#still works without them. but it's more fun with them in it

[maskedbyghost]

I just had a funny thought—like, what if Simon, the man who would never confess his feelings out loud, got caught by a lie detector?

Simon had always acted like he hated you. He was distant, cold, sometimes downright rude. If you cracked a joke, he barely acknowledged it. If you tried to tease him, he shut it down with a look. The man was impossible to read, and if he had any feelings toward you, they were buried so deep that even he probably forgot they existed. So you accepted it—Simon Riley didn’t like you; end of story.

But one day, Soap decided to have a little fun. He managed to get his hands on a lie detector—a cheap thing, but functional enough for their purposes. And, with the whole team already invested, he convinced Simon to sit down and give it a go.

With a devilish grin, Soap set the machine up, clearly pleased with himself. "This is gonna be good."

Simon, sitting across the room with his arms crossed, lets out an unimpressed sigh. "No."

"C’mon, LT," Soap coaxes, already setting up the device. "What, you scared?"

"I just think it’s a waste of time."

"Which is exactly what someone scared would say," you tease, shooting him a playful look. "What, afraid we’ll expose your deep, dark secrets?"

Simon exhales sharply, like he's regretting every life decision that led him here. But Soap is relentless, and the rest of the team is already invested, so with a roll of his eyes, he lets them strap the device to his arm.

"Alright, let’s keep it simple," Soap says, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "What’s your name?"

"Simon Riley."

The machine stays steady.

"See? Works fine!" Soap says. "Alright, next—Do you like tea more than coffee?"

"Tea."

No lie.

"Do you think I’m the best-looking guy on base?" Soap asks, waggling his brows.

"No."

The machine doesn’t waver, and the room erupts into laughter. Soap clutches his chest in mock offense. "Brutal, mate!"

You chuckle along with the others, watching Simon’s expression remain unreadable as always. It’s honestly kind of fun seeing him like this, forced to answer without his usual way of avoiding things.

Soap’s grin widened as he leaned forward, looking between the two of you. "Alright, let’s get to the real stuff—do you love her?" He gave Simon a knowing look, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable the whole thing was getting.

Your breath catches, and you’re about to brush it off as a joke when Simon—without hesitation—mutters a firm, "No."

But the machine beeps. A lie.

Silence crashes over the room.

Soap stares. You stare. The team erupts into howls of laughter, and you feel your stomach twist because Simon—who is always composed, always in control—looks genuinely horrified.

"Ohhh, shite!" Soap hollers, slapping his knee. "You were sayin', Lt?"

Gaz is wheezing. "He thought he could lie! He really thought—"

Your face is burning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at Simon. His eyes flick to you for the briefest second before he stands up abruptly, yanking the device off his arm.

"This thing's faulty," he mutters, turning on his heel to leave the room.

"Faulty my ass!" Soap yells after him, still cackling.

You sit there, still stunned, watching Simon disappear through the door. The laughter continues around you, but all you can hear is the echo of the lie detector beeping, proving something that you never in a million years thought you'd hear confirmed.

Simon Riley loves you.

--------------------------------------

idk its dumb...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle

[puck-luck]

i know you said a while ago that you’d consider writing for mat barzal but aren’t sure how to go about it and im just up late thinking about how barzy gives me suchhhh best friends to lovers vibes like hanging out ALL the time to the point where everyone assumes you guys are dating anyways, dropping literally everything when either of you needs the other, and things slowly progressing between you guys without either of you realizing it until one day one of your regular sleepovers is filled with so much sexual tension that you end up having crazy sex all over his apartment

closer than close | mat barzal

warnings: friends to lovers, fighting with friends (anthony beauvillier's ex emma simard), sharing a toothbrush (grosser than unprotected p in v IMO), (speaking of!) unprotected p in v, french kissing, booty callllll, sex in unconventional places (against a wall), fingering, dirty talk i guess, allusions to squirting but it's kind of left up in the air so... enjoy!

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

wc: 3,911

“You’re at Mat’s again?” Emma demands. Her outrage is no surprise to you. Ever since she and Tito broke up, she’s been more and more against your friendship with Mat. Sometimes you think it’s because she’s jealous that you remained friends with Tito’s friend after that ended, but sometimes you think she’s just mad that you’re denying something that isn’t there.

You shrug, untying the long socks from where they’re wrapped in your hair. The curls look good this time, unlike the last time you did heatless curls like this. Mat made fun of you relentlessly when they frizzed all over the place and curled all the wrong ways. “I haven’t left yet,” you reply. “I’ve been here all weekend.”

“Don’t you have work soon?” Emma asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m getting ready.” You squeeze a bit of toothpaste onto Mat’s toothbrush and pop it into your mouth. Emma makes a face at you and you make a face back. It’s simple– you forgot your toothbrush and Mat said you could use his. “And then I’ll probably come back. Mat’s injured and I’m bored in my lonely apartment, so we’re keeping each other company.”

Emma mumbles something you don’t catch.

“What?” you press. “What did you say?”

“All of this and you haven’t fucked,” Emma repeats, the look in her eyes growing sharp. “You keep denying it and keep denying that you want Mat and that he wants you, but you’ll spend three straight days at his apartment, sleeping in his bed and using his toothbrush. When are you going to admit that you guys are more than friends?”

“We’re not more than friends, Emma,” you say with a frown. “We’re close, but we’re not that close. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

Emma shakes her head and scoffs. “I have to go. Call me back when you figure things out.”

She hangs up and you frown, taking in the blank screen before you. You take only a split second to revel in confusion before you finish getting ready for the day. 

You try to push Emma’s comments out of your head, but they stick with you. You get to work and you’re still thinking about the look on her face through that tiny screen. You’re on your lunch break and start overthinking your friendship with Mat. You’ve always slept in the same bed because it’s easier– you’ve never wanted to mess up the pristinely folded sheets in his guest room. Plus, it’s not like you and Mat cuddle or anything. You stay on your side and he stays on his. You may have woken up with his arm over your stomach once or twice, but that’s a subconscious reaction to the chilly winter air. Mat keeps the apartment insanely cold. It’s not a surprise that his body tried to seek out your warmth. Even as you’re leaving for the day, you’re debating whether or not you should just go home to your own apartment rather than go back to Mat’s.

Your phone chimes with a text. It’s a picture of Mat and a steamer pot on the stove. He’s flashing a thumbs up in the picture and the accompanying message says, Making those dumplings you wanted! Hurry back or I’ll eat them all ;)

That sorts out your plans for the night. You don’t spare a second glance at the phone, nor the blue and orange hearts that you once put next to Mat’s contact name as a joke and never removed. 

The thought doesn’t cross your mind again until you’re laying on the couch with Mat, watching a movie before you go to bed. His head is on your lap and you’re carding your fingers through his hair. 

“That’s nice,” Mat murmurs.

It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while and it draws your attention to his lips. He’s practically falling asleep on your lap, eyes fluttering and nearly purring like a cat. Just this morning, you said you don’t cuddle with Mat, but here you are. He’s been pretty touchy today, or, maybe, you’re just noticing it more because Emma planted a seed in your mind.

You hum, twirling a strand of Mat’s hair between your fingers. You hope he doesn’t buzz it again. He’s done it twice now and, even though he can pull off the buzzcut, you prefer when his hair is this length. 

His lips are plush and pink and, well, Emma declared that you needed to figure it out. One little kiss, a tiny peck… that could be the end of it. You wouldn’t feel a thing, and neither would Mat, and you can tell Emma with absolute certainty that you and Mat are just friends.

You lean down and connect your lips for just a second. There’s no bright moment of realization washing over you, no life-changing feeling accompanied by a choir of angels. You kiss Mat and then you pull away.

He’s got that stupid look on his face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “What was that?” Mat asks. 

You shrug. “Just wanted to see something.”

Mat seems to buffer. “By kissing me?”

“Yeah. Emma thinks we’re lying to ourselves when we say we’re just friends.”

“Emma… Tito’s ex?” Mat seems caught off guard. “She still thinks we’re hiding something?”

“I mean, she’s not the only one who thinks we’re more than friends. I’ve been thinking about it all day, so I just thought I’d go for it and see if I felt anything.”

Mat frowns and sits up. “You can’t tell something like that just from that measly little kiss you gave me. No one would feel anything from that shit. We have to actually kiss.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. “Actually kiss? What does that mean?”

“With tongue,” Mat replies. “If you still don’t feel anything after you kiss me with tongue– I’m pretty damn good with my tongue,” he sidebars with a wink, “Then you can tell Emma that she was wrong and you were right.”

“It just sounds like you want to kiss me with tongue,” you tease, squinting at Mat suspiciously.

He grins and wiggles his eyebrows at you. “We’re friends, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pretty,” Mat says. “I’m not against kissing you.” 

His words seem laden with a bit of seriousness, even though his smile and eyes are bright and joking. You don’t have the time to probe at that, not before Mat is reaching out and cradling your face in his palm. 

His smile is smaller, more gentle. His hand is warm.

When he pulls you in and parts your lips with a pass of his tongue, you feel a splash of dizziness run through your bones. Mat guides you, kissing you deeply. You can feel every curve of his mouth against your own. Almost immediately, you get the feeling that you should be memorizing this and noting the details.

Mat pulls away before you’re ready. “How was that?” he asks.

You blink at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing but not producing sounds.

He starts to laugh. “Speechless, huh?”

Your dumbfounded look turns to a glower. “Don’t brag, Mathew.”

“How can I not?” he teases. He thumbs at the side of your lip, wiping something from your face. “I just kissed you stupid.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and turning back to the TV. 

You finish the movie without talking. His arm remains on the back of sofa during the duration of the film. You’ve never been more aware of Mat’s body next to yours, nor the space separating you. His arm is practically around your shoulders, but there are inches between your bodies, and your skin feels like it’s vibrating off of you. You go to bed with Mat, as normal, but in silence. There are miles between you and Mat in his king-size bed and for the first time in a long time, you consider going to the guest room.

The following morning is no better. You’re getting ready for work, packing your things up, making breakfast, and preparing to leave Mat’s apartment for at least the rest of the week. You assume that he’s still asleep, since he doesn’t have PT until the afternoon, but you hear footsteps padding down the hall as you reach the front door. He follows you all the way to the doorframe, resting his hand on the crown moulding and looking down at you.

“Have a good day at work,” Mat mumbles. “Are you coming back here tonight?”

You look away and shrug. “I should probably go home for once.”

Mat is silent for a beat too long. “Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll miss you.” Mat bends down and presses a kiss to your cheek, catching the very corner of your lips. He pats the doorframe and gives you a wave as you start down the hallway. Your first few steps are slow and confused, because what the hell is happening and why did Mat kiss you again, but you feel like running by the time he closes the door behind you.

You’re distracted at work. It’s worse than yesterday. You feel jittery. When you go home at the end of the day, your apartment feels empty. You crinkle your nose and rub your arms, trying to warm up. It’s weird being alone for the night after staying with Mat for a few days. You got really used to being next to him, eating dinner with him, watching stupid shit on the TV while laying on his couch, and sleeping in his bed.

You lay in bed, unable to sleep. You toss and turn, scroll on your phone, try and sleep again, and fail. It’s 2am when your phone vibrates with a text and you check it immediately, hoping for something interesting.

It’s Mat.

‘Miss you :(’, he says. There’s a picture of him pouting into the camera, his bedside lamp turned to the lowest setting, just bright enough that he doesn’t need to use the flash. 

Your mouth automatically matches Mat’s. You sigh, zooming in on his tousled hair. You scroll across the picture, lingering on Mat’s bare chest. You stare for much too long. Much too long… to be considered friends. Mat’s kiss has really messed with your mind and now you can’t stop thinking about him and his tongue and his hands and–

You bury your face in the pillow and groan. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You throw on your bathrobe, just to combat the cold, and within fifteen minutes, you’re hitting the buzzer to call up to Mat’s apartment.

“Hello?” Mat’s fuzzy voice comes through the speaker. 

Idiot, you admonish in your head. Who answers the buzzer at 2am? Especially when you’re a desirable athlete… God, Mat, you’re so dumb.

“It’s me,” you say. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

You hear the door click, unlocking, and you push your way inside. Your foot taps impatiently as you wait in the elevator, arms crossed over your chest. As the doors open, you spot Mat waiting at his front door, leaning against the frame like he was when you left him this morning.

His face is lined with sleep and there are lines on his chest like he just scratched an itch. 

You’re kissing him again as soon as you get close enough. You throw your arms around Mat’s neck and he wraps his arms around your middle, lifting you up until you naturally twine your legs around his waist. 

Mat’s kissing you back, moving into his apartment and closing the front door behind him. His bottom lip is between yours. You suck and nibble it, soothing the skin with your tongue after you bite hard enough for Mat to groan. His hands are planted on your behind now, kneading the skin.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too,” Mat breathes out between kisses. 

“All day.” Your hands work up into his hair and pull.

Mat shivers and his mouth drops open at the tug of your fingers. He turns toward the wall and pushes you up against it, trapping you with his body and pressing his groin against yours. He’s deliciously hard and you grind down on the bulge in his sweats. Mat moans and separates his lips from your mouth, instead trailing them wetly down your neck.

“Bedroom,” you tell Mat, voice hitching when he leaves a bite on your pulse point.

“Fuck that,” Mat replies. He pushes your shirt up and over your head. “Can’t wait. I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about this.”

“Fucking me against the wall?”

“Having crazy sex with you all over the apartment,” Mat corrects. ���You know when you’re about to sleep and then you feel like you’re falling and you wake up?”

“Yeah?” you respond, confused.

“It was like that.” Mat comes back up to kiss your lips. “I’d almost fall asleep and then I’d see you here. I’d see you bent over the kitchen counter or the arm of the sofa. I’d have you against the tile in my shower, then over the sink and I’d wipe all the fog off the mirror so you could watch. You’d be laying on the dining room table and I’d be between your legs, then I’d be sitting at my desk and you’d be between my legs.”

“Sounds tortuous,” you joke. 

“It was torture to see you like that and not have you,” Mat says in complete earnest. “That kiss broke a fucking dam for us, I swear.”

“Emma’s going to brag about getting us together,” you say.

“Don’t tell her,” Mat replies simply. “I’m on Tito’s side of the breakup anyway.”

“That’s not how friendship works.”

“Clearly, we don’t have any idea of how friendship should work,” Mat laughs. His eyes are twinkling with mischief. “I’m about to fuck you against the wall and we’re ‘just friends.’”

“We’re going to have to talk about that,” you tell Mat. 

“Now?” he asks, his middle two fingers finding your clit over your panties and rubbing.

“After,” you confirm. You pull him back in for a kiss and roll your hips into Mat’s hand. “After, for sure.”

Mat chuckles into your mouth. He shifts your panties to the side and slides his middle finger into your cunt. “Wow, look at how you’re taking me,” Mat says. His nose knocks against yours when he turns his eyes toward your core. “So wet. Bet you taste good, too.” 

You whine when he removes his finger from your entrance, annoyed. That feeling vanishes shortly after you’re emptied, once Mat brings his finger to his mouth and hollows his cheeks around the digit. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open, drool pooling on your tongue. 

Mat smirks. His finger leaves his mouth with a pop and he then licks both his middle and ring finger, wetting them and bringing them back to your core. Mat leans in as he presses both fingers into your hole, his tongue sliding against yours as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Oh my God,” you say to yourself when Mat’s thumb comes into contact with your clit. If his kiss was stuck in your head all day after just a few seconds with his tongue in your mouth, then this moment will be seared into the blank space behind your eyelids for weeks.

“Just me,” Mat teases. He kisses over your neck, sucks on the corner of your jaw, and gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs, then drops the soft skin and breathes cool air over the skin just beneath your lobe. 

You shiver and throw your head back against the wall, baring your neck to Mat. He takes full advantage of it, but the location of his mouth is the least of your worries. You’re too preoccupied with the way his fingers are dancing inside of you. You feel your insides jump when Mat comes into contact with your g-spot, playing with the soft spot fixed at a seemingly random and elusive point on your inner walls, biting down on your lower lip to stop an embarrassing sound from escaping you.

Mat’s hands are busy– the one inside of you and the other planted on your side, helping hold you up against the wall– so he can’t remove your bottom lip from the confines of your teeth. Instead, he hovers right in front of your face, just close enough to kiss, but he doesn’t make the move to unite. 

You get the message, dropping your bottom lip in favor of kissing Mat’s. He smiles into the kiss and squeezes a third finger inside of you. You can feel his muscles tensing, the rippling of his forearm and bicep traveling all the way up to the place where his arm meets his torso. 

“I don’t want to come like this,” you declare in a high voice, shaking a bit as Mat brings you right to the edge and nearly pulls you over. “I want to come on your cock, Mat, fuck me.”

“You can’t give me two?” Mat asks.

“It’s not that I can’t,” you whine. “I just want you inside me.” You dig your nails into Mat’s upper back when his fingers continue to piston against your sweet spot. “Fuck, Mat.”

Mat slows his fingers and relents. “Hold on,” he says. He presses you further into the wall, no space between your bodies.

You tighten your grip around his neck and lock your ankles around his waist.

Mat pushes his sweats and underwear down. They fall to his ankles and he tugs at the crotch of your panties again, making sure to tuck them securely out of the way so that he can guide his cockhead to your dripping center. 

You don’t realize that your nails are creating red half-moon crescents on the fleshy skin covering his traps until Mat captures your wrists between the fingers of one hand– his thumb and forefinger around one and his other three around the other– and holds them against the wall above your head. You whimper and tilt your hips forward, pulling him closer by the linked ankles at the small of his back. 

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t know you were so desperate that you’d claw me up,” Mat says. Humor is laced throughout his tone. He brings his shoulders up and tenses them, then releases the tension. His cock pushes inside you all the same, despite the discomfort he might be feeling. You barely hear him, anyway– not with his cock dragging against your walls and kissing your insides like that. 

Your mind is stalling, feeling like it’s trapped by the grip that Mat has on your wrists. “Mat,” you keen, trying to bounce on his length as best you can while hovering against the wall and contained by Mat’s body. 

He presses his lips against your cheek before shifting his hips forward and drilling into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mouth opens in a gasp and Mat flicks his tongue against yours. His fingers squeeze your wrists with each thrust– the pleasure from his tip knocking into your cervix plus the pressure against your skin, arms raised up above your head, pairs together in a way that had your mind spiraling. 

The noises that come from Mat’s mouth don’t help– he’s grunting and groaning and his breath is heavy. He’s never silent, never, and you know that if you close your eyes, you could get off to his noises alone. 

“You feel so good,” Mat compliments in a low voice. His cooing tone fills your ears like how a sink drain sucks all the water away, creating a whirlpool and gulping for more. “Tight and wet and squeezing me, fuck, we should’ve been doing this for ages.”

You nod your head in assent, eyes shut tightly as a coil of pressure screws and tightens in your abdomen. Mat’s words dissolve in to babbles, the blood rushing to your head. Your pulse booms in your ears as he talks on. Mat’s hand digs into your side, the soft flesh of your waist giving in order to make room for his fingertips as he bucks wildly into your heat. Your slick and the slide of his cock creates a squelching, clapping sound each time that his pelvis collides with yours. Your clit, swollen and aching to be touched, brushes against Mat’s abdomen with just enough friction to send you over the edge, quivering in his arms and arching your back as your climax crashes over your being and overtakes you. Your jaw practically pops with how wide and unhinged it becomes, strangled and drawn-out mewls spurring Mat on while you come in his arms and on his cock. 

Almost simultaneously, Mat’s head dips and his hips stutter, white cum shooting from his slit and painting your walls. Mat continues fucking you through your aftershocks and his own, with gravity taking effect almost immediately– as he draws his cock out of you, just to shove it back in, the mixture of your cum drips from your hole and creates a mess that you and Mat will notice in the morning and gape at before breaking out the cleaning supplies. 

You breathe together. Mat’s movements slow and he crowds your body, plastering himself against you. His heaves are wet against your neck, drinking air back in. As Mat catches his breath, he starts to mouth against your skin, planting a series of kisses along your collarbone and shoulder. 

“Oh my God,” you repeat again. 

Mat’s grip on your wrists relinquishes and your arms drop to his shoulders. His cock slips from your pussy as it softens, but he places his hands again on your ass and keeps your legs around his middle. He hums and kisses your cheek, then your mouth. The kisses are less rushed and frenzied now, matching the original kiss he gave you that filled your mind and stayed there. 

“Take off work tomorrow so we can fuck all over the apartment,” Mat suggests between kisses. He’s finally on the move again, making his way to the bedroom with you in his arms. “That was only one of the ideas I had.”

“I can’t take off work for sex,” you reply. Mat lays you on the bed and you pull him down with you. “But I can stay all weekend again.”

“Yes,” Mat whispers in a celebratory voice, grinning widely when he pulls away. He disintangles himself from your arms and legs, collapsing onto the mattress beside you, in your normal spots. “Do I need to go and buy a toothbrush for you so you don’t have to use mine?”

“Get one of the good ones while you’re at it,” you tease. “Use that big hockey budget and get me one of those electronic ones that’s a waterpick when you swap the head out.”

“Careful,” Mat says. “If I buy that one, I’ll start using your toothbrush.” He pulls the covers over your bodies and holds his arm out so that you can cuddle into his side.

For the first time while awake, you curl up with your head on his chest and throw your leg over his thigh. Your hand comes up to cover his heart and Mat presses a kiss to your head. 

“We’re not going to be just friends after this,” Mat tells you.

You laugh. “No, I don’t think we will.”

[snowball-doie]

୨୧ JohnDo breeding kink ୨୧

| pairing: Dom!Johnny x sub!fem!Reader x Switch!Doyoung

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. NSFW link. Poly ilichil. MLM behavior. CNC themes. Breeding kink. "Forced" breeding roleplay. Unprotected vaginal sex.

| aurora's note: this is ahri canon, for my ilichil polycule enjoyers

Johnny was sick of it. That stupid rule he made up after their second kid was born-- Condoms only. No more unprotected sex, no more fucking around, no more purposefully trying to knock you up. Stupid, stupid rule because ever since then, all Johnny and Doyoung could think to complain about to each other was how annoying the condoms were... They missed filling you up. Jaehyun loved to watch his cum seep out of you, but that had been taken away from him by Johnny; Yuta missed seeing how much cum they could pump into you before you'd get too tired; Mark was going insane because he couldn't remember what your soft, velvety walls felt like around his bare cock. Johnny'd done a disservice to all of them, however he remained adamant that it was the only way after having two kids and the rest of the boys seemed to be on a mission to have a third, all while you refused to deny them that. But now Johnny couldn't take it anymore. Between him and Doyoung in one night, they'd gone through five condoms that they'd tied up and discarded before reaching to put more on-- Doyoung usually didn't have the refractory period to keep up with Johnny, but since coming back from the military and begging Johnny on his hands and knees to let you guys have another kid, he'd been so pent up that it was likely he could even continue fucking you long after Johnny was tapped out.

"Hyung, please... I won't cum in her, I swear, just let me fuck her without a condom-- Just once!"

Johnny turned over the box of condoms and shook it. Empty. He looked over at you, a content smirk spread across your face because that meant either they gave up on you and turned to each other-- which would have been entertaining for you to watch-- or they would finally agree that it wasn't worth it. Johnny sighed. It was next to impossible to deny himself and Doyoung while looking down at the image of you when your legs still spread and your knees pressed up for optimal access to your dripping pussy which they'd used all night without a single drop of their cum leaking out of you... yet... It was a devastating sight. All of you could vividly remember what it looked and felt like after filling you up to the brim.

"Fuck it."

Both you and Doyoung watched as Johnny tossed the empty condom box to the side then he reached over for the pathetic pile of used condoms. The realization was far more quick to dawn on you than Doyoung who seemed lost when Johnny began opening the condoms and you squirmed away, shaking your head, closing your legs.

Johnny ordered Doyoung, "Hold her open."

So Doyoung did as he was told while he continued to watch Johnny carefully. You tried to fight Doyoung, but not too hard because you didn't actually wish to get away, you just wanted to work them up a bit more with the excitement of pinning you down and doing what they pleased with you. It was a dream come true. After so long, Johnny'd given up on his stupid rule, which meant that all the boys could have their fun too. Finally. The three of you watched-- In the midst of your protests and squirms which were held back by Doyoung-- when Johnny took the first condom, not knowing which of them it belonged to, and he tipped the opening at your entrance before using his fingers to push it into you. He chuckled at your response of your wiggling hips and kicking feet that didn't deter him. He made sure to squeeze out every drop from that condom. Doyoung moaned at the sight, almost tempted to release you so that he could jerk him off instead, but he didn't want you to go anywhere until Johnny had dumped all of their cum into you and he had instructions to do otherwise.

Johnny discarded the first condom, grabbed the second, then began doing the same. He tsked when you kicked his hip too hard and he lost his balance, resulting in some of the cum to completely miss your hole and instead drip down onto your thighs. Doyoung's hands were close enough that he managed to save some of it before it could fall onto the mattress. He proved to be helpful to Johnny by scooping their cum into you and fingering it deep inside of you.

Doyoung moaned beside you. "Can I fuck her?"

"Not yet," Johnny replied quickly. The third condom was already in hand, and he wasted no time sliding it into you. "Need to fill her up with this stuff first..." He bit his plump bottom lip in concentration. "Then we'll do it ourselves."

Taken completely by lust for the situation, Doyoung leaned over to kiss Johnny passionately. The two of them hovered over you. Doyoung's big hands were still holding you down, Johnny's long fingers were thrusting cum into you, and they were both distracted... So you tried to roll out of the bed to make a break for it. If Yuta were there, he would've played along, giving into what you secretly desired by tying you up then and there, however the boys only had their hands in the spur of the moment, so Johnny used his height and strength to wrap his arms around your waist and toss you back onto the bed.

"I told you to keep her open," Johnny scolded Doyoung.

When struggling with the fourth condom, you whined at Johnny, inquiring about his rules and why he'd be so quick to give up on them after holding out for so long. Johnny pushed the condom in further than the other three. He replied that he'd finally had enough of seeing you prance around the house in nothing but Jungwoo's t-shirt and a pair of short shorts that showed off the bottom side of your ass... He was sick of not fucking you bare anymore... And he was sick of not seeing you knocked up.

"Please, hyung..." Doyoung continued to plead desperately. So, finally, Johnny took pity, ignoring the very last condom so that Doyoung could instead shuffle to settle between your legs with his hard cock prodding your entrance. "Be a good girl for me, noona..." It wasn't so much of a request as it was a demand before he began pushing in. "Fuck-- I forgot how wet she feels."

Johnny grinned. He was enjoying your moaning and complaints about how they were most certainly going to get you pregnant at that rate. He loved seeing Doyoung's face scrunch when he was finally settled in all the way, your hips pressed against each other briefly before Doyoung began pounding into you. John stood behind Doyoung then wrapped his thick, cum covered hand around the front of Doyoung's neck, holding him by the throat so that he could tilt Doyoung's head just enough to give Johnny clear access to leave hickies. Doyoung moaned into the air.

"Do you wanna place bets?" Johnny mumbled in English against Doyoung's skin.

Doyoung panted as he got closer to his orgasm. "On?"

"Which one of us it'll be."

Confidentially, in his adorable English that he practiced so hard with Johnny, he replied, "It's going to be me, hyung."

Johnny was absolutely amused by that reply. He made sure to leave the biggest, brightest hickey he could on Doyoung's neck; and because Doyoung was always so sensitive, it got him closer and closer. You knew he was on the edge when his hands squeezed your thighs-- His fingernails dug into your skin and it hurt like a bitch, but you couldn't think straight long enough to tell him to let up... Not while his cock was bullying your insides and simultaneously pushing their cum towards your cervix. You ran your hands down Doyoung's abs as you told begged him to fill you up. His breath stuttered, his hips stilled, and he reached back to grab Johnny's dark hair with one hand as he came.

Johnny figured they'd have about two days to get away with fucking without condoms before the rest of the boys would figure it out, at which point everyone would want in on their little bet... So the next two days meant you were trapped in Johnny's room, spread open, flipping between getting fucked by Johnny and Doyoung, and also watching them have fun with each other when you were too tired to keep going.

taglist: @theycallmesya , @tiredlittlevirgo , @henderysposts , @trash-number-one , @mystverse , @zierose-freak , @vrak-co , @junrenjun , @onlyrosyjohnny

[ere-the-sun-rises]

Y'know, my sister reads a lot of fantasy and romantasy books written by men and women and I've noticed a few things.

1 - "Fairy smut". What the fuck does this mean? What the fuck are you referring to here? What are the conditions that make it so? Because otherwise it just sounds derogatory to an outsider like me.

My sister read a series authored by a man (not GoT) that had copious - arguably even gratuitous - amounts of sex it in. Graphic sex, both consentual and not. Sex that arguably did not serve the plot or mean anything to the character. It didn't build depth or attachment or do worldbuilding - it was just there. The woman the MC wound up with was underdeveloped and kinda inane, but he still got one despite eschewing women's company most of the series and being hostile to any he came across. Is that not "fairy smut" too? It had lots of sex in a fantasy world - does that not count or something? Was it the rape and/or sexual coersion that disqualifies it? Because more than one of the "booktok" romantasy books have that too.

And arguably, all the sex that happens in romantasy books DIRECTLY serves the plot of the book. That's it's primary objective. So, checkmate, I guess.

2 - Content warnings. I've noticed women authors have started to put little spoiler-free warnings flagging things like rape or sexual abuse content while other "regular fantasy" books don't.

This isn't a complaint so much as a curious observation. Perhaps these women have fanfic roots or realize that getting jumpscared by a graphic rape scene is not very fun. (That is a personal experience - was reading a book about dragon riding and literally out of nowhere the MC got graphically and violently raped by an otherwise inconsequential character. Afterwards, the book moved on like it hadn't happened and I was so upset I never finished it.) I actually quite like those little notes. Maybe more authors should do it, but I also understand why they might not.

3 - "Romantasy". What? Why? It's just fucking Fantasy, babes. I was always under the impression that Romance books were real-world AUs, be it present or historical (ei. regency, medieval, etc.) and Fantasy books were defined by elements of supernatural/creatures/other humanoid species/taking place Not Here. If a book has a fantasy setting, it's a fantasy book. Does that make sense?

And don't get me wrong - I understand that there is genre crossover. I'm not saying that's bad or wrong or non-existent. My point is that labelling it separately demeans it. Kind of like when Sci-Fi disinherited the dystopia!AU progenitors that formed YA.

[Side Tangent] Let's be real here, dystopia!AUs are Sci-Fi. Halo: SILENT STORM and The Hunger Games are both about a 15 year old forced into a do-or-die situation where failure and/or disobedience can get them killed and their whole home annihilated. Never thought Master Chief and Katniss Everdeen might have something in common, huh?

4 - I think men should read fantasy romance more, actually.

A lot of men whine about not having access to the way women think or want to be wooed. Well sweetheart, work your way around a few of these books and you'll have a better idea. Just be aware that some of the stuff you'll encounter is kink shit (ei. anything about being "tamed" is kink fr fr - she wants to be taken care of without having to ask for it and by god does that get her off).

Also, it will improve your dirty talk. Ever wonder why women can summon up some of the nastiest, filthiest dirty talk you've ever heard? Because they read and/or write it. Who knows, maybe you'll discover something about yourself too. After all, porn only shows you how it looks, it doesn't describe how it feels.

[cautious-soup]

Obsessive!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 1

Mdnimdnimdnimdnimdnimdnimdnimdnimd

Summary: Suguru Geto finds himself unwillingly fixated on you. Infuriated that he's so preoccupied with such a weakling, he sets out to make you suffer.

CW// metaphysical non-con, degrading internal monologues directed at reader, stalking, weirdo behavior

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The obsession from him was pure. Unadulterated, delusional, eye-twitching nail biting obsession--with you. Obsession with making you cry, making you hurt, making you bleed, and reveling in otherworldly ecstacy from your wails of pleasure (and agony).

You're normal. Well, you're unique in your own way, everyone is, but you're normal, a regular person, a non-curse user.

So, naturally, he hates you. Because honestly, how dare you? You're nothing special, you're weak, you're a waste of space. Yet, the biggest space you occupy is the space in his brain, pressing against the walls of his skull, driving him batshit insane.

You? Really?

You came to him because you were depressed, and anxious, and your shoulders hurt all the time even though you bought a fancy new bag online that was supposed to make them hurt less.

So, with nowhere else to turn, you go to see Suguru.

He was new, and expensive, but according to your peers he worked. He was good at what he did, and you could hardly stand to raise your arms for more than a few seconds without clenching your jaw in pain.

Suguru scoffs internally when you first meet him because, well, you're just another client. Another useless weakling with insignificant problems. He exorcises you and sends you on your way like he's always done.

But this time something's wrong.

It starts quietly, almost insidiously. He thinks he's fixated on you because he's stressed, unhappy, craving sex because whether he admits it or not, he's still a man with needs. (Pathetic needs.)

So, he figured he'd mess with you--quietly and systemically terrorize you until you manifested a curse strong enough to suit his appetites, then do away with you. Maybe he'd force himself on you, but only to speed up the process if things went to slow, make your negative feelings more potent.

Then, when the job was done, he'd kill you. That part was always just for fun.

He learns you're in Japan as an English teacher. Before Suguru removed your curse, you had to grit your teeth to keep from snapping at your students due to the pain.

The stress of work had only manifested a low grade curse, and he had no use working with that.

So first, he studied you. What did you like? What did you hate? What did you fear? He took note of it all.

He took note of your height, then your weight, then shoe size, then skin, eyes, hair, nose, mouth, teeth, lips.

He decides he's documented enough about your physical atrributes when he tries to estimate your cup size.

But he knew it wouldn't be enough. No, in order to truly terrorize you, he'd have to talk to you.

You're unnerved when he approaches you for the first time. The market street is bathed in sunset orange, and you've just picked up your end of the week snack, ready to go home and binge Netflix, but he's there. Suguru.

It's strange, you thought the oppressive energy you felt when you'd gone to see him had something to do with the old temple. But you felt it here too, almost before you saw him. Whatever it was, it followed him.

"Y/N," he said pleasantly, "I trust you've been well."

You take a while to respond, before laughing nervously, "Uh, yeah! Yeah I've been much better, I appreciate it a ton."

"..."

Not much for small talk, I guess you think when Suguru doesn't respond.

"Well, I'll be on my way then. It was nice seeing you."

Suguru watches you leave, pulse throbbing in his neck and jaw clenched. It wasn't enough. Why, why wasn't it enough? You were nothing--nothing. It would take too much singular effort to coax out negative energy from an average weakling like you, he'd be better off hunting for special grades like usual.

Still, he followed you home.

And a week later, Suguru decides to take things up a notch, or several notches.

You don't usually remember your dreams too well. You have pieces from over the years--learning to fly, falling, running, chasing

But tonight, it's vivid. Vivid and panicked, you feel so panicked, but you don't know why.

It's so dark. The darkness feels alive, like it's touching you. No, it is touching you. The unmistakable feeling of a hand clasps your shoulder, your hip, you choke.

"Hk," but you can't move.

The darkness combs over you, leaving cold in its wake against your skin. Why can you feel cold? Why can you feel any of this?

It isn't like feeling in the waking world. You can almost see it, you're confused, you're scared.

The touch of darkness grows rough, violent. It tugs at your hair, gropes at your thighs, your chest, prods at your mouth until it's open. It chokes you when you try to scream, wrenches your thighs apart, and then--

"HHHHH-"

You shoot up so violently the room spins. Awake, you fumble for your lamp, reaching vainly for your breath as you hyperventilate.

The ghostly cold still lingers on your skin. You fold your knees up to your chest and sob.

All the while, Suguru revels in this little bit you give him, even though it's nowhere close to enough.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 2

[lov3rachan]

SKZAnniversary

Summary: When everything seemed to catch up with them, a moment of peace arrives too.

Pairing: OT8 (Individual) x reader (not very heavy on a relationship)

Genre: fluff, comfort, gender neutral (you/your)

Warning: insecurity, beauty standard, society

Word count: 1408 words

Comment: Happy 7th Anniversary once more Stray Kids! This started off as soft moments (Chan) and turned into insecurity comfort rip. As always I’m late lol

Requested by: no one

Written: 24.03.2025-26.03.2025

Taglist: @skzdreamer13, @blueohs

Network: @supernovanetwork

Chandsome

« You can rest ».

The moonlight softly caressed his relaxed features, as his light snores fill the otherwise silent room.

It’s like a rhythm, matching his breathing.

Chan’s lips are slightly open, soft lips still.

Beautiful and at peace, calm.

His body melts in your arms, as he is cradled in sleep’s embrace.

The day’s fatigue and pains, after hours of practice and performances, is slowly washed away, like footprints on the sand.

Chan is finally relieved of toil and weight of his hard work, even if just for a few hours.

He’s no longer leader Bang Chan, Channie-hyung or producer CB97.

In the silence of the room, his worries and responsibilities slip from his mind and he is just Chan.

Minpossible

« I’m here »

Being an idol wasn’t easy, especially not when you liked your privacy.

Lee Know… he was like a cat, unpredictable and mysterious, which wasn’t always appreciated in the industry or by his so-called fans.

He’d come up with weird random post ideas or fun messages and he enjoyed messing with STAY… a lot.

However, not everybody liked his teasing manner and they weren’t afraid to say it, at least online.

Sometimes, he’d just grumble and complain, to no one in particular, really.

All his bottled up feelings finally released in a stream of anger and frustration.

From way too exposing outfits, to the fans’ wild theories: every single thing that irked him, no matter how insignificant, was laid out.

Minho didn’t need someone to give him a solution, or explain how the industry worked.

He just wanted to vent, let it all out.

No words were needed, as you held him in your arms.

As the anger dissipated, his face slightly red from his rambling, he listens to your heart beat to calm down.

Then, with a lighter heart, he is ready to face the world once more.

Charmbin

« You’re beautiful »

Changbin was oh-so beautiful.

As you stared at him lovingly, your gaze fixated on him and only him… he felt like a jewel amongst rocks.

He was surrounded by men who fit the beauty standards, who were praised for their good looks and, in an industry like the entertainment one, let alone that of K-Pop, it was easy for him to forget his own beauty.

Sometimes he’d forget about the muscles he built up with dedication, day after day.

He’d ignore his gorgeous face and curly hair.

More importantly, he’d easily forget how talented he was.

He was one of the greatest producers of K-Pop’s fourth generation, a rapper with powerful vocals and perfect enunciation that could also sing just as well, with a touching voice.

He was one of the funny guys of his group but he was so much more: he was reliable, trusted, respected.

Amongst so many stars he’d forget all about his own light.

However, in your eyes he could see its reflection, shining in your eyes as you loved him without a word, as you wanted him for all he was.

And he felt the most beautiful man of all.

Hyunique

« You’re talented »

Hyunjin really didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful but even he grew tired of compliments.

More precisely, of compliments about his looks.

Gorgeous, sexy, handsome… what about who he was inside?

What about all he had achieved?

His powerful dance moves weren’t just because of his beautiful appearance.

He had poured blood, tears and sweat into it, his whole life had been polishing his skills just to get complimented for his looks.

How many people would have really looked at his art if he didn’t look that way?

Who would have ever spared him a glance if he wasn’t handsome?

People would have probably called him an unreliable good for nothing or an idealistic dreamer, if he hadn’t had his looks, wouldn’t they?

He didn’t know but, the more he thought about it the more his blood boiled, as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him.

Then one hug, as he cried his heart out.

One session together through posts and videos complimenting his art, his dancing and his vocals…

It didn’t take away his insecurity, not completely.

But it helped him ignore the ‘what if’s and focus on the present and on his future, that shined as bright as a diamond.

Hanbelievable

« You’re strong »

Small and cute quokka.

Frail, weak, defenceless.

That’s how he felt whenever he saw fans treat him as if he were made of glass.

Not just them, his band mates and staff as well acted as if he was a ball of anxiety ready to crack and crumble at the smallest sign of pressure.

He was an idol, he had been working his ass off and managing his own mental health for ages.

Sure, he appreciated the concern but sometimes it felt suffocating, as he felt babysat by the others.

He wasn’t his anxiety nor his panic attacks.

However, just because he could be lively, fun and happy, it didn’t mean that he was faking it all.

The perception of others, at times, felt more pressuring than his anxiety himself, as they fuelled it.

Han wanted to be supported but he didn’t want anyone on his case 24/7.

It was just a few words as you were cuddling in bed, a whisper that slipped out as you admired his tired form, as Jisung was starting to doze off.

“You’re so strong”.

Just one sentence woke him up, as he smiled, comforted by your unassuming words.

Yeah, he really was.

Lixtroardinary

« You can cry »

The sky isn’t always sunny, sometimes it rains.

Just like that, even Felix couldn’t help but get mad or sad.

He was already known for crying on stage but, with the exception of the survival show, they were always tears of happiness.

The dancer was Stray Kids’ happiness, the one to bring a smile on STAY’s face.

However, sometimes the fatigue and pain was too much;

Sometimes the hate got to him;

Sometimes his day went wrong.

Hidden in a safe embrace, he’d allow himself to cry, let out all the sadness he felt.

There was nothing beautiful about it, it was an ugly cry, raw.

Felix was going to have a headache the hours after but at least his heart felt lighter and the world seemed brighter.

Sure, his problems hadn’t been whisked away but his mind was clearer than ever: everything was going to be okay.

He was going to be okay.

Perhaps he wasn’t always going to be Happy Felix, but he was going to relish all the happiness he could get.

Seungsational

« You’re special »

‘Eight members, eight all rounders’.

Seungmin didn’t feel like he belonged.

He was the vocalist of the group yet he didn’t have the same unique voice as Felix.

He wasn’t an all-rounder genius like Han nor was he a rapper and producer like Changbin or Chan.

He wasn’t a talented dancer like Lee Know nor didn’t have striking, unique looks like Hyunjin.

And he definitely wasn’t as adorable and fashionable as I.N.

He was… ordinary.

Then, whenever you asked, he picked up his guitar and started to play a bit, singing along the melody.

As he saw your heart melt with every note, and your loving gaze on him, he understood.

It didn’t matter how special others thought he was, nor did he need to compare himself to others.

As long as those who mattered believed in him, Seungmin himself included, he was going to keep doing what he loved.

I.ncredible

« You’re enough »

I.N had grown used to being treated like a baby by others but he couldn’t deny his annoyance, at times.

He was a grown man, capable of his own choices and perfectly fine on his own yet his own fans seemed to treat him as a kid.

Sure, being pampered wasn’t that bad but, when his every move is watched and his independence is undermined… he hated it.

However, what could he do about it?

It’s not like he could change his date of birth.

Age is just a number but it always seemed like his role as a maknae overshadowed his vocals and… it stung. I truly did.

So he appreciated whenever he got asked for a favour.

It was a small thing but it showed the intrinsic trust you had in him, that he could handle it.

That even though he was the youngest of his group, he was good enough, he was capable enough.

[urara-ra]

As it was time to get on stage the band did their usual cheer, a ritual they had been doing from the very first day they played a concert all together. Something to ground them and get them excited for their performance. They didn't dare to play a concert without it.

It was always four of them stepping out first with Aoi coming out a moment later to give all of them time to find their positions. Urara would probably never get used to hearing anyone cheer for him, every single time it felt magical.

As they began to play their first song all the nervousness Urara had felt, was gone with the first hit of the drum. Even if his play wasn't perfect and they still had a lot to learn, most importantly they wanted their fans to have fun.

It was hard to see behind the first rows of their fans, the bright, flashing stage lights and light sticks that the fans were moving to the beat of the music also didn't help. But Urara was determined to spot Ren. He had promised him and he would never break a promise he gave. When he finally did spot Ren at the back though he had a bright smile on his lips. His boyfriend was watching him play. The thought caused a fuzzy warmth to spread in the angel's chest. While he did enjoy his fans cheering for him, it felt different knowing that Ren was doing the same.

The smile didn't want to leave his lips, his bright, cheerful personality felt even brighter. A few more times during the concert Urara's eyes met his boyfriend's and every single time it caused a bright smile. He just knew that his friends would tease him about it later.

Another thing they always did was take a picture after the concert was over. All five of them on the stage with the crowd in the back. As the picture was taken Urara wondered if he would be able to spot Ren on it or if he'd be too far back. It would technically be their first picture together.

Saying goodbye to the fans was always bittersweet, especially when the concert was as much fun as this one had been. Going back to the backstage area his friends went to freshen up and change after thanking each other for their hard work. Still full of excitement Urara made his way to find Ren, spotting him among some of the staff members. Urara thanked them for their hard work as well before shifting his attention to the dentist.

So many things he wanted to say at the same time but all that left his mouth was a happy giggle. "I saw you from the stage!" he said excitedly after taking a moment to take a deep breath.

“I had such an exhausting day today, having roughly 10 patients. What about you?”

"Patients? What do you do for a living? Are you a kind of doctor?" he wondered and tilted his head to the side. "My day was uneventful, which means I got to relax a little and practice my drumming skills. Ah, I'm a drummer, that's why. Would you like to get some food or a coffee to help you relax a little after your exhausting day?"

[sarahsghosts]

the death and resurrection of jonathan price

john price x female, wife!reader

angst with an eventual happy ending

word count: 1030

cw: user regrets having sex idk if that needs a warning

disclaimer: we're going to let rea der be a saddie in this one. this won't be the tone of the entire fic from here on out, but i felt it was important for her to be able to process her confusion and grief that comes along with john's rejection.

short chapter this time. really just a bridge to chapter 5, but i thought was necessary.

also, let me know if you guys like it when i put the links to the songs in the chapter or if you just want me to list them at the top. i’m having fun with it but it also feels lame as hell

chapter 4

songs: dynasty - MIIA, used to the darkness - des rocs, arcade (ft. fletcher) - duncan laurence

“you can show yourself out.”

you sat up, staring after john. he closed the door without looking back at you and the sound of the shower running came a moment later.

you sat frozen for several minutes, your eyes locked on that bathroom door. when you broke out of your trance, you looked around and realized the only items in the room were the mattress which rested on a box spring (that sat directly on the floor) and a phone charger plugged into the far wall outlet.

you were so determined, moments ago, not to give up on him. to keep fighting to get through to him. but the regret that suddenly burned through you was all consuming. you couldn’t find a trace of that stubborn resolve.

he had used and discarded you so easily. you felt ashamed. humiliated.

did he genuinely not care about you anymore?

no. that couldn’t be the case.

he must be doing this on purpose, to push you away.

you hated that, at the moment, it was working.

you needed a second to get your thoughts together and you knew you couldn’t do it here.

you slid off the bed, feeling degraded as you walked around the room, picking up your discarded clothing.

sweaty and otherwise sticky, you redressed, feeling even more demeaned.

carrying your shoes in one hand, you moved out into the main area of the flat, really taking it in for the first time.

dimly lit with old water stains on the walls. empty beer cans littered various surfaces. a single armchair and an end table in the living room. a pull up bar hung from the doorway that led into the kitchen.

you peered in there and saw an empty whiskey bottle on the counter next to a stack of paper plates.

the sight of this place was really pitiful, which, in turn, made you feel even more pathetic yourself.

while you were taking it all in, the sound of running water cut off abruptly. for some reason, you found yourself suddenly terrified of facing john after he had told you to leave.

you slipped on your shoes and fled.

john scrubbed his hand over the back of his head, his hair still wet from the shower. hearing the sound of your voice moan out his name took him back for a moment.

back to the version of himself he used to be.

he couldn’t stand it.

the truth being that version of himself was dead.

he had died a long time ago, in a russian prison.

captain jonathan price was by no means a weak man, but even the strongest men couldn’t survive in a place like that. it was torture. the horrors inflicted there were barbaric and vile in a way most people couldn’t even comprehend.

he’d had to become someone something entirely brutal. something savage.

something that could survive

the part of himself that had to be unlocked, couldn’t just be shoved back into it’s cage. there was no coming back from the things he done to outlast the nightmares around him.

he stood there in the bathroom, a towel tied around his waist. the mirror was fogged, obscuring his reflection. good. he didn’t even want to look at himself right now.

why?

was this guilt creeping in?

no. he really didn’t care about you. sure, it was nice to have a quick fuck. it’d been so long and you were so willing.

the vision of you, your eyebrows pulled together, your eyes screwed shut, was clear in his mind.

“john,” you had moaned. “i—”

he had covered your mouth because he couldn’t stand to hear your voice, so breathy and needy. so desperate for him.

he had seen your face as he stood from the bed, refusing to stay with you, basking in the afterglow. that would’ve been far too intimate. would’ve gotten your hopes up.

john leaned down, supporting himself with his palms flat on the bathroom counter.

no. this was better.

and yet, the crestfallen look on your face was like a knife in his gut.

you truly were pathetic.

or maybe he was.

he glanced up to see that the steam had begun to clear. he saw his own eyes looking back at him and before he realized what had happened, he had blood and glass sprayed on his knuckles where they had connected with the mirror.

you called in sick to work. you spent most of the walk home silently crying and the idea of trying to clean yourself up to work your evening shift was unbearable.

by the time you made it home, you just felt empty. numb. and when you weren’t numb, you were disgusted with yourself. you’d been thoroughly used.

you moved into your flat, wandering in a haze and letting autopilot take over.

you dropped your keys into the bowl by the door, kicked your shoes off, and hung up your jacket.

when you came out of your brain fog, you were standing in your kitchen, holding a tin of tea.

your hair was damp and you realized that you had showered at some point.

you looked at the kettle on the stove, steam coming out of the spout. you blinked.

the unsettling thought creeped in my mind. you had used john a little bit, too, hadn’t you?

you ran your hands through your hair and moved to the pantry, retrieving a jar of honey.

you’d been so desperate for a trace of the man you had married. desperate for him to touch you, make you feel something you hadn’t in years.

desperate for him to love you.

you struggled to open the sticky lid of the honey jar.

images of john’s face flashed in your mind. his eyes wild and animalistic. the hunger and lust you’d seen in them carried no remnants love or admiration. only base desire.

maybe there really was nothing left of your husband in him.

you lost your grip on the jar and it slipped from your hands, tumbling towards the ground.

you flinched, bracing yourself for the sound of breaking glass. but there’s only a dull thump.

you looked down to see the jar sitting at your feet, intact and unbroken.

reflexively, you scooped it up, and let your rage fuel you as you hurled it at the wall.

it shattered loudly, leaving sticky shards of glass streaking down the painted brick.

part 5

—

TAGLIST:

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @evergreenfields @galactict3a @who-needs-to-sleep

[kittyykattxoxo]

masterpiece (part 1)

pairing : damian priest x rhea ripley

summary : after a night out, rhea and damian decide to cross the line that they've never crossed before. will they end up regretting it, or realize maybe they should've been doing it all along?

word count : 2588

content warning : dom! damian, sub! rhea, p in v, oral, fingering, creampie, rough sex

The club was still buzzing when Rhea Ripley and Damian Priest stumbled out into the humid night, their laughter mingling with the bass that pulsed faintly behind them. The night had been wild, the first wild night that they’d had in awhile. They’d been so focused on the Judgement Day and on work that they hadn’t been able to really cut loose, but tonight had been different. Shots, dancing, and a playful teasing banter between them that grew more heated with each drink.

Damian’s arm was slung around Rhea’s shoulders and she leaned into him, her breath warm against his neck as she giggled at something he said. The two had been close over since they’d met in NXT years ago, but they’d always insisted that their relationship was more like a brother and sister. They were each other's rocks, the only person the other could really depend on. Damian wasn’t exactly sure after which shot his mentality had shifted, but he found himself looking down at Rhea with a sudden new appreciation. 

“Y’know” she drawled, her Australian accent thick with drunken mischief, “I forgot how much fun you are when you loosen up, big guy.”

Damian chuckled, his voice low and gravely as he glanced down at her through hooded eyes. His arm, which had previously been slung around her shoulders, had made its way down to her waist, his hand tightening slightly on her hip while his fingertips grazed the bare skin exposed by her crop top. “Maybe you should loosen me up more often then, Rips.”

Rhea’s eyes narrowed playfully and she slowed her steps, dragging him to a halt. They were just outside the hotel now, which was only a little over a block away from the club. 

“Oh yeah?” she purred, leaning in close, her lips curling into a wicked smirk and her tone suggestive. “What’re you saying exactly, Papi.”

The words sounded so foreign coming from her lips, so different from the always in control Rhea that Damian had grown accustomed to. He’d seen her flirtations with others in the past and she always seemed to be the aggressor, but looking down at her right now, he could sense something different, despite the defiant look in her eyes. 

A sharp growl rumbled in Damian’s chest, his hand dropping from her waist to grip her ass over the tight leather pants she wore. The touch elicited a sharp gasp from her, but her eyes remained defiant, almost as if daring him.

“You’re playin’ with fire, princesa. You’ve never played this game with me before.” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. 

“Maybe I wanna get burned,” she shot back almost immediately, that familiar cocky glint flashing in her eyes.

Without another word, Damian reached for her hand and led her inside. The elevator ride to his room was torturously slow, but Damian took the opportunity to tease her further. Their bodies pressed together in the confined space, his large hand tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of her lower back while his mouth hovered just above hers.

Rhea replied by arching into his touch, her lips slightly parted, practically begging Damian to close the distance, but he refused. He stayed close, however, his breath fanning against her lips, teasing her mercilessly.

“Damian…” she growled impatiently, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him closer.

The elevator dinged, signalling their arrival to Damian’s floor and he pulled back, reaching to grab her hand again and tug her down the hallway. As they reached his door, he used his free hand to pull the keycard from his pocket, the light turning green and Damian quickly pulling Rhea inside.

Almost as soon as the door shut, Damian gave Rhea what she wanted, his lips crashing into hers. She immediately moaned into his mouth as his hands began to roam her body, rough and possessive. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from his throat.

“Fuck, Rhea..” he rasped against her lips before pulling back to look at her, his eyes dark and hungry. “You sure about this?” 

Even in his slightly inebriated state, Damian knew that this was going to be crossing a line for them that neither had thought they would ever cross, changing their relationship forever. He had to make sure it was a risk that she was willing to take. 

She looked at him for a moment, lips swollen and eyes wide, but the smirk that fell across them was unmistakable as she leaned in, brushing her lips along his jaw before whispering into his ear.

“Don’t make me beg, Papi”

That was all it took for Damian. With a low growl, he lifted her off her feet with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He tossed her down, eliciting a breathless laugh from her lips as she propped herself up on her elbows, her sharp blue eyes glinting with lust. 

Damian watched her for a moment, taking in the beauty of the woman on his bed, causing her to look at him with amusement. “You gunna do something or just admire the view?” she teased.

His eyes narrowed, lips curling into a sinful smirk. “Oh, I’m gonna do more than admire, princesa. I hope you’re ready, because you’ve never had a man like me before.”

He climbed onto the bed afterwards, bracing his hands on either side of his hips as he deliberately hovered over her. Damian’s lips found her neck, teeth scraping lightly over her pulse point before he sucked hard, drawing a moan from her throat. Slowly they began to descend, traveling across her collarbone, nipping and licking as they went.

“Papi…” she breathed, her voice laced with need, hands gripping the sheets tightly. 

The way she said it made his cock throb painfully against the confines of his jeans, aching to be released. With a low growl, Damian sat back on his knees, his eyes dark with desire. His hands moved to grip the hem of her top and Rhea lifted her arms obediently, allowing him to yank it off, exposing the lacy black bra she’d chosen that night.

“Fuck…” he muttered, eyes raking over her. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Rips.”

Rhea bit her bottom lip as she looked at him, arching her back slightly and revealing the hunger in her eyes. When Damian bent down again, his mouth latched onto the swell of her breast, tongue teasing her pierced nipple through the lace fabric of her bra before reaching around with one hand to unclasp it expertly, his teeth tugging the fabric off afterwards and tossing it somewhere on the floor. 

His mouth latched onto her now exposed nipple afterwards, his tongue teasing the hardened nub. Rhea inhaled sharply, her nails raking down his back through his shirt. Impatient, she tugged at it and Damian pulled back just long enough to rip it off, discarding it along with the other clothing. Rhea’s eyes darkened as she traced her fingers over his broad chest and abs, her touch slow and deliberate as she let her nails leave faint marks along his skin. 

“Someone’s a little eager, hmm?” he teased, his lips twitching into a cocky smirk.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” she retorted, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand down between her thighs.

Damian let out a guttural groan, feeling the heat and dampness beneath the leather. His fingers quickly worked at the button and zipped, yanking her pants down her legs before sliding his hand teasingly up her inner thigh, his fingers just barely grazing where she needed him most.

“Papii” she whined, her hips bucking into his hand.

Damian smirked wickedly, enjoying her impatience. “What's the rush, princesa?” he teased, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss to the inside of her thigh.

Rhea’s breath hitched at the sensation and she glared down at him, her voice a low and demanding growl. “If you don’t stop teasing me I swear to god -” 

Her threat was cut off by a sharp gasp as Damian’s tongue flicked over her clit, a wicked grin on his lips as he watched her practically melt into the mattress, her fingers tangling in his hair to tug him closer. 

“Is this what you wanted, hmm Rips?” he murmured against her, his voice muffled by her thighs.

“Don’t you fucking stop, don’t tease me like that” she almost whined, her voice laced with desperation.

Luckily for her, Damian had no intention of stopping after tasting her sweetness. He sucked and licked, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin and sending jolts of pleasure through her. Her hips writhed beneath him as he alternated between languid strokes of her folds and sharp flicks to her clit. 

Soon he slipped two fingers inside of her, the digits curling just right to hit her sweet spot and make her cry out in pleasure. 

“Fuck, Papi, yes” she moaned, her back arching as she began to quickly teeter toward the edge.

Damian replied by suckling gently on her clit, his fingers continuing to curl into her sweet spot as he sent her over the edge. A strangled moan escaped her as her thighs trembled around his head, Damian continuing to work her through her orgasm. 

When she finally came down moments later, she looked down at him through hooded eyes, her chest heaving. Damian smirked back up at her, pressing kisses up her body until he captured her lips, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue for a moment. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers and he couldn’t help but grin again, grinding himself against her soaked heat. “I think it's my turn now, princesa.” 

Rhea, chest still heaving from the intensity of her orgasm, managed to grin back at him, far from done. She reached between them, beginning to palm at Damian’s thick length through his jeans. He responded with a low groan, his head falling forward as his lips brushed against the skin of her neck.

“Fuck, princesa..” he rasped, his hips jerking slightly into her touch. 

Rhea grinned wickedly, popping the button of his jeans open and slowly dragging the zipper down, deliberately taking her time. As she finished she brought her hand back up, her nails grazing over his lower abdomen, making the muscles twitch under his touch. She leaned up slightly, her lips brushing against his ear and her voice a low, sultry whisper.

“Take them off, Papi” she purred, punctuating her words with a slow roll of her hips against his.

The sound that tore from Damian’s throat was downright primal. He pulled back just long enough to shove his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion, kicking them off the bed. Rhea’s eyes dropped hungrily, her lips parting slightly as she took in the sight of him - thick, long, and painfully hard, his tip already glistening with precum.

“Fuck…” she breathed, her pierced tongue darting out to wet her lips. “I knew you were a big boy, Damian, but I didn’t realize just how big you were.”

Damian smirked in reply, crawling back over her, his lips brushing against her jaw as he whispered, “You’re gunna feel every inch of me, princesa.”

Rhea’s nails raked down his back as he lined himself up with her entrance, teasing her by running the tip through her slick folds. Rhea whimpered softly, rolling her hips, desperate for him to fill her.

“Papi, please” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper as it dripped with need.

Damian’s cock throbbed at the sound of her begging and he found himself unable to wait any longer. With a low growl, he slowly pushed inside, stretching her inch by inch. Rhea’s mouth fell open in a breathless gasp, her back arching as he filled her completely.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his forehead falling against hers as he stilled, letting her adjust to his thick length. 

Rhea’s nails dug into his shoulders now, her legs locking around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. “Move” she demanded, her voice filled with need.

And he did.

Damian pulled back almost entirely, only the head of his cock remaining inside of her, before slamming back into her with a force that had her crying out in pleasure. Her fingers clutched at his back, holding on for dear life as he fucked her hard and deep. 

“Papi…fuck yes” she moaned, her head falling back against the pillows. 

Damian groaned at the way she clenched around him, his face burying in the crook of her neck, his lips hot against her damp skin, biting and sucking possessively. He didn’t care about leaving marks, he wanted people to see them. 

“You feel so fucking good, princesa” he growled into her neck, his voice wracked with pleasure. “So fucking perfect.”

Rhea’s nails scraped down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake that only served to spur Damian on. She rolled her hips in time with his thrust, meeting him with equal hunger. She hadn’t realized how bad she needed this.

“Harder, Papi, please…I can take it.” she whispered breathlessly, her voice low and sinful.

Something dark flashed in Damian’s eyes and with a feral growl he moved to grab both her wrist, pinning them above her head with only one of his own. His thrusts became rougher, deeper, the bed slamming rhythmically against the wall with every powerful stroke.

Rhea’s mouth fell open in a silent cry as pleasure built inside her, her legs tightening around his waist, trying to somehow pull him in deeper. 

“Look at me” Damian growled, his voice rough and commanding.

Rhea’s eyes snapped over to him, heavy with lust, and the way she looked at him - desperate and utterly wrecked - nearly pushed him over the edge. 

“Papi… I’m-fuck-I’m close” she whimpered, her voice breaking with pleasure.

“Cum for me, princesa” he wrasped, his voice almost raw. “Cum all over my cock.”

With a loud cry, Rhea’s entire body tightened around him as she came hard, her walls fluttering and clenching around him. Her back arched sharply as she cried out his name, her voice wrecked with pleasure.

“Fuck, Rhea…” Damian gasped breathlessly as she milked him, her tight, trembling walls dragging him closer to the edge. His thrust grew erratic, deeper and rougher as he chased his own release, his grip on her wrists forgotten.

As he let her wrists go, Rhea brought her nails down to his chest, dragging them lightly over the skin. “Cum for me, Papi. Fill me up..” she moaned breathlessly.

That was it. With a growl, Damian slammed into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard. His hips jerked, his body trembling slightly as he spilled inside of her, filling her completely. 

For a moment afterwards, neither of them moved. Their bodies were still locked together, slick with sweat, chests heaving in unison. Damian collapsed onto his forearms, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath hot and heavy.

Finally, Rhea let out a breathless laugh, her lips brushing lightly against his. “Damn…who knew Papi had so much stamina?” 

Damian chuckled darkly, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before murmuring against them, “You have no idea. You keep calling me that, princesa, and we’re not leaving this bed all night.”

Rhea’s lips curled into a wicked smirk at that, her eyes still glinting with naughtiness and her voice low and teasing.

“Promise?” 

[labyrinthwalker]

having now spun with all the samples i got at carolina fiber festival, here's my ranking from favorite to least favorite:

1. cultivated silk - it felt sooo nice to work with and i will definitely be ordering more when i can. since it was dyed in a whole rainbow of colors, i spun three separate batches (purple/pink, red/orange, and blue/green) and andean plied them for a final WPI of... 24ish, if i remember correctly? and then knit this fun little pouch that's super soft <3

2. himalayan nettle - i expected it to be more similar to flax than it was. it's a lot softer, and holds together better; i spun it dry without any issues. it does have quite the halo though, which i would imagine might be mitigated if i had used a little water. little bits of it also fly everywhere, so you're gonna need to vacuum or sweep after spinning it lol. i haven't plied it yet and i'm not sure if i will, so right now it's at 35 WPI.

3. lotus - i had kinda mixed feelings on this one. it has a nice sheen to it, and it's very soft, but drafting was kind of a pain sometimes because it was so grippy. due to that, the yarn was a bit uneven, so it's somewhere between 6 to 10 WPI. i'm gonna make some scrunchies with it, i think.

4. flax - maybe i would have a different experience if i were a wheel spinner, but this flax and i did NOT get along. i couldn't for the life of me get it to hold together in some places, no matter how much or how little twist i added. i kept a bowl of water nearby to wet my fingers the first time, but i think i'm gonna try the warm towel method next time. like the nettle, it's at about 35 WPI.

no pictures of the nettle or flax because i'm still working on them lmao

[sparrow-in-the-field]

Alright, I waited to share my thoughts/criticisms on severance s2 because tbh for a bit I thought I just wouldn't, but I keep thinking about the show, so I might as well!

Typical disclaimer that this is all just my opinion. I know some people loved this season, and I know others are more like me and preferred s1. And both of those takes are okay! Either way, it's just a fun show to talk about!

Alright a couple links and then I'll jump in:

Here were my thoughts on s1. It's one of my favorite seasons of any show ever. I wrote that post right before s2 aired, when I was still young and naive and hopeful about the next season lol.

This post by failchild is a far better written and organized post that sums up my main criticisms as well. I reference it a few times in my thoughts and highly recommend reading it.

Discussion under the cut because it's gonna be a long one!

I managed to bucket my criticisms into four categories, with examples in each. Let's just jump in!

Too many new characters, too few consequences

I'm not sure it was even a show that needed new characters, yet we got so many this season! Imo, the heart of the show was always the four in MDR (see my s1 post). In addition to them as the main group, you had Cobel, Milchick. Devon and Ricken. Gemma/Ms. Casey, of course. Burt and Felicia. A substantial and valuable cast! Adding one or two new characters, sure, it's bound to happen, but with only 1-2 new ones, they could be fleshed out and worked in to the main story in a way that felt organic and like they were complex characters. Not a single character that was added this season felt that way to me. They fell flat, and ultimately barely made a mark in the story. For instance:

Drummond. Who is this man??? I'm sorry who is he?? Why did he start showing up with virtually no introduction? I think he and Helena might be siblings because he called Jame father but tbh with the weird cult stuff that could just be what they call their leader so idk for sure?? Why couldn't they have given him a proper introduction. One line. "Hey Helena your [half, full, who cares] brother is back from [literally any other implied Lumon site]." Or "Alright MDR, this is Drummond, Grainer's replacement for security." Like!! I know feeding exposition through dialogue is boring sometimes, but I sure can still benefit from it when it's a brand spanking new character! And then beyond that, what was his personality? Brooding, I guess. What was his job? To be antagonistic, I guess. The creator of the show has said that Drummond cares about Helena above everyone else, but I sure as hell didn't know that! They made eye contact sometimes, as people do. They said words to each other in a meeting, like twice. And I'm supposed to understand they care about each other on a deeper level, from that?? If you want to make claims about your characters, then you have to show me in the actual show instead of mentioning it retroactively. And then Drummond died. So none of it matters anyway. He was written in to be a brooding henchman and he died and that was it. No understanding of his motivations, his background, even really his role in the company or the family. And now he's dead so it doesn't even matter. Not to mention that Mark S. literally had no idea who he was when they fought. They'd never met before. To me, it made the fight feel less significant, and more violence for the sake of violence.

Ms Huang. I want to love Ms Huang, and I suppose in a way I do!! But I wanted to understand her, I wanted to know her. All I know is she is a child doing the same internship that Cobel did. Her presence I appreciated and could pick up on its significance without the show blatantly telling me (having a child manager is a shield for violence, Lumon has always and continues to use child labor, etc.). But what about Ms Huang herself?? What are her motivations, what is her background? Any question she was asked, she dismissed. And where is she now? Oh that's right. Sent away. I genuinely believe we'll never see her again, because her story was a dead end. She was a kid in an internship and it ended. What more would there be for her next season? So yes, the child worker was a "whoa" moment and it tells us something new about the company, but she's another new character who comes and goes with no actual consequence to the plot or main characters.

Dr. Maur. I hate this man. Who the fuck is this man. I get that someone had to be down there working on Gemma (I would have appreciated a nod to Cobel though, like she at least had some involvement since she sent Ms. Casey to the testing floor in s1) but this character felt less like a person and more like a nearly cartoonish villain. Just the creepy man doing creepy experiments. And then in the end? Mark and Gemma escape, get in the elevator before he can catch them. No real confrontation; he's not even in the room when Mark finds Gemma. idk if we'll see him again next season, but frankly if we don't, it won't make a difference.

Fields. I also hate this man. This was one of the new characters I was actually anticipating! I expected him to potentially be a very interesting and involved character! But nope. He's in one episode, is a real fucking freak, and then is gone. Doesn't matter. His character had zero consequences on the Burt/Irving plot, and I seriously doubt we'll ever see him again (good).

Lorne. Okay I do have a soft spot for Lorne, she is precious and good! But she only showed up when convenient. She talked to Mark and Helly/na when they showed up, and she saved Mark from Drummond. Last season there was a huge running theme about the departments coming together; Burt/Irving was about more than their romance, it was this idea of workers joining together. But Lorne only saved Mark because she just so happened to be there when he was in trouble (their departments never sought each other out again after their encounter). And then Mark leaves. And she...takes Emeile back to the other goats? I guess? Maybe we'll see her again, especially if the innies really are going to rise up in a more significant way. But who knows for sure.

A lack of consequences for everyone, actually

It's staggering, how little had actual consequences in this season. So much that happened either in s1 or started to happen in s2 just... didn't matter. For instance:

Reintegration. Everyone's talked about this already so I'll keep it short. But it felt so exciting that Mark was reintegrating so early, and that first shot on him on the table at the end of ep3 got me so hyped!! Only for nothing to happen. By the finale, even the way Mark is talking about it sounds like he's not actually done it (wild that after "flooding the chip" he's still acting right as rein [able to get into physical fights in fact] and having no issues, meanwhile Petey was out here fighting for his life just to take a damn shower). It felt like Mark could have just been considering reintegration and nothing would have been different in the plot. "But we needed it for Gemma's episode!" Except we didn't? Nothing about that ep felt like reintegration as we've seen it. He honest to god could have just stared wistfully at a photo of his wife and they could have jumped into flashbacks that way.

Helena's YouTuber ass apology video and general lack of outside world response. This ties into the whole world feeling a lot smaller this season that failchild talked about, but it's really frustrating that the s1 finale essentially ended up having zero consequences. I feel like with as many people as were shown in s1 to protest severance or hate Lumon, at least some people in the outside world would be calling bullshit on Helena's excuse for what Helly said at the party. But what? She made the video and everyone was like "oh okay" and dropped it? I'm not saying this had to be a huge plot point, but like, idk. At least show me some protestors outside the property! Have the news on in the background, have Helena mention being annoyed at journalists asking her more questions! Just any acknowledgement that what Helly did at least made ripples, because that finale felt so huge when it came out. And the way the s2 treated it, essentially nothing was accomplished from an honestly incredible thing that Helly managed to pull off.

Milchick. Again, I think people have already talked about this a lot, so I'll keep it short, but. I so greatly wanted to learn more about Milchick this season. I wanted to know his backstory, his motivations, his dreams, anything. He had a bigger part this season, so I was hoping to see some form of character development, whether for the good or bad, I didn't care! Just something changing within him. But despite everything he faced, nothing changed? I guess he told Drummond to eat shit (which again, a weird lack of consequences he faced for that), but then was like "whelp, back to doing what I always do!" I guess I just went into this season wanting to understand Milchick more, and I still don't. He had the same outcome as s1, still essentially a henchmen trying to control innies. Except this time we got to see people be racist towards him. ...cool.

Ricken's storyline. Not much to say here other than Ricken played such an interesting role in s1, with his book inspiring the innies. They started to go somewhere with that but got bored I guess?? Anyway, hope him and Eleanor are doing okay lol.

The board???? So. What happened to the board. Remember when everyone reported to the board? When every vital decision seemed up to the board? When Cobel used to speak to them through Natalie. When, hell, in this very season, Mark plugged in that speaker and that's how he got his friends back!! Why did the board just like, completely disappear by the end of the show? The board wasn't in the back half of the season at all, let alone in the finale!! Supposedly the most important day in Lumon's history, and the board just?? isn't there?? Isn't even mentioned. I have no idea why they dropped this concept. There for awhile it was one of the more fun mysteries of the show, and now it's like it hardly even existed.

The core group is gone: Irv, my beloved, I'm so sorry

Again, this has been talked about a lot already, but just. Man I'm ngl sometimes I now get emotional over s1 clips because look how much those four used to mean to each other!! They were a family!! And now that's all gone and it's like the characters don't even care?

Irv. By far the biggest disappointment in this season for me personally was Irv's story. It's almost hard for me to talk about because it bothered me so much. You had an incredible character, with an amazing actor, and you said "eh. Send him away." And then everyone just went with it?? I thought for sure they were going to raise hell to bring him back; they'd do the work as four or they wouldn't do it at all!! But no, they just...had a weird funeral. And moved on. I really thought what Irv did for Helly was the set up, the first half, of a full circle moment for the two of them. Imagine how emotionally fulfilling their reunion would be?? Imagine how much it would have developed their relationship! It would have been so cool. But no, Irv is just gone, and honestly nearly forgotten in a way that feels almost like an insult to s1 imo.

Dylan also was very much in his own world this season and I can't decide if it's in character? Like yeah him getting to see Gretchen was huge and I get that, but just. Idk, he loved his MDR family too, so much so that he stayed behind for them in s1!! He was always involved, he always wanted to be involved!! But then Milchick, who he hated by the end of last season, says "hey buddy maybe stay quiet" and he just does?? Idk man, felt a little convenient.

And then Mark and Helly were just. Idk man I'm not making this about ships. I liked when they kissed in s1; it felt authentic. But then this season they ramped it up to 100 and I just. Sorry. It felt so fast to me. It felt like they disregarded everything around them for the sake of themselves and that doesn't feel reflective of the characters I knew in s1?

The Lumon (and Cold Harbor) of it all

Other people have talked about this too, but there were some questionable choices in my opinion about Mark's sudden over-importance to Lumon, and also Lumon at large felt less coherent to me this season.

Why does everyone have to be in on the conspiracy? I'm mostly talking about Burt here. Why was he was Lumon cronie? I really thought that Outie Burt and Irv's story would have been an interesting character-based story, about this premise of loving someone but them being with someone else. Maybe a tale as old as time for some, but I think through the lens of two older queer men, and with the innie versus outie dynamic, it could have been a really refreshing story? It didn't need to be about Lumon. Not everything in s1 was directly about Lumon (Mark's relationship with Devon and Ricken, Mark dating Alexa, his attempts to talk to Petey's daughter, etc.). The only spy was Cobel and it made sense given her job within Lumon. But Burt?? Mr. Fine Arts degree Burt?? Was also the hit driver during his off hours?? The Burt/Irv storyline could have gone about a thousand different directions, and that was just... not the one I wanted, frankly. And tbh with how little screen time it got and how abruptly it ended, I seriously wonder how dedicated to the storyline the writers were either.

Cold Harbor's sudden urgency. Failchild's post covers the flaws of Mark as suddenly the most important guy really well, so I won't get to into that exactly, but from the very first mention of Cold Harbor, I had my hackles up. Before, a huge theme of the show was MDR just doing the mysterious work. There were quarters to meet, but no ultimate goal or end point. Then in s2, all of the sudden everything is urgent, everything is superlative. This Has to get Done. It is the Most Important Thing Ever. If it happens, Gemma will Die and Mark/all of MDR will be Fired and will therefore also Die (which the internal logic of that from both a science and business perspective... sighs I won't get into it). Maybe this is a weird take, but I didn't need the Ms. Casey/Gemma story to have urgency; I didn't need her life to be on the line for me to want her out of there!! It just felt so jarring to go from s1 of "they're all doing this weird work that has existed for at least a few years with several different people who came and went from the team" to "all of this is for Mark and Gemma and that is all that matters for the entirety of Lumon, and after today it will all be Complete and Done Forever". Like...what?

Additionally, in s1, Petey's map says "people live down here". There's this fear that people, plural, don't get to have outies. Yet when we finally see Gemma in s2, she's alone in this gigantic hallway maze. There are 25 rooms all for her and her alone! Again, suddenly in s2 She is The One. The rest of the MDR files are?? Fake?? There... aren't multiple people trapped down there?? Lumon's whole success rests on her and Mark's shoulders alone?? IF IT ONLY WORKS WITH MARK AND GEMMA HOW ARE YOU GOING TO TURN IT INTO SOMETHING USEABLE FOR LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE??? Sorry, I got carried away...my point is, in s1 it felt like a different story. It felt like MDR would care because Ms. Casey was one of them and she potentially represented a greater, darker world of permanent innies. But that was completely forgotten in s2.

Another contradicting detail was the marching band. Don't get me wrong, it was fun watching Tillman lead a band, but...why is there a severed marching band? It just doesn't align with the original theme of the severed floor, which was about keeping innies separate and departments small, for doing mysterious and important work. What possible other roles could a marching band have fulfilled on the severed floor?

Possibly my favorite point that failchild brought up was the way s2 dropped the corporate satire theme from the show, when that was originally what made it such a refreshing concept. I think my points in this section all nod to that at their core. The cult-y Kier stuff was fun as undertones in s1, but it taking over has made it harder to understand (or take seriously tbh) Lumon's actual power and goals as a corporation at large.

In conclusion

Okay that was a lot of criticisms! lol whoops. Tbh I think the writers had a huge challenge to accomplish after s1; it's a tough premise that had set at a ridiculously high standard in s1. And I think them getting to do this season at all, after 3 years, was so exciting and fun to watch! I wish things had gone differently, but hey, that's just how watching TV goes sometimes. I'll still stick around for s3--who knows how that'll go! (Please bring Irv back, please make Gemma a main character, please do something new with Milchick).

If there's something I didn't touch on in this that you'd like my opinion on, or want me to elaborate on something I did say, feel free to send me an ask! I genuinely like talking about this show even if it accidentally came off as haterism lol.

[sevinagreatergood]

This is a fanon thing but I think Snape was a friendless child and pretty much focused on his own world and playing make belief. Maybe even play house with himself. What I like as a fanon trait for Snape is that he's a rock collector.

I often describe him as a raven haired boy in my fanfics. Maybe he truly acts like a raven, collecting shiny things. Especially rocks. Instead of bringing it inside home however, he has a place right outside his house to hide it. Since they are "trash" it blends well. So he could find things he loved without angering his dad. One man's trash is another man's treasure.

Maybe, very maybe he was trying to broaden his area of finding treasury. Ending up in the park, hiding in the bushes because to him, the best treasure is hidden. One day however he saw Lily use accidental magic. He got so excited he got up and yelled 'You're a witch?'

Some time pass and Lily found out about his hobby. Instead of humiliating him, she plays along but makes it even more fun. I think that despite Petunia being mean at first about that hobby, she would still like to play along with her sister. Lily made up a game to be pirates of Neverland. Severus wonders what those are.

The girls are shocked to know someone that never heard of Neverland pirates. They bring him over to watch Peter Pan, that the girls begged their parents to buy for them. After they watched it, he didn't like the idea of being the bad guy. Lily wanted a leading role and Petunia didn't like being bossed around by her LITTLE sister (we all have that older sibling pride I guess).

So they settled with, Petunia is Peter Pan, Lily is Captain Hook and Severus is her moral compass of a right hand man. Lily is demanding, which is a big personality but not a wrong one. Severus loves to follow. Petunia is headbutting her sister practically with every battle as Snape sits and watches them, protecting the treasury. Sometimes Petunia gets jealous that Lily has a helper and she doesn't, so Severus tries to appease them by switching sides often.

Lily knew he is scared of getting hurt thus doesn't want him to fight alongside her and protects him. While Petunia doesn't, so Snape prefers Lily but Petunia tries to change a bit to be more nicer to her follower and it works. After every game, he brings the girls home. Parents are puzzled why the kid looks cleaner than the girls with branches in their hair, mud on their closing, grass and sand in their clothing.

For a ship:

A raven and a wolf have a mutually beneficial relationship. I find snupin and snirius a wonderful ship based on this co-dependency natural relationship.

Again, fanon. Not a headcanon or canon at all. Idk what headcanon is, I suppose that means a fanon thing that comes fairly close to canon, right? While fanon is just outright not close to canon at all, right?

Also, Peter Pan was very famous in the 60's. Hence this piece.

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

so like . maybe opening a Google doc for this is a bit much however (future sage after they finished, it was not. it was not a bit much) . consider . who cares

the paragraph analysis (that isn't 2k words) - morally grey, maybe leaning more villain, some vague concepts of like- power? (of the magic kind?), probably was part of a group / company and isn't anymore . also like . getting vague toxic ex vibes from at least two of those songs.

anyway. I've gotten very good at analyzing songs as we all know. and so - a short little analysis based on nothing but the vibes of those songs <3

-> [Bones]

-> giving very morally grey kinda vibes? something about like- “I'll take the long road home that's lined with blood and snow” have they killed people? maybe their past involves some kind of death? the whole thing of innocent but they'll still serve time, maybe they're being blamed for some kind of death? The line about being your own worst enemy - do they blame *themself* for something that happened? do they think they're a bad person and keep going on anyway? Also that first like “can you believe in something that you can't even see? Can you agree we're part of something bigger than you and me?” Very ‘part of a suspicious group” kinda vibes, especially with the other lines about blood and innocence. “The mirror's always showing me a shell of who I used to be” maybe they used to be a better person than what they are now? (Looks at Little Wolf. looks at Little Wolf so hard)

-> vaguely kinda . toxic (or more than just toxic) ex vibes if you look at it in the right lens . like the lines about “you can give and take” and “Crack my bones but my heart won't break” like. yeah

-> [AC/DC]

-> this one is giving me . a time . because okay the main thought is of course like- robot. or some kind of mechanical parts, connected somehow to something like that?

-> if we go robot route, you have the obvious of like- morally grey robot being used by slightly evil group / company to do their dirty work, but in combination with all of the other songs I'm not quite sure that really fits completely?

-> could actually be more *the group / company* talking to starbound!sherb as opposed to starbound!sherb themself, which in context to the other songs I feel might be a bit more likely? honestly this song is the most confusing one to me-

-> [Rats]

-> something about how the group they work for is a little evil and they're all kind of rats and rats aren't considered good or clean or anything (something about having blood on their hands?) “Guess he's only got himself to blame” Something about how they've done bad things but (they believe) it's kinda their fault because they kept doing it without any question

-> and the other thing . toxic ex vibes . just very toxic relationship vibes . something about “love me like the rats in the cupboard” but like they wouldn't be loved because no one *wants* rats in their cupboard. the “watch me me burn and feed the flames” something about a possible partner (or I guess this could be like- okay I have brain worms and they definitely *were* apart of some kind of group so this could be referring to that but . lemme have my fun <3 - and this doesn't feel like the kinda song sherb would pick if thats the case? soooooo /silly) letting them wear themself down and feed the fire of why they're not a good person? “Do you ever get sick of watching me cave in” like ??? okay now . something about getting close to someone and then just . They don't help you and just watch you from afar. mmm. “Pull me apart and spreed me thin” do I need to elaborate . like. same reason as the last one- “told me she was back and here to stay, said she loved me and she wants my money, well I told her not today” very like- maybe controlling past partner maybe? this whole song gives very toxic relationship vibes and I dunno how else you want me to say that- “love me like the rats in the cupboard, not enough to keep a dying flame” something something starbound!sherb finally walking away from this? finally going off and trying to distance themself from this person?

-> half vaguely coherent thought of maybe like- them leaving the possible group they could've been apart of and like- getting into a relationship that isn't healthy in the slightest bc they haven't been able to process and the other side is just toxic? you know? shrug

-> [Sinners]

-> very just . morally grey vibes. not like lyric wise just like Vibe wise you must listen to it to understand I feel. “I must be good for something” so they want to be useful huh? is that a thing they wanna do? hm? /silly “oh Sinners come down, come gather round” something about maybe formerly being in a group - maybe being in some sort of higher up position? who knows, not me, clearly. “Let's go have some fun before they put us in the ground” so there's people after their group or just them perhaps? (with the addition of leave me alone later on the playlist, this is highly likely that *someone* is after them) “lions sit in solemn lines, drinking gin and dropping lines” something about whatever they do being very like- controlling? (could tie back to AC/DC maybe?) like them being on a tight ship perhaps? there's a lot of repeating lyrics in this one so there's not too much for me to look at with my eyes :(

-> [Little Wolf]

-> so this is the outlier of the group it'd seem . and . okay I've been brain worms about this one. because there's like- two ways yoou can see this one. also they're for sure not Athena I hope we can agree on that-

-> so option number one that- I think makes the most sense, is that in the context of this song they'd be antinuous. Kinda of more of that “morally grey, leaning a bit more ‘villain’” kinda vibes they got going? Just very antagonistic and stuff like that? (To who is another question but we probably can't get that just from the playlist)

-> other option is they're telemachus - a younger version of them only hoping to be a good person (perhaps joining a group in hopes they'd be able to help out with space horrors?), being taken under the wing of someone older and willing to protect them. (something about how arguably, under this interpretation, they could very easily be *both* telemachus and antinuous, trying to be good at the beginning and only ending up a worse person despite. Perhaps this is some kind of internal dialog, who knows. it's funky thinking about what's up with them)

-> [Dark Science]

-> This is the part I get the vague power vibes from? it just has that vibes and I can't explain it more than that-

-> actually on second thought it could also just be like- the group they were / could've been a part of? like something about their leader or a recruiter talking to starbound!sherb? and or star!sherb talking to like- a victim, but I lean more to the first option? something about the pre-chorus “Of your cold heart, no spark Restarting your true dark With mismatched animal parts Cannibal starved, natural Death is just the start” Feels very like- trying to convince them that it's gonna be fine and whatever they're going to do to star!sherb will all be fine (maybe they're like- cyborg? or along this song maybe some funky alien things? which could maybe also add to the powers idea that I've slightly squashed) and the chorus telling someone to not be afraid feels very “someone trying to convince someone else this group / these people are good and this is completely normal and ethical :)” also this - “With every draw I paint a picture Perfect murder scene But if these mortuary walls could talk We both know that they’d scream Hindsight is the only judge and jury that I need” feels very like- their story has *something* to do with death of some kind, be that literal or like- something else I'm not sure we can figure out. also the bridge talks about control and being a “cog” and. yeah I think their story perhaps also has something to do with control . I feel like those are the two major vibes I get. (Add the toxic ex idea to that? mmmmmm)

-> [Cavalryman]

-> something about being a soldier something about doing people's dirty work something about being apart of a slightly evil group something something. I don't have big brain worms about this song its just very big vibes honestly. also a lot of stuff about death yet again? like I feel like this could perhaps be a big part of their story… just guessing here though who knows… /silly

-> [Do What I Gotta]

-> morally grey bitch <3 /pos - also, seems like they might be on their own now perhaps? not apart of a group anymore - something like they left it for something better? (being morally grey still <3) anyway. “This city got issues lucky for us though I'm a one man armada” something about them trying to fix everything on their own (points back to that idea in Sinners of “I must be good for something” perhaps?) “I'm a bottle half full cause I got a good feeling that this world will truly start healing long as I do my part and keep a head start” very funky vibes going on here - seems a but more optimistic than the previous songs seemed? maybe they're trying to change their ways (albeit still in a definitely morally grey kinda way) or something like that so they can reverse any harm they could've done? “Imma do what's best if I get knocked down i'll start from the bottom” something about how they're willing to start all over if they get knocked off wherever they are? thyre *willing* to start over and still climb their way back up to the top. and then the . “count your days, I don't care what city you stay, I don't care what path you walk, the fact that you walks enough to get slain” Oh so like they're definitely killing people . so like regardless of what they did before they're probably definitely killing people still- “”we are your friends, we're in your crew, we are like you,” or that what they say” so maybe they're killing the people they used to associate with question mark? “Your choice is easy just pick a side but pick the wrong one and you'll probably die” funky funky funky for sure guys . normal

-> [Leave Me Alone]

-> puts my fingers together . toxic ex makes an appearance perhaps . I dunno something about this song in combination with Rats (and also Bones a little) is giving very toxic ex vibes and also probably like- their past group too but. lemme toxic ex truth here for a little bit please <3 “you took the money but the money couldn't buy a friend” points, there was a reference to money in rats and it was In a very oh this person wants this but I won't give it to them and this also maybe has that kinda vibes. also the whole just . leave me alone idea . toxic maybe kinda controlling vibes from rats and bones - it's not a *long* stretch to assume they might be after star!sherb? “The devil that you is better than the devil that you don't” perhaps like- maybe star!sherb not wanting to hurt whoever after them despite everything (the devil they know being the person after them, and the devil they don't being star!sherb? something about how star!sherb definitely is like . okay with murder-) “go fly a kite until your tangled in the hanging tree” Well that's a way to tell someone to kill themself- okay no for real something about how maybe in this case star!sherb doesn't want to get their hands dirty? and they want someone else, or even the person after them, to do it themself as opposed to otherwise (if we go toxic ex situation, something about still feeling things for them despite everything?)

uhhhhhhhh, I think that's all. word count on all of that is like two thousand words . thought that'd be shorter guess I'm just too much of a loser for that. anyway I have brainworms about starbound!sherb I hope that's clear 🧍‍♂️

[myboybreakscoffins]

Behind the Barriers 

hypnotize  (march 27), @black-brothers-microfic — regulus & sirius black microfic — fluff — word count: 722

They sat cross-legged on the floor of the old greenhouse at the summer villa, facing each other. Sirius was diligently tying a sickle to a piece of string while Regulus watched with a frown.

“You do realize this is totally unfounded, right?” the younger Black asked for what had to be the thousandth time.

“It’s an ancient technique, Reggie. There’s millennia of scientific evidence to back it up,” Sirius replied, not even bothering to look up. He was far more interested in making sure the coin was securely attached to the string than getting dragged into another one of Regulus's tedious debates.

Regulus snorted. “And you read about it in one of your Muggle leisure magazines—” 

“Aha!” Sirius announced triumphantly, ignoring his brother completely. His homemade pendulum was ready.

Regulus sighed as Sirius started swinging the coin between them. “It just doesn’t make sense. You really believe someone can enter a trance with just a coin, a few sentences, and no magic involved? It’s absurd.”

“Come on, Reggie, don’t be a spoilsport,” Sirius coaxed, even though he didn’t have much faith in Muggle hypnosis himself. But if he admitted that out loud, Regulus might refuse to participate, and honestly, they had nothing better to do. “Let’s just do it for fun.”

Regulus huffed. “And why am I the guinea pig?”

“Because, dear Reggie, this is my idea.” And, he thought, whether it works or not, it’ll be hilarious to watch your reaction.

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Alright, let’s get started.”  Sirius took one last glance at the magazine, cleared his throat, and began gently swinging the pendulum as Regulus watched, looking deeply unimpressed.

After a few seconds, Sirius lowered his voice to a slow, deliberate drawl: “You’re hearing the sound of my voice…”

Regulus snorted, barely suppressing a laugh.

“For fuck's sake, Reg! Can you cooperate a little?” Sirius snapped.

“I can’t help it, that sounded ridiculous,” Regulus shot back, smirking. “so serious.” 

Sirius groaned. “Just… stop thinking and follow my instructions.” He swung the coin again, determined to hypnotize his little shit of a brother.

“Look at the coin carefully. Breathe slowly. Let my words wash over you. Everything is calm here. It’s just you and me.”

Sirius watched as his younger brother’s body gradually relaxed, his breathing evening out.

“You are safe. You feel relaxed. Your eyes feel heavy.”

Excitement bubbled in Sirius's stomach as Regulus’s eyelids fluttered. Was it actually working?

“When I count to three, you will drop your barriers. One… two… three.”

Silence.

Sirius studied his brother’s face. Regulus looked… serene. No frown, no skepticism, just barely open eyes as if he were drifting off.

“Introduce yourself,” Sirius instructed cautiously.

“I’m Regulus Arcturus Black,” Regulus replied instantly, his voice clear and steady. “Second son and heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. A Slytherin.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. That was painfully formal, even for Regulus. “Tell me, honestly, what you think of me.”

“Foolish. Irreverent. Outrageous. Arrogant,” Regulus listed with unsettling ease.

Sirius scowled, about to cut him off, when Regulus continued, “Brilliant. Bold. Funny… and I love you.”

Sirius’s mouth fell open. Oh. Oh, this was definitely working. Otherwise, Regulus would never admit that.

“Raise both hands and meow like a cat!”

Regulus did so without hesitation.

Merlin.

Sirius barely held back a cackle. Muggles were geniuses. This was incredible.

Then, a new idea struck him. The Ultimate Test.

"Tell me who your crush is."

"James Potter."

Sirius paled, completely stunned. "What... Who is your crush, Reggie?" he asked again in a small voice.

Regulus remained expressionlessly still. “James Potter.”

Sirius felt like someone had dumped a cauldron of ice water over him. James? His James?!

He scrambled to his feet, clutching the coin like it had personally betrayed him. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. That’s bullshit. It’s broken. You’re lying. This is a scam.”

Regulus didn’t react, still staring blankly ahead.

“Wake up, Regulus!” Sirius barked, voice slightly shrill. “WAKE UP WAKE UP ONE TWO THREE!!” He was so flustered he didn’t even notice the faint twitch at the corner of Regulus’s mouth. “I am NOT dealing with this. Absolutely not.”

Regulus sat there, impassive, as Sirius turned on his heel and stormed toward the door, muttering angrily. “This is bullshit!” 

Then, Regulus blinked, stretched lazily, and smirked.

“Well, I told you so.”

[knavestrolls]

Do you remember your favorite fan troll you’ve ever seen that wasn’t one of yours?

Okay so this is such a loaded question but not in a BAD way. I hope y'all are ready for some dropped names. I'm not going to ping anyone, I don't want to step on toes! LONG ASS POST. I AM NOT KIDDING.

Sid Cada @/lordtonic - I may be yellow colorblind but god damn I love sid. Enough that it makes me angry I know I can't see that damn suit right sometimes. I picked Sid as my favorite one day and my brain stuck to it so hard that while I do legitimately love every other troll there, Sid makes me light up like I've just see a lizard [which with Sid, sometimes those things both happen]

Thread @/sasster My favorite chase troll changes a LOT. Chase has INSANELY GOOD TROLLS AND FUN CHARACTERIZATION. Stryx was actually my first favorite troll of Chase's and how I found the sasster blog BUT. Thread is SO good. She's so fun and oh my god. Snakes,,, [WOMAN. also her one romance with the uhhh commander I think? The white suit with both arms on one side in her sprites.. sleepless brain is killing me rn- but oh my god it's SO fun to see them flirt.]

Mallum @/roetrolls Okay so. I know everyone would think I'd put Remora and they're NOT WRONG I STILL ADORE REMORA. But through the storylines I just fell HARD for Mallum. The redemption? The struggle? I literally can't hear "Main Character" by Wil Wood without imagining a whole animatic of Mallum to it! The only thing that stops me (besides time) from making it is I know I do NOT know enough to make it any form of accurate. [after coming back to proofread: also the fact that Roe is an amazing animator and my brain struggles with the 'well x could just do it'. Not the point brain!]

ALLMAH @/ase-trollplays Listen. Here on the knavestrolls we are villain enjoyers. And we are WOMEN enjoyers. And WE SUPPORT WOMEN'S WRONGS. WE WANT THEM TO DO MORE IN FACT. Allmah my beloved. Free her. She did all of it I just think she should be free to do more. [doubling down. Let Allmah commit new warcrimes. Let her invent them]

Veketi @/windy-trickster Mi mijo has so many good trolls that it's always hard to pick. But Veketi gets a soft spot for me because we made Veketi and Liegia together. Because I made Veketi's sprites and I want to remake them because I think they look god awful now but they still get USED when he's around. They still read like they're fun! Becase Star has an amazing way of making the sprites WORK with what the character is saying too. <33

Melanc @/ask-melanc-vivura I.. don't actually have a long explanation for this one. This is another BPD brain pick that's really silly. I drew her with her boobs mostly out and have just loved her ever since. I am weak to women I can pin up. [PIN UP ART. PIN UP ART.]

Galeia- @/videcoeur This is another one I don't have a good long explanation for just.. pretty fish. I'm love pretty robit fish. Plus, science and REALLY FUCKED UP science,, my beloved [Fun fact i am weak to every single Videcoeur character, OC or otherwise. And the moment she arts? I'm dead. One day I'll be able to afford sprites]

Arceel- @/memurfevur I'm pretty sure I spelt his name wrong and I do not care, he can fist fight me. Not the author, the troll. Papa Arceel! One of my favorite troll to interact with because I can go to that troll with some of the stupidest questions and get a legitimate answer. Sometimes, one I didn't even know I needed [Also I am SO sad upon realizing I don't have the stupid meme image of his head over Beast now.]

Rynthu- @/lashysdomain Again, pretty sure I spelt it wrong but she'll forgive me I think (the troll). Just all around a fun character. Has so many fun plots in so many fun ways/worlds! Her romance with Watch'r is adorable as hell, but I'm not obsessed with the Watch'r side, it's her side I follow. As if it's one of the many romance webtoon I cling to and she's the FL.

PELEXI- @/mageofspacemultiverse DRAGON. WOMAN. WE SUPPORT DRAGON WOMEN'S WRONGS. Especially when they're funny. Plus like listen. Listen. Have they actually dated? No. Have they even gotten past a SINGLE conversation? NO. But that's Esstoc's wife and I don't take excuses

Charon - @/asks-n-trolls If I could romance 1 old troll............also honestly I love a LOT of Dan's trolls. Each one has such a fun personality, cute quirks- and FLAWS!!! I LOVE FLAWS!!

Alacar- @/alacarhelsng I can type freely here, because I *know* that he will never read this so. Alacar is genuinely one of my favorite characters my husband has ever made. He's so genuinely fun to play off of as a character, to build around! His design is SO freaky and silly and fun! I forget his damn scar EVERY TIME! He's getting surprise gift sprites done and I had to go back and rewrite the notes to please include the scar and add more references because I had forgotten AGAIN. He's SO ODY coded but he's also so Achilles coded. He didn't want to fight in this damn war. He wanted to spend his days with his Patroclus (AND HIS PENELOPE). He wanted to laugh and joy! And now look what this journey has turned him into! What losing those people has turned him into! Ugh I could go on forever- and I will, if ever given the chance, because I know that my husband isn't around on here as often and isn't very known but god DAMN I need y'all to appreciate the fun builds he makes. (also Qimzal is my second favorite and depending on what song wins you might get some insight on why)

Chrona- @/8bit-mau5 Okay. So. This one is REALLY hard to narrow to one because I also adore Malice and Opal. Crow's getting it for the STUPIDEST of reasons though. I'm weak to pinstripe. All three characters are a genuine joy to have on my dash any time they appear I am over the moon! I want all three of them worse and better all at once!! Also I would not trust Crow to actually help me in a court of law. Should I? Maybe.

Nereus- @/nethertrolls The design? KILLER. The stories? Absolutely enthralled me. Also, Nereus just reminds me of the Outsider from Dishonored sometimes and I ADORE The Outsider. To the point where I do actually plan on getting his mark tattooed eventually! So just.. Genuine attachment regardless of any story changes I'm dedicated to Nereus

@/goddesstrolls For religious reasons, I can't post her name. Starts with an H. She's Bast's very buff beautiful rust woman. A huntress. A legend. An icon. I ADORE her. It KILLS ME that I can't interact with her because I can't say her name!! Plus I just get nervous because,, womyn,,

 Ailaxi- @/tempi-fantrolls Okay, so this is going to be very shameful of me and we're all just going to ignore it for a moment okay? I struggle to keep up with the dash, even when I had the free time and the mental health but the #1 troll I always managed to catch on my dash was Ailaxi from them. And oh my GOD I ADORE lil grouches! Especially SOFTIE GROUCHES. It has been a while since I've been able to keep up at any level so this is VERY much just vague memory but I see that gray man and I'm like yes. my boy he has returned.

Daiona- @/norts-trolls Nort is another person I struggle to pick favorites with but right now it is STRONGLY Daiona. This I don't have words for in the same way I don't have words for the profound loneliness that sneaks up on me that I can only explain via sending my husband pictures of abandoned, overgrown, half destroyed houses that look like no one's even urban explored them in at least a decade. Daiona fills that same feeling to me, I hope someone makes sense of that.

Voghel- @/happyhappyfantrolls I have said it once, I will say it again, we are VILLAIN LOVERS here at Knavestroll! Voghel was one I locked onto early and have not let go! I try to go keep up with events and comics on this blog when possible because so many characters have fun interactions, deep relationships, and there's familial bonds that get to me...but also I want to see Voghel.

Babble- @/wandering-trolls I NEVER leave behind an EDM girlie. Just look at her. Look at her and tell me you can't love her I'll fist fight you

Mikael - @/mik-mania I just think Mikael is neat. That's it. thats the whole thought

Rhulan- @/morgombie It was love at first sight. If I remember right, I think I even got to draw her once! Not 100% on that thought, please remember I do have memory problems. but anyways! THE DESIGN FUCKS SEVERELY. SO GOD DAMN STRONGLY.

Malara- @/ask-swagger-dagger-trolls I was blessed with getting to know the story behind Malara's design and it stuck with me. Some days I think about doing something similar but honestly, Malara fills that need for me. She's like a silent presence with me sometimes. Filling in where that friend would have. Now, Tam has some amazing other trolls I love for lots of insanely silly reasons but..Malara stuck with me the most, for that reason.

Wicata- @/goldenguillotines So. I have to be honest, GG has a lot of trolls and I love so many of them that with my memory issues some of them bleed together. I did have to go look up her name, but this is a design that sticks with me. When I think of GG, this is the design that comes to mind because to me. I would see her on my dash endlessly and every time I saw her I'd stop scrolling because I had discovered another neat little detail in her sprites, in the art of her, in her design! GG has so many amazing designs and characters so please don't take this as a 'this is all there is' it's just what stuck with my broken brain.

HeeHoo - @/trollbreak JONAH. One of the platonic loves of my life is literally all of Jonah's clowns, and I am the EXTREMELY proud owner of a clown designed by Jonah! (As well as a mimic dragon amongst other designs) But I can firmly say my Jonah-clown obsession started with Heehoo. He's just a little guy! He would never do a murder, it'd dirty his pom poms! Just a lil guy who does a lil dance and stands in your hands and when he leaves and you look down there's rainbow footprints on your palm! Just OUGH Peak Clown for me. Peak clown design for me too. The mustache fucking kills me

Now, this is not NEARLY all of them. I could go on for ages but I've been told by three separate people to go try sleep again because I've hit the 27 hour mark but. Here is a small handfull of favorite trolls and thoughts about them!

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Making Space | Chapter 6

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 17.4k

Requested: No | Yes 

Warnings: Mild language, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, intimate moments, and that heart-wrenching feeling when you're thousands of miles apart but somehow closer than ever

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:

Distance has a way of crystallizing what matters. This chapter explores what happens in the aftermath of New Orleans—when color-coded calendars meet chaotic scheduling, when digital connections replace physical touch, and when the barrier between casual and significant starts to blur.

For Joe, it's the unsettling realization that he can't game-plan falling for someone. When a quarterback who's built his career on preparation and control suddenly finds himself refreshing his messages and calling from parking lots, something fundamental has shifted. The impersonal space he's carefully maintained suddenly feels empty without her chaos to fill it.

For Riley, it's navigating the weight of past relationships while trying not to repeat old patterns. It's about finding the balance between protecting herself and allowing this new connection room to breathe. When she instinctively keeps her birthday private, it's not about secrecy—it's about safeguarding something that feels too important to risk.

I wanted to capture that unique intimacy that grows in absence—how vulnerability sometimes flows easier through phone lines than in person. The way their connection deepens not just through desire, but through those quiet moments of honesty: Joe admitting he misses her, Riley sharing glimpses of her world in Italy, both of them realizing that "different worlds" might be exactly what they each need.

What happens when misunderstandings arise and boundaries are tested? When two people with fundamentally different approaches to life try to understand each other across oceans? This chapter explores these questions as Joe and Riley navigate not just distance, but the growing realization that whatever this is between them has quietly become vital.

The casual connection that began on Fallon's stage is evolving with every text, every call, every confession in the dark. And sometimes, it's the smallest gestures that reveal the most about where things truly stand.

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

I can't wait to hear what you think of this one! 🎵💫 Asks are open lets talk about this one.

Happy reading!

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508

Joe sat at his kitchen island, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow. His body was still warm from his morning workout, his protein shake half-finished beside him. The adrenaline from New Orleans hadn’t quite faded—nine days since Mardi Gras, and he still couldn’t shake the way the city had seeped into his bones. He’d spent those nine days trying to settle back into his routine, but his thoughts kept drifting to emerald walls, jazz clubs, and a parade float where he’d had more fun than he’d had in years.

His schedule for March was brutal—training, sponsor meetings, media obligations, barely a handful of unscheduled days. Every time he looked at it, frustration settled in his chest like a weight. Finding time to see Riley again felt like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces, each glance at his calendar only heightening his sense of disappointment.

He typed out a message. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. Too eager. Too formal. Too... He took a breath and just sent it.

Joe: Hey, this might sound weirdly formal, but what's your email? I want to share my calendar with you so we can figure out when we can see each other next.

That was at 7:42 a.m. By noon, she still hadn't responded. Joe didn't take it personally—Riley was not a morning person, a fact she'd made abundantly clear multiple times. He smiled, remembering how she'd groaned dramatically and buried herself deeper under the covers when he'd suggested a 9 a.m. breakfast during Mardi Gras. If she was that resistant about 9 a.m., a text before 8 stood no chance. But as the hours ticked by, he found himself checking his phone more than he'd like to admit, more than made any logical sense for someone he'd only known a few weeks.

He went through his usual routine—ate his carefully portioned lunch, reviewed game film with mechanical focus, sat through a tedious call with his agent—but his attention kept drifting, thoughts of New Orleans intruding at unexpected moments. The memory of Riley's laugh. The way her house had smelled like vanilla and something earthy. The feeling of her hand in his as they'd wandered the parade route.

It wasn't until well into the afternoon that his screen finally lit up with her name, and he was embarrassed by how quickly he reached for the phone.

Riley: rileycarter@gmail.com... 😂 sorry, just saw this. was very busy doing nothing important while recovering from actually important things I did until 3am

Joe immediately opened his calendar app, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with his earlier workout. He shared his entire schedule, color-coded by commitment type—green for training, blue for media, yellow for sponsor events—with every potentially free slot precisely marked. Without saying anything more, he sent the calendar invitation to her email.

A few minutes later, his phone chimed.

Riley: Your is schedule color-coded and annotated? I'm oddly charmed by this.

Joe smiled, pleased she'd noticed the effort he'd put into organizing everything.

Joe: Thought it would be the most efficient way to find when we can see each other again.

Riley: I guess this means I should send you mine too? Fair warning—it's chaos.

Minutes later, another notification came through. Joe tapped open the photo she'd sent and immediately huffed out a quiet laugh that echoed in his empty kitchen.

Her calendar was absolute madness.

Joe: This is... concerning. How do you ever get anywhere on time?

Events overlapped haphazardly, some had no times attached at all. There were cryptic notes ("G + L thing???" and "Call Pete re: bridges"), entire days blocked off simply as "WRITE", and—most concerning—things like "Existential Crisis Time" and "Don't Talk to Me" randomly scattered throughout like emotional landmines.

Riley: Bold of you to assume I do.

His eyes caught on March 14-22, completely blocked off in red with just the word "ITALY" in all caps.

Joe's thumb hovered over the screen, something tight and uncomfortable forming in his stomach. He set his phone down, staring at the granite countertop of his island.

Joe: You're going to Italy?

The three dots appeared quickly this time.

Riley: Yeah, annual trip with the band and my girls. We go every year. Tiny little vineyard in the middle of nowhere. Best week of the year.

Joe exhaled slowly, setting his phone down on the counter with careful deliberation. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly aware of how quiet his apartment was, how orderly and impersonal compared to the chaotic warmth of Riley's New Orleans home.

He wasn't sure why the disappointment hit so hard. They'd known each other less than a month. This wasn't—shouldn't be—something that occupied so much space in his thoughts.

He'd been hoping to fly her out to Cincinnati soon—maybe even next week—but now? Now, he had to wait.

Joe picked up his phone again, scrolling through April with renewed determination, already looking for their next chance, trying not to examine too closely why waiting another month felt suddenly impossible.

His own reaction troubled him. This wasn't like him—this itchy impatience, this disproportionate disappointment. He was Joe Burrow. He didn't get thrown off balance by a blocked week on a calendar. He adjusted. Recalculated. Moved on.

But as he stared at the screen, at the sea of commitments that would keep them apart for weeks, something tightened in his chest that felt uncomfortably like missing her—which made no logical sense at all.

Joe: We'll figure something out. I'm pretty good at finding openings in tight coverage.

He hit send before he could overthink it, and her response came back almost instantly.

Riley: Was that a football metaphor? God, you're such a dork. I like it.

Another text followed quickly:

Riley: But see all those little white gaps between the chaos? Those are yours if you want them.

Joe read the message twice, something warm blooming in his chest despite the lingering disappointment about Italy.

Joe: I want them.

Joe smiled, the disappointment easing just slightly. If he couldn't see her yet, at least he had this—these messages that somehow made his house feel less quiet, that made him smile at his phone while standing in his kitchen.

A few days later, Joe was at a high-end training facility, mid-workout, while a camera crew documented everything for his latest sponsorship deal. It was one of those "authentic but staged" shoots—him running drills, lifting weights, and wiping sweat off his face between takes, all while wearing the latest performance gear they were paying him to promote.

Mark Caldwell stood near the squat rack, scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing up to make sure Joe wasn't scowling too hard at the cameras.

When they called for a break, Joe grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face. Mark took that as his cue.

"So," Mark said, leaning against the wall. "How was New Orleans?"

Joe took a long sip of water. "Good."

Mark gave him a flat look. "That's all I get?"

Joe shrugged, clearly not in the mood for a debrief. "What else do you want?"

Mark sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't know. Maybe some insight into why you suddenly decided Mardi Gras was the perfect time for a 'quick getaway.'"

Joe didn't answer. He just kept drinking his water.

Mark sighed. "You seeing her again?"

Joe shot him a look, then answered without hesitation. "Yup."

Mark huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Just… be smart."

Joe didn't respond. Mostly because he didn't have an answer yet.

Except he did.

Because later that afternoon, he was still thinking about her.

Joe was sprawled out on his couch, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram when he saw it. Riley’s latest post. A mirror selfie from yoga. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, damp strands clinging to her neck. 

Her skin was still flushed from exertion, lips slightly parted, leggings hugging every curve in a way that made his breath catch. The thin fabric of her sports bra clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination—and his imagination was already working overtime.

The caption?

Back at it. Barely.

Joe wasn’t reading. His thumb hovered over the screen, eyes dragging over the curve of her waist, the strength in her shoulders, the hint of collarbone visible above the neckline of her top. He exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly on the couch before switching apps.

Joe: Yoga, huh? A few minutes passed before she answered. 

Riley: You like what you see, Burrow?

Joe smirked, tongue running along the inside of his cheek. He hesitated, then typed:

Joe: Send me a picture.

Riley: You just saw one.

Joe: Yeah, but that one was for Instagram. Not for me.

A pause. Three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared. 

Riley: Demanding, aren’t you?

A moment later, another picture came through.

This one was different.

A mirror selfie taken in what looked like her bathroom, the vanity lights casting a soft glow around her. Her hair was wet and slicked back, water droplets still visible on her skin. She wore a leopard-print bra and matching underwear, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. The set sat low on her hips, revealing the toned plane of her stomach, her legs slightly parted as she leaned into the mirror.

Her posture was confident—one hip cocked slightly, her fingers just barely hooked into the waistband of her underwear. No teasing smile this time, just pure, deliberate intent in her gaze, like she knew exactly what effect this would have on him.

Joe exhaled sharply, gripping his phone a little tighter. His free hand ran over his jaw, a slow drag as he tried to temper the heat creeping through his body. He saved the image to his camera roll without hesitation, his thumb brushing across the screen as if he could somehow touch her through it.

Joe: That's more like it.

Riley: Your turn. Make it good.

Joe huffed a quiet laugh and lifted his phone, angling the camera downward. He didn't overthink it—just snapped the picture, raw and unfiltered.

One arm still behind his head, his body relaxed, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The frame captured just enough—the defined muscles of his chest and abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones disappearing beneath the waistband. His expression was calm, effortless, but there was an undeniable confidence in his eyes—self-assured, knowing exactly what he was doing.

He hit send.

Riley's response was immediate.

Riley: Fuck.

A pause.

Riley: Not that I forgot, but damn.

Joe grinned, rolling onto his side, phone still in hand.

Joe: We could always FaceTime.

The response came almost instantly.

Riley: Call me.

Joe tapped the FaceTime button without hesitation. The quiet of his apartment seemed to amplify as he waited for her to answer, his focus sharpening in a way that normally only happened on the field.

Three rings in, the screen lit up with Riley's face. She was in her bathroom, still wearing that leopard print set, hair wet from the shower and slicked back from her face. She'd propped her phone against something, both hands now free as she rubbed moisturizer into her neck.

"Well, hello there, stranger," she said, her voice a touch deeper than usual, eyes meeting his through the screen with a look that made the distance between Cincinnati and LA feel suddenly, painfully vast.

His gaze caught briefly on her wrist, where the faded purple and gold of his LSU bracelet stood out against her skin. The sight of it there, after he'd given it to her in New Orleans, sent an unexpected surge of warmth through his chest.

"Hey." Joe's voice was steady, deliberate. He adjusted his position on the couch, angling the phone with precision so the light from the window caught him better.

"I'm glad you took me up on the FaceTime offer," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.

Riley raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "How could I refuse after that picture?"

"Fair point," Joe replied, his eyes tracking her movements with unmasked interest as she continued her post-shower routine.

"You're staring," she noted, not looking away from the mirror as she applied something to her face.

"I am," he confirmed, not bothering to hide his appreciation. "Can you blame me?"

Riley smirked, finally turning her full attention back to him. "No, I guess I can't."

Joe exhaled a quiet laugh, shifting again on the couch, his fingers tightening subtly around his phone. She was doing this on purpose—moving slow, dragging her hands over her skin in a way that was casual but not really casual.

"So, what exactly were you thinking when you suggested this call?" she asked, voice teasing.

Joe arched a brow, letting the silence linger just a beat longer than necessary. "I wanted to see you," he said, his voice low and direct. "Not just talk. Actually see you."

The candid admission hung between them, more intimate somehow than the pictures they'd exchanged earlier. Riley's movements slowed, her eyes meeting his through the screen with new intensity.

"Well," she replied, setting down her moisturizer. She leaned closer to the camera, giving him a deliberate view down the front of her leopard print bra, her eyes never leaving his. "Here I am."

The move was quintessentially Riley—playful and bold, with an authenticity that made it seductive rather than performative.

"Here you are," Joe agreed, making no effort to hide the appreciation in his gaze. "And it's better than the picture."

Riley smiled, a flush spreading across her skin that had nothing to do with the hot shower she'd just taken. "You're surprisingly good at this, you know."

"At what?" Joe asked, though his half-smile suggested he knew exactly what she meant.

"At saying exactly what you're thinking instead of dancing around it," Riley explained. "I like it."

"I don't see the point in pretending I don't want you," Joe said simply. "Even when you're two thousand miles away."

Riley smiled, satisfied with his reaction. "So what now? We just stare at each other through our phones like idiots?"

Joe ran a hand through his hair, considering her for a moment. The usual rules didn't apply here. "Or," he said decisively, voice dropping slightly, "we could make this a little more interesting."

Riley's grin turned wicked. "I love interesting." She glanced around her bathroom and laughed softly. "But I should probably get somewhere more comfortable first."

"Good idea," Joe agreed, already settled on his couch.

The camera jostled as Riley moved through her apartment, giving Joe glimpses of colorful artwork, plants, and eclectic furniture. "Don't go anywhere," she instructed, her voice playful but with an undercurrent of desire.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Joe replied, watching as she finally settled on her bed, propping the phone against something to free her hands.

Riley settled on her bed, propping the phone against something to free her hands. She looked at him through the screen, a question in her eyes that was both hesitant and daring.

Joe felt the distance between them like a physical ache. "Take it off," he said, his voice low but certain.

The simple command hung between them. For a moment, Riley just looked at him, a slow smile spreading across her face—not teasing now, but pleased by his directness.

The leopard print bra fell away, revealing her completely to him for the first time since New Orleans. Joe's breath hitched, his eyes darkening as they moved over her.

"God, I hate how far away you are right now," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I wish I could touch you."

Riley smiled, a languid curve of her lips. "Tell me how," she whispered. "Tell me what you'd do if you were here."

Joe held her gaze, his voice dropping lower. "I'd start with my hands on your hips," he said, his tone changing to something more commanding yet intimate. "Then slowly up your sides, feeling every inch of you."

Riley's breathing quickened, her hands moving to trace the path he described.

"I'd take my time at your neck," Joe continued, watching as her fingers traveled up her own body. "Right at that spot behind your ear that made you gasp in New Orleans."

Riley's eyes fluttered as her fingers found the spot, a soft "Oh" escaping her lips.

"Then down to your collarbone," he guided, his own breathing growing heavier as he watched her follow his instructions. "Across your shoulders... then back down."

"Like this?" she asked, her fingertips tracing the path he described, her voice already breathier than before.

"Exactly like that," Joe confirmed, his jaw tightening as he watched. "Now lower... where I know you want to be touched."

Riley's hand slid down her stomach, hesitating just above the waistband of her underwear. The anticipation hung between them, electric and tangible even through screens.

"Don't stop," Joe said, his voice a mixture of command and plea. "I want to see you feel good."

Her hand slipped beneath the leopard print, her eyes fluttering closed briefly with a soft, shaky gasp. "Joe," she murmured, voice thick. "God, I wish you were here."

"I am," he insisted, his own control visibly slipping. "Right here with you. Keep going."

They moved together in perfect synchronicity, Joe's low voice guiding her with increasing urgency, Riley responding to every word as if his voice itself could touch her. Their connection transcended the physical distance, creating an intimacy neither had expected to feel through a screen.

"You're close," Joe observed, his voice strained but certain. "I can tell by your breathing."

"Yes," Riley managed, her movements growing more desperate. "Joe, I'm—"

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice authoritative despite his own building tension. "I want to see your eyes when you come."

Riley's gaze locked with his on the screen, vulnerability and desire mixing in her expression as she reached the edge. "Joe," she gasped, her body arching off the bed, his name falling from her lips in a broken cry.

Joe followed moments later, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his eyes open, determined to maintain that connection as pleasure overtook him.

For several long moments afterward, they simply breathed together, the silence comfortable rather than awkward. Something vulnerable hung in the air between them—a level of intimacy neither had expected to feel through a screen.

For several long moments afterward, they simply breathed together, the silence comfortable rather than awkward. Something vulnerable hung in the air between them—a level of intimacy neither had expected to feel through a screen.

Joe let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat, a rare hint of self-consciousness creeping in. “I should probably clean up. Can I call you back?”

“Don’t hang up,” Riley said immediately, her voice soft but insistent. “Take me with you.”

Joe hesitated, but the look in her eyes made the decision for him. He gave her a small, almost shy smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You want to watch me clean up?”

Riley rolled her eyes, but there was nothing teasing in her expression—just a quiet openness that made his chest tighten. “I just don’t want to lose you yet,” she admitted.

His face softened, and he picked up the phone, shifting from the couch and carrying it with him. “Okay,” he said simply.

The camera jostled as Joe carried her through his house—a glimpse of his space flashing past the screen. It was modern and understated, full of clean lines and muted colors. The kitchen was sleek and functional—stainless steel appliances, quartz countertops, and not a single item out of place. A set of pristine looking barstools sat at the island, and the only hint of personality was a Bengals helmet perched on a shelf, looking more like an art piece than a part of his life.

When he reached the bathroom, it was more of the same—gray tile floors, spotless glass shower, and everything organized neatly on the counter. A perfectly folded hand towel hung on the rack, and the mirror reflected the bright, clinical lighting overhead.

Riley couldn’t help but laugh softly as he set the phone on the counter. “Your place is… exactly what I pictured.”

Joe caught her eyes in the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “That a good thing?”

“It’s just… so modern,” she said, glancing around. “Like an upscale hotel suite. Kind of the opposite of my place.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “It works for me. Keeps me focused.”

Riley smiled, tilting her head as she watched him. “And yet, it still doesn’t quite feel like you.”

Joe glanced over at her through the mirror, his eyes narrowing just a bit in thought. “No?”

She shrugged, offering a small smile. “I guess I just thought it would be… warmer. You know, like you.”

Joe didn’t respond right away, just wiped himself down and considered her words. It wasn’t that she was wrong—the place didn’t feel like him. It felt like the kind of place he was supposed to have. Efficient. Neat. Nothing unnecessary.

He set the washcloth aside, his jaw working as he processed that thought. “I guess I’m used to keeping things practical,” he admitted.

Riley’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to, you know. Be practical all the time.”

Joe gave her a small, almost wry smile. “Kinda built my whole career on that.”

Her laughter was light, but understanding. “Yeah, well… sometimes practicality and happiness don’t exactly go hand in hand.”

He couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his lips. “Maybe you’re right.”

Joe wiped the remaining moisture from his hands, and hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say the next part out loud. “Sometimes I don’t know if I chose it or if it chose me,” he admitted quietly, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

Riley tilted her head, catching the hint of vulnerability in his voice. “The discipline, you mean?”

Joe nodded, looking down briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Everything in my life has been about control. Making the right choices. Staying disciplined. It’s how I got here.”

“And now?” Riley asked, voice softer.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Now I’m standing in my bathroom, talking to a woman I barely know, feeling more… seen than I have in years.”

The confession hung between them, raw and honest in a way that made Riley’s breath catch. She hadn’t expected this—not just the intimacy of their bodies, but this glimpse into the carefully guarded interior of Joe Burrow.

He picked up the phone, heading back to the living room, where the muted tones and minimalist décor stretched into the open-concept space. As he settled back on the couch, he gave her a quick once-over through the screen, clearly appreciating how she was still casually sprawled on her bed, unapologetically comfortable in her own skin.

“Alright,” he said, tone deliberately lighter, determined to shake off the weird vulnerability that had settled between them. “What’s tomorrow look like for Riley Carter?”

Riley shifted against her pillows, still completely nude and utterly comfortable with it. “Nothing as put-together as yours. Studio time at two. Probably sleep until ten, maybe do some yoga, and try to figure out this bridge that’s been giving me hell.”

She absently ran her thumb over his bracelet on her wrist. “Though honestly, I should probably start thinking about packing for Italy. The band and my girls always tease me for throwing everything together the night before.”

Joe watched her fiddle with the bracelet, and something settled in his chest at the sight of it still on her wrist. “You looking forward to it?”

Riley gave a small, almost wistful smile. “Yeah. It’s good to get away with my people. Just… be somewhere else for a while, you know?”

Joe caught the subtle shift in her tone—like maybe it wasn’t just about the trip, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just nodded. “Sounds like a good tradition.”

“What about you?” Riley asked, shifting to prop herself up a little more. “Any off-season traditions?”

Joe leaned back against the couch, his voice easy. "During the off-season? I usually head back to Athens to catch up with old friends. We'll plan beach trips or just spend days on the golf course. When I'm home, my dad and I try to catch Cavs games whenever we can."

Riley smiled, her eyes warming. "I can picture that so clearly. So what happens when you're out golfing with your friends? I bet you try to keep it casual at first, but the second someone makes a comment about your swing or how you sliced the ball..."

Joe huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, pretty much. They know how to get under my skin, and I can’t just let it go.”

“Of course not,” Riley teased. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t make it a competition.”

He gave her a look, his mouth curving up. “I’m not that bad.”

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

There was a comfortable pause before Riley spoke again. “So, what’s tomorrow look like for you?”

Joe shook his head, clearly amused. “Probably up around seven—hit the gym, maybe get in a run. Catch up on some film, and then grab dinner with a couple of the guys if they’re free.”

She made a face. “See, that actually sounds like a pretty solid off-season day. No 5 a.m. alarms.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I don’t go that hard in the off-season. Doesn’t mean I’m sleeping till noon, though.”

Riley scoffed. “Can’t relate. My body doesn’t even acknowledge mornings.”

Joe grinned, his expression softening. “I kind of figured that out already.”

Three days after the FaceTime call with Riley, Joe was sprawled on his friend Sam's couch, one leg propped on the coffee table as he nursed a beer and watched the Cavs game. Sam's apartment had become their default gathering spot on rare free evenings—convenient location, decent TV setup, and most importantly, a host who didn't care if they demolished his fridge contents.

Micah, Joe's friend since high school, was mid-debate with Sam about a questionable call when Joe's phone buzzed. He glanced down, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly when he saw Riley's name.

Riley: Just got out of the shower and thinking about our last FaceTime... wondering if you're busy right now? Might have something to show you that can't wait until Italy 😏

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating a response, but the sharp flicker of heat low in his stomach made the decision for him. He shifted against the couch, angling his phone away from prying eyes.

Joe: With friends watching the game

Riley: Even better. They can watch too. Kidding. Rain check?

"I hit you up last week to play a round and you said you were out of town. I thought you just got back from New York. Where did you go?" Micah asked, tossing a balled-up napkin at Joe's head.

Joe caught it reflexively. Didn't answer right away.

"New Orleans."

"Holy shit," Sam laughed. "I thought that was just a rumor. You actually went?"

Joe took a sip of his beer. Nodded once.

Micah watched him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why?"

"Mardi Gras."

"You went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras?" The disbelief in Sam's voice was palpable.

"Yup."

The silence that followed was pointed. Joe could feel both of them waiting for him to fill in the gaps.

"Alright, I'll bite," Sam said, muting the TV during a commercial. "Who is she?"

Joe shot him a look. "Who says there's a she?"

"Your face," Micah chimed in. "Every time your phone buzzes, you get this look. It's subtle, but it's there."

Joe's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He wasn't used to being read so easily, especially not by his friends. That was new.

"It's just someone I met recently," he finally said, keeping his tone neutral, matter-of-fact, though the tension in his shoulders told a different story.

"Riley Carter," he added after a beat, deciding to get it over with.

The reaction was immediate. Sam nearly choked on his beer, and Micah's eyes widened comically.

"The singer?" Sam managed after recovering. "The one with that song that was everywhere last summer?"

Joe nodded, suddenly finding the label on his beer bottle intensely interesting.

"Damn," Micah said, leaning back against the couch. "That's... unexpected."

"When I did Fallon last month," Joe explained before they could ask, his usual economy with words even more pronounced. "We were both on the show."

Micah studied him for a moment. "And you're what, texting? Dating? Just friends?"

Joe took another drink before answering. "We're figuring it out." The same words he'd said to Riley during that quiet moment in New Orleans.

"Is it serious?" Sam asked carefully, knowing Joe well enough to recognize when he was approaching a boundary.

Joe stared at the TV. Didn't answer right away. Three weeks ago, he would have dismissed it immediately. But now? After New Orleans? After late-night calls and FaceTime sessions that left him feeling more himself than he had in years?

"Could be," he admitted quietly, surprising himself with his own answer.

Sam and Micah exchanged a look—this one containing a mix of surprise and something like concern.

"Just be careful, man," Micah said eventually. "Someone like that... lives in a different world."

Joe's expression cooled. "You don't know her."

Micah held up his hands. "You're right, I don't. Just saying... rock stars and quarterbacks? Different playbooks."

Joe's phone buzzed again. He resisted the urge to check it immediately, which didn't go unnoticed by his friends.

"Go ahead," Sam said, gesturing to the phone. "We know you want to."

Joe picked up the phone, his face remaining neutral despite the photo that had just come through—Riley in bed, sheet barely covering what needed to be covered, hair wild around her face, looking at the camera with an expression that made his throat go dry.

His pulse jumped. The shift in his breathing was immediate, involuntary.

Riley: Preview of what you're missing. I'll leave you to your game now.

Joe dragged his thumb over the screen—not responding. Just looking.

He set his phone down. Exhaled through his nose. Willed his face to stay neutral.

"Dude," Micah observed, smirking.

Joe ignored him, reaching for his beer. "We watching this game or what?"

Sam, recognizing Joe's shift into privacy mode, unmuted the TV. "All I'm saying is, if you start showing up in TMZ photos, I'm going to need some warning."

Joe huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not my style."

"Seems like it's hers though," Micah commented, eyes still on the game.

Joe didn't take the bait, his silence speaking volumes. The implication that Riley was somehow just another attention-seeking celebrity rubbed him the wrong way. The Riley he knew—the one who cooked with him in her kitchen, who showed him her neighborhood haunts, who talked music theory with the same intensity he discussed defensive schemes—was nothing like the image they had of her.

The Cavs pulled ahead in the fourth quarter, securing what had been an uncertain win. As the final buzzer sounded, Micah stretched, checking his watch.

"I should head out. Early client tomorrow," he said, standing.

Joe nodded, using it as his own excuse to leave. He'd enjoyed the game, but the undercurrent of curiosity from his friends was starting to grate on him. They meant well, but they didn't understand. How could they? He barely understood it himself.

Later, as he was leaving, Sam caught him at the door. "Hey, I know we gave you shit? It's cool you're getting back out there."

Joe paused, then nodded once. "Yeah. It is."

"And hey," Sam added, "if she makes you check your phone every five minutes and fly to New Orleans on a whim, she must be something special."

Joe didn't respond, but something in his expression made Sam smile.

The moment Joe shut his car door, he felt a weight lift. An urge he couldn't quite explain—wouldn't have acted on three weeks ago—pushed through his usual calculated restraint. He sat with his key in the ignition, not yet starting the car, and pulled out his phone.

It was only 10:17 PM. Not too late to call.

In the past, he'd have waited until he was home, analyzed whether calling was the right move, perhaps even slept on the decision. But the image of Riley waiting for his response, perhaps wondering if he'd been put off by her forwardness, created an unusual sense of urgency.

When she answered on the second ring, the low warmth of her voice felt like a physical relief.

"Well hello there, quarterback," Riley said, the smile evident in her tone. "Miss me already?"

"Yeah," Joe admitted, the honesty surprising even himself. "Wanted to hear your voice."

There was a brief pause, his directness clearly catching her off guard. "That's... unexpectedly sweet. Everything okay?"

"Fine," Joe said, finally starting the car. "Just thinking about you."

"Your friends give you a hard time about New Orleans?"

"Some. Nothing I can't handle."

"Let me guess," Riley said, her voice taking on a knowing quality. "They warned you that I'm trouble? Different world? Too much drama?"

Joe let out a short laugh. "Something like that."

"And what did you say?" There was a hint of genuine curiosity beneath her light tone.

"That they don't know you," Joe replied simply.

Another pause. "That's a good answer, Burrow."

"It's the truth."

The conversation shifted then, flowing naturally between them as he drove through Cincinnati's quiet streets. By the time Joe pulled into his driveway, they'd covered everything from her latest recording session to his training schedule for the week, neither noticing how much time had passed.

"I'm home," Joe said reluctantly. "Should probably head in."

"Before you go," Riley said, her voice dropping slightly, "did you like your preview earlier?"

Joe closed his eyes briefly, the image from her text flashing in his mind again. "You know I did."

"Good," she murmured. "Maybe next time we FaceTime, you'll get the full show."

"Is that a promise?" Joe asked, his voice lower now.

"That depends," Riley said, the smile back in her voice. "How badly do you want it?"

"Enough that I called you from a parking lot," Joe admitted, allowing a rare glimpse of vulnerability.

Riley's laugh was warm and genuine. "Goodnight, Joe."

"Goodnight, Riley."

As he ended the call and headed inside, Joe recognized with unusual clarity what was happening. For the first time in his life, his carefully structured world was shifting to make room for something—someone—who operated by completely different rules. And instead of fighting to maintain control, he found himself leaning into the change.

Different worlds, definitely. But as he walked toward his front door, Joe realized with absolute certainty—he'd rather have Riley bringing chaos to his ordered life than return to the perfect, predictable emptiness he'd inhabited before she arrived.

Over the next week, his routine stayed pretty much the same - workouts, meetings, sponsor obligations - but his world felt different. There was a new current running through it: Riley. Their daily texts and nightly calls had become the highlight of his day, the thing he found himself looking forward to most.

The night before her Italy trip, they talked longer than usual, neither willing to be the first to hang up.

"So I've gotta survive nine whole days without one of these calls?" Joe asked, stretching out on his couch.

"I'll still have my phone," Riley laughed. "Italy has cell service, you know. I'll be reachable."

"Good," Joe said. "Looking forward to hearing all about it."

"God, I can't wait to see Bob and Gina," Riley said, excitement clear in her voice. "Bob called yesterday to make sure I still like the same breakfast. They haven't changed my room in three years."

"Bob and Gina?" Joe asked. "The vineyard owners?"

"Yeah, Roberto and Gina Rossi, but everyone calls him Bob. They own this small vineyard in the middle of nowhere, not one of those commercial operations with tour buses. It's this hidden gem in the hills."

"How'd you end up staying at a vineyard?" Joe asked, genuinely curious. "I'd have guessed fancy hotels were more the rock star way."

Riley laughed. "We stumbled on their place completely by accident during a wine tasting tour a few years ago. We were already a bit tipsy from the previous vineyards when we found the Rossi estate."

"And they just let random Americans crash at their place?"

That's the thing about Bob and Gina - they don't believe in strangers, only friends they haven't met yet. Within twenty minutes of meeting us, Gina was feeding us these amazing little appetizers, and Bob was pulling out bottles he said he 'only shares with family.'" Riley's voice warmed with the memory. "Then this massive rainstorm hit, roads were flooded, and Gina refused to let us leave. Said it wasn't safe. What started as a simple dinner turned into an overnight stay."

"And now it's an annual thing?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, we've gone back every year since. They block off the same week for us. It's... it's special. One of those rare places where time seems to slow down."

Joe could hear the genuine affection in her voice. "What do you all do there for a whole week?"

Riley hesitated, just briefly enough that Joe almost missed it. "Oh, you know... Bob shows us around the vineyard, explains the wine-making process. We cook with Gina. There's a little village nearby we explore. Just... relaxing stuff."

Something about her answer felt slightly evasive, but Joe let it go. "Sounds nice. Different from your usual pace."

"That's exactly why we love it," Riley said. "No pressure, no schedules, no expectations. Just good food, good wine, good people. It's become this... I don't know, this tradition that grounds us somehow."

Joe nodded, though she couldn't see him. There was something in her tone when she said "tradition" that caught his attention - a softness, a significance he couldn't quite place. "You guys must have a lot of traditions by now, being together so long as a band."

"Some," Riley agreed. "The vineyard trip is probably our favorite though. It's... it's important to us."

The slight hesitation again. Joe found himself wondering what made this particular tradition so special, but didn't press. Everyone was entitled to their privacy, and they were still learning each other's boundaries.

"Take pictures," he said instead. "I want to see this magical vineyard."

"Only if you send daily workout selfies," Riley countered. "Gotta keep track of those gains."

Joe laughed, surprised by how easily she could make him do that now. "Deal."

They talked for another hour, neither wanting to end the call, conversation flowing easily between teasing banter and comfortable silences. Eventually, Joe glanced at the time and sighed.

“You know you’re never gonna get packed if you keep talking to me,” he pointed out, voice soft.

Riley huffed a quiet laugh. “Maybe I’m stalling. Can you blame me?”

He smiled at that, his chest warming. “Nah,” he said, his tone just as reluctant. “Can’t say I mind.”

She hesitated, and he could almost hear her shifting against the pillows. “I guess I should get moving, though,” she said, not sounding convinced.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed, but neither of them made a move to actually hang up.

When they finally did, much later than planned, Joe stayed there for a moment—phone still in his hand, staring at the dark screen. An uneasy feeling settled over him—something uncomfortably close to longing. Nine days suddenly felt like an eternity.

He’d gone months without talking to women he’d dated before without a second thought. Yet the idea of not hearing Riley’s voice for even a few days left him feeling oddly untethered.

It didn’t make sense—this quiet anxiety, this persistent preoccupation. The Joe Burrow everyone knew was independent, self-contained. He didn’t get attached this quickly. He didn’t rearrange his schedule for anyone. He certainly didn’t find himself checking his phone multiple times an hour, hoping for a text.

But that Joe Burrow hadn’t known Riley Carter.

Meanwhile, at her house in Los Angeles, Riley was surrounded by chaos - clothes thrown all over her bed, shoes scattered across the floor, and her suitcase basically empty. Classic Riley packing strategy.

Laura lounged on the window seat, scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing up at the disaster zone with fond amusement.

"You know we're leaving tomorrow, right?" she said, not actually concerned.

Riley shrugged, tossing another shirt toward her suitcase without really looking. "I'll throw everything in before we go. It's not like we need anything special - it's just Bob and Gina's."

"True," Laura agreed. "Just wandering the vineyard and drinking wine all day."

"Exactly. Perfect vacation." Riley held up two sundresses. "Though I should probably bring something semi-decent for dinner."

"The blue one," Laura said automatically. "You always look good in that one."

Riley eyed the blue dress, not admitting that when she'd considered it earlier, she'd caught herself wondering what Joe might think of it – which was ridiculous, since he wouldn't even see it.

Laura's attention shifted from her phone, something mischievous in her expression. "So... did you tell Joe about your birthday happening while we're there?"

Riley busied herself with shoving clothes haphazardly into her suitcase. "Nope."

"Any reason?" Laura asked, genuinely curious rather than judgmental.

Riley paused, absently running her fingers over Joe's LSU bracelet on her wrist. "It just feels weird to bring it up now, you know? Like, 'Oh by the way, it's my birthday while I'm gone.' What's he supposed to do with that information?"

"Say happy birthday?" Laura suggested with a small laugh.

Riley shot her a look. "You know what I mean. It creates this weird expectation. Either he feels obligated to do something, or he doesn't do anything and then it seems like he doesn't care."

"Or maybe you're overthinking the whole thing," Laura pointed out gently.

They both knew she was thinking about Ethan and last year's birthday debacle - the extravagant surprise party he'd thrown, complete with press and expensive jewelry. Two weeks later, he was gone, making the whole thing feel like a performance rather than something genuine.

"Joe isn't Ethan," Laura said, reading her thoughts.

"I know that," Riley replied quickly. "It's not about Joe. It's just... simpler this way."

Laura nodded, understanding. "Well, it's your call. Not like we won't have plenty to celebrate anyway. Haley's already talking about doing karaoke at Bob and Gina's again."

Riley's eyes lit up. "God, after last year? Bob still sends me videos of Andy trying to hit those high notes in 'Bohemian Rhapsody.'"

"Pretty sure Gina threatened to hide the microphone if he tries that song again," Laura laughed. "Though she did say we're always welcome back."

Riley's phone buzzed on the nightstand. She tried to be subtle checking it, but Laura didn't miss how her expression instantly softened.

"That him again?" Laura asked, a smile playing at her lips.

Riley rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide her smile. "Maybe."

"You're so transparent," Laura teased, but her tone was warm rather than mocking. "It's actually kind of nice to see."

"Oh, shut up," Riley said without heat, tossing a balled-up t-shirt in Laura's direction.

As they continued the chaotic packing process - or rather, as Riley continued to avoid serious packing while Laura provided running commentary - Riley found herself thinking about what Joe's friend had apparently said. Different worlds. Maybe that was true. But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if different worlds sometimes needed exactly what the other had to offer.

Twenty hours, one delayed connection at Fiumicino Airport, and a questionable car rental later, they were finally approaching their destination. The rental van lurched up the steep gravel driveway, Pete at the wheel, cursing in colorful Italian phrases he'd picked up during their previous visits.

"Every year," he muttered, wrestling with the gearshift. "Every damn year I forget how to drive this mountain."

In the back seat, Riley leaned her head against the window, watching as rows of grapevines gave way to olive trees, then finally the weathered stone villa at Roberto and Gina’s vineyard in Ripatransone. No matter how many times they returned, the view never failed to take her breath away—the hills rolling into the distance, cypress trees standing sentinel, the late afternoon sun painting everything in amber and gold.

“Home sweet Italian home,” Laura sighed, stretching as the van finally came to a stop. “I swear this place gets more gorgeous every time.”

The front door of the house swung open before they could even climb out of the van, and a woman in her late fifties with silver-streaked dark hair and the kind of deep tan that spoke of days spent in vineyards came rushing toward them, arms wide.

“My children! You’ve arrived!” Gina Rossi enveloped Riley in a crushing hug the moment her feet touched the gravel. “Too thin, all of you. Always too thin. But we fix that, yes?”

Riley laughed, returning the embrace with genuine affection. “We’ve missed you, Gina.”

“And we’ve missed our favorite Americans,” Gina’s husband, Roberto, appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “The kitchen has been too quiet without you.”

As the others filtered in, Riley stepped onto the familiar terrace and took a deep breath of the herb-scented air. This place had been their sanctuary for years—a break from tours, recording sessions, and the constant demands of their growing fame.

Gina wrapped an arm around Riley’s shoulders, guiding her inside. “Come, come. You look tired from the journey. Roberto has made bistecca, and I have that almond cake you love.”

Riley smiled, letting herself be led through the cool stone entryway. The vineyard house was a perfect blend of rustic charm and understated luxury—terracotta floors, exposed wooden beams, and windows that framed the landscape like living paintings.

“So,” Gina said once they reached the kitchen, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Laura tells me there is a new man, yes? Someone important?”

Riley shot Laura a look, but her friend just shrugged innocently from the doorway.

“What? She asked how everyone was doing. I was just catching her up.”

Riley rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile on her lips. “He’s not—” She hesitated, correcting herself. “It’s new. Really new.”

Gina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Ah, but he is special, yes? I can see it on your face.”

Riley felt her cheeks warm but didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

“Good,” Gina said, giving her an approving pat on the cheek. “Love is good, even when it’s unexpected.”

Laura slipped into the kitchen, already rummaging through the cabinets. “You better brace yourself, Ri. Gina’s going to ask you every question under the sun.”

Riley shot her a dry look. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

Gina just smiled knowingly and handed Riley a glass of wine. “We will talk more later. For now, you drink. You’re on vacation.”

"It's... still new," Riley admitted, unable to keep the smile from her face.

"But not just anyone," Gina observed, studying Riley's expression with the shrewd perception of someone who had seen decades of love stories unfold under her roof. "This one matters."

It wasn't a question, but Riley nodded anyway. "Yeah. He does."

Gina smiled, patting Riley's cheek. "Good. The smile reaches your eyes this time. Not like with the other one."

The other one was how Gina always referred to Ethan, never by name, as if he didn't deserve the dignity of it after how things had ended.

"Tell me more," Gina insisted, pulling Riley to sit at the massive farmhouse table while she poured them each a glass of Roberto's wine. "Where did you meet? What does he do?"

Riley took a grateful sip of the rich red wine. "We met in New York. I was doing Fallon, and he was a guest too."

"Ah! Also famous?"

"Um, yeah. He's a football player. Quarterback."

Gina's brow furrowed. "American football? With the helmet and the tackling?"

"That's the one."

"Hmm." Gina looked thoughtful. "Strong, then. Good shoulders?"

Riley nearly choked on her wine. "Very good shoulders."

"Let me show you," Riley said, reaching for her phone. She scrolled through her photos, finding the ones she'd taken in New Orleans. "This is Joe."

Gina peered at the screen, examining the photo of Joe and Riley on her back porch swing, both smiling at the camera in the soft evening light.

"Handsome," Gina nodded, obviously impressed. She swiped to the next photo—Joe in the kitchen, focused intently on chopping some fruit, completely unaware of Riley capturing the moment. "Ah, he cooks too!"

"We made biscuits and gravy," Riley explained, smiling at the memory. "His first time."

Gina swiped again, to a photo of Joe in his parade disguise, beads around his neck, head thrown back in laughter at something out of frame. "I like his smile. Reaches his eyes."

"Yeah," Riley agreed softly. "It does."

"And a good heart?" Gina pressed, suddenly serious. "This is what matters most."

Riley thought about Joe—his quiet confidence, the way he'd shown her his city, how attentively he listened when she spoke, the respect he showed her friends. The way he'd looked at her house, seeing the real her in every detail.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I think so."

"You think? Or you know?" Gina challenged.

"I know," Riley amended. "Different worlds, but... a good heart."

Gina nodded, satisfied. "Different worlds can work. Roberto was a wealthy landowner's son. I was just a girl from the village. Everyone said it would never last." She gestured around the kitchen they'd shared for thirty years. "But here we are."

As the others filtered in, the conversation shifted to dinner preparations and plans for the week ahead. But throughout the evening, as they gathered around the long table on the terrace, passing plates and trading stories, Riley found her thoughts drifting to Joe. She'd meant to text him when they landed, but between the rental car confusion, the spotty service on the mountain roads, and the chaos of arrival, she'd forgotten until now.

After dinner, Riley found Laura and Haley huddled with Gina near the garden, wine glasses in hand. As she approached, their conversation hushed suspiciously.

"What's going on?" Riley asked, narrowing her eyes at their too-innocent expressions.

"We were just discussing the birthday feast," Gina explained, patting the space beside her on the stone bench. "Roberto is already planning which vintage to open."

"And I was just telling Gina how you haven't told your football player about your birthday," Laura added, shooting Riley a pointed look.

Riley sighed, dropping onto the bench. "Seriously, Laura?"

"What?" Laura defended. "Gina asked about gift arrangements, and I mentioned there wouldn't be any from Joe since he doesn't know."

"Why you not tell him, cara?" Gina asked, genuine confusion on her face. "Birthdays are for celebrating with those who matter."

"It's complicated," Riley said, feeling three pairs of eyes studying her intently.

"She thinks it adds pressure," Haley explained to Gina. "Makes things too serious too fast."

Riley shot her a betrayed look. "Thanks for the translation, Haley."

"Am I wrong?" Haley challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Gina scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Pressure? Birthdays are not pressure. They are joy! Celebration! If this man cares for you, he would want to know."

"It's not about whether he'd want to know," Riley tried to explain. "It's about expectations. I don't want him to feel obligated to do something just because it's my birthday."

"Ah, this is about the other one," Gina said with sudden understanding. "The one who made the big show, then disappeared."

Riley winced. Gina had always been unnervingly perceptive.

"Ethan has nothing to do with this," she insisted, though the protest sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Mmhmm," Laura hummed skeptically. "Nothing at all to do with how he threw that massive surprise party last year with all those photographers as his grand 'let's get back together' gesture, then disappeared again two weeks later."

"That's not—" Riley started to protest, then stopped. Laura wasn't wrong. It had always been easier for Riley to express herself through music than to be vulnerable in relationships. "It's complicated."

"It always is with you," Laura said, but her tone was affectionate. "But you know what? This guy seems different. The way you talk about him, the way you look at those pictures when you think no one's watching."

Riley felt warmth creep into her cheeks. "It's too soon for birthdays," she insisted.

"If you say so," Laura said, clearly unconvinced. "But don't be surprised if he figures it out. Haley tagged you in that throwback post from last year."

Riley's eyes widened. "She did what?"

"Relax," Laura laughed. "He probably hasn't seen it. And even if he has, so what? It's your birthday. It's not like it's a state secret."

"It's not about secrecy," Riley muttered. "It's about... timing."

Laura patted her hand. "Whatever you say. But for what it's worth? I think you're overthinking this one."

As the others filtered back inside, Riley stayed on the terrace a moment longer, staring out at the darkened vineyard. Was she overthinking it? Maybe. But there was something comfortable about keeping this boundary, about having this week just for her friends, her chosen family. The way it had been for years.

Still, as she finally headed to her room, she couldn't help but wonder what Joe was doing right now, if he was thinking about her too.

She pulled out her phone, surprised to find several missed calls from her manager about a potential sync deal, but nothing from Joe.

She checked the time—mid-afternoon in Cincinnati. He'd be in the middle of his workout routine by now.

She tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. Probably in the gym, phone on do not disturb.

Riley 🎤: Hey, sorry I didn't text when we landed yesterday. Complete chaos at the airport, then wifi issues at the vineyard, and by the time we got settled it was so late for you. Hope your workout went well this morning! Villa pics coming soon 😘

She scrolled through the photos she'd already taken—the view from her window, the sunset over the vineyard, the massive spread of food Gina had prepared. She selected a few and attached them to a follow-up text.

Riley 🎤: See what I mean? Paradise. Three days here and I'm never going to want to leave.

She set her phone on the nightstand and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the fragrant night air. The hills stretched before her, dotted with the lights of distant farmhouses, the sky above impossibly vast and star-filled.

This was her favorite place in the world, this little corner of Tuscany that felt timeless and vibrant. Being here always filled her with a sense of perspective, of what really mattered.

Her phone remained silent as she got ready for bed, exhaustion from the long journey finally catching up to her. She checked it one last time before sliding under the cool sheets.

No response.

Odd. He was usually quick to reply, even on his busiest days.

Maybe he's out with friends, she thought. Or still in the gym. Or his phone died.

But as she drifted toward sleep, a niggling worry crept in. Had something changed? Was he having second thoughts? He'd seemed so solid, so certain in New Orleans and in all their conversations since.

Stop overthinking, she told herself firmly. It's been a few hours. Not everything means something.

Still, as sleep finally claimed her, her last conscious thought was of Joe, and the strange hollow feeling his silence had left.

Meanwhile, in Cincinnati, Joe was staring at Riley's texts, his body sprawled on the couch but his mind six thousand miles away. What the actual fuck? Her birthday? The whole trip to Italy wasn't just some annual tradition with friends—it was a birthday celebration. Her birthday celebration. And she hadn't told him.

The realization had hit him like a blindside tackle earlier that day, scrolling through Instagram and seeing the post from her friend Haley. Throwback to last year's birthday celebrations in Italy. Can't wait to celebrate 26 with you @riley_carter #birthdaygirl #italybound #bestfriendgoals. Riley, blowing out candles on a cake, the same vineyard in the background that she'd just sent him photos of.

March 20th. Her birthday was in five days. And she hadn't said a word about it.

The melody of "This Must Be The Place" floated through his head unbidden. That feeling he'd had in New Orleans, in her house—like he'd found something he didn't even know he was missing. Like he'd come home somehow.

Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there...

He couldn't stop thinking about that song since New Orleans, that feeling of belonging. And now this—finding out about her birthday through Instagram, like he was just some casual follower, not someone who'd spent three days in her bed, in her life.

He'd planned to ignore her messages until morning, give himself time to sort through the complicated mix of emotions. But seeing the photos of Italy—the same vineyard where she'd celebrated her last birthday—made it harder to maintain his resolve.

He typed out several responses, deleting each one before sending. Nothing captured the right tone. He didn't want to be petty, didn't want to make her feel bad. But he also couldn't pretend he hadn't discovered her secret, couldn't act like everything was normal when it felt like she'd deliberately kept him at a distance.

He set the phone down without responding. Tomorrow, he'd figure out what to do about the birthday. Tonight, he needed space to think.

Riley woke to sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains and the distant sounds of breakfast being prepared. She reached for her phone immediately, half-expecting to see a message from Joe.

Nothing.

She stared at the screen for a moment, a hollow feeling expanding inside her chest. It had been almost twelve hours since she’d texted him—Joe had never gone this long without responding before.

Fighting the urge to text again—she didn’t want to be that girl—Riley forced herself out of bed and into the shower. By the time she joined the others for breakfast on the terrace, she’d checked her phone three more times.

“She lives!” Andy teased as she slid into a seat at the table, which was already laden with fresh fruit, pastries, and carafes of strong coffee.

“Barely,” Riley admitted, pouring herself a much-needed cup. “Jet lag hit me hard.”

Laura glanced up from buttering a croissant and gave Riley a curious look. “Have you heard from him yet?”

Riley tried to play it cool, even though the question made her chest feel tight. “No,” she said lightly. “He’s probably busy. I've told you how his schedule is.”

Laura didn’t look convinced. “Busy or not, he’s never left you hanging this long before. You sure everything’s okay?”

Riley rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Seriously. It’s my birthday week, and I’m gonna get it together and be happy, so just brace yourselves for that, alright?”

Andy snorted from across the table, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Birthday diva incoming.”

Riley shot him a smirk. “Damn right. I’m gonna be annoyingly cheerful and loud, so get ready.”

Laura softened, giving her a look that said she wasn’t entirely buying the act, but she didn’t push. “Okay, birthday queen. Just know we’re here if you need to vent or whatever.”

Riley flashed her a quick grin and took a long sip of coffee, trying to convince herself as much as everyone else that she could shake it off.

Throughout the day, they wandered through the vineyard with Bob, listening as he explained the early spring growth of the vines with his usual passion and humor. Riley laughed at his stories and nodded along when he pointed out new buds and promising clusters, but her mind kept drifting. She found herself glancing at her phone more often than she wanted to admit, each time hoping to see Joe’s name lighting up the screen.

Nothing.

By the time they made it into the nearby medieval village for lunch, her chest felt tight and restless, like something important was slipping through her fingers. She tried to shake it off, joining in on Andy’s loud, animated retelling of their first chaotic visit to the vineyard, but her smile felt forced and thin. Each check of her phone only made that hollow feeling dig in deeper, rooting itself in her ribs.

By nightfall, after another incredible dinner that she barely tasted, she couldn’t ignore it anymore. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

Back in her room, she stared at her phone for a long time, debating whether to call again or just let it go. But the uncertainty was gnawing at her, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She dialed his number, the familiar sound of ringing sending a wave of hope and anxiety crashing over her.

Voicemail.

She swallowed down the ache in her throat and forced herself to type out a message, trying to keep it light and casual even as her fingers shook.

Riley 🎤: Earth to Burrow. You alive over there?

She hit send and dropped her phone on the bed, staring out the window at the moonlit hills. The knot in her stomach tightened, and for once, Riley didn’t know if she was mad, worried, or just hurt.

Joe was sprawled out on his couch, controller in hand, mind barely on the game he was playing. The sound of gunfire and explosions filled the room, but he wasn’t really listening. His phone was sitting face-down on the coffee table, right where he’d left it hours ago, and he couldn’t stop glancing at it between missions.

He wasn’t ignoring her on purpose. Not really. He just needed a minute to get his head right. Figure out why he couldn’t shake this weird knot in his stomach since he found out about her birthday. It wasn’t about the damn birthday itself—it was the fact that she hadn’t told him. Like he wasn’t important enough to know.

That thought burned. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like he’d been shut out without even knowing it. Riley wasn’t the kind of person to play games. She’d always been upfront with him, never hiding her chaos or her flaws. So why hadn’t she said anything about it?

His phone buzzed, and his heart thudded a little harder than he’d like to admit. He reached for it, flipping it over with his thumb to see her name on the screen. His chest tightened.

Riley 🎤: Earth to Burrow. You alive over there?

He let out a slow breath, guilt twisting through him. He knew he was being an ass—shutting her out just because his pride was bruised. She didn’t deserve that.

He typed back, trying to sound normal.

Joe QB🏈: Yeah, sorry. Got caught up with some stuff today. How’s Italy?

It felt like a weak excuse, even to him. Distant. Detached. Nothing like how he actually felt—like he’d been stuck in his own head all day, trying to make sense of why it was bugging him so damn much.

Her reply came almost right away.

Riley 🎤: It’s incredible. Forgot how much I love it here. What kind of stuff kept you busy?

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of him wanted to just tell her the truth—that he hated finding out about her birthday from a random Instagram post. That it made him feel like an outsider in her life. But he couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t risk sounding like he was making a big deal out of nothing.

Joe QB🏈: Just meetings, workout, some film study. The usual.

He knew it sounded cold, even before he sent it. But he couldn’t figure out how to fix it. How to make it sound less like he was brushing her off and more like he just… didn’t know how to deal with it.

Her response came in a minute later.

Riley 🎤: Don’t work too hard. You’re supposed to be resting in the off-season.

He almost smiled. That sounded more like her. Always keeping him grounded without pushing too much.

Joe QB🏈: Trying. Getting late here. Talk tomorrow?

It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. But he couldn’t bring himself to say more. Not when he still didn’t know how to put it into words without sounding like an idiot. He set the phone back down and leaned his head against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he’d managed to screw this up without even trying.

Riley's phone rang, and her heart leapt into her throat when she saw Joe's name light up the screen. She answered immediately.

"Hey," Riley answered, her voice carefully casual but with an undercurrent of relief that made Joe's chest tighten.

"Hey," he replied, working to keep his own voice steady. "Sorry for the late call."

"No, it's fine," Riley said quickly. "I was just reading. Time difference and all."

A brief silence stretched between them, filled with all the things neither was saying. Joe could hear the soft sounds of night through her open window—crickets, a distant voice calling in Italian, wind rustling through trees.

"So," he began, his voice deliberately even. "I saw something interesting today."

"Oh?" Riley's tone was light, but there was a thread of tension in it.

"Yeah. On Instagram." Joe paused, then decided to just say it. "Haley posted about your birthday. Last year in Italy. Same place you are now."

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded. Joe could almost picture her expression—those amber eyes widening slightly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth the way it did when she was caught off guard.

"I... yeah." Riley's voice was quieter now. "My birthday's on the 20th."

"Five days from now," Joe confirmed. "Were you going to tell me?"

Riley exhaled, a soft sound that carried across the thousands of miles between them. "I don't know," she admitted. "Probably. Eventually."

"Why keep it a secret?" Joe asked, working to keep accusation from his tone.

Another pause. Joe could hear her shifting, as if sitting up in bed.

"It's not a secret exactly," Riley finally said. "It's just... complicated.

"How is a birthday complicated?"

"It's not the birthday itself," Riley explained. "It's... I don't know how to explain it without sounding crazy."

"Try me," Joe said, settling back against his headboard.

Riley sighed again. "Birthdays are loaded, you know? There are expectations. If I told you, then you'd feel obligated to do something or say something, and we're still so new, and I didn't want to..." She trailed off.

"Didn't want to what?" Joe pressed gently.

"Push things faster than they should go," she finished. "Or make you feel pressured. Or make it into something bigger than it is."

She hesitated, then added, "Last year with Ethan... we were in this weird on-again, off-again place, and he made this huge deal about my birthday. Surprise party, expensive jewelry, the works. It was like he was trying to prove something. Two weeks later, he was gone again."

"Ah," Joe said, understanding dawning. "So birthdays come with baggage."

"Yeah," Riley admitted quietly. "After that, I just... I don't know. Birthdays became this thing where people feel like they have to make grand gestures. And if they do, it doesn't necessarily mean anything real."

Joe was silent for a moment, processing her words. "Do you think that's what I'd do? Feel obligated?"

"I don't know," Riley admitted. "Maybe? Most people would."

"I'm not most people," Joe said quietly.

"I know that," Riley replied, her voice softening. "That's kind of the point. You're... important. More than I expected this soon. And that's scary."

The honesty in her admission caught Joe off guard. He hadn't expected her to be so direct about her feelings. It shifted something in him, eased the knot of hurt that had been sitting in his chest all day.

"So you weren't trying to keep me at a distance?" he asked.

"No. Well, maybe." Riley let out a frustrated sound. "I'm not explaining this well. It's more like... I'm protecting this thing between us. From becoming something that feels forced or expected. Does that make any sense?"

Joe thought about it. About how carefully he'd constructed his public persona, how deliberately he kept parts of himself private. About boundaries and walls and the way they sometimes protected the most valuable things.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It does."

The relief in Riley's voice was palpable. "It does?"

"I get having boundaries," Joe explained. "Keeping certain things separate. I just wish you'd told me why instead of me finding out through Instagram."

"I'm sorry," Riley said, sounding genuinely remorseful. "That must have felt shitty."

"It did," Joe agreed, but without heat. "Made me wonder if I was reading this whole thing wrong. If we weren't on the same page."

"We are," Riley assured him quickly. "At least, I think we are. This thing between us, it's... significant. For me, anyway."

"For me too," Joe admitted. The simple confession felt weightier than he'd expected, hanging in the air between them with a new kind of gravity.

"I should have just told you," Riley continued, her voice softer now. "But after Ethan... I got used to protecting myself. Keeping expectations low."

"You can talk to me about him, you know," Joe said carefully. "About what happened."

Riley was quiet for a moment. "Not much to tell. Three years of back and forth. Great when it was good, toxic when it wasn't. Classic musician relationship drama."

"Sounds exhausting," Joe observed.

"It was," Riley agreed. "That's why I'm trying to be more... I don't know, intentional? About not repeating patterns."

Another silence, but this one comfortable, expectant rather than tense.

"So now that I know," Joe said finally, "can I wish you happy birthday? Or is that still crossing a line?"

He could hear the smile in Riley's voice when she answered. "You can wish me happy birthday. Just don't make a big deal about it."

"Noted," Joe said, a smile forming on his own lips. "Happy almost birthday, Riley."

"Thank you," she murmured. Then, with a hint of teasing, "Are you still mad at me?"

Joe considered this. "I wasn't mad. Just... confused. Hurt, maybe."

"I really am sorry," Riley said again. "I overthink things sometimes."

"I noticed," Joe said dryly.

Riley laughed, the sound flowing through him like warm honey. "Shut up. You overthink things too."

"Maybe," Joe conceded. "But I'm working on it."

The conversation shifted then, becoming easier as they slipped back into their usual rhythm. Riley told him about the vineyard, about Roberto and Gina, about the medieval village they'd visited that day. Joe shared stories from his training session, from dinner with his parents the night before.

It was nearly an hour later when Riley's voice had grown soft with approaching sleep.

"I should let you go," Joe said reluctantly. "It's late there."

"Mmm," Riley agreed, stifling a yawn. "This bed is ridiculous. Like sleeping on a cloud."

"Wish I was there," Joe said, the words slipping out before he could consider them.

There was a pause, and when Riley spoke again, her voice was warm, intimate. "I wish you were too."

Joe's chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to longing. "Next time," he said softly.

"Promise?" Riley asked, and beneath the playfulness, there was vulnerability.

"Promise," Joe replied without hesitation.

After they hung up, Joe sat for a long time in the quiet of his bedroom, staring at the dark screen of his phone. The hurt from earlier had dissolved, replaced by a clearer understanding. Riley's fear wasn't about keeping him at a distance—it was about protecting whatever was growing between them. From expectation, from obligation, from anything that might damage its natural evolution.

He could understand that. Respect it, even.

Still, as he finally settled down to sleep, a plan was already forming in his mind. Birthday or not, significance or not, some things deserved to be acknowledged. And he knew exactly how he wanted to do it.

In Italy, Riley curled onto her side, Joe's LSU bracelet still on her wrist as she drifted toward sleep. The weight that had been pressing on her chest all day had lifted, replaced by a warm contentment. He'd understood. More than that, he'd listened, really listened, to her fumbling explanation.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Riley fell asleep with a smile on her face, the distance between Italy and Cincinnati feeling somehow less vast than it had that morning.

Joe stared at his laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Google Maps had led him to a florist in Ripatransone, the nearest town to Roberto and Gina's vineyard based on Riley's descriptions. But the website was entirely in Italian, with no obvious way to place an international order.

"Dammit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was 4:30 AM in Cincinnati—the middle of the night for him, but a reasonable morning hour in Italy. Riley's birthday was tomorrow, which left him little time to arrange something special.

He reached for his phone and called the only person he knew who might help.

"This better be good, Burrow," Mark's sleep-roughened voice answered after four rings.

"I need a favor," Joe said without preamble.

A rustling sound came through the line—Mark sitting up in bed, probably. "At four-thirty in the morning?"

"It's not a football thing," Joe admitted.

There was a pause. "Riley?" Mark guessed.

"Yeah." Joe exhaled. "Her birthday's tomorrow. She's in Italy at some vineyard. I need to get flowers delivered there, but the websites are all in Italian and—"

"Jesus, Joe," Mark interrupted, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "You're calling me before dawn to help you send a girl flowers? Isn't this what Sarah is for?"

"Sarah doesn't have your connections," Joe said bluntly. "And I need someone who can make this happen, not just try."

Mark chuckled. "Well, well. Look who's serious." There was another pause, then Mark's voice softened slightly. "Not just any girl, huh?"

"No," Joe said quietly. "Not just any girl."

"Alright," Mark relented. "Give me the details. I know a guy who handles VIP concierge services in Europe."

Meanwhile, at the vineyard, Riley woke to Laura bouncing onto her bed, already dressed in jeans and a light sweater.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" Laura announced, nudging Riley's shoulder. "Gina's making that almond french toast you love."

Riley groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "What time is it?"

"Nearly nine," Laura replied. "Practically lunchtime by normal standards."

Riley smiled despite herself, remembering their conversation last night. The tension that had been building since their stilted texts had melted away during their call. He'd understood—really understood—why she hadn't told him about her birthday.

"Actually," Riley said, sitting up and stretching, "Joe and I talked last night. After everyone went to bed."

Laura's eyebrows shot up with interest. "And? You seem less... I don't know, twitchy today."

"We sorted it out," Riley said, sliding out of bed. "He found out about my birthday through Haley's Instagram post."

"Told you he would," Laura said, not bothering to hide her smugness. "So how'd he take it?"

Riley paused, thinking about the unexpected depth of their conversation. "Better than I expected. He actually got why I hadn't told him."

"Hmm," Laura hummed, studying Riley's face. "Maybe he has more emotional depth than I gave him credit for."

Riley threw a pillow at her friend. "Come on, I need coffee before you start analyzing my love life with Haley and Gina."

Laura dodged the pillow with practiced ease, laughing as she stood up. "Fine, fine. But don't think this conversation is over. Gina's going to extract every detail over breakfast."

"Great," Riley said dryly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "At least there'll be food to distract me from the interrogation."

The kitchen was already bustling when they made their way downstairs. Morning sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow over the weathered wooden table where Bob was setting down a platter of fresh fruit. Gina stood at the stove, flipping what looked like her famous almond French toast, while Pete lounged at the counter nursing a cup of coffee.

"The birthday girl arrives!" Gina announced, abandoning her post to envelop Riley in a warm hug that smelled of cinnamon and butter. "Many happy returns, my dear one."

"Thanks, Gina," Riley said, feeling the familiar warm glow that always came with birthdays at the vineyard. Here, birthdays were simple, joyful celebrations—good food, good wine, good company. No pressure, no expectations.

"I made your favorite," Gina said, gesturing to the French toast. "And Bob picked fresh figs this morning."

Riley's stomach growled appreciatively as she accepted the steaming mug of coffee Pete handed her. "You guys spoil me."

"It's your birthday," Pete shrugged, his voice still rough with sleep. "Only happens once a year."

"Speaking of which," Haley said, emerging from the pantry with a jar of honey, "how did lover boy take the news?"

Riley shot Laura an accusatory glance, but her friend just shrugged innocently. "News travels fast around here."

"He took it just fine," Riley said, trying to sound casual as she doctored her coffee. "We talked it out. He understood."

"He understood?" Andy repeated skeptically, appearing in the doorway. His hair was still wet from the shower, sticking up at odd angles. "What guy 'understands' being kept in the dark about something like that?"

"A guy who listens," Riley said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice. "He got why I didn't tell him."

After a leisurely breakfast punctuated by laughter and stories—many at Riley's expense—they gathered in the sunlit kitchen where Gina was putting the finishing touches on a homemade birthday cake. The simple elegance of the tradition—good food, good company, no fuss about presents—was exactly why Riley loved celebrating here.

"Every year I try to outdo myself," Gina said, carefully placing fresh strawberries around the edge of the cream-frosted cake. "This year, I add the lemon zest to the cream. You tell me if it's better."

"It's perfect already," Riley said, leaning against the counter and stealing a stray strawberry.

Bob appeared from his study, carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "From Gina and me," he said, presenting it to Riley with a warm smile. "Nothing fancy, but we thought of you when we saw it."

Riley unwrapped it carefully to reveal a handmade leather journal, its cover soft and worn like it had been waiting years just for her.

"For your songs," Gina explained. "You always say you lose your ideas on scraps of paper."

"I don't lose them," Riley protested with a laugh. "I just... temporarily misplace them."

As they were preparing to move to the terrace for cake, the sound of tires on gravel announced a visitor. Bob went to investigate, returning moments later with a delivery man bearing an enormous arrangement of sunflowers and wildflowers.

"For Signorina Carter," the man announced, presenting the bouquet with a flourish.

Riley's breath caught. The flowers were stunning—vibrant yellows and purples, arranged with sprigs of fragrant herbs and local blooms. Not roses or lilies or anything formally romantic, but wildflowers that seemed to capture the essence of the Tuscan countryside.

"Who are they from?" Haley asked, eyes wide.

Riley's hands trembled slightly as she reached for the small card nestled among the blooms.

Riley — Happy Birthday. Not making a big deal about it, just acknowledging it exists. The flowers reminded me of you — wild, colorful, impossible to ignore. Talk soon. — Joe

Something warm and unexpected bloomed in Riley's chest. He'd found the perfect middle ground—acknowledging her birthday without the grand gesture she'd feared, sending something meaningful without making it excessive.

"Those are from the football boy?" Gina asked, peering over Riley's shoulder at the card.

Riley nodded, not trusting her voice at that moment.

"He has good taste," Gina declared. "Elegant but not too formal. Shows he knows you."

"Well," Laura said simply, watching Riley's face carefully. "Looks like your worry was for nothing."

Riley pressed the card to her chest, unable to suppress her smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

As the others exclaimed over the flowers—Bob particularly impressed that Joe had managed to arrange a delivery to their remote location—Riley slipped away to call Joe. It was early in Cincinnati, but she couldn't wait. 

He answered on the third ring, his voice clear and energized. "Hey, birthday girl." 

"Joe," Riley said, words failing her for a moment. "They're beautiful."

"You like them?" The hint of uncertainty in his voice made her heart clench. 

"I love them," she said softly. "But how did you even arrange this? We're in the middle of nowhere, Italy." 

Joe's low chuckle warmed her from the inside out. "I know a guy who knows a guy."

"Of course you do." 

"Not too much?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "I was trying to find the middle ground." 

"Perfect," Riley assured him. "Just right." 

There was a comfortable silence, filled with things unsaid but understood. 

"I wish you were here," Riley said softly, the words slipping out before she could consider them. 

"Yeah," Joe agreed, his voice rough with something like longing. "Me too." 

"So," Joe asked after a moment, "what's the birthday plan today?"

“Bob’s making his famous dinner tonight,” Riley said, leaning against the stone wall as she glanced back toward the kitchen, where Bob was already barking instructions at anyone who dared wander too close. “He spends all day in there, everything from scratch. By the time he’s done, we’re practically rolling out of our chairs.”

“Sounds like my kind of meal,” Joe said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, it’s serious business,” Riley continued. “And after we’ve eaten enough to put us in a food coma, the real entertainment starts.”

“Which is?”

“Karaoke.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of last year, when Bob had dragged Andy onstage for an off-key rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “These two mild-mannered vineyard owners turn into absolute karaoke monsters after a few glasses of their own wine. Bob will break out the grappa, and before you know it, Gina’s belting out power ballads like her life depends on it.”

Joe chuckled, and she could hear the genuine amusement in his voice. “Even you?”

“Especially me,” Riley admitted, feeling her face warm. “Something about being offstage, in a place where it doesn’t matter, makes it more fun. Besides, they’ll guilt-trip you into it if you try to refuse. It’s just easier to give in.”

“What’s your go-to song?”

“Depends how much wine I’ve had,” Riley said, grinning. “Early in the night, it’s usually something respectable. Like Janis Joplin or Fleetwood Mac. But by midnight… I’m making questionable decisions. Last year, I tried to do Whitney Houston, and it was… ambitious.”

Joe laughed, and it sent warmth flooding through her chest. “You got videos to back up this story?”

“Oh, plenty,” Riley shot back. “I’ll send you some evidence later. Fair warning—it could seriously damage my professional reputation.”

“Can’t wait,” Joe said, and there was that familiar, easy warmth in his tone again. “You better deliver.”

“Trust me, it’s unforgettable,” she teased. “Mostly because Bob’s grappa is like drinking paint thinner. By the time it’s my turn to sing, I’m half convinced I’m hitting every note.”

“Sounds like I’m missing out,” Joe said, his voice going softer.

“You are,” Riley admitted, the words slipping out before she could catch them. “Next time.”

“Next time,” Joe echoed, and she could hear the weight of it, like he was tucking the promise away somewhere safe.

Bob's special birthday dinner exceeded even Riley's high expectations. The long wooden table on the terrace overflowed with traditional Italian dishes—handmade pasta with wild boar ragu, platters of local cheeses and cured meats, roasted vegetables drizzled with the estate's own olive oil, and bread still warm from the oven. The wine flowed freely, each bottle accompanied by Bob's passionate explanation of its origin and character.

As they finished the final course, Gina emerged from the kitchen with a simple but elegant cake adorned with fresh berries and a single candle.

"Make a wish, cara," she instructed as she set it before Riley.

Riley closed her eyes briefly, the image of Joe appearing unbidden in her mind before she blew out the candle to cheers and applause.

Laura raised her glass. "To Riley—the only person I know who manages to be wildly successful while still being the same disaster we all love. Happy birthday!"

"To Riley!" echoed around the table.

After dessert and coffee, when everyone was pleasantly full and warm with wine, Bob disappeared into a back room and returned with a clear bottle of liquid and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"It is time," he announced dramatically, "for the birthday grappa!"

"Oh no," Andy groaned, though his eyes were alight with anticipation. "Not the grappa."

"Always the grappa," Bob corrected, already pouring small glasses for everyone. "And then—karaoke!"

The karaoke setup was charmingly makeshift—an old television connected to a basic system with two microphones and speakers that had seen better days. But what it lacked in sophistication, it made up for in spirit.

Gina, predictably, went first, her accent thickening as she belted out a passionate rendition of a power ballad, arms spread wide as if performing at an arena instead of their dining room.

"The birthday girl must do a solo!" Bob insisted, already scrolling through the karaoke selections.

"No way," Riley protested, though without much conviction. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for a solo."

"That can be arranged," Bob winked, already refilling her glass.

Riley took the offered grappa, wincing slightly as she swallowed. "Fine, but I get to pick the song."

She scrolled through the surprisingly extensive catalog until she found exactly what she was looking for, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. The familiar synthetic pop intro filled the room, and her friends erupted in laughter and cheers.

"Of course!" Laura shouted, already clapping along. "Perfect choice!"

Riley grabbed the microphone, tossing her hair dramatically as she slipped into performance mode. Unlike her stage presence with the band, this was pure fun—exaggerated movements, playful expressions, and zero concern for technical perfection.

She pointed dramatically at her friends during the verses, using her phone as a prop, completely hamming it up. By the time she hit the chorus, she was dancing around the makeshift stage area, her earlier hesitation completely forgotten in the joy of the moment.

Everyone joined in for the chorus, shouting the iconic "Call me maybe" line while Riley conducted them with sweeping gestures. Bob was recording the whole thing on his phone, swaying enthusiastically while Gina clapped in perfect rhythm beside him.

"Bob's 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' last year nearly brought down the house," Laura called out, leaning toward Riley. "Literally - he knocked over that antique vase during the dramatic finale!"

"It was worth it!" Bob declared proudly, not missing a beat as he continued recording Riley's performance.

Andy jumped up to join Riley for the bridge, the two of them back-to-back in an improvised choreography that suggested they'd done this before. Haley and Laura provided enthusiastic backup vocals, complete with synchronized hand movements.

As Riley launched into the final chorus, she was laughing too hard to hit the notes properly, but it didn't matter. This wasn't about skill—it was about joy, about being surrounded by people who loved her exactly as she was, ridiculous dance moves and all.

When the song ended, she took an exaggerated bow to thunderous applause and whistles. Bob immediately wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet.

"Bravissima!" he declared. "Now this is how you celebrate a birthday!"

Riley collapsed onto the couch, breathless and laughing, accepting another glass of wine from Laura.

"I'm definitely sending that to Joe," Haley teased, waving her phone where she'd captured the entire performance.

"Don't you dare," Riley protested, making a half-hearted grab for the phone, but her smile gave her away. Maybe she wouldn't mind if Joe saw this side of her—carefree and ridiculous, surrounded by the people who knew her best.

As the night continued with more performances—Andy's surprisingly tender rendition of an old blues standard, Pete and Laura's dramatically choreographed duet—Riley found herself taking out her own phone. Before she could overthink it, she scrolled to a short clip of her performance that Laura had sent to their group chat and attached it to a message to Joe.

Riley: Birthday karaoke in full swing. Grappa is dangerous. Miss you.

She hit send before she could second-guess the last two words, then set her phone aside, rejoining the celebration. Tonight was about being present with the people here, but that didn't mean she couldn't share a small piece of it with the person who'd somehow worked his way into her thoughts even from thousands of miles away.

Back in Cincinnati, Joe was in the middle of a late-night film session when his phone lit up with Riley's message. The video of last season's playoff game against Buffalo paused on his laptop screen as he reached for his phone, a small smile forming when he saw her name.

He studied the short clip she'd sent—Riley performing with theatrical abandon, clearly enjoying herself in a way that was different from her professional performances. This was Riley unguarded, surrounded by people who knew her best, slightly drunk on what he assumed was the infamous grappa she'd mentioned. Considering it was probably 2 AM in Italy, the celebration was clearly in full swing.

But it was the last two words that caught him off guard: "Miss you."

Joe stared at those words longer than the video itself, something warm spreading through his chest. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating his response. The structured, careful part of him—the part that had gotten him this far in his career—wanted to keep things light. But another part, the one that had been growing steadily since meeting Riley, pushed for honesty.

Miss you too. More than makes sense.

He hit send before he could overthink it, then set the phone down, running a hand through his hair as he tried to refocus on the game film. But his thoughts kept drifting to Riley—to her laugh, to the vineyard she'd described, to the way she'd looked at him before leaving for the airport.

With a sigh, Joe closed his laptop. The Buffalo game could wait until morning. He glanced around his pristine living room, at the careful order he maintained in every aspect of his life. His home was his sanctuary, his private space—one he rarely invited others into. Even teammates seldom made it past the front door.

An idea took shape, one that surprised even him with its unexpectedness. What if, instead of Riley going back to LA after Italy, she came here? To Cincinnati. To his home.

The thought made him pause. Bringing someone into his space, into the carefully ordered world he'd created for himself—it wasn't something he did lightly. With previous relationships, he'd maintained separation, keeping his personal sanctuary untouched. But with Riley, the idea of her here, in his space, didn't trigger his usual resistance.

It felt right. Necessary, even.

Joe picked up his phone again, no message from Riley yet. She was probably still lost in the karaoke party with her friends and the vineyard owners. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he'd call her and ask her to come to Cincinnati. The idea transformed from impulsive thought to deliberate decision as he stood, something almost like anticipation building in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again—here, in the space that was most authentically his.

Afternoon sunlight flooded Riley's room at the vineyard, despite her best efforts to keep it at bay by drawing the heavy shutters. She groaned softly, the aftermath of Bob's notorious grappa making itself known with a dull throb behind her eyes. Memories of last night's karaoke session flooded back—Gina's dramatic power ballads, Andy's surprisingly decent Frank Sinatra impression, and her own enthusiastic performance that she'd impulsively shared with Joe.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Riley fumbled for it, squinting at the screen. Joe's name appeared, and she felt a flutter of something warm beneath her hangover. She cleared her throat before answering.

"Hey, quarterback," she managed, voice still rough despite the late hour.

"Did I wake you?" Joe asked, his voice clear and alert. Of course he'd already been up for hours.

"No," Riley lied, pushing herself up against the headboard. "Well, maybe. What time is it there?"

"Just after nine," Joe replied. "Afternoon for you, right?"

Riley glanced at the time. Almost 2 PM. "Yeah, but time works differently in Italy. Especially after grappa."

Joe's low chuckle came through the line. "Looked like you were having fun last night."

"I may have gotten a little carried away," Riley admitted, smiling at the memory. "Did I embarrass myself with that video?"

"Not at all," Joe assured her. "I liked seeing that side of you."

A comfortable silence settled between them before Joe spoke again, his tone shifting slightly.

"So, I've been thinking," he began, and something in his voice made Riley sit up straighter. "What if you didn't go back to LA after Italy?"

Riley's breath caught. "What do you mean?"

"Come to Cincinnati instead," Joe clarified. "Just for a few days. Before you have to be back in the studio."

The question hung between them, weighted with implication. This wasn't just a casual invitation—it was Joe opening his world to her, asking her to step into his carefully ordered life.

"I'd have to change my flight," Riley said, already mentally calculating what that would involve.

"I could take care of that," Joe offered, then paused. "If you wanted."

Riley stared out the window at the rolling hills of Le Marche, turning the idea over in her mind. Going to Cincinnati meant something more significant than their weekend in New Orleans. That had been neutral territory, a Mardi Gras bubble. This would be Joe's home turf, his real life.

"What would we do in Cincinnati?" she asked, stalling for time.

"I have some ideas," Joe said, a hint of something warmer in his voice. "Things you might like. Or we could just... be. No itinerary. No expectations."

No expectations. The words echoed in Riley's mind, reminding her of their conversation about her birthday. Joe had understood her hesitation then, had found the perfect middle ground. She trusted him to do the same now.

"Joe Burrow without an itinerary?" she teased, deflecting slightly. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I can be spontaneous," he protested mildly. "Sometimes."

Riley laughed, the sound carrying over the hillside. "Name one spontaneous thing you've done this year that wasn't related to me."

The silence on the other end was telling.

"That's what I thought," Riley said, smiling into the phone.

"So is that a yes?" Joe's voice was hopeful but not pushing.

Riley took a deep breath. The sensible answer was no. She had sessions scheduled, meetings with the label about release strategy, a half-dozen other commitments waiting in LA. But none of it felt as important as the possibility contained in Joe's invitation.

"Yes," she said finally. "I'd like that."

Even through the phone, she could feel his smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Riley confirmed, a flutter of something like excitement coursing through her. "But I'm warning you now, I'm terrible at packing. I'll probably show up with completely inappropriate clothing for whatever you have planned."

"Noted," Joe said, relief and pleasure evident in his voice. "I'll send the flight details tomorrow."

They talked a little longer, making loose plans. When they finally hung up, Riley sat for a moment longer, staring out at the vineyard. The decision felt momentous somehow, a deliberate step toward something rather than her usual pattern of letting things unfold around her.

Laura's voice interrupted her thoughts as she appeared in the doorway. "Well? What's got you smiling like that?"

"I'm going to Cincinnati instead of LA," Riley admitted, still processing it herself.

Laura's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? When did this happen?"

"Just now," Riley said, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "He called and asked, and it just... felt right."

Laura studied her friend's face, taking a thoughtful sip of her wine. "You two barely know each other, but I haven't seen you light up like this in a long time."

Riley looked out at the vineyard, then back to Laura with a half-shrug. "It's different with him. I can't explain it exactly. It's like..." she paused, searching for the words. "It's like we're from completely different worlds, but somehow it works."

"Must be," Laura agreed, her expression softening as she studied Riley's face. "It's nice, you know."

"What is?"

"Seeing you like this again. Open." Laura's eyes were knowing. "After Ethan, you've been so..."

"Closed off?" Riley supplied.

"I was going to say selective about who gets past the stage persona," Laura corrected gently. "That's not like you. You've always been the one who dives in headfirst."

Riley didn't have to ask what she meant. After Ethan, she'd built walls around certain parts of herself. She'd still been Riley—still impulsive, still adventurous in almost every aspect of her life—but when it came to letting someone in, really in, she'd kept the door firmly shut.

But Joe had somehow slipped through that defense without even trying. From that first conversation in New York, there had been something about him that made her want to let him see the real her, not just the version she showed the world.

Laura nudged her shoulder. "Pete's going to give you so much shit about this."

Riley groaned, already imagining the teasing she'd endure from her bandmates. "Worth it," she decided.

Laura nudged her shoulder. "Pete's going to give you so much shit about this."

Riley groaned, already imagining the teasing she'd endure from her bandmates. "Worth it," she decided.

Haley appeared in the doorway, holding a glass of wine. "Worth what? Did I miss something important?"

"Only Riley deciding to go to Cincinnati instead of LA," Laura said with exaggerated casualness.

Haley's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? Just like that?"

Riley pointed accusingly at Laura. "Don't make it sound so impulsive. It's just for a few days."

"Everything you do is impulsive," Haley countered, entering the room fully. She glanced at Riley's chaotic packing situation and winced. "So what are you planning to wear in Cincinnati?"

Riley looked down at her mess of clothes. "I mean, it's cold here too. I've got warm stuff."

"You have two sweaters, both of which you've worn repeatedly without washing," Haley pointed out. "And that leather jacket with the broken zipper."

"I'll make it work," Riley shrugged. "It's not like I'm going to Antarctica."

"No, just Cincinnati," Laura said. "Where it's probably exactly as cold as it is here, but you'll have even fewer clothing options because most of what you brought is dirty."

Riley tossed a bundled pair of socks at her. "I'll figure it out. Maybe do some emergency laundry before I leave."

"Or you could just buy something there," Haley suggested practically.

"Or steal his clothes," Laura added with a smirk.

"Shut up, both of you," Riley laughed, but there was no heat in it.

Haley sat on the edge of the bed. "Football boy must be pretty special if you're willing to show up with half a functional wardrobe."

Riley didn't deny it, which made both Laura and Haley exchange knowing looks.

"Hey," Laura said, noticing Riley's contemplative expression. "You good with this? Really?"

Riley thought about Joe—his quiet confidence, his thoughtfulness, the way he'd somehow understood exactly what she needed for her birthday.

"Yeah," she said softly, certainty settling over her like a blanket. "I'm good with this."

Haley raised her glass in a toast. "Then I'm happy for you. Even if your packing skills remain atrocious."

Back in Cincinnati, Joe set his phone down and leaned back against his kitchen counter, a slow smile spreading across his face. Riley was coming here. To his city. His home.

The realization sent an unexpected surge of anticipation through him. He glanced around his Indian Hill home—the tasteful modern furnishings, the organized spaces, the large windows overlooking the lake. The house was massive—far bigger than what he really needed. It had never struck him as incomplete before, mostly because he never gave it much thought. It was a place to sleep, eat, and decompress when he had the rare off day. Functional. Efficient. Nothing unnecessary.

But now, imagining Riley here, he saw it through new eyes.

Would she find it too impersonal? The contrast with her vibrant New Orleans home was stark. Her space had felt lived-in, full of stories and meaning in every corner. His was beautiful but… unfinished. As though he’d moved in but never fully unpacked the parts of himself that would transform it from a house into a home.

Joe pushed off from the counter, walking through the rooms with a more critical eye. He pulled up a saved tab on his phone—the high-end turntable he’d researched obsessively after returning from New Orleans but hadn’t pulled the trigger on buying. Now there was a reason to finally make the purchase.

He picked up his phone, texting his assistant, Sarah.

Joe: Need a few things ASAP - high-end turntable delivered by Wednesday.

He screenshot the Pro-Ject model he’d been eyeing and sent it.

Joe: This one. Also need speakers—something good, but not obnoxious-looking. And a console table for it—don’t care what it looks like, just make it go with the house.

He paused, then added:

Joe: Also need warm clothes (women’s S/M) for someone coming from Italy. Cincinnati weather appropriate. Details tomorrow.

The response came almost immediately.

Sarah: On it. Any specific brands/style preferences for the clothes?

Joe: I have no idea. She wears vintage stuff. Just get options.

Sarah: Got it. Budget?

Joe: Whatever it takes.

Joe suddenly realized something and quickly typed another message.

Joe: Also need records. For the turntable.

Sarah: What kind of records?

Joe stared at his phone. Shit.

Joe: Fuck, I don’t know, Sarah. What do cool people listen to on vinyl?

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.

Sarah: Turntable and vinyl? Whatever you’re doing, you’re really going for it, huh?

Joe: Yeah. Need help.

Sarah: This must be serious. I’m both concerned and entertained.

Joe: Not helpful, Sarah. You’re fired.

Sarah: You’re not firing me. You’d never put in the effort to train someone new, and you know it.

Joe: Fine. Not fired. But please help with the records.

Sarah: I know a guy at the record store. I’ll get you a “tastefully eclectic collection that doesn’t try too hard.” His words, not mine.

Joe: Perfect. Thanks.

Sarah: First turntables, now records. She must be something.

Joe: Don't worry about that.

Joe stared at the message for a long moment.

Joe: She is.

Strangely, the thought didn’t fill him with the usual anxiety that came with disruptions to his routine. Instead, it felt… energizing. Like Riley’s impending visit was bringing color to a part of his life that had been stuck in shades of gray for too long.

For the first time, his house didn’t quite feel like home—but maybe that was because home was becoming something different altogether. Something he was just beginning to understand.