#sometimes just words of love and support is enough!

[tkwrites]

I'd take a midnight flight for you - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from @stormsies

Title: I’d take a midnight flight for you

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Summary: When Sarah’s professor won’t let her take a test early, and she has to choose between staying for the entirety of the Hughes Bowl and passing her class, will she let Quinn create a third option for her?

Warnings: angst (no relationship angst), swearing, sexism, dealing with an awful professor, some suggestive themes in the middle

Word count: 4,500

Comments: I know I’ve been teasing the second part of Hawaii for a while now, but the idea for this snapshot has been floating around the back of my mind for a few months now. Last nights game was the perfect setting for it, and getting it all down only took me four days. So please forgive me if it's not my best work. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you, thank you and thank you again for your support and love! I have found such a lovely community here, and I’m so thankful. If you enjoyed this Snapshot, please consider commenting, reblogging or sending in an ask about it. I love seeing what you thought of Quinn & Sarah’s latest adventures.

I’d take a midnight flight for you A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

When Quinn picked up the call from Sarah, he’d expected it to be a phone call like most others: talking about their days, comfort at hearing each others voices. He expected to pass the phone around to his family. What he hadn’t expect were tears.

“Quinn, I’m so sorry.”

“Wha—”

“I’m so sorry!” she whispered.

“Sar, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t — Paul won’t —” she was gasping between each statement, “he’s such a dick!”

Panic spiking in his chest, Quinn rushed into the spare room of Luke & Jack’s apartment. “What’s going on, Sar?”

“Paul won’t let me —” she sniffed hard in a way that told Quinn not only was she upset, she was angry.

“What’s going on with Paul?” Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Paul was the head of her program and was often throwing curve balls at her. Quinn was often exhausted just hearing her talk about him sometimes. It seemed to him that Paul just liked to be in control, and play with his students like pieces on a chess board for no other real reason than that he could.

“He — he —”

“Take a deep breath for me,” he instructed, taking in an exaggerated breath of his own, blowing it out in a huff. He smiled when she mimicked his actions. Her sniffling slowed, and she took another deep, shaky breath.

“Okay, now tell me what’s going on.”

“Paul won’t…” Sarah pulled in a big gulp of air, trying to sort through her thoughts enough to share them. “Remember how I told you I have a test on Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly as his heart plummeted to the floor.

“I asked Paul if I could take it on Friday morning,” she explained, “I told him I'd be out of town for the weekend and had a family thing on Monday night, and he immediately went into,” she threw her voice to sound more male and pretentious, “‘You can’t just go traipsing off anytime your boyfriend is out of town.’” Her voice went back to it’s natural cadence, “I don’t know who told him we’re dating, but I swear to god I’m going to ring their neck.”

“Why does it matter?” Quinn asked, feeling a little lost.

“Paul is, like, super set that no one should get special treatment, especially if he feels like they’re entitled. He wants to knock them down. He’s done it to Alison a whole bunch of times. I just know he’s been waiting for an excuse to take me down a few notches because I have a quote-unquote ‘famous boyfriend.’”

“I’m still a little confused,” he admitted. He knew she already had a hard time with Paul. Quinn heard about him more than about any other professor. Now it seemed like he was being a dick solely for the purpose of being a dick.

“He won’t let me take the test early. I asked him if I could take it on Friday morning before I flew out, and he said no. I can understand if he didn’t want to give me extra time, but I’m asking to do it before everyone else. I even told him I wouldn’t see anyone until after I got back, so there’s no way I could tell them what’s on it.”

“How much is it worth?” Quinn asked, his stomach knotting with dread.

“Thirty percent.”

“Fuck,” he said, sinking onto the end of the bed. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do this game without her. He could. He did plenty of them, but this was a family affair, and she was a part of the family now.

Her tears started up again, mostly out of frustration. “I know. He’s such an asshole. He let Bryan take a test early last month when he had to go home for his niece's birthday party, but because it’s me, and because I’m coming to see you play your brothers — which I didn’t tell him, by the way, he just inferred — he won’t let me test early because I’m entitled or some bullshit.”

Quinn was too stunned to silence. Did Paul not know Sarah at all?

“So, I don’t know if I can stay for the game.”

He’d known, somewhere in the back of his mind that this might be the outcome. The fact that she was in school had never hit harder.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” she said, a hard edge coming into her voice.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know. It just sucks.”

“Could you…” he trailed off, deciding he didn’t want to suggest that. That would put her in a very uncomfortable position.

“Could I?” she repeated.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“It’s really nothing.”

“Quinn,” she admonished.

He sighed, “I was just wondering if you could take a red eye home after the game?”

“I looked,” she said, and something in his heart ballooned. She’d already looked. She was doing everything possible to make this work.

“The latest flight to Vancouver from Newark leaves at 10:15, which means I might not even be able to see you after the game. Plus, it doesn’t arrive until one in the afternoon because there’s a huge layover. The only direct flight, that would get me home in time leaves at 9 pm.”

He knew she’d hate this idea, but he threw it out anyway, “what if you flew back on a jet?”

“Hu?”

“I could charter a jet to take you back. You could leave just after the game. Direct is what? A six hour flight? You could be there by six am.”

“Three am,” she said, “with the time change.”

“Even better.”

Sarah bit her lip. She wanted to tell him that chartering a private jet for her was way too much for a game. Too much money and way too much fuss. Only, this wasn’t ‘just a game.’ Most of his family would be there, and he wanted her to be there, too.

“I can’t wait until my thesis is done and I don’t have to deal with him anymore,” she said instead.

Quinn sighed, “will you at least consider the jet?”

“Yeah,” she said, though she really didn’t want to. The fact that people could even take private jets places made her a little sick. She hated that Paul was putting her in this situation.

A brief pause passed over the phone connection. “So, how are you otherwise?” Quinn asked.

Mind still reeling with her predicament, Sarah ignored his question. She was not about to let Paul fucking Smith take this from her because he thought she was entitled. She didn’t want more time to study. She didn’t want to take the test late. If anything, asking to take the test earlier was making her cram much harder than she needed to. She just wanted to support her boyfriend. How was that any different than Bryan supporting his niece?

“You know what?” she said, voice suddenly hard with anger. Even though she hated the idea on principle, Quinn did have the means to solve this particular problem. “Fuck this. I'm coming. If you can find someone to fly me back after the game, that would be really great. I need to be back in Van by 6. If not, I'll just catch that nine flight. I'll at least be able to see the start of the game.”

A smile beamed over Quinn’s face. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

They talked for a little while before he went back to his family, passing the phone off to his dad. It made the rounds, everyone saying hello until it ended with his mom. “we’ll come pick you up tomorrow…. No, it's no trouble…. Okay, see you then…” there was a quiet pause, “love you, too, bye.”

No one else in the room seemed to notice, but Quinn was acutely aware of the fact that his mom and girlfriend had just exchanged ‘I love yous’, simple and easy as anything. It settled something inside him he hadn't realized was feeling restless.

“Why did you run out so quickly?” Luke asked, slinging an arm over Kylee’s shoulder.

“One of Sarah's professors is a real dick wad. She has a test on Tuesday she can’t miss, and when she asked, he told her he wouldn't let her take it early because he feels like she's entitled.”

“Sarah?” his dad repeated. “He thinks Sarah is entitled?”

Quinn shrugged, “anyway, we were talking about that she has to get back by Tuesday morning.”

“Tuesday morning?” his mom repeated. “Is she still coming?”

“Yeah. I’m going to see if I can get a jet to take her back after the game. If not, she’ll have to leave part way through to catch the 9 pm red eye.”

“She’s dedicated if she’s willing to take a red eye home right before a test,” Kylee said and Quinn’s chest filled with pride.

Ellen, along with her mother, her best friend, Kristin, and Kylee, did pick Sarah up from the airport on Friday afternoon. They went to lunch at Ellen and her moms favorite Jewish deli, and went to Central Park before they dropped her off at Quinn's hotel.

He was still staying with the team, but upgraded his room to a single to she could stay with him while she was in town. If she wasn't there, she'd be staying in some hotel by herself, which they both thought was a waste.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his face into her hair. This visiting in the middle of a road trip had only happened once before, when she came to see him in Boston. It was a rare treat, and he soaked up the seconds with her while he could.

Quinn was in basketball shorts, a t-shirt and socks. He looked comfortable and almost at home in this hotel away from home. At least they were staying in one place for a while. It was definitely one of the benefits of playing in New York. No one had to travel very far to get to all the teams they had to play.

She napped with him, and watched him get ready for the game.

“So, I looked into the jet,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thatch mentioned Lexie is coming in for his first game back, but flying home overnight so she can be there when Dawson wakes up. I asked if I could snag you a seat and they said it would be fine. They’re planning to take off around midnight, I think.”

A certain measure of relief swept through Sarah. At least she wouldn’t be the only one traveling.

“Thank you for figuring that out for me,” she said quietly, walking up and wrapping her hands around his chest from behind. Her cheek came to rest between his shoulders.

Quinn entwined their fingers, but kept them pressed against his sternum. “Thank you for being willing to fly back at midnight. I know it doesn't make things easy for you.”

She nosed at his neck, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He gave an appreciative hum, basking in her love, which most importantly, had the support to back it up.

They stayed that way for a few minutes before Sarah couldn't fight it anymore. Stealing her hands back, she fluffed his hair out from his suit collar.

“I’m glad you cut it,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like it a little shorter.”

“Not too short?” he asked, turning and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“There’s still plenty to hold on to,” she said, resisting the urge to take a handful of it right then, knowing he didn’t have quite enough time to fix it if she did.

“Yeah?” he asked, lust sparking in his eyes.

“Mhm,” she said, smiling, shoving her hands into the pocket of his hoodie before they developed a mind of their own.

“You gonna prove that?”

She snorted, “maybe tonight. You’ve got a game to get to.”

“We’ve got a few minutes,” he said, glancing at his phone.

“If you want me to be pulling your hair, you’re gonna need more than a few minutes.”

He laughed, “fair enough. Tonight then.”

“It’s a date,” she agreed, leaning in to kiss him goodbye.

Quinn took over, kissing her hard, doing his best to get her hands out of her pockets. When she held strong, he ran his under her sweater and up her back, sneaking his fingers under the band of her sports bra.

Pulling back just enough to get the words out, she whispered, “you’re playing dirty, Hughes.”

His chuffed laugh cut off when he caught her mouth again, doing his best to kiss her breathless.

Unable to keep them contained any longer, her hands slid up his chest, around his neck and into the back of his hair. He let out a triumphant noise. She gave it a solid tug and it melted into a low moan.

He backed her toward the bed.

“You need to go,” she said as his mouth moved to her neck.

“Have a few minutes.”

He didn’t, but she let him push her to the mattress anyway.

His phone buzzed with his final alarm and he pulled away, letting out a resentful breath.

“Tonight,” he said, pointing at her as he backed away, knowing if he didn’t leave now, he’d have an even harder time getting to the bus.

“I’ll be here,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows, and admiring his shoulders in the beautiful, black suit.

While the game was hard to watch — more injuries (how could there be more injuries to their roster?), tense interactions with JT on the ice, and letting a lead slip through their fingers yet again — Quinn played well.

It was nice to see Natalie and their kids again, too.

Sunday was spent with family, playing board games, getting takeout, and just relishing in the time together. When they got back to Jack and Luke’s apartment after dinner, Sarah excused herself to the spare bedroom to study for the night. Missing these family moments made her want to punch Paul in the face, but she wasn’t about to throw this test. If anything, she was more motivated than ever to ace it.

Declining the invitation to hang out with everyone while Quinn was at practice the next day, she stayed in the hotel room, making sure she understood all the physiology Paul had been teaching them that semester.

“How do you decide who to root for?” Sarah asked, sitting between Ellen and Jack for a moment. Kristen was out of the suite doing something else, so Sarah stole the chance while she could.

Ellen was in a black top, not sporting colors for either team, keeping herself completely neutral.

“I don’t really root for either of them to win. Not in this game,” she said. “I mean, the Canucks need it more, so it would be nice if they got it, but it’s not like I’m cheering against Luke and the Devs. I consider it a good game if the boys play well.”

Jack snorted.

The energy in the stadium and in their box was infectious. Sarah had been to many hockey games and sat in many boxes, but none of them felt like this. Everyone was so invested, and not just because they loved their team, but because they loved people on both sides. Cheering when either team scored, and praise going all around for jobs well done. She’d never experienced this kind of wholehearted positivity at a game before.

Even though it was low scoring, it wasn’t for lack of trying from either team. Sarah couldn’t imagine having to leave half way through. Like many times before, her fuck that feelings were proving to pay off in incredible ways. Watching the back and forth of the third period, Sarah was incredibly thankful she’d let herself partake in one of the perks of dating an athlete. If she’d missed this game, missed this thrilling third period, she might have actually punched Paul in the face.

When the Canucks tied with 36 seconds left in the game, Sarah was out of her seat, fists in the air as she jumped up and down, screaming. All of Quinn’s hard work — all those racked up minutes of ice time, refusing to let his team down — finally paid off.

Ellen breathed a sigh of relief that at least both teams would walk away with a point.

Sarah’s voice was completely gone by the end of the overtime.

Jack took several pictures of her that he casually airdropped to her phone. In every one of them, her hands were over her mouth or clutching her face.

When Lekkerimaki beat Markstrom, earning the Canucks a well-deserved win, she was ecstatic.

The first thing Quinn wanted to do after the game was collapse face-first into bed and sleep for a week. If Sarah didn’t have to catch a flight, he would have blown off any more family gatherings and begged her back to the hotel room, sleeping soundly tucked in by her side.

Too bad that wasn’t an option tonight.

“Congratulations!” Sarah exclaimed when he found everyone. Luke was already there, being consoled by Kylee and his mom.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice was quiet, but his smile genuine. He loved that he didn’t have to perform for anyone here. They all knew him and let him be as quiet as he liked.

They took a big group photo. Those moments always made him emotional — seeing how many people made the trip to see him and his brothers. There was someone new every time. This time, he realized, it was Sarah. What a strange thing to think there were still new things with her.

“Are you okay?” she asked as they made their way out of the building.

“Yeah,” Quinn sighed, knowing she could see right through him. He could usually bounce back after a tough game, but this had been something else. Playing nearly half the game took it’s tole, he supposed.

She pulled him to the side of hall as everyone filed past.

When he didn’t meet her eyes, she knew something was wrong. Cupping his jaw in her hands, she urged, “Q, baby, look at me.” He didn’t usually like pet names, but this one felt right, especially right now.

His eyes lifted to hers, and she could see the fatigue in them. It was pointless to tell him to slow down. She knew he would do everything in his power to get this team to the playoffs, including playing until he was winded. She’d never seen him bent over, gasping for breath like he had been at the end of regulation. “Please take care of yourself,” she said, “for me?”

He nodded, “I’ll take it easy tomorrow.”

It wasn’t lost on her that he only committed to resting the next day and not Wednesday, when another game was coming down the pike.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. She’d take what she could get.

A relieved sigh softened Quinn’s shoulders. It was so comforting to be known this way. “We’ve got to get you to the airport,” he said.

“Your dad said he would take me. You can hang out with everyone.”

He shook his head, “Dad’ll be going back to everyone anyway. I’m coming with you.”

The drive to Newark didn’t take long. Less than twenty minutes had passed before he was kissing her goodbye.

“Love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she said, leaning in to steal another. “Promise?”

He nodded, “I promise.”

Moving into the front seat, he waited until she’d disapeared into the airport to sit down and shut the door.

“What was that about?” his dad asked.

“Nothing,” Quinn said, dragging his hands over his face. “Sar just wants me to take it easy. Make sure I stay healthy. I promised her I’d take it easy tomorrow.”

Jim had known for a long time how much Quinn and Sarah cared about each other, but to see it laid out bare — seeing her so concerned with his welfare, and him willing to get a little more rest because she asked him to — made his heart swell with pride as a parent, glad that his son found the person he was so obviously supposed to be with.

Though she’d slept on the plane, and caught a few hours of sleep at home, Sarah still felt discombobulated the next morning. In her rush to get out the door, worried about being late, she left the house ten minutes early.

“Morning Dr. Smith,” she greeted, taking her usual seat in the middle of the second row. She was the first student to arrive.

“Ms. Roberts,” he said, stiffly, looking taken off guard, “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“No? Why is that?”

“I —”

“That was some game last night, eh? Thank God Demko was back in net,” Bryan said, flopping into the seat next to hers. “How did you get back in time?”

“Caught a flight at midnight,” she said, hesitant to mention anything about a private jet around Paul, even if she was just a passenger with someone else. That would certainly get her on his naughty list.

“You’re way more dedicated than I am,” he said.

“Well, Smith wouldn’t let me take the test early, so I didn’t really have a choice. I wasn’t about to throw my grade because of it.”

“He didn’t?” Bryan asked, taken aback. “Really?”

“Nope,” Sarah said, popping the last letter.

When she glanced over, Paul was looking at her as if he’d never seen a human woman before.

The test was as hard as she’d expected. She was glad she’d taken the time to study over the weekend, and read through her class notes on the flight home, and again that morning.

There were several questions she had to pause to break down to make sure she was understanding them completely. Paul was the king of wording a question just slightly off center, so if she wasn’t paying close attention, she would loose the point.

It took the entire class period, but she made it through every question, and even went back to check them again. After re-reading, she changed her answer on number seventeen.

When Paul called, “pencils down!” she was feeling calm and relaxed about it.

She left the paper on his desk and went back to pack up her things.

“Ms. Roberts, can I speak with you before you go?”

Bryan gave her a wide-eyed, nervous grimace before telling her, “we’ll see you at the common to prep for that paper from Ellis?”

“Yeah, see you in a few.”

Paul didn’t acknowledge her right away when she approached his desk. He was already grading her test. He’d done this every time he asked to speak with her, or she had a question after class. Always making sure she knew that of the two of them, his time was more important.

Finally, she cleared her throat, “you wanted to talk, Dr. Smith?” she said, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

“Yes,” he set down the red pen he was brandishing and took off his glasses. He polished them with the hem of his shirt as he continued, “I wanted to apologize.”

“Oh.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “thank you?” Was that it?

He put his glasses back on and met her eyes. “It seems like there’s a certain kind of woman that dates a professional athlete,” he said.

Sarah just managed not to roll her eyes.

“I put you in the same category as those women and I’m sorry.”

Unable to help herself, she asked, “and what category is that?”

He gulped, uncomfortable, “well, you know…”

“I don’t,” she said simply. “I know all of the player’s partners personally and I don’t think I could put them all into one category other than who they date or who they’re married to.”

“I just mean you hear things,” he said.

“Oh, well I certainly believe everything I hear.”

He blew a frustrated breath from his nose. “All I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I thought you might not be dedicated to this program.”

She should just accept his apology and move on, but she didn’t want him to think she was willing to just roll over when he was being this disrespectful. “Have I ever done anything to make you think I’m not dedicated to this program?”

“Well, no I suppose not.”

“So you just put me in a box with an idea perpetuated by the media, even though you know me personally?”

“Ms. Roberts,” he sighed, “I’m trying to apologize.”

“And I appreciate that. I’m just trying to understand why you would put me in that box in the first place.”

His jaw hardened, and she could tell she was treading on thin ice.

After a moment of clenched teeth when she thought he might actually yell at her, he swallowed hard. “I was wrong, and I’m very sorry,” he said, voice stiff, almost mechanical. “I won’t question your dedication again.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t an answer, but she figured it was the most sincere apology she could expect from him. “I’ll see you on Thursday, then.”

He nodded.

As she was half way out the door, he called out, as if just deciding to, “oh, and Ms. Roberts?”

She turned back.

“Tell Quinn he did very well from me,” he said. The words were too stiff and formal for what they were, but she got the point.

She almost asked him why Quinn wasn't Mr. Hughes, especially when he didn't know him personally, but that was a battle she wasn't willing to wage.

“I will,” she said, giving him a tight smile before she walked from the room.

Well, I don't think Paul will be giving me any more trouble, she sent Quinn as she walked to the common.

Yeah?

Apparently, he thought I was basically dropping out because I'm dating an athlete.

He's met you before, right?

She snorted.

“What was that about?” Alison asked as Sarah took the seat next to hers.

“He apologized.”

“No shit?” Bryan asked. “I didn't think he knew how.”

Sarah laughed, “it was still the most egotistical apology I've ever received. He was all, ‘there's a certain kind of woman that dates a professional athlete and I’m sorry I put you in a category with them.’ What kind of woman? The female kind?”

“Well, he can't veer too of course,” Alison said, rolling her eyes.

“Anyway,” Sarah sighed, pulling out her laptop, “you ready?”

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[blainesebastian]

yes is a world

word count: 8,043 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Nick rarely finds himself saying no to you, but there is one instance in which he does. notes: title is from 'love is a place' by e.e. cummings. gifs are from this gifpack! i also have a nick leister x reader masterlist here! notes 2: mentions of domestic abuse between reader's parents

Everything about Nick Leister screams yes, you noticed that the moment you met him. 

It’s in the firm lines of his body, broad shoulders, toned waist. The way he wears rings on his hands, his hands in general. It’s how he holds himself, it’s in his well-placed smiles and the curved syllables of his accent. This is someone who knows how to get exactly what he wants, when he wants it. When you first met him, you remember thinking that this was someone who was rarely told no. At first, you thought he was a spoiled brat, silver-spoon engraved with the word yes tipped into his mouth since birth. 

You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, about him, but it takes barriers coming down and masks removed to see that. 

It takes a long time to wriggle through the cracks, for Nick to trust you. A friendship between shared circles sprouts into something else, mutual attraction, an easiness that was somehow not there before. Or perhaps it’s always been there, just transformed into something else. Nick has always been someone who’s touchy; you’ve teased him that it’s his love language—hands brushing fingers, your lower back, dragging across your shoulders, playing with your hair, or rubbing up and down your spine. But him talking in a way that mattered? Sharing things? It was always one-sided. 

You’ve shared and gave and pried yourself open, and Nick’s always listened, been there for you, supported and protected you. But there was never a moment in which he cracked his ribs open either, shared vulnerabilities, until—

Seated on a small swatch of roof outside your bedroom window, you tug a blanket further around your shoulders. You and Nick are just hanging out, watching the dark clouds move across the midnight sky, attempting to count stars. It’s been a long fucking week of parties and obligations and…sometimes that’s fun? Other times it’s exhausting. 

He’s seated close enough that you can feel the heat of his body alongside your own, smell his cologne and something purely him. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and are kinda dumbfounded, all over again, by how beautiful he is. 

“You know what’s weird?” You ask. 

“That you insist on putting peanut butter on Oreos?” He volleys back, a twinge to his lips as you scoff. 

“I regret sharing that culinary masterpiece with you,” You don’t, “But no. I fucking hate my birthday.” 

Nick doesn’t say anything, but knows your birthday is at the end of the month. 

You tip your head back, eyes following a few stars that get stuck under moving clouds, “I know it’s bizarre. But I just—I feel like every year I’m supposed to be different, or something? One year older and I end up just feeling exactly the same.” 

You’re not sure if it makes sense or if it’s just some sort of deep-seated insecurity that’s been passed on from your parents to you. They’re not divorced, but they should be. They’re not fucking happy. And yet every year passes and things stay the same. You think most kids would be thrilled that their parents were sticking it out together, not cutting up a marriage. Except they’re not trying to work together or figure out how to fix things. 

They’re just making it worse. 

Nick’s hand brushes over your back in silent comfort and when he turns his head, he brushes his lips into your hair. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the sourness from sticking to the bottom of your ribs, attempting to change the subject. “Anyways,” You mutter, straightening your shoulders, “How’s Maddie?” He went to visit her this past weekend and while he didn’t say much about it, you’re hoping he had a good time. You know how much she means to him. 

When Nick stills beside you, you steal a glance at him and can see that he’s upset. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, brown eyes clouded over and…

“You don’t have to tell me.” You assure him, because obviously whatever happened is bad enough to cause this visceral reaction. 

You don’t expect him to say anything, his body is so tightly wound up in what feels like the word ‘no’, and yet—

Nick draws in a slow breath into his lungs, swallowing before— “I can’t see Maddie for her birthday.” 

Fuck. That’s next week. Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, trying to figure out how this happened. Nick’s been to a few parties, sure, just like anyone else in their friend group has…but he’s been really good, meticulous, about not involving himself in anything that could get him into trouble. He hasn’t stepped foot in a bare-knuckle boxing match or a racing event in a long while. Not even just to watch. 

You shift just a little to face him, “I don’t understand, what did your mom say?” 

Nick holds your gaze but he doesn’t reply, just licks his lips. Your eyes search his until they land on a fading bruise on his cheekbone and oh…oh fuck. 

“It’s my fault.” 

“It is not.” Nick counters, making you scoff out a soft sound. 

“You wouldn’t have that bruise if it wasn’t for me.” 

When some guy grabbed your ass at a party, Nick shoved him so hard he tumbled into a table. Before you could get in the middle, assure Nick that you were fine and that maybe it was best to leave, the guy got up and suckerpunched with a sloppy fist at Nick’s face.

“My actions are my own.” He replies, his hand slipping into your own and squeezing your fingers. 

“Which you wouldn't have done if it weren’t for me.” 

“And I’d do it again.” Nick counters, finality in his tone. 

You can’t help but sigh, frustrated for him. Knowing Nick, when his mother assumed he was doing something troublesome thanks to the bruise on his face, he never tried to correct her, refusing to drag you into it. 

Well. You can drag yourself into it. “I’m gonna talk to your mom, tell her what actually happened.” You tell him, “And before you start—‘my actions are my own’.” You parrot his words back to him, looking pleased as hell at the look on his face. 

Surprise, maybe, amusement definitely. His lips twitch into an almost smile at your determination. He doesn’t tell you no or try to talk you out of it. But he does lean over and kiss your cheekbone. 

—

That’s the first time that Nick finds himself unable to say no to you. And it’s not the last. 

—

Nick stares long and hard at the ball of wriggling fur in the center of his comforter, one of his hands coming up to rub the lower half of his face. 

“It’s a cat,” You smile, opening your hands wide and motioning to the orange, striped little thing with honeysuckle colored eyes that’s playing with a loose string on a blanket, “Or well…a kitten, I guess, is more specific.” 

His eyes flit up to yours before looking back down, “I know what it is, why is it on my bed?” 

“Because the floor is cold?” 

“Y/N.” He sighs out, slightly exasperated, which causes your lips to pout. 

“Oh come on,” You sit down on the edge of his bed, “I found him outside in the garbage. Someone threw him away.” And you’re trying not to sound hysterical here—the thought that someone could just toss a baby kitten, or any animal for that matter, into the trash if they didn’t want it—you shake your head. 

No need to cry. The kitten is going to be just fine. You smile a little as it rolls on its back, catching his own tail. 

“And you brought him here?” 

Your eyes flicker up to your boyfriend. You haven’t been together for very long but if Nick knows anything about you, it’s your soft spot for animals. This should not be a surprise to him. 

“I can’t keep him at my house—my parents would flip. And they’re already miserable, they don’t need the help.” 

“I don’t like cats.” Nick replies, the tone of his voice leaving little room for nonsense. 

You tilt your head at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Since when? “You’ve never told me that.” 

The orange kitten gets up and wobbles on its four legs to wander towards Nick…except he’s moving too fast and nearly does a nose-dive off the bed. Nick’s reflexes are fast, catching the fluffy ball in his hands and lifting him up and holding him against his chest. The kitten squirms but then starts to bat at the strings of his hoodie. Your lips curl up in soft amusement and Nick opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. 

Instead, he sneezes, right into his shoulder, barely turning his head in time. He blinks, like it caught him by surprise but then the next one doesn’t. He hands you the kitten, moving towards his bathroom, and your mouth forms a soft ‘O’ as you get up and follow him. 

Leaning against the doorframe as he blows his nose, you raise your eyebrows, “You’re allergic?” You had no idea. A soft, entertained noise leaves your lips as the kitten reaches for a strand of your hair and Nick sniffles. 

You give him an innocent wince as he takes a step towards you, gazing at the kitten like it’s personally offended him somehow. Well, it was a nice try. “I’ll take him to Jenna’s, maybe she can keep him.” 

You look down at the kitten and give him a soft smile, scratching underneath his chin. Nick tips his head back, sighing audibly, before gently taking the kitten back into his hands. He moves to sit down on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he watches the orange little thing play with the silver bracelet around his wrist. 

“We’re naming him Garfield.” 

You grin—we. You move to sit down next to his legs. The name Garfield is perfect. 

—

Nick has to start taking daily allergy pills but he never complains. He starts feeding Garfield special treats right from his hands, sitting on the floor with him. And you kiss him a little harder and longer for that. 

—

You rarely allow yourself to get drunk when you’re out at the club with Nick and your circle of friends. It’s not that you look down on it, or anything, it’s just that you know your hangovers are the fucking worst. There’s no in-between to how it treats you the next day (sometimes in the middle of the night). You’re either completely fine, or god awful sick—nauseous, headaches, body aches and promises that you will never allow yourself to get so shit-faced again. Until you inevitably do. 

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve pushed past your limits. You’re not incredibly sloshed, or anything; you’ve ironically always been a rather respectable drunk. Just enough of your wits about you to brush your teeth and text your mom that you’re okay before passing out. But the room is definitely spinning and your heart is beating in tandem with the music pulsing through the speakers onto the dance floor. 

Nick isn’t as far gone as you, just toeing the line of buzzed and seeing everything rose-colored, a state in which you probably should have kept yourself at but it was someone’s birthday at the bar. Everyone close by got a shot. Then Lion ordered another round. And then another. That on top of the two mixed drinks you already had. 

You’re off the dance floor, waiting at the bar, leaning against the edge of it. Nick has created a cage around you with his arms, body pressed against your back. You bop your head to the beat, chewing on a straw, waiting for the bartender to free up. 

“We should get another shot,” Jenna declares, finding a stool to slide onto. 

Your eyes widen as you turn to look at her because suddenly that sounds like a great idea, “Yes.” You wave your arm a little, attempting to grab the attention of the bartender, “Sir!” 

Nick reaches up for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and tucking it down against your body. You rotate to face him. 

“How am I supposed to get the bartender’s attention if I don’t have a hand to wave?” 

He presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, making you melt a little. “How bout some water instead?” 

You pout, jutting out your lower lip. You can’t hear Nick laugh but you can feel it, that tell-tale rumble in his chest. “No, no, just one more—one more.” You hold up the finger of the number in case he’s confused. 

He shakes his head but he’s smiling, his hand now curling around that one too. “One more,” He relents, “Then water.” 

Grinning, triumphant, you turn to Jenna and call out one more, making her cheer. You lean over Nick’s arm and wrap yours around your friend’s shoulders, a set of giggles capturing you both as Lion orders the shots. Your boyfriend doesn’t let go of you, helping you remain balanced and upright as you tip that final shot back into your mouth. 

—

Drinking water until you leave the club, while needed, unfortunately does not restore your equilibrium. You don’t remember going home with Nick, or him helping you out of your shoes and dress, or taking your makeup off, or helping you crawl into bed. All you remember is the sour taste of shots in the back of your throat as a sharp pain in your stomach wakes you out of a dead sleep. 

Glancing over at Nick, he’s asleep on his stomach, his one arm stretched out near his head along the pillows. He’s beautiful when he sleeps, though you suppose that shouldn’t be surprising. His eyelashes rest gently against his cheek, his back rising and falling as he breathes—and a twinge of amusement battles out your nausea as you see Garfield tucked into Nick’s neck, purring. You brush your fingers through his curls and shift to carefully pull the covers back, moving as quickly as you can to the bathroom. 

Your knees barely hit the floor before you’re vomiting into the toilet. It’s all liquid, which unfortunately does not make you feel any better as your stomach lurches its contents forward. Until there’s nothing left but dry heaves. 

You feel him before you hear him, the measured steps of Nick’s feet against the marbled floor. He then crouches down next to you in a pair of sweatpants, no shirt. The heat of his body feels nice alongside your own given the way you’re shaking in a cold sweat. He carefully gathers your hair up, holding it with one hand as the other rubs down your back. 

You cough, trying to get yourself to stop gagging long enough to breathe deeply in through your nose. Your eyes slip shut, focusing on Nick’s calm breathing, his hands massaging your spine. When you seem to be done, and god—you really hope you are, you close the toilet lid and Nick reaches to flush the toilet. 

“Never let me insist on one more shot.” 

Nick smirks a little, as if you could be told what to do—you know he’d never do that anyways, but he leans forward and helps you up off the floor. He sets you on the closed toilet seat, Garfield trotting into the bathroom like he owns the place. He’s getting a little bigger, chasing Nick’s shadow on the floor as your boyfriend wets a washcloth in the sink and brings it back over. He crouches in front of you, gently tipping your chin up. 

“On second thought, never let me drink ever again.” You mumble. 

He wipes the sweat off your cheeks, forehead and the sides of your neck. “Yes ma’am.” He teases, focused on the task at hand. Garfield attempts to crawl up Nick’s leg by using his sweatpants as leverage. That kitten is obsessed with him…though, you suppose you can relate. 

When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth towards the hamper, picking Garfield up and standing to his full height. “You gonna get sick again?” 

You try to suss out how you feel. Definitely not as terrible as before when you first woke up but…still kinda queasy. No reason for him to stick around though when he could go back to sleep. 

“I dunno, you mise well leave me here to die.” 

Nick smiles, rolling his eyes before returning to the bedroom. You sigh softly, standing from the toilet to at least wash the taste from your mouth with some mouthwash. You then settle on the floor in front of the glass shower, using the door to prop your back up. Your eyes slip closed for a moment, only opening again when you hear Nick come back into the bathroom. 

You expected him to crawl back into bed but instead he…he places Garfield into your hands and sets the one pillow down that was under his arm, then encourages you to sit up while he places the other behind you. He sits down, his thigh pressed into yours, spreading out the comforter over both your legs. 

You should not be getting so emotional about this man creating a makeshift bed in the bathroom. You can’t find the words to explain, either, behind what feels like cotton in your throat. So you lean your head on his shoulder instead as Garfield curls up on your lap. 

—

Your entire body is trembling as you lay back on your sheets, tired, sated, pleasure swirling as it licks at your nerve endings. Nick’s on top of you, inside of you, no one moving as you both come down from your high. Your throat is dry as you swallow, but fuck, you wouldn’t move for anything. He tips his chin down, nipping at your jawline, leaning up just a little to put weight on his arms so he doesn’t crush you. 

“Don’t—” You mumble, hooking a leg around his own, “Don’t move.” 

He smirks softly, his hand moving to tangle itself in your hair, “Weren’t two orgasms enough?” He asks, cheeky little shit. 

“You tell me,” You whisper against his mouth, rolling your hips up to meet his. Your body clenches around his cock and you can feel him stir with interest again, pressing against that deep spot inside you that makes your toes curl. 

Just one more. Nick leans down and nips at your lower lip with his teeth, shifting so he can use momentum to thrust forward. He swallows your moan, turning the kiss into something deeper. 

One more—and who’s Nick to deny you of that?

—

You’ve known Nick a long time, friends far before you were together. Because of that, you know that you can read one another fairly well. Even though you tend to wear your emotions right on your face, heart on your sleeve, he’s always been rather attuned to you. Nick, however, takes a bit longer to figure out. Anyone who doesn’t know him well would miss small signs when something is wrong. He keeps people at a distance on purpose, never letting anyone close enough to get a good look at him, to realize he’s wearing a mask. 

But you know. 

It takes a little while to spot it with a trained eye, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, his smile a little too forced, his body coiled tight with tension. When you touch him underneath his jacket, you can feel it in the muscles of his back, the way he doesn’t relax into you like he usually does. The way he avoids your gaze. 

He’s upset about something. 

You’re almost certain that’s why he picks a fight with Lion in the middle of this party that you’re at. He’s been short and a little rude all night, but sometimes, admittedly, that’s just how Nick is. He’s a hothead, he sometimes says things without considering consequences. But tonight feels different, you watch him carefully, like he’s a powder keg ready to explode. 

You and Jenna both get in the middle of an impending fist fight and you drag Nick outside until he’s forced to get into his car and take you home with him. You’re hoping that the tension will dissipate by the time you walk into his bedroom, but unfortunately it gets worse. You wrap your arms around yourself, watching as he begins to undress, removing his leather jacket. 

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” 

“Think it was quite obvious, I'm tired of Lion dragging me into his messes.” His accent is slightly thicker than usual because he's agitated, running both hands through his curls, “And you don't need to defend him, he's got a girlfriend for that.” 

Your eyebrows lift, “I'm on your side.” You say it a bit slowly, pointedly, because clearly whatever he's wound up about is not Lion. 

He scoffs, tugging his shirt over his head to toss in the hamper near his bathroom, “Right. That why you were hanging on him all night? That’s you being ‘on my side’?” 

You draw in a careful breath, looking away from him. Not because you feel like you’re embarrassed, in the wrong, or because you have something to hide. But because Nick is trying to hurt you, he’s trying to push you away. 

And you’re not going to let him. 

“Now all of a sudden you’re upset when we all dance with eachother?” You ask, trying to point out the faults in his so-called argument. 

A tight-knit circle of you and Lion, Nick and Jenna drinking on the makeshift dance floor. Consistently spinning and interchanging couples and…you didn’t think anything of it. It’s something the four of you have always done. Tonight was no different. You didn’t touch Lion in a way that could be construed as anything other than friends, and he was a perfect gentleman with his hands. He’s in love with Jenna. 

You refuse to call Nick ridiculous or begin some sort of name-calling back and forth because that’ll just make things worse. You are not the one that Nick’s upset with. 

You center yourself, squeezing around your midsection, “I know you’re frustrated that Lion pulls you into things without asking, but—”

“He’s not the only one who does that.” Nick interrupts, his words wrapped in barbed wire. 

You lift your chin, “You’re saying I do that too?” 

“Well I couldn’t explain a bruised face to my mother and now I own a cat I never wanted.” 

Fucking ouch. You can tell the exact moment when his words land and the gentle regret in his eyes, his breathing a little heavy. He suddenly glances away and you try to ignore the tingling at the bridge of your nose. You’re not going to cry in front of him, you know he’s yanking on insecurities of ‘what if’s, trying to grasp at anything that’s not the real problem. 

You smooth your hands over nonexistent wrinkles in your shirt, “Alright, when you’re ready to talk to me about what’s really bothering you, I’ll be in the living room.” 

You only let tears slip down your cheeks when you’re far away from his bedroom. 

—

You curl up on the couch downstairs, taking your jeans off and pulling on one of Nick’s hoodies that you find on the back of the chair in the kitchen. Angry at him or not, the man still has comfortable clothes that are hard to resist. 

Frustration sits heavily in your lungs, making your chest hurt. You know that sharing things that hurt isn’t always the easiest of things. You’ve been there. It’s difficult to trust people, especially when they have a habit of letting you down. You know have struggled with that before—not just with one another, but in your own lives with your family. You feel like you’ve tried to promise yourself that it’d be different with Nick, that despite patterns of predictability, that you’d both work on letting the other in. 

Or was that just something you made up for yourself that night on the roof? 

You hope your boyfriend will take those steps forward even when it’s hard, that yes, he’ll come talk to you about what’s really going on. 

But he doesn’t show. 

—

At some point you must fall asleep, because the next thing you know, you’re rolling over onto your back and trying to adjust your eyes to…Nick. Nick seated by your hip, his one arm resting on the other side of you. You can tell that he’s showered, a warm hue to his skin and his hair slightly damp, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. There’s an inward curl to his shoulders though that makes him appear smaller than usual. 

“What time is it?” You croak out, clearing your throat. You sit up a little, leaning against the arm of the couch. 

“Just after two,” He says softly and it’s quiet for a moment as you sit with one another. 

You watch him carefully, the way he holds himself. You can see him clamp down on an emotion so he can speak, though his voice is slightly strained when he says, 

“Fuck, I’m sorry—about what I said upstairs. I—”

You shake your head, your hand reaching for his. You squeeze, running your thumb back and forth over his knuckles, “I know.” It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he’s down here, trying to talk to you. 

“Nick,” You say gently after a moment, “What’s wrong?” 

Nick swallows, letting out a long breath as his eyes fill with unshed tears. It guts you, punches you right in the chest, seeing him like this, struggling with being able to talk about his emotions. He’s got them so tightly under lock-and-key, so buried underneath himself that he’s not sure how to let them out easily, which is how it ends up like this. A dam breaking open. 

“It’s—this is the day my mum left when I was younger, and I don’t know—I guess I think each year will get better, feel different. It never does.” He sniffles, quickly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, “And I know she’s worked hard on herself, why she had to leave—and yet I’m still so angry with her. And that feels awful too.” 

Your chest splits wide open, hurting that he’s hurting. You sit up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, encouraging him to lean into you. He’s tense for a long few moments before he melts, lets go, his arms sliding along your back and holding onto you tightly, like a lifeline. You can feel his face press into your shoulder, tears wetting your skin, dragging a ragged breath in as you stroke his back while your other hand threads into his curls. 

You hold him until he’s ready to pull away. 

—

A few days pass and you don’t bring up what Nick said to you about his mother. There’s no need to break it down further—what he was feeling, what he probably still is feeling, is valid. You’re not sure that one conversation is going to fix everything, but you hope he knows that someone is there for him, someone to listen. Someone to hold his hand next year when those ugly feelings visit his doorstep once again. 

Nick apologizes to Lion, who tells him it’s not a big deal, that it’s already forgotten. You’re just glad things return to as normal as they can around here. 

You dive under the water in Nick’s pool, kicking underneath until your lungs burn a little for oxygen. When you make your way to the surface, Nick is coming out from around the hedges in a red swim trunks and a white t-shirt. 

“Got something for you.” He says, motioning for you to get out of the pool. 

“Is it ice cream?” You call out, floating on your back towards the ledge to exit, “Cause I love ice cream.” 

“Easy to please, I’ll remember that for next time.” He teases, setting some towels down on a glass table. 

You pull yourself from the water, adjusting your swim bottoms as you round the edge of the pool to stand in front of him. He looks…he looks better. There’s a lightness that’s returned to his eyes, the smirk more genuine in the corners of his mouth. His shoulders are relaxed too and you swallow the urge to kiss him. 

You purse your lips, “I’m still not convinced it’s not ice cream—”

And then, from a small, blue, velvet bag, Nick pulls out a silver chain that has a tiny key on the end of it. It’s dainty, beautiful, the key top shaped like a heart and no bigger than your thumb nail. Your mouth falls open and then a wide smile spreads across your face as you reach out and take it from him. 

“Nick,” You whisper.

He hums and then reaches into his shirt, pulling out a similar chain. But instead of a key on his, he has a silver lock relatively the same size. It’s clear—they go together, yours unlocking his, and the weight of that sits heavy and low in your chest. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, watching you, “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” You reply instantly, turning and handing it back to him, “Can you put it on me?” 

Nick opens the clasp and moves his arms around you, resting it against your chest as you move your hair aside for him. When he’s done, he puts his hands on your shoulders, squeezing, palms traveling down your arms. When you turn back around, he’s smiling, gaze wandering from the key on your sternum and then back up to your eyes. 

Then, in one giant swoop, he lifts you into his arms to haul over his shoulder, a squeal leaving your lips as he jumps into the pool. 

—

Nick’s a great cook, which you suppose shouldn’t be surprising, because he’s good with his hands. It’s like a state of fluidity you can’t begin to understand, the way he moves in a kitchen. It’s like he has a sixth sense of when to add seasonings, when to fix a temperature for something he’s making, when a recipe calls for one thing but he substitutes another. He’s also mesmerizing to watch when he prepares things—cutting strips of chicken, rolling noodles in sauce, mincing garlic and herbs. 

Probably something that shouldn’t be attractive but it is. 

On the flip side, you’re not the most organized in the kitchen. You know how to make the basics, provide for yourself if you’re not ordering UberEats. Your one aunt didn’t know how to boil pasta until she was seventeen so…safe to say you’re not that bad. However, baking is another story. Your grandparents owned a little bakery before it went up for sale when they passed away. One of your regrets is that you were never old enough to take it over, that your parents didn’t save it. 

Regardless, baking is in your blood and you want to be good at it. 

Though…if Nick’s face is any indication as he bites into a cookie you’ve made, maybe you should quit while you’re ahead. Or behind, in this case. You chew on your lower lip, leaning against the counter as he chews…thoughtfully. 

“Not good? Are they awful?” 

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “I don’t know if I’d say that.” 

You groan, tipping your head into your hands, “They are, they’re terrible.” You lift your gaze to his, a soft pout on your lips, “I don’t understand, I followed every step of the recipe.” 

Nick smiles a little, licking his lips, setting the cookie down on the plate. It makes a conk noise, which indicates they’re far too hard. And you like crispy cookies! Like a snickerdoodle that’s soft and gooey on the inside but has a good crust on the outside. But this…isn’t that. 

You pick one up and bite into it. It’s supposed to be red velvet chocolate chip but it kinda tastes…bland. Except at the end where there’s a salty, burnt chocolate flavor. “Oh no.” 

“Really hope food poisoning isn’t involved.” 

“Hey,” You kick his shin under the table even though you’re laughing, “Shut up.” Sighing dramatically, you place the cookie back on the plate, “I guess it’s good I didn’t try out one of my grandparent’s recipes, would have ruined their memory along with the cookies.” 

He shakes his head, his hand reaching for yours on the table. He smiles as he brushes his thumb along your knuckles, your fingers dragging across the silver ring he’s wearing, “You can always try again. I can help you next time.” 

“I wanted to do it by myself,” You grumble—you already know they’re going to turn out good if Nick helps. But that’s not the point. Or…maybe it is. Having edible cookies. 

He stands from the counter, shifting around the island to plant a kiss to your cheek. He then dips his chin, peppering kisses along your face in rapid succession until you laugh, your hand falling to his chest to playfully push him away. 

“I’ll just throw them out, then we can watch a movie or something.” You move to grab the plate, but Nick gets there first, picking it up to carry it into the living room. He selects one of the less sad-looking ones on the outskirts. A small smile blooms over your cheeks as he decides that, yes, he’ll eat another one, despite how awful they are. 

—

Nick rarely finds himself saying no to you, but there is one instance in which he does.

—

Admittedly, this is not how you usually handle situations like this.  You know that when you’re on the outside looking in, it digs under your skin when people you care about try to shove you away from trying to help. When they put up walls around themselves, refusing to let anyone close to help. You’ve always been a problem solver, driven by solutions, or at the very least being available to listen, because sometimes having someone to vent to is more than enough. 

You never want someone to close themselves up to the point in which they push anyone they care about away, building a box inside to shove emotions into because it’s easier not to feel anything at all. 

So maybe that’s why this is so ironic—because now when you’re faced with something you’re not sure how to handle, you cut everyone off like a gangrenous limb. 

You’ve expressed frustrations before about your parents, about how despite the fact that they should be divorced, they’re sticking together for god knows what reason. It’s made their once tolerable relationship ugly, it’s turned them into people who hate one another. And that toxic relationship finally bubbles up one night—

Your dad hits your mom. 

And you’re not talking about a gentle tap, it’s a backhanded strike that knocks her into the table. There’s instant regrets, there’s begging, there’s crying, and all the while you just kinda stand there, staring at the spot where your mom was. It shuts a door inside you, it pushes everything you’ve ever cared about right into your ribs. 

It makes you never want to trust another person again, it makes you never want to be in a relationship because things can sour far too fast. Two people who loved one another, who had a child together, turned into something ugly. You’re not saying you’re destined for that same fate, but it doesn’t inspire comforting feelings about being with someone either. 

This might not be a small town, but drama spreads like a virus in private social circles, and suddenly everyone knows about what happened between your parents. Your mother’s doctor visit, your father at a bar—it’s all too much for you to deal with, that downward spiral making you feel like you’re stuck even though what’s happened doesn’t directly impact you. 

Especially since both of your parents are acting like it never fucking happened. They never mention divorce. It makes you irrationally angry, almost to the point where you want to drive your fist through your bedroom mirror. 

Jenna blows up your phone with calls and texts and you manage to send a few that respond to her questions. You have no idea how to answer, are you alright? Or is there anything I can do? 

You don’t respond to Nick at all. 

—

In the back of your mind, you know you should have seen this coming. Nick wasn’t just going to take to being ignored. You can picture the concern swimming in his brown eyes, the frown tugging his handsome mouth down, the surge of protectiveness to just fix whatever’s wrong. You hate worrying him, but you just…can’t find it within yourself to make a different choice. It’s like you’re sitting in the rafters watching this all play out, a spectator in your own life. 

You’re folding laundry when Nick shows up, letting himself into your room. He’s wearing a large gray hoodie that makes your chest ache with how comfortable it looks, tugging the hood off his head when the door closes behind him. He lets out a soft sigh, reaching into the large pocket in the front and—

A ball of orange, fuzzy fur mewls. 

You pause as he puts Garfield down on your bed, the kitten instantly rushing to greet you, rolling into piles of laundry you’ve created to put in your closet. Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, gaze lifting to your boyfriend, 

“Not keeping him anymore?” You ask, voice a little rough from lack of use. 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together—you suppose you wouldn’t be surprised if he was breaking up with you, given the radio silence you’ve created. “No. I figured you might miss him. And since you won’t text or call me back, I assumed you wouldn’t be coming over any time soon either.” 

You swallow over a foreign emotion in your throat (you know exactly what it is) and look down at Garfield. Your heart clenches—you did miss him. The kitten isn’t the only thing you miss. Your eyes flit up to Nick again, who’s hovering near the door, eyes assessing. He’s trying to get a read on you, trying to figure out what he can do to help. You’re sorry that he’s wasted his time. 

Setting down a shirt, you pick up Garfield and bury your nose in his fur for a moment. He kinda smells like Nick’s sheets, like the comfort and warmth of his bedroom. Your eyes close. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

You lower Garfield a little, scratching under his chin, “I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Your eyes flash as you lift your chin, a scoff tumbling out, “What, is that not enough? What else should be wrong, Nick?” 

“Y/N,” He starts and you shake your head, putting your hand up as you gently drop the orange kitten to your bed. His voice is too soft, too gentle, it hurts to hear. 

“No, I’m curious—please elaborate. Is my dad hitting my mom not a wrong enough reason to not respond to your calls or texts?” Your voice is heightened, slightly pinched and you hate how it sounds borderline hysterical, but what the fuck? When he showed up, you didn’t expect that he’d be calling you out on your emotions. You figured he might listen, try to help, even though you weren’t interested in talking. 

But this? 

“Get out.” You state, voice calmer than before. 

You stare a hole right through him and you can tell the moment that Nick strengthens his resolve, digs his heels in, the asshole actually has the audacity to cross his arms over his chest. 

“No.” 

You blink at him, your breath coming out short, nearly a gasp as your heart begins to hammer in your ears. No? No? Nick has been the type of person to be completely supportive to the point where he nearly bends to your every whim, your every request. He says yes like he was made for it—it’s in every smile he gives you, every lingering touch, every kiss of a promise. 

You do not expect him to say no. 

“Nick, I’m not—” You shake your head, rounding the bed to stand in front of him, not close enough to touch. Not yet. “I’m being serious.” 

“So am I.” 

That just serves to piss you the fuck off, “Get out,” You snap, no longer worried about being cordial, about sounding a certain way. Your voice shakes and you can feel the bridge of your nose tingle, your eyes stinging, “Just leave me alone.” 

Again, Nick looks at you with an utter calm that makes you want to slap him across the face. He breathes in through his nose and then lets it go. He shakes his head, 

“No.” He repeats. 

You swallow what feels like glass in your throat. Why is he doing this? “I don’t want you here.” 

“I don’t care,” He volleys back, determination strengthening his entire stance. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

That statement hits you square in the chest, a roar that sounds like the ocean crashing in your ears. I’m not going anywhere—it repeats a few times, a cycle bouncing off your ribs, capable of ripping you wide open. Your jaw sets in resolve and you’re not even realizing that you’re moving until you take two steps forward and put your hands on his chest, shoving him towards the door. 

Nick’s mouth falls open, more surprised than anything else, as you throw him off balance. He quickly rights himself, that boxing training coming into handy as he anticipates your next push. 

“Stop,” He says softly, nowhere near as pissed as you want him to be. How you feel. 

You don’t listen, hitting his chest again, throwing your body into it to try and force him through the doorway. Out. Away. “Get out.” Your hands curl into fists, throwing them against him, your cheeks burning with effort. Your vision blurs, pent up tears beginning to spill down your face. “I–just leave.” 

Nick shakes his head again, his hands moving to gently clasp your wrists. His body is immovable despite how much power you’re trying to put into each movement. He squeezes you but not in a way that’s painful, just trying to keep you still. You draw in a haggard breath, 

“Nick—”

His features scrunch at the pain in your voice and he attempts to wrap his arms around you to draw you close, even though you won’t let him, taking a step back,

“I know,” He whispers, cupping your cheek and thumbing away tears, “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” 

A pinched whimper leaves your lips as you give in to what he’s saying, your body pitching forward, Nick firmly keeping you in place against his chest. The tears are relentless as they stream down your cheeks, plopping into his gray hoodie, all of your frustration, anger, hurt, emptying against him. He tries to support you the best way that he can, pressing his lips and nose to your temple, murmuring that he’s there, that you’re going to be okay, that he loves you. 

And for once? You’re glad he didn’t listen. You’re glad he said no. 

—

Seated in bed against the headboard, Garfield finds his way onto your stomach, making biscuits with his little hands. For something so tiny, he’s a loud purrer. You glance up as Nick comes back into your bedroom, a mug of hot tea in his hands that he places into yours before crawling in beside you. 

“Were they downstairs?” 

Nick adjusts a pillow near you, leaning back and angling his body a bit towards yours. He smiles a little at Garfield, reaching over to pet between his ears. 

“Your mom’s in the living room. I didn’t see your dad.” 

Probably out again to avoid the gravity of his mistakes. You feel so tired, exhaustion sitting in your chest like cinderblocks. Heavy in a way you’ve never felt before. You hold the mug of tea carefully, blowing at the steam that’s curling out of it. 

Sometimes your parent’s problems feel immovable, like you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past it. You’re scared it’s going to get worse if it’s not addressed. You let out a slow breath out of your mouth—you suppose you can’t allow yourself to think like that, you’ll drive yourself crazy. 

Besides—at least you have people who care about you, who can help, even if it’s just to be here. You glance over at Nick, his gaze already on yours, mapping along your face. A gentle smile tugs the corners of his lips, his hand moving to rub your thigh gently. 

“Can I do anything?” He asks. 

Your fingers squeeze the hot ceramic. “You already have.” And lean over to kiss him. 

—

There’s this poem you like that reminds you of Nick—one of the lines says, yes is a world. And despite how often he says it? You realize you should be saying yes to more things too. Yes, you will have that extra scoop of ice cream. Yes, you’ll spend a lazy Sunday watching crime documentaries. Yes, it’s okay to feel frustrated that the trust you put in the adults around you has been mishandled. That they’ve hurt you in doing so. Yes, it’s okay to admit you need help. That you need someone to lean on. 

It’s a work in progress, but maybe if you start living more in that world of yes? Other people might too. Like your mom, who will hopefully discover one day that, yes, she deserves better. 

So when Nick asks you if you’d like to come with him to visit Maddie, you smile brightly and say yes. 

Despite everything you’ve heard, you haven’t met Maddie. You’ve briefly interacted with Nick’s mother a few times, but not the sister that is so near and dear to him. You know how important this is, can feel it fill up your chest like a hot-air balloon when pulling into the gravel driveway. There’s this unfounded worry that his sister will somehow not like you, even though there’s no reason to think that. You know Maddie knows who you are—Nick’s told her. 

You watch as Nick gets out of the car and crouches low to scoop his younger sister up into his arms, doing a small spin that makes her giggle and you smile. He’s so good with her, your heart hammering in your chest as he sets her down and ruffles her hair. He motions a little over to you, putting his hands on his knees so he’s eyelevel with her. 

“That’s Y/N.” 

She gasps in pure excitement, “Your girlfriend?” Nick laughs a little before nodding, standing to put his hands on her shoulders and turn her in your direction. “She’s so pretty.” 

He hums in agreement. “She is.” 

You smile, wandering towards the pair, “It’s really nice to meet you Maddie. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Instead of replying, she rushes forth and captures you in a hug, squeezing you tight enough to envy her big brother. You can’t help but laugh, hugging her back—you decide you like her. A lot. 

—

After a big dinner, two pieces of chocolate cake, and playing hide and seek (quite terribly, you might add) you and Maddie lay in a hammock under twinkle lights with a book in the backyard as Nick helps his mother put away dishes and clean up. He glances outside the kitchen window at you two, a small smile on his face. The fondness in his eyes is almost enough to take you out at the knees, butterflies skittering into your ribs. 

Maddie turns the page, reading outloud, “It was then the princess said that the prince was her home, even if they were miles and miles apart.” 

She pauses, fingers playing with the page. She tips her head back to look at you, her hair smelling like daisies and citrus. “Can home be a person?” 

You smile a little, your gaze finding Nick again, “Yes,” You nod, “I think it can.” 

[slavicdolls4mangione]

the one where lu is the little spoon hc 💌:

- lu is the kind of guy who always puts others first. whether he’s working long hours, helping friends move, or just being the emotional support person for everyone in his life, he rarely takes time for himself. but when he’s with you, all of that changes. with you, he feels like he can finally let his guard down and just be

- after a particularly grueling day or when his chronic back pain is flaring up, lu’s first instinct is to seek you out :’) he’ll come home, kick off his shoes, and immediately make a beeline for wherever you are. without saying a word, he’ll collapse onto the couch or bed, his tall frame folding in on itself as he curls up next to you

- and despite his height, luigi lovessss being the little spoon because there’s something about the way you wrap your arms around him that makes him feel safe and protected <3 he’ll wiggle backward until his back is pressed against your chest, letting out a soft sigh as he finally relaxes, and tells you “you’re my favorite place to be,” with his voice all heavy with exhaustion :(

- but when he’s super tired and groggy omfg LMAO he gets so sassy and whiny, especially if he feels like you’re not paying enough attention to him, like if you’re distracted by your phone or a book, he’ll nudge you with his elbow and grumble, “hey. i’m suffering over here. focus on me, please”

- which always makes you laugh and set whatever you’re doing aside, wrapping your arms around him again. “better?” you ask, and he’ll hum contentedly, his sassiness melting away as he snuggles closer. “much better,” while his voice is already slurring with sleep

- you’ve learned exactly how to comfort him when he’s feeling down or in pain. you gently massage his lower back, your fingers working out the knots and tension that have built up over the day, sometimes (more like 99% of the time), you run your fingers through his hair or trace little patterns on his arm, and he’ll melt into your touch, his breathing slowing as he starts to drift off

- but if you stop too soon, he’ll whine dramatically, “hey, no. that was working. don’t stop” and if you tease him by calling him demanding, best believe he’s gonna shoot back, “and you love me for it” (he’s not wrong!!)

- luigi loves the way you instinctively know what he needs. on days when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable, he’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck and whisper, “just hold me, please” and you do, without hesitation, because you know how much it means to him. in those moments, he feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders

- he’s not embarrassed about being the little spoon—in fact, he thinks it’s kind of funny. he would joke around by saying something like “who would’ve thought a guy my size would love this so much?” but the truth is, he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks because with you, he feels safe, loved, and completely at ease, and that’s all that matters

- for lu, cuddling like this is more than just physical comfort—it’s a reminder that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. it’s a quiet, intimate moment where he can let go of all the stress and pain and just exist in the warmth of your love. and every time you hold him, he falls a little more in love with you <33

- on weekends, when he has more time to relax, he would often suggest a “cuddle marathon.” he’d set up the couch with blankets and pillows, queue up a movie or a tv show, and pull you into his arms—or rather, wiggle into yours, groaning in satisfaction once you wrap your arms around him or when his cheek finally squishes itself into your chest

- but if you get up to grab a snack or take a phone call, he’ll literally pout like a child. “where are you going ? i thought this was a marathon. you can’t just leave me here all alone.” which you can’t help but laugh at because seeing your grown ass man of a boyfriend act like a 5 year old is amusing as hell LOL and when you promise to come back quickly, he’ll still grumble until you’re back in his arms

- he also loves the little things you do to make him feel special. whether it’s making his favorite tea, playing soft music in the background, or just letting him vent about his day, he appreciates it more than he can put into words. he would always tell you “you’re my safe haven,” in a voice so soft and sincere it makes your heart squeeze

- and when he’s feeling better, he always makes sure to return the favor. he’ll wrap his arms around you, letting you be the little spoon for a change, and whisper, “thank you for always being there for me.” it’s his way of showing you that he cherishes you just as much as you cherish him

- for luigi, being the little spoon isn’t just about physical comfort—it’s about the emotional connection you share. it’s a reminder that, no matter how tough life gets, he always has you to come home to, and that, more than anything, is what keeps him going :’)

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter 5.2 | In Spite of Ourselves

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 11.1k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, sexual content, emotionally charged confrontations, conflicting priorities, and that sinking feeling when you realize letting go might not be an option anymore

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

📌 Requests: Open

Author’s Note:

First off, I’m so sorry this chapter is late—I have COVID and feel like death. Thanks for being patient with me while I try to survive this plague. You guys are the best, seriously. 💜

Sometimes, you can feel the ground shifting under your feet before you even know why. That slow, uneasy realization that something fundamental has changed, and there’s no way to rewind to who you were before.

This chapter is all about that tipping point—the moment when you realize that what you thought was just a spontaneous, whirlwind connection has become something rooted, something permanent. It’s about standing on the edge of something new and terrifying, trying to decide whether to leap or turn away.

For Joe, it’s about fighting against his instinct to compartmentalize—trying to reconcile his carefully curated, structured life with the unplanned, unpredictable connection he’s found with Riley. It’s about recognizing that sometimes stability doesn’t come from control—it comes from trusting that the ground beneath you won’t give way.

For Riley, it’s the weight of something she didn’t see coming—a collision of her carefree spirit with the harsh reality that this isn’t just a passing moment. It’s the vulnerability of admitting that maybe, just maybe, she’s started to care too much about a man who was never supposed to be more than a few unforgettable days.

This chapter is about that moment when you stop pretending you’re unaffected—when you face the truth that whatever this is, it’s too big to ignore. It’s about two people who were never supposed to fit finding themselves completely and undeniably entwined.

I hope this one hits you right in the gut. I poured my whole heart into capturing that feeling of being terrified and exhilarated all at once—the point where “maybe” turns into “definitely” and you can’t unfeel it, no matter how hard you try.

Thank you so much for all your support and love on the last chapter! Your reactions genuinely fuel me to keep writing—even while battling COVID. I can’t wait to hear what you think of this one. 💜✨

Happy reading! 💛🏈

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508

Joe woke to sunlight stabbing through the curtains and a headache that felt like it had been personally handcrafted by the devil himself. His mouth was dry, his limbs heavy, and when he shifted, something sharp dug into his ribs.

A bead.

He peeled his eyes open just enough to see a rogue strand of Mardi Gras beads tangled in the sheets. The memories hit in pieces—Riley on his shoulders, her victorious yell, too much bourbon, Tomas shoving a flask in his hand every time he turned around, the slow, easy way she'd curled into him after—

Bzzzzz.

Joe groaned as the insistent sound of a phone vibrated somewhere in the room. Not Riley's—hers was still facedown on the nightstand.

He patted blindly around his side of the bed until he found his own phone, squinting at the screen.

Mom.

Shit.

He answered on autopilot. "Hey."

"Hey, sweetheart. You busy?"

Joe rubbed a hand over his face, trying to push through the fog. "Uh… not really."

"Good! I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Maybe grab lunch?"

Joe blinked. "Lunch?" He turned his head just enough to glance at the clock. 11:47 AM.

"Yeah, lunch. That thing people eat in the middle of the day? You know it?"

He swallowed, wincing at how dry his throat was. "I'm not home."

A pause. "…Okay. No problem. When will you be?"

Joe scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Tomorrow afternoon?"

Another pause, longer. "…You're out of town? I thought you had a full schedule this week."

There was no use lying. "I did."

Joe sighed, bracing himself. "I moved some things around."

His mom's voice shifted. "You moved some things around."

"Yep."

"…To go where?"

Joe exhaled through his nose, staring at the ceiling. "New Orleans."

Silence. Then—

"You moved things around… to go to New Orleans… for a few days."

"Correct."

A beat. Then, in that knowing, motherly tone that sent a fresh wave of dread down his spine—

"And what exactly are you doing in New Orleans?"

Joe glanced sideways. Riley was still buried under the covers, only the top of her head visible. He closed his eyes. "Visiting a friend."

"A friend."

"Yup."

"You moved your entire schedule around to visit a friend in New Orleans."

"…Yup."

His mom made a sound. A knowing sound. "Is this friend female?"

Joe hesitated. "Mom."

Silence.

Then, "So you're in New Orleans."

"Yes."

"With a maybe female friend."

Joe groaned. "Mom."

"That's very interesting."

"I hate this conversation."

"No, no, I'm fascinated. Tell me everything."

Joe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I'm done now. I'll call you when I'm back in town. LOVE YOU."

"Wait—"

He hung up and immediately flopped back against the pillows, draping an arm over his face.

"Friend, huh?" came Riley's sleepy, amused voice from under the covers. She rolled over, peeking at him with one eye. "That's what they're calling it these days?"

Joe groaned again. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips. "You sound terrible."

"I'm dying. You'll have to eulogize me. Make sure to mention my many talents and few flaws."

"Blame Tomas," Riley said, pushing herself up slightly. "Every time I turned around he was handing you that flask."

“I don’t even know what was in it,” Joe muttered, rubbing his temple. “Pretty sure it wasn’t legal.”

“Water,” Riley commanded, dropping her head back onto the pillow. “We need water.”

Joe chuckled, immediately regretting it when his head throbbed in protest. “Didn’t you get us water last night?”

“I did,” she mumbled, not bothering to lift her head. “But apparently we drank it all before passing out.”

Joe sighed and forced himself to sit up, wincing at the way the room swayed. “How about I get us some more water and painkillers instead?”

“Yes, go be the strong one,” Riley mumbled into the pillow. “You’re clearly better at handling your liquor than I am.”

Joe managed to haul himself out of bed, pulling on his discarded boxers before padding to the kitchen. He filled two glasses with water and hunted down ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet, returning to find Riley exactly as he'd left her—sprawled across the bed like a wounded starfish.

"Come on," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Sit up. Doctor's orders."

Riley glared at him through one cracked eyelid. "You're not that kind of doctor."

"I've seen like, three episodes of Grey's Anatomy," Joe countered. "Close enough."

With a groan of protest, Riley hauled herself upright, accepting the pills and water with as much dignity as someone in her condition could muster. Joe swallowed his own, then settled back against the headboard, arm automatically extending in invitation.

Riley scooted closer, fitting herself against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. For a while, they just sat there in companionable silence, sipping water and letting the medication begin its work.

"I think I need to stay perfectly still for approximately twelve hours," Riley said finally. "Possibly longer."

Joe hummed in agreement. "No more parades today?"

"God, no," Riley groaned. "I wish we could, but my partying skills are rusty. I forgot how Mardi Gras takes no prisoners."

"So what you're saying is," Joe ventured carefully, "today is a good day to do absolutely nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Riley agreed, nestling closer.

And somehow, it felt like exactly where he was supposed to be.

And they did. The entire day unfolded in languid, comfortable laziness—a late breakfast of toast and coffee (the most they could stomach), followed by a marathon of 90s cartoons on Riley's worn leather couch. It had been one of those unexpected connections during their first meeting in New York—discovering they both harbored a not-so-secret love for the cartoons they'd grown up with.

They settled easily into a marathon of classics—everything from Animaniacs to Batman: The Animated Series—his arm draped casually over Riley's shoulders as she leaned against his chest. The simple domesticity of it struck him halfway through their third episode—how natural it felt to be here with her, doing absolutely nothing special.

When her phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes, Riley groaned, finally reaching to check it.

"Sorry," she said, glancing at the screen. "My friends are relentless."

Joe peered over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the group chat title: THE DOLLS 👯‍♀️🍷

"The Dolls?" he questioned, amused.

Riley rolled her eyes. "High school nickname that unfortunately stuck. Laura, Haley, and me. Been friends since we were fifteen."

"And they're checking in on you?"

"More like demanding a full report," Riley admitted, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard. "I promised I'd tell them how things were going."

"Don't let me stop you," Joe said, genuinely curious about what she might say.

Riley shot him a look that was half suspicious, half playful. "You just want to know what I'm going to say about you."

"Maybe," he admitted with a grin.

Riley turned back to her phone, angling it slightly away from him as she typed, a small smile playing on her lips.

THE DOLLS 👯‍♀️🍷

Laura: Are you alive or did you drink the city dry last night?

Laura: Hello???

Haley: She's obviously busy. Let the woman live.

Haley: But also CALL US IMMEDIATELY we need details

Riley: I'm alive. Barely. Shit got crazy.

Laura: 👀👀👀

Laura: And the boy?

Riley: Also alive. We got a shoe last night.

Haley: Please tell me you got a photo of Joe Burrow at Mardi Gras

Riley: You know I did. She sent them one.

Laura: Look at y'all!! So cute. So how's it going? Scale of 1-10?

Riley paused, glancing up at Joe who pretended to be absorbed in the cartoon. She smiled to herself and typed again.

Riley: Y'all unfortunately for me its off the scale.

Haley: No way

Riley: Yes what i am gonna do?

Laura: OH MY GOD

Haley: Is he still there? RIGHT NOW??

Riley: Possibly watching Batman on my couch as we speak.

Laura: YOU'RE TEXTING US WHILE HE'S RIGHT THERE??

Riley: He's curious what I'm saying about him.

Haley: Tell him we said he better be treating our girl right or we'll find ways to make shit very uncomfortable for him 🔪

Riley: I'm not telling him that.

Laura: Fine. When do we get to meet him?

Riley: Let's not get ahead of ourselves. He leaves tomorrow.

There was a pause in the incoming messages, and Riley could almost feel her friends' unspoken concern through the screen.

Haley: And then what?

It was the question Riley had been avoiding even in her own mind. She glanced at Joe again, who was now openly watching her, a question in his eyes.

Riley: I don't know. We haven't talked about it.

Laura: Girl...

Riley: I know. It's just been...nice. I don't want to ruin it by overthinking.

Haley: y'all better talk about it before he leaves!!

laura: seriously what is the plan

riley: i know i know we will

Riley: I've got to go. Will call tomorrow. Love you both.

Haley: Love you. Be careful with your heart. ❤️

Laura: What she said. And USE PROTECTION. ❤️

Riley turned her phone face down on the coffee table, cheeks slightly flushed. "They say hi," she said, clearly editing heavily.

Joe smirked. "And what else?"

"Nothing important," Riley replied too quickly.

"Uh-huh." Joe wasn't convinced but let it drop, pulling her closer against him. "So, you gonna send me those pictures from yesterday you just sent the girls?"

Riley's head whipped around, eyes wide. "I knew you were being nosy!" She shoved his shoulder playfully. "Were you reading my texts the whole time?"

"Just enough to know you've been documenting our adventures," he teased, fingers finding the ticklish spot at her waist.

She squirmed away, laughing. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Depends on how nice you are to me."

Joe's expression softened, his hand finding hers. "We should probably talk about what happens next, you know. After tomorrow."

Riley's smile faded slightly, but she didn't pull away. "I know," she said quietly. "But not right now, okay? Let's just enjoy what we've got for right now."

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. Joe nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Deal. But soon."

"Soon," she agreed, nestling back against him as Batman outsmarted the Joker once again on screen.

By the time evening rolled around, their hangovers had mostly subsided, leaving behind a pleasant, drowsy contentment. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across Riley's living room, the sounds of smaller parades floating in through the open windows.

"Are you sure you don't want to catch one more parade before you leave tomorrow?" Riley asked, her head in Joe's lap as he absently stroked her hair. "There's a couple of fun ones tonight."

Joe considered this for a moment, weighing the appeal of spending another night in the Carnival crowds against something more private. "My hotel room has a balcony overlooking the parade route," he said decisively. "Let's watch from there. Private, comfortable, with room service on speed dial."

Riley's lips curved into a smile. "That does sound appealing. Very VIP."

"Plus," Joe added, his fingers still playing with her hair, "I haven't actually spent any time in the place I'm paying for."

Riley laughed, sitting up to face him. "Are you suggesting I've been monopolizing your time, Burrow?"

"Absolutely," Joe confirmed, grinning. "And I've enjoyed every second of it. But I thought maybe... I don't know. Maybe we could do the hotel tonight. Watch the parades from the balcony, order some room service, see how the other half of Mardi Gras lives."

"The fancy half, you mean," Riley teased, but her eyes were warm.

"Exactly," Joe nodded. "What do you think?"

Riley pretended to consider it, tapping her chin theatrically. "Let me see... private balcony, air conditioning, room service, no crowds..." She grinned. "I think I can be persuaded."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," Joe replied, already reaching for his phone. "I'll call ahead, have them prep something special for us. Make sure the kitchen stays open late."

The casual way he took charge of the evening—confident and unspoken, like he knew exactly what he wanted—caught Riley off guard. Amusement flickered in her eyes, but it quickly softened into something warmer, more appreciative. She liked seeing him like this—decisive, assured, leaving no room for second-guessing.

Joe didn’t waste any more time, leaning in to kiss her softly at first—just a brush of lips that melted into something deeper, more deliberate. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and Riley’s fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring herself against the pull of his presence.

When she finally pulled back, just enough to catch her breath, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “If we start this now, we’re never gonna make it to your hotel before the streets are packed.”

Joe smirked, clearly unbothered. “That supposed to be a problem?”

Riley gave him a knowing look, fighting back a grin. “Only if you want to be stuck in the middle of a crowd for the next three hours.”

Joe sighed dramatically, dropping his forehead to hers. “Fine. Rain check. But I’m cashing it in later.”

Her smile turned wicked, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “I’m counting on it.”

She stood, stretching her arms above her head, her t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Joe caught himself staring and quickly looked away—only to realize too late that his reaction was probably just as obvious.

"I should pack an overnight bag," Riley said, rolling out her shoulders. Then she glanced down at her loungewear. "And maybe put on real clothes."

Joe, caught off guard by the warmth that spread through him at the sight of her looking so comfortable and at home, managed a simple, "You look fine as you are."

Riley paused mid-step, one eyebrow raising slightly. "That so?"

"I just meant—" Joe began, then stopped himself, recognizing the teasing glint in her eyes.

"Mmhmm." She smiled, a knowing look passing between them. "I'll be quick."

As she disappeared into her bedroom, Joe sat back on the couch, struck by the realization that something had shifted between them in the past day and a half. What he felt watching her move around his space went beyond simple attraction. It felt like something clicking into place, something he hadn't even known was missing.

This was something else entirely. Something that made his chest feel tight when she looked at him like that, something that made him want to tell her things he rarely shared with anyone.

Something that was going to make leaving tomorrow a lot harder than he'd anticipated.

His phone buzzed with a text from his agent, another reminder of the real world waiting beyond this Mardi Gras bubble they'd created.

Sarah: Just checking in. Flight still good for tomorrow? Need any changes?

Joe stared at the message, the mundane logistics suddenly feeling like a weight. He typed back a quick affirmative, then set his phone aside, not wanting to think about tomorrow just yet.

In the bedroom, Riley was having a similar moment of realization as she tossed overnight essentials into a small bag. Her phone lit up with another message from the group chat.

Laura: I know you're ignoring us, but I had to say: I haven't heard you this happy in ages. That's all.

Riley smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. She hadn't told her friends everything—how Joe had lifted her onto his shoulders during the parade, his quiet vulnerability when he talked about life after football, the way he'd looked around her house like he was memorizing every detail. Some things felt too precious to share, even with the people who knew her best.

She typed back a simple heart emoji, then finished packing, trying not to think about what this all meant beyond tonight. Tomorrow would come whether they were ready or not. But they still had tonight, and she intended to make the most of it.

When she emerged from the bedroom, overnight bag in hand, Joe was standing by the window, looking out at the neighborhood. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, and the way his face lit up at the sight of her sent a flutter through her stomach that had nothing to do with her lingering hangover.

"Ready?" he asked.

Riley nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Ready."

Joe arrived at the hotel first, slipping through the lobby with practiced ease. He was used to keeping a low profile, and the staff here had already proven they valued discretion. A simple nod from the desk clerk was all the acknowledgment he got as he made his way upstairs.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a soft knock at his door.

Riley stepped inside quickly, hood pulled up, oversized sunglasses still on. "I feel like a mistress sneaking into a politician's hotel room," she muttered, tugging the glasses off.

Joe smirked. "Want me to start making bad policy decisions to complete the fantasy?"

"Please don't." She tossed her bag onto a chair and glanced around.

Joe watched as Riley took in the suite, struck by how different it felt having her here, in this impersonal space, after the warmth of her house. Despite the luxury—the high ceilings, antique furniture, tall windows overlooking the parade route—it felt less like home than Riley's cozy shotgun had after just one night. He found himself missing the character of her place—the emerald walls, the mismatched furniture, the art covering every surface. This place was beautiful but sterile by comparison.

"This view though," Riley said, dropping her overnight bag on a chair and heading straight for the balcony doors. "Front row seats."

Below them, the street hummed with energy—people in costumes and masks making their way toward preferred viewing spots, street vendors selling beads and drinks, the occasional burst of music from passing groups.

Joe followed her onto the balcony, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. A sense of déjà vu washed over him—they'd stood like this just yesterday, on his first night in the city. Had it really only been a day and a half? It felt impossible that he'd know her so well after such a short time.

"First parade should come through in about an hour," Joe said, resting his chin on Riley's shoulder. "Plenty of time to order dinner."

Riley turned in his arms, facing him with a mischievous smile. "Plenty of time for other things too."

"That so?" Joe asked, his hands settling on her hips, already pulling her closer.

"Absolutely," Riley confirmed, rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Any objections?"

"Not a single one," Joe murmured, his mouth finding hers.

Riley laughed against his lips, her hands already working at the hem of his shirt.

Without breaking the kiss, he guided her back inside, moving from the balcony into the bedroom with easy purpose.

The kiss deepened as they crossed the threshold, clothes falling to the floor in an urgent tangle. Joe's hands slipped beneath Riley's shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of her back. When his fingers traced the line of her spine, she arched into him with a soft sound that made his blood run hot.

His shirt hit the floor first, followed quickly by hers. Riley's hands found his chest, fingers tracing the contours of muscle with clear appreciation. Joe watched her face as she touched him—the focus in her eyes, the slight parting of her lips—and felt something tighten in his chest that had nothing to do with physical desire.

When his hands reached the clasp of her bra, Riley smiled, reaching behind herself to unfasten it before he could.

The sight of her—golden in the late afternoon light filtering through the balcony doors, confident in her bare skin—nearly undid him.

"Fuck," he breathed quietly, the word slipping out without thought, admiration rather than vulgarity coloring his voice.

Riley's smile deepened, eyes darkening playfully. "That's the idea, but you're still wearing pants."

He removed his jeans before guiding her toward the bed, pulling her down with him so she straddled his hips. The weight of her against him, the feel of skin on skin, the way her hair fell around them like a curtain—all familiar now yet somehow more intense than it had been that morning.

This time, there was none of the hesitation of their first encounter. This was a continuation, a deepening of something they'd already begun. Her body against his felt both new and achingly familiar, like returning to a place he'd only visited once but had thought about constantly since.

He took his time with her—mapping the constellation of freckles across her collarbone with his lips, learning which touches made her breath catch, which made her arch against him, which drew his name from her lips like a prayer. Every response, every reaction was filed away, precious knowledge he wanted to keep.

Riley was just as thorough in her exploration—her hands finding the sensitive spot on his hip bone that made him shudder, her lips tracing the scar on his knee with unexpected tenderness, her eyes never leaving his face as she gauged the effect she had on him.

When Riley's leg hooked around his waist, Joe flipped their positions in one smooth motion, covering her body with his own.

Without breaking rhythm, he reached toward the nightstand where he'd left a condom earlier—a moment of preparation that now seemed like the most practical decision he'd ever made.

They moved together with a synchronicity that felt both natural and miraculous, finding a rhythm that built steadily toward release. Riley met him thrust for thrust, her hands never still, her eyes never leaving his except when pleasure forced them closed.

When she came undone beneath him, her body tightening around him, her back arching off the bed, Joe followed her over the edge—the physical release accompanied by something deeper, more profound, that left him breathless and shaken.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, hearts racing, skin cooling in the air-conditioned room. Riley's head rested on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder. Joe's hand found its way to her hair, stroking the silky strands as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

"So," Riley said finally, her voice warm with satisfaction, "about that room service..."

Joe grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll get the menu."

They did eventually order room service—a feast of local specialties that they devoured while lounging in plush hotel robes, the parade passing in a blur of lights and music on the street below. The balcony provided the perfect vantage point—close enough to catch beads thrown by particularly ambitious riders, but removed from the chaos of the crowds.

"I have to admit," Riley said, plucking a beignet from the dessert plate, "this is a pretty great way to experience Mardi Gras."

Joe nodded, leaning back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Best of both worlds. The view without the crowds."

"Though there is something to be said for being down in it," Riley mused, licking powdered sugar from her fingers in a way that made Joe temporarily forget what they were discussing. "The energy of the crowd, the music up close. Especially the second lines."

"Second lines?" Joe asked, dragging his attention back to the conversation.

Riley's eyes lit up. "Oh, you've never experienced a real second line? That's criminal. We have to fix that before you leave."

"What exactly is a second line?" Joe asked, curious now.

"It's... hard to explain," Riley said, searching for the right words. "Technically, it's the group of people who follow behind the main parade—the 'first line' being the official band and members. But it's so much more than that. It's this spontaneous celebration, with music and dancing and everyone joining in. It's the heart of New Orleans street culture."

Her enthusiasm was infectious, her hands moving animatedly as she described the tradition. "The best ones happen after the main parades, when brass bands just start playing and people follow. No barriers, no formality—just pure joy."

Joe watched her, entranced by her passion. "Sounds amazing."

"It is," Riley confirmed. "And there's almost always one that forms after the night parades here. We could join, if you wanted. You'd still be incognito—everyone's in costume, and it's dark, and no one's paying attention to individual faces anyway."

Joe hesitated, weighing the risk against the obvious happiness it would bring Riley. "Would I need my full royal costume again?"

Riley shook her head. "Just a mask would be fine. And maybe a hat. It's more about the spirit than the outfit, anyway."

The joy in her eyes made the decision easy. "Alright," Joe agreed. "Let's do it."

Riley's smile was blinding. "Really? You'll love it, I promise. It's my favorite part of Carnival."

As they finished their dessert, the parade outside reached its conclusion, the final floats passing beneath their balcony in a blaze of light and sound. But rather than dispersing, the crowd seemed to be gathering, coalescing around something Joe couldn't quite see from their vantage point.

"Listen," Riley said, tilting her head. "Hear that?"

In the distance, the unmistakable sound of brass instruments—trumpets, trombones, tubas—began to rise above the general din. Not the organized music of the parade bands, but something more organic, more spontaneous.

"We gotta move it, Burrow. We're missing it."

Joe could see the longing in her expression. "Let's go," he said simply, already reaching for his disguise.

They scrambled into their clothes with a frantic energy that had them bumping into each other, laughing as they nearly toppled over. Riley dug through her bag, producing two bandanas—one purple, one green—and handed the green one to Joe.

She reached up, adjusting the bandana around his face, making sure it covered enough but that he could still see. Joe had worn one yesterday, but somehow her hands on his face, fixing it just right, felt more intimate than before.

"Wait," Riley said, grabbing his Bengals cap and pulling it low over his eyes. She stood back to examine her work. "Perfect. Now come on."

The hotel lobby was nearly empty, the staff having long given up trying to maintain decorum as Carnival reached its peak outside. They slipped through the doors and into the night, the air thick with humidity and possibility.

The music was louder now, a pulsing rhythm that seemed to vibrate through the pavement itself. Riley clutched his hand tighter, pulling him through the crowd toward the sound.

And then, suddenly, they were there.

Time seemed to slow as they rounded the corner. The street opened up before them, transformed into something magical. A brass band—maybe a dozen players strong—had claimed the intersection, their instruments gleaming under streetlights, their bodies swaying as they played. Around them, people moved in a fluid dance, some with elaborate steps, others simply swaying, all connected by the music that flowed between them.

There were no barriers here, no separation between performers and audience. Just people—all kinds of people—caught up in the same moment, the same music, the same joy.

Joe felt something shift inside him as he took it all in. This wasn't like the organized parades, wasn't like any celebration he'd ever experienced. This was raw, authentic connection—strangers becoming community through nothing more than shared rhythm and movement.

Riley was watching him, her eyes bright above her bandana. Without a word, she pulled him deeper into the crowd, finding a spot where they could move freely. The press of bodies created a strange anonymity, a freedom he hadn't expected.

The band played something with a driving beat that had the crowd whooping in recognition. Joe didn't know the music, but it didn't matter—the energy was contagious, impossible to resist.

Before he could overthink it, he was moving. Not with any particular skill, but with an abandon he hadn't allowed himself in years—maybe ever. The constraints that usually bound him—the careful image, the constant awareness of being watched—fell away, leaving just Joe, just this moment, just the music and Riley's hand in his.

A woman with feathers in her hair pressed a plastic cup into his hand, filled with something sweet and potent. Joe drank it without hesitation, feeling the alcohol warm his blood, loosen his limbs even further. Riley accepted her own cup from a man in a glittering vest, raising it in a toast before drinking deeply.

The second line began to move, the band leading the way down the street, the crowd flowing behind them like a river finding a new course. Where others struggled with the chaos, Joe moved with surprising ease, his body naturally creating space for them both. There was a calm certainty to his movements, not from knowing the streets but from an instinctive awareness of the crowd itself.

When the crowd compressed unexpectedly, Joe simply shifted his position, creating a protective bubble around Riley without being overbearing. His hand remained steady at the small of her back, not controlling but present. The subtle protection allowed Riley to lose herself completely in the moment, to dance and laugh with wild abandon, knowing he was there.

Everything took on a dreamlike quality—the glow of streetlights reflecting off brass instruments, the blur of faces and costumes, the way sound seemed to wrap around them like a physical presence. Joe lost track of time, lost track of anything beyond this moment.

Someone tossed beads around his neck. Someone else pressed another drink into his hand. A woman with silver-painted skin danced past him, trailing glitter in her wake. A man with a trumpet pulled away from the band to play directly to Riley, who laughed and spun in response.

And through it all, Riley stayed close, her hand finding his whenever they were separated, her body moving against his in a dance that felt like conversation. She would glance back at him occasionally, appreciating the way he navigated the crowd with that same quiet confidence he brought to everything else.

The second line wound its way through streets Joe didn't recognize, each turn revealing new sights, new sounds, new people joining the celebration. They passed beneath balconies where people called down to them, through narrow passages where the buildings seemed to amplify the music, into wider avenues where the crowd spread out like water finding its level.

As they moved through the streets, the brass melodies swirling around them, Joe found himself thinking of vinyl records, of that moment in the shop when the Talking Heads album had appeared in his hands like some cosmic message. Home is where I want to be. The line had been circling his mind since that first night in Riley's house, but now—surrounded by strangers who felt like friends, caught in music that moved through him rather than just around him—he understood what David Byrne had been trying to say all along.

Home wasn't a place. It wasn't Cincinnati. It wasn't the careful apartment he'd decorated with the help of a designer who'd asked him what he wanted and he'd answered, "Clean lines." It wasn't even Athens, which he still called home out of habit more than feeling.

Home was this. Right here. This moment. This singular point in time where everything aligned in a way he'd never experienced—the rhythm of the brass, the press of people, the weight of Riley's hand in his. It was the unexpected joy of surrender, of letting go of the careful control he maintained in every other aspect of his life.

Something fundamental shifted inside him, plates of identity rearranging themselves into a new configuration. The Joe Burrow who prepared relentlessly, who measured success in completions and touchdowns, who crafted his image with the same precision he used to read defenses—that Joe Burrow was still there. But now there was room for something else. Something new.

Or maybe something ancient, something that had always been there beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

The band hit a crescendo, the crowd surging in response, and Joe felt it like a physical wave through his body. He was laughing, he realized, in a way he hadn't since childhood—full-bodied, unrestrained, absolutely present.

Riley was looking up at him, something unspoken but unmistakable in her eyes. Joe pulled his bandana down just long enough to kiss her—a brief, electric contact before he covered his face again. It was reckless perhaps, but in that moment, it felt like the only possible response to the overwhelming tide of emotion.

When the song ended, the band transitioning seamlessly into something else, the spell wasn't broken. If anything, it deepened, solidified into certainty.

In the middle of Carnival, in the heart of New Orleans, surrounded by strangers and music and motion, Joe Burrow felt himself change. Not dramatically, not completely—but fundamentally, in ways that reverberated through every fiber of his being. Like a quarterback who suddenly sees the field in a different way, who recognizes patterns where before there was only chaos, Joe saw his life through new eyes.

This was what Riley had meant. This was what couldn't be explained, only experienced.

This, he realized with crystal clarity, was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Riley looked up at him as the crowd moved around them, her eyes bright with recognition. "Tell me this isn't the most alive you've ever felt," she challenged, her voice barely audible over the music but somehow perfectly clear to him.

And Joe couldn't lie. "It is," he admitted, the truth of it resonating through him like the brass notes themselves. "You were right. This is incredible."

"Thank you," he said as she came back into his arms, knowing the words were woefully inadequate. "For showing me this. For showing me your New Orleans."

For showing me a version of myself I didn't know existed, he wanted to add, but couldn't bring himself to say.

"Thank you for giving it a chance," Riley replied, stretching up to kiss him, heedless of the crowd around them.

The second line continued for hours, winding through the Quarter, gaining and losing participants as it went. Joe and Riley stayed with it until the very end, until the band finally came to rest in a small square, playing one final, triumphant number before disbanding into the night.

As the crowd dispersed, Riley leaned against Joe, breathless and flushed with exertion and joy. "Well, Burrow," she said, looking up at him with dancing eyes, "what do you think? Worth missing the VIP balcony view?"

Joe stared at her for a moment, still struggling with the magnitude of what he was feeling. There was something terrifying about it—this sudden, seismic shift in his perception of what mattered, what he wanted, who he could be. He'd always prided himself on his focus, his singular dedication to his career. Yet here he was, in the middle of the off-season, already mentally rearranging his calendar to include more of... this. More of her.

"I'm clearing my entire schedule next year," he said, the words coming out before he could filter them, surprising even himself with their certainty.

Riley's eyes widened slightly, catching the weight behind his seemingly casual statement. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the implications of his words—of a future that extended beyond this weekend—hanging in the air between them.

Neither seemed ready to examine it too closely, both perhaps afraid to break the spell of the moment by putting too fine a point on it.

Instead, Riley simply took his hand, leading him back toward the hotel. "I'm holding you to that," she said, and Joe knew she meant it as more than just a casual promise.

The walk back was quieter, the streets beginning to empty as even Carnival revelers eventually succumbed to exhaustion. They moved in comfortable silence, hands intertwined, occasionally stopping to kiss in doorways or against lamp posts, unhurried and content.

Joe's mind was still racing, trying to process everything he'd experienced, everything he was feeling. The careful architecture of his life—the routines and boundaries he'd constructed over years—seemed suddenly insufficient, too small to contain this new thing growing inside him. It wasn't just attraction or even affection. It was something more fundamental, more disruptive.

It scared him, if he was honest with himself. He'd built his career, his entire identity, around being in control. Around knowing exactly what he wanted and pursuing it with single-minded determination. But this—whatever was happening with Riley—hadn't been part of the plan. It was unexpected, uncharted territory.

And yet, the thought of returning to his carefully ordered life without her in it seemed impossible now, like trying to go back to black and white after seeing in color.

By the time they reached the hotel, the first hints of dawn were appearing on the horizon—a subtle lightening of the eastern sky, a promise of the day to come. Joe's flight was in the afternoon, a reality they had both been carefully avoiding discussing.

In the elevator, Riley leaned against him, her energy finally flagging after hours of dancing. "I think you've officially experienced the full Mardi Gras," she murmured. "Parades, costumes, second lines... We hit all the highlights."

"Best tour guide ever," Joe agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, wishing he had the words to tell her that she'd shown him far more than just a city—she'd shown him a different way of being in the world, a different possibility for himself that he'd never considered before.

But those were thoughts too new, feelings too raw to articulate just yet. So he held her closer instead, memorizing the weight of her against him, the scent of her hair, the perfect fit of her hand in his—storing up sensory memories to carry back to Cincinnati, where he knew everything would look different now, whether he wanted it to or not.

Back in the hotel room, they shed their clothes with the easy familiarity of people who had done this before, climbing into the massive bed with grateful sighs. Riley immediately curled against him, her head finding its spot on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest.

"What time's your flight again?" she asked, her voice already heavy with exhaustion.

"Nine," Joe admitted reluctantly. "So I should probably be at the airport by seven."

Riley groaned softly. "That's like...three hours from now."

"I'll sleep on the plane," Joe said, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. "This is worth it."

She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was smaller, more vulnerable than he'd heard it before.

"I don't want you to go," she admitted quietly, the late hour and exhaustion lowering her usual guards.

Joe tightened his arm around her. "I don't want to go either," he said honestly.

Riley propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "So where does that leave us? This weekend has been... I don't even have words for what it's been. But tomorrow you go back to Cincinnati, and I stay here, and then I'm off to LA for recording, and then you start training, and..." She trailed off, the logistics suddenly overwhelming.

Joe reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He wanted to tell her everything—how she'd upended his carefully constructed world, how he'd caught himself considering what it would be like to have a place here, how for the first time in his life his single-minded focus on football felt insufficient. But those thoughts were too new, too raw, too untested to share just yet.

"And we figure it out," he said instead, simpler but no less true. "If we want to make it work, we will."

"Just like that?" Riley asked, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "It's never that simple."

"Maybe it is," Joe countered. "Maybe we're making it complicated by overthinking."

Riley laughed softly. "Says the overthinker who didn't kiss me when he wanted to in New York."

Joe smiled, caught. "I'm trying." He hesitated, then decided to let her in, just a little. "Look, this is different for me. I'm a homebody. Always have been. I've spent my whole life laser-focused on one thing—football. Everything else just... existed around it. Relationships, friendships... they were always secondary. Had to be." His voice dropped lower, more vulnerable. "I don't know how to do this—to feel this connected to someone so fast. It's like finding a missing piece you didn't know was missing."

Riley watched him carefully, giving him space to continue.

"But this weekend," he said slowly, "with you...it's like I found a part of myself I forgot existed. Or maybe never knew was there." He shook his head slightly. "I don't know how to fit that into my life in Cincinnati, but I know I want to try."

It wasn't everything he was feeling—not nearly—but it was more than he'd shared with anyone in a long time. More than he'd admitted even to himself until this moment.

Riley studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for something. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her, because she leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss so tender it made his chest ache.

"Okay," she whispered against his mouth. "We figure it out."

They sealed the promise with another kiss, and another, until talking gave way to touching, and words were replaced by sighs and moans and whispered encouragements. They made love with a new urgency, as if trying to store up memories to carry them through the coming separation. Joe memorized every sound she made, every arch of her back, every gasp of his name. Riley traced his body with fingers and lips like she was committing him to memory, learning him by heart.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, breathing gradually slowing to normal. Joe struggled to keep his eyes open, exhaustion finally claiming him after the longest, most extraordinary day.

"Go to sleep," Riley murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I'll be here in the morning."

Joe wanted to say something more—something about how these few days had changed him, how he'd never felt this way before, how he already missed her even though she was still in his arms. But sleep pulled him under before he could find the words, the gentle rhythm of Riley's breathing against his skin lulling him into dreams.

Joe woke just five minutes before his alarm was set to go off, the room still dark, Riley's warm body curled against his side. For a moment, he just watched her sleep—the peaceful expression on her face, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the tangle of blonde hair spread across the pillow.

His flight was at 9 AM, which meant he needed to be at the airport in less than two hours. The thought of leaving—leaving her—and returning to his carefully structured life in Cincinnati created a physical ache in his chest, surprising in its intensity.

Joe slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb her. He padded to the bathroom, splashing water on his face as he tried to sort through the tumult of emotions.

He needed to say something—something to mark what had happened here, something to carry them through the weeks or months that might pass before they could be together again. But what could possibly capture the significance of these days? What token could possibly be enough?

As he dried his face, his eyes caught on his reflection in the mirror—specifically, on the thin silicone bracelet on his wrist. His LSU bracelet, the one he'd worn since his college days, a simple blue band with purple lettering. A reminder of where he'd come from, of the journey that had made him who he was.

It wasn't much, but it was significant. Personal. A piece of himself she could keep.

Decision made, Joe returned to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch Riley sleep for a few more precious moments. Then, gently, he slid the bracelet from his wrist and placed it on the nightstand.

He found the hotel stationery in the desk drawer, pausing with pen in hand as he considered what to write. He wasn't one for flowery words or lengthy explanations, but he wanted her to understand what these days had meant.

Finally, he began to write:

Riley,

Not good at goodbyes, so I'm not waking you up. These few days have been the best I've had in a long time. Thank you for showing me your city, your world.

This bracelet has been with me since LSU. Through everything. I want you to have it until next time. And there will be a next time—soon.

Call me when you're up.

Joe

He folded the note and placed it beside the bracelet, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Riley's forehead. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her fingers curling into the warm spot he'd left in the sheets.

Joe dressed quietly, packed his few belongings, and took one last look at the room—at Riley asleep in the massive bed, at the balcony where they'd watched the parades, at the scattered evidence of their night together.

Before heading out, he grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Mark, asking him to push back their morning meeting by an hour. He needed to make one more stop before heading to the airport.

Downstairs, Joe approached the front desk, where a different clerk from the previous day greeted him with a professional smile.

"Checking out, Mr. Burrow?"

"Yes," Joe said, sliding his keycard across the counter. "But I was hoping to extend checkout for the room until this afternoon. My... friend is still sleeping, and I want her to be able to rest as long as she needs."

The clerk nodded, typing something into the computer. "No problem at all, sir. We can extend it until 3 PM if that works?"

"Perfect," Joe said, adding his credit card to the counter. "And whatever room service she orders, put it on this."

With that taken care of, Joe stepped outside into the quiet morning streets, the city still recovering from another night of Carnival. The air was cool, clean in a way it wouldn't be once the day's revelry began again. He took a deep breath, savoring one last taste of New Orleans before heading to his waiting car.

But as he settled into the backseat and gave the driver directions to the airport, Joe knew with absolute certainty that he would be back. Soon.

Riley woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains they'd forgotten to close and an empty space beside her in the bed. She reached out, finding the sheets cool to the touch—Joe had been gone for a while.

"Joe?" she called, her voice thick with sleep. No response.

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face as she glanced around the room. His bag was gone from the chair where he'd left it, his shoes no longer by the door. A hollow feeling opened up in her chest, a sense of loss that seemed disproportionate to their short time together.

For a moment, she just sat there, the reality of his departure settling over her like a weight. He'd left without waking her. Without saying goodbye. Her throat tightened as an unwelcome thought pushed its way forward: maybe this weekend hadn't meant to him what it had to her. Maybe once he stepped away from the Mardi Gras bubble, from her world, he'd realized it was just a nice diversion—nothing worth disrupting his real life for.

She'd let herself hope. Worse, she'd let herself believe he felt it too—that unexplainable connection, that sense of recognition that had nothing to do with how long they'd known each other and everything to do with how deeply they'd connected.

Riley swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had appeared without warning. This wasn't her. She didn't get emotional over men, especially ones she'd just met. But as she looked around the empty hotel room, at the indentation in the pillow where his head had been, at the single earring she'd tossed on the dresser that now seemed to emphasize her aloneness—she couldn't deny the ache spreading through her chest.

Then her eyes caught on something on the nightstand—a purple and gold silicone bracelet, the colors faded from years of wear. LSU. Joe's bracelet, the one he'd worn constantly, that she'd noticed he never took off.

Beside it lay a folded piece of hotel stationery with her name on it.

Riley reached for both with slightly trembling hands, sliding the bracelet onto her wrist before unfolding the note. As she read his words, the tears she'd been fighting spilled over, tracking silently down her cheeks.

The note wasn't long or poetic. It was pure Joe—straightforward, unembellished, and somehow more meaningful because of it. He'd left her his bracelet. A piece of himself, something important, something personal.

She traced her fingers over his handwriting, the physical evidence of his presence, of his promise to return. The tears came faster now, catching her off guard with their intensity.

"Shit," she whispered, pressing the note to her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut.

She was crying not just because he was gone, but because she missed him already, with an intensity that scared her. Because in just three days, he'd somehow worked his way past all her carefully constructed defenses. Because she was already counting the days until "next time," even though they hadn't set a date, even though their lives existed in different worlds, on different trajectories.

Riley lay back against the pillows, his bracelet a comforting weight on her wrist, his note still clutched in her hand. She allowed herself this moment of vulnerability—of missing him, of acknowledging what these days had meant, of being afraid of how much she'd come to care in such a short time.

The tears weren't just sadness. They were recognition of something rare, something precious, something worth fighting for. And beneath it all, a quiet certainty that whatever had started here was far from over.

She reached for her phone, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she began to type a message to the man who'd somehow, in the space of a Mardi Gras weekend, become essential.

She stared at the blank text screen for a moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Riley Carter had never struggled with words—they were her livelihood, her art—but somehow finding the right ones for this felt impossible. Too casual would diminish what had happened between them. Too intense might scare him off.

Finally, she typed:

Riley: Just found your note. Already wearing the bracelet. Thanks for making me cry before coffee, Burrow.

She paused, deleted it, then tried again:

Riley: The bracelet is perfect. I'll keep it safe for you. Thank you for everything.

Too formal. Too distant. She deleted that too, frustration building.

She tried once more:

Riley: Found your note. Miss you already. The bracelet doesn't leave my wrist until you're back to claim it.

She hit send before she could overthink it, then immediately tossed her phone aside, her heart racing like she'd just performed in front of thousands. It was the truth—simple, direct, vulnerable. The kind of truth she usually saved for her lyrics, not her life.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

She hadn't expected such a quick response. He must have turned his phone on the second the plane touched down, a thought that made the ache in her chest soften into something warmer.

Joe: Back in Cincinnati. Three days wasn't enough. I'll call you later.

She replied with just a heart emoji. Sometimes words weren't necessary.

Riley smiled through the remnants of her tears, holding her wrist up to examine the faded purple and gold band that now felt like the most precious thing she owned.

Joe stepped off the plane, already feeling the shift. The cold Cincinnati air, the familiar airport, the weight of his real life settling back onto his shoulders.

His driver was waiting for him at arrivals, a clipboard with "BURROW" in his hand though they both knew it wasn't necessary. Joe nodded in greeting, sliding into the back seat of the black SUV as the driver loaded his single bag into the trunk.

"Good trip, Mr. Burrow?" the driver asked, the same question he always asked.

"Yeah," Joe said, surprised by how inadequate the word felt. "It was."

He scrolled through the messages that had accumulated during his flight—his agent reminding him about tomorrow's meeting with the equipment sponsor, his trainer checking if he wanted to bump their session to evening instead of morning, his mom asking if he'd made it home safely. He replied to each with practiced efficiency, but his mind was still in New Orleans.

The city had felt different with Riley there. And now, Cincinnati felt... less.

The drive to his place was the same as always. Same route, same buildings, same grey February sky. But now he noticed the absence of color, the lack of life compared to the vibrant chaos of New Orleans. When had Cincinnati started feeling so sterile?

He got home, dropped his bag by the door, and immediately noticed how he almost hated how his house now felt compared to Riley's. No warm light, no music, no trailing plants or mismatched furniture that somehow worked. His place was all clean lines and neutral tones, professionally decorated to be impressive but not personal. It had never bothered him before.

Joe moved through the empty rooms, turning on lights, opening blinds, trying to inject some life into the space. He glanced at his wrist out of habit—only to remember the bracelet wasn't there. That small weight was missing, and it threw him. He rubbed his thumb over the spot where the silicone band usually sat, the phantom pressure a constant reminder of what he'd left behind.

In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator, stared at the protein shakes and meal-prepped containers, then closed it again without taking anything. His stomach growled, but nothing appealed to him. He wanted beignets dusted with powdered sugar. He wanted spicy gumbo and Riley laughing across the table.

He checked his phone again, rereading Riley's text, lingering on Miss you already before typing:

Joe: What song are you playing right now?

A beat later, her response:

Riley: "In Spite of Ourselves" by John Prine & Iris DeMent

Joe smiled, immediately searching for the song on his phone. He connected to the speakers—rarely used except for pregame warm-up playlists—and hit play. The playful, honest duet filled his living room, the lyrics about two imperfect people who fit together perfectly making his smile widen. He could almost hear Riley's laugh, could picture her singing along. Somehow, the song made the space feel less empty.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch as the music washed over him. The pull in his chest was almost physical, a tightness that hadn't been there before New Orleans. Before Riley.

When the song ended, Joe walked to his bag and carefully removed the Talking Heads vinyl he'd bought at the record store. He held it for a moment, then placed it prominently on the console table in his entryway—the only personal item in the otherwise meticulously designed space. It looked out of place among his minimalist decor—vibrant, meaningful, a splash of color in the monochrome.

He picked up his phone again, staring at the record he’d placed on the console table—the only personal item in the otherwise meticulously designed space. It looked out of place, bold and colorful against the clean lines and muted tones.

He ran his thumb over his bare wrist, missing the familiar weight of his bracelet. The room felt empty, too perfect. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something needed to change—something to make this space feel less like a hotel and more like a home.

Decisively, he opened a browser and searched for high-end turntables. The price didn’t matter; what mattered was quality. If Riley was going to visit—and she would, he’d make sure of it—he wanted the music to sound just right.

Joe scrolled through reviews, comparing features with the same focus he usually reserved for studying defensive schemes. Turntable. Amplifier. Speakers. The best system money could buy.

Small changes. Starting points. The kind of details no one but Riley would notice or understand. Because somehow, in just three days, she'd seen parts of him he'd forgotten existed, or maybe never knew were there at all. He glanced around his living room again, seeing it through new eyes, and for the first time since buying it, he didn't see a showcase.

He saw potential.

Riley left the hotel as soon as she got up. There was no reason to stay—the late checkout Joe had arranged would go unused. The room felt wrong without him there, like she was sharing the space with a ghost. His absence was somehow more present, more tangible, than if he'd never been there at all.

The half-empty coffee cup he'd left on the nightstand. The indent in his pillow. The lingering scent of his cologne in the bathroom. All evidence of someone who was gone but not quite gone.

She'd never hurried through her morning routine so quickly, desperate to escape the emptiness that was somehow worse than being alone.

When she finally made it home, the city felt strange around her. It was still Mardi Gras, still her favorite time of year in her favorite place, but something was off. Like someone had adjusted all the colors, making them slightly less vibrant. She'd lived in New Orleans for years, knew every corner of her neighborhood, but suddenly the familiar patterns of her life felt... insufficient.

"Get it together, Carter," she muttered to herself as she unlocked her front door. "It was three days. Three."

But it had been three days that had somehow shifted something fundamental inside her. Three days that had her checking her phone every five minutes, staring at his bracelet on her wrist, playing their conversations over in her head like favorite tracks on a well-worn album.

Her house, normally her sanctuary, felt too quiet. She walked through the rooms, running her fingers over the surfaces of familiar objects, wondering if Joe had touched them too. The record player in the corner caught her eye. She picked out a vinyl without thinking too hard about it, needing something to fill the silence.

John Prine's voice filled the room, and Riley sank onto her couch, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb over Joe's LSU bracelet. She had studio time booked later—their album wouldn't finish itself—but for now, she allowed herself this moment of... what? Not sadness, exactly. Something more complex. Something that made her feel both lighter and heavier at the same time.

Her phone buzzed.

Joe: What song are you playing right now?

Riley smiled for the first time since waking up alone. How did he know? She glanced at the record spinning on her turntable, then typed:

Riley: "In Spite of Ourselves" by John Prine & Iris DeMent

She didn't explain why—didn't mention how the lyrics about two imperfect people finding each other felt suddenly, intensely relevant, or how Prine's wry humor was the only thing keeping her from sliding into a frankly embarrassing level of melancholy. He'd either get it or he wouldn't.

She set her phone down and leaned her head back, closing her eyes as the music washed over her. Three days. Just three days, and she was already haunting her own house like some lovesick teenager. It was ridiculous. It was completely unlike her. What would Haley and Laura say?

Well, she knew exactly what they'd say. They'd say she was in trouble. And they'd be right.

Her phone buzzed again. Not Joe this time, but a reminder of her studio session in two hours. Real life, calling her back. The album they were midway through recording wasn't going to wait, and honestly, work was probably exactly what she needed right now.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Riley hit Laura's contact and put the phone on speaker as she started gathering her things for the studio.

"Well, well, well," Laura's voice filled the room after the second ring. "If it isn't the ghost who's been ignoring our texts all morning. I was about to send a search party to make sure Quarterback Boy didn't turn out to be a serial killer."

"He left this morning," Riley said, surprised by how her voice caught slightly on the words. "Early flight."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Laura spoke again, her teasing tone had vanished. "You okay, Ri?"

"I'm fine," Riley said automatically, then sighed. "Actually, I don't know what I am. It's stupid. It was just a few days."

"Doesn't sound stupid to me," Laura said quietly. "Sounds like something happened."

Riley sank back onto the couch, absently touching the LSU bracelet on her wrist. "Yeah. Something happened." She paused, struggling to find words—ridiculous for someone who wrote lyrics for a living. "I can't explain it, Laura. It's like... I've known him forever? But also not at all? And now he's gone and my house feels wrong and I'm playing John Prine like some heartbroken teenager and I don't even recognize myself right now."

Laura let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. You're in it deep."

"Shut up," Riley groaned, but there was no heat in it. "I know how it sounds."

"Actually, it sounds exactly like you," Laura said, her voice gentler now. "The real you. The one who feels everything so intensely. That's who you've always been, Ri. You kind of lost that part of yourself during all those years with Ethan."

Riley was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. Laura wasn't wrong. The on-again, off-again years with Ethan had taken a toll she hadn't fully recognized until after it was over. She'd spent a whole year deliberately single after they finally ended things for good, focusing on finding herself again. And somewhere in that process, she'd gotten comfortable keeping her feelings at a distance, not letting herself explore possibilities with anyone else.

"Maybe," she admitted finally. "It just feels... risky."

"Good risky or bad risky?"

Riley laughed. "I don't even know anymore."

"So when are you seeing him again?"

The question caught Riley off guard. Not if. When. Like there was no doubt.

"I don't know," she admitted. "We didn't really make specific plans. He's got training, I've got the album... and then we leave for Italy right after. It'll be at least a month before there's even a possibility."

"A month?" Laura groaned dramatically. "You're going to be impossible to live with in Italy. Here I was looking forward to celebrating your birthday in Tuscany, and now you're going to be pining after Football Boy the whole time."

"I am not going to be pining," Riley protested, though the thought of a full month without seeing Joe did create a hollow feeling in her chest. "I'll be completely present and birthday-appropriate."

"Mmhmm," Laura hummed skeptically. "Keep telling yourself that."

"You're the worst."

"No, I'm the best, which is why I'm going to help you figure out when you can see him after we get back. Haley owes me twenty bucks, by the way."

"You bet on me?"

"I bet on chemistry. Haley said you'd play it cool for at least a week before making any moves. I said you'd be planning your next meeting before his plane even landed."

Riley rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop smiling. "I hate you both."

"No, you don't," Laura said, her voice softening. "Listen, I know this is new territory for you. But I haven't heard you sound like this about anyone... maybe ever. So whatever this is? I'm here for it."

"Thanks, L," Riley said quietly. "I gotta go. Studio time."

"Go make magic. And Riley? I'm really happy for you."

After they hung up, Riley stood in her living room for a moment longer, feeling oddly settled. Hearing herself say it out loud—admit how she was feeling, acknowledge that she wanted to see him again soon—had made it more real somehow. Less something happening to her and more something she was choosing.

A month. Four weeks. Thirty-some days before seeing him again was even possible. The thought was daunting, but also... maybe good? Time to process whatever this was becoming, time to finish the album without distraction, time to be sure this wasn't just Mardi Gras magic that would dissolve in the daylight of real life.

Though even as she thought it, Riley knew better. Whatever was happening between them was too real, too grounded to be dismissed as holiday fantasy.

Riley forced herself up off the couch, heading to her bedroom to change into something more suitable for the studio. As she passed her dresser, she caught sight of herself in the mirror—Joe's bracelet on her wrist, a small smile still playing at her lips. She looked different somehow. Not dramatically, not in any way anyone else would notice. But she could see it.

"Three days," she whispered to her reflection, half-accusation, half-wonder.

But sometimes three days was all it took.

She grabbed her guitar case, her notebook full of half-finished lyrics, her jacket. At the door, she paused, looking back at her empty house. For the first time since moving in, she felt a strange sense of anticipation—not just of coming back, but of someday having someone else there too. Someone specific.

Riley locked the door behind her, adjusting Joe's bracelet on her wrist as she walked down her front steps. She might be in trouble, but she was pretty sure it was the good kind.

[batlovebites]

May I ask for black pearl x reader?

Sure! Since this is a pretty vague request, I'll just give you some headcanons. Small warning that these discuss some of the unhealthy behaviors Black Pearl would exhibit at the start of a relationship as a result of her prior heartbreak.

Black Pearl Cookie x Reader [Headcanons]

Getting into a relationship with Black Pearl to begin with is... difficult, to say the least. She's been burned once and is extremely wary of letting it happen again- not the least because she's not fully moved on yet, no matter how much she might try to convince herself and others otherwise.

But, perhaps, with the right person, the right words, the right support, she can learn to love again... and perhaps, you could be the right person, offer her the right words, give her the right support? If one is looking to be in a relationship with her, they must be willing to stick by her through some troubling and unhealthy behavior as she works through her deeply unresolved emotions.

Once in a relationship, Black Pearl is simultaneously extremely clingy and extremely distant. She's not openly affectionate, and one will have to read between the lines of her behavior to see the love laced intentions that drive them.

At the same time, she's very intent on 'keeping' you. She will want to accompany you absolutely everywhere, fearing that the next time you leave her, you won't come back, and she'll be left to wallow and rage in solitude at the bottom of the ocean once more. When she first grows attached, there is a good chance she simply won't let you leave. Her true form holding you effortlessly in a hand with strength that could easily crumble you- but she wouldn't dare do such thing.

The greatest show of love one could ever do for her is to return her pearl to her. A nigh impossible task, I fear, as tracking it down is a difficult enough task, much less being able to actually get it- whether it be due to a high price or a treacherous journey to wherever its current resting place may be. But, if one could ever do so, perhaps the raging storm in her heart could at last be fully at peace.

Sometimes, she will dream of the past, dream about how things might've been if instead of him, it was you who captured her heart all those years ago, and what your life together might've been like then. Sometimes, things turn out happier. Most of the time, it ends the same as it did with him. She's usually even more distant after one of these dreams, and unresponsive to affection. Be persistent- your intentions will shine through and soften her heart once more. And maybe, in turn, these dreams of hers will end happily more and more.

[daenysx]

Hi,could you perhaps do Remus c reader where he celebrates w reader after she got her dream job/uni???

-send me drabble requests!

remus lupin x fem!reader

The lights are perfect, not the disturbing kind but also not too low to prevent you from seeing anything clearly. You look at Remus, his eyes are shining with pride.

It warms your chest, how he takes up your success and carries it all around with those eyes. He sits next to you in front of the window, it's open wide for some fresh night air. The wine is a nice detail, but definitely not the most important one. Remus slowly brings his hand on your thigh, rubs the skin like he's trying to keep his eagerness under control. Like he's giddy and can't stop himself from soaking you up in his love.

"You have to tell me again," he says, taking a sip from his glass. It's not a wine glass, it's a cheap cup he uses for everything and that just makes you love him more. "The whole story from the beginning."

"I already told you for three times, Remus," you smile. "I promise, no more details to add. I'm gonna start on Monday, and- we'll see how it goes."

You get to act all cool and calm about it now, but the morning was the exact opposite. You remember hugging Remus for the fifth time before leaving the apartment, his gentle reassurings, and the bus you almost missed. They feel so far away now. You got the job at the end. The job you've been dreaming since you graduated.

"I just hope it doesn't turn into a big disappointment," you tell him, honestly. He's the only person who knows your heart in so much detail. "I'd be really upset, I want this job to be like- in my dreams. It doesn't sound real, but in an ideal world it could be, right?"

His hand squeezes yours. Kind boy, gentle in everything. His eyes sparkle with the stars, making you believe everything is possible.

"I think it'll be amazing," he says. "I mean, of course it's hard to tell how it will turn out, but the fact that you got the job is so important. So special, we could celebrate this in a few more occasions, dove."

You smile. He's been like this since you called him to let him know you got the job. You think he gets more excited than you sometimes, he's usually calm and collected, but tonight he doesn't try to contain his happiness. He's like a little boy who goes through a genuine moment of excitement, it's so good to see him like this.

"This is a perfect celebration," you tell him. He made you your favorite pasta recipe for dinner and got you a new pen for your new job with your initials on it. So classic, so Remus. You kissed him with wine stained lips until you can't catch your breath. "Thank you, baby. I'm so lucky to have you."

You think words don't feel enough sometimes, to confess how much you adore him. He's like both your sunshine and rain, keeping you in your dreams and in reality, and somehow supporting you in both.

Leaning in for a kiss, for the countless times this evening, Remus smiles. Lips curled up nicely, he tastes sweet, you kiss the corner of his mouth. His cheek is soft under your hand, it's so easy to be pulled up on his lap like this. The night breeze hits your face nicely, you want to keep this moment hidden and safe. You want to be buried right here to his chest, always tucked in like he's gonna be with you for an eternity.

An eternity sounds nice. You believe in what you want, you get it. Your dream job becomes your real job, and your lovely boyfriend kisses you under the stars. Tonight, sleep will come so easily, you think, with everything you wanted.

[ch1ll3d-gr4p3-s0d4]

Late Night Communications

DISCLAIMER: i am not a putin/russian government supporter, i suppport and stand with zelenskyys ukraine 100%. i ALSO obviously do not support the kim dynasty and north korean government. this is purely meant for entertainment and comedic purposes as a satire.

It was a hard day of being president of the greatest nation in the world, Russia. Putin settled down in his plush bedroom, the royal coloured bedspread covering his body in a warm comfort. However, no matter how warm it was, it couldn’t compare to the embrace of his dear lover. His fingers slid over the phone sleepily as he texted him in the dark.

“You up, Jongy?” and pressed send.

He almost dozed off among the luxurious pillows, in his cashmere pajamas and the blankets surrounding him, before he heard the vibration of a text back.

“Hey, hyung, what’s the matter? You should be asleep.” his distant lover, Kim Jong-un messaged.

Vladimir sighed and rolled his eyes, smiling. His Kimmy always wanted the best for him, even if it meant being a little bossy. It kind of turned Vlad on, how Kim was pushy and controlling sometimes, although he wouldn’t admit it without a thorough amount of poking and teasing. He guessed he had got it from controlling every detail of his citizens lives for so many years. Putin chuckled to himself

He messaged him back, fumbling with the phone in the dark.

“I know, I know, I just wanted to talk to you. You’ve been sorely missed in the Kremlin.” The message sounded formal enough, hiding the burning desire behind it.

“Aww, I’ll try to visit soon, darling.” Jong-un texted back.

Even though it was a matter of 5 minutes between each reply, for needy Vlad it felt like a million.

“I wish you were here to hold me.” He texted quickly, not stopping to think how soppy it sounded.

“Don’t talk like that, hyung, we’ll see each other soon enough.”

He could almost feel the warm reassurance from Kim through the screen, embracing him like the warm Korean hands he knew so well.

“Why not now?” he texted, nuzzling sleepily into his silk pillowcase, having now giving up all fear of sounding whiney or needy.

“Too many civil rights to abolish, too much fun to be had from threatening South Korea…” was the message back.

It made sense to Putin. Life was just too busy as a dictator to just drop everything and fly to Saint Petersburg, but he sometimes wished he could literally conjure Kim right in front of him, right there in the master bedroom of the Kremlin palace. But alas, he accepted it. Although, as amusing as it was, Vlad was beggining to grow weary of Jong-uns constant teasing of South Korea. He knew they were sworn enemies, but the obsession seemed like more than just blind war fuelled hatred.

“Sometimes I feel like you care more about South Korea than me…”, he hesitantly sent, his finger hovering over the send button for a moment or two.

“Oh, Vlad-ah, you know that’s not true. I could never love anyone as much as I love you, especially not those scum. I’m merely strategising. South Korea, or anyone, could never get between us.” Kim texted back, the warm words filling Putin with relief.

“Okay, thank you, Jongy. love you.” he messaged back quickly.

“Of course, love you too, see you soon. Get some sleep now, okay baby?” was the sweet but firm reply.

Vlad texted another “Okay goodnight.” before he let his phone slip out of his hands, his head dropping into the warm soft pillows and into a deep, yearning sleep.

thanks for reading and i’m so sorry, let me know if you want more.

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, March 23, 2025

My posts

I had a spinal procedure on Wednesday (minor; except for seeing all time at once for a couple days, it's fine) and I'm half-resting for a few days after that. But I managed to get the next set of Silent Hill 2 commentary posts up—here's the masterpost for those. I'm currently finishing up the posts for the third video, and (knock on wood) I'll be recording Blue Creek, aka "I have to fight Pyramid Head again," sometime this week. 

Meanwhile, Ian's third stream is also up: "Last night we had our first Pyramid Head encounter, talked about the Schumanns, dove into the wild world of sample manipulation, got a crash course in diatonic vs. nondiatonic chords, and discussed possible interpretations for the coin puzzle." He's already seen my third video (the same level) and tells you exactly where I got my ass kicked.

Reblogs of interest

Some interesting indie games!

Kun'tewiktuk: A Mi'kmaw Adventure: "A fantasy adventure game inspired by Mi’kmaw legend and folklore. It chronicles the adventures of siblings Wasuek ('Flower') and her brother U'n ('Fog'). They get separated one summer morning and they go on an adventure through the spirit world to reunite."

Windstorm: The Legend of Khiimori: "Bond with your horse and tame the open wilds of 13th century Mongolia." ("The developers obviously put a lot of love into finally repping my people as Not Just Generic Bad Guys To Be Slaughtered in QuickTime Events, but the unabashed horse girls we truly are.")

Happy Miette Tweet Anniversary to all who celebrate

happy 10 years to wagon age oregons

Puffy is enough.

"hey gamers I’ve started watching star trek does anyone else see the romantic tension between captain kirk and mr. spock"

A Brazilian opossum being presented to Queen Isabella of Spain in the year 1500 from The Zoogoer v.15:no.1 (1986).

Poll: what font do you like to use most when writing?

"asking you about rothko . just ramble for a bit please"

"You’re just a mammal. Let yourself act like it. Your brain needs enrichment. Your body needs rest."

“you little fucker, I’m going to make a statement and then I’m going to take you out to the parking lot and beat your ass. What good does your pessimism do?”

When language transcends language

As I get back into perfume, I can't tell if I want to try Fairyland Bloop or not. I do not want to try Sécrétions Magnifiques.

"My mom accidentally joined a grieving support group (long story, she’s not grieving tho)" [and] "she says citrus tarts aren’t 'griefy' enough"

"I approve of powerscaling discourse only in utterly senseless contexts" ("Gordon Ramsay can breathe underwater. Can he fix The Chum Bucket")

Video

Wet Beast Wednesday: "sometimes you just gotta gghghghgh. mibph. breh. [sneezes] fibsh."

"Trio for Harmonica, Rubber Duck, and Belt in D Minor." "This is how clowns do BDSM"

Words of wisdom from Lil Nas X: "Stop trying to shit on your haters! Do it for you! Do it because you deserve it! Do it for YOU!"

"disability? more like check out dis ability"

Please enjoy the adventures of Dexter, Squidward, and Chicken Elizabeth Nugget at Carcass Acres

"it is once again… binturong appreciation hour"

For those of you who dont get to see fireflies. Yes they are real and yes they are gentle

The sacred texts

I'm not sure how an argument about kettles and tea turns into iambic pentameter, but

Personal tag of the week

Let's say jewelry, because I love the chocolate box pendant AND the Greek earrings AND the moonstone ring AND the garnet owl ring AND...

[bababaka]

Yall need to interact with fanfiction author's more.

So. After the ddos attack on ao3.

I was encouraged to write more comments and make my love known to fanfic writers.

I dont really like commenting. Because im a bit shy and soooo lazy.

Now though. I am writing more comments. And dude. This is so heartwarming. Ya'll need to treat writers better. They are doing the lord's work.

Take for an example, couple of days prior, i was searching for something interesting to read, and found an oneshot quite compelling.

I read it. At the end of it, i was blown away by how good it was. It promised me something and it went beyond my expectations. But then i saw a crime, zero fucking comments!

At that moment, i wasn't feeling up to writing a comment. Because, normally i like to write huge paragraphs. But because im lazy i decided to be brief.

Next day, the author answered that the comment lift their mood for the whole day.

That warmed my heart.

Duuuuuuuude! Write comments! Suport the writers of the fics you like! No need to be something super elaborate. Just give your thoughts. Freak out. Ramble. Ask something. Make theories. Compliment. Make a joke about how you wished to give kudos every chapter but ao3 sucks(not true bby) and won't let you.

Truly. Just. Comment. It can make someone's day. And that is part of the apeal of writing fics. Interacting with people.

Just give love to fanfic writers yall. They deserve this and so much more.

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[aalghul]

when it comes to being willing to make concessions on methods & morality specifically in exchange for gaining batman’s trust & access to the inner bat circle vs rejecting an existing trust & access (because it did exist prior to jason’s death & would have existed had he chosen to walk back in with no radically opposing beliefs after lost days #1)….jason should never choose the first

[itspileofgoodthings]

do y’all wanna know something funny. when I was in England I accidentally stumbled into finding my sister a boyfriend via @ilovevanillatea and her husband and it is something that has been so funny and good.

[singedbutter]

.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The art of erotica

pairing: felix x afab!reader x hyunjin

synopsis: hyunjin asks his friends to model for his paintings and things take a turn as they indulge in their fantasies.

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 6.6k

warnings: everyone is a horny desperate switch, oral (f and m), voyeurism, threesome, mxm action, fingering, a lil spit play, cockwarming, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), double penetration (one hole), cum eating, cum swapping, creampie

a/n: can't seem to get enough of hyunlix so enjoy🤭

~ divider by @anitalenia

~ Masterlist

"Fuck...! Lixie!" you jolt, your middle lifting towards Felix's lips as he flicks his tongue in a particular way that he knows gets your toes curling.

He groans into you, the taste of you and the sounds you make, how you sit on the couch spread out for him while he kneels with his head buried where he loves to be the most; he can't help his hand as it travels into his pants, grabbing his needy leaking cock.

You're so close, his nose pressing into your clit perfectly as you play with your nipples through your thin shirt and Felix pulls his cock out to bring himself release along with you.

"I'm gonna-" you're interrupted by your phone ringing, both of you jolt and groan as Felix moves away, licking at his lips.

"Who is it?" your best friend looks up at you, a little breathless, still stroking his length slowly, squeezing it a little.

"Hyune." you chuckle.

"Answer him." Felix smirks diving back in, pushing his tongue between your soaking folds into your warmth.

You groan and accept your other best friend's call.

"Hi, beautiful." you can just hear Hyunjin's smirk by the way he says it.

"Hey, prince- ah!" you accidentally moan as Felix pinches your clit teasingly.

"Hi, Felix!" Hyunjin yells loudly, making you laugh as you move your phone away from your ear.

Felix chuckles, detaching his lips from you as you put Hyunjin on speaker so Felix can talk to him too.

"You're between y/n's legs, I presume?" Hyunjin teases.

"My favorite place to be. Care to join?" Felix claps back as you close your legs and flick his forehead.

"That's besides the point. I'm calling cause I need a favor from my two very beautiful and very horny best friends." Hyunjin announces as Felix rubs his forehead, his brows pinched together.

"I'm not filming a porn movie and putting it on the internet!" you chime in, making Hyunjin laugh.

"I wasn't gonna ask that but now that you said it-"

"Stop stalling, Hyunjin." you interrupt him and he giggles.

"Alright, since the two of you are at it anyways, I wanted to ask if you would let me paint you in different sex poses? I wanna make it aesthetic, erotic, raw... you know? You two would be perfect for it!"

Even though you and Felix messed around sometimes, you've never actually went all the way so both of your faces become red as Hyunjin explains his vision.

You've kissed Hyunjin too, as has Felix but it never went further than that so the thought of being naked with Felix inside you, while Hyunjin paints the both of you made your gut stir, arousal gushing out of your already wet pussy.

The three of you had an interesting friendship, and you know not many people would understand it or support it but as long as you have each other, you didn't care.

"Hello? Earth to my pretty people?" Hyunjin laughs.

"I'm down." you nod and then look at Felix whose face was as red as a tomato now.

"M-me too. Yeah. Why not." he shrugs, trying to make it look like it didn't affect him at all.

"Great, that's settled! Come to my studio tomorrow at 6pm." Hyunjin sounds excited.

"Sure, see you!"

"And loves?" Hyunjin adds, his voice dropping a few octaves.

"Y-yeah?" Felix speaks up first.

"Don't worry about anything. I'll take good care of you." Hyunjin almost purrs and you feel your pussy clench at his words.

After you hang up, Felix and you look at each other and then burst into an awkward laugh.

"This'll definitely be interesting." he says, a contemplative look on his face.

"Mhm. Let's think about that tomorrow, though. We have some unfinished business here." you smirk, spreading your legs again as Felix looks at you darkly, licking his lips.

Excitement runs through your veins that night as you curl up in bed, anticipating tomorrow.

Felix drives you to the familiar building and the two of you step into the elevator, letting it take you to the top where Hyunjin's studio sits.

Hyunjin lets you in, and as always when he paints, he is messy, his hair disheveled but somehow making him even prettier, his bottom lip is red as he probably bit into it with concentration, there's a streak of yellow paint on his left cheek, and more on his shirt and pants.

"You know the rules." he wiggles his eyebrows before twirling away like some fairy, making you and Felix laugh.

The rules were simple; no shoes because they're dirty (and probably because Hyunjin likes to take peeks at your feet, sometimes even rub them when the three of you cuddle) and no phones as he felt they were an unnecessary distraction in his sacred space.

You and Felix leave your shoes and phones by the door, before following Hyunjin, walking on the plastic that's covering the floor for protection, and Hyunjin looks at you, leaving his paintbrush aside before he skips to you, his long arms enveloping both of you in a hug.

"Oof." Felix huffs out air as he accidentally knocks into Hyunjin a little too hard, making Hyunjin snicker before he leans back, his hands splayed on the backs of your heads.

"My loves. Are you excited?" he asks as you swat at him which he dodges with a laugh, finally releasing you.

"Intrigued, I would say." you smirk, both of you looking at Felix.

"I'm - a little nervous." Felix admits, a blush coloring his cheeks.

"We shared a bath multiple times." Hyunjin narrows his eyes at Felix, a playful smile gracing his features.

"This is different!" Felix swallows and you chuckle, your hand on his upper arm in an attempt to comfort him.

"It's just us, I know you'll feel better as soon as we get into it." you say, knowing that Felix isn't as spontaneous as Hyunjin or you are and it takes a little convicing when he's on the spot, but ultimately he always caves in.

"You don't have to strip right away. Here, I prepared coffee and snacks for my models." Hyunjin beckons you to the table with a smirk.

"Hardly a model." you chuckle as Felix picks up a drink.

"Y/n, you're gorgeous and you're not allowed to talk badly about yourself in my studio... or like ever." Hyunjin nods, folding his arms on his chest.

"Damn, calm down, I was joking." you giggle, your face warming up.

"Oh my god, ew! What the fuck did I just drink?" Felix makes a disgusted face and the two of you laugh.

"That would be my coffee. Your hot chocolate is on the left, sugar boy." Hyunjin smirks.

"I swear-" Felix starts, his hand curling into a fist and you laugh.

"Anyways. How will this work?" you stop whatever banter they were about to have, because you know it can drag on, sometimes they don't know how to stop when they start joking around.

"So. The bed, right?" Hyunjin says, semingly a bit bashful himself.

You look towards the bed, one where the three of you spent countless nights watching some artsy european movies on Hyunjin's projector; Felix would fall asleep with his head on your chest and Hyunjin would end up putting his head on your lap, demanding of you dramatically that you need to caress his head and play with his hair or he'll die.

The three of you would end up falling asleep together, limbs all tangled and messy, and one of you would always be close to falling off the bed (that one would mostly be Hyunjin).

"Okay." you nod.

"I will instruct what poses you'll make and then paint them. Of course we will take breaks when it becomes too much. Or stop altogether if either of you feel uncomfortable." Hyunjin waves his arms around as he talks.

"Alright. Should we just start?" you shrug and Felix sputters a little.

"I'm not hard yet." he says quietly.

"That's no problem. I'm sure y/n can help you with that." Hyunjin smirks. "Or if you want, I can help you."

"T-that... y/n and I can just make out." Felix's deep voice is so quiet in the big space.

"Okay, if you need me I'll be here. I can turn around if you want." Hyunjin chuckles.

"N-no, you can... watch." Felix says and you smirk, taking his hand and leading him to the bed.

Hyunjin sits on his stool, his eyes darkened already, his tongue pressed into his cheek as you push Felix to sit on the bed, your body following his as you grab his face in your hand and press your lips on his.

His lips are sweet and familiar, albeit trembling a little in this moment so you press harder into them, his hands coming up to caress your waist.

Hyunjin watches with dark and curious eyes, his two beautiful best friends kissing in front of him.

Felix relaxes the more you kiss, his tongue darting out to lick at your lips, asking for permission to taste you which you happily grant him.

Hyunjin's heart speeds up as he observes you, his cock twitching in his pants.

He notices the way your hands tangle in Felix's hair and how you pull at the strands, he notices Felix's hands on your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh as you get closer to each other, the wet sounds of your tongues dancing together bounces off the walls as spit dribbles down your chin.

He notices Felix's pants growing tighter, and he doesn't feel jealous of him, he feels exhilirated.

He wants to join.

Hyunjin stands up and makes his way towards the bed, which gets your attention as you detach from each other, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Without any words, Hyunjin cups your chin and leans down to kiss you messy and sloppy, his tongue pushed in instantly to lap at you and you whimper, jolting a little as Felix grips your thighs.

Hyunjin leans away and turns to Felix, his hand big on Felix's head as he gathers his hair in it and yanks his head a little, making Felix whimper.

Hyunjin leans down and kisses him equally as messy and sloppy as he did to you, arousal gushing on your panties as you watch them making out.

"Fuck. I'm sorry." he shakes his head.

"It's okay, Hyune. You're always welcome to join." you lick your lips, your eyes traveling between his face and the obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

"I'll hold onto that invitation. But, right now, I need you two to strip. Okay?" he asks and both of you nod.

It's easy to be naked in front of each other as you have shared baths and one too many nightly escapades which ended in skinny-dipping, Felix always being a victim of yours and Hyunjin's jokes, where you would dive in and grab his ankles or try to scare him with stories of lake monsters.

Felix would nearly cry but you didn't want to be too cruel so you would hold him, as the three of you floated around naked in the cold water.

But, something about only you and Felix being naked while Hyunjin is dressed and observing every single move you make is new and exciting.

"So, what would be the first position?" you ask curiously as Hyunjin prepares his easel.

"What do you usually do?" he asks, not looking at you.

"We never... we never did that." Felix says, making Hyunjin look up.

"Really? I thought you for sure have. Don't you like - mess around?"

"Yeah, but we never went all the way." you nod and Hyunjin gasps.

"Oh my god, why didn't you tell me! Is this uncomfortable for you?"- he panics, his arms flailing, making you laugh at him because he's seconds from slipping on that plastic cover.

"Calm down, Hyun!" you say as you sit on the bed.

"I'm totally fine with it. Lixie?" both of you look at Felix.

"Yes. I'm okay to go." he nods.

"Alright, just prep yourselves then." Hyunjin says it like it's a command to obey and you can't help the way your pussy clenches at his words and the determined look in his warm eyes.

"H-help us?" Felix gets bold suddenly, batting his pretty eyelashes at Hyunjin and he lets out a delighted chuckle, only two long strides and Hyunjin is in front of you.

"Sweetheart, spread your legs for us." Hyunjin coos at you and you immediately obey.

The smirk on his face deepens as he brings his hand to Felix's lips.

"Spit on my fingers, angel." he taps his lips and Felix whimpers a little, gathering spit before letting it drip onto Hyunjin's long fingers.

You expected him to only finger you, but what you didn't expect is for Hyunjin to drop to his knees between Felix's legs and spit on his cock as he grabs him, making Felix squeal from the sudden action.

Hyunjin wastes no time, his wet fingers press into your clit and run down your folds, as his other hand starts slowly working Felix's length.

"Ah!" Felix moans, jolting into Hyunjin, you know it must feel quite different to have another guy jerk him off like that and you whine for more attention as Hyunjin stares up at Felix with a knowing smirk.

Hyunjin turns to look at you, eyes softening before he slowly pushes his fingers inside you, your warm pussy welcoming them and sucking them in.

His tongue darts out to catch a bead of pre-cum from Felix's tip and Felix gasps, his hands clutching at the covers under him as his thighs tremble.

Hyunjin doesn't stop smirking as his tongue swipes around Felix's tip before he takes him in, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head up and down slowly, his fingers matching the pace of his lips as he fucks them deep into you.

"H-Hyune." you whimper, the tips of your fingers touching Felix's as he falls apart too, his head thrown back, a string of curses leaving his lips as Hyunjin sucks on him harder.

You admire how he seemingly has no gag reflex as he keeps sucking him in, his nose pressed into Felix's pubes as he swallows his whole length, while fucking your pussy skilfully, scissoring you open to take Felix's cock.

"There." he suddenly pops off of Felix, pulling his fingers out of you and immediately sticking them into his mouth to taste your sweet juices.

"Mm." Hyunjin moans around his fingers.

"T-thank you?" you bite your lip teasingly and Hyunjin giggles.

"Anytime."

"How do you want us for the first position?" you ask, your pussy throbbing and clenching, needing more attention.

"Okay, so..." Hyunjin pushes Felix to lay down and then moves him a little, making you chuckle at how Felix looks up at him cutely and almost innocently as Hyunjin adjusts his body however he wants.

"I want your arm lifted and kind of falling of the bed. And the second on will be on y/n's hip when she straddles you." Hyunjin motions at you and you nod, your legs on either sides of Felix and he squirms a little as you grab his cock and run it on your wet folds.

Felix gasps as you moan and slowly lower down on his length, Hyunjin observing his cock pushing into you with his lips parted.

You wiggle a little to adjust, feeling your best friend's cock filling you up perfectly and Felix whimpers quietly, bucking up into you.

"Where do you want my hands?" you ask, sounding almost breathless as you clench around Felix involuntarily, making his eyes flutter.

"Hm. Actually, let's change it up. I want y/n arching off you and holding your hand. So you can put this one-" Hyunjin takes the hand that was falling off the bed- "here." he lays Felix's hand on your hip.

"Your other hand here." Hyunjin takes your hand and puts it on Felix's abs but a little bit to the side so the point where you connect can still be visible to him.

"Beautiful." Hyunjin breathes deeply. "I want you looking at each other." he adds, messing with Felix's hair and then yours, making some of it cascade on one side, but not covering your breasts.

"Arch your back a little, sweetheart." you do as he says, any movement making both you and Felix moan.

"Now, stay like that as long as you can." Hyunjin smirks, almost evilly, the bastard.

He moves from the bed to blast some music on his speakers, whistling and acting nonchalant but you can see his cock struggling against the fabric of his pants.

Your eyes find Felix's and he licks his lips as he looks at you.

"You okay, Lix?" you ask, squeezing his hand a little.

"P-perfect. Feel so good. You're so warm and tight." he whimpers and you can't help your hips moving at that, your pussy clenching.

"Hey, no actual fucking." Hyunjin chimes in, knocking down a few paintbrushes accidentally. "Yet." he adds with a devilish smirk.

"Bastard." you mutter under your breath with a chuckle, making Felix smile.

"I heard that!" Hyunjin sits at his easel, and you look up at him, sticking your tongue out at him as he rolls his eyes playfully.

Hyunjin starts sketching quickly as you look back down at Felix.

The two of you lock eyes and in the sudden silence devoid of your conversation and jokes, you're aware of everything.

You're aware of Felix buried inside your warmth, throbbing and full, his fingers slotted between yours, his other hand gripping your hip, his dark eyes fixated on you.

Felix's eyes travel down to where he's filling you up and he groans deeply.

"Fuck." his hips buck just a little and you feel your arousal gushing and coating his cock.

"Lix." you warn but it comes out as a moan.

"You two have no patience." Hyunjin scolds as he continues sketching.

"You try being in my place." Felix huffs.

"Maybe later." Hyunjin winks at you as you flip him off.

"Hand back on Lix." he points with his pen and you make noises of protest but listen nevertheless.

You look into Felix's eyes again and he looks at you so softly but still full of lust and you find yourself getting lost in his gaze.

After he's done sketching, Hyunjin starts mixing his paints and you wiggle a little, making Felix moan under you, his nails digging into your hip.

"My legs hurt." you whine with a pout.

"Let's take a break." Hyunjin states, and you can see that he's adjusting himself in his pants, as his other hand holds the paintbrush.

"You have a sketch though," you start, sliding off of Felix and making him whimper. ",can't you like finish painting without us having to be in this position for so long?" you ask, your eyes falling down to Felix's cock, wet with your arousal.

Your face warms up and you tear your eyes away to look at Hyunjin expectantly, as Felix sits up, feeling a bit dizzy as he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath in.

"I need you in the position just a bit longer. Just to get some shading done, then you can change positions." Hyunjin says, finally looking up at you.

His eyes rake all over your body and he licks his lips hungrily at the sight.

"What, you hate being on top of our Lixie that much?" he decides to tease to calm himself down.

"As much as I love cockwarming Lix, my legs are cramping." you state nonchalantly, making Felix cough behind you as he stands up.

"You okay there, angel?" Hyunjin asks.

"Perfect." Felix nods but you can see that his eyes are almost crossed from the need to be touched.

You laugh under your breath, drinking some water before sitting down and stretching your legs.

Hyunjin stands up abruptly, making his way to you as Felix sips on his chocolate.

You look up at him and before you can ask him what he's doing, Hyunjin kneels before you, his fingers wrapping around your ankle as he brings your foot on his thigh.

"W-what..." you start but he shushes you, his hands wrapping around your calf as he gently massages you, soothing out the tension in your muscles.

Your pussy keeps clenching around nothing as Hyunjin stares into your eyes darkly yet his touch is so sweet.

You smirk a little, sliding your foot on his flesh before gently resting it on the bulge in his pants.

Hyunjin sucks in a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as his hands squeeze you a little harder.

"Be careful, sweetheart." he warns you but you want to play, so you press harder into him, wiggling your toes against his tip, realizing quickly he isn't wearing any underwear.

Hyunjin looks up at you, narrowing his eyes with a smirk.

"Lix, come here for a sec." Felix makes his way to the two of you instantly.

"Entertain our sweetheart. Perhaps she needs a distraction." Hyunjin winks at Felix, and Felix returns the wink with a smirk of his own as he stands in front of you.

You look up at Felix and he puts his hand on the back of your head, gently caressing you as his other hand holds his cock, bringing it closer to your lips which fall open immediately, letting him gently push his tip inside your mouth.

It's not the first time you've done this, but you never tasted yourself on him or done this with Hyunjin in the room and it makes you moan around him, Felix's hips stuttering as he pushes in more.

Hyunjin whines quietly as he starts massaging your other leg and Felix holds your head in place, fucking into you slowly.

"See how good you can be for us, sweetheart." Hyunjin's voice is low and you struggle to look down at him as Felix slides his cock deeper inside you, your throat adjusting to take him.

Hyunjin's hands wander up towards your thigh, squeezing and massaging the flesh there, his fingertips dangerously close to your wet core.

By now you're dripping on the sheets, and Hyunjin subtly parts your legs just to take a look at your cunt and the sight of your glistening folds has him groaning.

Without a word he leans in and starts kissing up your thigh.

You jolt a little, whimpering around Felix's length as his eyes fall down to see Hyunjin kissing and nipping at your flesh.

The sight makes him twitch inside your hot mouth as Hyunjin comes closer and closer to your core.

He worships your inner thighs with his lips, tongue and teeth as Felix pushes his cock deep inside you, making you gag a little.

You know he's about to apologize so you start bobbing your head on his length just to prove to him that you don't mind, rather the opposite, you love it.

Felix's fingers grip at your hair as he lets you take control, wetting his cock with your spit as you close your eyes and get into it.

Just as you're beginning to lose yourself, Hyunjin suddenly buries his face in your cunt and inhales deeply, making you aware of him.

"You smell so sweet." Hyunjin almost growls. "Fuck the paintings." he mumbles against you and your legs tremble but be grips them, pulling them over his shoulders before his lips attach to your lower ones.

"Shit." Felix thrusts into you, the sight of Hyunjin's plump lips against your cunt as he kisses you and sucks on your clit, his tongue darting out to gather all your dripping juices drives him insane and he can feel the familiar build up inside his gut.

"I'm gonna cum." Felix whines as he continues fucking your face and you're a mess, drooling on his cock, your legs shaking from the way Hyunjin eats you out, like he's never tasted anything better in his entire life.

The slurping noises Hyunjin makes as he presses his lips and nose as hard as he can into you, his tongue fucking your clenching hole, bring Felix to the edge and he twitches inside you as you grip onto Hyunjin's hair making him groan into your pussy.

"Ah, y/n!" Felix moans loudly as he shoots his load down your throat and you swallow readily, not letting a drop go to waste as you milk him dry.

Felix pulls out of you, trying to come to his senses and catch a breath just as Hyunjin is about to lean away and throw some snarky remark but Felix is quick to grip his head and push him back into you, making him moan.

"Finish what you started, Hyunjin." Felix's voice is deep, his eyes sharp and electricity shoots through your body when he takes charge like that.

Hyunjin's eyes roll back in his head as he eats you out even more hungrily, palming his erection harshly through his pants, a wet spot appearing on them.

Felix smooths out Hyunjin's hair with a smirk.

"Good boy." Felix's deep voice rings out and Hyunjin groans deeply, bucking his hips into his hand, very obviously moaning into you and you whimper, you're so close to release.

Felix decides to help you feel even better as he sits down next to you and leans in to suck your nipple in his mouth, his fingers playing with the other one.

The combined stimulation proves to be too much and you cum hard, painting Hyunjin's face in your pleasure and he whines lapping you up and licking at his lips.

"Now I understand why you love being between y/n's legs so much." Hyunjin pants as he looks up at Felix, his hand shoved in his sweatpants.

"I'm right here, you know." you chuckle and he stands up.

"I know sweetheart. Ah, please help me." Hyunjin whines, pulling his cock out as it twitches miserably in his hand, pre-cum dribbling from the tip.

"Let me." Felix interjects, sensing that you need to come to your senses a little bit and let your throat rest.

"Be my guest." Hyunjin smirks as Felix sits right in front of Hyunjin's core.

You gasp quietly at the sight before you, Felix wrapping his lips around Hyunjin's dick and Hyunjin tangling his hand in Felix's hair making him take more as he guides him.

You get desperate all over again, your hand reaching between your legs to play with your puffy clit as you observe your best friends lost in pleasure; Hyunjin's head thrown back as he moves his hips purposefully, languidly, fucking Felix's mouth, his big hands gripping his hair and controlling him as Felix drools around him, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands digging into Hyunjin's thighs.

"Oh god." you whine as you push two fingers inside your pussy and start fucking yourself with the same speed Hyunjin is moving his hips against your friend's plump lips.

Hyunjin opens his eyes and looks at you with a smirk before he looks at Felix.

"Looks like you're the good boy now." he says lowly before snapping his hips into Felix harshly, making him gag as tears spill from his eyes and for a moment you get worried but you see that his cock is twitching against his thigh at the way Hyunjin is handling him, fucking harder into him, making the tip of his cock hit the back of Felix's throat.

You speed up with your fingers, your other hand coming up to play with your aroused nipples as Felix cries against Hyunjin, gripping his thighs and as his nails dig into his flesh and break skin, Hyunjin whines loudly and cums, painting Felix's throat with his cum.

"Don't swallow." Hyunjin warns and Felix sputters a little, some of the cum seeping out of his lips.

"Come here, beautiful." he beckons you as you stop what you were doing and come closer to Felix.

"Kiss her." Hyunjin commands and Felix grabs your face gently and you open your mouth to let Felix push Hyunjin's cum on your tongue.

The two of you make out, playing with his cum and Hyunjin joins in, grabbing the back of your heads, he leans in and kisses you first, tasting himself on your tongue then he does the same to Felix, wiping his tears as he kisses him.

"You've no idea how long I wanted you both." Hyunjin exhales, his eyes shiny.

"Kinda did. You are obvious, eye-fucking us whenever we're together." you smirk.

"You humped my ass while we were sleeping here once." Felix added with a flush on his cheeks and Hyunjin hits his arm as he got embarassed.

"Shut up, I was half asleep then." he mutters and the two of you chuckle.

You lean in and place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Are we gonna continue or what?" you smirk. "Or are you going back to painting? Was that just a ruse to get us naked and fuck us?"

"It wasn't! I genuinely wanted to paint you!" Hyunjin pouts.

"Okay no need to get defensive, prince." you wink.

"We can get back to painting some other time." Felix chimes in and you agree, leaning in to kiss Hyunjin to get him back in the mood.

It doesn't take long before he lays you down, with Felix on your left side and Hyunjin between your legs.

"I want to worship you, my beautiful sweetheart." Hyunjin grabs your foot and starts kissing your toes.

You whimper a little and Felix leans over you, pressing his lips into yours.

There are so many hands on you that you can't even think straight, your mind is cloudy, your pussy is soaking and you can't stop arching off the bed, your body begging for more.

Hyunjin worships your feet, kissing them and licking them, sucking on your toes, his lips pressing into your ankles gently; while Felix's face is buried in your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin and leaving purple bruises as he marks you, his hands slide all over your chest and stomach until he lets his hand settle over your pussy as he cups it.

"Ah!" you whine as Felix runs his fingers on your folds before stopping at your clit and pressing into it.

You moan quietly, your eyes closed in bliss as you play with Felix's hair, your other hand gripping the sheet.

Hyunjin kisses up your leg until his face is close to your cunt for the second time tonight.

"Need to taste you again." he mutters and you open your eyes to look at him as Felix retracts his hand and instead puts it on your breast, massaging it and playing with your sensitive nipple.

Hyunjin doesn't wait, he dives in, his tongue lapping at you again as you drip on him.

"Come, angel." he calls out to Felix, gently taking his hand in his and pulling him to kneel between your legs too.

You groan when they start making out, both of them battling for dominance but ultimately it's Hyunjin who lets Felix tilt his head with a fistful of his hair gripped.

When they part, a string of saliva connects them and they smirk at each other before leaning in closer to your core.

You almost yelp when both of their tongues start playing with your throbbing pussy, Hyunjin pushing his inside you and sliding over your folds, Felix flicking your clit with his and meeting Hyunjin in the middle where they move together against your cunt.

With your legs spread as they hold your thighs, your best friends continue to lap at you, their tongues meeting constantly as they make out, their spit and your slick making everything even more wet and naughty.

They both eat you out like you're the sweetest treat ever as Hyunjin keeps dipping his tongue into your hole, Felix concentrating on your sensitive clit, sometimes sliding down to lick at Hyunjin's tongue and your hole.

Your legs start trembling and you can't hold in anymore, you let go, gripping at the bed, your hips spasming as you squirt all over their faces.

"Fuck, she squirted for us." Hyunjin groans, lapping at you.

"What a good girl." Felix adds, looking up at you darkly as he kisses your inner thigh.

Hyunjin leans back and Felix grabs his face, kissing him hungrily and sucking on his tongue, making Hyunjin grind his cock against the mattress.

"I need you inside." you whimper when they lift up to look at you.

"Which one of us, sweetheart?" Hyunjin asks, as Felix gently caresses your thighs and waist.

"Both." you whine.

"Both?" Felix's eyes widen. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Please."

"Whatever our princess wants, she gets." Hyunjin smirks, fingertips teasing your clenching pussy.

"Lixie, get under me." you lift up and Felix lays down, his eyes becoming hazy instantly, his lips parting as he stares at you in awe.

You throw your leg over him as you hover, before grabbing his cock and sliding it inside you with ease.

Felix moans, arching off the bed as you adjust yourself.

You lean down, pressing your chest on his as Hyunjin shuffles behind you.

"Make some room for me." he almost whines, making Felix chuckle.

"Always." you say as Hyunjin presses himself behind you, the tip of his cock on your already stuffed pussy and you whimper.

"Are you sure you can take both of us?" Hyunjin teases, prodding at you with his tip.

"Y-yes. Don't make me wait anymore, please Jinnie." you moan as Felix caresses your head.

"As you wish, love." Hyunjin whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pushes in.

It's tight and it stings but you love the feeling of your best friends stretching your little cunt at the same time.

"Fuck, so tight." Hyunjin groans, pushing in slowly as you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes.

"You're doing so good, darling." Felix praises you, his hands gentle on your soft skin.

"Mhm, taking us so well." Hyunjin moans, pushing in as much as he could.

"Ah!" you moan, your pussy stretched and dripping on their cocks.

"Angel." Hyunjin looks at Felix, their hands finding each other as their fingers entwine.

Hyunjin's other hand is on your hips, while Felix gently holds your head, caressing the back of your neck.

"Tell us when to move, love." Felix kisses your forehead.

"You can move." you say breathlessly, as your pussy clenches around them eagerly.

Both of them start dragging their cocks inside you, opening you up with each gentle and languid thrust, their lengths rubbing against each other in the tight, warm space.

"F-feel so good!" you exclaim, your eyes crossing from pleasure already.

"Yeah. S-so good." Felix whines, fucking up into you.

"Ah, my loves. I love you so much." Hyunjin groans, his lips dragging on your skin, face buried in your neck.

"Love you too." you whimper.

"It's just the three of us. Forever." Hyunjin grips Felix's hand and your hip harder, nails digging into your skin.

"Mm yes." Felix groans as the two of them speed up, their cocks filling you up constantly, the squelching sounds so loud in the big room.

You've never felt this full or this wet as they fuck into you desperately, pressing into your sweet spot and stretching your little pussy just for them.

"Lix." Hyunjin moans, releasing his hand and lifting up a little to angle his hips better as he holds yours.

Felix smirks faintly, wrapping his arms around you before the two of them start fucking your hard, using you like a little fuck toy as you grip at Felix and moan, becoming putty between them, letting them have complete control over you.

"Ah, ah, ah, L-Lixie! Jinnie!" you whimper and babble as your orgasm builds up.

"Squirt on our cocks, sweetheart. Please." Hyunjin ruts into you desperately, making both yours and Felix's eyes roll back as he matches his pace and fucks up into you as hard as he can.

You dig your nails into Felix's arms and let go, cumming and squirting around them as you clench making them both groan.

"I'm gonna cum, ah!" Hyunjin whines.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and take our cum?" Felix asks, his lips brushing yours.

"Y-yes, please." you moan, your vision cloudy as your body burns up.

All three of you are on fire and slippery from sweat, holding each other tight as Hyunjin and Felix reach climax, both of them cumming inside you, filling your pussy up to the brim, making you cum with them again.

"Shit." Felix whimpers as Hyunjin pulls out first.

Felix helps you as he lays you down and you whimper, your pussy throbbing from the stretch you just endured, all of your releases gushing out of you.

"Are you okay, beautiful?" Hyunjin hovers over you, his hands gentle on your face as Felix slowly stands up to retrieve a wet cloth and some water.

"Mm. Perfect." you smile blissfully and Hyunjin giggles, leaning down to kiss you gently, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth before leaving more sweet pecks against your mouth.

Felix kneels on the bed and cleans you up gently and Hyunjin sits up, quickly kissing Felix too.

"I'm gonna go run us a bath." he says.

"Are you in any pain?" Felix asks and you can't help swooning at the thought of having two sweet men who care about you.

"No, I'm okay." you say and he smiles.

"Good." he kisses you too and before long, the three of you are in the bath together.

As always, you relax at first before one of you starts getting playful which is usually Felix who splashes Hyunjin's face with water.

It's not that different this time as you sit between Felix's legs, leaning your back on his chest, your legs on Hyunjin's thigh as he caresses your feet.

It's silent and relaxing for some time as you melt into the warm water with your two lovers until Felix decides to joke around, splashing Hyunjin's face and making him whine dramatically before he returns the favor, you being the victim in between them.

The bathroom fills with sounds of laughter, stupid insults and splashes of water for some time before you finally manage to calm down.

The three of you sleep naked that night, you between your two favorite boys, feeling like you have the whole world in your hands when you have them.

In the morning, you're tangled up with Felix, his face smushed into your chest as you hear the familiar clicks of Hyunjin's camera.

Your eyes slowly flutter open to see a still very naked Hyunjin holding his camera, a cheeky grin on his pretty face.

"Hyunjin. Were you taking pics of us?" you almost growl at him, making Felix stir.

Hyunjin giggles and then bursts into full on laughter as you sit up, grabbing a pillow and throwing at him.

Felix looks at you confusedly, his hair a royal mess and eyes barely open as Hyunjin dodges your attack only to twirl away laughing.

"You were too adorable not to!" he yelps.

"I swear I'm gonna kill you!" you yell out and Felix puts his arm around your waist, pulling you back down.

"We can kill him later, I wanna sleep more." he mumbles and you chuckle, your eyes still laced with sleep too.

"Hyun! Come join us!" you beckon and Hyunjin appears from the kitchen.

"Promise not to kill me." he pouts.

"Eh, you're safe." you say and he makes his way to the bed slowly and lays down. "For now." you add and he giggles, kissing your neck as he wraps his arm around the both of you.

You don't know where the three of you start or end, all tangled up together in the warmth of the sun and the soft sheets, but you know it would always be like that with them.

Just the three of you against the world.

Endlessly.

Forever.

Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette

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