#people expect you to “read between the lines” when you literally CAN'T

[robinwithay]

i think a lot of people in the fandom have a bad habit of acting as if aziraphale should know everything we, the audience, know about crowley, and that he should therefore be more sympathetic to feelings that aziraphale literally doesn't even know crowley has, because crowley hasn't told him.

[abearinthewoods]

What is autism

I get what autism is and how it can work but only really on a superficial level, I don't get it really cause I don't have it.

Autism is a consistent mismatch between how you mean to come across, and how you actually come across. Autism is knowing and understanding every single cringe thing you've ever done, but only months after the fact. Autism is finding out at 34 that expectations of eye contact doesn't mean stare directly and only into their eyes. Autism is the fact that for every specific struggle an aspie has, there is another who excels at it, which only gets used to excuse why you deserve no compassion for your struggle.

Its the consistent self doubt related to every social interaction because you can't tell where lines are or why/when people are allowed to cross them. Until you just flip flop between holding everybody at arms length so that you don't get in trouble for accidentally-ing a boundary and feeling so isolated watching other people figure out how and when to dip into more familiar/friendly territory with others and deciding to say fuck it to the anxious thoughts and randomly stumbling upon a friend who you can finally connect with on more than a superficial level in the mist of 5 people who are now creeped out by you and are trying to convince said friend to ostracize you.

But on a more literal level, Autism is a brain whos subconscious operates purely on flood gates. Emotional situations will trigger seemingly no emotional reaction, unless the neurochemical strength hits past a threshold, and then it triggers all the emotional reaction. Even the ability to read somebody else, some part of you sees the facial signs, but the signals produce no response, until they hit past a threshold, then they trigger a full and sometimes overwhelming response.

And because we can't read other people, we don't see what people can read into us, correctly or incorrect, which often gets us into trouble.

tl;dr: Imagine if your subconscious could only whisper so quiet you can't hear anything or scream so loud you can't hear anything else.

[starcurtain]

I wish Hoyo would carry their own ideas through sometimes...

I know everyone is really focused on Mydei's current predicament and misery, but I can't stop thinking about his past and how insane the first half of his life would have been, if you take the plot seriously.

Spoilers for Mydei's leaked character stories(!!) and voice lines, but:

Just... imagine if Hoyo treated this backstory with actual weight for a second.

Mydei was thrown into the sea as an infant. He was young enough to have no memories of life on land--or even life with other human beings at all. He would have no one to teach him to walk, to speak, to function like a human being... He would essentially be an entirely feral creature, probably not even able to recognize a connection between himself and the idea of living on land.

Even after coming ashore at last, if this plot were treated realistically, learning to adapt to a human life would have taken time--he would have to learn the entire concept of language, let alone how to speak, read, and write... Fire, warmth, trusting others enough to allow them into one's vicinity--totally foreign concepts to him. He would have to learn how to walk upright after literally spending his entire life previously floating weightless in the sea.

We know from the leaked story that he rescued sailors lost at sea, indicating that his inherent nature is gentle:

But if he was able to save fisherman from the sea, why did it take him nine years to save himself? Why not just go with the fishermen and escape the sea earlier?

Because, applying logic again, a child with no exposure to other humans might not even recognize them as his own kind. He may react the same way a wild animal would to humans--with curiosity, but also with caution. Are they prey? Are they predators? Why do they look so similar but drown when they fall in the water, while he always, always, always returns? What are those noises they're making at him?

Given Tribbie's animation, it seems to me that it was Tribbie's star in the sky that finally coaxed Mydei from the water--but even if she had given a letter to him, he could never have read it back then.

Think of how disorienting it would be to go from a life of complete and abject loneliness, where you are the only one of your own kind, where every moment of your life is kill-or-be-killed, a constant battle of predation in the depths, to a life where suddenly you're among flocks of people, people who teach you to communicate with more than your claws and teeth, who tell you that you're not only one of them, you're the best of them, who expect you to lead them when you can barely even conceive of yourself as a human being at all...

And it's just right back into another war. It's nothing but the sea all over again, fighting fighting fighting fighting--

Then you finally find refuge, finally find a place that promises you a moment's rest... but the people who claim to be offering you sanctuary call you a savage, a beast, and treat you like you never got civilized in the first place. They won't let you call their city home. They won't accept you, no matter how hard you try to be human... Why have left the sea at all if no one will ever see you as anything other than a monster?

To still be kind after a life of cruelty. To still be gentle. To still be willing to give even more of yourself after clawing back from loss after loss after loss... To know even more pain and suffering are coming and to simply accept this as your lot in life, to have nothing to look forward to and to still be able to tell someone else not to let bitterness be all he knows...

What an agonizing tragedy. What an incredible character. Mydei, the man that you are!!!

[chenlezip]

tell your friends ♡

⤷ summary : you tell your friends you hate him but you can't get enough.

warnings : smoker!reader + smoker!hyuck (my baddd), swearing, not proof read.. idk what else ngl.. >_<

annas note : literally just got this idea because im listening to music while writing and.. chase atlantic came on, heard that line and thought, hell yeah i know what i'm gonna write. also lil smau? idk? im also really craving a sex on the beach now.. *lets out a heavy sigh* beggars can’t be choosers..

and… here you are, stood outside a random club waiting for your friends to come meet you. you were clad in a cute jean mini skirt, a bralette with a small cardigan on and knee high boots; obviously paired with cute accessories and having your hair done nicely, what if you saw a cute boy? you had to be prepared.

as you waited, you had a look at all the people who were heading inside, they were dressed just as good. i guess this club is where all the attractive people go, huh? you thought to yourself before you noticed one man who looked oddly very familiar. fuck, it’s haechan.

haechan noticed you out the corner of his eye as he waited outside with a friend, smirking and nudging the boy beside him, eyeing your direction. the boy looked over and noticed you, he looked stunned almost, immediately turning back around to haechan and whispering. you wondered what they were talking about but before you could go over, you heard karina screaming your name.

“y/n! oh my god!” she smiled as she ran toward you, engulfing you into a tight hug. it’s been a while since you’ve all seen each other so it was nice to finally get to hang with your girls again. “i’ve missed you guys so much, ugh.. you all look so good!”

“as do you!! i can’t wait to get fucked up tonight, i’ve already pre booked a taxi so do nottt worry~ i’ve got us covered, it’ll be coming 2am so we should leave early just to make sure we get it alright,” giselle explained to you all as you nodded in return, “i can give you some money toward it when i’m not wasted - just let me know, okay?” you smile as she shook her head.

“no need y/n, it’s my treat, come on!” giselle dragged you and the girls inside, sitting in a booth and scouring through the drinks menu. “i don’t know what to get.. everything sounds good,” ningning mumbled as she looked at the rest of you, “anyone know what they’re getting?”

“i’m just gonna get a sex on the beach - always my go to,” you spoke up as you waited for the others to be done deciding. once you all were, you ordered and had them delivered to the table, thanking the waiter who brought them over.

──── ୨୧ ────

you excuse yourself from the girls for a moment, wanting some fresh air and to light up a cigarette. you were dying for one and the alcohol in your system wasn’t helping your case either. as soon as you stepped out the club, you felt the night air hitting you and you let out a soft sigh. the wind made you feel a little bit more sober. you spark up a cig and place it between your lips, inhaling and breathing in the smoke. oh, how you missed this.

“got a spare?” you recognise that voice from anywhere. you gaze up and see haechan standing just opposite you, a lazy grin on his face as he stared you up and down. you just give him the one you were just smoking and spark up another. “thanks.” he says as he leans against the wall beside you.

“no problem,” you respond coldly as you look away, trying to find anything other than him to look at but you can’t help your eyes from wandering back.. he looked good tonight. his floppy brown hair was slicked back nearly, his golden skin glistening under the street light that was outside the club, a leather jacket and his white shirt adorning his body. you swore to yourself the last time you saw haechan that you still hated him.. but he knows otherwise and deep inside, so do you.

“still claiming you hate me then?” he eyed you, turning to lean on his shoulder now. you cough, “what?” you didn’t expect him to ask you that out of the blue. “you tell your friends you hate me but i know you can’t get enough, y/n, you’re not very secretive with it, huh?” he blew smoke out into the air. you focused on the way his lips parted a little, his jaw.. his adam’s apple.

you shake your head, “you’re seeing things lee donghyuck, maybe you should see someone for these delusions?” he just laughed in your face and threw his (your) cigarette to the ground, “yeah.. maybe i should, huh? but i won’t if you come crawling back again tonight,” he says before stepping on it to put it out properly and walking back inside the club. you go on your phone after he’s left and quickly type something on twitter, posting it to your private account.

you decide to head back inside and you just can’t seem to get your mind off of him, your eyes wandering around the club to find him. you see he’s got a pretty girl slung around him, she’s pressing her body up against him. never mind, you definitely hate him, why were you even starting to like a frat boy anyway? hello?

[arcanesea]

letters

PAIRING: lee seokmin x reader GENRE: established relationship, fluff WC: 620 WARNINGS: none

When you said you like letters better than flowers, it never crossed your mind that you would receive long paragraphs of text literally every day from Seokmin.

He still gets you flowers every few weeks, freshens up your window, and gives new color to your room. But he loves writing for you. He would spend some time before bed writing in your chat room, telling you everything.

"Did you receive it?" Seokmin asked when both of you meet during the weekend. His eyes shine with expectations that you soon snuff out by looking confused and saying no.

"Oh no..." Seokmin said. his face fell as he realized that you might never get it, that he might have messed it up in the process. After all, it's his first time sending letters through the post office, with stamps and all. Your heart sank when he told you.

"It's fine, don't worry. I remember everything... I'll just write another one and give it to you tomorrow." He reassured.

You went home in the evening, yanking the post box open, and found nothing. Motivated by the letter's content, you went to the post office, talking to the staff, trying to find your missing letter. When one of them digs through the pile of letters, you feel a spark of hope.

You went home immediately after receiving the letter with a golden retriever stamp. In it was the handwriting you recognize well. A two-page handwritten letter that makes your heart tinge with warmth.

I hope this reaches you, the first line read. I can't believe people used to do this back in the day to talk to each other. I don't think I can handle anticipating a reply.

You know, I always love writing letters. Especially for you. However, I find it difficult to put everything into words. But mostly, I find it difficult to explain my feelings when you're around. You make me the happiest in the world, and I love that you always reassure me that I make you feel the same way.

ever since I met you, I think I understand love better. I have more courage to love, because you, my adventurer, deserve the daring love. One that's not afraid to take consequences if it means proving you how loved you are. The good consequences.

But you also deserve the soft love, the pat on the head when days get tough, and the rub on the back when the world gets too cruel. I know just how to fix that with words, and I always love sending them to you because I know you captured them and keep a folder filled with soft words, and good words.

Aside from that, you also deserve guiltless love, the I love yous in the middle of the day just because, the I love yous in between activities because of how easy it was to love you.

And it was easy to love you. If you ever doubted that it was the other way around, I'm telling you; it was easy to love you. It was as easy as breathing, as blinking, as picking up my favorite snack in the convenience store, as reading my favorite book, as singing the lyrics to my favorite songs. by now, loving you is like a muscle memory.

You put the letter in your chest, inhaling sharply as you try to not cry. Seokmin has a way with words, that's for sure, and with him, you don't feel you're saying too much because he would say equally as much. Your world is crowded with his words, words that never stop making you smile.

I love you my star. Don't doubt that for a second.

You would never dare.

a/n. i think i teared up a bit while writing this. bcs as much as this is something he would write, i think i wrote this while thinking of him too. it is, indeed, easy to love him.

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Layover In Cincinnati | Chapter Seven

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 14.9k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, emotional vulnerability, intimate moments, jet lag kisses, borrowed clothes, and that bittersweet ache when saying "see you later" feels harder than you expected

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:

There's something transformative about seeing someone in their natural habitat. This chapter explores what happens when Riley steps into Joe's carefully ordered world—when vintage vinyl meets meal prep containers, when wet footprints disrupt pristine hardwood, when birthday cake appears in a minimalist kitchen.

For Joe, it's about creating space—both literally and figuratively—for something he never knew he needed. A turntable that doesn't match his decor becomes the perfect metaphor for Riley's presence in his life: unexpected, slightly out of place, yet somehow completing the picture. The house that always felt like a showroom begins to feel like a home when her coffee mugs are left without coasters and her laughter fills the high ceilings.

For Riley, it's witnessing the depth beneath Joe's composed exterior. It's discovering the thoughtfulness behind his gestures—a teal SpongeBob cake, a rare Howlin' Wolf pressing, a Bengals hoodie waiting after a transatlantic flight. It's realizing that his minimalism isn't coldness; it's simply a different language of care.

I wanted to capture that delicate dance of navigation when two people with fundamentally different rhythms try to harmonize. The contrast between Joe's structured existence and Riley's creative chaos isn't just a source of tension—it's the spark that makes them work. She teaches him to feel music rather than analyze it; he shows her the comfort in certain kinds of steadiness.

As they explore Cincinnati together, the seeds of future tension begin to take root. In the Range Rover with tinted windows, in Joe's careful statement about keeping things private "at least for now," we see Riley's quiet discomfort. She understands privacy—but there's a fine line between protection and hiding, one that triggers whispers of doubt. Though unspoken in the moment, her distinction between privacy and secrecy hints at challenges they'll need to navigate when their bubble eventually bursts.

Their honest conversation in Kentucky reveals their different perspectives while reinforcing their commitment to try. It's not perfect resolution, but rather the beginning of an ongoing negotiation. As they say goodbye at the airfield, the promise "This isn't it for us" feels both genuine and weighty with the unresolved questions that linger beneath the surface.

Thank you all for your incredible comments on the last chapter! Each one fills my creative well in ways you can't imagine. Your insights and reactions keep me going through every writing session.

I can't wait to hear what you think of this one! 🎵🏈🎧🌃

Asks are open, let's talk about this one.

Put on Massive Attack’s Mezzanine while you read. Let it fill the quiet spaces between the dialogue. Let it linger in the background like the feeling of someone’s hands on your hips, waiting for the next song to begin.

Happy reading!

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123

Riley gazed out the window as the private jet began its descent toward Cincinnati. The city sprawled beneath them, sunlight glinting off the river, sprawling neighborhoods framed by trees just starting to show signs of spring. She rarely opted for private flights despite having access to them—usually saving them for impossible tour schedules or desperate situations. But Joe had insisted, not as a display of wealth but because he'd genuinely wanted to make her journey easier after the long haul from Italy.

"You'll be exhausted enough without dealing with connections and crowds," he'd said when she'd protested. The thoughtfulness behind the gesture touched her more than the luxury itself.

She’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours straight—from the final night in Italy to the early morning drive to Rome, followed by the eight-hour flight to JFK. Her body clock was completely scrambled, her mind foggy with travel exhaustion. But beneath the fatigue was a nervous energy that buzzed through her veins. In less than fifteen minutes, she’d be seeing Joe again.

The decision to come straight to Cincinnati instead of going home to LA had just made sense, even if it felt a little impulsive. Her friends had backed her up without hesitation.

“I’ll still make it to LA for the studio session on Thursday,” Riley had assured Laura as they hugged goodbye.

“I know you will,” Laura had replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just be present in it, Ri. You deserve this.”

Now, as the pilot announced their final approach, Riley glanced down at her wrinkled outfit with a grimace. Between the Italian laundry schedule and the last-minute flight change, she was arriving in Cincinnati wearing yesterday's clothes and carrying a suitcase full of items that desperately needed washing. Not exactly the impression she'd hoped to make, but her options had been limited."

"She'd texted Joe about this predicament from JFK.

Riley: Just a heads up - arriving with exclusively laundry-deprived clothing. Expect me looking significantly less put-together than you. Also haven't slept in 24 hours so I may be slightly delirious. Still want me to come?

His response had been immediate.

Joe: Yes. And handled. Just get here.

The plane touched down smoothly on what appeared to be a private airstrip adjacent to the main airport. As they taxied to a stop, Riley peered through the window and saw a sleek silver Porsche waiting on the tarmac. And leaning against it, arms crossed casually over his chest, was Joe.

For a moment, Riley just watched him through the window, heart beating a rapid tattoo against her ribs. Then the pilot opened the door, and the crisp March air rushed in, making her pull her inadequate jacket tighter around herself."

The flight attendant handed Riley her carry-on with a smile. “Enjoy your stay in Cincinnati, Ms. Carter.”

“Thanks,” Riley said, ducking her head as she made her way down the steps.

Joe looked up as she descended, pushing off the Porsche to stand straight. He wore jeans and a simple gray henley, looking far more put-together than anyone had a right to after what she assumed had been a full day of training.

His face transformed with a smile that hit Riley like a punch to the chest—unexpected and so damn genuine it made the exhaustion slip away.

As she reached him, Joe didn’t lunge or make some big, sweeping gesture. Instead, he stepped forward with that steady, confident ease he always had, and cupped her face with one hand, brushing his thumb along her cheek. He leaned down and kissed her, soft but sure, lingering just enough to make her stomach flip.

When he pulled back, his smile softened, eyes scanning her face like he was still processing that she was actually here.

“Hi,” Riley managed, suddenly breathless.

“Hi,” Joe replied, his thumb brushing her cheek once more before he let his hand drop. “You made it.”

“I did,” Riley confirmed, huffing out a laugh. “Though I may actually be a zombie at this point. Not entirely sure.”

Joe smiled, taking her carry-on. “You’ll survive. Let’s get your bag and get you home.”

“Even with Italy’s chill, I forgot how cold Ohio can be,” Riley said, pulling her light jacket tighter as they walked toward the car. The Tuscan countryside had been brisk in the mornings, but Cincinnati’s damp cold had its own biting quality.

“Different kind of cold here,” Joe agreed, opening the passenger door of the Porsche. On the seat was a neatly arranged shopping bag.

Riley glanced at it, curiosity piqued. “What’s this?” she asked, picking it up as she slid into the butter-soft leather seat.

“For you,” Joe said as he settled into the driver’s side. “Thought you might want something more comfortable than whatever you’ve been recycling for the past week.”

Riley reached into the bag, pulling out a Cincinnati Bengals hoodie and a pair of chestnut Uggs in her exact size. The hoodie was plush and oversized, the kind you wanted to live in. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“How did you know my shoe size?” she asked, already picturing herself burrowing into the warm hoodie and feeling a little more human again.

“Sarah reached out to Scout,” Joe explained, referring to their assistants. “Hope that’s okay.”

The thoughtfulness of the gesture hit Riley with unexpected force. After days of wearing the same few outfits, she was beyond ready for something fresh, even if it was just a hoodie and a pair of boots. More than that, it was the effort Joe had put into making her feel comfortable. It wasn’t flashy or over the top—just practical and thoughtful, exactly what she needed.

“Thank you,” she said softly, pulling the hoodie over her travel-worn top and letting out a contented sigh as the soft fabric hugged her skin. “You have no idea how good this feels.”

Joe gave her a quick glance, a satisfied hint of a smile on his lips. “Figured you might appreciate it.”

He pulled the car smoothly away from the airstrip, the engine purring as they merged onto the main road. Riley leaned back against the seat, already feeling a little more settled, a little more herself.

“We’ll be at my place in about twenty minutes,” Joe said, his voice relaxed, like he was already falling back into his usual routine.

Joe glanced at her, already knowing the answer. “Jet lag hitting you yet?”

“Definitely hitting,” Riley admitted, leaning her head back against the seat. “Feels like my body’s still somewhere over the Atlantic.”

"Somewhere between time zones," Riley admitted, leaning her head back against the seat. "I think my body thinks it's still somewhere over the Atlantic."

"You can crash when we get to the house," Joe offered. "No rush to do anything today."

"I appreciate that," she said, fighting another yawn. "Though I'm determined to at least stay conscious for a few hours. It'd be a shame to waste our first actual day together in weeks."

"So," she added, perking herself up, "I'm excited to see your space. Been curious about it since New Orleans."

Joe glanced at her briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "It's nothing special."

"I doubt that," Riley replied, studying his profile as he drove. "Everything about you is deliberate. I'm betting your place is the same way."

Joe's hands shifted slightly on the steering wheel. "May not be what you're used to," he admitted. "Not like your place in New Orleans."

There was something almost vulnerable in his tone—a hint that he'd been thinking about the contrast between their homes, about what Riley might think of his space.

They fell into easy conversation as Joe navigated through Cincinnati, Riley taking in the increasingly upscale neighborhoods as they left the city proper. Twenty minutes later, they turned onto a private drive lined with mature trees, ending at a contemporary house set well back from the road. The architecture was striking but not ostentatious—clean lines, large windows, natural materials blending with the wooded surroundings.

"Wow," Riley said, genuinely impressed. "This is..."

"Home," Joe said simply, pulling the Porsche into a three-car garage.

They entered through a mudroom that led into a large open-concept kitchen and living area. The space was modern and minimalist, with that distinct “recently purchased furniture all at once” look. The kitchen featured high-end appliances, most of which looked barely used except for the protein shake blender on the counter. A massive TV dominated one wall of the living room, flanked by an impressive sound system.

There was little that felt lived-in about the space—no clutter, no accumulated decorations or mementos, just a few framed photos (mostly football-related) and what looked like a decorator’s idea of what should be in a successful young athlete’s home. A large sectional faced the TV, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a backyard that someone else clearly maintained.

Riley took it all in, raising an eyebrow. “This is… very bachelor pad.”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “Haven’t really had time to do much with it. Season, then rehab, then…”

“No, it’s nice,” Riley assured him. “Just very… clean.”

“There’s more downstairs,” Joe added. “Basement and gym. I can show you later.”

As she ventured further into the space, her gaze caught on something completely incongruous with the rest of the decor—a high-end turntable set up in the corner of the living room, surrounded by a carefully arranged stack of vinyl records. Unlike everything else, which looked like it had been there since move-in day, this setup was clearly brand new, the console still smelling faintly of wood varnish.

“You got yourself a record player?” Riley asked, moving toward it with interest. “Since New Orleans, I mean.”

"Yeah," Joe said, his tone deliberately casual even as his eyes remained fixed on her face. "Got it yesterday."

Riley ran her fingers over the selection of records beside it, her breath catching slightly as she recognized title after title—an eclectic mix of vintage jazz, indie folk, classic rock, and even some obscure blues artists she'd mentioned loving during their conversations. She pulled out a Howlin' Wolf album identical to the rare pressing she'd shown him at that little record store in New Orleans.

"Did you..." she began, looking between Joe and the collection.

"Sarah knows a guy at a record store," Joe explained, his hands sliding into his pockets. "Told him to put together something you might like."

The gesture hit Riley with unexpected force—not just the expense, which was considerable, but the thought behind it. Joe hadn't merely bought her a gift; he'd carved out a physical space for her in his meticulously ordered world. A space that hadn't existed before she'd entered his life.

"You didn't even own a turntable before New Orleans," she said softly, the realization making something warm bloom in her chest.

Joe met her eyes with that direct gaze that never wavered. "No. I didn't."

Riley set the record down carefully, momentarily speechless. The contrast between his impersonal living space and this deliberate addition—this one corner that screamed of effort and intention—made it more meaningful than any grand gesture could have been.

"Thought you might like it," he said simply.

"I do," she said softly, something shifting between them as the weight of the gesture settled. "I really do."

Riley stood there for a moment, her fingers still resting on the album cover, suddenly aware of the weight behind this gesture. Joe had created this space—this piece of her world—within his carefully controlled environment. For someone as deliberate as Joe, this wasn’t just a purchase—it was a statement.

Rather than overthinking it or turning it into something awkwardly serious, Riley just followed her instinct. She crossed the distance between them in a few quick steps and wrapped her arms around his neck, rising on her tiptoes to pull him into a kiss that said everything her travel-addled brain couldn’t quite articulate.

When they broke apart, she kept her arms looped around his neck, her smile soft and genuine. “You keep surprising me,” she said, her voice light but threaded with something deeper.

Joe's hands settled naturally at her waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of her shirt. There was that quiet confidence in his eyes, but something else too—a hint of vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see.

"After we decided you were coming," he said, voice low and matter-of-fact, "I kept thinking about your place in New Orleans. All those records. How alive it felt." He glanced toward the turntable, then back to her. "Thought you might want to come back if there was music here."

It wasn't poetic, wasn't wrapped in flowery words, but it was honest in a way that was quintessentially Joe—direct and unvarnished. He was telling her, in his own way, that he'd been thinking about how to keep her in his life.

Riley's expression softened as she took in the meaning behind his straightforward admission. She didn't make a big deal of it, knowing that would only make him retreat.

"It's working," she said simply, holding his gaze. "Already mentally planning my next visit."

She glanced back at the turntable, her fingers trailing over the edge of the console. "We're gonna break this in later—I'll pick out something that suits the mood..."

Joe watched as her eyelids grew heavier, the way her shoulders softened with each passing moment. Despite her obvious effort to stay present with him, travel exhaustion was finally catching up to her.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle. "You're exhausted," he said softly, not a question or judgment, just a simple observation. "Let me show you upstairs."

"I wanted to stay up," Riley admitted, leaning slightly into his touch. "First night here and all."

"We have time," Joe said, his voice low and reassuring. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Come on."

Riley nodded, finding herself oddly comforted by his steadiness. As they moved through the house, she let her fingers trail along the walls, taking in details she'd explore more fully tomorrow when her mind wasn't clouded with jetlag.

He led her to a large primary bedroom with a wall of windows overlooking the backyard. The space was simple but intentional—a massive bed with gray bedding, nightstands with books that looked actually read, and a sitting area that caught the natural light.

"Bathroom's through there if you want to shower," Joe said, setting her suitcase on a bench at the foot of the bed. "I'll get you some water."

Riley watched him leave, taking in the fact that he'd brought her straight to his bedroom without hesitation or discussion. The assumption that they'd share a bed should have felt presumptuous, but instead just felt right. Natural, after New Orleans.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. The mattress was ridiculously comfortable, the sheets obscenely soft. She ran her hand over the duvet, wondering absently if this was what thread counts were actually about.

Joe returned with a glass of water and some Advil. "Thought you might need this too," he said, setting them on the nightstand. "Jet lag."

"You're amazing," Riley said, already kicking off the Uggs and crawling fully onto the bed. "I'm sorry I'm so useless right now."

"You've been awake for a day," Joe pointed out reasonably. "Sleep. We've got all weekend."

As Riley slid under the covers, too tired to even consider unpacking or showering, Joe leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm glad you're here," he said quietly.

"Me too," Riley murmured, her eyes already closing.

As she drifted toward sleep, she was vaguely aware of Joe moving around the room, drawing blinds, adjusting the temperature. Her eyes fluttered open one last time to see him standing by the window, silhouetted against the fading light, the strong lines of his profile etched against the glass. That was the last image she saw - Joe in his element, solid and certain, watching over her as she slept in his bed.

---

Riley woke slowly, cocooned in warmth, her senses adjusting to the unfamiliar stillness. The room was dim, bathed in the soft gray light of early morning. Outside the windows, the sky was just beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn barely breaking through. She blinked sleepily, taking in her surroundings—a room too neat and orderly to be hers, too spacious and modern to belong to anyone she knew back home.

Then it clicked—Joe’s house. Cincinnati. She’d made it.

She shifted under the thick duvet, the sheets cool on her bare shoulders. The room itself felt both intentional and effortless—crisp lines and neutral tones, with a sense of balance between minimalism and comfort. A pair of sneakers were kicked off near the door, one overturned on its side. A dark gray hoodie hung over the arm of a low, modern chair near the window. An abandoned hat sat on the dresser, slightly crumpled at the bill. On the floor beside the bed, a pair of socks were left carelessly tangled.

On the nightstand, a piece of paper caught her eye, folded neatly with her name scrawled across the front in Joe’s familiar handwriting. She reached for it, fingers brushing the corner as she picked it up, her pulse quickening just a little. Unfolding the note, she leaned back against the pillows, a small, sleepy smile forming before she even read the words.

Went for a workout. Help yourself to anything. Chef prepped meals in fridge. Back soon. - J

Stretching in the Bengals hoodie Joe had given her when she arrived—the one she'd fallen asleep in—Riley padded barefoot through the unfamiliar hallway, taking in the details she'd been too exhausted to notice the night before. The house was beautiful—modern, expensive, tastefully designed—but also strangely impersonal, like a high-end model home waiting for someone to actually live in it.

Except for one corner. The turntable.

Riley made her way directly to it, running her fingers over the sleek equipment, remembering how touched she'd been last night when she'd noticed the records. The Howlin' Wolf album—identical to the rare pressing she'd shown him in that tiny New Orleans record store—caught her eye again. She carefully slid it from its sleeve, placing it on the turntable.

The raw, gravelly voice filled the silent house moments later, the blues echoing off the high ceilings, transforming the sterile space.

She headed for the kitchen, humming along, her socked feet sliding on the hardwood floors. The open-concept kitchen gleamed with high-end appliances that looked barely touched, except for a protein shake blender that stood at the ready on the counter, clearly Joe's most-used kitchen tool.

Riley opened and closed cabinets at random, investigating. Unlike her jam-packed New Orleans kitchen cupboards stuffed with mismatched mugs and inherited dishes, Joe's contained neat rows of matching glasses and plates, many still looking fresh from the store. The minimalism wasn't meticulous organization so much as the result of someone who simply didn't accumulate things.

After some searching, she found coffee and wrestled briefly with his elaborate espresso machine. The kitchen was the domain of someone who didn't really cook—clean, precise, and equipped with everything necessary, but lacking the lived-in feeling of a space where meals were regularly prepared with love.

She opened the refrigerator, curious about these "chef prepped meals" Joe had mentioned. Inside were stacked containers—not obsessively labeled but clearly professional, sectioned with proteins, vegetables, and carbs. Athlete fuel. She grabbed what looked like breakfast, ignoring the neat stack order completely.

As she searched for cream for her coffee, Riley opened what appeared to be a second, smaller refrigerator tucked into the corner. Instead of finding more meal prep containers or sports drinks, she discovered a cake.

Not just any cake—a bright teal-frosted creation decorated with colorful flower shapes in red, purple, orange, and blue. The text across the top made her heart skip: "26 years later..."

Riley stared, coffee forgotten in her hand. The SpongeBob reference couldn't have been clearer—they'd quoted it to each other that first night in New York when he'd cooked for her in his apartment, both of them laughing until they couldn't breathe when they realized they shared the same ridiculous sense of humor. He'd remembered not just her birthday, but a moment that had first connected them.

She set down her mug and carefully lifted the cake for a closer look, fighting a sudden, unexpected tightness in her throat. This wasn't some extravagant, showy gesture meant for Instagram or public consumption. It wasn't Ethan's elaborate surprise party with photographers. It was small, private, and exactly right.

Riley set the cake back carefully and pulled out her phone, taking a quick picture before returning to her coffee. She cranked the music a little louder, smiling to herself as she leaned against the counter, letting Howlin' Wolf's voice wash over her.

She didn’t know how much time she had before Joe got back—could be minutes, could be hours. Either way, she figured she’d make herself at home, take a shower, maybe explore a little. She left her coffee mug on the counter without a coaster, a small rebellion against the perfect order of his space. A part of her wondered if he’d notice, but another part knew he’d probably just smile and shake his head. She was bringing chaos to his world, and somehow, she knew he'd welcome it.

With Howlin' Wolf still playing downstairs, Riley carried her coffee upstairs and wandered into Joe's bathroom. Like everything else in his house, it was pristine and minimal—glass shower, matching towels, expensive products neatly arranged. She turned the water on as hot as it would go, letting steam fill the space.

Shedding the Bengals hoodie and what remained of yesterday's travel clothes, she stepped into the scalding shower and let the water wash away the last traces of jet lag, singing loudly over the sound of the spray, her voice echoing off the tiled walls.

For once, she wasn’t rushing—no band waiting, no session to get to. Just the quiet luxury of time and space and hot water. Even after the week in Italy, something about being here felt different. She used Joe’s shampoo, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent that clung to him, then wrapped herself in one of the oversized towels hanging on the rack.

Back in the bedroom, she contemplated her suitcase, still unpacked from the night before. The thought of putting on any of her wrinkled, worn, Italy-recycled clothes was distinctly unappealing. Instead, she headed straight for Joe's closet.

It was almost exactly what she’d expected—but with more flair. Everything was organized, yeah, but not obsessively. A row of hoodies and jackets ran from deep neutrals to loud, cocky prints—leopard, camo, something that looked like velvet. Button-downs in unexpected shades—burnt orange, lavender, emerald—hung beside LSU gear and a few Bengals warm-ups. On the floor, sneakers lined up in pristine order: high-tops in every color imaginable, a couple rare pairs she was pretty sure sold out in five minutes online.

She skimmed a hand along a shelf of neatly folded tees and grabbed a soft gray one, worn thin and printed with a faded vintage logo. It hung like a dress on her, mid-thigh and a little stretched at the collar. Perfect.

She slipped it on, added a pair of her own underwear, and headed back downstairs, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood. Her hair dripped down her back as she made her way to the turntable to flip the record. The house was starting to feel different already—less like a showroom and more like a place where someone actually lived.

She was in the middle of rummaging through his kitchen again, hunting for breakfast and singing along with the music, when she heard the front door open. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was barely 10:30 AM—Joe was back far earlier than she'd expected.

She turned, coffee mug in hand, to find him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was still damp from a shower, his expression a mixture of amusement and something softer as he took in the sight of her in his t-shirt, music playing, coffee mug balanced precariously on the edge of the counter, signs of her already scattered throughout his carefully ordered space.

“You’re back already?” she asked, a smile spreading across her face.

Joe's eyes moved deliberately over her—bare legs, wet hair, his shirt—before returning to her face. "Didn't want to waste the day," he said simply.

Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary, the meaning behind his words hanging in the air between them. He'd cut his workout short. Joe Burrow, notorious for his rigid routines, had changed his schedule.

"I found the cake," Riley said, setting down her mug and moving toward him.

Joe's expression shifted slightly, a hint of self-consciousness crossing his features. "I know a bakery," he said, downplaying it in his typical fashion. "Thought you might like it."

Riley stepped closer, until she was directly in front of him. "Twenty-six years later," she quoted softly, watching his face.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in that half-smile she'd come to cherish. "Seemed fitting."

She reached up, hands finding the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level. "Thank you," she murmured, just before her lips met his.

Joe's gym bag hit the floor with a thud, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. There was hunger in his kiss, in the way his fingers tightened against her hips, hunger that matched the growing sense of urgency in her own body.

Joe's gym bag hit the floor with a thud, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. There was hunger in his kiss, in the way his fingers tightened against her hips, hunger that matched the growing sense of urgency in her own body.

He tasted like mint and smelled like his shampoo—the same one she'd just used. His hands slid lower, finding the bare skin of her thighs beneath his shirt, and Riley gasped against his mouth. 

Joe's hands slid lower, finding the bare skin of her thighs beneath his shirt, and Riley gasped against his mouth. The hunger between them had been building since New Orleans, intensified by distance and anticipation. Now, with nothing standing between them, that hunger consumed them both.

In one fluid motion, Joe lifted her, hands gripping the backs of her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her wet hair fell forward, creating a curtain around their faces as he carried her backward until she felt the cool surface of the kitchen counter against her skin.

Joe broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he looked at her—really looked at her—hair wild from the shower, wearing nothing but his t-shirt, perched on his kitchen counter. His eyes took in the scene around them—the music filling his usually quiet house, her coffee mug on the counter, evidence of her presence transforming his space.

"I like seeing you here," he said, something warm and open in his expression that she rarely got to see.

Riley smiled, reaching to touch his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Joe confirmed, his voice low and certain.

He leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear that he'd discovered in New Orleans. His hands slipped under the t-shirt, tracing up her sides with deliberate slowness that made her shiver. The gentleness of his touch contrasted with the intensity in his eyes when he pulled back to look at her again.

"I missed you," he admitted, the words simple but weighted with meaning.

Instead of matching his seriousness, Riley lightened the moment with a smile. "Enough to skip part of your sacred workout routine?"

Joe's lips quirked in that half-smile she found so endearing. "Sacrifices had to be made."

Riley leaned forward to kiss him again, deepening it immediately as her hands found the hem of his workout shirt, tugging it upward. Joe helped her, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion and tossing it aside without a second thought.

As Riley ran her hands over his chest, Joe moved closer, fitting himself between her legs. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the t-shirt higher with each movement. She raised her arms, allowing him to pull it off completely, leaving her in nothing but her underwear.

"I've been thinking about this since New Orleans," Joe said, voice rough with desire as his eyes moved over her.

Riley smiled up at him, deliberately provocative as she tugged at the waistband of his athletic shorts. "Show me."

The last thread of Joe's restraint snapped. He captured her mouth in a kiss that was all heat and urgency, all the distance and waiting of the past weeks pouring into a single moment of connection.

His hands were everywhere—her hair, her neck, her breasts—touching her like he couldn't get enough, like he'd been starving for her. Riley matched his intensity, her fingers slipping beneath his shorts, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist to pull him closer.

With quick, efficient movements, Joe helped her push his shorts and compression shorts down just enough, and then there was nothing between them but the electricity of anticipation. Riley's underwear was the last barrier, which Joe removed with a swift, practiced motion, dropping it carelessly to the floor beside them.

When Joe finally pushed into her, they both gasped at the sensation. He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against hers, breathing her in. Then he began to move, setting a rhythm that had Riley clutching at his back, her nails leaving crescent marks on his skin.

The pristine kitchen filled with the sounds of their breathing, of skin against skin, of whispered encouragements and half-formed pleas. Riley lost herself in the feel of him—the strength of his body moving against hers, the precision of his movements, the way he watched her face for every reaction.

As the tension built within her, Joe's movements grew more urgent, his breathing more ragged. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes locked on her face with that intense focus that was uniquely his.

"Fucking come," he breathed, his voice strained with his own approaching release.

"I am," Riley gasped, her body tightening around him as the wave crashed over her.

Joe followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in her neck, a deep groan escaping him as he held her tightly against him.

For several long moments, they just held each other, breathing hard, neither wanting to break the connection. Riley's hands smoothed over his back, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles, the racing of his heart against her chest.

Finally, Joe lifted his head, his expression softer than she'd ever seen it. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with surprising tenderness.

"Officially welcome to Cincinnati," he said, a rare, full smile lighting his features.

Riley laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Hell of a welcome committee."

Joe's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Wait till you see the rest of the tour."

"Is it as hands-on as this part?" Riley asked, deliberately provocative.

"If you want it to be," Joe replied, his expression serious despite the lightness of their banter.

Riley studied his face, recognizing something deeper beneath the surface. This wasn't just about physical attraction—there was an understanding forming between them, a bridge being built between their different worlds.

"I think I'd like that," she said softly.

"Want to break out that cake now?" he asked against her lips.

Riley's eyes lit up. "You're actually suggesting cake before noon? Who are you and what have you done with Joe Burrow?"

Joe shrugged, but his eyes remained fixed on her face. "Maybe he's evolving."

He moved to the small refrigerator, retrieving the teal-frosted cake she'd discovered earlier. To her surprise, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a single candle, placing it carefully in the center of the cake.

"You got a candle too?" Riley asked, something catching in her throat at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

"Can't have a birthday cake without a candle," Joe replied simply, lighting it with a match from the same drawer.

The simple act was so deliberate and sweet that Riley felt momentarily speechless. Joe set the cake on the counter between them, the candlelight illuminating his features.

"Make a wish," he said quietly.

Riley looked at him across the flickering light—at his expression, unusually soft and open—and knew exactly what she wanted. She closed her eyes briefly before blowing out the flame.

"What'd you wish for?" Joe asked, cutting them each a slice.

"Not telling," Riley replied with a smile, taking the plate he offered.

Joe watched her take the first bite, satisfaction evident in his eyes as he picked up his own fork.

Together, they leaned against the counter, eating birthday cake while Howlin' Wolf continued playing in the living room. Outside, Cincinnati waited to be explored, but for now, this quiet moment of connection—of worlds colliding and finding unexpected harmony—was all that mattered.

"So," Riley said, setting down her fork, "how about that house tour you promised me?"

Joe's eyes darkened slightly as he remembered his earlier words. "The hands-on tour?"

"That's the one," Riley confirmed, a smile playing at her lips.

Joe nodded, his gaze never leaving her face, that focused intensity making her feel like the only person in his universe. "Whatever you want."

---

Joe led Riley through his house, their fingers intertwined as they moved from room to room. The tour started casual enough—Joe pointing out the living room features she hadn't noticed the night before, explaining how he'd chosen the place, describing the backyard that swept down to the small lake visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Downstairs, the media room felt darker, cozier—oversized recliners lined up like thrones in front of a massive screen. Joe was mid-sentence, explaining how the surround sound worked, when Riley tugged him down into one of the seats, pulling him close with a mischievous grin. She climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him as his hands slipped beneath her shirt. They lost themselves in each other there, slow and unhurried, the dim light and heavy silence cocooning them. When it was over, they stayed tangled together for a while, catching their breath, before eventually finishing the rest of the tour—hands still linked, smiles softer, something new settling quietly between them.

The basement gym—Joe's sanctuary—became the setting for a different kind of intimacy. Riley wandered among the equipment, trailing her fingers over the weights, examining the detailed workout plans pinned to a corkboard.

"So this is where the magic happens," she teased, but her voice held genuine interest as she studied the space where Joe spent so many hours.

"Just work," Joe replied, leaning against the doorframe, watching her explore his domain.

Riley caught something in his tone—not defensiveness, but a quiet pride. This space, more than any other in the house, reflected the discipline that defined him. The careful organization of weights, the clean lines of expensive equipment, the posted schedules and progression charts—all of it spoke to the methodical approach he took to his career.

She turned to face him, seeing him differently in this context. "You really love it, don't you? Not just the game—this part. The work."

Joe considered her question with that characteristic thoughtfulness. "It's the only way I know how to do it," he said finally. "Be prepared for everything. Control what I can control."

Riley nodded, understanding something fundamental about him in that moment. Where she thrived in creative chaos, found inspiration in the unexpected, Joe built his success on structure and preparation. Different approaches, both valid.

As they made their way back upstairs, the tour continuing, the contrast between their worlds became not an obstacle but a fascinating exploration—each room revealing more about Joe, each touch between them deepening their connection, each moment together bridging the space between order and chaos.

By the time they circled back to the main floor, Riley's energy was noticeably waning. The adrenaline that had carried her through their enthusiastic reunion was giving way to the reality of her transcontinental journey. Joe noticed immediately—the slight slowing of her movements, the way her sentences trailed off, the brief moments where her eyes would unfocus.

"You need to rest," he said, not a question but an observation, his hand finding the small of her back as they entered the kitchen.

Riley gave him a small, grateful smile. "Maybe. But I don't want to waste our time sleeping."

Joe opened the refrigerator, retrieving two bottles of water. "You crossing multiple time zones to be here isn't wasting time," he pointed out, handing her one. "It's just part of it."

She accepted the water, their fingers brushing. "Listen to you being all reasonable."

“One of us has to be,” he replied, that half-smile making her heart skip.

Riley took a long drink, then set the bottle on the counter. “Maybe a movie? Something we can watch together that doesn’t require me to be fully functional?”

Joe nodded, leading her to the living room where the massive TV dominated one wall. “I can work with that.”

The simple domesticity of the moment struck Riley as she curled into the corner of his oversized sectional, legs tucked beneath her, still wearing just his t-shirt and a pair of leggings she'd finally unpacked from her suitcase. Joe moved around the space with practiced efficiency, dimming lights, adjusting the sound system, finding the remote.

He settled beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him but not crowding her space. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Something I don't have to think about," Riley admitted. "I can't promise I'll stay awake for anything with an actual plot."

Joe scrolled through the options, finally settling on an action movie they’d both seen before—something familiar that didn’t demand full attention. As the opening credits began, Riley shifted closer, tucking herself against his side with her head resting on his shoulder. His arm came around her automatically, like it was second nature—like they’d been sitting like this for years instead of just a handful of days.

The steady rhythm of Joe's breathing and the familiar dialogue of the movie created a cocoon of comfort. Riley found herself drifting in and out of consciousness, catching fragments of the plot between moments of sleep. Each time she startled awake, Joe's hand would stroke her arm gently, anchoring her.

“Sorry,” she murmured after the third time, blinking sleepily up at him. “I’m terrible company right now.”

Joe pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You’re exactly where you should be,” he replied, his voice a low, comforting rumble that she felt more than heard.

Something about those words settled deep inside her, giving her permission to just exist—no pressure, no expectation. Relaxing fully against him, she let her eyes close, trusting him to hold her there as sleep finally pulled her under.

The next time she opened her eyes, the movie was over, the screen displaying menu options, and Joe was looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher—tender but intense, like he was committing something to memory. His fingers traced slow, absent circles on her shoulder, and she could feel his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek.

“What?” she asked, her voice scratchy with sleep.

Joe hesitated, his mouth curving into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he said, then reconsidered. “Everything. Just… this.”

Riley understood. This quiet moment, unremarkable by any external measure, felt significant in ways neither of them could articulate. Joe Burrow, a man whose life was measured in achievements and statistics, was finding value in stillness. Riley Carter, who thrived on movement and expression, was learning the beauty of pause.

"Hungry?" Joe asked, breaking the spell of the moment.

Riley smiled, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “Yeah. But not enough to move.”

"Good thing a chef stocks my fridge," Joe replied, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on her arm. "Pick your protein and we'll go from there."

"Hmm," Riley murmured, eyes still half-closed. "What are my options?"

"Chicken, salmon, steak," Joe listed off. "All prepped, portioned, and ready to heat. I can throw something together."

Riley tilted her head up to look at him. "Meal prep, huh? That's very... quarterback of you."

"Efficient," Joe corrected with a slight smile. "I save my cooking experiments for special occasions."

"Like pasta in New York," Riley remembered.

"Exactly. But right now, we've got professional-grade fuel waiting to be heated."

"In that case," Riley said, finally sitting up, "I'll take the salmon. And I promise to be impressed by your microwave skills."

Joe stood, offering his hand to pull her up. "You laugh, but there's an art to properly reheating chef-prepared meals."

"Is there now?" Riley took his hand, allowing him to lift her to her feet, her body gravitating naturally toward his.

"Timing. Temperature. Presentation," Joe said with mock seriousness as they headed toward the kitchen. "It's basically cooking."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Burrow," Riley teased, bumping her shoulder against his arm.

They ate at the kitchen island, perched on the sleek barstools that Riley had noticed earlier. Despite Joe's claims about "the art of reheating," he'd simply transferred the chef-prepared meals to actual plates, though he did add a sprig of fresh herbs from a small container in the refrigerator.

"Very impressive plating," Riley teased, cutting into the perfectly cooked salmon. "The garnish really elevates it."

Joe shrugged, but there was amusement in his eyes. "Presentation matters."

The food was surprisingly good—simple but well-prepared, the kind of clean, nutrient-dense meal that fueled a professional athlete without sacrificing flavor. Riley found herself hungrier than she'd expected, the combination of jet lag and their earlier activities having depleted her energy reserves.

"So," Joe said after they'd eaten in comfortable silence for a few minutes, "how weird is it being here? Scale of one to ten."

Riley considered this, twirling her fork between her fingers. "In your house specifically, or Cincinnati generally?"

"Both. Either."

"Your house... maybe a six?" she decided. "It's definitely not what I'm used to. Everything is so..."

"Clean?" Joe supplied.

"I was going to say empty," Riley corrected. "Like you moved in but never quite finished unpacking."

The simple honesty of his response caught Riley off guard. Joe wasn't prone to flowery declarations or exaggerated compliments. When he said something, he meant it exactly as stated. The implication that she had affected his perspective on his carefully constructed world carried weight.

"I'm honored that my chaos has been granted entry," she said, deflecting slightly to ease the sudden intensity.

Joe accepted the shift in tone. "Your chaos is welcome anytime."

Riley smiled, pushing her empty plate away. "Careful what you wish for, Burrow."

Joe stood, collecting their plates and carrying them to the sink. Riley watched him rinse them methodically before placing them in the dishwasher at precise angles. Even in this mundane task, his movements were deliberate, economical.

“You really move like someone who’s always thinking two steps ahead,” she said, almost to herself.

Joe glanced over his shoulder. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” Riley said. “Just… different. It’s like everything you do has a reason. Nothing wasted.”

Joe turned to face her, leaning against the counter. “I guess I’ve always been like that. Especially once football got serious.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “It’s fascinating. Like watching someone exist in real time, but on purpose.”

Joe gave a quiet laugh at that, something soft settling in his expression. “You make it sound poetic.”

“You kind of are,” Riley said, her tone warm. “Just… in a really quiet, deliberate way. Like you don’t waste energy on things that don’t matter.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes flicking away like he was thinking. “I think for a long time, I’ve just done what works. Kept things simple. Structured. Predictable.”

A pause passed between them. Riley didn’t push—just waited.Joe looked back at her. “Safe, I guess. That’s what it’s been. And then you show up, and none of it feels… safe anymore. But it feels real.”

Riley slid off the barstool, moving toward him. “Real’s better than safe.”

Riley stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body but not touching. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah," Joe said, his voice dropping lower. "It's good. Different, but good."

"Different can be good," Riley agreed, finally reaching out to place her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her palm.

Joe's hands found her waist, his thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of her borrowed shirt. "I like seeing you in my clothes," he said, his voice lower. "Makes me feel possessive in a way I've never felt before. It's... new."

Riley smiled, sliding her hands up to his shoulders. "Just the clothes? Because I was planning on making myself at home in every room of this house."

Joe's grip tightened marginally on her waist. "That can be arranged."

The tension between them shifted, the easy conversation giving way to something more electric. Riley was acutely aware of every point of contact between them, of the steady rhythm of Joe's breathing, of how his eyes never left hers.

"What do you normally do after dinner?" she asked, her voice softer now. "In your very structured life?"

"Film study," Joe replied honestly. "Or reading. Sometimes both."

"Exciting," Riley teased gently.

"Functional," Joe corrected, but there was no defensiveness in his tone. "But tonight... I was thinking you could walk me through that record player Sarah bought. Give me an education on the vinyl collection."

Riley's face brightened. "Now you're speaking my language, Burrow."

Joe led her to the living room, their fingers intertwined. The stack of records waited beside the new turntable, still pristine in its setup. Riley approached it with reverence, running her fingers over the carefully curated collection.

"So, where do we start?" Joe asked, watching her assess the options.

Riley pulled out an album—vintage soul that she'd mentioned loving during one of their late-night calls. "Basic music appreciation 101," she said, carefully removing the vinyl from its sleeve. "First, we establish your baseline knowledge."

Joe settled on the couch, content to watch as Riley placed the record on the turntable with practiced ease. As the opening notes filled the room, Riley moved to join him, curling against his side in what was already becoming their natural position.

"What am I listening for?" Joe asked, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

"Not for," Riley corrected. "With. Just... feel it first. Analysis comes later."

Joe nodded, his body gradually relaxing as the music continued. They sat in comfortable silence through the first track, Riley occasionally glancing up to gauge his reaction, Joe listening with the same focused intensity he applied to everything.

As the second song began, Riley shifted to look at him properly. "Verdict?"

"It's good," Joe said simply. "Warmer than digital. More... present."

Riley smiled, pleased with his assessment. "Exactly. There's a depth you don't get from streaming. A texture."

"Is this what drew you to vinyl?" Joe asked, genuinely curious. "The sound quality?"

Riley considered this, her fingers absently tracing patterns on his chest. "Partly. But it's also the ritual of it. The intentionality. Having to choose an album and commit to it. Having to flip it over halfway through. It forces you to be present with the music."

"Intentionality," Joe repeated, a smile tugging at his lips. "There's something to that."

"What?"

"Being deliberate about what matters," Joe explained. "I do it with training and game prep. You do it with music."

"I guess we're both intense about our passions," Riley agreed, surprised by the parallel. "Never thought of it like that before."

"We're not so different after all," Joe said softly, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair.

"Just different areas of focus," Riley murmured, settling back against him as the music swelled.

They stayed like that through the remainder of the side, conversation flowing easily between tracks. Riley sharing stories about the first time she'd heard certain songs, Joe asking questions that revealed his genuine interest not just in the music but in what it meant to her.

When the record ended, Riley made no move to get up and flip it. The silence felt comfortable, weighted with a growing understanding between them.

"Thank you," Joe said suddenly.

Riley tilted her head to look at him. "For what?"

"For coming here," he said. "For bringing... this into my house."

The simplicity of his gratitude touched something deep in Riley. Joe wasn't talking about the physical presence of the records or even her companionship. He was acknowledging how she'd shifted something fundamental in his space, in his carefully constructed world.

"Thank you for making space for it," she replied, reaching up to touch his face, her thumb brushing along his jaw.

Joe turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm. The gesture was tender, unhurried—different from their earlier urgency. His eyes held hers, asking a question without words.

Riley answered by leaning up to press her lips to his, a kiss that started gentle but deepened as Joe's hand came up to cradle the back of her neck. There was no rush to it, no desperate need to make up for lost time. Just a slow, deliberate exploration, as if they were memorizing each other.

When they finally broke apart, Riley rested her forehead against his, eyes closed, breathing synchronized. Outside, the last remnants of daylight had faded, the room now illuminated only by the soft lamps Joe had turned on earlier.

"We should put on another record," she said, her voice a little husky.

Joe watched as she stood and padded barefoot across the room to the turntable, admiring how completely at home she looked in his space, wearing nothing but his t-shirt.

She bent over the record collection, fingers trailing over album spines with familiar ease. She paused at one, pulling it out with a small sound of satisfaction. The lamplight caught the edge of the vinyl as she placed it on the turntable, dropping the needle with the care of someone who'd performed this ritual thousands of times before.

The room filled with sound—low, throbbing, sensual. A steady pulse threaded through velvet layers of bass and synth, slow and deliberate, like the music was breathing. It wrapped around them like smoke, thick with tension and intimacy, every note dragging just enough to make the air feel heavier. It didn’t ask for attention—it seduced it.

Riley turned to face him, her expression transformed. There was something hypnotic in the way she began to move, her body swaying with subtle confidence to the rhythm. She made her way back to him, each step deliberate, her eyes never leaving his.

"Next part of your music education," she said, standing between his knees, "is learning all the other ways you can feel the music."

Joe reached for her, but she caught his hands, placing them at his sides with a shake of her head. "Not yet. Just watch."

His eyes darkened as she moved to the beat, her body telling a story with each shift and sway. It was nothing like her stage performances—this was private, unfiltered, meant only for him. The t-shirt she wore rose and fell with her movements, revealing glimpses of skin that made his breath catch.

“Music isn’t just sound,” she said, her voice low, syncopated to the rhythm pulsing through the room. “It’s a physical thing. It moves through you.”

Joe watched, transfixed, as she demonstrated exactly what she meant. Her hips swayed in perfect synchronicity with the bass line, her shoulders rolling with each smoky guitar riff. He'd seen athletes with perfect body control before, had that kind of precision himself on the field, but this was different—this was someone becoming the music itself.

The singer hit a low, raw note that vibrated through the room. Riley moved forward and straddled him in one fluid motion, settling on his lap with her thighs bracketing his.

She took his hands in hers, placed them on her hips where the t-shirt had ridden up. His fingers found warm skin.

"Here," she said simply, guiding his hands.

Joe's breath caught as she rolled her hips against him, the movement perfectly synchronized with the bass line pulsing through the room. The friction between them sent heat spreading through his body.

His hands tightened on her hips, feeling the subtle shift of muscle beneath skin as she moved. He'd always approached things with precision, analysis – football, training, even sex. But this was different. Immersive.

"Stop thinking," Riley murmured, noticing the familiar focus in his eyes. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Just feel."

So he did. He let go. Let her lead. He surrendered, letting the rhythm take over. His hands moved up her sides, dragging the t-shirt higher. The music flowed through them, connecting them in a way he couldn't have articulated.

When they kissed, it wasn't calculated or measured like so many things in his life. It was instinct, raw and unfiltered. He felt her smile against his mouth.

"More," was all he said when they broke apart.

Riley's response was to reach down and pull his shirt off, tossing it aside. Her palms spread flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat picking up tempo to match the drums.

"Close your eyes," she said, and he did – relinquishing control in a way that would have been unthinkable weeks ago.

He did—relinquishing control in a way that would have felt unthinkable only weeks ago.

With his eyes closed, everything intensified. The bass vibrated through the couch into his bones. The guitar seemed to curl around them both.

Riley's mouth found the sensitive spot below his ear, her breath warm against his skin. She moved with the drum pattern, hips rolling in a perfect rhythm against his. His hands instinctively tightened on her waist.

She reached between them, unbuttoning his jeans with deft fingers.

"Lift up," she instructed, and he raised his hips to help her slide his jeans and boxers down just enough.

Her body was warm against his, skin against skin as she pulled the t-shirt over her head. Though his eyes remained closed, his hands mapped her – the curve of her waist, the smoothness of her back, the places where her breathing changed when he touched her.

The song shifted into a bridge, tempo changing. Riley moved with it, lifting slightly before sinking down onto him in one fluid motion that pulled gasps from them both. The sensation was overwhelming – her heat around him, the vibration of the bass through the floor, the guitar notes seeming to dance across his skin.

He felt rather than heard her inhale sharply, felt the slight tremor in her thighs against his.

"Feel that?" Her voice was barely audible over the music, but he felt the words against his throat.

"Yes," he answered, the word more breath than sound.

The music flowed through them both, dictating the pace, connecting them in ways he'd never experienced before. This wasn’t just sex—it was communion. Wordless conversation. He followed her, then guided her, their movements finding a shared language beyond anything he’d known.

As the song climbed toward its peak, so did they. Joe opened his eyes—needed to see her. And there she was: flushed, golden in the lamplight, moving with a sensual grace that felt elemental.

Her eyes locked onto his as the final swell of the song crested. The moment shattered through them both.

The track faded into silence as Riley collapsed against him, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, breath hot against his skin. They stayed like that, connected, as the needle found the brief silence between songs. Their heartbeats gradually slowed to match the new, gentler rhythm that began to fill the room.

After a moment, Riley lifted her head. The look in her eyes was equal parts satisfaction and something deeper, something that felt dangerous and necessary all at once.

Joe traced a hand down her spine, something reverent in the gesture. “I get it now,” he said softly.

A smile tugged at her mouth. "You sure? This album has like eight more tracks."

He answered by pulling her closer as the next song began.

By the time the album reached its final track, they had explored each other thoroughly on the couch, finding new rhythms with each song, discovering how different melodies called for different touches, different tempos. The record played its final notes before the gentle hiss of the needle in the empty grooves filled the room.

They lay tangled together on the couch, Riley draped across Joe's chest, a throw blanket haphazardly pulled over them. Joe's fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine as their breathing synchronized.

As the needle lifted and returned to its cradle, a comfortable silence settled over them. Joe reached behind the couch, his movement careful to avoid disturbing Riley, and pulled a soft throw blanket from where it had been draped over the back. With deliberate gentleness, he spread it over them both, coccooning Riley against his chest.

"Should we head upstairs?" he murmured against her hair, his voice low and rough with approaching sleep.

Riley nestled closer, her body heavy and relaxed against his. "Too comfortable to move," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers traced absent patterns across his chest, slowing as exhaustion from travel and their activities finally caught up with her.

Joe tightened his arms around her, one hand continuing its gentle path along her spine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept anywhere but his bed—deliberate choices, structured routines—but somehow the thought of disturbing this moment felt wrong.

The city lights cast soft shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting Riley's skin in a gentle glow. Joe watched as her breathing deepened, felt the exact moment when sleep claimed her. Her weight against him was substantial and real—evidence that she wasn't just a figment of his imagination, a fantasy constructed from late-night calls and memories of New Orleans.

As his own eyes grew heavy, Joe found himself cataloging small details—the light floral scent of her hair, the way her leg intertwined with his, how perfectly she fit in the space against his chest. His precisely ordered world had been upended in the span of a few weeks, yet never had chaos felt so right.

The disciplined part of him—the quarterback who tracked every statistical variation, who studied film until his eyes burned—understood that this wasn't logical. They barely knew each other. Their lives existed on separate trajectories. But as sleep began to claim him, that voice grew distant, drowned out by the steady rhythm of Riley's heartbeat against his own.

Just before consciousness slipped away, Joe pressed a kiss to the top of Riley's head and surrendered to sleep, his carefully constructed world giving way to something messier, warmer, and infinitely more real.

---

Riley woke to the gentle sensation of fingers brushing hair from her face. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the living room in a warm glow. For a moment, she lay still, orienting herself—the firm chest beneath her cheek, the steady heartbeat against her ear, the throw blanket tangled around their legs.

She tilted her head to find Joe already awake, his eyes meeting hers with a softness that made her breath catch.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice still rough with sleep.

"Morning," Joe replied, his fingers tracing a lazy pattern along her shoulder.

Riley shifted against him, stretching slightly. "You could've woken me up. We didn't have to sleep out here."

"I didn't mind," Joe said simply, his gaze steady on her face. Something in his expression made her pause—a quiet intensity she was beginning to recognize as Joe working through his thoughts.

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment, neither making any move to disturb their position. Outside, birds called to each other, and somewhere in the distance, a lawnmower hummed.

“Last night…” Joe began, then paused. His eyes found hers again, steady and intent. “That was different for me. In a way I don’t really have words for.”

Riley waited, giving him space to continue. Joe wasn't someone who spoke without purpose.

"I've always approached everything from here," he tapped his temple lightly. "Even when it's not about football. Analyzing. Planning. Staying a step ahead." His voice remained steady, though something flickered in his eyes. "Last night was different. It wasn't about thinking at all."

"It felt right," Riley said softly.

"Yeah," Joe agreed, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. "That's what surprised me. How easy it was to just... be there. With you."

Riley squeezed his hand gently. "You've never felt that way before?"

"Not like that," Joe said. "Not where everything else just... disappeared."

There was no embarrassment in his admission, just honesty—the same straightforward approach he brought to everything. It was one of the things she'd come to appreciate most about him.

"It sounds silly when I say it out loud," he continued, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Guy discovers how to live in the moment. Breaking news."

Riley smiled back, but her eyes remained serious. "It's not silly. It's real."

Joe's thumb traced circles on her palm, his gaze shifting to the windows, to the morning light filtering through. "When I found out you were going to Italy, I kept checking my calendar. Trying to figure out when I'd see you again."

"I noticed," Riley said, remembering the texts he'd sent while she was away.

"It bothered me more than it should have," Joe admitted. "The thought of waiting a month. Didn't make sense why it hit me that way."

Riley understood. She'd felt the same way in Italy, checking her phone more than she cared to admit, feeling his absence acutely despite the short time they'd known each other.

"Since New Orleans," Joe continued, "everything's felt... I don't know. More alive, somehow." He looked back at her, his eyes direct. "Like I've been going through the motions without realizing it."

Riley felt something in her chest tighten at the raw honesty in his voice. This was Joe Burrow—measured, deliberate, controlled—telling her she'd woken something in him.

"I know what you mean," she said quietly. "I'm always myself with everyone. It's not like I put on an act. But after Ethan..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I started being more careful about who I let get close. Still Riley on the outside, but keeping the important parts protected."

Joe nodded, understanding without her having to explain further. "Different approaches, same result."

"And now?" Riley asked, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

Joe's expression softened. "Now I want to try something new." He brushed his thumb across her cheek. "With you."

There was nothing dramatic in the way he said it—no grand declaration or flowery words. Just that steady certainty that was uniquely Joe. Yet something about the simple honesty of it made her heart race more than any elaborate speech could have.

"I'd like that," Riley said, her voice quiet but sure.

Joe pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a kiss that felt different from any they'd shared before—unhurried and gentle, yet somehow more meaningful than all that had come before.

When they finally broke apart, Riley rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the quiet morning air.

"So," she said after a moment, a smile playing at her lips, "what does the Joe Burrow schedule look like today?"

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features. "Wide open," he said, his arms tightening around her. "For you."

The implications of those words settled between them—not just about today, but about what might come next. Neither pushed nor retreated from the moment. Instead, they lay together in the growing light, two people from different worlds finding unexpected common ground.

They lingered on the couch until the growl of Riley's stomach made them both laugh. Joe finally disentangled himself, pressing a kiss to her forehead before standing.

"Breakfast," he declared, extending a hand to help her up. "Then I want to show you something."

They moved through the morning with easy domesticity—Riley borrowing Joe's clothes again, Joe making them protein-rich smoothies and avocado toast. They ate at the kitchen island, their conversation drifting between trivial topics and deeper ones, the comfort between them growing with each passing hour.

After breakfast, Joe led Riley to the garage, where his collection of vehicles waited. She followed him past the sleek Porsche they'd driven yesterday, raising an eyebrow when he stopped instead beside a more understated black Range Rover with tinted windows.

"We're taking this one?" she asked, running her fingers along the glossy exterior.

Joe nodded, unlocking it with a click of his key fob. "Lower profile," he explained, opening the passenger door for her. "I was thinking we could explore a bit without the whole city knowing about it."

Riley slid into the seat, watching as Joe circled to the driver's side. The interior was immaculate—black leather, minimal personal touches, everything in its place. So very Joe. But his words lingered in her mind. Lower profile. As if the Porsche would draw too much attention. As if they needed to avoid being seen.

Joe settled into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a quiet purr. "I thought I'd show you some of my favorite spots in the city."

"Sounds perfect," Riley said, but her eyes caught the way his gaze checked the mirrors, the careful way he looked around before backing out of the garage.

They drove out of his neighborhood, the massive houses set back from the street behind manicured lawns and security gates. Joe seemed focused on the road ahead, following the main routes toward downtown Cincinnati.

"Here," Joe said, handing her his phone after unlocking it. "You pick the music."

Riley took his phone, quickly scrolled through his library, and selected something upbeat for their drive. She set the phone in the console between them, letting the music fill the comfortable silence.

As they entered the city proper, Joe's demeanor shifted subtly. His eyes checked the mirrors more frequently, his awareness of their surroundings more pronounced.

"I'd like to still keep this—us—private. At least for now," he said suddenly, his voice casual but deliberate as they stopped at a red light.

There it was. The knot in Riley's stomach tightened slightly. She understood privacy—lived with the same invasive public attention he did. But something in his tone, in the careful way he'd chosen the Range Rover with its dark windows, triggered a deeper uncertainty.

She let the silence stretch between them, processing her reaction. It wasn't that she wanted to be photographed or generate headlines. Fame had taught her the value of guarding certain parts of her life. But there was a difference between privacy and secrecy, between discretion and hiding.

Riley glanced down at herself—the borrowed clothes, her tousled hair, the chipped nail polish on fingers that bore tattoos and calluses from guitar strings. Then she thought of the women Joe had been linked to in the past. Polished sorority girls. Sleek influencers with perfect blowouts and designer wardrobes. Women who looked like they belonged in his carefully ordered world.

She was nothing like them. Her entire existence was a chaotic counterpoint to the disciplined structure of Joe's life. A part of her wondered if that was exactly why they needed to stay "private"—because she didn't fit the image everyone expected from Joe Burrow.

"I know some places we can go where we won't be bothered," Joe said, breaking into her thoughts. His voice was casual, matter-of-fact, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps for him, it was.

Riley nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. She was overreacting, wasn't she? They'd known each other for what—a month? Of course he'd want some privacy while they figured things out. It wasn't about her specifically; it was about protecting something new and fragile from external pressure.

“There’s a spot just outside town I want to take you,” Joe said, glancing over at her. “Kind of a hole-in-the-wall, but they make the best burger I’ve ever had.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching. “That so?”

“You’ll see,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s nothing fancy. Just real good. Quiet.”

As they drove, Riley's mind kept circling back to the contradiction of their situation. Last night had felt so open, so real—Joe letting his guard down in a way that seemed rare for him. The turntable he'd bought specifically for her. The way he'd cut his workout short yesterday just to spend more time with her. Those weren't the actions of someone ashamed or uncertain.

Yet here they were, in a vehicle chosen for its anonymity, headed to places selected for their seclusion. Private, not secret—that's what she needed to remember. There was a difference.

Wasn't there?

Joe's hand found hers across the console, his fingers intertwining with hers in a gesture that felt both intimate and grounding. "You okay?" he asked, glancing at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. "You got quiet."

Joe smiled, that genuine expression that transformed his entire face. “You’ll like it. It’s a different kind of quiet.”

---

The Range Rover smoothly navigated the Cincinnati streets, Joe at the wheel with the easy confidence of someone who knew every turn by heart. Instead of heading toward downtown, he took them across the Taylor-Southgate Bridge into Kentucky.

"I thought we were seeing Cincinnati," Riley teased, watching the Ohio River pass beneath them.

Joe's mouth quirked into that half-smile she was growing to love. "Sometimes the best view of Cincinnati is from somewhere else."

As they crossed into Kentucky, the urban landscape gave way to less developed areas. Joe seemed to relax more with each mile they put between themselves and downtown, his shoulders loosening, his grip on the steering wheel becoming less precise.

"I come this way sometimes when I need to clear my head," he explained, taking an exit that led away from the main highway onto quieter roads. "Just drive with no particular destination."

Riley watched the scenery shift around them – small towns, patches of forest still bare from winter, occasional farmland coming to life with early spring. The music played softly between them, a playlist she'd selected from his phone that somehow managed to bridge their musical tastes.

"I love this," she said, rolling down her window slightly to let the fresh air in. "Reminds me of the backroads around my grandfather's fishing camp in Louisiana. I go there whenever I need to disconnect."

Joe glanced at her with interest. "You get out to the countryside a lot?"

"Whenever I can," Riley admitted. "In New Orleans, I know all the back routes. Even in LA, I've found some incredible drives up in the canyons where you can escape the chaos. Something about being on the road, windows down... it's freedom."

Joe nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That's exactly it."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Riley content to watch the passing landscape, to observe Joe in his element – focused but relaxed, navigating without needing GPS, making occasional turns that seemed intuitive rather than planned.

Eventually, they pulled into a small riverside town, the main street lined with brick buildings that spoke of the area's history. Joe parked in front of a small restaurant with a weathered wooden sign and windows that looked out onto the water.

He killed the engine. “You’re gonna like it. I promise.”

Inside, the restaurant was warm and inviting – worn wooden floors, mismatched tables and chairs, local artwork hanging on exposed brick walls. A few patrons sat eating late lunches, none giving Joe and Riley more than a passing glance as they found a table by the window.

They ordered burgers and local beer, their conversation flowing easily between childhood memories, music discoveries, and ridiculous tour stories Riley shared that had Joe laughing more freely than she'd seen before. Here, away from the pressures of their public personas, they were just two people getting to know each other, finding unexpected connections in their different worlds.

As their plates were cleared away, Riley found herself staring out at the river, suddenly aware of how little time they had left together. She was leaving tomorrow, back to LA for studio sessions, back to her world while Joe remained in his.

"What are you thinking about?" Joe asked, noticing her distant gaze.

Riley turned back to him, debating whether to voice what had been circling in her mind. "Tomorrow," she admitted finally. "Leaving."

Joe reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. "Let's not think about that right now."

Riley smiled, but the shadow lingered. "Hard not to."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their impending separation settling between them. Riley took a deep breath, deciding to broach the subject that had been simmering since their earlier conversation in the car.

"About what you said before, about keeping us private..."

Joe tensed slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Riley had come to recognize the subtle shifts in his posture. "What about it?"

"I understand it," she said carefully. "I do. After Ethan... well, having everything so public added pressure we didn't need." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "But my career is different from yours. It's built on people feeling like they know me, like there's an authenticity to who I am and what I share."

Joe's expression remained open, listening, though she noticed a slight tightening around his eyes.

"I'm not saying we need to do some big announcement or anything," Riley continued. "I don't want what happened with Ethan and me, where our relationship became this public spectacle. But eventually, I'd like there to be a middle ground."

"What does middle ground look like to you?" Joe asked, his tone careful, measured.

Riley shrugged, trying to keep it casual despite the importance of the conversation. "Not hiding if we're seen together. Not structuring our entire relationship around avoiding public attention. Just... living our lives, acknowledging what we are to each other when it naturally comes up."

Joe was quiet for a moment, his eyes dropping to their joined hands. When he looked up, she could see he was choosing his words deliberately.

"I hear you," he said finally. "But I'm not there yet, Riley. My privacy isn't just a preference—it's how I've survived in this league, how I've kept parts of myself separate from the quarterback everyone thinks they know."

Riley nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment but appreciating his honesty.

"I'm not saying never," Joe added, seeing her expression. "Just... not now. Not when we're still figuring out what this is. Can you be okay with that for now?"

There was a vulnerability in the question that caught Riley off guard. Joe Burrow, always so certain, was asking rather than telling.

"I can," she said softly. "I'm not rushing anything. I just wanted you to know where I stand."

Relief flickered across Joe's features. "Thank you. For being direct about it."

"Well, you're rubbing off on me," Riley teased, lightening the moment. "All this straightforward communication."

Joe's smile returned, though not quite reaching his eyes. "For what it's worth, it matters to me—that you understand. That you're willing to give this time."

They lingered over dessert, neither wanting to rush back to Cincinnati, both acutely aware of the limited hours they had left together. When they finally left the restaurant, the day was waning, the light turning golden as they walked back to the Range Rover.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Riley said as Joe opened her door. "For sharing your escape route."

Joe paused, his hand still on the door. "I've never brought anyone else here," he admitted quietly.

The significance of that statement settled between them – not just words, but another piece of evidence that whatever was growing between them mattered to him, enough to share parts of himself he usually kept separate and private.

The drive back to Cincinnati was peaceful, both of them content to let the music fill the comfortable silence between them. As they crossed back into Ohio, Joe took an unexpected turn off the main highway.

"Where are we going?" Riley asked, glancing over at him.

"Thought we could stop at this nature preserve before heading back," Joe replied. "There's a short trail with a decent view. Unless you're too tired?"

Riley smiled, touched by his reluctance to end their day together. "A hike sounds perfect."

The preserve was quiet at this hour, most visitors already gone for the day. They followed a winding path through the trees, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they walked side by side. The trail wasn't challenging—just enough elevation to feel like they'd earned the view when they reached the clearing at the top.

Cincinnati sprawled before them, the late afternoon sun gilding the buildings and the river beyond. They stood for a while, taking in the vista, neither feeling the need to fill the silence with words.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Riley said finally, leaning slightly against Joe's solid frame.

Joe's arm came around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "Wanted to show you a different side of the city."

They lingered until the sun began its final descent, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. As they made their way back down the trail, Riley found herself mentally cataloging these moments—storing them away like photographs to revisit when they were apart again.

"You want to head home?" Joe asked as they reached his Range Rover. "Open a bottle of wine, just hang out?"

The casual suggestion carried weight in its simplicity—no elaborate plans, just the two of them enjoying each other's company in the hours they had left.

"Sounds perfect," Riley agreed.

---

Back at Joe’s house, Riley headed straight for the record collection while Joe opened a bottle of wine. She selected something different from last night—not the dark, hypnotic pulse they’d melted into, but something warmer. Softer. Music that invited closeness without urgency.

When Joe walked back in with two glasses, he paused, leaning against the doorway to watch her. Riley caught his eye and gave him a playful smile. “You just gonna stand there and watch?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t usually dance,” he admitted, but his tone wasn’t resistant—more like he was giving her fair warning.

“Good thing I do,” Riley shot back, holding out her hand to him. “C’mon.”

Joe set the glasses down on the coffee table, hesitating for just a second before stepping forward. As soon as he took her hand, Riley pulled him in, guiding his hands to her waist. At first, he just followed her lead—letting her sway against him—but it didn’t take long for his natural athleticism to kick in.

Once he felt the rhythm, he started to move on instinct, taking control of their pace. His hands stayed steady on her waist, guiding her effortlessly as he adjusted to the beat. It was almost unfair how easily he picked it up—like his body just knew how to respond. He spun her unexpectedly, pulling her back to his chest in one smooth motion, and she couldn’t help but laugh, caught off guard by how effortlessly he took over.

“What was that?” she teased, turning to look up at him.

Joe’s lips curved into a half-smile, his hands still anchored on her waist. “It’s not that different from footwork drills. Just gotta feel it out,” he said, but there was a hint of pride in his tone, like he knew exactly how good he was at it.

Riley shook her head, letting herself lean into him as he moved with more confidence now, guiding her in a slow, effortless rhythm. “You’re a natural,” she said, half impressed, half charmed.

Joe just shrugged.

She smiled, rolling her eyes, but didn’t bother trying to take the lead back—mostly because he was doing a damn good job of it. He kept her close, guiding her through a lazy turn before pulling her back against him, and she couldn’t help but lean into the steadiness of his frame, enjoying the way he seemed so completely in control.

By the time the song ended, they were both a little breathless—more from being close than from the dancing itself. Joe grabbed the glasses from the table and handed her one, their fingers brushing.

“Not bad for a guy who ‘doesn’t usually dance,’” Riley said, taking a sip.

Joe just smirked. “Guess I needed the right partner.”

They settled on his couch, Riley curled against his side, contentment settling over them like a warm blanket. The conversation flowed easily between them, jumping from topic to topic without effort—stories from Riley's tours, Joe's college days, childhood memories, future dreams.

As night deepened around the house, they eventually made their way upstairs, their touches becoming more purposeful, their kisses more lingering. There was a sweet urgency to their connection this time—awareness of tomorrow's separation lending weight to each moment together.

Later, as they lay entwined in his sheets, the house quiet around them, Riley traced idle patterns on Joe's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

"Your flight's at eight, right?" Joe asked, his voice rumbling under her cheek.

"Yeah," Riley murmured, her arms tightening around him involuntarily.

Joe's hand stilled on her back, then resumed its gentle path along her spine. "We're going to figure this out, Riley," he said, certainty in his voice. "The distance, the schedules, all of it."

Riley lifted her head to look at him, finding his eyes steady on hers in the dim light of his bedroom. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Joe replied without hesitation. "This matters. We'll make it work."

In the simple conviction of his words, Riley found the reassurance she needed. Joe Burrow didn't make promises lightly. When he said they'd figure it out, it wasn't empty comfort—it was a commitment.

She settled back against his chest, a small smile playing on her lips. Tomorrow would come with its inevitable goodbye, but it wasn't an ending. Just a pause in something that was only beginning to take shape between them—something worth the effort, worth navigating the complications of their different worlds.

---

Morning came too quickly, the early sun filtering through the blinds of Joe's bedroom. They moved through a routine that felt both new and strangely established—shower, coffee, last-minute packing of Riley's scattered belongings. The conversation stayed light, deliberately skimming the surface to avoid the reality of her imminent departure. Neither of them wanted to touch the weight pressing down on the morning.

Joe loaded Riley's suitcase into the Range Rover while she took one last look around his house, already missing the space that had briefly become a part of her world. Her fingers trailed over the turntable he'd bought for her, a tangible symbol of the unexpected connection they'd built in such a short time. She traced the edge of the vinyl that still sat on the player, the album from last night—a reminder of how they'd felt the music together, like they were tuned to the same frequency.

The drive to the private airfield was quiet, Riley's hand resting on Joe's thigh, his thumb occasionally brushing over her knuckles at stoplights. Cincinnati was still waking up around them, the early morning streets largely empty, giving them one last pocket of privacy before reality stepped in.

When they reached the airfield, Joe drove directly onto the tarmac, where the sleek private jet was already prepped for departure. He parked near the stairs and cut the engine, and for a moment, they just sat there—neither one making a move to break the fragile silence.

"So," Riley said finally, forcing a smile. "This is where I say something profound and memorable, right? Should I quote Shakespeare or go with a Taylor Swift lyric?"

Joe gave her that half-smile that always made her heart skip. “Or you could just say you’ll call me later,” he said, voice quiet. His hand tightened slightly on hers, like he wasn’t quite ready for her to get out of the car yet.

She took a breath, her voice dropping the humor. "I'm really bad at goodbyes."

Joe turned toward her, his gaze steady and direct. "It's not a goodbye," he said, with the same quiet certainty he used when calling a play. "Just a see you later."

The words should have made it easier, but they didn't. Riley nodded, but to her embarrassment, her throat tightened and her eyes grew wet. She glanced away, wiping quickly at her cheeks. "God, ignore me. I cry at literally everything. Commercials, cute dogs, when I'm hungry. It's annoying."

Joe didn't laugh or brush it off. Instead, he just leaned over and brushed his thumb across her cheek, catching a stray tear before it could fall. "Hey," he said softly. "You don't have to pretend it doesn't suck."

Riley managed a wobbly smile. "I just hate leaving like this. We just figured out how to be in the same place without driving each other crazy, and now I have to go."

Joe was quiet for a second, like he was weighing his words carefully. Then he just looked her right in the eyes, his tone steady. "I've never done this before," he admitted. "Not like this. I keep things separate. Football, personal life, all of it. But with you..." He paused, choosing his words with precision. "It doesn't matter how complicated it is. We'll figure it out."

Riley swallowed hard, her chest tightening. "You sure? I'm bringing chaos to your very structured world, Burrow."

Joe gave her that look—the one that was so direct it almost made her nervous. "Good," he said simply. "I want that."

She exhaled slowly, the honesty in his eyes hitting her harder than any flowery declaration. Riley leaned in, her hand slipping to the back of his neck as she kissed him—a kiss that held everything she couldn't quite say. When they pulled back, her forehead rested against his for a moment.

Finally, Riley forced herself to pull away, the reality of the waiting jet breaking the moment. "Get used to the crying, by the way," she said, attempting to lighten the mood. "It comes standard with the package."

"I like the package," Joe replied, his voice low and certain.

Joe got out and retrieved her suitcase from the back, then walked with her to the foot of the stairs. The cool morning air whipped around them, but Joe seemed unbothered, standing tall and steady as always.

She turned back to him, hesitating on the first step. “I don’t want this to be one of those things that fades out when we go back to real life.”

Joe’s eyes softened. “It won’t be,” he promised, no unnecessary words, just certainty. “This isn’t it for us.”

One last kiss, brief but carrying a promise of more, and then Riley forced herself to move up the steps, pausing at the top to look back. Joe was still there, hands in his pockets, that steady, unmovable presence that had become so familiar. He didn't wave or make some grand gesture—that wasn't Joe—but he didn't move either, just stood there, grounded and waiting until the very last moment.

Once inside, Riley sank into the plush leather seat, glancing back out the window to see him still rooted in place, watching the plane prepare for takeoff. As the engines rumbled to life and the jet taxied toward the runway, she couldn't help but feel like she was leaving a piece of herself behind with him.

Closing her eyes, Riley leaned back and let herself feel the ache of missing him already. But beneath it was something else—something that felt less like loss and more like potential. She didn't know how, but she knew they'd find their way through this. Whatever had sparked between them wasn't something that could be easily extinguished.

Different worlds, maybe. But somehow, in ways that defied logic, they'd found a way to orbit each other. And if there was one thing she knew about Joe Burrow, it was that once he set his mind on something, he didn't quit.

She just had to trust that this—whatever it was becoming—was one of those things.

[yeryeryea]

8 underrated eremika fanfics that I think definitely deserve way more recognition, appreciation, and love:

🤍 Anamnesis by Karizard (@karizard-ao3)

I've reread this a few times and it gave me a sci-fi movie vibe based on those romance, humor elements, and family scenes. It's rare to see Mikasa as a fuckgirl and Eren being the absolute wife guy ever (trust me, it's really sweet). The idea that every au of eremika has them deeply loving each other is so appealing, I love them and can easily imagine their lives when I'm dozing off lol. And I literally screamed when canon Eren appears! Imagine if this were a Netflix series, just picture the trailer with Eren's titan roar as one of the episodes even if it's just a quick black screen for one second. It would totally hype everyone up!

🤍 ocho by AphoticW

It's very sweet and I think Eremika in this au has the healthiest relationship ever! And for the first time I can actually accept jeankasa while reading. It was really refreshing and gave me a new perspective on their dynamic, something I didn't expect to enjoy as much as I did when I saw the title. It really caught me off guard in the best way possible.

🤍 My Emotional Kaleidoscope by On_kamis_green_earth

It's hard to find a mature fanfic that includes the topics I'm interested in, like addiction and its effects. There aren't many fluffy moments in this au but there are very realistic problems that really make you think. I was hooked right after the first chapter. It feels so raw and real, unlike the typical dramatic fanfics that can feel a bit too far removed from the harsh realities of life (yes I'm talking about DF lol). I love how it dives into deep emotional themes without sugarcoating anything. The complexity of the characters really stands out and keeps me engaged throughout.

🤍 see you later (the series) by sinigangsta (@sinigangsta-ao3)

This is a great series about canon eremika! The way it explores their bond is so genuine and heartfelt. I love how it delves into the everyday moments of their life and shows their connection. It's not just about the big moments but the little things that make their relationship so endearing. And there's smut! Plenty of them :) Lots of steamy moments that really add to the chemistry.

🤍 i can't think of anything funny to say by miriamika

[Still updating] It's hilarious and brings a fresh twist with its unique 1950s time setting. The humor is spot-on, and the fun mix of comedy and nostalgia had me laughing out loud while also appreciating the content. I really hope the author comes back one day to give us more!

🤍 Porcelain Menial by cxcassi (@cxcassii)

[Still updating] To say it's sexy, hot, sultry, passionate, or anything else is seriously an understatement! I love how Eren's character shifts from being kinda casual with his intentions to completely serious when they finally sleep together lol. It's like watching him evolve. This is definitely a fanfic people should check out and I'm waiting for more! Can't wait to see where it goes next!

🤍 The U and I in Security by Shining TEA

[Still updating] I don't think there's any other eremika fanfic that sets them up as security guards! It's hilarious, not just between eremika but literally between everyone. It's kind of a slow burn, but each chapter just keeps getting better. I was literally cracking up during their soccer game! Also, Eren tries to deny, or should I say, can't quite figure out his feelings in the cutest way, and it was so amazing. I hope the author updates soon!

🤍 Gangsta's Paradise by Drift1607

The criminal x cop relationship actually reminded me of Zootopia. I just realized it's kind of like an ‘old’ fanfic but I've reread it a few times now. Eren in this au is so funny and refreshing, unlike other aus where he's more serious or something, his lines had me laughing nonstop. But just a heads up, there's a bit of ereannie smut in one of the chapters (😿), but I'm sure it's still a great fanfic that's definitely worth reading! It's fun and full of personality, so if you like a unique spin on their dynamic, you'll love it.

[bugbachelor]

when it comes to the Trix's looks the general fandom interpretation that Stormy is the least feminine style wise out of the Trix continues to baffle me. because there's a lot of things canon is very vague about, but this is one of the few instances where canon is doing the exact opposite and Yet it's still such a common interpretation

to be fair, i think people tend to take her more abrasive louder personality and then draw from it that she should also be the most practically and sporty dress wise in the group and so on

and as a hc it's whatever, it's just really one of those instances where it's clearly the opposite in canon and people seem to genuinely gloss over it, when it's arguably such a funny aspect of her character

Darcy is the one that's always dressed the most practical on top of her hippy inspired fit. she's the only one wearing pants, both in her witch and civillian outfit. (she also knows how to ride a hoverbike for some unexplained reason. which the winx had to slowly learn in s3. some not elaborated skill going on here)

Icy's style moves closer to the preppy, formal ranges, with her collared top - tight skirt - high boots look. the tied back (up) hair also helps. and also the cape. she's got a cape in her witch form, can't stress enough how much of a fashion choice that is on her part

and Stormy's look is just giving summer party. like, it is. you've got a lot of flowy and wrapped fabric, and her open heels (which are a statement piece when your entire power is wind and storms and your signature fighting style consists of rain, lightning, and tornadoes)

out of them Stormy is dressed the most feminine And impractical at all times. ranging from being completely committed to skirts/dresses to preferring the party club look when her whole bit is hostile weather

actually, it's not even just a Trix thing i think Stormy is just genuinely dressed kind of not occasion appropriate even for a witch in general

this is apparently the general cloudtower/witch fashion

and Stormy pulls up to the wannabe goth convention with her breezy, flowy summer fit with ribbons both on her skirt, top, And on her open toed summer heels. those especially are kind of a bizarre choice on her part, since the predominant fashion trend seems to be boots, ideally pointy. kind of a mix between what Icy and Darcy are wearing. absolutely no one is wearing sandals or even open heels, style wise they're much closer to something Stella or Flora tend to go for even

Stormy is just fully committed to her sunny weather fit which i kind of have to respect

but i'm also mildly intrigued about the why of it? is that her genuine style preference and she just gives absolutely no fucks about what's in or expected witch fashion in general? or is the perpetual good weather fit some inside joke to her with her powers literally being 'bad' weather?

logistically in universe though, would there be some line you shouldn't cross with how much your shoes can look like you bought them from the same store Stella goes to? especially with how image focused and competitive the cloudtower environment seems to be. or would her style just read as completely out of fashion at cloudtower and this is just current fashion trends? we'd never find out because even if people Would have thoughts about it they would definitely not be voicing it to a senior classmate that's one of Griffins top students and can summon actual tornadoes. at that point you really could just do whatever you wanted (which, i mean the Trix already do that)

the take away just ends up being that Stormy clearly doesn't care about a) expected witch fashion, and/or b) what's weather appropriate. and yeah, does fit her character, i think she really would just do whatever she wanted and if that's the ribboned summer shoes that's what it is

(also, sure the flowy ribbons are a kind of funny fashion choice for her, but also, given how wind makes up almost half her powers, they're kind of a good one. those have to be so fun when you're walking or flying around and wind is blowing them everywhere. i get her)

[viktoriaashleyyx]

Why do some of us not *hate* Tamlin?

I am pro-tamlin, not pro feylin. I would prefer Tamlin to never have to deal with the NC ever again. If SJM never types his name out again I will be happy.

Tw: light mentions to DV, SA, and Divorce.

Feyre is written in a way that makes it feel like she is intentionally manipulating us against Tamlin to justify her leaving him the way she did, and to put Rhysand up on a pedestal.

The abrupt and sloppy way SJM handled Tamlins' character assassination induced my fight or flight. Let me explain:

My parents divorced when I was 4, and I had to learn, quickly, how to interpret people's true intentions and empathize with where they are coming from vs just blindly listening to someones account of what happened. My father got custody of us and would use the same elements against my mom that Feyre uses against Tamlin. I HAVE to read between the lines or I would fall to the intentional manipulation.

"She left me so she probably cheated" "he trapped me in the house" "she has a new boyfriend so she doesn't care about you anymore" "he hit me [when I was actively TRYING to get him to hit me to sway public opinion of him]"

Everytime Feyre left for the NC, she did so kicking and screaming. Every indication Tamlin could see was that she did NOT want to go with Rhys, until he gets a letter from her saying to not come looking for her that she doesn't want to be with him. Tamlin didn't know she could read or write. Had that been my love I would assume it was a ransom note too, written by someone else. Had she actually spent 1 hr winnowing to Tamlin, tell him face to face, then winnow back (with an escort) he MIGHT have gotten the hint.

A tithe was a weird thing to use to show how cruel Tamlin is, considering how 2/3 of the night court live in constant fear, children's bones are broken for misbehaving, the CoN are trapped there. SJM really showed us that she has no political knowledge what so ever. I barely started ACOFAS and when Feyres talking about the unnatural sum of her money, my first thought is "You don't amass that level of wealth without oppressing someone." Lucien said that Tamlin would be expected to hunt down those not able to pay the tithe, but when we get to Tamlins actual actions he just said "get it together in 3 days or pay double next time". In my initial reading, I interpreted it as another mask (like how Rhysand acts). Tamlin does this due to tradition, he is expected to act a certain way, but *I felt* he had no intention of acting out what he said. It was just a line he was expected to say to send the wraith away without others expecting the same.

Feyre and Tamlin were not right for eachother because they were not eachothers mates. People can exist fine separately, and be incredibly toxic together. From page 1 we see Feyres inherent inability to empathize with anyone, she has it bad, she has to hunt, therefore her sisters don't do anything. But she also can't cook, so who was preparing the meat she brought home? It gave me "housework isn't real work" vibes. Feyre also doesn't communicate very well, which would explain why a literal mind reader was able to help her better than Tamlin was. I saw Tamlin trying but not being able to help her because he couldn't read her mind.

Feyre didn't want to be trapped in a manor for a few hours while she was displaying manic behavior, but she condoned her sisters be trapped in the HOW for 6 weeks immediately after losing their lives. She condones the treatment of the people in Hewn city and supports the literal Jim Crow laws placed against them in Velaris when all they wanted was to leave. She condones and supports trapping Nesta in HoW after the war just to force Cassain on her so Feyre can play matchmaker.

Feyre is an inherently self centered sociopath. She can read minds and still can't develop a shred of empathy.

Just leave Tamlin alone. Damn.

[starryeyedjanai]

sitting between comfort and chaos

steddie | 5.7k | rated: teen

5 times everyone thought Steve and Eddie were dating before they got together + the first time Steve tells someone after they actually get together

happy birthday @legitcookie!!! i hope you had a fantastic day!💗

read on ao3

1.

Thinking back on it all, Steve thinks he should have known something was up when Dustin started letting Eddie sit up front when he drove them places, a spot reserved only for Robin or Erica when Dustin was riding with him.

Steve has seen that kid - who's not really a kid anymore, he's in college now which is so weird to think about - elbow his friends in the neck trying to get to the car first so he could ride shotgun. So giving up the coveted spot for anyone - even Eddie - should have been a giant red flag.

Steve brings up Dustin letting Eddie sit up front to Robin and gets an eye roll for his trouble.

"What?" he asks. "It's not like it isn't weird. The kid will literally only let you or Erica sit up front and he only lets Erica do it because he's afraid of her."

"Yeah, and he let me sit up front because he thought that we were a thing or about to become a thing or whatever," Robin says, like that explains anything.

"Right," he says, not quite getting what she's getting at.

Dustin knows better now and has stopped bothering them about it, stopped asking Steve when he's going to finally ask Robin out. It only took a million years, but he thinks Dustin gets it now.

He still lets Robin sit up front out of habit - and because Steve refused to start the car the one time Dustin tried to bully his way up front with Robin after figuring out they would never be a 'thing'.

"You know he still kind of idolizes both of you and now that you're, you know-" Robin says trailing off.

Steve lost the thread a little bit, but he nods. "Sure, sure," he says.

Now that he and Eddie are friends, Dustin has stopped bugging them about about each other. Maybe Robin's right. Dustin is still just idolizing Eddie and that's why he lets him sit up front.

Steve still thinks it's weird though.

2.

The first instance Steve can remember something weird happening even before Dustin started letting Eddie sit up front was at a club in Indianapolis.

Robin's sitting in between him and Vickie in the booth, talking about her classes this semester, when she stops short.

"Rob?" Steve asks, and then waves a hand in front of her face when she doesn't respond.

She snaps out of it when he boops her nose lightly. "Uh, um. Don't look, but-"

He immediately looks in the direction she was looking in when she spaced out and tries to scope out what she saw that caught her attention so hard she stopped talking. He sees the crowd of dancing people in his line of sight, but he doesn't see anything out of place.

"I said don't look!" she snaps at him and he turns back to her.

"What? I don't see anything!" he says, feeling chagrined at her snapping at him like that. "You can't say 'don't look' and expect me not to look."

"Just- Eddie's, like, dancing on someone right now," she says, tone almost apologetic.

Steve fails to see what's so special about that. Eddie's always hooking up with someone when he and Steve come out together. He doesn't even think it's the first time Robin's seen it, so he isn't sure why she's so shocked. Vickie has a sympathetic look on her face when Steve glances at her to see if she thinks it's weird that Robin is bringing this up.

"Okay?" he says, voice lilting high at the end like a question.

"And you're okay with that?" Robin asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Uh, should I not be? He's always hooking up when we go out," he says, looking back over and yep - he's got his tongue down some guy's throat on the dance floor, the guy's hands gripping Eddie's ass to bring their hips together. Steve feels a ribbon of want float through him - it's been a while since he hooked up with someone.

"So, you've got like an arrangement where you can hook up with other people?" Robin asks, confused.

And Steve is also confused. The way she says 'arrangement' like it has connotations that he should understand. Why would he and Eddie have even talked about hooking up with anyone?

His slightly tipsy brain tries to rationalize it - maybe she's talking about when they go out just the two of them, like if Eddie hooks up with someone, Robin's assuming Steve would be all alone. He doesn't have a problem with it - he's a social butterfly when he's drunk and even if he wasn't, Eddie running off to go dance or make out or hook up with someone gives Steve time to find someone to hook up with himself. It's not like he's ever bored when he goes out with Eddie.

So he tells her, "He can literally do whatever he wants, Bobbie."

She sips her drink and stares at him, her gaze scrutinizing, and whatever she sees must appease her because she drops it and starts talking about her courses again.

When he remembers that conversation the next day, all he can think about is how bizarre Robin was acting.

3.

The next weird occurrence he can remember happening, he didn't even find out until after the fact that something was awry.

He's on vacation with most of the older crew, staying at a house near the ocean, just a small little bungalow, for the week that they're in California.

When Steve and Eddie go to drop their suitcases off in the room Nancy shuffles them towards, they pause.

There's only one bed.

He and Eddie look at each other and Eddie says, "Maybe all the rooms have one bed?"

"Yeah, yeah, probably," he says, dragging his suitcase to the far side of the room.

"We probably shouldn't say anything, right?" Eddie asks, later, before they all head out to the beach. "Like, about the room?"

Steve thinks about it. He knows Nancy is the one who got the keys to the house through her parent's friends and she got here earlier than them and scoped out the place. If there was another option to them sharing the same bed, Nancy would have told them. "Yeah, I mean. It's fine, right? You don't have a problem sleeping next to me?"

Eddie shakes his head. "Oh, of course not. I'm good sharing if you are."

"Yeah, it's no problem," Steve says. He kind of can't remember the last time he shared a bed with someone other than Robin when she stays over at his apartment sometimes.

"Okay, then we'll just. Keep it to ourselves. Besides, I feel like Nancy would skin us if we tried to complain about a place we aren't even paying for," Eddie says with a grin. The perk of Nancy's parent's friend having a vacation house is that even though it's a little small, they let them use it for free. And it's empty because they only use it when it's winter in Hawkins.

"She one hundred percent would," Steve agrees, so they drop it and don't bring it up. Too few beds isn't the end of the world.

Waking up with Eddie's arm firmly wrapped around his waist is fine, nice even. If Steve turns off the alarm that woke him, snuggling back into the embrace, making them both late for breakfast when they finally do wake up, that's no one's business but his own.

-

It's later, after they're home, that Eddie stops by and tells him about the extremely bizarre conversation he had with Nancy the last day there.

He says, "So something weird happened on vacation and I don't know what to make of it and I'm only telling you because you're the only other person it affected," as soon as Steve opens the door.

"What happened," Steve asks, instantly worried. He lets him in and Eddie starts pacing in the living room. Steve goes to sit on the couch.

"So, that last day on vacation, Nancy asked me to come sit on her suitcase because it wouldn't close with all the souvenirs she bought. I went into her and Jonathan's room and there were two beds," Eddie says, stopping in place to look at Steve to gauge his reaction.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Oh," he says. He's really not sure what to make of that either.

Eddie starts pacing again.

"Yeah. So I asked her why there were two beds in their room, but not two beds in our room - kind of put my foot in my mouth if I'm being honest. I didn't mean to just blurt it out, but then she said 'we were just trying to make sure everyone was comfortable'," he says, inflecting his voice higher to mimic Nancy.

"What the hell does that mean?" Steve asks, trying to wrack his brain and see if he remembers her telling him anything about her and Jonathan's relationship being shaky. He thought they were good. There were some rocky times before Vecna, with the distance and everything, but once they were both in the same place again, things seemed to smooth out between them. They've been happy together for years as far as he could tell.

"Exactly!" Eddie says, finally coming to sit on the couch next to him. "I literally asked her what does that mean? Because I had no idea. Still have no idea. She said 'what? It's not like you have a problem sharing with Steve', which honestly something about her tone made me feel like I was stepping on her toes, so I just dropped it. But I can't stop thinking about it. Are she and Jonathan okay?"

"As far as I know," Steve says. "That's so weird. But if there is something happening between them, it would make sense that they'd call dibs on the one room that has two beds. I gotta talk to her and see what's going on."

"Don't, like, tell her I told you or anything," Eddie says to him. Steve still thinks it's hilarious that Eddie is patently afraid of Nancy and her guns, which are mostly retired and locked up.

"'Course not," he says. "I'll just ask how they're doing the next time we hang out. I hope it's something they can get through at least."

"Yeah," Eddie sighs. "If they don't make it, how are the rest of us supposed to have a chance?"

Steve does ask Nancy about it later, just casually asks how she and Jonathan are doing.

She kind of narrows her eyes at him and says they're fine, but her voice is suspicious like she isn't sure what he's getting at. He drops it because he's also a little afraid of her.

The entire situation just leaves him confused, though.

He doesn't bring it up to Nancy again, but he does talk to Robin about it because his conversation with Nancy left a weird feeling in his chest.

"Eddie told me Nancy and Jonathan had separate beds on vacation," Steve blurts out, trying to go for casual, but absolutely failing.

She looks over at him with a weird expression on her face and says, "Yeah, I thought you knew that? It was just how it all shook out. Nancy just wanted everyone to be comfortable." And those words are eerily similar to what Eddie told him Nancy said about it.

He asks, "What do you know?"

"What do you mean?" she counters.

"You know something," he says, narrowing his eyes. "Are she and Jonathan alright? I tried asking her, but I felt like she was gonna bite my head off."

"They're fine," Robin says. "Nancy and Jonathan were just taking one for the team."

Steve's still so confused.

Robin must see the confusion on his face because she grabs his hand and says, "Look, we don't really ever talk about it, and that's totally fine by the way, but we all just want you to be happy."

Steve isn't sure where that came from or what it has to do with Nancy and Jonathan, but he's touched that his friends want him to be happy, he supposes.

4.

It's when he and Eddie get an apartment together that Robin brings up the thing she said at the club, jogging his memory of that bizarre night.

She's helping him unpack his room, putting stuff in the drawers, leaving space in some of them like she expects half of his wardrobe to be filled with something else. He thinks it's just another one of her weird quirks. Does she keep yarn for her knitting projects in half of her dresser or something?

He's hanging some shirts and she's folding his jeans when she blurts out, "You know, you don't have to let him 'do whatever he wants' just because it's what he wants, right? You're allowed to have a say in it too, you know."

It takes him a minute to realize who she's even talking about and even longer to realize she's referring to the conversation they had at the club years ago now.

"What- Eddie?" he asks confused. She nods, so he asks, "Why, because we live together now and that should, like, change something?"

Robin sighs, setting the folded jeans in the drawer. "I just mean, this doesn't exactly seem like the type of thing you'd be into. You've never mentioned wanting-"

He cuts her off, and says, "I mean, it's not like I don't also hook up with people when we go out."

That shuts her up for a solid minute. He watches as she processes it and almost wants to roll his eyes. His friends really think he has no love life whatsoever, huh?

He knows he hasn't dated anyone in a long time, but he's fine hooking up with people when he and Eddie go out sometimes. He can't say he doesn't miss having someone, or being in a relationship, but he's fine for now. He's still young, he still has time, you know?

Robin looks at him and says, "Okay. Okay, if that's something you want. Only if it's what you want, though. Don't just let Eddie talk you into something you don't want to do. Don't let him walk all over you."

"Yeah, of course," he says easily. "And if you're worried about us bringing people back here and it causing tension or whatever, we have rules in place and everything."

Robin says, "That- that's good! Rules are good."

'Rules' might be stretching it, but they did talk about guests not staying for longer than one night and trying to keep it down when they do have guests and that's good enough for Steve.

Luckily, Robin seems content to let him drop the subject and talk about how they're thinking of decorating the living room.

5.

The invitation comes in the mail.

Max popped the question - surprising Lucas, who had been agonizing for weeks over how to propose - a few months ago.

They knew the invitations were coming. Max told him over the phone that they'd be coming soon and that she expected them to send back an RSVP even though she already knew they'd be coming.

Steve checks the mail and is surprised to find just one invitation addressed To Steve & Eddie.

He takes the mail inside and shows the invitation to Eddie, who's eating his breakfast, still a little bleary-eyed and soft from sleep.

He drags the chair at the kitchen table closer to Eddie's chair and drops into it as he watches Eddie frown at the envelope in his hands.

He looks at Steve and asks, "Just the one came?"

Steve nods and Eddie opens the envelope to pull out the invitation.

They look over the invitation and Steve notices the RSVP section doesn't have options to add a plus one for either of them.

"Wow," Eddie says, dragging the word out. "None of our friends think either of us would manage to convince someone to come with us to the wedding, huh?"

Steve hums in agreement. He knows Robin, Dustin, El, and Erica helped Max and Lucas with the invitations and no one saw an issue with this one.

"God, are we both so extremely single that not one of our friends thinks we could find a date?" Steve asks, putting his head in his hands.

"Truly and deeply so fucking single, dude," Eddie says, rubbing a hand over Steve's back to lament with him.

+1.

"Hey, can we talk?" Eddie asks him after dinner one night and Steve's heart immediately starts beating out of his chest.

That phrase, even uttered by a friend, out of blue, makes him think something is wrong. He has the irrational thought that he's about to get friend-broken up with or that maybe Eddie wants to get his own place or something, which would really fucking suck.

They've lived together for a long time and are kind of co-parents to a cat now - it would just be a supremely inopportune time for Eddie to suddenly decide he wants out.

Eddie must see the anxiety in his expression because he quickly says, "No, it's nothing bad. It's just- it's actually something good, I'm hoping."

"Uh, okay," Steve says, wringing his hands a little with worry.

Eddie takes a deep breath and says, "So you know how I haven't really been interested in going out or hooking up lately?"

Steve nods, his heart finally calming down a little. Eddie hasn't wanted to go out lately, but it's fine - Steve hasn't really been all that interested either, more content to just lounge around the apartment with Eddie than to go out and try to meet new people.

"It's because there's someone I'm kind of interested in right now, but I'm not sure if he likes me back. It's a close friend, so I've been debating whether or not to say anything because I don't want to screw things up if he doesn't feel the same," Eddie says.

Steve's eyebrows furrow trying to think of who Eddie could be into. The thought that he might be into Jeff or Grant or Gareth, one of his closest friends, makes something in Steve's stomach swirl. He's not sure he likes that. Eddie dating a close friend, moving out to move in with him, sharing a life with him - that leaves a bad taste in Steve's mouth.

But it's Eddie - and Eddie deserves to be happy - so he says, "I think if you like someone, even a friend, you should tell him. If he's into guys, I mean. He'd be a fool to say no to you, whoever he is."

The smile that lights up Eddie's face is a little painful to see for some reason.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Eddie says.

Steve expects Eddie to get up and leave, to go find whoever it is he's into, but he stays put, on the couch next to Steve.

He reaches out and takes one of Steve's hands in his, still looking at him, like he's waiting for something.

Thoughts churn through his brain, first wondering why Eddie would hold his hand when he's apparently in love with one of his friends, and then realizing that he's probably also in the category of people Eddie considers a close friend and then-

Oh.

"Me?" Steve whispers, eyes wide.

That smile is still there, fond and happy.

"You," Eddie says, squeezing his hand.

"But why though?" he blurts out.

Eddie laughs. "We kind of share a life together, dude. We have a cat together and a home. And like, I don't think I've ever wanted anyone the way I want you, so there's also that."

Steve looks at him and thinks about their friendship up until this point, thinks about them deciding to move in together, to keep the stray cat Eddie found, the natural stop to them going out to clubs and bars in favor of staying in together and curling up on the couch.

He thinks of waking up for a week straight on vacation with Eddie's arms wrapped around him, feeling safe in his arms.

He thinks about the feelings that wrap around his heart and squeeze when he looks at Eddie sometimes.

He thinks about Eddie's hand in his right now.

He squeezes his hand back.

"I did say whoever you were into would be stupid to say no to you," he says.

"You did say that," Eddie says. His cheeks are a little flushed and Steve is overcome with the urge to pepper kisses all over them.

He scoots closer on the couch and says, "I meant it."

Eddie leans in closer and says, "I want to kiss you, but I want to be sure that we're on the same page. Like, it's not just about wanting to fuck you, which I do by the way-"

Steve interrupts and says, "I mean, I kind of got that when you said you didn't want to ruin your friendship if I didn't feel the same."

"Shut up, I'm trying to confess my love to you," Eddie says.

"Love?" Steve teases.

The blush on Eddie's face deepens, spreading down his neck. "Kind of. I mean, I've known you for how long now? I think it's kind of impossible to know you and not love you."

There's heat prickling behind Steve's eyes, embarrassingly enough. "I'm gonna kiss you," he says, instead of addressing how that one line has absolutely swept him off his feet.

He pushes closer, closing the small distance between them, getting his mouth on Eddie's for the first time.

Eddie sighs against his mouth, this pleased little sound that lights Steve up from the inside. He wants to kiss Eddie until he's dazed with it, wants to hear all the noises Eddie can make, wants to draw them out of him with his mouth and his hands.

Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until his mouth feels tender under Eddie's.

He pushes Steve backwards on the couch to lay on top of him, his hips in the cradle of Steve's thighs. He keeps kissing him as he settles his weight on top of Steve, their bodies pressed flush together.

They lick into each other's mouths for a long minute, just tongues tasting each other and mouths moving together.

Steve is working up the courage to touch Eddie, to put his hands on him, when he hears him hiss in pain. He pulls away from Eddie's mouth and sees Trick clawing her way up Eddie's arm to get on the couch.

Eddie sits up and pulls her off his arm and deposits her on Steve's chest. She immediately steps on his windpipe in an attempt to curl up near his head.

"God, your daughter is so mean to me," Steve says as he moves her off his neck.

"To you?" Eddie asks, looking at his arm to make sure he's not bleeding. "It was my arm that she clawed."

Eddie's still perched between Steve's legs, but with Tricky on the couch, there's no way they can go back to making out.

And-

"I have to tell Robin," Steve says.

Eddie grins at him and asks, "Immediately after our first kiss? You're gonna run over to her place?" There's no judgment in his voice and that makes something in Steve's chest feel tender - that Eddie knows how he is with Robin and isn't weird about it.

"Yeah, it won't take long. I'll be back before you know it." Steve watches as Eddie climbs off him and adjusts himself in his pants. He covers Patricia's ears and says, "Trick won't like it, but when I get back, we can lock her out of the bedroom so she can't interrupt us next time."

"Oh yeah? And what are we gonna do 'next time'?" Eddie asks.

"Whatever you want," Steve says, watching the flush return to Eddie's face.

He bites back a grin and says, "Hurry back. I'll, uh, I don't know. I'll get myself ready or something."

Heat floods Steve's veins. "You gonna be waiting for me with a rose in your mouth when I get back?" he teases, trying to dissipate some of that heat.

"I think you're the roses boyfriend, not me."

"Boyfriend?" Steve asks, standing up from the couch.

"Boyfriend," Eddie says, cupping his jaw and kissing him again. It's easy to get swept up in it, the feeling of Eddie's mouth moving against his, the feeling of Eddie's hands on his waist.

He pulls back from the kiss with a slick noise and says, "I'll be back in like twenty minutes."

Eddie nods and lets him go.

Steve grabs his keys and heads over to Robin and Vickie's apartment where he knows Robin will be.

"Bobbin," he calls out as soon as he opens the door to her apartment.

"In here," she calls back from the kitchen.

He rounds the corner of the kitchen and says, "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with Eddie."

He watches several emotions pass over her face, none of them excitement, and deflates a little bit.

She says, "Okay?" like it's a question, like she's confused.

"Like, we're dating now and I'm. We like each other and I'm pretty sure it's more than that for both of us," he say, hoping to get some kind of reaction from her.

"I don't understand," she says.

"What's not to understand? Eddie and I- we're together now," he says, in case she didn't get it the first time.

Robin squints at him and says, "Okay, but you've never wanted to talk about it before. What's changed?"

"What do you mean, what's changed? We kissed and he said he was confessing his love to me. I thought you'd be happy?" His chest feels a little tight at the thought of Robin not approving. He really thought she'd be happy.

"Did you, like, break up and not tell me? Why would him confessing his love to you warrant a house call? Where is this coming from?" she asks, and Steve's moment of hurt is replaced with a deep sense of confusion because they are somehow not on the same page about this.

What the hell is she talking about?

"Rob, what do you mean break up?" he asks, feeling off-balance.

"I mean, you and Eddie have been together for years nowso I'm not sure what you're talking about." She looks in his eyes and then lights up. "Oh, are you trying to tell me you're exclusive now? That's exciting!"

Steve just stares at her for a minute, memories of the weird things his friends say to him and Eddie and the weird things that happen coming rushing to the surface. The weird conversations he's had with Robin over the years, feeling like they were talking about two different things. The first vacation where they shared a bed together even though there was a room with two beds, and how it happened again the next time they all went on vacation together. Dustin letting Eddie sit in the front seat of his car. The one, singular wedding invitation.

He's not even sure how to broach the fact that his friends all apparently thought he and Eddie have been together for years, but he says, "Eddie and I weren't dating before now. We literally just got together. We, like, literally just had our first kiss less than fifteen minutes ago."

"That's not funny, Steve. You guys have been in each other's pockets for closing in on five years now," Robin says, coming to sit on a bar stool at the kitchen island. "You, you live together and have a cat together."

He can see her mentally going through all the things she thought about them as he comes to sit next to her.

He gently says, "We weren't together before. We were only friends before today. I'm not sure what we did to make you think that we were together, but you know I'd talk to you about anyone I was dating, even Eddie."

"It's not just me!" Robin says, looking at him again with a piercing stare. "It's everyone! We all know. Or we thought you were together. I'm so confused. How is it possible that you've never kissed before? Like, wait a minute."

She stops talking and puts her head in her hands.

"What are you doing?" he asks her when she doesn't say anything for a couple minutes.

She pinches the bridge of her nose as she says, "I'm trying to channel my memories. Because there has to be a time where I asked you point blank if you were seeing Eddie and you said yes."

"I can guarantee you won't find that memory. Because it doesn't exist. Because Eddie and I weren't dating. Until now," he says.

"You went to Max and Lucas' wedding together!" she says, looking at him triumphantly.

"Not really," he says. "We thought everyone just thought we were both terminally single or something and that's why they sat us together."

Robin smacks her hand against her forehead. "This makes no sense to me. Wait, I asked you if you were in an open relationship before! We talked about it at the club and again when you moved in together. How do you explain that?" she asks.

"That time at the club, I thought you were talking about him ditching me to hook up. It didn't bother me. That's literally all I said. Not that we were in an open rela- wait, you really thought I'd be in an open relationship with someone?"

"I know! It never made sense to me! You're like the most monogamous person I know," Robin says. "Okay, I get that we crossed wires there, but what about when you moved in together? I talked to you about it then too. You said you had rules about hooking up."

He can see how saying that might have been misleading. He says, "I meant like, rules about keeping it down, not about us dating and hooking up with other people." He feels a headache coming on.

Robin looks just as exasperated as he feels. She looks like she's grasping at straws when she says, "You're always together and you touch each other all the time. When I've seen you cook together, you're always bumping his hip or hand-feeding him extra ingredients."

"We live together, of course we found a groove cooking together." he says.

"A groove, okay," she says, rolling her eyes. "But even before then, you were always hanging out."

"Because he's my closest guy friend? Closest friend in general other than you," he says, still so unsure how he missed his entire friend group thinking they were together.

Steve doesn't know how this happened - how all his friends could have thought they were together when he didn't even know how he felt about Eddie until today. How could he have missed this?

But listen.

Steve has never claimed to be a smart man.

If anything, he thinks Eddie should have caught on long before he ever did, so he's holding strong that it's not his fault he didn't see the signs. If Eddie couldn't see them either, how the hell was Steve supposed to be able to?

"And now you're boyfriends," Robin says, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"And now we're boyfriends," he agrees.

She grins over at him and says, "That's the first time you've said the b-word. This is the first time we've talked about it and you said the b-word. You really weren't dating before now."

He shakes his head. "We really weren't. And I seriously can't believe you ever bought me saying we were in an open relationship. It's like you don't know me at all," he says with a sniff.

"No, I was extremely confused about it, but you were happier with him than anyone else I've ever seen you with, so it didn't matter what I thought, you know?"

Steve's face smooths out at that and his heart melts a little. He loves her so much.

He hugs her to his side and she playfully shoves him away.

"I can't believe I've had it wrong - we've all had it wrong - this whole time. The more I think about it, though, the more it makes sense that you weren't together. Like, I expected you to be talking about him all the time, but you never really gushed about him to me. At first, I thought it was because it was your first boyfriend, you know?" she says.

He nods. He can get that. What he can't get is- "You were okay with me not talking about him, sure. But you really think I wouldn't kiss a guy I was dating in front of you? Or hold his hand?"

Robin shrugs and runs a hand over her forehead like she's getting a headache from thinking about it. "I thought you were just shy at first. Again, the boy thing. And then it was just habit not to or maybe Eddie wasn't into PDA- I was just guessing. And, I, everyone thought it, so it's not just me. You guys literally adopted a cat together, how were we supposed to take that any other way?" she asks in an exasperated tone.

"She's Eddie's, technically."

"You're telling me Patricia's not your daughter?" Robin asks.

"No, she is. But Eddie's the one that found her, so I'm just her step-dad," he says.

Robin stands up from where she's seated and says, "See! You say shit like that all the time and expect us not to think you're dating him?"

He winces. "Yeah, I kind of see it now. Well, good news is that we are dating now and I'm gonna go home and fuck him about it."

Robin rolls her eyes. "Christ, I can't believe I ever thought you could be dating him and be anything other than like that about him."

"Oh Robbie, when we come up for air, you're gonna wish we weren't like that about each other. Apparently, we've got like five years of PDA to make up for," he says with a grin.

[reginnaofallwaters]

☆ HONKAI STAR RAIL

duckin' (boothill x gn!reader)

tw: none

additional: hint of forbidden love, a lot of censored cursing tbh

a/n: i'll proofread this when i wake up lol. i just had an idea and i needed to do word vomit before i forget all of it <//3 anyway hi :)

A relationship between human and cyborg.. How did that even work?

That was the question you always heard when the people of your planet met your boyfriend.

Granted, cyborgs were, in a way, still human. Not completely for sure, but still human. They had human feelings, human desires, human minds. It just so happened they had a body of steel and metal. There was no denying, however, that cyborgs felt.. a little inhuman sometimes. Their bodies was one such example, the steel often glinting underneath the light. Often times, they had.. "unique" features that weren't present in normal humans. Some had retractable arms, extended legs, and even extended—

Let's not go there.

Point is— cyborgs weren't quite human. Their unique features would make regular humans fear them. But, hey, this was the whole damn universe, of course there'll be the occasional weirdo or two with the sheer amount of planets that littered the whole, wide galaxy (I mean, Planet Screwllum literally exists), but that's to be expected.

Anyway, where were we? Right. Unique features.

For one, your boyfriend, a cyborg named Boothill, had this fun, little tech embedded in him called the Synesthesia Beacon. It was a translator device that allowed one's thoughts and consciousness into a language the receiver could understand. In this case— you.

Oh, and it was so, so hilarious.

And it also just happened that someone tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon (Aeons knew who but a part of you thanks them for it). As thus, any fun curse words he wished to say were basically censored.

"That fudging idiot!" Boothill hissed lowly under his breath. "Can't forking believe that someone messed around with my Synesthesia Beacon. How the heck did they manage to do that anyway?"

You bit back a laugh and attempted for a gentle smile to hide your smirk. That obviously failed with the way Boothill shot you a warning glare.

"Ya sure ya weren't behind this, darlin'?" He plopped himself onto the seat next to you, cold, mechanical arms immediately wrapping around your waist like it belonged there. The thought made you a little happy. Just a little, of course. "Maybe ya did this to mess with me, hm?"

"I would never," you retorted with a chuckle. "I can't even trust myself with tinkering with elaborate machinery or whatnot, what made you think I'd have the balls to mess yours up?"

"Hah. Fair enough," he replied. "Still. Look at me. I sound like a character from those duckin' kid shows."

Boothill's face contorted, an unpleasant sneer forming on his lips at the realization that a simple 'damn' got censored too. God, that expression was hilarious.

"Pfft—" You really, really couldn't hold it back for much longer— "Duckin', huh?"

"Sweetheart, ya know I love ya, so spare me the laughin' and just don't for the love of frills— The fork?! Frills? Frills? Are you friggin kiddin' me right now? That friggin' son of a birch, I swear."

You laughed silently as he continued to rant on (Read: Attempt to cuss) with no end. You shifted in your place to face him, gently removing his grip on your waist. Once you've faced him, you gently cupped his cheeks, eyebrow raised.

Boothill stopped.

You always had that effect on him. One simple touch was all it took to rid him of all of his anger. It didn't matter whatever shit he was worrying about, the moment you touched him with a knowing glint in your eye, he immediately went quiet each time. His shoulders relaxed, obsidian eyes softening, and the deep frown on his face easing into a neutral line.

"You calmed down much more quicker this time," you hummed, thumb gently tracing his cheek. "Color me surprised."

"Duh, because it's ya, sweetheart," he murmured in reply, nuzzling further into your touch. "Don't know how ya do it, but ya always make me feel calm. I like it."

You didn't reply this time, your other hand reaching out to remove the hat atop of Boothill's head and placing it aside. Your fingers threaded itselves through his long, black and white locks, brushing aside the occasional tangle. His hair wasn't soft and perfect by any means but.. you didn't mind.

You still recalled the way your friends and family were.. rather concerned for you once they learned of your relationship with Boothill. In your planet, cyborgs, mechanical, and inorganic life forms weren't exactly welcome. It was taboo to even interact with one. Yet, you went ahead and got yourself a cyborg boyfriend anyway. Of course, they would be concerned.

Putting his whole "cyborg" origin aside, Boothill's personality and position as a Galaxy Ranger was something to.. definitely worry about. Galaxy Rangers were known for being lone travellers throughout the universe. Rarely do they travel in groups unless subduing an evil that a Ranger couldn't deal on their own. Wouldn't you be just abandoned? Be neglected? Those were the words of your loved ones.

Boothill wasn't like that in the slightest. Despite his outgoing and unrestrained personality, he made sure to never leave you alone for too long. Made you sure were happy first and foremost. Wasn't that enough? Wasn't him doing his best enough?

As you gaze into his eyes, you smiled again.

Yes. It was definitely enough.

"I love you," you said.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he said in turn. "Too duckin' much."

"..Pfft. Duckin'."

"I take it back. I don't love ya anymore."

"Hey!"

So, how did a relationship between a human and a cyborg work?

You don't know. It just did. To your planet, it was a taboo. To you, it felt right. It didn't matter to you one bit. In the end, Boothill being a cyborg did not matter.

And wasn't the most important thing here was love? You love him. He loves you.

That alone was enough.

[octosan]

No but when I say that the problem isn't that Veilguard is bad (when it is IMO) I'm specifically saying that I would have forgiven so much about this game in a vacuum.

In a vacuum, Veilguard feels like a genuine attempt to release a AAA game that isn't preying on its consumers with live service models, overpaid DLC that should have been in the main game, and obvious gamebreaking glitches that turn average players into unpaid beta-testers. And when I was playing it, in a lot of ways it felt like the most technically finished dragon age game of the series. It's the first dragon age game since Origins that doesn't need to be launched by the actually broken EA App! It actually has accessibility options!

But is it really less predatory to misrepresent the tone and content of the game to longtime fans? To not give so much as a warning that it, at the very least, would not be more in line with the writing and depth-of-lore of previous entries? To baldfacedly and repeatedly lie about the development cycle which shrewd players knew by heart already? Is it really okay, is it really acceptable, to wave our hands and go "well the devs probably signed an NDA that makes it so they can't openly address critique" for a game that is 70+ dollars USD and pushes merch that costs upwards of 150 dollars and is (in my understanding) even more expensive overseas? Should I, an average player, have been expected to research the ins and outs of game development language to read between the lines?

Like there's so many... greedy? decisions in this game. I have such a hard time believing that they redesigned the complex and terrifying red lyrium idol into a generic blue fantasy dagger (a redesign so half-assed they had to include a beat in the game where a character "recognizes it" for players to even know it was the same thing) for any reason other than making it easier to replicate as cosplay merch they can sell in their Rook's Coffers bundle which doesn't even include the game.

I mean the fact that they claimed, in the marketing, that the character designs in Inquisition and Veilguard were both made with cosplayers in mind should have been another red flag to me tbh.

Is this really okay?

Like,

I was (briefly) in the Bioware server, you know? I was surrounded by people who were so excited for this game and how it would follow up on previous installments. And every time someone had misgivings because of what they were seeing in the marketing, the general attitude was "everyone who worked on the game is so excited about releasing it, the writers and the devs and even the voice actors, so I will trust them that it is good." People pre-ordered the game even knowing it might not be good because "It's Dragon Age", to say nothing of people who pre-emptively bought that merch bundle.

I was one of those people. I thought "why would they bring attention to this stuff if it wasn't good? Why would they go on about how deep and rich the lore and characters are, how the story balances grim and light-hearted moments, how good the banter is, how much you can shape your Rook and their feelings on their own backstory in roleplay, how Veilguard is better written than all of the prior games, why would they say that this is the best DA game they've ever worked on, if they, at least, don't believe it? Even if in the end I'll find my tastes are different in regards to the narrative choices, it can't be worse than DA2--very flawed but which I loved--or even Inquisition--which I hated (or thought I did until now) but still get a lot of mileage out of. It will still feel like Dragon Age. So yeah, it'll be worth it to me to spend this money."

My sister dfkgkdfkgfdsk begged me to wait until the game was on sale before buying it, but the thought of waiting months and months for that made me feel depressed and again--I took the developers at their word that it would be good.

This is a joke I know the developers are not literally as bad as Gortash.

Now, though, I feel sick and embarrassed that I spent so much money on this game in a time of my life when money is increasingly becoming an issue. When I actively wish I hadn't played this game at all and had its lore and narrative decisions burned into my brain.

And it's taking me days and days to even unpack and articulate this, every time I think I'm done venting the worst of my grief I realize I have more to say.

I've seen that Jenny Nicholson quote going around lately and it's very poignant, but you know what Jenny Nicholson video reminds me of Veilguard the most?

The Star Wars Galactic Cruise video. If you haven't watched it yet, you really should click the link and check it out because it's a fantastic video, the best example of niche journalism I've personally ever seen.

I think about the ways that every point she makes in her video talking about this atrocious money-sucking Disney attraction reminds me of Veilguard. Right up to the very end where we see what we COULD have gotten and didn't because of corporate greed.

As well as the fact that there is a significant crowd of people who not only enjoy Veilguard (which again, is not an issue and I'm genuinely glad if the decisions the devs made made this a better experience for you than previous games because I would not wish this sheer level of buyer's remorse on anyone) but are claiming that the fans sitting here feeling scammed out of unreasonable amounts of money because of the misleading marketing just had "too high expectations" and "you get what you put into it" as if we don't have previous dragon age games with their shitty development cycles to point to in what we wanted out of this one and what the devs were capable of putting into it.

Exactly the same crowd claiming that people paying for an upwards $6,000 USD LARP experience are being "too nitpicky" when they point out various problems like the game breaks for some people and they didn't even make sure everyone can see the stage at the dinner show.

[lordofmelancholy]

Arcane Silent Frontiers: Isha and Jinx's Relationship

Alright! Time for something new! The (tragic) Relationship between Isha and Jinx in Silent Frontiers

Now for those who read This (if you haven't go read it), you might have notice that I put down one of the inspirations for Isha's character in SF as not only just Ellie from The Last of Us but also Joel as well.

This is because, both Isha and Jinx take the "Joel" role in this AU; which is basically a fancy way of stating that both of them have major attachment issues stemming from trauma and apparent abandonment. Because of this, both Isha and Jinx actually don't get along to each other as quickly as they do in the show. The need to Bond is there, but Isha often finds it hard to gain attachments towards people following immense heartbreak in her life, and is in many ways similar to Jinx in this notion. However what should bring them together, instead makes it hard for them to do so. There's a pull of course that neither can understand, but it's a pull that tends to lead them both at the current time to face first into a wall. They have to break that wall and it's a process. Its literally has to build up. But with every build up, there can be an explosion which with Isha and Jinx happens.

Thus then comes the Isha (ellie) and Jinx (Joel) parallel Remember This Scene, in the first TLOU

Well. . .Jinx and Isha basically go through the same thing Despite the attachment issues, throughout the story of SF, Isha does end up getting close to Jinx much like she does in the show. This however is where it gets complicated for JINX because Jinx's whole thing IS the fear of getting close to someone in a world that tends to take them away too easy.

The only one she's EVER close to is Ekko. He's been her rock since they were kids. But anyone else doesn't get as close easily and it's just how she's been for years.

She's been so stuck in her ways that it honestly scared her how quickly and how attached to Isha she got and as a result her first instinct was to push away.

To not only protect others, but herself.

Jinx's biggest breaker in this whole thing was the fact that Isha once accidentally called her mama by mistake and Jinx's first instinct was to fear the word because she never expected it to make her feel good. It was what started the OG argument (similar to the one Joel and Ellie got into in the first game) and what had caused a small rift to form between the two of them, because Isha tried to get close but Jinx pushed back and thus Isha basically "gave up"

which she was actually starting to NOT DO because of Jinx.

Jinx ends up of course beating herself up over it later on down the line because she realizes how stupid she's actually been about all this. Realizing that Ekko was right, that everyone was right and even Isha was right about a lot of stuff. But her stupidity this time caused her to go and "Jinx" it cause it's obvious that Isha is distancing herself from JINX now and it's not the other way around

When what happens with Isha happens (basically what caused the events of the fic: Alone in this Platinum Field which can be found there in the link), Jinx is distraught over it because not only could she possibly loose Isha, but she'll also loose Isha at a point in time where there's a big chance that Isha hates her.

But the issue is, is even now Isha doesn't hate Jinx. And that's the sad part. Made even more sad by the fact that she never did, nor does she think she ever could

It's just that Isha's hurt

She's hurt because in the process of pushing her away, Jinx had also said things that just got Isha the wrong way

Because as we all know when Jinx is scared, Jinx can't shut up for shit and has to put her foot in her mouth.

Jinx never really leaves her side shortly after what happened. The issue with the field was something she couldn't avoid, it sucked but she couldn't. But after that she never strays too far. She's always close by. Always within reach. But while part of it is her just being observant, there's also another reason as to why.

She keeps trying to apologize

Every once in a while, sometimes in the dead of night, while everyone is asleep or at least trying to sleep. You could often hear whispers. Hushed sounds. And it's Jinx trying to talk to her. Trying to apologize. Shes trying to apologize because the thought that Isha is going to die with the thought of Jinx not caring in her head absolutely terrifies Jinx to no end now.

So every once in a while you'd hear a hushed apology. "'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it".

And sometimes when Isha's awake, at least long enough to actually hear those words somewhat, it would often seem like she would jump at the opportunity to accept it. To put it all behind them and forget about it all. But then she would get a look in her eye, as if she was remembering what exactly got said to her.

Playing it all back in her head.

and then Jinx would notice the sullen look. As if even now Isha couldn't bring herself even to forget. Or to forgive

But Jinx keeps trying to apologize.

And that's the sad part really in all this.

But what somehow makes it even worse. If that was even possible to begin with. Is the fact, that that's not the only thing Jinx tries to do. What she always seems to try despite it never working in the end.

She thinks the others don't hear her when she say's it. But they do. They always do. And it breaks their hearts to hear how desperate she sounds when she asks Isha to call her Mama once more.

Because they know the odds are slim now that she ever will. Not after everything.

But Jinx need's to hear her say it. She wants Isha to say it. Mouth it. Sign it. Garble Anything. Now more then anything

She doesn't care how Isha says it because at least if she does. At least if this is does turn out to be the end, Jinx can at least know and hold on to the warm feeling that Isha calling her Mama made her. Can hold on to that warmth at least for a while, just a little. Just long enough to help her cope with the fact that she may never get to hear it again if this truly is the end.

She hopes its not.

God she hopes its not

Because she still needs to make up for what she did.

So she's keep trying. As long as it takes. However long both her and Isha have left.

She knows she sounds selfish. Wanting Isha to say it now when there's a chance this might all be it. To say it now after pushing her away the way that she did. She knows it sounds selfish. Sounds cruel

She knows it probably is in some way. But its not. Really its not She's not being selfish nor is she trying to be cruel. Not really anyways. She just finally has come to accept something. Just a little too late. Just a little too much at the wrong time

But

"Just once. That's all. Call me mama again. Please just say it. Just once, that's all. You can say it. I wont be mad I promise…I won't just…-"

"Please?"

____

(Also as a added bonus in pain. Imagine Isha referring to Ekko as Papa by mistake when they make it back to the compound. They get her all fixed up for the time being and her being slightly drugged up for the pain, accidentally refers to Ekko as papa when he shows up to see them. Imagine being worried that she "did it again" and that she's going to be rejected by Ekko just like she was by Jinx. Imagine her being terrified of the potential rejection. Jinx did it, what's really stopping Ekko from doing it as well)

[yousaygoodbyeandisay]

The meta of Every You, Every Me final scenes is eating my brain.

So far, we have two scenes. In the second episode, the director yells cut, and we see what seems to be a bts of Top and Mick. Only it's not a bts. The camera is far away, and we are observing what happens when the director yells cut after a scene. They get their makeup fixed, and several people from the production come over. In that small snip of time, Mick (the actor) tries to open his bottle of water, and he can't. Top (the actor) grabs it and opens it for them. They were clearly filming episode 2.

Fourth episode, after a very devastating story, again, we get Top and Mick in a tent, Mick is getting a brief on what will happen next and is told he has 5 minutes of downtime before the next scene and Top is reading his script.

Some back and forth, and Mick (the actor) asks Top (the actor) to be his boyfriend. After very short deliberation, he happily says yes and teases Mick, saying he's using lines from Mr. Parinth, the name of the character from episode 2, saying if Mick was using Mr. Parinth's lines on him. (Thanks @pickletrip)

They were clearly filming episode 3 or 4.

It's layers upong layers of meta, and I can find two different takes (or both) that can be taken from these scenes.

The most cutting would be that this is a meta commentary on fan service and fan expectations on actors. Top and Mick are playing versions of themselves where they are now dating and flirting on their filming downtime. They, of course, date each other because actors can't just do and be good at their jobs. If what fans see on screen feels real, then the romance between actors has to be real too.

The softer meta take is that the actors being in love/dating is a bigger part of the concept of the show.

Literally, "Every You, Every Me". They are destined, including the actors (playing versions of themselves) playing these characters.

[bitterrfruit]

sat here open mouthed jaw dropped at kerosene. oh my god.

i adore the way you ground the fic in reality - the way the coworkers are described sounds exactly like something i'd overhear someone describe at a pub when asked about their job. everything just feels so real; even just the mention of the odd popular brands in the shop and travel times and the fucking travelodge make the story that much more alive and i love it - little british things most people don't think twice over but are so ingrained in the everyday

and the panic of reader when simon actually comes in - the way it felt so claustrophobic when she kept dropping the key and crying, then the reveal of the money hidden away? uughh so good, especially when simon tries to make reader feel like she's on his level, only to get /actually/ angry when she's pressed the alarm. god. i can imagine that playing out on a telly screen so vividly, some bbc or channel 4 drama, it's so well written

the back and forth between simon and reader in the car too, ugh, so good. simon's inner monologue then prying info out of reader while refusing to really give her a satisfactory story back - just enough to placate her and keep us thinking throughout the whole thing, just enough to put the edge on it. love love love it.

the interaction with the police officer too and how they so easily fall into lying - simon because, well, *gestures vaguely*, and reader saving his story. what a dynamic. intoxicating.

the johnny tattoo too, ooooh my god. definitely flipped me on my head when i was reading - i was so certain the scotland mentions had to do with johnny, but i didn't expect that reveal. dizzying. so so good.

and then the smut? this bit - “Fuckin’ hell,” he grunted, his stony voice tickling the hairs on the nape of your neck, “you are warm, aren’t ya?” - repeated in my head the whole day after reading it. god. so good.

the entire fic is just - god, wow. gorgeously dizzying and i was giddy by the end of the shower scene. the acceptance of reader in the final line, the way everything feels so natural despite the actual setting. what a fucking talent. god. and the pinterest board too??? sooo good. it's so exciting to see a fic - or, well, any piece of art - with those vibes set in the uk. it's so rare and you are a credit to it

gorgeous. in love. fantastic. can't wait to see what you write next

oh my god anon 😭 i'm literally bouncing off the walls, thank you so much!!!

i'm so happy it got across the vibes i was going for - i was terrified it wouldn't feel believable that reader would succumb to him willingly. i just kept thinking that if i were in her shoes, i would.... lmao. and it was so fun squeezing in as many brit things as i could so i'm giddy that you noticed and appreciated them!!

genuinely my dream to get a message like this, so thoughtful and in depth, i keep rereading it and squealing like a piggie! it means so much to me, and i'm ecstatic you enjoyed it so much, thank you thank you <333

[gnckholin]

okay I need to preface this with yes I like having representation and anyone who's been around my blog long enough should know that renarin is my specialest little guy him and him and rlain are very cute and if y'all really need it this is coming from the perspective of a queer man if you turn this into a pissing on the poor type deal I will simply block you but. now that I've had time to stew on it.

the rlainarin arc was a bit boring.

part of this is I think rooted in Brandon trying to be a Good Ally™ doing Good Representation™ and he worked a lot with sensitivity readers to make sure things are handled well but it just felt a bit... tokenizing? like they were in the spiritual realm as a bit of plot convenience but also it kinda felt like an excuse to keep them relevant enough to give them pov chapters. and it's cute! don't get me wrong! but also every other characters get emotional arcs about growing as a person and they got...trying to ask your crush out? it felt very out of place.

now you might be saying hold on! they're not primarily pov characters you can't expect as much nuance emotionally as someone like kaladin. and you're right! but let's look at the other supporting cast members here. jasnah gets the struggle of power and her entire attempt to keep thaylenah which results in a meaningful paradigm shift for her! navani gets to work on her connection with the sibling and uncover the past. we don't even really see much of relationship between renarin and glys much less rlain and tumi. sure they may have been good representation! but they were mediocre arcs. even in the discussions I'm seeing lately of favorite parts, it's not that people have disliked it it's just...nothing to write home about?

it also feels particularly weird to have an arc around "my family will think it's weird" when it's been pretty well established that alethi in general are like. fine with queerness. and sure you can say "well they're nobles" but at this point renarin is in line for 0 titles. dalinar was only going to give king of urithiru to someone who wanted it, jasnah planned on being the last queen of alethkar, there's literally no point? it feels a little love Simon. and yes absolutely in modern western culture people can feel weird about coming out to people who would be accepting and that's fine! but that's also rooted in real world homophobia which alethkar doesn't seem to have.

even when we compare with the other canonically queer stormlight character, it just kinda. . .falls flat. part of this is that shallan wasn't intended to be queer but honestly it feels like it reads well. she doesn't have to turn to camera and say she's different she's bisexual she can just be a person. she can fall in love with adolin she can get flustered around jasnah veil can call women hot and it's like. fine. and it feels more authentic to the setting! a lot of the rlainarin arc in WAT felt like it was meant to be educational. for cishet people. and like that's fine! but it doesn't make for an engaging character arc. I can't even say it really makes for good reading.

and look, I get it, we all like seeing them get flustered and worry about what the other one thinks and we all get to be excited when they confess their feelings and kiss but it just feels so tonally dissonant that like. I can't believe this was intended to fit into the main plot. it feels a bit patronizing - like look we have good healthy representation now! I'm doing so good at this! and genuinely from the bottom of my heart it's thrilling that the largest name in fantasy is willing to do this even more so considering the religious background he's writing from I'm not writing all this to say Brandon is a bad guy or secretly a homophobe I'm just saying. I wish we had more, y'know? something less feel good for the cishets for being good allies something with more of a real plot that engages with the themes of the series and whatnot. I'm looking forward to arc 2 (in like 10-15 years)! I'm looking forward to more rlain and renarin and their dynamic! I just hope it feels less. educational.

anyway a lot of this was directly inspired by verilybitchie's video on good representation it really helped me out my finger on why their arc felt a bit flat so please go check it out she's a great creator.