bc where the fuck did she come from?

text messages !

♡‧₊ billionaire boys club

miles the fencer 🤺: no way they’re stealing your wife from you in broad daylight?

pookie buddy lewis: pls don’t chat, it’s hurting my spirit rn

princess natalia: let’s talk about nads meeting pharrell (also i’m a genius for naming this gc after his company)

daniel is spinning: her face was just like 😧

nadia: 🧍🏽‍♀️

personal pillow amara: but nads, genuinely, how do you feel after this weekend? it was a big one for you bae

nadia: i do feel like ripping the earth in half and falling in but it’s cool because lew gets me ice cream after 🤭

pookie buddy lewis: i always got your back, nads. you know that. we’ll get ice cream whenever you want

miles the fencer 🤺: GET A FUCKING ROOM OMG

princess natalia: EWWWWW

charlotte (not tilbury): don’t listen to them, this is the cutest shit ever 😭

andrew with the camera: but if i expose miles’ 0.5x photos, i’m wrong.

daniel is spinning: DRAG HIMMMM

personal pillow amara: i’ve taught you way too much danny

miles the fencer 🤺: man whatever 🙄

charlotte (not tilbury): nads, i HAVE to see you in malibu

nadia: ofc, i don’t know what to expect from that place

princess natalia: don’t worry bae, we got you!

ೃ° 

The Avengers (niko made this)

chunkz: nads, who’s this boy you’re chatting to? 🤨

filly felipe: “this boy” and it’s lewis hamilton 🤣

sharks: AND they’re married????

nadia: and i was going to invite you lot to my new place and show you my new car but ig you don’t want to

harry (pinero) potter: BOYS TAKE IT BACK

aj shabeeeeel: i personally never said anything 🙏🏽

niko: you know i’ve always loved f1, nads

nella loml: lying on a public platform, niko??

nadia: you lot are too funny i can’t 😭

nadia: but yeah, wanted to know when you guys are available so that you guys can meet him officially

fiily felipe: welcoming our brother in law aww 🥹

king kenny: how about we chat about the marriage??

nadia: how about no? 🫶🏽

chunkz: i’m just happy something so special is happening to you, nads. you deserve it

nella loml: it’s been a tough ride and already it’s looking so up for you bae

nadia: you guys wanna make me cry on a monday morning 🫵🏽

sharks: always the plan 🫡

niko: to make her cry????

sharks: 😐

king kenny: pls come back to London asap, Cench has been calling us up for a vid ever since the last two 😔

nadia: leave me out of that one, i have a husband 🖐🏽

chunkz: YOU TELL THEM NADS

filly felipe: nadia thandeka hamilton, it has SUCH a nice ring to it 😭

aj shabeeeel: and you guys look so leng together, already my brother in law 🫡

harry (pinero) potter: better get home quick for that debrief!

saint’s team radio (once again!): hope you guys enjoyed this one! it’s got a little touch of how nadia interacts with people she knows and people she doesn’t, our social butterfly 🥹

we finally have a ship name for our favs ‘Lewdia’ coined by @mauvecherie-writes!

i’ve got a few more smaus ready but yeah, love you guys loads! 💗

[cassiabaggins]

Too Bitter, Too Sweet (part one)

A chance encounter gives you a once in a lifetime opportunity: the chance to reunite with your first love, Leon Kennedy.

Part Two

Fluff and Angst

Words: 4k

Warnings: none. Just Leon being awkward. NO SMUT

(April is an oc, she is VERY briefly mentioned because I couldn't resist)

Reblogs and comments appreciated! Cross-posted on ao3.

You can hardly believe what you're seeing. He's older, with longer hair and a hardened look, but you'd recognize him anywhere. Leon Kennedy, your first love and college boyfriend. 

You're approaching him before you can think about it. 

“Leon?”

He freezes, startling a little like no one has called his name in forever, and turns to stare at you. There is no spark of recognition in those baby blue eyes. 

“Uh, hi?”

“It's me, Leon. Y/N. From college? We… were close.”

Close is an understatement. The two of you had dated for almost a year, but he doesn't seem to recognize you or remember. You suppose you can't blame him. It's been nearly ten years and you've both changed quite a bit.

A beat. Another. 

Then his eyes widen and a soft, shy little smile blooms across his face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, then laughs, running a hand over his hair. “Wow. Hi! You look… different.”

You giggle. Oh Leon. He's really not changed at all. “Different?” You ask.

“It's a good different!” He hurries to say.

“It's good to see you again,” you tell him. 

He nods vigorously, his hair falling into his eyes. “You, too.”

He looks around the area, as if trying to figure out what you're doing here. “What are you doing in D.C.?”

You adjust the strap of your purse. “I'm here for work,” you explain. 

Leon puts his hands in his pockets. “Work, huh? You passed the bar, then? That's amazing.” 

You feel your cheeks warming. “How'd you know I was a lawyer?”

“Because that's what you were studying in college,” he replies. “It wasn't that long ago. You think I forgot? Besides, how many different jobs are there to be done in a courthouse?”

You laugh softly, and Leon grins, clearly pleased that he made you laugh. His smile is exactly the same as you remember it, slightly lopsided, sweet, and genuine. It makes you remember easier times and how he used to kiss you. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that… it's been almost ten years, there's no way he doesn't have a girlfriend.

“Are you still in law enforcement?” You blurt, desperate to distract yourself.

Leon shifts in place, and you think his smile falters slightly.

“Something like that,” he says ambiguously. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It's hard to explain,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. “Uhm… it's government stuff.”

He's clearly uncomfortable, so you stop pushing. 

“Do you like it?”

“The people I work with are great,” he says.

Not exactly an answer. 

“Well, that’s good,” you say, adjusting your grip on your purse. Leon opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the sound of a jaunty ringtone. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, quickly pulling a cellphone out of his jacket pocket. He frowns when he sees the caller I.D. “Uh, one sec, I have to take this.”

He steps away to answer the phone, and you watch him for a bit, wondering if you should leave. But you can’t bring yourself to. You’ve only just met him again, and just like in college, he fascinates you. But this time, a little over a decade later, there’s so much more to him. Not just physically, though he’s certainly bulked up a bit over the years, but there’s a darkness and mystery to him that excites you. Besides, what woman hasn’t fantasized about reconnecting with the one that got away? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Leon approaching you again. He looks apologetic. “I have to run,” he says. “I’m sorry. But it was really nice to see you again!”

You don’t want him to leave! You want to keep talking to him! You want to know if he’s happy, if he’s got a wife or a girlfriend, if he still likes listening to metal, if chocolate icecream is still his go to flavor.

But he’s already walking away.

“Leon, wait!” you call. “Before you go!” 

He turns and you reach into your purse and pull out one of your business cards. He takes it with his left hand and peers at it. There's no ring on his finger.

“What’s this for?” he asks

“Just in case you need legal advice,” you joke. “Or if you just want to catch up.”

He smiles and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. You catch a glimpse of some sort of badge as he tucks the card carefully inside. “I’ll do that,” he says, and then he's gone.

You settle into your temporary office and log into your computer to begin going through case files. It's humdrum work, but necessary for the success of your client's appeal. But, not five minutes into this, your work phone starts ringing.

Expecting either your boss or a paralegal, you pick it up and introduce yourself by name.

“Uh, whoa,” says the person on the other end. “That was fancy and professional.”

You'd know that voice anywhere.

“Leon?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, hi. How're you doing?”

You lean back in your seat and twirl the phone cord around your finger, a bashful smile spreading across your face. “Well, not much has changed in the last 20 minutes, to be honest. But it's nice to hear your voice again.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “You, too. I hope I'm not interrupting something.”

“You're not,” you assure him. “Although I'm not technically supposed to take personal calls on this line.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” he replies. “But this is the only way I could really contact you.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite your bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. “And what was so urgent that you just had to call me?”

There's rustling on the other end, Leon must be switching the phone to his other ear. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, like he's nervous. Your heartbeat speeds up in anticipation. 

“Well,” he says. “I was just thinking how nice it was to talk to you again. I was hoping we could do that again. Soon. Maybe over coffee?”

It takes all your willpower not to squeal like a teenager. But you're a professional. 

You clear your throat and try to act nonchalant. “Coffee sounds nice.”

“Great!” Leon sounds thrilled. “It's a date!”

“A date?” you tease.

“Uh… I mean… only if you want it to be,” he hurries to clarify. “You still have your maiden name on your business card and I didn’t see a ring, so I assumed— fuck, do you have a boyfriend?”

He meant a date date. You feel a thrill of excitement.

“No,” you say quickly, “no boyfriend. No fiance or husband either… I’m single.”

“Oh, good,” he says, and you almost laugh at how relieved he sounds. “I don’t have any of those either.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend or husband?”

“No wife or girlfriend, either.”

Oh, so he’s got jokes now. You giggle again. God, when was the last time a man had you laughing like this?

“I'm only in D.C. for the summer,” You explain. “Just until the case is over. I don't know many places to get coffee.”

“Well, you're in luck,” he says. “Because I do! I know the perfect place!”

The coffeeshop he recommends is a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place with the best espresso you've had in years. You and Leon plan for only an hour at most, but stay there chatting for nearly two. He even walks you to your car, and as you drive away, watching him wave goodbye in the rearview mirror, you realize that you had done most of the talking. At first, you want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment. Everyone always says that you talk too much, and there you went, yammering away…

But Leon had asked me out again, the other half of your brain pipes up. And he never disliked you talking in the past!

Emboldened by this realization, and determined to eek more information out of Leon next time, you continue on your way.

And so, one coffee date turns into two, then three. Reconnecting with Leon is… it's just amazing. He's older now, hardened by life in a way you can't quite fathom, but he's still so handsome and sweet and attentive. You can forgive his slightly awkward mannerisms and weird schedule and how cagey he is about his job. The first point is nothing new, of course, it's part of what charmed you in the first place, all those years ago. The weird schedule you chalk up to his job, and if it really is government stuff, you can understand why he's so secretive.

Of course, he can't stop you from daydreaming about what his job is, and your imagination thinks up all sorts of dashing occupations. Secret Service, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security… It's fun to imagine him as the dashing hero, leaping in to save the President himself from an assassination or single-handedly stopping a foreign spy organization. He probably looks hot as hell in a fancy suit, sunglasses, and an earpiece.

Coffee dates are nice and all, but you find yourself wanting more. You hint at it a fee times, Leon is oblivious as ever, so you ask him directly. 

“We should get dinner,” you say, pausing by your car. Leon has walked you out to it, just like he always does after your coffee dates. “Somewhere romantic.”

You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. He's quiet for a second, staring back. 

“I thought you liked coffee?” He asks, looking like he thinks he's seriously misjudged the situation. You just laugh, putting your hand on his arm.

“I do!” You assure him. “But I also like pasta and wine.”

Leon looks relieved. “Oh. Well, I do know a good Italian place!”

You beam. “Yeah? Is it nice?”

“Very,” he assures you. “Very hard to get into, but I can pull some strings.” He winks. “Perks of the job.”

You aren't sure if he's joking or not, but you like the idea of it, at least. 

“Exciting,” you giggle, leaning close to him. “Should we go this weekend?”

Leon's face falls. “I can't do this weekend,” he admits.

“That's okay!” You're quick to reassure him. “We can do next! Or the one after.”

“No, next weekend is perfect,” he says, looking relieved. “I'll have to make a reservation, but I'll call you, okay?”

You let out an excited squeal and throw your arms around Leon's neck, kissing him before you can think.

This is the first time you've kissed since— well, since you broke up the first time. You almost pull away, but Leon cups the back of your neck and kisses back.

He's a better kisser than he used to be, that's for sure, and the whole thing leaves you breathless and weak-kneed. 

He grins at your dazed expression, licking his lips and looking very pleased with himself.

“Next weekend, then?”

You reach up to wipe away a smear of your lipstick off the corner of his mouth. 

“Next weekend,” you agree.

Leon promises to pick you up at 7 PM on Friday night. The two of you text back and forth almost nonstop as the night approaches, exchanging phone calls whenever possible. You're so excited that you even pick out your outfit days in advance.

Then, one day, the communication from Leon just… stops.

It's a day before your date, so you try not to worry too much. Something probably came up. But you find yourself checking your phone almost obsessively. No reply.

You push down your worry and get yourself ready for the date. You choose your favorite set of lingerie to wear under your little black dress, just in case, and probably spend way too long on your makeup.

Nonetheless, you're ready a good hour before he's scheduled to pick you up. You wait nervously for an hour, pacing your hotel room, then snap a picture of yourself to send to him. No answer. By 7:20 PM you're furious with him. By 7:45, you're in tears.

At 8 PM, you're pissed AND crying and a knock sounds at your door. You tear it open, ready to give Leon a piece of your mind, but stop in your tracks. 

Leon looks like shit. He's wearing a rumpled suit and his hair is a mess. Deep shadows show under his eyes, a bruise is forming on the left side of his jaw, and his chin is covered in three day old stubble.

He thrusts a bouquet of flowers into your arms.

All your anger drains out of you, all at once, replaced with concern.

“What *happened*?!” You blurt. Leon flushes. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's been yelling for twelve hours straight. “It was a work thing.”

He scratches the back of his head and the movement raises his rumpled shirt, allowing you to see the ugly yellow-purple of a bruise on his hip. 

“A work thing?” You prompt.

He winces. “I can't… tell you.”

What the hell?

“What do you mean you can't tell me?”

“I mean I can't tell you!” He snaps, his eyes darkening for a second. “Okay?”

You can't help but flinch and Leon's shoulders slump when he catches it. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I just… can't.”

You wonder if he can't or won't… but you don't press it. 

“You want to come in?” You ask softly.

“I thought we had a dinner reservation?” He asked, glancing at his watch.

“We did,” you say. “But you're an hour late. We missed it.”

Leon, somehow, looks even more forlorn at those words. “I'm sorry,” he says again. “I was in a different timezone, I didn't reset my watch and—”

“Leon.” You interrupt the beginnings of a spiral with a firm voice. “It's fine.”

You step back from the door and wave him inside. “Come on. I want to put these flowers in water.”

Leon shuffles in after you. He stands there, in the tiny entryway, and looks around your hotel room, shoving his hands in his pockets. You don't really have a vase for the flowers, come to think of it. Fancy hotels like this come with all sorts of amenities, but vases are not one of them. You waver for a moment, before grabbing the complimentary ice bucket and filling it with water from the bathroom sink.

Leon watches silently as you arrange the flowers, before speaking up.

“I should have brought a vase, too,” he says. “Sorry. I didn't think—”

You smile at him. “Hey, don't worry. It seems like you have a lot on your mind.”

He cracks a wry smile. “You're telling me.”

With the tension leaking away, you lean forward and smell a rose.

��Are they still your favorite?” He asks.

“I'm sorry?”

Leon gestures toward the bouquet. “Pink roses. Are they still your favorite flower?”

Honestly, pink roses haven't been your favorite flower since college… but the fact that Leon remembered that they were immediately bumps them up to number one once more.

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

And Leon beams. 

You don’t notice him approach you until his hand smooths down your back. You turn to look up at him, taking in his tired eyes and apologetic expression. You wonder again what his job is, and then wonder if you really want to know. Maybe ignorance is bliss.

“I’m sorry for missing our date,” he says softly. “Let me make it up to you.”

“We could try again tomorrow,” you murmur, turning fully to face him. “Or next week, if that doesn’t work out.”

“Sure,” he replies, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “But I was thinking of doing something a little more… immediate.”

He bends to kiss you, tender and slow, and you let yourself lean into it. Leon always kisses you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing in existence, he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll break, and you know he means it. You know that you matter to him.

You’re breathing heavily when the two of you finally part. Leon pulls back slowly, his eyes searching your face, looking a little shy but also a little proud of himself. He licks his lips, glances past you at the bed, then meets your eyes again.

“Wanna move this over there?” he asks, gesturing toward it with his head. Your heart skips a beat with anticipation. 

“Sounds good,” you breathe.

That night, you fall asleep in Leon’s arms, well and truly satisfied in a way you haven’t been in a long time. He’s clearly more experienced and more confident than the boy you slept with in college, but he’s still him. Still adoring, still attentive, still a little shy. 

He pretty much lets you take the lead the whole night and while he doesn’t say it outright, you get the impression that he just wants to be taken care of. If you notice tears in his eyes at the end, you don’t comment on it and neither does he.

He drops off soon after you finish, lying on his back like a soldier. You watch him for a few minutes, admiring the curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the dimple in his chin and the moles on his neck. There’s a scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before, a thin white line nearly hidden by his stubble. You wonder how he got it. Probably doing something heroic, knowing him. You fall asleep entertaining little fantasies of Leon being a hero and saving the day.

You're awoken by Leon stirring in the bed next to you. You don't worry too much. You're a light sleeper after all.

You puff your pillow and get comfy again. Behind you, Leon stirs again, a soft groan escaping him.

You roll over, a little concerned. He has his arm slung over his face, but you can see a frown on his lips. He's breathing heavily, but you don't want to wake him up if you don't have to. He looked so exhausted when he came here earlier. It's probably nothing. You close your eyes again, but another soft groan from Leon has you opening them again.

You push up on one elbow, a little frown on your face. He's probably dreaming about something, but you can't tell if it's good or bad. His arm drops off his face, his fingers balling in the sheets. 

“No…” He mumbles. “Please…”

A nightmare, then. You sit up fully and reach for him, but before you can touch him, Leon flings out his arm, inadvertently smacking your hand away, and cries, “Ashley, no!”

Ashley? Who the hell is that?

You shake your head. Now is not the time for that, not with Leon in the midst of a night terror.

You reach out again, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a harsh shake.

“Leon!”

He doesn't wake right away, his head tossing side to side and his face screwed up.

You try again.

“Leon! Wake up!”

Leon jerks upright and the world spins sideways, your back hitting the bed with a thump and all the air rushing out of you. A weight presses down on you, arms pinned above your head.

You glimpse Leon above you and faintly register that the force across your neck and shoulders is his forearm. He doesn't seem to see you, even though his blue eyes are wide with terror.

“Leon?” You croak out.

“Fuck,” he gasps, suddenly seeing you. “Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You're able to catch your breath again as Leon scrambles off you and through the ringing in your ears you hear him stumbling around the room. You sit up just as the bathroom door slams closed.

Behind it, you hear retching.

You don't know what to do. You sit shell-shocked in the bed, surrounded by rumpled blankets and pillows and stare at the thin strip of light shining from beneath the bathroom door. You rub your hand over your sore clavicle.

What on earth was that? Why would Leon react like that after being woken up from a nightmare? And who the hell is Ashley? It was like Leon didn't even see you when he woke up, like he was stuck somewhere else, living through something horrible. What has he gone through in these ten years you've been apart? Does it have anything to do with his beat up appearance earlier? With the scars you noticed on his body? Did this Ashley have something to do with it? 

Bzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzt

You're torn out of your that's by Leon's cellphone, vibrating on the bedside table. Jesus Christ, who calls at— you check the alarm clock next to the bed— 4 AM?

You untangle yourself from the covers and pick up the phone. Should you answer it? Leon doesn't seem to be coming out anytime soon and it seems urgent enough that the caller is attempting to reach him in the middle of the night.

You lick your lips nervously and flip open the phone, raising it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Where's Leon?” The voice on the other end demands. It's female. “Who are you?”

You want to ask the same thing, but you're the one answering a phone that isn't yours. You introduce yourself and the woman on the other end blows out a sigh.

“Oh,” she says bluntly. She clearly knows who you are even if Leon has never mentioned her to you. “Well, can you give Leon the phone? It's urgent.

She doesn't have to sound so annoyed!

“Sure,” you say, sliding off the bed. “Who should I say is calling?”

“April.”

Not the mysterious Ashley, then. That makes you feel marginally better for some reason. 

You pad over to the bathroom and knock on the door.

“Leon? Your phone rang.”

“...Let it go to voicemail,” he mumbles hoarsely from the other side. Oops.

“I already picked up for you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling for all the world like you've made a massive blunder. “It's someone named April?”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles, and the door swings open. In the harsh fluorescent lights he looks like a fucking mess, far worse than he did earlier than night. You can clearly see the bruises, cuts, and scars on his naked torso. His hair is rumpled, his hairline beaded with sweat. He barely meets your eyes, just takes the phone ever so gently from your hand and raises it to his ear.

“Hey, April…” He says tiredly.

You can't hear what she says in reply but you don't want to leave Leon alone, either. He looks like he's about to fall apart for God's sake. You lean against the doorframe and study him. 

You can't stand the way he's hunched in on himself like he's trying to make himself look smaller than he is and the exhausted, defeated tone in his voice makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” he whispers into the phone. “Okay. I'll be there.”

You're pulled out of your contemplation as he snaps the cellphone shut, looking up into his eyes. 

“Is everything okay?”

He grunts noncommittally. “I gotta go.”

Go? At 4 AM? Where?!

“What?!”

Leon scoots past you cautiously, not even meeting your eyes.

“Work,” he mumbles.

You turn, staring at his back incredulously as he pulls on his pants and shirt. “What do you mean work?” You challenge.

“Something came up.”

He doesn't turn toward you so you're left staring at the stiff line of his shoulders as he buttons up his shirt. 

Some random woman calls him in the middle of the night and he's immediately running at her beck and call? Something like jealousy rears its ugly head.

“Who's April?” You ask, not liking the nasty tone in your voice. 

Leon doesn't react. “A friend,” he says vaguely, pulling on his suit jacket.

“A friend calling at 4 AM about work,” you say disbelievingly. “Right.”

That gets a reaction. Leon turns to face you fully and the defeated look on his face immediately tosses all your jealousy and anger out the window. He looks like a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I didn't have to go.”

You cross the room and pull him into a hug, resting your head on his chest. Leon clings to you, nuzzling his face into your hair, and rocks you side to side. The two of you stand like that for a few minutes, then Leon lets out a long, exhausted sigh.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I'll call you as soon as I can and I'll make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want, I'll do it for you.”

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “I want you to be careful.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

“And I want you to take me out on a proper date when you're back,” you add, smiling a little to show you're not too serious. But Leon nods determinedly. “Got it. One proper date, coming up. It'll be awesome.”

He cups your face in his hands and ducks his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

“See you soon,” he promises, then he's gone.

You watch him walk down the hall, away from you, and can't help but feel like he's walking out of your life, too.

Taglist: @hiya-itsamber

[dyingchemist]

Why the Arcane fandom sucks, an essay.

There is no way to enjoy anything in this fandom I feel, and frankly as someone who isn’t a shipper in any fandom I find it suffocating that the jayvik discourse snuffs everything else out. I also find it disgusting how everyone bullies the non-shippers or OC shippers/self shippers in this fandom I’ve notice. I have also noticed a fair bit of misogyny as well, whether it’s from people who are against Mel and Jayce or Sky and Viktor, or people invading the Jayce x reader and Viktor x reader (especially the fem!reader) tags with jayvik ship material. It’s exhausting if I’m honest. I also hate how the fandom uses any shred of media interviews to basically “go see see look you’re wrong,” to anyone who just wants to enjoy the original media in the way they want to and share it with others. Regarding the post production statements from cast and crew, my personal opinion is that they often try to give relatively (key word relatively) open ended statements while also giving the statement that would be most popular. You forget these people are PR trained. Now I think it’s perfectly fine if the cast and crew think it should be one way or another and I believe it’s still left just open ended enough for everyone to enjoy things how they want. I think I just get frustrated that people are a bit too stupid to see that people will always give the most PR popular answer (except the main writer apparently who I love how his statement is always like yeahhhhh anyways shut up, but everyone else’s statements are law? Idk kinda weird.)

I just think I’m very disappointed that my favorite show is slowly becoming something I hate because of the fanbase and I feel like I and other women are not allowed to enjoy it or our comfort characters unless they shut up and agree. And honestly I am disappointed that people on either side demand answers or for things to be official rather than letting everyone be happy. It’s called headcanon for a reason.

As someone who is ND and has hyper fixations it is hard to cope with this and it’s frankly frustrating and sort of embarrassing I get in such a tizzy that I feel like I can’t just go on IG or even Pinterest and enjoy just Viktor art without it behind shipping art. And I think it’s also ridiculous that I feel like I have to explain that no, it’s not me hating two men being shipped, frankly I think some of the art is adorable, is the fact I’ll put not interested in IG and I’ll get 20 more posts, or on posts that are like Sky x Viktor there will always be some jayvik shipper screeching there. At the end of the day it’s just annoying that no one is allowed to enjoy the same show we all love in a different way and are practically forced out of the internet spaces. I don’t even go on IG anymore because it was making me sort of upset, and tumblr is on thin ice but at least I can filter tags here. (But sometimes I would like a cheeky poly fic so I don’t really filter HAHA.) What I mean to say is that the rabid shippers are pushing BNHA levels, and what I mean by that is how feral they are and if you disagree they double down and sort of terrorize the rest of the fandom which frankly I don’t think is that small of a sect. (Those the disgusting and problematic stuff is not remotely on the same scale. The worst is misogyny and at times racism.)

Fandom and specifically fanfic has always been very fem coded in my experience and it makes me feel queasy that the fanbase for my favorite show actively seems to hate women. For example there was something on tiktok or IG about an artist drawing a racist depiction of Cait and then vitkor beautifully, or the fact shippers are racist towards Mel and Sky. I see SQUAT about time bomb or CaitVi, hell even Vander and Silco! I guess the crux of it is, a little diversity would be nice, character analyses that don’t revolve around sexuality or shipping, theory’s or expansions upon characters that sort of got back burnered like Sky or other councilors or more about the sort of rebellion and why Silco and Vander had a falling out. Writing critique on the show even considering that second season was so rushed imo!

Just let the women be in the fanbase bro. I don’t care that y’all are shipping two men, great, so you shouldn’t care what I and other women are doing too! You should be like cool we love the same show!

I am curious how women/fems/or just anyone burnt out from fandom and shipping feels and copes with this. Saying cope feels sort of cringe and like it’s causing me a mental breakdown, it’s more so the “bro please let me enjoy my favorite thing too,” feeling. We should make our own community with in the fandom so we can enjoy things as well with other people too. It’s okay and it makes me want to finally share my own writings I just don’t know where to start since I’ve been a lurker for 10+ years.

Love,

A Dying Chemist

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 06

✩°｡ ⋆ a longer dream

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, mild angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, descriptions of aggressive behavior (hair pulling, hand stomping—but not to the reader)

notes: an early release! please believe me when i said that i really wanted to add megumi's reaction in the previous chapter. i cut it because it got too long already.

oh and with this i’m announcing that unholy matrimony will be on break next week to ensure the best experience :( chapter 7 will be posted on november 6, i promise.

listen to: i will stay with you - gummy :)

series masterlist | next. love unspoken

This can’t be right.

Megumi must have heard wrong.

It was barely seven in the morning, he had just woken up, and the first thing he heard was... you were asking for a what? Divorce?

"What, why?" he immediately snapped.

You kept your head low. "Because there's no reason for us to be together anymore. This whole thing―" you gestured to everything around you as you tried to contain your emotions, "―started just because I have no choice but to obey my father so that he wouldn’t take my mom as a hostage."

Honestly, Megumi didn't understand. Maybe his brain was lagging because it was meant to be a tranquil Sunday morning. But he couldn't make the heads or tails of whatever you were spouting now.

"Now that my mom is no longer in the picture," you continued, your voice steady and your eyes devoid of doubt. "He has no other means to control me. He can't have his way with me anymore."

"Hold on—" He was exasperated. Nothing's making sense. "This doesn't necessarily lead to divorce. Sena, what are you thinking?"

“I’m setting us free, Megumi,” you interjected, fixing a fierce gaze on him. “Neither of us wanted this in the first place. And now we can do it. Zen’in must have a better bride in mind for you, or you could also ditch them altogether. We can go our separate ways.”

How had it escalated into this? Weren’t the two of you just spent the night? How did you spew all of these so callously?

Megumi clenched his jaw. “No.”

"Why?!" Now it was your turn to express frustration. Honestly, you really thought he would agree. You had offered him his freedom on a silver platter—so why didn't he take it?

“You are not in the right state of mind,” he asserted, his gaze fixed at you squarely. “You haven’t thought this through. You can't make decisions solely based on your impulses, Sena.”

“I have thought this through, Megumi!”

“Clearly, you haven’t,” he retorted firmly. “If that’s the case, then tell me, should we get a divorce, what would you do?”

You fell into silence, unable to give an immediate response. “It’s—I will—”

“See?” he let out a scoff. “Is your life with me so unbearable that you’re considering a divorce?”

Your brain short-circuited, evidently and truthfully you didn’t think that far ahead. Your primary focus was to alleviate the guilt in your gut, and you believed that returning to where it all began would be better for both of you, especially him.

But was your life with him that miserable? “No.” You stiffened, biting your lower lip. You didn’t want him to think like that. Living with Megumi was far from horrible at all; in fact, it was quite the opposite.

“Then what brought this on?” he inquired once again. His tone remained calm, but it was clear that he was holding his simmering anger back. “We are perfectly fine. So what’s the deal? Give me a straightforward explanation and I’ll agree with you only if you can explain what you will do from then on.”

Why must he do this? Why did he have to be against it so much? It took everything out of you to keep your resolve from breaking.

Your heart couldn't help but soar when he opposed your idea of getting a divorce. You found yourself hoping for something more, with him.

“We are… not fine.” You ran out of arguments to convince him, as the thought of staying suddenly made more sense, against your better judgment. “I… you—you didn’t want to be married to me—”

“But now I do!” His voice rang through the apartment, leaving you momentarily speechless, trying to absorb his words.

Megumi was at his wits end. As surprising as it may seem, he had developed feelings for you, and perhaps now, those feelings had intensified into something more intense. He had these passing thoughts about how to express his feelings, and certainly this wasn't the scenario he had in mind. However, now that things had escalated to this point, he must get this across somehow.

“I know you’re having a hard time. Losing your mother isn’t something you can get over so easily—I get it. I understand that, Sena.”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“But I promise you,” his unwavering gaze held you captive. “You are going to be fine. We are going to be fine. Forget how we started—we have made it this far regardless of that.”

Staying with you meant he would remain embroiled in the Zen'in's successor struggle, a reality he was fully aware of. But the idea of you leaving was simply inconceivable in his mind.

Now you were openly sobbing. You were happy. You knew it was still wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the whole truth—the binding vow with Gojo. You just can’t.

You had never hoped so bad for a wrong to become right before now.

"You have me," he declared, and Megumi's hand reached for your damp cheek, cradling it gently. When your teary eyes met his, he fondly caressed your cheek.

“I will stay with you.”

That was the breaking point. You lost the hold over your emotions. If you didn't know anything else, one thing was abundantly clear—you had lived for this very moment.

And when Fushiguro Megumi pulled you into a searing kiss, you knew that life as you had known it had come to an end.

Because from now on, through endless maze, fear and loneliness, you placed your trust in him to be by your side.

"Tsk."

Naoya clicked his tongue at the first hearing held at his own Zen'in estate. Most of the elders had gathered in the main hall, with him sitting at the front row. The next seat next to him was empty.

"Can't we just start?" he spat impatiently, glaring particularly at his uncle, Zen'in Ogi—the father of the Maki and Mai—who was the head of the council to determine the next successor of Zen'in clan.

His uncle simply regarded him with a stoic expression. "We'll commence when Fushiguro arrives here."

To be frank, Zen'in Ogi harbored a strong dislike for Naoya. Not only was this young upstart trying to seize the position of the clan head that could be his by the order of seniority, he was incredibly disrespectful too. Given the choice—which he had, anyway—he still preferred Fushiguro even though he was an outsider rather than this manic twat.

"If the bastard doesn't come then it's his loss," Naoya hissed through his teeth. "Why should we wait for him? What a waste of time."

An attendant suddenly went into the room to inform that Fushiguro Megumi couldn't attend as he had prior engagements. Naoya sneered upon hearing that. "See? Even he doesn't take this the least bit seriously."

Zen'in Ogi vowed to wipe that smirk off his face, even if it was the last thing he did. To him, Naoya's behavior and lack of decorum during his brother's funeral was a blatant insult to their proud clan, and there was no way he would let him rule at the top, even though he was his brother's own flesh and blood.

Hence why he took great delight in seeing the shock on his face when he announced that the majority of the votes had gone in favor of Fushiguro instead of him.

"This isn't the final decision, of course," he remarked, casting a glance at Naoya's seething anger. "We will hold two more hearings, and by then, you can still cast your vote for the candidates you favor."

What the actual fuck—

"I advise you to get your act together, Naoya," Ogi whispered to him as the crowd dispersed. "You're hardly demonstrating why we should choose you with your rather... ah, unbecoming behavior."

Naoya clenched both his jaw and fists as his uncle walked past him. The nerve of that rotting bastard!

No one seemed to respect him any longer in this place. It seemed like everyone had started to think he could be overthrown from his rightful place.

So be it then. He just had to make it clear that he was the one in charge.

And when he spotted one of the serving girls, whom he had observed had been following several elders, and even himself, for several days now, Naoya finally had enough and pursued her as she hastened her steps.

But he was naturally faster and grabbed her hair in an attempt to catch her, causing her to yelp.

“Master Naoya!” she cried. “P-Please let me go—!”

“Shut up, you wretch!” he snapped at her with such fury that the girl could only tremble in shock. He then forcibly dragged her by the hair toward the disciplinary pit, paying no heed to her cries and pleas for him to stop.

He flung her across the hard tiles, and the girl curled up in fear. "P-Please... spare me..." she pleaded, her voice trembling with terror.

With an air of dominance, Naoya gazed down at her, and then he ruthlessly stomped on her hand, causing her to scream in agony.

“S-Stop! It hurts!” she sobbed. “P-Please!”

He crouched down, still keeping her hand pinned beneath his shoe.

“I’m acting o-on orders!” she shouted amidst the tears. “M-My mistress is the one w-who told me to come h-here!”

Naoya's lips curled into a sneer as he released his grip on her and then firmly grasped the young girl's chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Now, you fool, tell me everything.”

It was monumentally stupid. Megumi knew it, but couldn’t help but let his face burn in embarrassment regardless.

“Megumi.” You tilted your head to the side, eyes looking at him so innocently, yet hesitantly. “You want us to… uh, share one bedroom?”

The way you pronounced the word “share” was enough to drive him on edge. He knew it. You didn’t want it, but he wanted this, and yet he didn’t want to force you into it.

These three statements that negated each other made him want to crawl back to his room.

But as the saying goes, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it, right?

“Yeah, is there a problem with that?” And so faking his confidence it is.

“T-There is!” you hastily retaliated. “This is too sudden!”

“And what about it? Your bed is big enough for both of us. If not, then the one in my room it is.”

“But!” This inquiry was beyond you. Not that you were totally opposed, but this prompt change of situation left you reeling.

Okay, let us get it straight.

Confessing feelings to each other? Well, yeah, in practice, yes.

Marital status? Still wife and husband. Check.

And so, this was the cue for moving in together next, yes?

At least in the romance novels you read, yes. But quite literally, ever since Megumi’s dramatic declaration—that made you swoon amidst everything else, yes—the two of you found yourselves stuck in an awkward situation once again. He failed to look at you in the eye for two days straight after that, and now out of nowhere, asked you to share a room with him.

“Are you sure?” you asked, idly twirling a strand of your hair with your fingers.

“I am,” he replied instantly. "What's the issue here? We're married. We should have done this right from the start."

“Wouldn’t want you to burst from sheer embarrassment is all,” you quipped, successfully making him fidget. A smile tugged at your lips at his reaction.

"You could hardly even look at me," you added teasingly, and it seemed a vein on his face was on the verge of bursting.

“And you—”

You didn't have the opportunity to add more anecdotes to the list because suddenly your right arm was pulled, and before you could react, you found yourself cornered against the sofa.

"Well," Megumi's face was now inches from yours, his voice slow and laden with an indescribable intensity. His green eyes blinked, and suddenly, you found it hard to breathe. "Now, I'm looking at you, aren't I?"

What… is this situation? You could no longer think, and the only sound you heard was your uncontrollable heartbeats.

Even Megumi himself couldn’t keep the blush from creeping up on his face as he kept his hot gaze on you. When his cheeks began to feel as if they were sizzling and burning, much like the barbecue he had with Yuji the other night, he finally withdrew, moving away slowly. You took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully, your heart still racing.

"Stupid, don't look so scared," he grumbled before tousling the top of your head, causing you to wince.

Now he had truly done it, hadn't he? He had made it glaringly obvious just how hopelessly infatuated he was, or at least he hoped he had conveyed it to you.

“I’m not scared…” You looked away shyly. “Megumi, you idiot.”

“Why am I the idiot? You’re the one being so clueless.”

In his eyes, you appeared so petite and vulnerable. The way you puckered your lips made him want to pin you to the wall.

It was unlike anything he had felt before. This urge to protect, make you happy, and ruin you at the same time was just too much.

But in the end, the first two always won.

"Okay, forget about it," he said afterwards, prompting you to look up. "We don't have to share a room if you're that uncomfortable about it."

“Uh, but—” now you were the one stammering. “No, it’s—okay…”

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding what you meant, so you took a gulp of breath, suppressing your embarrassment.

“Let’s sleep together from now on,” you declared. “In the same room, okay? I’m okay with it…”

“Really, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

A reminiscent of what he told you just two days ago. You couldn't forget how those three simple words made you feel, as if you were granted a fresh opportunity at life, despite the hardships you'd endured.

In the ensuing five seconds, you locked eyes and then erupted into a chorus of laughter.

“It’s so stupid, why is it so hard?” you sighed, smiling all the way. “We can’t be stuck at this stage forever.”

Megumi looked at your smile and, once again, tenderly placed his hand on your head.

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t,” he muttered. “But even this is enough for me though.”

“What is?”

A gentle, weightless sensation filled his chest, a welcome relief after enduring two weeks of shared suffering. Seeing you no longer as tormented fueled his desire to to sustain that newfound happy expression on your face.

“Your smile,” he replied simply. “Just keep smiling. That’s all that matters.”

You swore you felt your heart leap out of your chest at his genuine words. But, damn you, you concealed your emotions the only way you knew how.

“Okay, so now you can’t deny it any longer,” you huffed in a playful condescending manner. “You’re positively smitten by me, correct, dear husband?”

A sheepish snort escaped from him. “Yeah, yeah, wife. I’m all yours.”

Megumi was eager to walk down this road with you from now on. It wouldn't be without its challenges, as there were still many things for you to tackle. Your mother’s murderer, Tsumiki’s curse, Zen’in’s mess. Through it all, he had you in his thoughts. And as for you...

You were content if this dream would last just a little bit longer.

next : love unspoken

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Hiii! Can I make a request for Charlie? I read your pregnant darling and im curious how it would play out when his s/o is giving birth. I love your fics btw and im a huge fan of your oc's!

Awe, thank you so much, I appreciate the support! And sure thing for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Yandere! Mafia Boss With An S/O Who’s Giving Birth

Technically GN! Reader because pronouns aren’t used but reader is pregnant so…presumed afab reader

Warnings: Reader is giving birth, pregnancy, medical stuff, needles, Charlie is Yandere but doesn’t really do a whole lot of insane stuff in this one, mentions of death and stuff going wrong but nothing bad happens don’t worry

(Also, I mentioned this in the pregnancy post but I’m gonna do it again here; In this scenario, reader is with Charlie willingly and he’s just Yandere for other reasons. I don’t fw the idea of a kidnapped darling being pregnant, that’s a hard limit for me even though I write darker content).

Divider credit goes to @konatasoup

Charlie’s spent the entirety of your pregnancy worrying about the day you’d finally give birth. He was excited of course, he can’t imagine not being overjoyed, but the prospect of anything going wrong absolutely terrifies him. What if there’s a complication with your pregnancy? What if the baby isn’t as healthy as his doctor says they are? What if you get severely hurt during the birthing process? What if you die? What if-

He tries to surpress his worries, he really does, but as the day draws closer, he can’t help but dwell on them. He does his best to distract himself with prepping everything you might need at the hospital and more importantly, sticking by you every second he possibly can, protecting you from any outward threats he can think of. If something’s gonna go wrong, it’s not gonna be because he failed to keep you safe. Whatever is in his control will be dealt with, you can bet on that.

When it comes time for you to give birth, he’s absolutely frantic, and doing a terrible job at hiding it. Sure, he’ll reassure you he’s fine, but his frantic scrambling to get everything in the car and his nearly erratic driving prove otherwise. You’ll have to spend as much time reassuring him as he does reassuring you, because that man is not calming down any time soon.

However… he does make a pitstop to get your favorite food before you enter the hospital. He’s been told that it might be a while before you can eat again and he’s not about to let you go hungry, so whatever you want, he’ll get (despite his nerves). As long as you aren’t in a ton of pain and ok with him getting you food, he’s happy to provide for you.

Once you get to the hospital, he’s borderline harassing any nurse he can find, demanding you be taken in as soon as possible. He only slightly relaxes once you get into the labor room where you’ll be taken care of, but even then, he’s still shaking wildly, asking every single nurse and doctor what they’re doing to you as they’re doing it. You can’t blame the guy though, he has no idea what’s going on, and he loves you too much to play around with you and your child’s health.

He’ll hold your hand throughout all your contractions, no matter how hard you squeeze. He would really prefer you get an epidural because it kills him to see you in any amount of pain, and you better believe that you’re gonna get it as quick as possible if that’s what you want, but if you want to have the baby naturally, he’ll respect the decision, letting you grip him for dear life throughout the pain. He knows contractions are part of the process, but it still freaks him out to see you go through them, even if you and the nurses tell him you’ll be fine.

Once the baby starts really coming out, he’s on the verge of passing out. There’s nurses everywhere, you’re clearly in pain as you push, people are talking, machines are beeping, there’s a chemical smell overpowering his senses, you’re squeezing his hand for dear life-

Aaaaandddd there he goes.

He passes out right next to you, but he comes back after a second or two, groggy but alert. He might pass out again later, but for now, he focuses all his attention on you, reassuring you that you’re doing so well, and that he can’t wait to meet your child. He’s extremely lightheaded the entire time you’re pushing your kid out, but he does his best to stay focused, too anxious to purposefully allow himself to slip away.

Then he hears your kid crying, and he’s sees a fleshy blob get carried away to be cleaned off, and the biggest rush of relief hits him so hard he starts letting out a couple tears of his own. His child’s here, they’re here and you’re both fine. Nothing went wrong, everything’s ok, and he’s a father now, a real father. He has a kid!

While the doctor’s are making sure your baby is all right, Charlie focuses all his attention on you. You’re exhausted, as expected, but you find enough energy to smile up at Charlie, and he can’t help but smile back. He squeezes your hand reassuringly and pours out soft praises, reminding you how much he loves and you and how excited he is to be a dad.

Charlie spends the rest of the hospital visit absolutely giddy, almost vibrating with his excitement and joy. He watches you hold your kid with the biggest grin on his face, holding out his finger for the baby to grab onto as the two of you coo over them. He can’t keep his eyes away from you two, his gaze landing between your happy face and his baby’s face, trying to soak in every detail, until it’s permanently burned into his memory.

And then you pass the baby to him, saying he should get a turn to hold your kid, and he just melts. He tries to be as gentle as possible as he cradles the tiny human he helped create, absolutely petrified at the prospect of dropping them but beyond jubilant that he finally gets to hold the kid he’s been waiting to meet for so long. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let them go, he’s only known them for a little bit, but he already loves them more than anything in the world (other than you).

Charlie doesn’t really know what the future holds, especially considering his job. But he makes a vow right then and there that no matter what happened, he’s gonna keep his kid as safe and happy as possible, even if that means shielding them from his career as much as possible.

He looks over to you, baby in arm, and smiles. He’ll keep his family safe. He swears it on his life.

I hope you enjoyed!

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Homecoming | Ten.Two

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 12k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, discussions of family dynamics, emotional vulnerability, and that warm ache when you realize someone is making space for you in their life, not just their bed.

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me!

📌 Requests: Open

Author’s Note:

First off, I’m so sorry this chapter is late, I’m in the last two weeks of the quarter, it’s my senior year, and shit has officially gotten real. Thank you for being patient with me while I try to survive this final academic gauntlet. I’m still going to try to keep up my one-chapter-a-week rhythm, but I can’t promise that until I’m fully, officially, done with school. I’d rather take my time and make these chapters something I’m proud of and something you genuinely enjoy than rush just to hit a deadline. I will be catching up on asks today and tomorrow!

This chapter is about the calm before the shift. The comfort, the warmth, the feeling of coming home to someone and starting to believe this could last. It’s about those little domestic moments that sneak up on you and start to feel like real life. The way love settles into the quiet spaces. In making someone a shake, you guessed your way through. In the way bodies find their natural rhythm. Realizing someone fits not just in your bed, but your life.

For Joe, it’s learning that showing up doesn’t always mean grand gestures. Sometimes it means letting go of control, eating the meal someone made for you, and feeling how good it is to be cared for while watching someone move through their world with that natural grace he’s never quite learned. For Riley, it’s that flicker of recognition that this man fits not just in her present, but in her future. In her routines, hopefully, her family, and her dreams of building something permanent.

It’s sweet. It’s intimate. It’s the kind of chapter that feels like laying your head on someone’s chest and breathing in sync. It’s about the way homecoming feels different when you’re coming home to someone, not just somewhere.

Thank you again for reading and supporting this story. You guys keep me going through dead week and beyond. Truly.

Happy reading! 🩵🏡

Taglist: @wickedfun9@starsyoongi@amiets2@palmettogal508@throwaway12356123@lilfreakjez

---

The plane taxied across the tarmac, bright Louisiana sun beating down on the windows. Joe leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers once on the armrest—the only outward sign of the anticipation coursing through him. The flight attendant's voice crackled over the speaker, but the words barely registered. His mind was already outside the plane.

He’d spent the flight half-watching game film, half-ignoring the nervous energy building all week. That was his way compartmentalize, stay busy, stay in control. But now, with New Orleans stretching out below him, the excitement he’d tried to shove down was buzzing just under his skin.

The seatbelt sign dinged off. He grabbed his bag, ducked into the aisle, and moved through the crowd at that same steady pace he did everything unbothered, unhurried.

His phone buzzed as he stepped into the terminal.

Riley: I'm outside. Gray 4Runner. Parked where the giant pelican sign is.

Joe: Walking out now.

He moved through the small airport, cap pulled low, bag slung over one shoulder. A few heads turned, but he barely noticed. His pace picked up without thinking, moving toward her.

The automatic doors slid open, and the humidity wrapped around him thick and unrelenting, a sharp contrast to the harsh blast of airport AC and the echo of rolling suitcases and overhead announcements. That Louisiana kind of heat familiar, but still enough to knock the wind out of you. He blinked against the sun, eyes sweeping the pickup lane.

Then he saw it the gray 4Runner idling at the curb, windows down, music barely audible over the airport noise.

Riley was half-hanging out the driver's side window, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, scanning the terminal doors. She hadn't spotted him yet, and for a moment, Joe just watched her—the casual way she drummed her fingers on the door, how she occasionally blew a strand of hair from her face, the slight bounce of her shoulders to whatever song was playing.

No carefully maintained image. No calculated pose. Just Riley.

Joe felt the corner of his mouth tug upward as he crossed toward the car. He opened the back door first, tossed his bag in, then rounded to the passenger side.

Riley’s head turned as he opened the door, and she smiled. Bright, easy, like she couldn’t help it. She shifted toward him without thinking, like her body already knew what to do.

"Hey, lovey," she said, voice warm with something just for him.

"Hey," Joe replied, taking her in. She looked more vibrant here, more settled in her own skin than in Cincinnati or LA.

Without overthinking it, Joe leaned across the console. His hand found the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing once across her cheek before he kissed her. Not brief, not rushed. Just slow and full, like he needed her to feel how much he’d missed her.

When he pulled back, Riley's eyes stayed closed for half a second longer, as if holding onto the moment. Her smile had softened into something private.

“Missed you,” she said, like she already knew he had.

Joe nodded, holding her gaze. "Yeah. Me too."

In that moment, the time apart collapsed. Five days compressed into nothing. That was how it had been from the start with them. Distance, schedules, complications, all of it faded when they were face to face, leaving just the gravity between them. The one thing in his life Joe couldn't calculate or control.

"I made lunch," Riley said, putting the car in drive while keeping her eyes on him. "Nothing fancy. Just some of that bread you liked last time and shrimp."

"Perfect," Joe said, settling back as she pulled away from the curb.

Riley’s hand found his on the console between them, fingers threading together like muscle memory. With his free hand, Joe reached for the window control and let the heavy air rush in. The city met him in waves, warm and heady, carrying the scent of magnolia and jasmine blooming somewhere nearby.  He remembered it from his LSU days, but it hit different now. It wasn’t just New Orleans. It was her.

Riley glanced over, taking in his simple gray T-shirt and navy joggers. There was nothing deliberate about how good he looked. It was just him, unthinking and effortless. She smiled, one hand still on the wheel.

“You packed layers, right? The weather here’s been crazy. Hot one minute, storming the next.”

Joe nodded. "I'm good."

"My auntie’s been getting ready since yesterday,” she said, turning onto a side street, navigating through neighborhoods where trees hung low over the road. “Pretty sure she bought out half the seafood market this morning.”

“I’ve been thinking about crawfish all week,” Joe said, and she could hear the genuine anticipation in his voice.

Riley's mouth curved. "She's going all out. Said she's testing your Louisiana credentials with her special batch."

“I’m not worried,” Joe said, voice easy.

Riley laughed. "That's what I told her. 'I said you could probably out-eat half the family.'"

“You’ll still need to watch yourself,” Riley said, mock-serious. “Megan’s boyfriend got exiled to the kids’ table last year for peeling them wrong.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Exiled, huh?”

"Family tradition," Riley said with a shrug. "We judge people by how they eat."

The street narrowed, houses growing more colorful as they turned into her neighborhood. The jasmine she’d mentioned was exactly as described, spilling over fences and gates, spreading across the sidewalks in waves of green and white. Her house sat in the middle of the block,  its lilac paint as vivid as he remembered. 

She pulled into the small driveway and cut the engine, the sudden silence thick with anticipation. For a moment, neither of them moved. It felt like they both needed that breath of stillness before stepping into whatever came next.

"Welcome back," Riley said finally.

Joe nodded, taking in the house with fresh eyes. During Mardi Gras, he’d seen it in fragments. Dim light, celebration chaos, his attention split between the unfamiliar space and the woman leading him through it. Now, in daylight, the details stood out. The weathered trim, the porch swing moving gently in the breeze, the flower boxes overflowing beneath each window.

He felt it again, that same quiet certainty from months ago. This must be the place.

They grabbed his bag and walked up the path together, Riley’s keys jingling in her hand. The gate creaked as she pushed it open, the sound oddly satisfying. Real, not pristine. So different from his carefully maintained house.

"You were right, the jasmine is intense this year," Joe observed.

“I told you, it’s taking over.” Riley bumped her shoulder against his. “Kind of like you in my life.”

Joe glanced at her, catching the mix of teasing and vulnerability in her expression. "That a complaint?"

"HA! Not even close," she said, unlocking the front door.

The house wrapped around them as they stepped inside. Cool air carried traces of something cooking, wood floors creaked beneath their weight, light filtered through lace curtains and caught on record sleeves and picture frames. Everything was exactly as he remembered. He understood why it had stayed with him.

Riley set her keys in a ceramic bowl by the door. "Lunch is almost ready. Just need to finish the sauce."

Joe set his bag beside the entry table. The feeling settled in quietly, familiar and steady. Vintage concert posters. A guitar in the corner. A stack of books marked with candy wrappers and dog-eared pages. Everything just as he remembered, but it carried a different weight now. Like something that had taken root. Like a place that had been waiting for him.

He followed her into the kitchen, where she’d turned the pot back on and two places were already set at the small table by the window.

Nothing fancy. Just Riley. Thoughtful without making a thing of it, already making space for him without needing to say a word.

Riley moved to the stove, lifting the lid to check whatever was inside. Without thinking, Joe stepped behind her, hands finding her waist, chin resting lightly on top of her head.

She leaned back against him instantly, her body relaxing into his. "Been waiting all week for exactly this," she said quietly.

Joe didn’t need to say anything. He just tightened his arms slightly and pressed a kiss to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Actions over words, always his way. Riley felt herself soften into him, her body understanding what he meant before her mind caught up.

Riley turned in his arms, wooden spoon still in hand, face tilted up to his. Her expression was open in the way that always caught him off guard. No defenses, no performance. Just Riley, looking at him like he was the answer to a question she’d been carrying. He felt the weight of that look, how rare it was, how unguarded, and found himself wanting to be worthy of it.

"I should finish this," she said, gesturing to the stove with the spoon, "or we'll be eating burnt sauce."

Joe nodded, releasing her but not moving far. "Need help?"

"Just cut the bread? It's warming in the oven."

The familiar rhythm of preparing a meal together felt surprisingly natural, considering they'd only done this a handful of times. Joe found the bread wrapped in foil, Riley ladled the shrimp and sauce into shallow bowls, and they moved around the small kitchen with an ease that suggested they'd been doing this for years rather than months.

"So tomorrow's the crawfish interrogation," Joe said, setting the bread on a cutting board.

Riley laughed. "Is that what you're calling it now? The crawfish interrogation?"

"Seems accurate based on your description."

She carried the bowls to the table, her movements unhurried. "It's not an interrogation. It's just... Papa wanting to make sure you're good enough for his baby."

"And the technique evaluation," Joe added, deadpan.

"That's just a bonus torture method," Riley said, grinning. "If you nail the crawfish technique, he might even skip the baby photos."

"Now I'm definitely worried."

They settled at the table, sunlight casting dappled patterns through the lace curtains. Riley passed him a napkin, their fingers brushing briefly.

"They're going to like you," she said, suddenly serious. "You know that, right?"

Joe looked at her, considering his response. "That matters to you. That they approve."

Riley's expression opened, surprise flickering across her face at his perception. "Yeah. It does."

"Then I'll make sure they do," he said simply.

It wasn’t bravado or empty reassurance. Just a statement of intent, delivered with the same calm certainty he brought to everything that mattered. Riley’s family was important to her, so they were important to him. Problem identified, solution determined.

Riley studied him for a moment, then shook her head slightly, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that," Joe confirmed.

The tension in her shoulders visibly eased. "Alright then, lovey. Let's eat before it gets cold."

The shrimp was perfect. Spicy and rich, the sauce layered with flavor in a way that seemed effortless but wasn’t. Joe took another bite, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"This is fucking good," he said simply.

No embellishment, no comparison. Just straightforward appreciation. Riley grinned, clearly pleased.

"Thanks," she said. “Made it for you.”

They settled back into comfortable silence for a few moments, the house quiet around them except for the occasional creak of old wood settling.

"Tell me about your session with Dak yesterday," Riley said eventually. "That new footwork drill you mentioned."

Joe paused, surprised she'd remembered that detail from their brief call. "We're tweaking the progression. Small adjustments to my drop, trying to shave off a tenth of a second."

"Tell me how," she prompted.

Joe’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile, but close. He used his hands as he explained, gesturing with quiet precision to show the weight transfer points, the subtle shift in timing.

“It’s about loading the back foot differently,” he said, his right hand marking the pivot. “Most people wouldn’t catch it, but at game speed, it matters.”

It was the kind of microscopic adjustment that sounded obsessive to outsiders, but at his level, fractions of seconds determined completions or interceptions. Riley leaned forward slightly, asking questions that showed she was actually listening, not just being polite.

It struck him, not for the first time, how rare that was. Someone who engaged with his off-season work without pretending to know more than they did, without dismissing it as excessive or unnecessary. Riley approached it the way she approached music, with respect for the craft behind it.

When he finished explaining, she nodded thoughtfully. "So it's like... microadjusting technique. The basic movement stays the same, but you're refining the efficiency."

"Exactly," Joe said, surprised by how perfectly she'd distilled it.

Riley smiled, pleased with herself. "See? I'm learning your language."

"You are," he agreed, and found he meant it more deeply than the words suggested.

They finished the meal in easy conversation. Riley’s plans to help Egan with a recording project the day after he left. Joe’s teammate Sam and his latest misadventure. The neighbor’s cat that had taken to sleeping on her porch. Nothing profound, nothing dramatic. Just the quiet pleasure of being in the same space again.

As Riley gathered their empty bowls, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I didn't plan anything major for today. Figured you might want to just... be here for a while. Get settled."

Joe nodded, understanding what she wasn't saying. She was giving him space to adjust, to transition from the controlled environment of his training schedule to the warmth and chaos of her world. It was a small consideration, but it spoke volumes about how well she'd come to know him.

"That sounds perfect," he said.

Standing in her sun-drenched kitchen, watching her move with the casual confidence of someone completely at home, Joe felt something in his chest loosen. A tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The careful compartmentalization he kept in Cincinnati didn’t seem necessary here.

It wasn’t something she said. It was just how she was with him. No expectations, no edits. And somehow, that made him want to meet her there. Not as someone better. Just as himself, with nothing held back.

* * *

They cleared the table slowly, neither in a rush. Riley rinsed the bowls in the sink, humming under her breath. A song he didn’t recognize, maybe something new. Joe leaned against the counter, drying dishes without being asked.

It wasn’t domesticity for show. Just a rhythm, unspoken and easy.

When the last glass was stacked in the drying rack, Riley turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Want to sit outside for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Porch swing?”

She nodded.

They stepped out into the brightness, the screen door clicking shut behind them. Jasmine wound through the railing and along the steps, blooming wild and fragrant in the afternoon light. The porch swing creaked as Joe sat first, one arm stretching across the back as he settled in. He glanced at her, then patted his thigh.

Riley didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the swing, folding easily into him, her head resting in his lap, feet propped up on the far end. Her curls brushed against his shirt, bare legs stretched out and relaxed, one hand resting lightly on his knee.

The swing moved beneath them, slow and steady. Down the block, wind chimes tinkled, soft as breath.

Joe’s hand moved instinctively to her hair, fingers combing through it without rhythm. Not to soothe, not to distract. Just to touch.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

The silence stretched, soft and unhurried. Riley’s fingers moved absently over his knee. She did that sometimes, like she just needed the contact. Joe let his head fall back against the swing and closed his eyes. For the first time all day, maybe longer, he felt himself fully relax.

“You ever think about leaving LA?” he said quietly, his hand still in her hair. 

Her fingers paused.

She didn’t look up right away—just let the question hang there a second like it deserved its own breath.

Then “You mean for good?”

Joe didn’t press. Just nodded once. “Yeah.”

“All the time,” she said.

Joe didn’t respond right away. Just kept tracing slow, absent lines along her shoulder.

“It’s good for work,” Riley added. “For the band. Meetings, sessions, press, all that noise. But I don’t know… it’s not home.”

She turned her face a little, resting her cheek more firmly against his thigh.

“It gets lonely,” she said. “Even when I’m busy. Especially when I’m busy, actually. There’s too much of everything and not enough of anything that sticks.”

Joe stayed quiet, listening.

“A lot of shit with Ethan happened there,” she said. “And there are people I still run into sometimes. Old habits I don’t want near me. It’s not like I’m on the edge or anything. I’m not. It’s just… LA doesn’t forget who you used to be. Even when you’re trying to be someone different.”

“Andy loves it,” she said. “Pete could take it or leave it. Daniel hates it more than I do.

Joe didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low and even. “You think you’ll leave?”

Riley shifted slightly against him. Not pulling away, just enough to glance up and check if he was looking at her.

He was.

“Yeah,” she said.

It wasn’t a maybe. Wasn’t hesitant.

“Not today,” she added. “Not tomorrow. But I don’t think I’m meant to stay there.”

Joe nodded, just once. Quiet understanding.

Riley let her head rest back in his lap, eyes fixed on the spot where the jasmine reached across the porch rail.

“Feels good to say that out loud,” she said after a while.

Joe looked down at her, his hand still resting lightly on her side.

“Thanks for sharing it with me,” he said.

Joe let the silence stretch a little longer. Then he asked, quiet and even, “You ever thought about moving the work here?”

Riley nodded. “Yeah. We’ve talked about it.”

She shifted slightly in his lap, not pulling away, just adjusting, her legs stretching out a little farther.

“Something outside the city,” she said. “Not in New Orleans proper. A little land, enough space to build something that’s ours. We’ve been in the hustle so long, we haven’t really slowed down to make it real.”

She looked up at him. “But yeah. It’s come up.”

The swing creaked beneath them, a gentle rhythm as Joe pushed against the porch floor with one foot. He was quiet, thinking about what she'd said. About LA not being home. About wanting somewhere with space, with land.

"What would you need?" he asked finally. "To make it happen?"

Riley considered this, her eyes following a hummingbird that darted toward the jasmine. "Time, mostly. To figure out the logistics. Find the right property. Build something that works for recording." She paused. "And everyone would need to be on board. It'd change a lot of things."

Joe nodded, his hand resuming its gentle movement through her hair. "The band would move too?"

"That's the idea," she said. "At least part-time. Andy might keep a place in LA. But Pete and Daniel... they'd be all in, I think."

Joe tried to picture it. Riley here permanently, not just between tours or on breaks. New Orleans would hold more of her. The distance between them would be fixed now, defined. Cincinnati to New Orleans, instead of Cincinnati to wherever she happened to be that week.

He’d asked without thinking too hard about it, but part of him had wanted to know. Not just if she’d leave LA, but if she’d ever look farther. If she’d ever look his way.

"It'd be good," he said, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "You here. Closer to your grandfather. To the things that matter."

Riley looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, sure now. "You light up here. It's different from how you are anywhere else."

Her fingers found his free hand, twining through it loosely. "Not everywhere else," she said softly.

Joe glanced down at her, not quite able to read her expression. "No?"

"I'm pretty sure I lit up in Cincinnati too," she said, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just in a different way."

The implication hung there, unspoken but understood. Joe didn’t push. He just tightened his hand around hers, quiet and steady.

She’d heard what he hadn’t quite meant to say. And that changed something, even if neither of them named it.

The swing moved with them, slow and even. The afternoon stretched soft and gold around them. No rush to figure anything out. Just the quiet sense that whatever came next, they were already thinking about it together.

* * *

The swing had gone quiet, their movement slowed to barely more than a breath. The sun was sinking now, casting the porch in a low amber wash.

Joe’s hand rested at her hip, steady and warm.

Riley’s voice broke the silence.

“You wanna go in?”

He nodded, but didn’t move yet. “Yeah. I was thinking I might take a shower.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curving just slightly.

Joe looked at her, already catching on. There was a glint in her eye, a hint of something unspoken.

“You wanna take one with me?” he asked, smile tugging at his mouth.

Riley didn’t blink. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

He tapped her thigh lightly. “Alright, come on,” he said, voice low.

The swing groaned in protest as they left it behind.

They made their way through the house, quiet and easy.

Riley turned the taps, and steam began to gather in the air. She pulled her tank over her head in one clean motion, the fabric catching slightly at her shoulder.

Joe stepped in behind her, quiet and steady like always. His shirt hit the tile beside hers. Then his jeans. Then his socks.

Nothing said. Nothing needed.

She stepped in first, eyes closed as the water hit her collarbone, running down her chest in rivulets.

Joe followed.

The space was small, but they didn’t bump or shift awkwardly. They knew how to move around each other now. 

Riley let the water slick her hair back, then turned, her hands finding his waist. Joe leaned into the spray, eyes fluttering shut as it hit his face.

He exhaled slowly.

Neither of them spoke.

She reached for the shampoo, worked a little into her palm, and stepped closer. Joe bent to meet her hands, his head lowered, eyes still shut. Her fingers moved gently through his hair, slow and sure, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make his breath hitch.

When she rinsed, his hands slid to her hips. Not pulling, not asking for more. Just holding. Like he needed the contact to make it real.

When it was her turn, he took the bottle from her without needing to be told.

His hands were larger, less practiced, but careful. Almost reverent.

Joe tipped her chin back gently, making sure no soap stayed at her temple. His knuckles brushed her jaw. Her eyes closed.

They stood under the water until the heat began to fade. Skin pruned, muscles loose, neither ready to let the moment shift just yet.

When they finally stepped out, towels wrapped and skin damp and chilled, Riley reached for the edge of the fogged mirror and wiped a small circle clean. Just enough to see her own face.

Joe watched her from behind, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his collarbone.

He didn’t say anything.

But when she caught his gaze in the glass, he didn’t look away.

They moved without hurry, toweling off as the last of the steam thinned in the air. Riley tugged on one of her softest shirts, oversized and collar stretched, then padded barefoot into the bedroom.

The light had changed since earlier. It came in low now, warm, brushing the floor in long streaks.

Joe followed a moment later, still drying his hair with one end of the towel. He didn’t say anything; he just watched her for a second, as if he were filing the whole scene away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her damp hair, not really trying to detangle it. Just moving slowly. Letting herself feel everything. The water on her skin. The weight of the day shifting.

Joe dropped the towel at the foot of the bed and pulled on a clean pair of shorts, his movements unhurried. When he crossed the room, Riley didn’t look up, but she felt the mattress shift beside her. His thigh against hers. Warm.

For a while, they just sat like that. Facing forward. Shoulders touching. Sharing the quiet.

Joe’s hand found hers without fanfare. He threaded their fingers together, thumb brushing lightly along the side of hers. 

She turned to him, and he met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It didn’t need to be. It just…was. She turned to him, and he met her halfway.

They lay back eventually, not under the covers, just stretched out on top, her head on his chest, his hand resting on the slope of her thigh. The room around them hummed with late afternoon stillness. Outside, the cicadas were starting up.

Neither of them said much. They didn’t need to.

His fingers traced lazy shapes against her leg, the same way hers had on the porch. Her breathing slowed to match his rhythm.

She could hear his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Steady and sure. The kind of sound that made everything else quiet down.

After a while, Joe's hand stilled on her leg. "Hey," he said quietly.

Riley lifted her head from his chest, meeting his eyes. "Hmm?"

"Need to get up for a second."

She shifted, rolling to the side to let him move. Joe sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the shorts and t-shirt he'd put on after their shower hanging loosely on his frame. He moved to where his bag sat on the floor near her dresser, kneeling with that unhurried precision that characterized everything he did.

Riley watched him, propped up on one elbow, sheet draped across her. Joe unzipped a side compartment, retrieving something small before returning to the bed. No explanation, no announcement—just that quiet certainty in his movements.

He settled beside her, a small velvet box in his hand. Black, slim, unassuming.

"Got you something," he said simply, extending it to her.

Riley's eyes moved from the box to his face, a hint of surprise flickering across her features. She sat up fully, the sheet tucked loosely around her, and took it. Her fingers were light against the velvet.

Opening it slowly, she found a bracelet that caught the late afternoon light and held it—gold scales textured like a serpent's skin, fluid and alive even while perfectly still. The clasp was subtle but distinctive, echoing a snake's head in a way that was elegant rather than literal.

Riley turned the bracelet in her hands, thumb brushing the clasp. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Joe didn’t say anything right away. Just watched her. Steady, open.

Riley looked at the bracelet for another second, then up at him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, a little quieter now. “You just… saw it and got it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Thought of you.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. Like he didn’t even realize what it meant. Not really.

Something caught low in her throat. It wasn’t the bracelet, not really. It was the fact that he’d been out, living his day, and somewhere in the middle of it, he’d seen something and thought: Riley would like this.

That hadn’t happened before.

She nodded once, not trusting her voice. Then held out her wrist.

Joe took it carefully, fastening the clasp with that quiet precision of his. The bracelet slid into place like it had always belonged there. His thumb grazed the inside of her wrist before he let go.

“There,” he said.

Riley looked down at it. Then at him.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “Wanted to.”

Her chest tightened, not in a bad way, just sudden.

She leaned in, pressed her lips to his. Slow. Deliberate. More thank you than anything else.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far. Just rested her forehead against his, her voice low.

“No one’s ever done that.”

Joe's jaw flexed slightly, the only outward sign of what those words did to him.

“You deserve it,” he said. Simple. Certain.

He didn’t look away. And she felt it land low and real, right where she carried the part of her that still wasn’t used to being chosen like this.

* * *

Riley didn’t say anything at first. She just set the box aside and shifted into his lap, slow and certain.

Joe didn’t move, just let his hands rest at her hips as she leaned in and kissed him softly, unrushed, full of feeling.

When she pulled back, she looked at him like it was already obvious.

“Thank you,” she said. Quietly.

Joe just nodded, his thumb brushing her side. “You’re welcome.” 

Riley didn’t move at first. Just stayed there in his lap, one knee on either side of him, the hem of her T-shirt skimming her thighs. Her hands were on his shoulders. Just there to feel him close.

She looked at him for a long moment, something settling behind her eyes. Like she caught a piece of him he didn’t mean to show, and decided to hold it anyway.

Then, quietly,

“Let me take care of you.”

Joe didn’t speak. Just blinked once. She felt the way his hands tensed a little where they rested at her hips, not in resistance. Just in that way, he always did when he was trying to stay in control of himself.

She kissed him again. Slow. Deliberate. More breath than pressure.

And when she pulled back, she didn’t look away as she slid off his lap, settling on the floor between his knees.

Joe watched her the whole way down.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. She just let her hands settle on his thighs, her thumbs brushing along the inside like she was smoothing something invisible out of him.

He was still. Breathing steadily. But she could feel it in him, that quiet coil he carried all the time. The one he never let slip unless he was with her.

It wasn’t a show. Just a quiet thank you, pressed into skin.

Her voice was soft as her fingers curled under the waistband.

“Okay?”

Joe didn’t nod this time. Didn’t move. He just looked at her, like maybe he couldn’t believe she was real.

Then, rough and low,

“Yeah.” 

She didn’t rush. She didn’t look away.

Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, easing the fabric down over his hips, her knuckles grazing his skin as she went.

 Joe shifted slightly, lifting for her without being asked. That alone said everything, how much he trusted her, and how much he wanted this too.

Once his shorts were off, she let her hands settle on his thighs again. Just breathing. Just taking him in.

She could feel the heat of him. Could see the way his cock was already thickening, the weight of it pressing against the cotton of his briefs.

But she didn’t reach for it yet.

Instead, she leaned in and kissed the skin just above his waistband, right at the dip of his hip. Quiet. Intentional.

Joe exhaled hard, the kind of breath that sounded like it had been sitting in his chest for too long.

Her voice barely carried, but he heard it.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just let me.”

He didn’t say anything. Just let his hands fall back to the bed, fingers curling into the comforter behind him like he needed something to hold on to.

Joe’s jaw was tight. Not because he was tense, but because he was trying not to come undone

She tugged the fabric down, and he lifted again for her, quiet and obedient. Not because she asked, but because he wanted to give her whatever she needed.

His cock sprang free, heavy and already half-hard. Her breath caught. Just want, hitting all at once.

She didn’t flinch or look away. Just took him in, calm and sure. Like she already knew he liked this. Like she loved him like this.

She shifted closer, her hand wrapping around him. Careful, but not tentative. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She lowered her head with no hesitation.

And when her mouth closed over him, slow, soft, wet, Joe’s whole body went still.

Not tense. Not bracing.

Just quiet.

She started with just the head, lips sealing around him with purpose. A slow pull, the kind of suction that made him twitch against her tongue. No rush. No show. Just the kind of pressure that said she knew exactly where he was most sensitive and wanted him to feel it.

Joe let out a low breath through his nose, eyes locked on her. One hand slid forward, fingers grazing her hair, not to guide her, just to touch. Like he needed the anchor.

She hollowed her cheeks slightly, easing down a little further. Not all at once. Just enough to feel him pulse on her tongue. Her hand moved in tandem, stroking the base with the same rhythm her mouth had found slow, steady, present.

Joe’s fingers tightened slightly at the back of her head.

“Riley.” It came out quietly, hoarse. Like he hadn’t meant to say it, but couldn’t help himself.

She looked up at him, her mouth still around him, and something in her expression wrecked him. She wasn’t asking for anything. She wasn’t seeking a reaction. She was offering. Quietly. Intimately. Like she already knew she belonged there—like his body had always made space for her. 

Then she closed her eyes again and took him deeper. Slower this time. Her hand moved with her mouth, smooth and deliberate, matching the pressure of her lips. It wasn’t about technique. It was about feel. About how she knew exactly what he needed, not just his body, but all of him.

Joe’s breath caught, barely audible, and the hand still tangled in her hair flexed like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She could feel him start to swell more fully against her tongue, feel the tension begin to build in his thighs. He was holding back, of course, he was. He always did. Always trying to stay composed, even now, when she had him bare and breathless in her mouth.

She pulled back just slightly, let her tongue drag across the underside of him before she eased down again. A rhythm, not fast, but focused. Intentional. Like she was trying to pull the weight from his chest, one slow stroke at a time.

His hips shifted under her, just barely, like he couldn’t help it. She tightened her hand a little and hollowed her cheeks again, and that made him groan quietly, strangled, like the sound slipped out before he could stop it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes falling shut.

Still trying to hold it together.

She didn’t stop. Just kept giving. Kept knowing.

She pulled back just enough to breathe and look at him, his chest rising, eyes heavy, jaw clenched like he was still trying to hang on.

Then she whispered it, soft and certain, the words falling from her lips like a secret only meant for him.

“Baby… let go.”

Something in his expression cracked. Just a flicker, but she saw it.

And then she took him back in. Faster this time, but just as focused. Like she was pulling him out of something heavy. One stroke at a time.

Joe let out a low, broken sound. His hips lifted just slightly into her mouth, breath stuttering as the restraint in him finally began to shake loose. One hand slid down her back, not to stop her. Just to touch her. To feel something solid while the rest of him started to unravel.

He was close now. She could tell. The way his thighs tensed beneath her palms, the way his cock pulsed thick and full against her tongue. He was still trying to stay quiet, of course, he was, but he was losing that now, and she loved him for it.

Loved that he trusted her enough to come undone.

She didn’t rush him.

Just stayed there, mouth warm around him, hands steady at his thighs, watching the tension rise through his body like a tide he could no longer hold back.

Joe’s head dropped, breath rough through his nose, brow tight with effort. His hand shifted in her hair, not rough but firm now, guiding her just enough. He was close, and his body knew it before he did.

She felt it before he said anything. The way he tightened under her. The way his whole body braced, like something was about to break open inside him.

And then—

“Fuck, Riley—”

His voice cracked, and that was it.

He came hard, hips jerking once against her mouth before he caught himself, his other hand curling into the bedsheet like he needed something to bear the weight of it.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. She took all of him, let him give it to her slow and messy and full, every pulse of him spilling against her tongue. She held him through it, eyes closed now, her hand still stroking slowly at the base as he emptied into her.

He groaned low, not sharp, not loud. Just raw. Unmasked.

And when it passed, when his muscles finally eased beneath her palms, she stayed there a moment longer. Letting him breathe. Letting him feel what it meant to be held like that.

She pulled back slowly, careful, her lips still parted as she swallowed. Her breath came softly through her nose. She didn’t wipe her mouth right away, just looked up at him from between his knees, her fingers still splayed lightly on his thighs, thumbs brushing absent circles like she was calming him back down from wherever he’d gone.

Joe looked wrecked.

Head tipped back slightly. Chest rising slowly. One hand still clenched in the bedsheet, the other limp in her hair like he’d forgotten it was there.

When his eyes finally found hers, they were heavy-lidded, glassy, like he hadn’t come all the way back yet.

She gave him the smallest smile. Not coy. Just… soft.

Then she stood slow and sure, knees brushing his as she rose and climbed back into his lap without a word. Straddled him again like before, her thighs warm against his, her hands sliding gently up his arms until they settled at the back of his neck.

He let her.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just rested his forehead against her collarbone, breath still uneven, hands sliding around her waist like he needed to hold something real.

Riley stroked the back of his neck. Quiet, grounding. Like she knew exactly how to bring him home.

“You good?” she whispered.

Joe nodded into her shoulder, slowly. His voice was rough when it came.

“Yeah.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Jesus.”

She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, her smile soft against his skin.

“Did I break you?”

Joe let out a breath, voice low and wrecked. “Maybe a little.”

She laughed quietly and warmly and pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while. Riley in his lap, her arms loosely around his neck, her body warm and steady against his. His forehead rested against her shoulder, and she could feel his breath shift slowly, grounding, like he was finally settling back into himself.

She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just let her fingers trail gently through the short hair at the nape of his neck, calming, constant. Like she could ease whatever still lingered in him.

His hands stayed at her waist. Not to guide. Just to hold. Like she was the thing keeping him grounded.

Fading light slipped through the window, warm against his skin. Evening sounds carried in from the street, but they barely registered.

Like they’d stepped into a pause.

He shifted a little, just enough to look at her. His eyes were clearer now, still quiet. Still full.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at her the way he always did when he didn’t have the words for what he felt.

And Riley, without needing to ask, leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Soft. Certain.

She stayed there, forehead against his, the weight of the moment still hanging between them.

And for a long while, neither of them moved.

Eventually, Riley shifted in his lap, just enough to press a soft kiss to his temple before she stood. She didn’t say anything. Just moved with quiet ease, her bare feet making no sound as she crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

Joe stayed where he was, elbows on his knees now, his body loose in a way it rarely was. His head dipped forward for a second like he was catching up to himself.

She returned a minute later with a warm cloth, folded small in her hands. Knelt between his legs again like it was the most natural thing in the world. And when she reached for him gently, unhurried, he didn’t flinch.

She cleaned him up with that same quiet care. Not clinical. Not showy. Just real.

He watched her the whole time, something unreadable in his expression. Something soft and unguarded.

Just hers.

Joe exhaled softly, eyes still on her. That look again like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Riley gave him the smallest smile. Then stood again, moving toward the laundry hamper in the corner to toss the clothes in.

Joe tugged his boxers back up, slower than usual. Like the moment still hadn’t fully let him go.

The sound of her footsteps padded down the hall, followed by the low creak of the fridge door opening. A cabinet closing. The gentle clink of a glass being set on the counter.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at the floor, feeling the hum of her still in his body.

Then he stood.

The house was quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. He followed the sound of her ice clinking gently in a glass, the refrigerator door closing with a soft thud.

She was at the counter, back to him, pouring water into a tumbler. Loose strands of hair had slipped from behind her ear. Her T-shirt hung long on her frame, one shoulder bare.

He stepped in behind her quietly, gently, and leaned in.

Pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, warm and slow. He felt her pause, just for a second.

“Thank you,” he said, low against her skin.

Riley didn’t turn around right away. Just set the glass down and let her fingers brush over his where they’d come to rest lightly at her hips.

“You’re welcome,” she said, just as softly.

Then she leaned back into him, her body fitting into his like it always had a place there.

It wasn’t just the orgasm. It was what came with it the way she saw him, held him, made him feel like he didn’t have to keep everything inside.

* * *

She tossed the peeled garlic into the pan, the sizzle filling the quiet. Joe stayed where he was, arms folded across his chest, content just to watch her move. The smell of butter and spice bloomed in the air, rich and familiar.

Then her phone rang from the windowsill, screen lighting up with Papa in bold letters.

Riley wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked it up, already smiling. “Hey Papa.”

“Hey baby,” he said, voice warm and familiar. “I was just callin’ to check and see if Joe made it in alright.”

Riley glanced over at Joe, who met her eyes across the kitchen. She smiled a little. “He did. He’s sitting in my kitchen right now lookin’ real suspicious of the way I’m about to repurpose these shrimp.”

Joe huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Good,” Papa said. “Just wanted to check on y’all before I went to sleep and see what time y’all pickin’ me up tomorrow.”

“Thinkin’ around ten-thirty,” she said, turning the burner down. “That work for you?”

“Sounds good.”

“Joe, son, I’m lookin’ forward to finally meetin’ you.”

Joe raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Same here. Appreciate the invite.”

There was a pause, then Riley’s Papa chuckled. “Alright then. I’m gonna let y’all get back to your evening. This old man’s gotta get some sleep.”

“Night, Papa. Love you,” Riley called out, already moving to put her phone on the sill.

She stirred the pan again. “You hear that?” she said, still facing the stove. “Already in good graces.”

Joe leaned back in the chair, eyes on her.

"That's a relief," he said. "Though I'm guessing his in-person vetting process might be a bit more thorough." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What else should I know before meeting him?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes soft. “Just be yourself,” she said. “He’s gonna love you.”

* * *

Riley scooped the last of the shrimp into the pan, gave it a final stir, then cut the heat. She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating the food without saying much.

Joe leaned back in his chair, watching her. Still quiet. Still coming down from the last few hours, the kind of full you don’t always get from food.

She set a bowl in front of him, shrimp and grits, still steaming, garnished like she actually cared what it looked like, and reached for another plate.

“Go ahead and start,” she said, not looking up. “I’m gonna run a plate over to Ms. Josephine real quick.”

Joe blinked, like it took him a second to process.

“The neighbor?

Riley nodded. “Yeah. She hasn’t been feeling great. I’ve been bringing her little things. This’ll last her a couple of meals.”

She pulled a paper bag from the drawer and slipped the plate inside, fingers moving quickly and easily.

Joe didn’t argue. Didn’t offer to go. He just sat there, one hand resting on the bowl she’d made for him, the other on the table, watching her like he was still learning her in real time.

And maybe he was.

The screen door clicked shut behind her, and Joe sat still for a moment, eyes on the space she'd just left.

Then he stood, carrying his bowl with him, and stepped out onto the porch.

The evening was warm, heavy with jasmine and the slow hum of insects. Across the street, he could see Riley in the streetlight, a covered dish balanced in her hand as she talked to someone just beyond the screen of another porch. Ms. Josephine. He remembered her from the last time. Just a quick hello, a kind smile. He couldn’t hear Riley’s words but could tell she was smiling. That specific smile she reserved for people she’d known forever.

He sat on the top step, bowl balanced on his knee, spoon in hand. Took a bite. It was stupid good, rich, salty, spicy, creamy. Something deeper than comfort food. It tasted like someone cared if you'd eaten. If you were alright.

He watched as the elderly woman's hand reached through the screen door to accept the leftovers, lingering on Riley's wrist for a moment in silent gratitude. A simple exchange that spoke volumes about who Riley was when no one was watching.

She moved like someone who belonged everywhere. Someone who remembered neighbors' birthdays and saved portions of dinner without being asked. Someone who knew what mattered.

And all he could think was God, she's better than me.

Not dramatic. Not self-pitying.

Just true.

He took another bite and let the quiet settle around him, wondering if the food tasted even better now that he'd seen this small act of kindness, this glimpse of the Riley that existed before him and would exist long after.

Ms. Josephine called something after Riley that made her laugh, the sound carrying across the quiet street. She waved goodbye, lingering a moment before turning back toward home toward him.

When she spotted Joe on the steps, she paused briefly, as if seeing him in a new light, then crossed the street with unhurried steps. The warmth of the evening clung to her as she approached, settled beside him on the porch step, their shoulders not quite touching.

"Ms. Josephine says the Saints are going all the way this year," Riley said, leaning back on her palms. "I didn't have the heart to tell her what you'd think about that."

Joe smiled, still working on the last of his food. "Smart. Don't want to get you banned from the neighborhood."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the rhythm of the night around them. A distant car. Cicadas. Someone's wind chimes three houses down.

"You do that a lot?" Joe asked finally, nodding toward Ms. Josephine's. "The leftovers thing."

Riley shrugged, but there was nothing dismissive about it. "Her arthritis makes cooking hard. And she used to feed half the block when I was growing up." She glanced at him. "Not a big deal."

But it was. That was the thing about Riley that kept throwing him off balance, the way she wore her goodness so lightly. Like it wasn't worth mentioning.

"You're good at this," he said quietly.

"At what? Feeding the elderly?" Her tone was teasing, but her eyes stayed on his, curious.

"At..." He gestured vaguely with his spoon, searching for the right words. "Being connected. To a place. To people." He set his empty bowl beside him. "I don't think I've ever brought my neighbor leftovers."

“Well, in your defense,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his, “all your neighbors are probably rich. They’ve probably got chefs.”

Joe let out a soft breath—almost a laugh. “Probably,” he said. “Though that’s not really an excuse, is it?” He looked out at the street, at the houses with their porch lights coming on one by one as darkness fell. "I don't even know most of their names."

The quiet admission felt easier than explaining what he was really thinking, that wealth and status had somehow distanced him from the kind of community Riley seemed to create so effortlessly. That somewhere between Ohio and the NFL, he'd traded connection for control.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just passing through everywhere I go," he added, quieter now.

The words felt raw once they were out, more honest than he'd intended. But Riley didn't rush to fill the silence or offer easy reassurance. She just let his admission breathe between them.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Or maybe you just haven't found your place yet." She turned to face him, her expression open, unguarded. "Sometimes it's not about where. It's who."

Riley held his gaze for a moment after she spoke, then pushed herself up with a soft exhale.

“I should grab mine before it gets cold,” she said, brushing her hands on her shorts as she stood.

Joe nodded, but didn’t move. Just watched as she disappeared back inside, screen door creaking shut behind her.

A minute later, she returned with her bowl and a fresh napkin, settling beside him on the step like she’d never left.

They didn’t speak at first. Just ate, side by side, their plates lit by the soft glow from inside the house.

* * *

Joe lay on his back, Riley’s head resting in the crook of his shoulder, her breathing steady against his chest. The ceiling fan above them turned lazily, barely disturbing the quiet that had settled between them.

Tomorrow, he would meet her family, her grandfather, the man she called Papa, whose approval seemed to matter more to Riley than anyone else’s. Joe wasn’t nervous exactly, but there was a weight to it that felt significant. Like crossing some invisible threshold in their relationship.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Riley murmured, her voice husky with sleep as she traced idle patterns on his chest. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”

Joe smiled in the darkness, his fingers finding their way into her hair. “Just thinking about the first time I was here.”

“At my house?” She shifted to look up at him, chin resting on his chest.

“Yeah.” He paused, gathering words for something he’d never said out loud. “I never told you… what it was like. Walking in here that first time.”

Riley propped herself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. Joe didn’t offer up personal revelations easily unless they clawed their way out. “Tell me,” she said softly.

He was quiet for a moment, eyes on the ceiling. “Remember that record store?”

She nodded, her hair brushing his skin.

“I never told you why I bought that Talking Heads album.” He shifted slightly, turning toward her. “When I walked into your house that night, this song just… showed up in my head. ‘This Must Be the Place.’”

His voice stayed low, steady. “My dad used to play it on Sunday mornings when I was a kid. It was the happiest I ever felt growing up, just normal, quiet moments when everything felt right.”

He paused, swallowing. “Then I walk into Elvin’s shop, and it’s right there. Front and center. Like the universe was trying to tell me something.”

Riley didn’t speak. Just looked at him, eyes soft and open in the low light.

“I don’t really believe in signs,” he said.

“But?” she prompted.

He looked over at her.

“But I believed that one.”

Riley's breath caught somewhere in her chest. Joe wasn't a man of many words, which made the ones he chose matter more. A simple admission like that from him felt monumental.

"You never said anything," she said finally. Not accusatory, just wondering.

Joe's hand found the small of her back, warm against her skin. "What would I have said?" His voice was low, almost contemplative. "That walking into this house made me feel more at home than any place I'd lived in for as long as I can remember?"

Riley stayed quiet, listening.

"That I felt that way after knowing you for a week? Two?" He exhaled, the sound barely audible. "That it made no sense how comfortable I felt in a place I'd never been before, with someone I barely knew?"

He paused, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "We'd had dinner once in New York. A couple of phone calls. That was it. And then I'm standing in your living room feeling like..."

He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Like what?" Riley prompted softly.

"Like I'd been looking for something without knowing what it was. And suddenly there it was." He shifted slightly, his eyes finding hers in the darkness. "It wasn't just the house. It was you in it."

Riley felt a flicker of vulnerability at his admission. They'd only met in February, and here they were in late April, already so tangled in each other's lives. It had happened fast, maybe too fast for logic, but somehow exactly right in every other way.

"I know it's crazy," he continued, as if reading her thoughts. "We barely knew each other then. Hell, we barely know each other now." His voice held no uncertainty despite his words. "But I think that's what scared me the most, how it didn't feel like we were strangers. Not even from the beginning."

Riley placed her palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her hand. "I know," she said simply, because she did. That immediate recognition had been there for her too, though she'd tried to dismiss it as attraction, chemistry, anything but what it had actually been.

“I felt it too,” she admitted. “That first night here. I’ve brought people into this house before, but watching you take it all in was different. Like you were seeing parts of me I hadn’t shown you yet, and you weren’t running for the door.”

She let out a small, breathless laugh. “I thought I was imagining it. That connection. I kept telling myself we barely knew each other, that it was just… I don’t know, chemistry or something. Because the alternative was terrifying.”

She leaned down and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. “Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. “For telling me. For being here. For buying a record you couldn’t even play.”

Riley watched him a moment longer, her hair falling around them like a curtain. He looked up at her, steady and unguarded, and it stirred something deep and certain inside her.

She could have said it then. Could have let it slip out easy, right there between them.

But she didn’t. She kissed him then. Not urgent, not hurried. Just real. The kind of kiss that settled instead of sparked. That said, I’m here.

When she started to move, ready to deepen it, Joe’s hands moved to her hips. He guided her down onto her back with a quiet kind of care, like he didn’t want to rush any of it.

Her head hit the pillow. “Joe…”

“I need to,” he said quietly, already kissing down her neck, over her collarbone.

She didn’t say anything else, just lay back, her chest rising beneath his touch, the sheet cooling quickly as he pushed it aside.

His fingers found the waistband of her underwear. He didn’t rush. Didn’t look up right away. He just moved like he knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t want to miss any part.

When he did glance up, it wasn’t a question, not really. He just wanted her with him.

She didn’t answer with words.

Instead, she reached down slowly, deliberately, and slid her own underwear down her thighs, lifting her hips just enough to help. A quiet offering. Not shy, not performative. Just open.

Joe watched her, eyes dark and steady, like he was watching something sacred unfold.

He lowered himself without a word, settling between her legs like that had been the plan all along. Not rushed. Not tentative.

Her breath caught when he kissed the inside of her knee, then again higher, her thigh, her hip. No rhythm yet, just reverence.

She ran her fingers through his hair, not guiding him, just needing to touch him. To keep him close.

She didn’t shake or gasp or fall apart. She just went still, breath shallow, like her body couldn’t keep up with what it meant to be wanted like this.

* * *

Joe woke at 6:43 AM, eyes opening to the golden morning light already streaming through Riley's lace curtains. Beside him, Riley slept deeply, one arm flung above her head, her breathing slow and even. He watched her for a moment, taking in how the sunlight caught in her hair, turning the strands to burnished gold against the white pillowcase.

Carefully, he eased himself from the bed, practiced at not disturbing her. Experience had taught him that Riley slept like the dead before 9 AM, a fact that still amused him, given his own hardwired early-rising habits.

He moved quietly through her room, finding his running shoes in his bag. The ritual was familiar, routine. He put on his compression shorts, performance t-shirt, shoes laced to the perfect tension. His mind was already shifting into preparation mode, not for a game, but for something that felt equally significant.

Meeting Willis Carter, Papa, wasn't just about making a good impression. It was about showing up as the man Riley had seen last night, the one who was more than carefully crafted press conferences and calibrated public appearances. The real Joe. Whoever that was.

Outside, the morning was already warm, the sun well above the horizon, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. New Orleans was coming to life around him, with early risers walking dogs, a few people heading to work, and the occasional delivery truck rumbling past. The city had a different energy in the morning light, less chaotic but no less vibrant than it had been at night.

He set off at an easy pace, letting his body warm up as he mapped a route through Riley’s neighborhood. His mind worked the way it did before games. Methodical. Strategic. He wasn’t nervous, exactly. Joe Burrow didn’t get nervous. But he was focused. Aware of the stakes.

What did he know about Papa? Riley spoke of him with reverence tinged with protectiveness. He and her Gram raised her when her mother couldn't, or wouldn't. Worked multiple jobs to keep them afloat. Gave Riley her first guitar, a fact she'd shared late one night in Cincinnati, her voice soft with memory.

Joe turned a corner, increasing his pace slightly. If football had taught him anything, it was that preparation mattered, but adaptation mattered more. You could study every play, memorize every strategy, but in the end, it came down to showing up fully present, ready to respond to whatever happened on the field.

Today would be no different.

By the time he circled back to Riley's street, the sun was higher, the heat beginning to build in earnest. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, his mind clear and focused in that post-run state that always felt like a reset.

He let himself in quietly, half-expecting the house to be as silent as when he'd left. Instead, he caught the faint notes of music coming from the kitchen, something bluesy and old, with a voice like gravel over velvet.

Following the sound, he found Riley at the stove, her back to him as she swayed slightly to the music. She wore one of his t-shirts, the hem hitting mid-thigh, her hair piled messily on top of her head. The domesticity of the scene hit him with unexpected force.

"You're up early," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Riley turned, a slow smile spreading across her face as she took in his running clothes and damp hair.

“And you’ve been productive, I see.”

She nodded toward the counter.

“Made you a shake. Didn’t know exactly what you liked, so I Googled a recipe that looked decent. Chocolate, banana, almond butter. Hopefully close to what you’re used to.”

Joe crossed the kitchen and picked up the shake, the weight of it familiar, the gesture anything but. She wasn’t a morning person. He knew that. And still, she’d gotten up, made sure there was something waiting for him. That landed hard in his chest.

Morning light spilled across the counter. Riley moved around the kitchen like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. It was exactly how he liked it.

Then he set the glass down, stepped in close, and kissed her. No build-up. No teasing. Just a kiss that said everything he didn’t know how to say.

Riley smiled as he pulled away, then turned back to the stove like it hadn’t just shifted something in the room. She flipped the French toast, the edges golden and crisp.

“You should try the routes through the Garden District sometime,” she said, voice easy. “Cooler in the mornings with all those oak trees.”

He took another sip, then glanced at her over the rim of the mug. “You should come with me next time.”

He leaned against the counter, glass in hand, sweat still drying across his chest. His shirt clung at the collar and shoulders, and his hair, never really neat to begin with, was sticking up at odd angles, unruly from the run and the weight of the headband he’d just pulled off. A few pieces curled damp against his forehead, catching in the light.

She didn’t mean to stare. But there was something about the way he looked in that moment, flushed, loose-limbed, hair a mess, body buzzing from exertion, that knocked something loose in her.

“I’d like that,” she said when he suggested the run. It came out softer than she intended.

He nodded, watching her for a beat. Not pressing.

She turned back to the stove, reaching for the plates. As she moved past him, her fingers skimmed his arm lightly, casually, but her pulse kicked all the same. His skin was warm. Still humming from movement. Still carrying the scent of wind and salt and something so unmistakably him that it made her head go a little quiet.

She didn’t say anything.

But she needed to move.

Or she was going to reach for him without thinking.

They ate standing up, plates balanced on the counter, too hungry to bother with the table. The French toast disappeared fast, the bacon even faster, quiet chewing, occasional glances, and something humming low beneath it all.

Riley moved around him easily, brushing past to refill her coffee, her bare shoulder grazing his arm in a way that felt more deliberate than accidental. She didn’t mean to linger, but she didn’t really stop herself, either.

Joe set his fork down and leaned into the counter slightly, watching her over the rim of his glass. His voice was low, casual but not careless.

She could feel the shift in his attention. The way his eyes tracked her, not overt or showy, but hungry in a way that felt deeper. Like he’d taken in everything she hadn’t said and already made up his mind.

His gaze didn’t leave hers. “We have time?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the way he said it. Low. Even. Like he wasn’t asking permission, just checking the clock before he did what he was already planning to do.

“For what?” she asked, though part of her already knew.

He held her there with just his eyes.

Joe raised his eyebrows, not smiling. “Riley, you know what I mean.”

Something in her stilled.

They were standing in a warm, sunlit kitchen, plates half-stacked by the sink, her coffee still steaming. But the air shifted like it had thickened around them, like the room was waiting to see what she’d say.

“We don’t have to pick up Papa until ten,” she said, voice barely above a murmur.

Joe didn’t wait for more.

He stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her waist, and then she was weightless, lifted in one smooth, practiced motion, his shoulder pressed against her stomach, her hair swinging forward.

“Joe—”

He was already moving, steady down the hall like this was routine, like he knew exactly what she needed before she did.

“You could’ve warned me,” she said, half breathless, half laughing.

His hand settled behind her thigh, his pace unhurried. “Bird,” he said, voice low near her back, “you were practically hyperventilating in the kitchen.”

Riley huffed a soft laugh against the fabric of his shirt. “I was not.”

“You were,” he said, steady as ever. “Kept looking at me like you didn’t know whether to finish your breakfast or climb me.”

She didn’t respond because he was not wrong, but because she didn’t trust her voice.

Joe adjusted his hold just slightly, his arm tightening beneath her knees. “I made the call.”

He carried her through the doorway like it was nothing, then crossed into the bedroom and set her down at the edge of the bed. His hands were steady, careful, like he was placing something he didn’t want to break.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, voice low. “Take your clothes off.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Riley didn’t move at first. She just watched the empty doorway, heart pounding in her chest.

Then she reached for the hem of her shirt.

When he came back, steam drifted behind him from the open bathroom door. His shirt was gone. So were his shorts. He was barefoot, quiet, eyes already on her.

Riley had done what he asked. Mostly. Her shirt was off, balled on the floor near her feet. She was still working on the rest, but paused when she saw him.

Joe didn’t speak. Just walked toward her, calm and sure, like he always was when he knew exactly what he wanted.

He stopped in front of her and looked down, eyes sweeping over her in a way that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hesitant. Just… his.

“Good girl,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Then he leaned in and kissed her. Hard. No hesitation. No buildup.

He turned her with both hands, guiding her down onto the bed, her body folding easily under his touch.

She caught herself on her elbows. Joe moved in behind her, warm and solid, his hands rougher now. He still hadn’t cooled off completely, not from the run, not from her. And it showed.

Her breath came fast, shallow beneath him, and he felt it — the way she arched, the way her body answered his without hesitation. It lit something in him. Pushed everything sharper.

He gripped her hips tighter and leaned in, mouth close to her ear. “You feel that?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t really an answer. Not with the way she pushed back into him, not with the way her breath caught again when his hand slid down to guide himself against her.

He pressed in slowly, just enough for both of them to feel it.

Riley’s fingers curled into the sheets. She made a sound, soft but broken, and it went straight through him.

Joe’s grip tightened. He sank into her all at once, one smooth, solid thrust, and everything else fell away.

The slap of skin, her breathing, his name, all of it tangled together, messy and real.

She was panting now, forehead pressed to her forearm, thighs trembling with every push.

He didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. Not with the way she was giving herself over to it. To him.

Every sound she made twisted something deeper inside him. The way she gasped when his angle changed. The way her hips pushed back to meet him, greedy for it. The way she said his name, like it was the only thing tethering her to the room.

His hand slid up her back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades, holding her steady. Not to control her to stay connected. To feel every inch of what she was giving him.

“Right there,” she choked out, voice high and breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He wasn’t going to.

Not until she came around him.

He felt it before she said a word, the way her body clenched tight, the way her breath broke into fragments. Her hand fisted in the sheets, her other reaching back for him like she needed something to hold on to.

Joe didn’t let go. Just kept his rhythm through it, steady, relentless, until she cried out, trembling under him, her whole body arching with it.

Only then did he let himself go.

He sank deeper, jaw clenched, a low sound tearing from his throat as he followed her over the edge. His hips stuttered once, twice, then held there, his hands still firm on her skin like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathing. Just there.

Joe leaned in, his voice low near her ear. “Feel better now?”

Riley let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. Her body was still twitching beneath his, skin flushed and damp. She turned her head just enough for her cheek to brush his jaw.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. “Stop it.”

Joe smirked, pressing one more kiss to her shoulder before standing up just enough to give her ass a playful swat.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s shower this off. We’ve got to go meet your family.”

[sombrathedragon]

It’s my birthday today !! and honestly, I want to thank each and every one of you who made a post or sent a inbox ask or just wished me a happy birthday today, it genuinely made me really really happy that people I’ve never seen care for me just as much as my irl friends. :] ANYWAYS I’m feeling generous and in the birthday spirit so MUTUAL APPRECIATION TIME WITH ALL OF MY MOOTS !!!!

@real-odark !!!!! YOU GANG !!! You’re the one who actually got me to use and get an account on Tumblr lol and I gotta thank you for all those epic drawings you sent to me for my bday 😛😛😛😛 and your also like my only irl friend on here 🎉🎉

@wolfdog-weatherman I met you through your like wof x little shop drawing you did and I’m glad I did 😁😁 even though I don’t interact with you a lot you did convince me to watch ghd the musical and it is pretty banger so I gotta thank you for that vro !!!

@willoillo COOL PERSON ALERT !!!!! Guh you’re such a good artist and I can’t believe we’re moots and you’re really nice as well :3333 And um yeah im glad we’re moots :3

@theo-the-rockstar99 sorry for tagging you cause I know we like never talk ever but you seem like a cool awesome person so yeah !!! :33

@gay-witches-are-the-best CRICKET !!!!!!!!! YOU IS ALSO GANG !!!! Orghhh I’m also so glad we’re moots !!! Your Wicked art is SO AMAZING and you are such a nice and caring and cool person and aghahahahah yeah !1!!1!1!2!2

@scrollwyrm Scroll !!!!! Your art style is SO COOL !!!! Like I have never seen anything like it !!! /vpos I’m so glad I’m moots with a cool person like you !2!2!2!2!2!

@sprinkellz we don’t talk much buttt you also seem very cool and fire and dope !!!! And your art is cool !! :D

@salveofthesandwonks We don’t talk a lot but you were one of my first moots that I really talked to so yeah you like started my journey out I guess :3 you seem like a cool person !! :D

@minttea31 your art is AWESOME !!! Like I love how you shade and everything grhahhhhh !!1!1!1!1!2!2 I’m also glad I’m moots with a cool person like you even if we never talk !1!!1!1!1!1

@petrockenthusiast Your art and ocs seem so awesome !1!!1!1!2!2! And you also seem so cool !!!!!! :D I’m glad I’m moots with you !! :3

@spookys1fan We don’t talk like at all BUT your art is cool and awesome !!! You also seem awesome and cool !! :]

@secondhandtroubles You haven’t been online in a while but YOUR ART !!!! OH MY GODS ITS SO GOOD !!!1!1!1!1!1!1!1 I can’t believe I’m moots with a person like you !!!!!!

@lunaeclips We don’t talk that often but you seem cool and the art that I’ve seen of yours looks cool !! :] You seem like a dope person !!

@axilarycobra sorry for tagging you as we don’t talk like ever but your wof headcannons are cool and awesome !!! And I bet you’re as cool and awesome as them :]

@ninjazzy orghh your art is sick and um we don’t really talk ever but yeah :DD bet you’re awesome !!

@fourtytwo42 Okay sorry for tagging you cause we like don’t talk ever but your art is also SO GOOD !!!! And I think it’s really cool !!! :3

@raven-does-artstuff-894 We don’t talk a lot but I think you’re a cool person and your art is cool as well !!! I bet you’re awesome as well :33

T@fairyfrogmother We don’t talk at all hit I like your art style and your art and I think you’re a cool person !!!! :3 :D

@volleyballval You might not be online anymore buttt I think your wof art is cool !!!! And I’m pretty sure you also like TSOA so yeah !!!! :D bet you’re a cool and awesome person !!

@kotsuyadesign YOUR WOF STICKERS ARE SO COOL !!!!!! Would totally want to buy them someday !!! ^^ and you seem really cool !!!

@mythos321 MYTHOS !!1!!1!1!1!2!1!!1!2 COOL GUY ALERT !!!!! You are so cool and awesome !!!! I love all the little wof things combined with other fandoms you send me in my inbox (at least I’m pretty sure it’s you), they make my day :] And even though Im not in the Persona 5 fandom, your wof x persona 5 fanfic seems really cool !!!!

@rosy-cozy-radio Fellow corvid enjoyer !!!! You’re cool and you like epic the musical so that automatically makes you awesome as well 😎😎 I’m glad to have someone like you as my moot !!!!

@notodysseusofithaca YOU COOL !!!! WOF AND EPIC !!!!! Also I think you got me into watching Starkid (mainly just tgwdlm, Black Friday and npmd but hey it’s still something) you cool and awesome !!!!! Glad to have you as my moot !!!!!

@thequasarwinds We don’t talk much but you like wof and epic so automatic awesome person !!!! Anyways like I said you seem pretty cool and awesome and nice :DDD

@novalunosismyths we became moots because of your epic/the odyssey as a dating sim idea lol :3 but even if we don’t talk much, you still seem cool !!!! (And I still think about that epic dating sim,, Jorge you know what the people want /silly /j)

@seasonalmoss again we don’t talk much but like I said with your sibling you seem cool and dope and awesome !!! :D

@randommushro0m YOUR ART IS SO GORGEOUS HELLO !!?!?!?1!1?!1?1!1?1! I’m so glad someone with your awesome art skills became moots with little old me :333 you seem really cool and nice !!!!

@barnowlive I LOVE YOUR GREEK MYTHOLOGY/EPIC AS DRAGON DESIGNS !!!1!1!!1!2!2!2! GRAHHHHH !!!!!!! Anyways you’re so cool and awesome and I can’t believe I’m moots with some one like you !!1!1!1!1! :D

@moon-snailsss another one of my irl friends !!! :D thank you for the sugar cookie today it was lowkey fire,,, :33 hope a belted kingfisher comes up to u and you get to keep it :DD

@verridith we don’t talk like at all but your art is SO GOOD AND AWESOME LIKE WOAH !!!!!!! Glad I’m moots with a cool and awesome person like you !!!! :33

@mrmrsdarklordjrthethird like I’ve said for a lot of my moots we don’t talk like at all but I think your art is dope and I bet you’re a cool and nice person :DD

@harperfrost Harper !!!! Orgh love all the little convos we have every day even if we just say wawa back and forth :3 you seem very cool and I’m glad I’m moots with you :D

@brokenflaem123432 I alway liked your drawing a wof character a day series, and I think your art is really nice !!!! :D I think you’re cool and yeah !!! :)

@yellow-computer-mouse YELLOW THE LEGEND !!1!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2! I LOVE YOU AND YOUR FICTIVES /p !1!1!1!1!2!2!1!1!!1 orghhhh your art style and art and you are SO COOL AND AWESOME !!!!!!!! I am so glad to be moots with a person like you !!!!!

@crystalshifer I think your art has a ton of potential (and in no way do I mean that badly !! I just wanna say I can see you being a amzigg by artist in your future !! Even though your art already amazing 😛😛) I’m glad to be moots with you !!

@crowsorrel We don’t talk like at all but I like the way you shade and draw,, and I think you’re really cool and awesome :33 glad to be moots with a person like you :]

@eury-the-cow-man we don’t talk ever but I’m glad to be moots with Eurylochus himself lol /silly you seem really cool and nice though :]

@dawnxd wof fan !!! :3 and your art is actually really nice !!!!! :D you seem like a nice and awesome person, glad I’m moots with you :]

@plalache0 Your wof art is so cool and dope !!!!1!1!1 and you seem so nice and cool and awesome !!! Glad I’m moots with someone like you :33

@ac1dfang your art is also so cool and wow !!!! I love the way you shade and draw !!! Glad I’m moots with a cool person like you !!

@imnotskyguy-the-third SKYYYYYY !1!1!1!2!2! TUMBLR CAN NEVER GET RID OF YOUUUUU !1!1!1!!2!2!2!2! You’ve been such an awesome friend/moot and your were one of the first that I managed to convert to an epic fan !!!!! >:D I’m so glad I’m moots with you Sky !!! :3

@sunbitternb WOF AND EPIC !!!!! You seem like quite the awesome person and I love your art style !!! I’m standing by what I said that it tastes like pomegranate :33 glad I’m moots with you :D

@el-crafts AH EL YOU ARE SO SO TALENTED AND GRAHJJJJH I CANT BELIEVE IM MUTUALS WITH YOU ?!?!1?1!1!1’ oh em gee your wof maps and epic animations are SO SO GOOD and your art style is just !!!!!!! Im so glad to be moots with a person like you :DD (don’t mind how I like fangirled in this entire message 😭😭)

@ieatsporks11 wof fan !!!!! :33 you have like the EXACT same profile as one of my moots and I think that’s kinda funny :33 you seem really cool and awesome and I bet you are !! Glad I’m moots with a person like you :DD

Andddd that’s all my moots !!! I love each and every one of you !! /p and I am so so sorry if none of you wanted to be tagged !! Anywayssss I’m eepy