#they have to have been a mix of him and someone else

[swtheartz]

“ LIKE STRAWBERRIES. ” — M. Grayson

Part one Info : Suggestive content, implied spit kink, healer reader, reader is lowk oblivious, slow burn

W / C : 2k A / N : found the PERFECT strawberry divider off of pinterest from a rentry source i lit need to find it again because it’s sooo cute??? like what. anyway here’s ur guys’ treat eat up

You’ve noticed that Mark lingers.

Not even from a distance, either. No. He has to be a fucking weirdo about it. As pretty as he is, because handsome simply isn’t enough to describe him, he isn’t that bright when it comes to you. There is nothing subtle about it. Sam notices. Rex notices. And of course, Stedman notices. Everyone. Notices.

Except for Invincible himself.

And it pisses you off. Because for someone like him, he could at least be more aware outside of combat. You knew he was a dork, but not even you believed it to be this bad—it’s almost embarrassing. No, scratch that, it is embarrassing. Mostly embarrassing for you. Because Mark Grayson simply never. stops. staring.

Especially now.

“You redecorated,” Mark notes, staring at the newer posters on the wall and a new vase with honeysuckle placed inside as he sits on the usual bed you demand he sits on, waiting to be healed. “It’s nice.”

“If you don’t shut the hell up and let me work.” You groan, staring at the samples you’ve been testing. It’s something you’ve been working on for some time, a little over two months now. After accidentally crying over one of your plants, and yes it was because you’d been too busy to water it, you’d realized that it wasn’t just your hands that could heal. For now. . . You were limiting the experiments to tears.

Finding out new ways to cry was getting tiring, though. And your eyes hurt. If Stedman realized what you were working on, he’d be elated; in his own weird and subtle way. A more efficient approach to healing had been found simply because you forgot to water a plant.

To be fair, they were your prettiest African violets that you simply refused to let go of. And you could proudly say they were now thriving.

“What are you working on?” Mark questions, peeking over your shoulder as you test the percentage of how much is necessary for effective healing. You paused for a second, thinking about the fact you had a test subject right there. One that would be more than willing.

Slowly, you set down the tiny cup that had your tears mixed in with water, leaning back into our swivel chair with as calm of an expression that you could muster—before looking up at him through your lashes.

“Mark,” you hum sweetly, immediately, his eyebrows furrow. You’ve been calling him by his full name for half a year, and that was only because he begged you to stop calling him by Invincible for three weeks straight. The confusion in his face made you tilt your head, blinking innocently.

“I need you to test something for me. Nothing life threatening, unfortunately, but it is important. And I would rather be roasted on a spit than have anyone else test it.”

“. . . I feel like you’re trying to poison me.”

“If I wanted to do that,” you smile, grabbing a cup with a higher potency, “I would have done it the second time around when you ended up here. Just drink this.”

Mark takes the cup from your hand, incredulous and curious all at the same time. It’s clear that he’s going over his options here, and he’d much rather die than let someone else be your lab rat, you know that much. A sigh leaves him as he drinks it, and he blinks.

“It’s just water.” He mumbles, confused. It must be tasteless, maybe a little salty, but probably not even noticeable. At first, you think it’s a failure, before he makes a noise and that new gash on his cheek mends itself back together, the bruise on his neck from basically being choked fades away in a matter of moments. Not as quick as your usual method, but still effective and efficient.

The result is satisfying. Though, you sit in your chair and think about how you should’ve given him a lower dose just to study it for a little longer. Regardless, it’s still the effect of you, and that is more than enough in your eyes. Just. . . You didn’t want to waste time trying to make yourself cry and mixing it with water, just to heal some wounds on heroes that could surely wait it out. Heal naturally.

“What was that?” He seems almost dazed, still confused, but somewhat fascinated.

“My tears mixed with some water.”

“Wha-? Your tears? I just drank your tears?”

“I’m gonna try spit next time you come here,” you say absentmindedly, writing something down so you can store away the data for later and even more research. You believe you gave him some that had twenty five percent? Something like that. It’s a rough estimate, but a little more practice and you’ll get something more accurate. No, you don’t notice the way Mark nearly chokes on air at your blunt statement, having to stop himself from making any more noise.

He doesn’t want to ask if you’re serious or not. Knowing you, you’d just stare blankly at him and tell him to figure it out, so instead, he slowly nods and sits back down, finally letting you work in silence as he spaced out.

The next time he does end up there, you decide it’s perfect to test your newer mixture. Arguably, it’d worked pretty good on another plant that you had sacrificed, even better than it did on your beloved violets. It was nothing but a fern, but the result was amazing.

You were excited to see the results on a human. Hell, the first time you’d felt actual excitement in forever. This was, for the first time in a long time, something new. Saliva was most definitely your limit in this little experiment of yours, however, and then you’d let Stedman know of your discoveries after.

After—you have your fun with your annoying fucking lab rat.

“Are you sure this is safe? You could, you know, always heal me the usual way?”

“Mark, are you saying I have a nasty mouth?” You stare at him, holding the small plastic cup in your hand. You’d had the decency to mix it in with water, the same as you did with your tears, and figured he wouldn’t even taste it. The way he softens up as you say his name is something you can’t miss. But it is something you can ignore.

He shakes his head and sighs, but still seems reluctant.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. If my tears worked just fine, then I’m pretty sure this will too; this is just for confirmation at best.”

Mark stares for a few moments, before he ultimately takes the cup and stares at it. Now, usually, you can read him quite easily. He’s the type to have the worst poker face known to man, and you’re not quite used to the almost contemplative look on his face. It’s quiet for a few moments, before he drinks it.

Slowly.

Your nose scrunches at that, because whether or not he realizes it, he’s drinking it at what you consider a snail’s pace for no reason. Still, you say nothing, simply crossing your arms across your chest as he finishes. As you thought, the effect is much more immediate than it was with your tears. Quicker. Comparable to when you use your hands. A good result—hell, an even better result than you expected.

He takes a second, before shrugging. “Tastes like water.”

“It’s supposed to, dipshit.”

“Strawberries.”

“Yeah.”

“You were grocery shopping,” You glance between him and the random two pound container of strawberries he’d given you, dark red and ripe. “And decided that it’d be a good idea to get your coworker. . . Strawberries.”

Mark exhales, mask and goggles still on, yet you can tell he’s pouting.

“I would prefer it if you just called us friends.”

“We’re coworkers, Markus. And even calling us that is pushing it,” You roll your eyes, opening the container and staring at one of the larger, darker strawberries that looked just perfect enough to bite into. But you had some decorum. You were gonna go home, wash these, let them soak,  and try not to eat them in one sitting. You don’t like how well Mark has started to understand what your tastes were. Especially when you had made it such a point not to tell him anything.

“Mark. Just, for the love of whatever god is out there, call me Mark.”

“I condemn you, Grayson. I curse you.” The groan that leaves him at the fact he’s seemingly downgraded from his full first name back to last name nearly makes you crack a smile, but you refrain from doing so. Letting him know that you didn’t want him to perish in the slightest would make him want to be around more, and you needed to work, and you can’t work with a 5’11” man with pure muscle constantly in your personal space.

The GDA was swamping you with more patients, more frequent incidents, and now you feel like an office worker; which, as stupid as it sounds, is what you were trying to avoid by working here. What you hoped to avoid, because you were different. You were a goddamn healer.

The two of you stare at each other—at least, you’d like to believe it’s a staring contest. You can’t tell if he’s looking or not, but he sure can tell with the way you purposely hold eye contact, not even daring to look away. Like he deserved to be scolded for thinking about you when he saw some fruit.

“Would you have, I don’t know, preferred peaches or something?” Mark’s question is genuine, and he’s the one pinching the bridge of his nose this time, like a disappointed parent. You scowl at that. Again, you plop down in your swivel chair, glaring at him as you cross your legs.

He knows the answer to that. No, you wouldn’t have preferred peaches, even though you have a tendency to inhale any fruit placed in front of you. Strawberries were, frankly, put on a pedestal by you. It undeniably showed, and you didn’t like that one bit. You didn’t like being able to read. And while it isn’t your fault that he stubbornly refused to leave your side, refuses to stop analyzing and staring at you, you’re still upset.

“I want you out. I have work.”

“You always have work!”

“Of course I always have work, do you see what my job is?! You know what, I’m gonna feed these to your little brother in front of you, and then I’m gonna withhold him from you for the rest of the week.”

“His name is Oliver, memorize names. Please, just memorize names and use them,” he pleads, pulling his goggles and mask off with an exasperated noise.

“Oh, I know everyone’s names. And their birthdays, including yours.” You state bluntly, waving your pencil at him, “I just don’t care. I want you to know how stupid your hero name is, too.”

“To hell with you.”

“I cursed you first!”

Later on, Mark watches as Oliver eats the slice of strawberry shortcake you’d given him after the incident with the Mauler twins, which you’d given him in exchange for a promise that he’d listen to his older brother. He watches as Cecil takes you purposely out of earshot, watches the two of you argue, watches Cecil end the argument on his terms and walk away while you give a resigned shake of your head.

Later on, Mark can catch the scent of strawberries coming from your ward as you work late at night, and he smiles to himself. He remembers the taste of that diluted water you’d given him, uncaring for the healing factor of it.

He was more focused on the fact that you tasted like strawberries.

TAG LIST : @lxluvsmoney @koilikesthefishy @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @tokoyamisstuff @pookiei-bookie @treeteaofversailles

[humaling]

Back to Where We Began.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: finnick's usual trip at the beach becomes something more when an old face shows up.

warnings: none!!!

word count: 5k

author's note: alternate universe!!! no hunger games ehe just finnick having an absolute fat crush on his childhood friend aka you (i also got carried away while writing this)

Finnick loves the beaches and the sunsets. There’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. He’s spent most of his life walking along the shore and swimming in the cold, salty sea—at this point, he’s practically part of it. At least, that’s what the locals say. They’ve taken to calling him the boy of the sea.

His family has always lived near the water. His mother used to take him on evening walks during sunset, and his father taught him how to swim and fish. His love for the ocean came from his father, a fisherman, while his fascination with sunsets came from his mother. Before she met his dad, she used to sneak away to a cliff near the shore, craving a glimpse of the horizon from her home deeper in town.

As a kid, Finnick had no shortage of friends. It didn’t matter who they were or where they came from—he greeted everyone with a bright, wide smile and was always ready to play. He’s been a familiar face in the market for as long as anyone can remember. Sure, he stirs up trouble now and then, but one flash of that boyish grin and a few sweet words, and the vendors can never stay mad.

Take today, for example. Finnick is munching on an egg pie he talked his way into, no payment necessary. The sweet custard melts on his tongue, rich and warm, and a satisfied hum slips from his throat.

Finnick brushes the crumbs off his hands, wiping them carelessly on his shorts. His sandaled feet slap against the mix of sand and stone as he heads toward the beach. The sun is slowly sinking into the horizon, casting the sky in soft, warm shades of orange tinged with red. Light spills across his tanned skin, glowing against him like he’d been carved by some ancient sculptor and left here to walk among mortals.

The familiar scent of salt fills his nose as the ocean comes into view. He hears seagulls calling overhead and the rhythmic crash of waves folding into one another. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips—the kind that feels like home.

His steps quicken the closer he gets. The water stretches out before him, the sand coming into full view. And when he reaches the edge of the stone path where a set of stairs leads down to the beach, there’s barely anyone there. In fact, there’s only one person here.

Finnick doesn’t usually care whether the beach is crowded or completely empty—but today, it’s strange to see just one person out here. The sunset is too stunning to miss. The sky looks like it’s been painted in fire and honey, and yet, no one else is around to witness it.

He starts down the stairs, hands stuffed into his shorts pockets, eyes locked on the lone figure sitting near the shore. They’re leaning back on their arms, legs stretched out in front of them, just close enough to the water for the waves to almost kiss their toes. Whatever reason Finnick had for coming here slips from his mind. All he can focus on now is that person—someone who looks oddly familiar in the golden light.

A gust of wind whips past him, ruffling his already messy hair even more. He watches as the breeze moves through the other person’s hair too, sweeping it back just enough to reveal their face.

And his guess was right.

It’s you. The quiet girl from his batch—the one who always sticks close to the same three people, always just slightly out of the center of things.

And the girl he’s had a crush on since the kinder years.

Finnick stops mid-step, the wind catching at his shirt as his heart stumbles over itself. A flush of heat creeps up his neck, spreading through his chest like sunlight on stone. He hadn’t expected to see you—not here, not now. You moved to the Capitol right after graduation, didn’t you? You always said you liked the city more, even when you were kids. The way you lit up talking about tall buildings, busy streets, lights that never went out. It made sense for you to leave. It made sense for him to stay.

Still, seeing you now—here of all places—pulls something loose inside him.

He remembers a moment so clearly it could’ve happened yesterday. Back in elementary school, your teacher made everyone dress up as what they wanted to be when they grew up. Finnick can’t remember what he wore—something simple, probably something with a toy fishing rod—but he remembers you.

You walked in wearing your mom’s sunglasses, a scarf tied fashionably around your neck, and mismatched heels you could barely walk in. You carried a little sketchbook under your arm and declared, with all the confidence your tiny self could muster, that you wanted to be a fashionista living in the Capitol—designing clothes, going to big shows, maybe even being famous one day.

You were unforgettable even then, he thinks as he watches the waves catch light behind you.

Finnick stands there for a moment, eyes fixed on you, watching the way the sunset lights up your face. His heart is still racing, but now it’s mixed with a nervous fluttering he hasn’t felt in years. He’s a grown man now—20 years old, for gods' sake. He’s no longer that little boy who stammered around you with his heart on his sleeve. And yet, standing here, watching you so at ease, he feels like he’s right back in those schoolyard days.

He forces himself to look away for a second, trying to ground himself. Maybe you don’t want to talk to me. The thought makes his stomach tighten. He hasn’t seen you in so long, and the last time they crossed paths, you were all about the city life, the high society. What if you don’t even remember me?

He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought. It’s not like I still have a crush on you. He can’t even believe he’s thinking this. I’m twenty years old. I’m basically a man now. I’ve got my own things going for me. Anyone literally falls for me these days. So why the hell am I standing here, acting like a kid again?

Another breeze ruffles his hair, and he glances back toward you, a little more resolute now. Just go talk to her, he thinks, a little frustrated with himself. What’s the worst that could happen?

But as his feet shuffle forward, doubt creeps back in. What if you don’t even want to talk to me? What if you’ve changed so much that I don’t even know what to say?

But no. He’s already taken the first step. He takes another, and then another, until the space between you has closed enough for him to finally speak.

You haven’t noticed him yet, your attention still focused on the horizon. Finnick clears his throat softly, just enough to announce his presence without startling you.

Finnick stands there for a few seconds, palms growing clammy as he watches you sitting in the sand, still completely still, clearly somewhere far off in your mind. He wonders for a second if you heard him and are just ignoring him—but then he catches the distant look in your eyes and realizes you haven’t noticed him at all.

He clears his throat again, louder this time.

You jolt upright with a startled yelp, instinctively drawing your arms around yourself as you look up, blinking rapidly at the figure standing above you. For a split second, your breath catches.

Whoever this is, he doesn’t look real.

He stands bathed in the sunset, as if the sky itself molded him from gold and fire. Tousled bronze curls catch the wind and gleam like sun-warmed sand. His skin glows under the fading light, all smooth lines and quiet strength, and his sea-green eyes are trained on you with a kind of warm, amused curiosity.

You blink again. Once. Twice.

Your heart stutters because this guy—this ridiculously ethereal, Capitol-model-looking man—feels oddly familiar. Your mind scrambles, trying to place where you’ve seen that face, that posture, those eyes. He shifts slightly, scratching the back of his neck the way someone does when they’re unsure, and something about the movement clicks.

And then your jaw drops.

“Wait,” you whisper, eyes narrowing, disbelief thick in your voice. “Finnick?”

He grins, sheepish and a little shy, and there it is—the boy you used to know, shining right through the man in front of you.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless. “Been a while huh?”

It’s him. But it feels like a lifetime since you’ve seen him, like so much has changed—and yet, here he is. Just like the way you remembered him, only now with the world’s sun at his back, as if he were the one meant to shine.

You clear your throat, heat rising to your cheeks. “Y-yeah...” you stutter, letting out a shaky exhale. “How have you been?”

Finnick feels his chest grow warm, his stomach giving the tiniest flutter at the sound of your voice. You still sound the same—still a little high-pitched, still sweet and melodic in a way that somehow cuts through the crashing of the waves behind you.

“I’ve been good,” he says, and then he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Well, mostly. Life’s been... weird.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot, glancing at the sand before meeting your eyes again. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were off doing big city things—Capitol runways and fashion shows and all that.”

There’s a playful glint in his eye now, but there’s something else beneath it too. Something softer. Curious. Like he’s not quite sure if you’re still the same girl who once drew sketches in the margins of your notebooks and wore scarves in the middle of summer just because they “looked chic.”

Your lips twitch, caught between a smile and some emotion you can’t name yet. Maybe it’s surprise. Maybe it’s the realization that Finnick—this golden, grown-up version of the boy you used to know—is actually here, standing in front of you, talking to you like no time has passed.

“Yeah, well,” you say, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “The Capitol isn’t always what you expect.

You hesitate for a beat before adding, quieter this time, “I needed to come back. Even if just for a while.”

The wind picks up gently, and the scent of salt and sea fills the silence between you both—comfortable and strange all at once.

“Oh?” Finnick hums, one brow quirking as he tilts his head. His eyes sweep over you—how your shoulders curl inward, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. How you avoid his gaze, choosing instead to stare out at the ocean stretching endlessly in front of you. Your hands are clasped tightly together, but he catches the way your fingers twitch every few seconds as you gently rock back and forth in the sand.

He doesn’t press. Instead, he lowers himself beside you, settling down with his legs stretched out and keeping a comfortable, friendly distance. The breeze ruffles his hair again, and he nudges your elbow playfully.

“Do pray tell,” he says, imitating the lofty, exaggerated tone the people in the Capitol always seem to use.

You can’t help it—you laugh, just a little. It slips out unpolished and real, and the corner of your mouth lifts into the softest smile. The sound is quiet, but it makes something in Finnick’s chest ache in the best way.

He watches you under the warm kiss of the setting sun, your features bathed in gold, eyes distant but glowing. You look ethereal, almost unreal, and for a second he forgets to breathe.

Where else can I get a view like this?

Finnick doesn't say that out loud. He just leans back on his hands, his shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, and glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice a little softer now, a little more real, “what brought you back? Homesick? Or just tired of pretending?”

“Both,” you answer bashfully, your voice barely above the breeze.

Finnick turns his head to glance at you again. You’re staring down at your lap now, absently fidgeting with the hem of your crocheted beach skirt. His eyes narrow, recognition sparking. He knows that skirt. You wore it for your sixteenth birthday—he remembers the way you beamed as you ran into the water, the way the skirt clung to your legs when it got wet. You had invited a small group of friends to celebrate by the shore, and somehow, Finnick had made the cut.

He remembers that day clearer than he probably should.

“The Capitol isn’t really all glittery and pretty,” you huff, puffing out your bottom lip and scrunching your nose in a way that’s so you it makes Finnick’s chest twist. Like you’re still that girl who believed skyscrapers and runways would be everything you dreamed of, and now you’re disappointed to learn the shine wasn’t gold after all.

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” Finnick mutters with a scoff, the sound edged with something that’s not quite bitterness but close.

He remembers his own visit there—not for anything glamorous, just a district-wide meeting Mags had been invited to. Technically she’s not his grandmother, but she might as well be. She’d helped raise him after his mother passed, always showing up with food and stories when things got hard. When his father couldn’t make the trip, Finnick went in his place.

Part of him had hoped—no, expected—to run into you. But the Capitol was massive, bustling with a million faces, and his chances vanished the second he stepped off the train. Instead, he found himself swallowed by a city that was loud, bright, and far colder than the sea.

They didn’t mistreat him exactly, but he felt the judgment in every side glance. The way people appraised him like a thing, not a person. Some fawned over his looks—commented on his eyes, his smile, his District 4 physique—but others looked at him like he tracked in sand and saltwater and didn’t belong.

It was a wake-up call. And clearly, for you, it had been too.

“Guess it’s not always what we think it’ll be,” he says, more quietly now, watching as a seagull skims across the waves.

You hum in agreement and just like that, something shifts in the air between you—subtle, but real. Like the tide pulling just a little closer to shore.

You’re still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, brows furrowed slightly. You don’t seem to notice the way Finnick keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to memorize you before the tide takes you away again.

After a beat, he speaks.

“You ever think about coming back?” he asks, voice quiet now. Careful.

You glance at him, then out at the ocean again, like maybe it’ll give you the answer you’re not ready to say out loud. Your fingers still.

“Sometimes,” you admit. “More than I expected to.”

“Well,” Finnick sighs, a little dramatic, dragging the word out like he’s on stage. It earns him a raised eyebrow from you, your expression half amused, half unimpressed.

“You’re always welcome here,” he adds, a softer note threading through the theatrics. “Annie and the others miss you.”

Another smile curves on your lips, this one gentler, fond. There’s a twinkle in your eyes now—one Finnick remembers from when you were kids. He used to catch himself staring when you laughed too long, when the sun hit your face just right. Seems like nothing’s changed.

“I’ve only just got here,” you admit. “I haven’t told anyone. Mom and Dad weren’t home when I arrived.” Your mouth pulls into a small pout, disappointment written plain across your face.

Cute, Finnick thinks as his smile widens without him meaning to.

“I saw them earlier,” he offers. “They’re down at the market. Pops got a lot of good, big stuff this morning.”

Your head tilts. “Pops?” you repeat, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “I didn’t know you and Dad were close.”

Finnick’s smile turns sheepish. He lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck—again—and laughs under his breath. “Well, someone’s gotta help the ol’ man carry those heavy loads.”

You giggle, eyes crinkling. “I suppose. Those hips can’t shake like they used to.”

Finnick barks out a laugh, loud and bright. “God, don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll throw you into the sea.”

You nudge his shoulder playfully. “He wouldn’t dare. I’m his favorite.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he says with a teasing lilt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What? I’m the only child—” You pause, then whip your head toward him, eyes wide as realization hits. “You traitor!”

Finnick just grins, turning his gaze back to the water, but not before sneaking another glance at you—soft, amused, maybe even a little smitten. The sun’s sinking lower now, casting long shadows across the sand, and the breeze picks up, carrying with it the scent of salt and seaweed.

A moment passes. Comfortable silence. The kind that only really exists between people who’ve known each other long enough not to fill it.

“Are you staying long?” Finnick asks, voice light, but there’s a flicker of something under the surface—hope? Nerves?

You pick at the edge of your sleeve, thinking. “I… don’t know yet.”

He nods slowly, lips pressed together like he’s trying to bite back his own thoughts. Then, with a crooked grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he says, “Well… I hope you do. Who else is gonna talk trash about your dad’s hips?”

“I’m pretty sure you can fill that spot,” you say, the teasing lilt in your voice mirrored in your eyes.

Finnick lets out a hearty chuckle, head tilting back for a moment. “Yeah, but unlike you, no one’s gonna back me up.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence again. The waves lap against the shore in steady rhythm, the wind weaving through your hair. From here, the sun looks like it’s dipping straight into the water, casting everything in a soft amber glow.

Finnick draws a line in the sand with his finger. “So… what’s it like? Living there.”

You blink. “The Capitol?”

He nods without looking up.

You exhale through your nose, fiddling again with the hem of your skirt. “Loud. Fast. Crowded. Kinda lonely, sometimes.”

That last part slips out before you can stop it. You’re not even sure why you said it—but Finnick doesn’t press. He just hums softly and lets it hang in the air.

“I figured,” he murmurs, leaning back on his palms. “You always liked quiet.”

You glance over at him. “You remember that?"

His eyes flick to yours. “I remember a lot of things.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, playfully skeptical. “Like what?”

Finnick shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “Like how you used to hoard sea glass in your pockets. Or how you refused to wear shoes at the beach because they messed up your ‘aesthetic.’”

You laugh, eyes crinkling. “That was a phase.”

“Was it?” he teases. “You’re still barefoot.”

You glance down at your feet, wiggling your toes in the sand. “Touché.”

You’re both quiet for a beat, smiles still lingering, when Finnick pushes off his palms and stands. He brushes the sand from his shorts, then turns toward you with a hand extended.

“C’mon,” he says, voice soft but sure. “Walk with me?”

You look up at him, a little surprised by the offer—but more surprised by the look on his face. Open. Warm. Patient.

You hesitate only for a second before slipping your hand into his.

It’s nothing, really. Just skin against skin. Fingers curling around fingers. But something in the touch knocks the wind out of Finnick's chest. It’s the smallest, simplest contact—and yet it feels like something electric hums between your palms. Like he’s just touched something fragile and sacred.

He helps you up gently, like you might break if he pulls too hard. And when you’re steady on your feet, you don’t let go immediately. Neither does he.

Then you both realize.

You laugh first, a little embarrassed, slipping your hand free as you brush the sand from your legs. “Sorry. That was… I didn’t mean to hold on for so long.”

Finnick rubs the back of his neck, again. “Nah, it’s fine. I just… yeah.”

You glance at him, smirking. “You always this eloquent?”

He shoots you a mock-offended look. “Only when I’m caught off guard.”

A smirk plays on your lips. “Do I make the Finnick Odair nervous?” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows dramatically.

Finnick barks out a laugh, his head tilting back as if your question is absolutely absurd—and yet, he can’t meet your eyes.

His smile softens as he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Please. Me? Nervous?” he scoffs, but the flush creeping up his neck says otherwise.

You arch a brow. “Didn’t sound like a no.”

Finnick laughs again, this time quieter, and a little shy around the edges. His sea-green eyes flick toward you, bright with amusement but tinged with something softer. “Maybe just a little.”

You hum, triumphant, and kick up a bit of sand as you walk. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

And for a second, Finnick thinks maybe he should say more—should tell you how strange and familiar this all feels. How warm his hand still is from touching yours. But instead, he lets the silence speak, filled with the sound of your laughter and the ocean’s steady rhythm.

You fall into step beside him, the two of you strolling slowly along the shoreline. The breeze is softer now, the tide low, waves brushing against your feet as the sky fades into hues of lavender and gold.

It feels like something out of a memory you forgot you had. You and him, side by side, no need to fill the quiet. Your steps fall in rhythm like muscle memory, like your bodies already remember what your hearts are only just beginning to catch up to.

Every so often, your arms brush, and neither of you says anything about it. Finnick steals a glance at you from the corner of his eye, his lips twitching into a soft smile when he catches you doing the same.

Then, without needing to ask, your feet start to veer off the main shoreline path—toward the little rocky cove tucked behind the bend. It’s not hidden exactly, but it always felt like your secret spot. Fewer people came out this far, especially not now that the sun was dipping lower.

Finnick lets out a low whistle when the familiar patch comes into view. “Still standing,” he murmurs. “I’m almost impressed.”

You let out a small laugh, eyes glinting. “You say that like you didn’t fall through the roof of the driftwood fort that one time.”

“That was one time,” he says, holding up a finger in protest. “And you dared me.”

“You said you were ‘basically a gymnast.’”

“I was trying to impress you,” he says, and immediately regrets it—not because it’s not true, but because it sounds too honest. Too vulnerable.

You look at him for a second, quiet, something unreadable behind your smile. Then you snort. “Well, you definitely left an impression. I think your scream still echoes around here.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face as you laugh again. “You’re the worst,” he says, but the fondness in his voice softens every word.

The two of you settle onto the large flat rock you used to crowd onto as kids. Your knees bump again, and neither of you moves away.

“This feels weird,” you say after a beat. “Not bad weird. Just... I don’t know. Like I’m looking at a photo and stepping into it at the same time.”

Finnick nods slowly. “Yeah. Like we’re ghosts haunting our own memories.”

You turn to him, eyes narrowing. “Okay, that’s a little dramatic.”

He shrugs with a sheepish grin. “Well, I’m just trying to match your energy, city girl.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, but you’re smiling again, the kind that starts small but lingers at the corners of your lips. The kind Finnick remembers seeing when you’d sneak bites of your lunch early during school picnics, thinking no one noticed. He always noticed.

“Okay, Mr. Haunting Memories,” you say, folding your arms across your knees. “Do you remember when we buried your flip-flops out here and couldn’t find them the next day?”

Finnick lets out a groan, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “That was your idea.”

“Was not.”

“Was so.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “You said it would be fun to make ‘flip-flop treasure.’”

“And then you forgot where we buried them.”

You grin wide, almost triumphant. “Because you told me to forget! You said it’d make it ‘more authentic.’”

Finnick rubs a hand over his face but he’s laughing too hard to be mad about it. “I spent the whole summer with one shoe.”

“And yet you survived,” you tease, your voice low and lilting.

There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, the waves filling in the space again. The light is fading slow now, dipping into that golden blue hour where everything looks a little more like a dream than real life.

Finnick glances sideways, watching the way the sea breeze tousles your hair, how your eyes scan the horizon like you’re memorizing it all over again. And suddenly, he can’t remember why it took so long to talk to you like this again.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I didn’t think you’d come back."

Your head turns slightly toward him. “I didn’t think I would either.”

There’s something vulnerable in your voice—just the faintest crack under the surface—and it pulls at something in his chest. He doesn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, he nudges your knee with his again. “So... are you staying long enough to lose another pair of shoes with me, or is this just a vacation hit-and-run?”

You look at him, smirking softly. “Depends. You still bury things for fun?”

Finnick chuckles, brushing his fingers against the back of his neck again like he always does when he’s trying to hide that boyish flutter in his chest. “I mean, for you? I could be convinced to dig a few holes.”

You laugh, and it sounds like the sea at high tide—bright, full of movement. “So generous of you.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

You kick at the sand near his foot and start walking again, slow and easy, like there’s no need to be anywhere else. He follows without thinking, falling into step beside you as the tide creeps closer to your ankles.

After a beat, you glance sideways at him. “Do you remember that old dock we used to climb?”

Finnick’s eyes light up. “The one by the tide pools? Behind the cliff?”

You nod. “We used to race there every summer. You always won.”

“That’s because you stopped halfway to pet every crab we passed.”

“They needed affection.”

He barks a laugh. “They needed to not be picked up. I’m pretty sure one of them still has a vendetta.”

You grin, and your arm brushes his just briefly, unintentionally—or maybe not. But it’s enough for Finnick’s pulse to skip. His heart stutters in that same way it used to when he was twelve and you smiled at him over a half-eaten coconut bun.

The breeze picks up again, sending strands of your hair fluttering across your face. You don’t move to fix it, and Finnick doesn’t look away. There’s something quieter in the way you’re both sitting now. Something settled. Easy.

A beat passes.

“I missed this,” he says, not quite looking at you.

You glance at him, surprised by the sudden softness in his voice.

“This?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, eyes still on the horizon. “The beach. The quiet. You.”

Your breath catches, just a little. The teasing is gone now, replaced with something heavier—but not unwelcome.

You look away, back out to the waves rolling in and out. “I missed you too.”

Finnick’s smile softens at your words, his gaze finally drifting back to you. The moment stretches between you both, an unspoken understanding that lingers in the air like the salty breeze. He feels the pull of something familiar and tender, like the waves rolling in—gentle, inevitable.

For a moment, the world feels still, as though it’s holding its breath with the two of you.

You, too, feel it—this quiet space where the past meets the present, where old memories mix with the warmth of something new. His eyes are on you now, the weight of his gaze just enough to make your chest feel tight.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Finnick says after a beat, his voice quieter than before. There’s no teasing, no bravado. Just him, raw and real.

Your heart does a little flip at the sincerity in his tone. You want to say something, to keep the words light and easy, to pull the moment back into the realm of teasing. But the truth is, you don’t know how to play it off. Not when the air between you feels thick with things you never said.

Instead, you nod, the words coming out softer than you expected. “Me too.”

And in that moment, as the breeze curls around you both and the tide slips quietly into the shore, it feels like you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

Finnick shifts, breaking the quiet with a soft laugh. “Well, I guess we’d better get to that dock before you start saying something all sappy.”

You laugh too, relieved to find that familiar lightness again. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll keep the sap for later.”

Finnick stands first, extending his hand toward you. There’s no hesitation now, only that warm, electric feeling when you let your fingers brush against his. “After you, then,” he says, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes.

As you take his hand, you feel something shift again. Something subtle, but undeniable. Whatever this is between you, it’s more than just memory—it’s a beginning.

[v6quewrlds]

Has an ex ever been brought up between Joe and Wifey leading to tension and jealousy?? For the fun if it say yes and how did each react ? Was there self doubt or insecurity

went into that a little bit with joe being jealous of a guy she used to talk to during med school here.

but as for exes, maybe there was a girl joe dated from the tail end of high school into his first year or so at osu. it was never particularly serious, but they were together for a while.

his ex sort of lingers on the edges of the friend group joe's maintained since high school. they keep their distance as they've both moved on and are now cordial, but there is that history there. she's tends to pop up at weddings, sometimes ends up at the same bars as joe in athens, they still follow each other on instagram.

most evidence of their relationship is gone from their socials, but there's some pictures of the two of them looking cuddly on some of his friends' pages. wifey had seen those pictures in passing back in college after befriending leah, so she knows what his ex looks like, her name, where she went to undergrad, knows she moved to another part of the state after getting her master's. but she never really thought about the chance that she'd cross paths with her.

it happens at a memorial party back in joe's hometown. there's a good mix of people from the neighborhood, people he fell out of touch with, the parents of people he's known since he was in middle school who haven't seen him in years. she loves being sewn into the fabric of joe's vibrant network, finally putting a face to the names of the characters in his stories. maybe she even hears new stories of memories joe had suppressed out of embarrassment, it's a good time.

then there's her. she had been bouncing around from party to party, was told by her parents to show face at this specific one. wifey doesn't notice her until she hears his ex's name called out, doesn't turn her head until joe does, doesn't feel the racing of her heart until joe's greeting her with a hug and asking her how she's been.

it's silly.

she knows that they ended things on good terms. she knows that they've had nearly a decade of friendship after the relationship ended. but it's so hard not to compare. she's the girl next door, a good career that gives her a much better work-life balance than a doctor, and she's just pure sunshine. it radiates off her, brightens her face, and spills over onto whoever she touches. she introduces herself with a hug, pulls her into her orbit, and is so gracious, so cheery, so sunshine, it almost blinds her up close.

so she grits her teeth and smiles back, tries to reflect sunshine back to her with kind words and a whole slew of compliments. wifey breathes a full sigh of relief when his ex is pulled away from someone else at the far corners of the party. joe notices and laughs, full with a shake of his head because he just knows. he can see it on her face how the comparisons have begun to swirl around her head and dizzy her.

"exhausting, right?" he says, taking a sip of his tequila punch. cartier sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his smile knowing. he takes in the flicker of surprise that crosses her features before she faces him full on.

"what's exhausting?" she asks, slightly bewildered by the word choice. she tilts her head, pushes her own sunglasses back to rest upon the crown of her head.

"standing in the sunshine, matching... that," he gestures back toward his ex, who's now spilling sunshine elsewhere. "jamie called it toxic positivity or something."

"is it wrong of me to agree with you?" she mutters, the corner of her lip quirking up when she sees him shake his head, another laugh bubbling up in his chest. her shoulders ease, his hand finds her waist and pulls her in.

"that's why we broke up. i can't be with someone who exhausts me, makes me feel like i can't have ups and downs, that i can't be me." he clarifies, hand splayed across her lower back.

that familiar glint of teasing eased back into her expression. "what? you broke up because she didn't put up with your attitude?" she poked him lightly in the side, smiling. "sounds like you were the problem, not her."

he rolled his eyes, "i am the problem. but i met this really amazing person who seems to be okay with my attitude. so i think i made the right decision, all things considered."

[hummingbird24220]

With your love for Various strawhats x reader I feel like sex pollen/aphrodisiac could be right up your alley. Reader comes across a strange plant or takes a strange drink from someone shady either way they come back to the ship and they realize that they have very attractive crew mates.

(You could make a short series with a one shot for what ever strawhat you want if you don't wanna do that then Sanji is always a good choice <3)

Sorry it took so long!!!!!! Ive been working on it for a while and tried not to go smut

i really love this. so many drafts have been archived where the plot is 'tee hee sex tea - NOW FUCK' thank you for your request! slightly NSFW . Fem reader implied.

Pollinated

One Piece x Reader (Slightly NSFW)

You hadn’t meant to bring chaos back to the ship.

It was supposed to be a relaxing walk. Just you, the island breeze, the sound of the ocean, and some nice, exotic plants you definitely couldn’t identify but looked cute enough to poke.

A little fuzzy puffball plant caught your eye. You touched it — it exploded into a shimmering cloud of golden dust.

You sneezed. Thought nothing of it.

Big mistake.

—

You staggered back onto the Thousand Sunny an hour later, head feeling a little hot and weirdly floaty. Your skin tingled like you were sunburned — but it wasn’t painful. More like... sensitive. Everything around you felt too bright, too sharp, and oh god, was it hot out here or was that just you?

“(Y/N)! You’re back!” Luffy beamed at you, running over in that happy, bounce-on-his-heels way he always did. “Didja find any cool stuff?!”

You opened your mouth to respond.

And then you saw him.

Luffy’s grin was dazzling, and his tanned skin glowed in the sun, and you were suddenly, painfully aware of just how hot he looked in that open red vest, muscles flexing as he tugged his hat down cutely.

Your brain made a skreee noise and short-circuited.

“I—uh—" You blurted out, "Found something really nice. Very... very nice.”

Luffy tilted his head, confused but delighted. "Cool!"

Before you could say anything else humiliating, Sanji showed up with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a tray of drinks.

“Oi, (Y/N)-chan~ You look flushed. Sun too much for your sweet skin?” He crooned.

Your gaze dropped helplessly to the way his sleeves were rolled up, forearms on full display, veins tracing delicious lines down to his hands—

You made a tiny choking sound.

"Nope!" you squeaked. "Just thinking about... hard things. I mean! Working hard! I'm fine!"

Sanji blinked, heart in his eyes because you were being adorable (he thought), and offered you a glass.

You took it with trembling fingers and turned — only to see Zoro leaning against the mast, casually glugging water over his head, droplets trailing down his chest.

You were gone. Ruined. Defenseless.

"Hnnng," you whined out loud before you could stop yourself.

Everyone paused.

Nami looked at you. Robin looked at you. Franky, Usopp, and Brook looked at you.

Even Zoro turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

"Uhh... I think I’m getting a little sick," you croaked, practically vibrating with the effort not to stare at every beautiful, sweaty, shirtless crew mate in sight.

Chopper immediately jumped into doctor mode. "You're burning up!" He skittered over, worry in his big brown eyes. "Come on, let's get you inside! You might have a fever or sunstroke!"

"Y-yeah," you nodded quickly, squeezing your thighs together because even walking felt wrong. "Really burning up. Like a... like a fire. A raging inferno. So hot. So needy—"

"WHAT?" Sanji yelped, ears turning bright red.

"I mean NEEDY for water! Hydration! Ha ha!" you babbled, half laughing, half delirious. "Y'know, wet things—"

"OH MY GOD," Usopp muttered, face a mix of horror and second-hand embarrassment.

Chopper tugged your wrist urgently. "We need to get you cooled down right away!"

He dragged you toward the infirmary while you made increasingly less-sane comments.

"Bet the inside of the fridge feels so good," you muttered. "So cold and hard and—"

Chopper stopped in his tracks.

His ears twitched.

He slowly turned his head toward you, wide-eyed.

"Wait," he said slowly, blinking. "Did you... touch anything weird on the island?"

You nodded, dazed. "Pretty... gold plant. Smelled nice."

Chopper’s face drained of color.

"Sex pollen," he whispered.

You blinked, the words slowly swimming through your overheated brain.

"...Sex pollen...?" you echoed dreamily.

Chopper screamed.

"WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!!"

-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SEX POLLEN?!” Usopp shrieked, voice cracking straight into panic.

Chopper frantically flipped through one of his emergency medical books, flipping pages so fast they blurred. "It’s a rare kind of plant! It releases a dust that affects your brain chemistry — increases attraction, lowers inhibitions — basically, it makes you... uh..." He coughed into his hoof. "Desperate."

Sanji dropped his cigarette in horror. “ARE YOU SAYING (Y/N)-CHAN IS—?!”

You, meanwhile, were sitting on the infirmary bed, swinging your legs idly, watching the chaos unfold with a blissed-out smile.

“They’re all so pretty," you sighed dreamily. "Like... like a buffet. A sexy buffet.”

“OH MY GOD,” Usopp cried again, hiding behind Franky.

Robin tilted her head, elegant as ever, a tiny smile on her lips. “How fascinating.”

Nami grabbed Chopper by the shoulders. “Is it dangerous?!”

“It’s not fatal!” Chopper squeaked. “But if they don’t... relieve the symptoms somehow, the fever could get worse!”

"Relieve the—" Zoro started, then froze. His eye twitched violently. “Nope. Nope. Not gonna ask.”

The room was a mess of rising voices and frantic movement. In the middle of it all, you were slowly sliding off the bed, your mind swimming in a haze of hot skin and pretty faces and very, very wrong but very, very good ideas.

You stumbled toward Zoro first, your brain latching onto the first big, strong thing it saw.

"You look so strong," you murmured, running your hand up his bicep.

Zoro seized up like you’d hit him with a paralysis spell. His entire body locked stiff. You could practically hear the alarm sirens going off in his head.

“Uhh—" he croaked, backing up so hard he hit the wall. "No touching! Bad! Bad touching!"

You giggled, heat radiating off you in waves. "You could throw me around a little," you suggested, way too eagerly. "Bet you could pin me real good—"

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF—!!" Sanji screamed, bodily grabbing you and dragging you away from Zoro like you were a ticking time bomb.

“Be GENTLE, you brute!!” Sanji cried, cradling you in his arms like a princess while simultaneously sweating buckets. “(Y/N)-chan is delicate and— and full of... dangerous urges right now!!!”

You looped your arms around Sanji’s neck lazily, staring up at him through lidded eyes. "You smell so good," you purred. "Like something I'd like to bite."

Sanji promptly exploded into flames.

"BACKUP, I NEED BACKUP," he wailed.

Luffy, watching all this with sparkling curiosity, casually slung an arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, (Y/N)! If you’re that hot, maybe we can dunk you in the ocean!" he chirped.

You turned your head slowly.

Stared at him.

Grinned.

“You could dunk me," you said, voice low and dangerous. "You could dunk me all night."

"LUFFY, NO," Chopper screamed.

"NO DUNKING," Nami screamed.

"NO ANYTHING," Zoro yelled.

Brook, from the doorway: "May I suggest a cold shower? Yohohoho!!"

Franky: "Or I could just blast 'em with a water cannon! SUPER idea!"

Robin just chuckled behind her hand, clearly enjoying every second.

Sanji set you down so fast you nearly fell over, wringing his hands like he’d touched a live wire.

"OKAY," Chopper barked, voice cracking into a command. "Nobody touch (Y/N)! No flirting! No sexy talk! NO NOTHING!!"

You pouted. "But I feel so good," you whined. "All you beautiful people... I’m like a microwave right now. Somebody needs to shove something in me before I explode."

Dead silence.

Usopp's soul left his body.

Zoro turned and walked straight into a wall.

Sanji fell to his knees, blood spraying from his nose.

Chopper looked like he was about to faint.

Robin was absolutely cackling now, hiding it behind a polite hand.

After a beat, Luffy — still holding onto your shoulder — leaned in and asked very innocently:

"Hey, (Y/N)... are you dying?"

You blinked at him, warmth flooding your cheeks.

"...Only inside," you whispered dramatically, swaying.

Chopper stuffed a thermometer into your mouth in a blind panic.

BEEP BEEP BEEP. Temperature: 103°F.

"OH MY GOD," Chopper shouted. "IT’S GETTING WORSE!"

-

Chopper was panicking.

The thermometer beeped wildly as he yanked it out of your mouth and fumbled through his first-aid kit like it might magically contain an antidote for horny.

“(Y/N)’s temperature is still rising!!" he barked. "If this keeps up, they’ll overheat! We have to act fast!”

"How do we fix it?!" Usopp wailed, clutching his head. "We can’t just... let them die sexy!!"

You, meanwhile, were swaying dangerously, your eyes glassy, staring at anything and everything that moved.

No one was safe.

Not even Brook.

You stared at him dreamily.

"Hey, Brook..." you purred, voice thick with heat, "If you had skin, you'd be so handsome. Bet you'd have real good... bone structure."

Brook straightened his suit jacket awkwardly. "Yohoho... thank you?" He visibly struggled for a second. "May I see your p-p-panties?" he blurted out automatically.

Sanji punched him so hard he went flying off the deck.

"NOT NOW, YOU DAMN SKELETON!" Sanji roared.

You just smiled hazily after Brook's airborne form. "Take me with you..." you sighed wistfully.

—

Chopper ordered a cold water operation immediately.

Franky grabbed a hose and started spraying water at you.

It worked about as well as setting a horny cat on fire.

You moaned.

Loudly.

Like a scene.

Everyone froze.

Water dripped down your clothes, your hair slick against your cheeks, and you tipped your head back with a sinful noise that should not have come out of you.

"Hnnnngh, cold and wet all over—"

"TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF!!" Nami shrieked, slapping the hose out of Franky's hand.

You blinked innocently, water running down your body, clinging to your clothes in all the wrong places.

Sanji fainted.

Zoro headbutted the mast just to distract himself.

Usopp hid behind a barrel and started praying.

Robin, for the first time in her life, actually visibly stiffened.

You turned to her, pupils blown wide.

"Robin," you sighed. "You're so... refined. So elegant. So—so... dominantly soft."

Robin smiled, but even she looked a tiny bit flustered. "My, what a sweet compliment."

You reached for her.

Nami tackled you to the ground before you could touch the scholar.

"DON'T CORRUPT ROBIN," she yelled, sitting on your chest to pin you.

Your hands instinctively grabbed her thighs for balance, squeezing her in ways that made everyone around you freeze again.

You looked up at her from your pinned position and purred, "You’re so strong. Maybe you should sit on me a little harder, Navigator~"

Nami flushed bright red, looking like she'd seen God and hated it.

She scrambled off you like you were made of lava.

"NOPE!!" she yelped. "YOU'RE BEYOND SAVING!!"

You just laid there on the deck, panting softly, eyes lidded.

The sunlight haloed your figure, water still dripping from your hair, your lips pink and parted, your shirt clinging scandalously to your chest.

Luffy plopped down cross-legged beside you, still completely missing the point.

"Maybe we just have to wait it out," he said brightly. "Like when you get stung by a jellyfish!"

"THAT’S NOT HOW SEX POLLEN WORKS," Chopper sobbed, clutching his head.

"But what if (Y/N) explodes?" Luffy asked, looking fascinated.

Chopper stared at you.

You smiled lazily at him.

You licked your lips.

Chopper screamed again.

"WE’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!"

-

“Okay, okay, OKAY!" Chopper gasped, holding his tiny hooves out like he could stop the rolling disaster you had become. "New plan: (Y/N) needs to think about gross stuff!"

You blinked at him lazily from the deck, soaked, flushed, and vibrating with feral energy.

"Gross stuff?" you repeated, slurring a little.

"Yeah!!" Usopp said, jumping out from behind his barrel hideout. "Like... uh... cockroaches! Moldy bread! Sweaty old gym socks!"

"Rotting fish!" Franky offered, super helpfully.

"An old man's toenails!" Brook chimed from where he was tangled in the rigging.

Everyone started shouting gross things at you, like the weirdest, most desperate intervention in history.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to focus.

Gross stuff. Gross stuff. You pictured... maggots. Rotting meat. Sweaty gym socks.

You shuddered.

It was working!

...Until your stupid, pollen-fogged brain twisted it.

Maggots? Squirmy. Could be hands.

Rotting meat? Hot. Sticky. Messy.

Sweaty gym socks?

You pictured someone's strong arms pinning you down, their body hot and sweaty over yours, panting into your ear—

You whimpered.

Everyone stopped talking.

You cracked an eye open.

"Didn't work," you rasped, voice ruined and wrecked. "Got worse."

Sanji made a noise like a teakettle blowing.

Zoro grabbed a bucket of cold water and dumped it over his own head.

Robin politely looked away, though her cheeks were pink.

—

"PLAN B!" Chopper screeched, losing his tiny mind.

Franky and Luffy manhandled you toward a big barrel filled with ice water.

"You need an ice bath!" Chopper insisted. "Lower your body temperature!"

"Mm," you purred as the boys dragged you over. "If you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just asked."

Franky short-circuited. "BWAHH??!"

Luffy, bless his pure soul, grinned like you just told him a great joke. "You’re funny, (Y/N)!"

The ice bath was ready.

Nami hovered nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you like you were a radioactive bomb.

"I am so sorry about this, (Y/N)," Chopper said grimly.

You grinned up at him.

"Wanna watch?" you teased.

Nami slapped you upside the head so fast it cracked like a gunshot.

You moaned.

"Harder," you gasped, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Nami looked like she was going to strangle you and then drown you.

Sanji nearly died on the spot, nosebleeding out into the ocean.

Brook started reciting funeral rites for him.

“PUT THEM IN!!” Chopper shrieked.

Luffy and Franky hoisted you up and dunked you straight into the freezing barrel.

You shrieked — a high, inhuman sound — and popped back up like a cork, gasping, water and ice clinging to you.

"Cold!!" you cried. "Cold and tight and wet—"

"DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT!!" Usopp wailed.

You squirmed in the barrel, legs kicking, arms flailing, looking way too sinful for a situation that was supposed to be medical.

Zoro buried his face in his arms and muttered prayers to gods he didn’t even believe in.

Robin, watching calmly, finally spoke up.

"...Maybe we should just knock them out."

Everyone turned to her.

There was a moment of pure, golden silence.

Then:

"YES," Chopper barked, already reaching into his medical bag for a syringe.

You noticed too late.

"Wait— wait, guys—" you started, realizing what was coming. You tried to climb out of the barrel, water streaming down you like some kind of ruined siren. "I’m fine! I swear! Just need—just need one of you to rail me into next week and I'll be—"

Thunk.

Chopper jabbed the tranquilizer into your arm with all the righteous fury of a doctor pushed to his limit.

You sagged instantly, slumping back into the barrel with a blissful little sigh.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a lazy smile curling your lips.

"...Harder," you mumbled dreamily one last time before passing out.

—

The entire crew stood in stunned, exhausted silence, staring at your unconscious, soaking-wet body.

Sanji collapsed face-first onto the deck.

Zoro shoved his swords under the deck rail so he wouldn't accidentally commit murder.

Luffy just laughed and poked your cheek. "They’re all floppy now! Like a sea cucumber!"

Chopper wiped his brow. "Finally," he sighed. "Crisis averted."

Franky gave a low whistle. "That was SUPER insane."

Robin sipped her tea. "It was... certainly educational."

Nami sat down hard, running a hand through her hair.

"I am never letting (Y/N) out of sight again," she growled.

Usopp just nodded weakly. "Same."

Brook played a slow, mournful tune.

The Thousand Sunny bobbed peacefully on the waves, as if nothing at all had happened.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was pain.

A dull, throbbing headache pulsed behind your eyes. Your mouth tasted like saltwater and regret. Your limbs were heavy, your body sticky and weirdly sore, like you’d run a marathon, gotten dunked in a washing machine, and then lost a fight with a fridge.

The second thing you noticed was smell.

Something was cooking — eggs, bacon, fresh bread — the kind of smells that tugged you out of bed on pure instinct.

Groaning, you staggered to your feet, blinking blearily around Chopper’s infirmary. A thin blanket was tossed over you, and your clothes (still damp from... something?) clung uncomfortably to your skin.

God, what happened? you thought, holding your head.

Last thing you remembered was... going for a walk? Finding a shiny plant?

Everything else was a blank.

Following the siren song of Sanji’s breakfast, you stumbled into the dining room.

The entire crew was already gathered, plates stacked high.

As you shuffled inside like a zombie, every single head turned toward you.

The room went dead silent.

You froze.

"...Uh," you croaked intelligently. "Morning?"

No one answered.

They just stared.

Luffy had a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Usopp’s mouth twitched like he was holding back screams. Zoro wouldn’t meet your eyes — just shook his head slowly. Robin smiled over her coffee like she was already writing your obituary. Sanji looked like he was halfway between fainting and proposing marriage. Brook tipped his hat solemnly. Franky gave you a very slow thumbs-up. Chopper blushed furiously and avoided your gaze. Nami looked like she was planning your funeral.

"...What?" you rasped, feeling sweat prickle your back.

Nami stood up from her seat, arms crossed.

"You," she said, voice dripping with menace, "owe us an apology."

"For what?!" you yelped, looking around wildly.

Robin sipped her coffee and said, perfectly calm: "You told Brook he had very sexy bone structure."

You choked.

"And you asked Sanji if he wanted to 'shove something in you' before you exploded," Zoro added, deadpan, without even glancing up.

You made a strangled noise.

Franky pointed at you. "You moaned when I hosed you down!"

"LOUDLY," Usopp emphasized.

Luffy, grinning ear to ear, jumped in cheerfully: "And you told Nami to sit on you harder! That was super funny!"

You stared at them all in growing horror, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

"No... no way..." you mumbled, clutching your head. "You’re messing with me. You have to be messing with me."

Robin placed a hand gently over her heart, smiling. "I only wish I was."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face, feeling like you might die from pure secondhand embarrassment alone.

"Okay," you muttered defensively, voice cracking, "listen... you can’t blame me! I was—poisoned!”

Nami’s chair scraped back.

You barely had time to see her move before her arm was around your neck in a practiced chokehold.

"Poisoned, huh?" she hissed, no mercy in her beautiful, vengeful eyes. "You listen to me, you little disaster—"

You choked on a laugh and wheezed, "Harder—wait, NO, I MEAN—!"

Nami growled and tightened the choke, dragging you down into a headlock while the entire crew absolutely lost it laughing.

"You are going to a nunnery," Nami hissed in your ear, ignoring your flailing. "I’m shipping you off first thing tomorrow! You’ll never see another hot person again!"

"Maybe the nuns are hot," you croaked, grinning even as you were being strangled.

"CHOPPER, GET THE TRANQ," Nami bellowed.

"Noooo!" you wailed, squirming. "I’ll be good! I swear!!"

The crew howled with laughter as Nami dragged you away in a chokehold, shouting threats about convents, chastity belts, and ice-cold showers forever.

Somewhere behind you, Luffy piped up:

"Hey, (Y/N)! If you go to a nunnery, can we come visit and make you explode again?"

You screamed.

Everyone else did too — with laughter.

And somewhere deep down... you knew you were never living this down.

Ever.

[henry7931]

World Of Magic: Magician’s University Part 2

It’s been a week since Arthur learned about his magical powers and ran away to MU. Let’s see how he’s adjusting…

Arthur:

Every morning, I wake up it feels like a dream. Especially knowing that Benji is sleeping only a few feet away from me.

We have really become fast friends. And I can’t shake the feeling that I was destined to meet him. I keep thinking that dream I had back at my step dad’s house.

I had another one of those dreams last night…

Benji was there and this time we were at the school. All I can remember is him saying, “Dregon Arthur! Dregon is coming!!!”

The sound of panic in his voice felt so real… and it makes me wonder if this is some kind of premonition. The only thing is… who the fuck is Dregon?

Anyways, I woke up this morning to Benji right by my bedside.

“Wake up sleepy head, class starts in an hour and I have some good news for you,” he says to me already dressed for the day.

I’ve learned quickly that Benji is in fact, a morning person.

I rub my eyes and say, “good morning…what’s the news?”

“Well tonight Arthur, you and I are going to our first Magician’s college party!”

“Oh so Magician’s party?,” I say ironically.

“Ohhhh Arthur… a magician party is nothing like you’ve seen. You’re going to have the best time tonight!”

I’d like to say I’ve been to a bunch of parties in my life but I was pretty boring in school. Granted Andy would have never let me go to one but I could have snuck out.

After I get dressed, Benji and I walked to our first class for the day, I really like this one! It’s called Introduction to Social Magic.

It’s a mix between Magic and Sociology. And our teacher Dr. Mazen is pretty cool.

Benji and I sit in our seats, Dr. Mazen is at the front of the class.

“Good morning class! Today I want to get immediately started because we have a lot to cover in an hour. We are going to focus on body autonomy and Power & Control. Now open up your book to page 24.”

I turn the pages over and the chapter is titled, Possession/Body Exchanges: Is It Ethical and Is It Appropriate?

I give Benji a side look and he softly grins at me.

I say softly, “so this is a thing?”

He nods his head.

“That’s crazy…,” I say almost at a whisper.

“So class let’s understand a few things about body exchanges and possessions. Both are strictly regulated by the Council of Magic—can anybody here explain why?”

A guy by the name of Andrew raises his hand and says, “because you can rob a bank as someone else?”

“Yes, well you’re getting there— anyone want to expand on what Andrew just said?”

A girl named Rose who’s friends with Benji raises her hand and says, “you could potentially take over someone’s life, powers, or force them to do something against their will.”

“Exactly! Thank you Rose! Now when it comes to possessions we have seen many of Magicians arrested for taking over someone’s body and committing crimes. It’s why it’s considered a major crime and could get you locked away for many years. Now body exchanges, that one is a tricky subject—

Body Exchanges are okay as long as both parties mutually set a binding magical agreement. Normally this is done by either a written or oral contract. Setting a time limit, boundaries, etc.

Once that is worked out then both parties will shake and proceed with an exchange. Now this is where it can get messy— body exchanges with no agreements.

Now everyone grab a pin and write this down.

Illegal body exchanges are very hard to prove. Does anyone know why?”

Benji speaks up this time, “no magic trail.”

“Bravo Benji! Body Exchanges unlike most spells lack any magical trail. So then we have to rely on someone’s word. And if someone denies that an exchange happened then it goes to trial.”

I raise my hand this time and say, “What happens if someone convinced a judge or jury that they are said person and it turns out they were lying?”

The room gets quiet and I almost felt like I said the wrong thing.

“Well Arthur, that’s a very good question and it has happened. One very famous case happened over 20 years ago. Now most in this room already know about this case…”

23 years ago…

Quinton Matthews was a talented magician who led his class at MU and at the time was considered to be the most powerful Magician alive. Handsome, tall, everyone wanted to be Quinton…

Quinton was fully aware of his talents, looks and some would say his ego could fill up a room. But what Quinton didn’t realize was that he would soon lose everything—

Another Magician who was in Quinton’s class paid very close attention to his behavior, mannerisms, almost like he was studying him.

Both rarely spoke to each other until one day he accidentally bumped into Quinton.

Quinton turned and looked at the magician. He looked him over and felt a very strange energy coming from him.

“Are you okay?,” asked Quinton.

The other Magician had a crooked smile and said, “I will be soon.”

Quinton walked away feeling weirded out by his strange interaction. In fact, he knew the guys face but he couldn’t even think of his name.

That night, Quinton soon forgot about the bizarre guy he bumped into…

But by morning, he woke up inside a different room from his…

Quinton rushed to the bathroom only to see a new reflection that belonged to the strange magician from the day prior—

Quinton rushed out of dorm room in a search for his body.

Once he found his body, the individual controlling it pretended to be him. And when he tried to tell everyone around him the truth… no one believed him.

But Quinton was persistent, he tried everything to get his life back. And 6 months later… they held a trial.

Both answered questions separately and the case became inconclusive. No one could say if a body exchange actually happened.

Soon the magician claiming to be the real Quinton disappeared, some say he joined the normal world.

While the individual in Quinton’s body became power hungry. And even took over the council. He claimed himself to be the King of all Magicians.

And for a long and dark 3 years, he ruled over all Magic.

But then something even more strange happened. Two Magicians somehow took him down. But no one knows how or where he went…

Arthur:

I take a deep breath hearing the story about Quinton, I feel like I want to walk out of here and go into hiding.

“Arthur, are you okay?,” asks Dr. Mazen.

“Yeah! All good here,” I say trying my best to not look so stressed.

“Come see me after class. This weekend, I want all of you to write a very short essay on the pros and cons of body exchanges. Get creative, I want to discuss some of these topics. And then next week, all of you should find a partner in the room because everyone here is going to do a short term body exchange. Everyone comfortable with that?”

Everyone around nodded their heads…

I look at Benji and say softly, “please swap with me. I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Sure but did I mention that my plans about taking over your body and world domination?”

I roll my eyes.

“Sorry, too soon?”

“You think?!?,�� I say back punching him in the arm.

The bell rings and everyone stands up.

“Want me to wait up for you?,” says Benji. 

“Nah I should just be a few.”

As the class clears out, I walk up to Dr. Mazen.

“Arthur Ridley, you know when I found out you’re going to be in my class— I was immediately excited,” he said to me.

“Thanks Dr. Mazen,” I say back.

“Are you okay? You seem a shook up from that story today.” 

“Yeah… just hit a little too close to home.”

“I understand and I hope you know that I was asked to give something to you. It will give you a peace of mind.”

Dr. Mazen pulls out a gold necklace.

“What’s this?”

“A protection charm. It blocks dangerous spells like body exchanges. But it has to stay around your neck to work,” he says to me.

“Wait really?”

“Of course, listen Arthur the school, our Dean, and the council want to make sure you’re safe here. And truthfully, none of us want to see history repeat itself… especially after everything your father did for all of us.”

“My father?”

“Yes Arthur, your father was one of those Wizards who took down Dregon.”

“Wait Dregon? Don’t tell me that’s the guy who took over Quinton’s body.”

Dr. Mazen nodded his head, “but you have nothing to worry about you’re protected here.”

Well now I know who Dregon is… fuck…

After all of my classes, I met back up with Benji in our room.

“Arthur, are you ready for the most night of your life?,” says Benji.

“What’s that?”

“The party tonight!”

“Right! When do I have to be ready?”

“Well we’re going to my friend Derek’s room to start out and then head over to the party together. So get dressed!”

Oh god not Derek! Listen, I like most of Benji’s friends except for Derek.

Okay maybe I’m envious of him. He’s hot, muscular, charming, and Benji just LOVES him.

They grew up around eachother and I’m a little jealous, okay!

I go digging through all of my clothes and come across a nice expensive light blue button down, a cool jacket, and a fancy pair of pants.

After I get dressed I walk out of the bathroom and Benji says, “Damn! You look good, you make me want to change my outfit!”

I look Benji over, he is… handsome as ever. He’s in a green shirt with tight black pants on, just enough to wear his bulge is noticeable.

His shirt is cut just enough to define his muscles, plus show off his chest and his hair… Perfect curly brown locks, I want to run hands through it so bad.

“Benji, you look great,” I say nudging him.

“Thanks,” he says winking at me.

We make brief eye contact for a minute and I can feel a sense of tension between us. Or maybe I’m making it up. He’s such a flirt so I never know.

We get to Derek’s room and inside is a couple other friends of Benji. I’ve met all of them briefly a few times now.

Sitting on one bed is Derek’s roommate Evan and Rose. Evan’s pretty cool. Way more likable than Derek (in my opinion).

And then two other guys, Zander who’s my lab partner in magical potions class and he’s pretty cool. He can be funny.

And then there is Ross. Very quirky, he dresses like he’s from the Deep South— cowboy hat and all. Says his family is from Bayou country where “real magic happens.”

And standing in the middle of the room is Derek, who currently has his head detached.

His body is modeling around the room shirtless and flashing his muscles.

“Well hello! What are we walking into?,” says Benji all giggly.

“Oh hey! Sorry we were playing a game of drink or dare. I picked dare and now I have to show off these guns,” says Derek’s head sitting on his bed.

His body flex’s and starts playing it up. Rose and Evan start laughing and i can see that Benji is just loving it!

“Here come play with us!,” says Rose.

I go sit by Rose and she says, “you want something to drink?”

“Oh what do you got?,” I ask her.

“Anything and everything,” she says to me.

“Um… surprise me!,” I say to her.

Rose hands me a cup and snaps her fingers. The cup fills up with a greenish looking liquid.

“Wow what is it?,” I ask her.

“It’s good, trust me!,” she says with a smile.

I take a sip and it is actually really good. Kinda fruity but I don’t know what kind of fruit.

“Okay… let’s see… whose turn is it… Arthur! You go!,” says Zander to me.

“Ehhhh… I don’t know,” I say back.

All of them group boo me until I give into their peer pressure.

“Fine! I’ll go!,” I say giving in.

Zander says to me, “drink or dare?”

“Sooo this maybe a very stupid question but if I pick drink, does that mean I drink my drink?,” I ask.

“Nooooo… you’ll have to drink this,” says Derek’s head. His body picks up a cup and presents it to me.

Inside looks like liquid lava.

“It’s spicy! And you will be walking all sorts of funny all night— the worst part is the next day, trust me!,” says Ross.

“Oh well uhhhh… dare then!,” I say moving the boiling liquid away.

Zander, Ross, and Derek all start to whisper and then turn to me.

I look over at Benji who’s taking a sip of his drink. We make eye contact and he looks away. 

“Arthur, we dare you to give us a strip tease…,” says Zander.

“Really?,” I say.

“Yes, for Benji here and you have to sing along to a song of your choosing,” adds Derek.

Ugh, this is stupid! But a dare is a dare…

I think about a song that would be appropriate but all I can think of is… Black Velvet? I remember hearing that song so much as a kid. My brain scatters around for another option.

“Time is ticking!,” says Ross.

So I just say Black Velvet…

They all grin and start to poke fun at me…

That’s when I feel this energy, energy I haven’t felt since I got in that fight with Owen.

All of the sudden, speakers appear out of no where and the base starts going and my hands feel like electricity.

Somehow Derek’s room has stage lighting, smoke is coming from underneath the beds… and the light is focusing in on me.

I start to sing, “Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell…”

And my voice sounds good, it’s raspy and I sound like I’m a professional singer.

Everyone is silent and I move over to Benji. I unbutton my shirt just a bit and place my hands on his on his chest.

He’s grinning cheek to cheek and I think for the first time— I’m making him blush.

I run my hands on his thighs and stop right before I get to his crotch.

At the chorus, I sing the lyrics, “ if you please…” so softly in his ear.

I lean into Benji and he runs his hands down my chest while Rose and Evan start throwing ones at me.

All of the sudden, I have a mike stand, I seductively walk over and start belting my heart out.

And then— I approach Benji at the end and I start unbuttoning his shirt. His green eyes are glowing and we stare into each others eyes.

I kiss him on the cheek.

Something that shocked the both of us.

The music stops and everything, the lights and the smoke all disappear.

Benji says to me, “that was brilliant.”

Everyone claps and Zander hollers out, “that’s my potions partner yall! The best magician around!!”

I grab my shirt off of the floor and say, “whose turn is it now? Benji?”

That’s when Derek pipes up and says, “well we should probably get going.”

We head outside and I can see a glowing portal on one of the walls.

“Is that the party?,” I ask.

“Yep,” says Zander.

All of us run into the portal and inside maybe the coolest place I have ever been.

It’s got your typical party stuff but everything is grand and looks like it cost millions to put together.

“Where are we?,” I ask Benji.

He shrugs and says, “let’s grab a drink Ridley .”

Music is pumping and the amount of drinks, food… it’s crazy to think all of this was done with just magic.

I grab a drink with Benji and he says to me, “you know what you did back there… isn’t something any of us can just do.”

“What do you mean?,” I ask him.

“Magic is normally done with words… sometimes thoughts if you’ve been practicing for years… you can create it from energy, emotions, feelings…does that make sense?,” he says to me.

“Well yeah I guess so…”

“Benji…”

“Yeah?”

“What happens if I can’t control it?”

He looks over at me, smiles and says, “do you ever stop worrying?”

“Ehh not since I started here.”

“Well let’s dance!”

Benji grabs my hand and drags me out to the dance floor.

Benji moves his body so easily, flowing with the music. He’s a pretty good dancer.

I almost feel awkward for a second and he says to me, “no one is watching you— just dance with me.”

So I dance, I dance with Benji. He makes me feel so comfortable.

All I can think about is if this night could be the rest of my life… I would be so content with it.

The night goes on and eventually I make my way to a table while Benji grabs another round.

Sitting at the table is Ross and Derek— well mostly. Derek’s body is here but his head is missing.

“Uhhh where is the rest of Derek?,” I ask.

Ross says, “well in a school with a lot of gay dudes… let’s just say his head is uhhh… it’s giving head.”

“What?!?,” I say back.

“Oh yeah, he’s in the bathroom right now with Kane Morris.”

I watch Derek’s hands and he looks almost jittery.

“Is his body okay?,” I ask.

“Oh yeah, I think he’s just trying his hardest not to nut at the table. Look under.”

I glance underneath and immediately notice a well endowed boner standing firmly in his pants.

“Damn, why not just—”

“Bring his body with him? Yeah I said that, I think he’s likes all the attention? I thought about directing his body to the bathroom but he can figure that out.”

Benji walks up and hands me a drink.

“Where’s the rest of Derek?,” he says to us.

“He’s in the bathroom with Kane.”

“Oh god, are we going to have to take care of his body again?,” say Benji.

“I’m not! You can if you want,” says Ross.

“Come on, I can’t leave his body here and the dumbass will for sure forget about it,” says Benji.

“Forget his own body???,” I say to Benji. How the hell do you forget your own body?

“He’s done it a couple of times. I always end up dealing with him but he’s family so…”

Family?!?!

“Wait what? You’re related to Derek???,” I say to Benji.

“Yeah… he’s my cousin.”

Hmm well good to know!

I see a guy coming from the bathroom and he’s carrying Derek’s head.

I say, “oh here comes his head!”

The guy pours a shot into his mouth and then passes it to another guy…

“Oh… so they’re just passing Derek around?,” I ask.

“Yep… I told him to stop doing this shit last time,” says Benji.

I watch the new guy holding Derek’s head and he starts making out with him.

And right when I thought he was going to head to the bathroom— they head out of the building.

“Well looks like you’re 100% on body watch duty,” says Ross.

“Ugh. Well the night is over. You can stay if you want Arthur,” says Benji to me.

“Nah, I’ll head back with you,” I say back.

He smirks and grabs Derek’s body by the shoulder.

“Come on dickhead!”

Both of us have an arm wrapped around Derek’s body. He stumbles a little bit as we head out.

When we get back to our room, Benji says, “would you mind sharing your bed with me tonight?”

I start to ask why but then remembered that Derek’s body has to lay somewhere.

I help put Derek’s body into Benji’s bed and the both of us sit on mine.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” I say to him.

“Yeah me too, sorry the headless dufus here had to ruin it.”

“Haha he didn’t ruin it for me, sides I feel like it’s somewhat still going.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I don’t know. I…”

I really just want to tell him all of my feelings but I can’t even get words out!

“Benji”

Before I can another word he grabs my face and kisses me.

His lips are so soft and that energy from earlier rocks through my body.

He pulls back and says, “ I feel the same way.”

I pull him in and kiss him. I run my hands through his curly hair (finally!)

We both lay back in my bed and start pulling our clothes off.

He looks at me and says, “Arthur… the second I saw you I felt something…”

“Me too. Benji, I have to you something crazy.”

“What?”

“Before I came here, I dreamt about you. Shit! I hope that doesn’t sound weird!”

“No lol, how would you even know what I look like…”

In the background, we both hear a noise. We both turn our heads to see what was interrupting us.

Derek’s body, is in bed literally jerking off!

”That fucker! Not on my sheets!!!”

Benji hopped out of bed and pulls the blanket off of Derek’s body.

All I see is Derek’s muscular body with his pants around his ankles, jerking away a very massive dick.

I don’t know what’s more annoying, knowing Derek has a massive dick or having my night with Benji prioritized by him masterbating.

This goes on for about 10 minutes until I say,“you think he just had a few too many?.”

“Oh yeah! He’s been going at it for a minute.”

Benji and I curl up in my bed. I try not to pay too much attention to Derek’s body but he’s just so loud.

I see Derek’s feet twitching, his hand still at a fast pace…he’s trying his hardest…

Out of frustration, I holler out, “CUM ALREADY!”

And in that split second, Derek’s dick pours out streams of cum all over himself.

“Wait, did I cause that?,” I say to Benji.

“I think you did!”

We both start busting out laughing.

“Here let me be nice and get him a towel,” says Benji.

After Benji helps clean off Derek, his body starts to relax and Benji tosses a spare blanket over him.

“So glad that’s over!,” says Benji.

“Yeah me too.”

Benji crawls back into bed with me. I wrap my arms around him and kiss his neck.

“So where were we?”

World Of Magician: Magician’s University (MU)

In the World of Magician’s everyone wants to attend MU. That’s where you master magic the best!

And things can get very competitive…

Especially when this years freshman class finds out that Arthur Ridley is coming to MU.

Arthur as a young boy was special. His powers started to shine the second he started to speak and many believe he has the potential to be the most powerful Magician ever.

Arthur on the other hand, has no clue about his powers or Magicians for that matter…

Arthur:

It’s 7 PM and I just finished my shift at work. I feel so exhausted and yet like I’ve gotten nothing accomplished today. Actually I feel like that could be the motif of my life.

I’ve lived my last 19 years in a very small town surrounded by a bunch of bigots and douche bags. What doesn’t help is knowing that even though I’m smart, and I had the best grades in my class. I’m not going to college this year.

You see my mom died a couple years ago and she left me with her shitty ass husband. My stepdad Andy, who could really give two shits about me because he has his own son Owen.

I know this sounds like a pity party, but I just really want to get the hell out of here. I’ve always been a big fan of comic books and old fairytales.

And I don’t know I just keep hoping somebody’s gonna show up and tell me this is all of a façade. Like the life I’ve been living is a big lie because I’m ready to start a new one.

I lay my stuff down and count my tips from the night. It’s so early and yet I could go to bed right now.

I crashed into my bed and then buckled my pants…

Is this all I do now? Just jerk off to get over my stress? Is this true adulthood?

I fantasize about a handsome guy. Coming into my room and swiftly approaching me.

He’s sweaty… an all American boy.

He has clothes on but those will soon be off of him.

He says to me, “you look lonely… can I join you?”

I nod my head and say, “sure.”

He gets into bed kicking off his white tennis shoes. I can smell him— a mixture of cologne, musk, but his breath… smells like peppermint. He’s chewing gum…

I feel him touch me…

His feet are rubbing up on mine…

And his lips casually kiss my neck…

I feel his hand slowly slip into my pants…

HOLY SHIT!

I open up my eyes abruptly, I swear I just felt a hand going down my pants…

I try to get back into the mode but the phantom ghost hand is kinda freaking me out.

I get out of bed and I start heading to the bathroom but at the foot of my door there’s a letter. It’s addressed to me.

“Sir Arthur Ridley”

Huh… that’s strange. I never get mail.

I open it and take it with me to the bathroom. I start reading it as I’m taking a piss.

“ Dear Arthur, we are pleased to announce that you have been hand selected to join the freshman class this fall at Magicians University (MU). Now, please pack your bags and be prepared to meet your handler at this location.”

What the hell? Magicians University???

I head downstairs thinking this must be some kind of sick prank by Owen.

I knock at his door and say, “open up!”

“What the hell do you want?,” says my stepbrother who looks like he’s barely left his bed today.

“Owen did you make this?,” I say to him presenting the letter.

Owen looks at it and scoffs at me.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t write this shit!”

Just then my stepfather approaches both of us and says, “what’s going on? I heard shouting!”

“Arturd here got a letter from the Fairy Academy,” says Owen dangling the letter.

I look over at Andy and he almost looks shocked.

“Give me that!,” he says ripping the letter out of Owen’s hands.

He reads it and looks more concerned.

“Andy, do you know something?,” I asked him.

“No! I don’t know anything, this is just— nonsense! I don’t want to hear about this ever again!”

Andy rushes me upstairs and tells me to find something to do. I was a little shocked by his reaction. He can be a lot but I’ve never seen him look that nervous…

Back in my room, I try to not think about that letter. But the place they listed to meet them is only down the road and I’m off.

I mean if I’m being honest with myself, I really don’t have anything to lose. What I show up and it turns out to be fake? 

The Next Morning…

I wake up and feel so disappointed. I was having this dream where I met this guy and somehow we were both magical? I was casting spells, fighting off some kind of evil. And after we…

Never mind it doesn’t matter…

I sit up and stretch… when I felt something grab my ankle.

“AHHHHHH!!!!”

All of the sudden, Owen comes crawling out from underneath the bed.

“Arturd!! I’m the grand Wizard! We’ve come for you!,” he says stupidly.

“Funny Owen!”

“Oh what the wittle fairy princess didn’t like that?,” he says pushing me.

“Don’t do that!” I say to him.

“Or what? You’re basically my bitch!,” he says shoving me even harder.

“Fuck you!”

“You know what, I bet you could suck it good. You’d probably enjoy it,” he says grabbing his junk.

“Bleh! No one wants to suck your nasty dick! Including Hannah Britton!,” I say to him. I knew I hit a nerve with that one.

“What did you say?,” he says to me. His face gets blood red.

“You heard me!”

“OH YOURE DEAD!”

Owen pushes me in to my bed and holds me down. He gets one good punch in and I try to fight back.

“Don’t forget you’re MY BITCH Arthur!”

“THE ONLY BITCH HERE IS YOU!,” I scream out at him. I get the strength to push him off and he falls to the ground.

All of the sudden, Owen starts glowing bright.

“What the fuck?”

Owen’s face shifts… he looks up at me and sticks his tongue out.

“Owen?”

“Woof!”

“What the…”

My bedroom door slams open and Andy comes rushing in.

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

Owen turns to Andy on all fours and starts barking at him.

Now in this moment, I’ve never seen Andy this pissed.

“What. Did. You. Do. To. Him..”

“Nothing! He tried to attack me!! I swear!”

“Bullshit! You figured out about your little powers and did this to him!”

We both turn to Owen who in proper comedic time cocks his leg up and tempts to pee on the wall but instead pissed his pants.

“YOU FIX HIM RIGHT NOW!”

“Andy! I don’t know even know how this could be possible.”

Owen lays on his back and starts sucking on his foot. I can’t help but giggle just a bit.

“You think this is funny?”

“I mean he’s already more likable.”

Andy’s eyes pierce into my soul.

“Fuck.”

He starts charging for me and I barely make through the window. I climb out onto the roof and jump onto a tree. (This is how I used to sneak out at night.)

I climb my way down and start running down the road. I’m sprinting and I don’t even realize how crazy I look because I’m still in my PJs.

I try to think of where to go… then I remember the address on that letter.

That’s only a quarter of a mile away.

I head that direction hoping like hell someone will be there for me.

I get to the spot and it’s just an alley.

I look around for a second and try to catch my breath.

“Hello?,” I holler out.

It’s silent.

“My names Arthur, I’m supposed to meet someone here?”

Shit, I guess this is fake.

My mind tried to rationalize what happened with Owen. Like it was all just an elaborate act.

But then…

*BAM*

Smoke fills the alley and the motion of it knocks me on my feet.

I look up and see a very handsome guy in a suit.

“You must be Arthur,” he says with a big grin.

“Yeah that’s me.”

He helps me up and says, “ I’m Alfonso, your handler. Well more like a consultant, I don’t directly handle you haha! But I’m tasked with getting you and your stuff back to MU. Speaking of which, where is your stuff? And why are you in PJs?”

“Ummm… long story.”

“Well we don’t have to go back now. Orientation starts in a few hours. So how about this! A new wardrobe!”

Alfonso snaps his fingers and three suitcases appear.

“Oh wait! One more thing,” he snaps his fingers again and then I’m all of the sudden in some very expensive clothes.

“ Chic! Follow me handsome!”

Alfonso pulls out a wand, flicks it three times and says, “Take us to MU.”

A giant hole appears on the side of the brick wall, on the other side of it I can see a green field.

“Let’s go!”

We walk in together and just as I start to step in— I see Andy rushing down the alley.

Before he can catch me, I just wave goodbye to him.

On the other side of the portal, the green field has a road leading up hill. At the top, I can see a grand building— surprisingly modern.

“Is that the school?”,I say to Alfonso.

“Yes! That’s MU,” he says to me.

“Wow, it’s not what I expected,” I say to him.

“What did you expect Hogwarts?,” he says to me jokingly.

“Yeah I guess,” I say back to him.

As we head up the hill, Alfonso tries to fill me in on as much as he can.

“Arthur, you need to know something before walking in—”

Alfonso stops walking and looks distraught.

“What? Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just can’t believe I’m the one who has to tell you all of this— Arthur you need to understand that uhhh… you’re special. You have more power than anyone here,” he says to me.

“WHAT?!? Am I the chosen one?,” I say back.

“Oh Merlin! Arthur please don’t make another Harry Potter reference, it’s going to embarrass you.”

“Sorry! It’s my first day!”

“It’s fine Arthur, just be prepared. These students know your name and some of them are going to pass judgment before you even meet them.”

Damn, I wonder what makes me so special?

We get to the front of the school and I see so many students. Everyone is ridiculous gorgeous and so well dressed. So happy that Alfonso didn’t let me roll in with just my pajamas.

But I start to notice a bunch of them whispering to eachother as I walk past them…

Alfonso is pacing fast which I wasn’t sure if he’s rushing for a reason or if it’s because of who I am. He points out parts of the school to me as I’m trailing behind him trying my hardest not to get distracted.

“In the left wing, you have the schools library and over here is where most of classrooms will be,” he says while we head up a flight of stairs.

“Now you can go all the way up to the 12 floor but DONT GO TO THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR. Students are forbidden,” he says to me.

“Is that where you hide the Sorcerer’s st—”

Alfonso stops and turns to me. He gives me a glaring look and I say, “sorry it’s kinda funny now!”

“I’m being serious Arthur. You can get kicked out for going to the thirteenth floor.”

“Understood.”

“Now here is the dorm floor, you’ll be in… room 26. Right down this hallway,” he says directing me.

We get to my dorm room and it’s so lavish. I have my own bathroom with a shower and a tub. A full kitchen along with a balcony. It’s like a large studio apartment with a modern gothic twist.

“So this is all me?,” I say to him.

“Well you will have a roommate, who I’m sure will be here any minute. But I’m going to let you get comfortable, be downstairs out front in the garden at 3:00 today.”

“Great! Thank you Alfonso!”

“Of course! And one more thing— no more magical tv/movie references,” he says to me sternly.

“I promise I’ll stop,” I say to him rolling my eyes.

Alfonso closes the door behind him and open up the suitcase. It’s jam packed with endless amounts of clothes. As I start to unpack it, I wonder if it’s ever going to end.

I eventually give up on the never ending suitcase and crash into my new bed.

But as I lay down I hear the door turning.

As it opens, I glance up nervously to see who’s behind it.

And when I see who it is… I’m immediately stunned. It’s the guy from my dreams last night.

“Hey! I think this is my room,” he says to me.

I’m so shocked that I can barely get out words.

“Sorry! I’m Benji,” he says holding at his hand.

“Oh uhhh— I’m Arthur!,” I say shaking his hand.

Fuck, he’s got a tight grip.

“Nice to meet you,” I say trying my best not to be weird.

Benji hops onto his bed and snaps his fingers. All of his luggage starts to unpack itself.

“So Arthur, where are you from?,” he says to me.

“The East Coast, small town,” I say back.

“Oh nice! Any specific Magician Area or—”

I watch as he kicks off his designer shoes and pushes back his curly brown hair. His green eyes are so beautiful. It takes me a second to really taken what he’s staying to me.

“Oh no! I’m from a normal area,” I say back.

“Oh gosh, you lived with normies?,” he says to me.

Normies, I guess that’s what they call non-magicians. I should have known they had a word for it! Alfonso, should really clue me in on Magician slang.

“Yes,” I say back hoping he’s not too judgmental.

“Wow, I guess that must of been hard,” he says back.

“Ehhhh not really, I mean I didn’t know any other kind of life outside of that until today,” I say to him.

Benji sits up and says, “Come again?”

“I mean, I just learned about being a Magician this morning,” I say to him.

Benji’s eyes widen and I am hoping I didn’t say too much.

“Holy shit! That’s crazy!! You prior to today had no clue about magic?,” he says to me.

I nod my head.

“Arthur that’s… I’m sorry I’m not trying to be mean but that’s bonkers! Did your parents not tell you?”

“Well I don’t know anything about my dad and my mom passed away 3 years ago. So it’s not like anyone was around to tell me anything other than my stepdad who definitely kept that info away from me.”

I can see Benji is thinking hard, he starts to speak and then stops.

Then he says, “Arthur, what is your last name?”

“Ridley…,” I say quietly back to him.

Benji’s mouth drops.

“You’re the Arthur Ridley? The glowing child in the flesh??? And you don’t know about Magic???”

“I guess,” I say laughing nervously.

“That’s insane! Arthur, you have no idea. Has anyone told you anything?”

Benji gets off of his bed and he’s so close to me now.

“You have to be careful Arthur. These Magicians… I don’t know how to put this but they want what you have inside of you. You’re the direct lineage to Merlin. Your powers are just so…powerful! It’s almost too much to comprehend.”

“Shit, should I be scared?,” I say to him.

“No! Hell no!! I’ll have your back but some of these guys get a big head. They’ll challenge you, try to take your powers. You just need to learn how to use them and you’ll be fine!”

Benji grabs my shoulder and says, “just don’t go announcing your name just yet to everyone.”

“Got it,” I say back to him.

“Now I need to take a shower,” he says to me.

“Okay, I’ll see you shortly.”

“Oh no Arthur, I don’t need to shower my hair. Just my body.”

“Huh?”

In that moment, I watch Benji tug off his head.

“OH MY GOD BENJI!”

“What?!?! Oh sorry!,” he says holding his head in his arms.

“You could have given me a bit more of a heads up, no pun attended!”

“Just wait Arthur you’re going to be amazed by what you see,” he says to me.

I watch as Benji’s body places his head on his bed.

His body starts unbuttoning his shirt and I’m trying my best to keep eye contact with just his head.

Benji grins at me and says, “you okay?”

“Yeah don’t take this the wrong way, you’re just the first person I’ve ever seen pull of there head,” I say to him.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to make this weird,” he says to me.

“No it’s okay! I just have a lot to learn I guess.”

Benji’s body walks into the bathroom and the door is slightly open. I can see him in the mirror pulling off his pants and socks.

And then his underwear drops to the ground.

I see Benji’s beautiful naked body in the mirror and I can’t help continuously peek at it from the corner of my eye.

“So Arthur, you wanna learn how to detach?”

“Oh wow, that looks next level Benji.”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. You just have to say the spell once and then you can do it whenever you want.”

“Okay, sure!”

I try my best to hold back my excitement. I mean I’ve never casted a spell (at least not on purpose).

“Okay Arthur, repeat after me… My head is attached…”

“My head is attached…”

“With the snap of my fingers it can now detach… and then snap your fingers”

I take a deep breath and say, “With the snap of my fingers it can now detach… *snap*”

“Great! Now tug at your head,” says Benji.

I grab the top of my head my hair and I hear a popping sound.

“Holy crap!! Benji my heads off!!,” I say holding my head in my arms.

“Haha cool right? You can use that same spell on any of your body parts,” he says to me grinning.

My mind rushes with all of the possibilities and then I say, “wait can I attach myself to someone else’s body??”

“Sure you can, it just can be a pain getting your head off of there body.”

All of the sudden Benji’s body comes walking back in with a towel wrapped around it.

I watch him navigate through his drawers pulling out clothes.

And then he drops his towel… now he’s completely naked…

I look over at his head and he’s looking at me.

I blush and start to say something but Benji says, “you know since we are roommates, you’re going to have to get used to my naked body.”

“Oh sorry! I um…”

“Arthur, it’s okay. I just giving you shit. Sides it’s kinda cute seeing you all worked up,” he says chuckling to himself.

Did he just say I’m cute? Is Benji hitting on me???

Man… this is about to be a crazy first year…

Meanwhile… Back at Andy’s House…

*knock knock*

“Who the hell is at the door?,” says Andy still trying to figure out how to fix Owen.

Andy opens the door and a tall man dressed in a black suit is standing outside the door.

“Good evening sir, is this the residence of Arthur Ridley?,” he says with a low yet deep voice.

“Depends, who’s asking,” says Andy.

The man grins and says, “you must be his step father… May I come in?”

“Listen I don’t know who you are but I got my own situation here… I especially don’t give a shit about that little brat right now.”

The man takes a step forward and says, “maybe I can help with your situation.”

Andy takes in the guy and realizes that this man probably has magical powers.

“Are you one of those?”

“Magicians, yes.”

“Thank god! I need you to help me with my son, my actual son.”

“Sure…but I’ll need something back…,” he says sharp of the tongue.

“Whatever! Just fix him! He’s pissed on my rug twice today!!”

The man shut the door behind him and says, “tell me where Arthur is…”

“I’ll tell you after you fix his mess!!”

The man stops and closes his eyes… he mumbles to himself…

That’s when Owen pops out from the top of the stairs.

“WHERE IS THAT LITTLE SHIT ARTHUR???,” says Owen fuming.

The man in all black turns to Andy and says, “yes, where is young Arthur?”

“That stupid magic school,” says Andy.

“Wonderful, well I must go!,” says the man in all black.

“Wait! Are you going to hurt him?”

“Hmmm… haven’t decided yet…”

As the man walks out the door… Andy watches him turn into black smoke…

“Dad, who was that?,” says Owen.

“Who knows and who cares!,” says Andy.

[ashthesalamipiece]

“Ashes and New Beginnings”

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Action / Romance / Angst / Fluff

TW: Mild violence, pregnancy, labor scene, emotional vulnerability

---

The mission was never supposed to go this far south.

You were only a few weeks away from your due date—not ideal for fieldwork, but you were stubborn. You could still move, still fight, and no one dared to argue when you gave that look. Not even him.

“Stay behind me,” Dabi had warned with a voice like low fire, his back shielding yours as the Pro Heroes ambushed the warehouse. “You shouldn’t have come. You know that, right?”

You smirked, placing a hand on your swollen belly. “You think I’d let you run off without me? Nice try, hotshot.”

He didn’t smile—Dabi rarely did—but the way his eyes flickered toward you said everything. He hated this. Hated seeing you like this, vulnerable and too close to danger. Hated that he couldn’t stop you… because he knew if it were him in your shoes, he wouldn’t stay behind either.

The fight erupted fast. Flames, explosions, quirks flashing in the dark. You held your own as long as you could—until it hit.

Pain.

A sudden, sharp contraction that stole the breath from your lungs. You dropped to your knees behind the crates, gripping your abdomen with a shaky gasp.

No. Not now.

“Dabi!” your voice cracked, loud enough to pierce the chaos. He turned instantly, the moment burned into memory—his eyes wide, horror dawning.

You're in labor.

Everything else vanished for him. Enemies, plans, strategy—none of it mattered anymore. He bolted to your side, catching you as you doubled over, another wave of pain tearing through you.

“You weren’t supposed to—shit—okay, okay, breathe,” he muttered, voice unsteady for once, panic creeping into every word. “You’re early. Damn it.”

“I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

He lifted you easily, cradling you against his chest, heat rolling off his skin protectively. His own flames flared wildly around him, forming a vicious barrier between you and the heroes advancing.

“She’s out. She’s done. You come any closer, I burn you all to ash,” Dabi snarled.

One look in his eyes, and none of them dared take a step.

He carried you out through the smoke and ruin like a man possessed, whispering ragged reassurances as your contractions got closer, sharper, more intense. He’d never been so afraid in his life—and he’d never felt something burn hotter than the love he felt for you right then.

---

Awesome—let’s go with Parts 2 and 3: a mix of chaotic, emotional, and a bit romantic. Dabi ends up having to deliver the baby himself at a hideout. Here's the continuation:

---

The hideout was a dump—abandoned, half-burnt, and barely standing—but it was the only place close enough. Dabi kicked the door open, cursing under his breath as he laid you down on a grimy mattress. Your face was pale, sweat clinging to your forehead, eyes dazed from pain.

“This isn’t happening,” you gasped, gripping his coat with trembling fingers. “I can’t—I don’t know what to—”

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, voice sharp but trembling. “You’re doing this. You’re strong. You’ve always been. I’ve seen you tear through enemies like nothing. This? This is nothing compared to what you’ve survived.”

You nodded, tears sliding down your cheeks, your body wracked with another contraction.

Dabi ripped off his coat and laid it beneath you. He moved like someone on autopilot—heating up a towel with his flames to sterilize it, searching the place for clean-ish water and supplies.

He had no idea what he was doing. He was a villain, not a midwife. But watching you suffer? Listening to your cries of pain and fear? That broke something in him.

“I got you, baby. Just breathe for me. I’m right here.”

He knelt between your legs, your body shaking violently, and whispered every comforting word he could think of—even though his own hands trembled like hell.

And then he saw it.

“Oh, shit. I see the head.”

---

You screamed—raw, powerful, primal. And Dabi didn’t flinch. He caught your child in his scarred hands like something sacred, eyes wide with disbelief. His flames were nowhere to be seen now—just his soft breath, ragged and stunned as he wrapped the baby up in his shirt.

“It’s a girl,” he said hoarsely, his voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before.

You sobbed, partly from exhaustion, partly from overwhelming love—for the little life in his arms, and for the man kneeling beside you, the same man everyone called a monster.

Dabi leaned over and pressed his forehead to yours, his hand still shaking as he held the baby close.

“She’s got your nose,” he whispered. “Poor kid.”

You laughed weakly, grabbing his collar and pulling him into a kiss, your lips warm against his even in your drained state.

“Thanks for not setting the place on fire,” you murmured.

He chuckled. “I thought about it. But she’s kinda worth not burning the world down for.”

You looked up at him, your breath catching—not from pain this time, but from love.

“I want to name her Aiko,” you said softly.

Dabi blinked. “Love, huh?”

You nodded. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah… she’s got plenty of that now.”

---

Hours passed. You were asleep now—finally resting after everything your body had just been through. Your breath was even, your face peaceful in the dull light filtering through the cracked hideout window.

Dabi sat in the far corner, silent, still, cradling Aiko in his arms.

She was so small.

He held her like she was made of glass, terrified to even breathe too hard. His fingers—burnt, stitched, ruined—looked wrong against her smooth, perfect skin. But she didn’t seem to mind. She just blinked up at him, curious and calm.

“You’re not scared of me, huh?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

She blinked again.

He gave a shaky laugh. “You will be. When you’re older. When they tell you stories about Dabi the killer. The villain. The monster.”

His smile faltered. His hands tightened around the blanket.

“But your mom… she’ll tell you the truth. She always sees the truth. Even when I couldn’t.”

Aiko squirmed and let out a tiny squeaky noise. Dabi instinctively rocked her—something he’d seen in movies, not something he’d ever practiced.

“Yeah, I know. Life’s gonna be rough. You’re a villain’s kid. Maybe a hero’s too, if she has anything to say about it.”

His voice dropped lower. “But I’m gonna protect you. You hear me?”

A single tear slid down his cheek—he hadn’t cried in years. Not for himself. Not even for his past.

But this was different.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right.”

Aiko yawned, stretched her hand out, and wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his.

And in that moment, for the first time in forever… Dabi felt warm.

Not from his fire.

From her.

---

“Alright, what the actual hell is that?”

Twice was the first one through the door, tripping over his own feet as he pointed at the bundle in Dabi’s arms like it was a bomb. Toga peeked over his shoulder, wide-eyed and covered in someone else’s blood.

“Is that a baby? Did you kidnap a baby? Oh my god, Dabi, I love her already—wait, did you steal her?”

Dabi gave them both a withering look, eyes dark and tired, but there was no anger—just exhaustion.

“She’s mine,” he said simply.

Silence.

Shigaraki looked up from scratching his neck raw in the corner, narrowing his eyes. Spinner froze mid-sip of his canned drink. Compress blinked like someone in a stage play who forgot their line.

“…Yours?” Shigaraki repeated slowly, voice dry. “As in—you made that?”

“Yeah,” Dabi replied, glancing down at the little girl dozing in his arms. “With her.” He nodded toward the back room where you were still recovering.

Toga’s eyes widened like saucers. “You had a baby with the pretty girl with the knives?!”

“Yep.”

“I ship it.”

Twice clapped dramatically. “Dabi’s a dad! Oh god, we’re all going to die. In a cute way.”

Shigaraki stared at the baby like she was some kind of ticking time bomb. “Can it explode?”

“No,” Dabi growled.

“…yet,” Shigaraki muttered, turning away.

Toga was already at his side, peeking at Aiko with genuine awe. “She’s so tiny. You think she’ll have your quirk?”

“Hope not,” Dabi muttered. “Not mine.”

Spinner walked over, scratching his head. “So… does this mean you're, like, settling down? Changing diapers between missions?”

Dabi scoffed. “Hardly. I still burn people for a living. I just… go home after now.”

And weirdly, none of them argued. None of them mocked him. In fact, a strange sort of hush fell over the room—a rare peace.

Toga pulled out her knife and declared, “If anyone tries to hurt her, I’ll gut them.”

Dabi looked up, eyes soft. “Thanks.”

The League didn’t understand much about love or family. But they did understand loyalty. And chaos. And revenge. So protecting a tiny, flame-born baby girl?

That… they could get behind

---

It was 3:14 a.m.

Dabi sat cross-legged on the floor of the hideout, shirtless, hair sticking up in every direction, dark circles under his eyes even darker than usual. Aiko was screaming like the world was ending, her tiny face bright red, and her little fists flailing like she was throwing punches at fate itself.

He stared at her. Then at the diaper. Then back at her.

“…I’ve blown up buildings with less stress than this.”

You groaned from the cot behind him, too sore and sleep-deprived to move. “You said you had it,” you mumbled.

“I did have it. Then she peed in my eye.”

Another wail came from Aiko, and Dabi winced like someone had shoved a knife in his ribs.

“Alright, alright, damn, we’re doing this.”

He opened a fresh diaper like it was an enemy he was about to fight. He glanced at the old one, holding it between two fingers like it might explode. “You’re lucky I love you, you little gremlin.”

You snorted.

After a solid three minutes of muttering threats at the diaper, several almost burns, and at least one moment where he looked genuinely afraid of baby wipes, Dabi somehow managed to get the new one on—crooked, but on.

Aiko immediately stopped crying.

She looked up at him with big, innocent eyes, hiccupped… and smiled.

He froze.

And for the first time in a long, long time… he smiled back.

“Okay. That was almost worth the trauma.”

He picked her up carefully, resting her tiny head against his chest. She nuzzled into his warm skin, calm now, soothed by the steady beat of his heart and the low hum of his fire.

“You’re gonna wreck me, aren’t you?” he whispered.

She gave a sleepy sigh.

“…Good. I probably deserve it.”

---

Dabi was dozing on the couch, shirtless, as usual. Aiko was perched on his chest like a sleepy little loaf, fists curled, head tucked under his jaw.

It was peaceful. Soft crackling from the fireplace. Your gentle humming in the background as you cleaned up.

And then—CHOMP.

“OW—what the hell!?”

Dabi sat up with a startled yelp, eyes wide, clutching his neck. Aiko blinked at him, innocent as ever… mouth smeared with drool and the tiniest red mark forming on his collarbone.

You leaned over, squinting.

“Is that… a hickey?”

Dabi stared at the baby. Then at you. Then back at the baby.

“She just—bit me. And sucked on my skin like some tiny mosquito demon.”

You lost it, laughing so hard you nearly dropped the bottle in your hand. “You got your first dad hickey. Officially initiated.”

“I burn people for fun, and this is what takes me out?”

Just then, Toga popped her head into the room—saw the mark on his neck and immediately let out a wolf whistle.

“Well, well, Dabi! Didn’t know you were into neck stuff.”

“It’s from the baby,” he growled.

“Sure it is,” she sang, winking.

By the time the rest of the League caught wind, rumors had spread.

Twice: “Dabi’s into bite play confirmed.”

Shigaraki: “Ew. Stop breeding.”

Spinner: “Should we get her teething rings or garlic and holy water?”

Dabi groaned, covering the mark with his hand.

But later that night, when it was just the three of you again, he looked at it in the mirror. The little bruise, round and oddly perfect. It hurt like hell.

And somehow… he loved it.

“She’s already leaving scars,” he muttered, tracing the spot with a smile. “Just like her mom.”

---

It started small.

You were feeding Aiko one afternoon—just you, her, and the peaceful hum of the hideout. You offered her a spoonful of mashed carrots with the usual sweet smile.

“Here comes the airplane—”

She stared at you. Then slapped the spoon clean out of your hand.

“…Excuse me?”

From the other room, Dabi laughed. “That’s my girl.”

You glared. “Don’t encourage her.”

But it only got worse.

Later that day, you tried again—with applesauce this time.

“No, Aiko. We don’t throw food.”

Aiko looked you dead in the eye and mumbled something that sounded a lot like:

“Sh’t.”

You froze.

“…What did you just say?”

From the couch, Dabi shouted, “What did she say?!”

“She said your favorite word.”

Dabi came striding in, picking her up with this massive, proud smirk on his face. “No way. Say it again, squirt.”

Aiko grinned. “Sh’t.”

You palmed your face. “Dabi, stop smiling.”

“I’m not! I’m—okay yeah, I am. But c’mon, listen to the attitude on her. She's feral.”

“Oh my god.”

It didn’t stop there.

By the end of the week, she had a whole little sass vocabulary going:

Glares when someone touches her snacks.

Mimics Dabi’s sighs perfectly.

Says “bruh” when her bottle falls.

And, most dangerously of all—the eye roll.

Toga was obsessed.

“She’s a tiny Dabi! But cuter. And less murder-y.”

Twice tried teaching her to say “Boom, baby!” after every fart. It worked. Too well.

Shigaraki banned her from the meeting room after she threw a pacifier at him mid-rant.

Dabi? He was beaming the entire time.

“Kid’s got fire,” he said proudly, arms crossed, scarred lip curled in a grin. “Just like her old man.”

You gave him a side-eye. “If she starts setting stuff on fire next week, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.”

(You both secretly loved it.)

---

It was raining.

Not the hard, violent kind that matched Dabi’s mood—just a steady drizzle outside the hideout, mist curling over cracked windows. You were curled up with a blanket, half-asleep, watching Aiko crawl around the dusty floor, babbling nonsense to herself.

Dabi leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, just watching her. He did that a lot these days—quiet, present in a way he never used to be.

Aiko picked up one of his gloves from the floor. Turned it over in her hands. Dropped it. Then looked up at him.

And said it.

“Dada.”

Silence.

The rain didn’t stop. The wind didn’t pause. But something in Dabi broke.

You sat up instantly. “Wait—did she just—?”

He didn’t move. His face had gone still, unreadable. Only his eyes gave it away—wide, full of something between shock and something too tender to name.

Aiko smiled at him like it was no big deal.

“Dada.”

Dabi walked over slowly. Dropped to his knees in front of her. She touched his cheek—right where the staples met burned skin—and giggled.

“Dada.”

He laughed. Just once. Rough, soft, stunned.

“Yeah, kid,” he whispered. His voice cracked. “That’s me.”

He pulled her close—not tight, just enough to tuck his chin over her tiny head.

You watched from the couch, a hand over your mouth, heart about to explode.

He’d been called a lot of things.

Villain. Monster. Traitor. Burner. Killer.

But Dada?

That one might’ve saved him.

---

The night was quieter than usual. The storm outside had finally slowed to a gentle patter, and the hideout was filled with nothing but the occasional crackling from the fireplace. The warmth of the flames danced across the walls, casting shadows as Dabi sat on the couch, Aiko nestled against him.

She was asleep now, her small chest rising and falling in that peaceful rhythm that made even the toughest villains pause. Dabi’s hand rested lightly on her back, the familiar weight of responsibility and love settling in his bones.

You were asleep in the other room, exhausted from the day’s chaos, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Dabi had nothing but time.

His eyes traced the small curve of Aiko’s face—so serene, so full of life. She was perfect. His daughter. His kid. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but so right.

He hadn't realized how much he needed this—this quiet, this peace, this tiny human who somehow softened everything he’d built himself into.

Carefully, Dabi let his fingers run through Aiko’s soft hair. He didn’t even think about it—he just did it. A tender motion, a simple gesture he could barely believe he was capable of.

Then, he started humming.

It was the song you always hummed to her when she was fussy, the tune that seemed to calm her every time. A melody so soft, so gentle, it made him forget the past for a moment and just exist in the now.

Aiko stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her little hand gripping the edge of his shirt as she snuggled closer. The soft sound of her breath filled the room, the night settling in deeper.

Dabi kept humming. His voice was low and unsteady, like a fire that only flickered, but in that moment, it was full of warmth—like he was finally allowing himself to feel everything he’d kept buried for so long.

He wasn’t a perfect father. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was a good one. But right now, as Aiko slept soundly in his arms, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath, he felt something he hadn’t in years—something like peace.

Aiko shifted again, this time her tiny mouth curling into a soft smile in her sleep, as if she felt the rhythm of his heart. He kissed the top of her head, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you, kid.”

He said it so quietly, like it was something sacred, something only meant for her to hear.

And maybe she did. Maybe she always would.

[nothyeri]

ᯓ★ Stray Kids dr

𝜗𝜚 hyeri park

Hyeri Park, member of the stray kids k-pop group. She's one of the main dancers & maknae. Her best friend is minho and rumors say she's very close to hyunjin, but how much? nothing has been confirmed. She's also very famous for starting many dance trends and because of her fashion style.

𝜗𝜚 bang chan

Christopher Bangchan is the leader of the stray kids group. He is well known by all his hardwork and potential. The perfect balance between seriousness & fun, which fans love. Chan’s room always go viral! Stray kids members are glad to have him as a leader, he was born for it. Even though he looks like a father more often than he would like to lol!

𝜗𝜚 lee minho

Lee Know is the dance leader of stray kids. He might look nonchalant and cold at first sight, but he has showed kindness and sweetness constantly. He loves yapping and teasing his members for fun. Adores his cats like no one else.

𝜗𝜚 seo changbin

Changbin is the main rapper of stray kids. Loves going to the gym and joking with his members. He's very good at producing songs. No one can beat his rapping skills, but what fans most like about him is his sense of humour.

𝜗𝜚 hwang hyunjin

Hyunjin is one of the main dancer of stray kids. His body control always impresses fans. He has showed multiple times how his paintings are out of this world. He's also very good at sports. Coffee addict. Loves showing affection to his loved ones. Creativity would be the best word that describes him.

𝜗𝜚 han jisung

Han is one of the main vocalist & rapper. Have you ever met someone with such a blessing soul? Just pure kindness in all its splendor. Plays the guitar as a true rock-star. Loves food. In every fan's heart there's a space for Han.

𝜗𝜚 lee felix

Felix is a mix of an angelic voice & a dancer in stray kids. He is the sunshine made person, even though his voice says otherwise. If that wasn't enough, he's also an excellent model! Brightens everyone's day with his presence. He isn't very good at videogames, rumors say he is still bronze. ups!

𝜗𝜚 kim seungmin

Seungmin is the main vocalist of stray kids. He really appreciates his quiet moments. Very supportive with his members. Has a characteristic sense of humor. You're lucky if you have the opportunity to appreciate his beautiful smile! Has a big heart and fans love his cuteness.

𝜗𝜚 yang jeongin

I.N. is one of the vocalist of stray kids. Have you ever met a person that smiles more than him? I don't think so, that's totally impossible. Loves bread. His unique voice and dance moves has cautivated many fans! He's very sweet and energetic. Loves messing around with his members.

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Waiting for the Good | Ten. One

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 14.9k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, intense emotional intimacy, longing, slow burn tension, that sense of breathless anticipation when everything you’ve been hoping for is finally about to happen, and two people moving closer without even realizing they’re already there.

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:

Some moments are loud.

This one isn’t.

This chapter is all about the quiet before everything changes—the slow, almost imperceptible shift from waiting to knowing. It’s about how the air in a room can feel different when you’re expecting someone who matters. About how time contracts, stretching and collapsing around you until it’s just you, and the breath you hold without meaning to, and the sense that something is already moving toward you, even if you can’t see it yet.

For Riley, it’s about the soft, aching hope of making space—for someone else, for something bigger than herself. It’s the instinctive way she starts preparing without realizing it: the fresh towels, the extra charger, the jasmine blooming a little brighter on the porch.

For Joe, it’s about the steadiness of movement—the way he doesn’t need to say much because he’s already coming closer with every mile, every quiet certainty that Riley is a place he wants to land.

This isn’t about fireworks or declarations.

This is about the space between heartbeats—the part where you stop bracing for the fall because you already know you’ve jumped.

It’s a quieter chapter. A breath before the rush. But sometimes those quiet moments are the ones that change everything.

Also, just a quick note that my posting schedule may vary a little over the next few weeks as the school quarter winds down and final assignments pick up. I’ve had a lot of this story prewritten (and have been writing pretty steadily behind the scenes), but with the way the end of the quarter is shaping up, I may run out of prewritten chapters temporarily. I’ll keep updating as consistently as I can, but just wanted to give you a heads-up that life might throw a few delays into the mix. Thank you for being patient and amazing. 💜

I’m also planning to spend some time this weekend responding to asks! Sorry I haven’t gotten to them sooner — things have been a little hectic. Feel free to drop some in if you want to chat, scream, theorize, or just say hi. I love hearing from you. 💬✨

Thank you, as always. 💛🏈

Happy reading!

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

---

Joe’s kitchen was dark except for the low glow from the under-cabinet lights. He sat at the counter with a protein shake, still in his training gear, his phone propped up in front of him. Riley’s face filled the screen, blurry at first as she adjusted her angle.

“Better?” she asked, voice a little hoarse. She looked tired in a way that wasn’t unattractive—makeup smudged, hair pulled into a high knot, wearing one of his old hoodies he hadn’t even realized was missing yet.

He smiled. “Yeah. Better.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Riley stretched, her bare legs disappearing under a blanket. “I’m gonna crash after this,” she said. “Tomorrow’s a long one.”

“What’s on deck?” Joe asked, leaning back against the counter.

“Mastering. Then a mix note review with Nick. Then we’re trying to wrap two shoots for the video content,” she said, closing her eyes for a second. “You?”

“Lift early. Might throw a little with the guys after, but keeping it light. Mark wants to sit down about scheduling too.”

She cracked one eye open. “Scheduling nightmares. Now featuring me.”

Joe smiled, small and easy. “Something like that.”

She breathed out a laugh, barely there. “He’s not gonna love that.”

Joe didn’t look away. “Doesn’t matter.”

Riley blinked at him, something soft catching in her chest.

He didn’t look away.

"You’re the quiet in all of it,” he said.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then she sighed, soft and amused. “Don’t say shit like that before bed, Burrow. You’ll mess me up.”

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it.

Her eyes traced his face. “You miss me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I miss you.”

She smiled, small and tired. “Good. I miss you too.”

“When do you fly out?”

“Wednesday. Scout booked the late flight.”

Joe nodded. “I’ll be there Friday.”

“Good.” Her voice dropped a little. “I’m tired of wanting.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just watched her, soaking in the way she looked at him like she already had his coordinates mapped in her bones.

She shifted under the blanket. “Hey,” she said, a flicker of that teasing smile pulling at her lips. “Want me to leave you with something to think about?”

His eyes darkened a fraction. “Yeah.”

Riley tilted the camera just enough to show the edge of the gray T-shirt lifting at her thigh. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make his jaw clench.

Then she was back in frame, laughing softly. “Okay. That’s all you get.”

Joe blinked, leaning forward like he could pull her closer through the screen. “Wait,” he said, voice low. “You sure I can’t see a little more?”

Riley’s smile sharpened—slow, wicked, knowing. She didn’t say a word. Just tilted the camera down again.

More this time. Way more.

Long, bare lines of her. The shirt barely hanging on. No artifice. Just her, confident and unbothered and very aware of what she was doing to him.

“Jesus,” he muttered, already leaning forward.

But she was laughing now, shameless and sweet. “BUYYYEEEE,” she said, sing-song, and hung up.

Joe sat in the dark, jaw slack, one hand still on the screen.

Totally wrecked.

He sat there for another minute, like if he stayed still enough, the call might rewind itself. Play again. Let him see her one more time, hear her laugh.

But the screen had gone black, and she was already slipping into sleep two time zones away.

Joe finally stood, stretched out his back, and padded over to the fridge. The kitchen was quiet but not empty—not with her voice still echoing in the corners. Not with the faint trace of her teasing still on his skin.

He opened the fridge out of habit, then closed it without grabbing anything.

His eyes caught on the magnet.

“Love from Louisiana,” bold and unapologetic in red and blue. A crawfish with its claws up, an alligator stiff and mid-stride, the whole thing shaped like the state. It looked like something picked up at a roadside gas station—cheap, plastic, too proud of itself.

It hadn’t meant anything when he took it. The magnet had been stuck to her cluttered fridge—half-buried under flyers, old photos, a faded festival pass. He’d taken it without thinking. A dumb little thing to hold onto. He figured she wouldn’t notice.

Now it was stuck to his fridge in Cincinnati.

He reached out and tapped it once, like it might tap back. Like it might make her closer.

* * *

Joe was lying flat on the training table, a bag of ice strapped to his shoulder, scrolling mindlessly through film cut-ups when his phone buzzed.

Riley: [Photo attachment]

He tapped it open—and froze.

She was standing in front of her mirror, golden-hour light cutting across her body like it was in on the game. No clothes. Just skin and shadow, her waist turned so he could see the slope of her back, curve of her hip, a hint of breast. Her face was in the shot too—chin slightly tilted, eyes locked on the reflection like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Because she did.

The message underneath read:

“Three things you’d be doing if you were here right now. Go.”

He blinked, throat tightening.

The ice bag suddenly felt like a joke.

Joe glanced around the empty training room, thankful no one was there to see the flush creeping up his neck. 

Three things.

It was never just the words with her. She wanted the real things—the ones he usually kept locked up, the ones that made him feel like he was handing her something breakable.

Finally, he typed:

"1. Hands on your waist."

Simple. Direct. True.

2. You looking at me like that.

He swallowed hard. That one cost him a little.

"3. No talking for a while."

He hit send, then placed the phone screen-down on the table. Joe didn't overthink things on the field, and he wasn't about to start now. But with Riley, his usual calculated control felt increasingly difficult to maintain.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

Buzz.

Riley: Wish I could get my hands on you right now, lovey.

Joe’s jaw flexed.

Buzz.

Riley: But you’ve got ice on your shoulder and people walking around, so… I’ll be good.

For now.

He couldn’t even lift his head. Face half-pressed into the table, body still pinned under the ice wrap, arms hanging down like deadweight. The worst possible position to be in when someone like her was on the other end of his phone, casually detonating his nervous system.

He closed his eyes.

Tried to breathe through it.

Did not succeed.

* * *

Joe answered on the second ring.

He was in bed, one arm folded behind his head, the room dim except for the soft blue glow of the TV—muted, forgotten. Riley’s face filled the screen, her curls damp and pulled back, her skin clean, collarbone bare, one strap slipping slightly off her shoulder. No makeup. No posing. Just her.

“Hi,” she said, voice low, the kind of low that only came out after a long day.

Joe’s mouth twitched into something close to a smile. “Hey.”

They looked at each other for a second, not saying much.

“You survive the ice?” she asked, tugging the blanket up over her knees.

“Barely,” he said. “You ruined any shot I had at recovering.”

She grinned, pleased with herself. “Good.”

He let his eyes drift across her face, slow. “You look tired.”

“I am.” She moved on the bed, the screen slipping sideways for a second, flashing the suitcase behind her. “Everything’s too much this week. I just… need out.”

“You still leave tomorrow?”

“Yup. Should be back in the city by dinner.”

She didn’t say it, but he could feel it, the need to be home, to get closer to stillness. To something that felt more like them.

He nodded. “Good. You’ll feel better there.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I always do.”

Another beat of quiet. Not heavy—just familiar.

She looked at him again. “I don’t like sleeping without you.”

Joe exhaled. “I don’t like anything without you.”

Her mouth curved, eyes flickering down like she didn’t quite know what to do with that.

“You always say the exact right thing,” she murmured.

“I’m only like this with you. You make it easy.”

She shifted onto her side, tucking the phone into the pillow next to her. The screen tilted slightly, gave him a closer view of her—just her cheek, the edge of her mouth, the soft line of her neck.

She didn’t look right at him when she said it.

“What would you do if you were here?”

He let out a breath through his nose. Thought about playing it off. Thought about saying something easy, like kiss you or make you forget your name.

But she was quiet. Not teasing.

“I’d just want to lay with you,” he said. “Stay close. Be quiet for a while.”

That made her glance at the screen.

She didn’t say anything, but she tucked her face into the pillow like she couldn’t quite look at him straight-on.

Joe looked down, a quiet smile pulling at him. “Not a big plan. Just… you.”

“It is,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

His chest tightened a little. He didn’t reply.

Riley’s voice dropped as she settled deeper into the pillow. “I’m gonna fall asleep if I stay like this.”

“Then stay,” he said. “I’ll hang on ‘til you do.”

She didn’t look away this time. Just stayed there, eyes soft, like she was trying to memorize him.

“I like you like this, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Soft,” she murmured. “Even when it’s not natural for you.”

He stayed still, like moving might break whatever was happening between them

“I just… I love that you let me see it.”

Joe stared at her for a second, throat tight. Thought about deflecting. Didn’t.

Instead, he shifted just slightly on the pillow, voice low and rough:

“I am trying, Birdie.”

A pause.

“I’m trying really hard.”

That made her smile, soft and certain. Like she knew—but still needed to hear it.

She closed her eyes, her voice barely a breath now. “It’s enough.”

He watched her breathing slow, body relaxing into sleep.

And he stayed.

Just watching her breathing slow, screen dimming as the light around her shifted. Her face soft, mouth relaxed, fingers curled loosely under her chin like she’d been holding the day and finally let go.

Joe lay there, phone in hand, heart pulled tight in his chest.

I’m trying really hard.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it was true.

Maybe the truest thing he’d said in a while.

She made it feel possible. Not easy. Just…worth it.

He stayed on the call long after her breathing evened out, long after her screen stilled.

* * *

Riley woke to a slant of light cutting through the curtain and the faint buzz of a plane overhead.

For a second, she didn’t move.

Her body felt heavy, the way it always did after too many days in the studio—stretched thin, nerves still humming underneath. But her chest wasn’t tight anymore. Something inside her had eased, like a quiet she hadn’t been able to find all week.

She blinked at her phone still propped against the pillow.

The call had ended sometime in the night. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on him, but she knew he’d stayed. Knew it the way she knew other things about him now—without needing proof.

She reached for the phone, screen lighting up in her hand. No new messages, just the soft glow of it against her fingers, and the quiet he’d left behind.

Riley stared at it for a moment anyway, then locked the screen and got up.

The house was soft around her, sun warming the rugs, the lingering smell of incense from the night before still curling through the air. Laurel Canyon always felt like it was breathing—like her house shifted with her.

She moved through the morning slowly—making coffee, feeding the plants, throwing her last few things into the suitcase. She didn’t rush. There was no reason to.

She was going home.

Riley's flight home wasn't until the afternoon, giving her time to move through her morning rituals without the usual rush. She dug into her bag until her fingers brushed the talisman she’d been carrying since Mardi Gras. The weight of it against her palm felt like a promise.

She abandoned her half-packed suitcase and wandered onto the deck, coffee mug warming her palms. The canyon stretched below, morning haze still clinging to the hills. Los Angeles had never quite felt like home, not the way New Orleans did. She'd bought this place because she needed somewhere to land between tours, somewhere to write that wasn't a hotel room. But it remained a way station—beautiful but temporary.

New Orleans pulled at her, especially now. The crawfish boil with her family was this weekend, and she'd promised to help with prep. Joe would fly in Friday night. The thought sent a flutter through her chest that wasn't entirely comfortable. Bringing him home felt big in a way she didn’t have words for yet.

Her phone buzzed again. Joe this time.

Joe: Good morning. How'd you sleep?

She could picture him, probably already finished with his morning workout, protein shake in hand, methodically moving through his day.

Riley: Like the dead after you talked me to sleep. Ready to be headed home today.

His response came quickly: Text me when you land or if you get board?

Riley: Yes sir.

Riley set her phone down and leaned against the railing. Home. The word carried more weight now, like it was expanding to include more than just a place. She wasn't sure when that had happened or what to do with it. But as she looked out over the canyon, she felt something settle inside her—a certainty that whatever came next, she was ready for it.

* * *

She slid into an open seat by the window, backpack thumping against her feet, iced coffee sweating against her knee. The terminal buzzed — babies crying, boarding calls echoing, someone’s voice sharp on speakerphone — but inside, she just felt… still. Like she was waiting for something to break.

One AirPod in. Dylan LeBlanc in her ear, low and scratchy. Her phone was face-up in her lap. She didn't think. Just picked up her phone and texted Joe.

Riley: Made it to the airport. Text me if you can—keep me occupied while I wait on this damn plane.

She hit send, then leaned her head back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Riley felt a small smile tug at her lips.

Joe: Perfect timing. I was just thinking about you.

Riley: Yeah? Good thoughts, I hope.

Joe: The best kind. How long until your flight?

Riley glanced up at the departure board, fingers absently tracing the edge of the LSU bracelet on her wrist.

Riley: About an hour.

Joe: Who’s picking you up?

Riley: Egan. She offered before I even asked. Said she misses my face.

There was a pause.

Joe: Lucky her.

She didn't answer right away. Just sat there, feeling it settle in her chest.

Riley: You’ll see me soon.

Joe: Not soon enough.

Joe: Send me a picture?

Riley smiled, wider this time. He didn’t usually ask for things but she loved when he did.

Riley: Of what? This glamorous airport scene?

Joe: Of you.

She glanced around, suddenly self-conscious in the crowded terminal. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, no makeup, just oversized sunglasses pushed up on her head. She was wearing an LSU sweatshirt she'd grabbed from his place in Cincinnati when she was there. She hadn't told him.

Riley: I look like a disaster right now.

Joe: I doubt that.

She hesitated, then switched to her front camera. She didn't pose, didn't try to find her angles or fix her hair. Just held the phone up, half-smile, tired eyes, vintage LSU gold visible in the frame. She looked at herself for a second, she looked exhausted, but she sent it anyway.

The three dots appeared immediately.

Joe: Is that my sweatshirt?!

She could practically hear the surprise in his text. Busted.

Riley: Maybe.

Joe: When did you even take that?

Riley: Busted

Riley: I may have borrowed it when I was packing up at your place. It smelled like you.

She watched the three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. Joe was choosing his words carefully.

Joe: Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.

Heat rose to her cheeks. She pulled the sleeves down over her hands, letting herself feel enveloped by the soft, worn fabric that somehow still carried traces of his cologne beneath the scent of her own perfume.

Riley: You sure? It's kinda a classic.

Joe: I'm sure.

She smiled, small and real. Pulled the sleeves down a little tighter, like it might bring him closer.

Around her, the terminal carried on—boarding groups called, luggage rolled past, some kid screaming in the distance—but it all felt a little farther away now.

Her phone buzzed again.

Joe: I like knowing you’ve got something of mine.

She stared at that one for a second, throat tightening.

Riley: I just saw it and… took it. Didn’t want to leave without something that felt like you.

Three dots. Pause. Disappear.

She pulled the sleeves down over her hands, head tilting slightly against the terminal wall.

Joe: Been trying to come up with something clever, but seeing you in my sweatshirt might be the best thing I've seen all week. There’s just something about knowing you’ve got a piece of me with you.

Riley stared at the screen.

The buzz of the terminal faded—boarding announcements, rolling luggage, someone asking for directions on speakerphone. All of it moved around her.

She didn’t overthink it.

Riley: I didn’t realize I needed it until I had it.

Her thumb hovered. Then she sent it. No extra punctuation. No backspace. Just truth.

Joe: I know exactly what you mean.

Simple. Direct. But it stopped her just the same.

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, cutting through her thoughts: "We'd like to begin boarding Flight 1873 to New Orleans, starting with our first class and priority passengers..."

Riley glanced up at the boarding screen, then back at her phone.

Riley: They're calling my group. Gotta go.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. There was more she wanted to say, but the line was already forming at her gate.

Joe: Text me when you land.

It wasn't a question this time. She smiled at that—his quiet certainty, the way he'd slipped from vulnerability back to his usual steady self.

Riley: I will.

She stood, slinging her backpack over one shoulder, phone still in hand. The message notification lit up as she joined the boarding line.

Joe: And Riley?

Riley: Yeah?

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then:

Joe: I'm glad you took it.

Riley tucked her phone into her pocket without responding, but the smile stayed on her face as she handed her boarding pass to the gate agent. Some things didn't need a reply.

As she walked down the jet bridge, she pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands again, feeling the weight of something shifting between them—something neither of them had put into words yet, but both felt just the same.

* * *

Riley squinted against the bright New Orleans sunshine as she stepped out of Louis Armstrong Airport. The air hit her like a wall – thick, heavy, and familiar. Home. She inhaled deeply, feeling the humidity wrap around her like an old friend.

"There she is!"

She turned to see Egan leaning against her battered blue Jeep, sunglasses pushed up into her wild curls, grinning widely.

“Get your ass over here,” Egan called, pushing off the car.

Riley laughed, dragging her suitcase across the pickup lane. “Your chariot looks as reliable as ever.”

“Hey, don’t insult Stella. She’s been through enough.” Egan reached for Riley’s bag, tossing it into the back. Her eyes flicked to Riley’s sweatshirt as she did, brow raised.

“That new?”

She glanced down at the sweatshirt, sleeves swallowed around her hands. It still smelled a little like him.

“Sort of.”

Egan’s grin sharpened. “Sort of as in not yours?”

Riley didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

“That’s what I thought,” Egan said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “How's the quarterback anyway?”

As they pulled away from the curb, Riley felt her phone in her pocket. She'd promised Joe she'd text when she landed. She'd meant to do it the moment the plane touched down, but the chaos of deplaning and baggage claim had distracted her.

She pulled it out now, typing quickly while Egan navigated through airport traffic.

Riley: Landed safe. Egan's already giving me shit about wearing your sweatshirt.

Joe's response came almost immediately.

Joe: Tell her it was a gift.

Riley smiled, looking out at the familiar landscape passing by. New Orleans stretched before her, wild and chaotic and completely different from Cincinnati's tidy neighborhoods or LA's sprawling highways.

Riley: Was it?

Joe: It is now.

She tucked the phone away, still smiling, as Egan launched into stories about what Riley had missed while she was gone. But part of her attention remained on the weight of her phone in her pocket, and the man on the other end who was somehow becoming a constant in her unpredictable life.

They turned onto her block just as the sun dipped low enough to spill amber across the rooftops. Riley sat up a little straighter as the familiar silhouette of her house came into view—painted lilac with coral shutters and cream trim, still somehow managing to look both proud and soft beneath the arms of the big oak tree that shaded the porch.

The garden had flourished in her absence. Green everywhere—ferns brushing the iron fence, climbing jasmine curling around the gatepost, red blooms nodding in the breeze like they knew her name. Everything looked exactly how she’d left it, only more alive.

Egan pulled up in front and cut the engine. “Damn,” she said, looking at the house. “She’s showing off today.”

Riley smiled, already reaching for her bag. “She knows I’m back.”

She stepped out into the thick, sweet air—jasmine and earth and the faint metallic hum of the city settling for the night. Her boots clicked on the slate path. She ran her fingers along the gate latch, brushing a spot of rust, then pushed it open and stepped through like she was crossing a threshold in her own skin.

The porch creaked beneath her as she climbed the steps, the old swing shifting slightly in the breeze like it remembered her. She didn’t rush to unlock the door. Just stood for a second, one hand on the railing, eyes on the plants that framed the stairs—neat rows of herbs in ceramic pots, glossy elephant ears fanning wide near the steps, the fountain gurgling low near the corner.

Egan came up behind her. “Place feels calmer with you here."

Riley turned the key and pushed the door open. The air inside was cool and still, laced with the scent of lavender and cedar from the incense she’d burned before leaving. Light filtered through the lace curtain in the parlor, catching on old records, picture frames, and the curl of a half-finished setlist taped to the fridge.

“I’ll hang for a bit,” Egan said, brushing past her and collapsing onto the couch like she owned the place. “But I want drinks and a breakdown of every spicy FaceTime you’ve had with the quarterback since we last spoke.”

Riley let out a low laugh, rolling her eyes as she dropped her bag by the door and followed her friend into the kitchen. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm-hmm. And you’re in his sweatshirt.”

Riley glanced down, pulling the hem reflexively. “Maybe.”

Egan leaned over the counter, smirking. “Girl.”

Riley just shook her head, busying her hands and making cocktails.

* * *

Riley mixed two gin fizzes with practiced hands, adding a splash of elderflower liqueur that wasn't in the traditional recipe but that she knew Egan loved. The familiar motions grounded her, even as Egan's knowing gaze followed her around the kitchen.

"So," Egan said, accepting the drink Riley slid across the counter. "Scale of one to ten. How bad do you have it for Cincinnati's golden boy?"

Riley took a long sip from her own glass, the bubbles fizzing pleasantly against her tongue. "I don't rate these things."

"That means at least an eight." Egan stretched her legs onto the coffee table. "You've never been this tight-lipped about someone before."

Riley dropped into the armchair across from her, folding into herself without meaning to. The sweatshirt—Joe’s—was warm against her skin. Her hand found the sleeve and stayed there.

"It's different," she finally said. "With him, it's just... different."

Egan's eyebrows shot up as she leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Different how? And don't give me that 'you wouldn't understand' crap. I've known you since you were stealing my eyeliner in high school."

Riley swirled the ice in her glass, searching for the right words. How did you explain someone who didn’t fit into any category you’d known before? The steady way he looked at her. The careful consideration behind everything he did. The feeling that he saw past her stage persona to something real underneath.

"He listens," Riley said finally. "Not just waiting for his turn to talk, but actually hearing me. And he remembers everything—not in that creepy way Ethan did to use against me later, but because he's genuinely paying attention."

She took another sip, feeling warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

"He's structured and disciplined in ways I never could be. His entire life runs on this color-coded calendar, and at first I thought we'd drive each other crazy. But it's like..." Riley paused, staring into her drink. "It's like he brings this calm to my chaos. And maybe I bring a little chaos to his calm. But in a good way."

Egan studied her face. "I've never seen you like this before."

"That's what I'm saying. It's different." Riley pulled her knees up to her chest. "When I'm with him, I don't feel like I need to be 'on' all the time. I can just exist. And he doesn't want me to be anything other than what I am."

"Even with the distance? The schedules? The whole 'he plays football and you're a rock star' thing?"

Riley nodded slowly. "We're figuring it out. He's worth figuring it out for."

Egan watched Riley with a mixture of surprise and concern. In all the years she'd known her, Riley had never described anyone as "worth figuring it out for." There had been passionate flings, creative partnerships, and of course the disaster with Ethan—but this quiet certainty was new.

“Shit,” Egan said, taking a slow sip of her drink. “You’re really gone for him, huh?”

Riley rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Maybe I am,” she admitted. It's just... I don't know. He challenges me."

"Challenges you how?"

Riley set her glass down on the coffee table, searching for the right words. "He makes me think about what I actually want, not just what feels good in the moment." She tugged at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "And he's not impressed by any of it—the fame, the music, none of that matters to him."

"Of course not. The man's got his own spotlight," Egan pointed out.

"That's part of it. But it's more than that." Riley ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "He sees the real stuff. The stuff I don't show everyone."

Egan leaned forward, her expression softening. "Like what?"

"Like how sometimes I need quiet. How I get scared about losing myself in all this." Riley gestured vaguely around her. "He notices when I'm tired before I even say anything. He'll just... create space for me."

"And the sex?" Egan wiggled her eyebrows dramatically.

Riley threw a decorative pillow at her, laughing. "None of your business."

"That good, huh?"

Riley felt heat rise to her cheeks, grateful for the dim lighting in the living room. "That's definitely not a complaint I have," she admitted, taking another sip of her drink.

"I knew it." Egan's triumphant smile stretched across her face. "I could tell there was something about him, even during Mardi Gras when you two were trying to be all casual."

We weren’t trying to be casual,” Riley protested.

Egan gave her a look, the kind that said sure, babe, without needing to say anything at all.

Riley sighed, setting her glass down. “Okay. Maybe I was. For like, five minutes.”

“And then?”

“And then he looked at me like he already knew where I’d end up,” she said quietly. “Like he wasn’t in a rush, but he wasn’t going anywhere either.”

Egan’s grin faded into something softer. “That sounds serious.”

Riley traced the rim of her glass with her fingertip, surprised by how easy it was to admit this to Egan when she'd barely admitted it to herself.

“I didn’t think I had it in me to do this again after Ethan,” she said, voice low. “I was just… supposed to focus. Keep my walls up.”

"And then Joe Burrow happened," Egan supplied.

Riley nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "And then Joe happened. One minute we're awkwardly flirting on a talk show, and the next..."

"The next you're wearing his clothes and getting that dopey look on your face when your phone buzzes."

"I don't get a dopey look," Riley protested, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

Egan just raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. Maybe a little dopey." Riley pulled the sleeves of Joe's sweatshirt over her hands. "But it wasn't supposed to go this way. We were just going to have dinner. One dinner."

"And?"

"And then he cooked for me. He was nervous about it—Joe Burrow, nervous about cooking dinner." Riley shook her head at the memory. "Not about facing three-hundred-pound linemen trying to crush him, but about whether I'd like his pasta."

Egan smiled. "That's actually kind of sweet."

"It was. And then we talked for hours, and it was just... easy. Like we'd known each other forever." Riley took another sip of her drink. "I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to say something awful or be controlling or just—I don't know—turn out to be another disappointment."

"But he didn't."

"No." Riley's voice softened. "He didn't. Instead, he showed up. He keeps showing up, even when it's complicated. Even when it would be easier not to."

Egan studied her friend's face. "You're falling in love with him."

It wasn't a question.

Riley felt the words hit her like a physical force. The glass in her hand suddenly seemed too heavy, and she set it down with a shaky hand, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Oh my god." Her eyes widened as the realization crystallized. "Oh no. Egan, I think I am."

She pressed her palms against her face, the soft material of Joe's sweatshirt brushing her cheeks.

"What do I do?" she groaned through her fingers. "How am I even supposed to talk to him later knowing this? We have a call scheduled in like three hours."

Egan leaned back, clearly enjoying Riley's sudden panic. "You could just tell him."

"Tell him?" Riley's voice pitched higher. "Are you insane? We've barely been together for—" She counted mentally. "We haven't even been together that long!"

"Since when do you care about timelines?"

"Since now! Since this!" Riley gestured wildly at herself. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Not with him. Not with anyone."

She stood up and began pacing the living room, her bare feet silent against the wooden floors. "Do you think he'll be able to tell? I'm terrible at hiding things. He's going to look at me through the screen and just know."

"Would that be so bad?" Egan asked, watching Riley's frantic movement.

Riley stopped pacing, hands still braced against her face like they might hold her together.

Riley let her fingers slide down, eyes meeting hers across the room. “It would be terrifying.”

Egan nodded. “Yeah. But maybe also… kind of beautiful?”

Riley didn’t answer. She just stood there, heart rattling in her chest, that ridiculous sweatshirt swallowing her whole. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry or call him right then and there.

Instead, she sat back down.

The couch cushions exhaled under her weight. She pulled her knees up again, arms wrapping tight around them. Her voice came out quieter this time.

“I feel everything with him,” she said. “All at once. And it scares the fuck outta me.”

“I know,” Egan said, like she felt it too.

Riley stared down at the curve of her glass on the table. Her chest felt too full. Like if she moved too fast, it might all spill out.

“I think I need to calm down before the call,” she said eventually.

Egan smirked, but gently. “You gonna write a song about it first?”

“I might write five.”

They both laughed, but it was softer now. Muted.

The moment hung there, not fully resolved—but more settled. Like the truth had landed and they were just learning how to hold it.

Egan stood and stretched again. “Alright. I’m leaving before I say something too heartfelt and ruin my street cred. Call me after the call.”

“You know I will.”

She walked her friend to the door, gave her a long, quiet hug on the porch. And then it was just her again—the garden humming outside, the house breathing steady around her, and the screen on her phone showing 2 hours, 47 minutes until their call.

* * *

Riley closed the door behind Egan and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. The house settled around her, familiar creaks and sighs that had always been a comfort. Now they only emphasized how alone she was with this new, terrifying knowledge.

She was falling in love with Joe Burrow.

The thought sent another wave of panic through her chest. She pushed off from the door and moved to the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water and drank it in long gulps. The clock on the microwave blinked at her: 2 hours, 42 minutes until their call.

Riley wandered into her living room, fingers trailing along the spines of vinyl records that lined the shelves. She pulled one out—an old Etta James album—and set it on the turntable. The needle scratched, then the warm, rich voice filled the room.

She needed to get her head straight before talking to Joe. Her gaze fell on her notebook sitting on the coffee table. Writing had always been her way of processing feelings, of making sense of the chaos in her head.

Riley grabbed the notebook and a pen, curling up in the window seat that overlooked her small garden. Outside, the evening light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the ground. She opened to a blank page and let her pen hover above it.

The words didn't come immediately. Instead, she found herself sketching little stars in the margin, thinking about Joe's smile, about the way he'd looked at her in the studio, about how his voice sounded when he was half-asleep.

She didn’t mean to write anything. Just needed to move her hand, keep from unraveling.

But somewhere between the sketches and the half-formed thoughts, it slipped out—quick, instinctive, truer than she meant it to be.

He’s golden like daylight

I gotta step into the daylight and let it go

Riley stared at the words.

She didn’t read them back. Just felt them. They sat there on the page like a held breath, like something that had been waiting for her to name it.

She closed the notebook before she could second-guess it, tucking it beneath the stack of books on the coffee table like burying it made it less real.

Then she stood, moving through the house like someone walking off a dream. The record had long since stopped spinning. Outside, the sky had gone that dusky watercolor blue-gray, the kind that made everything feel a little softer.

Riley glanced at the microwave clock.

1 hour, 18 minutes.

She pressed her palm flat against the center of her chest. Just to feel her heart still working.

Riley stared at the notebook for a long moment after she closed it, fingers resting lightly on the cover. The words still echoed in her head, quiet but insistent.

He’s golden like daylight

I gotta step into the daylight and let it go

Her phone was on the table beside her, screen dark. She picked it up, hesitated, then tapped into her favorites. Her thumb hovered over Joe’s name for a second before sliding to the one several below it.

Laura.

She pressed call.

It rang once.

“Hey, Riles,” came the soft voice on the other end—warm, familiar, a little sleepy. “You okay?”

Riley exhaled through her nose. Of course Laura would know.

“I think I’m in love with him,” she said, no lead-in, no buildup. Just the truth.

She was quiet for a moment. “You sound scared.”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Laura said gently. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Riley shifted in the window seat, pulling her knees close again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to. After Ethan, I promised myself—”

“—that it would never feel this big again,” Laura finished quietly.

Riley closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

There was silence on the line, but not the kind that made her anxious. The kind that said I’m here, take your time.

“It’s not about what he says,” she said. “It’s just… how he is. The way he notices things. The way he looks at me like I’m enough already.”

Laura hummed. “That sounds like peace.”

“It is,” Riley said. “And it terrifies me.”

She paused, the words catching in her throat before they slipped out.

“Because what if I can never give him peace, Laura?”

Her voice was smaller now, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Laura was quiet for a moment, and then: “That’s not something you owe him, Riley.”

Riley stared at the far wall, blinking back the pressure behind her eyes.

“I know. But he makes things quiet for me. Like I can actually breathe. What if all I do is make things louder for him?”

“Then he’ll tell you,” Laura said gently. “But I don’t think that’s what this is.”

A pause.

“You feel big, I know. But you’re not too much. You’re you. And I think he sees that for what it is—something good.”

Riley didn’t say anything right away. She just sat there, letting the words wash over her like warm water—soft, steady, unflinching.

She blinked hard once, then again, swallowing the knot in her throat.

“Thanks,” she murmured, voice rough around the edges. “I didn’t know I needed to hear that.”

Laura’s voice was calm, no rush in it. “You don’t always have to hold it all by yourself.”

“I know,” Riley said. “I just forget sometimes.”

“Well,” Laura said, a hint of a smile threading through, “you’ve got people to remind you.”

They stayed on the line for a few more breaths—no pressure to fill the silence. Just the sound of the evening settling in on both ends of the call.

“I should go,” Riley said eventually, glancing toward the clock. “I need to pull it together before he calls.”

“Don’t pull it too far,” Laura said gently. “Let him see you.”

Riley exhaled, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Okay.”

They said their quiet goodbyes, and the call ended with a soft click that left the house feeling still again—but not as heavy.

Riley set the phone down on the arm of the chair and stretched her arms overhead, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. She could still hear Laura’s voice echoing in the quiet.

You feel big, I know. But you’re not too much.

She stood and moved through the house without hurrying—brushed her teeth, splashed cool water on her face, lit the candle on the windowsill. The air smelled like lavender and lemon peel.

When she checked the clock again, there were twenty-three minutes left.

She didn’t pick up the notebook. Didn’t touch her guitar. Just curled up on the couch in Joe’s sweatshirt, feet tucked under her, phone facedown beside her knee.

And waited.

* * *

Time dragged. Riley's fingers fidgeted with the cuff of Joe's sweatshirt, rolling and unrolling the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. The silence pressed in, filling all the spaces she usually knew how to live inside.

She reached for her phone, checked the screen—nineteen minutes left—and set it back down.

The confession sat in her chest like a stone. I think I'm in love with him. Not something she could take back once spoken aloud. Not something she could pretend wasn't there, either.

Riley pulled her knees closer, burying her nose in the collar of the sweatshirt. It still smelled like him—that clean, sharp scent that wasn't quite cologne but something distinctly Joe. Her eyes drifted closed.

What would his face look like if she told him? Would his expression shift in that subtle way it did when something surprised him—the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes, the slight pause before he spoke?

The thought made her stomach flip.

She'd spent years building walls around herself, crafting songs about heartbreak while keeping the deepest parts locked away. Then Joe had walked in, no dramatic entrance, just steady and present, and suddenly those walls felt paper-thin.

The phone buzzed against her knee.

Riley's eyes snapped open. She stared at it for a long moment before turning it over.

Her phone buzzed. Joe's name lit up the screen, fifteen minutes early, no warning.

That was so like him. Plan for eight, arrive at seven forty-five. Just in case.

Riley stared at the screen, heart suddenly drumming against her ribs. There was no way he could know what she was thinking—what she'd realized today. The screen kept buzzing, insistent.

She swiped to answer, not bothering to fix her hair or find better light.

His face appeared, shadowed—dark bathroom tile behind him, hair slightly damp from a shower. His eyes found hers immediately, that quiet laser focus that never wavered.

"Hey," he said, voice low.

Riley pulled her knees in tighter. "You're early."

"Meeting ended faster than I thought," Joe said. No apology, no unnecessary explanation. Just fact. "You okay with that?"

"Yeah," she said. Then, "You're all showered. I'm a disaster."

Joe didn't immediately counter with reassurance like most people would. His eyes just moved across her face, taking her in.

"You look tired," he said finally.

"I am," she admitted. "Talked to Egan today. Then Laura."

"How are they?"

"Good. Egan's already giving me shit about us, and Laura's being all wise and supportive as usual."

Joe smiled, lazy and low, like it was just for her.

Riley didn’t rush to fill the silence. With Joe, she didn’t have to. He waited, steady as ever, until she was ready.

"I've been in my head," she said finally, her voice quieter. "A lot."

"About what?"

She started to speak, then stopped. Started again.

"About us. About Vegas."

Something shifted in Joe's eyes, a flicker of recognition. He didn't move, didn't stiffen. But she could see his focus sharpen.

"It wasn't—" She paused, searching for words. "It's not that I need you to do some big public declaration. I just didn't like feeling like..."

Joe waited.

"Like a liability," she finished.

"You're not a liability." There was a firmness in his voice that wasn't there before. No hesitation, no qualification.

"In Vegas, it just felt like... I don't know." Riley ran a hand through her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck before letting it fall again. "Like I was complicating things just by being there."

Joe was quiet for a minute — the kind of quiet that meant he was working for the right words. Riley had learned to tell the difference.

“I keep things separate,” he said finally. “Football. Family. Relationships. It’s easier that way. Cleaner.”

She nodded, unsurprised. This wasn't news.

"But you don't fit in a box, Riley."

That made her look at him more directly.

"I didn't know what to do with that in Vegas." Joe's jaw tensed slightly. "I'm better when I've had time to... to think through all the angles."

It was as close to I panicked as Joe Burrow would ever get.

"You don't have to have it all figured out," Riley said, the corner of her mouth lifting. "That's kind of my whole approach to life."

"I know," Joe said, and there was almost something fond in it. "but one of us has to have some structure."

Riley laughed, soft and surprised by the gentle teasing. It eased something in her chest.

"I didn't need you to introduce me to everyone," she continued. "I just needed to know where I stood with you."

Joe nodded, once. "You stand with me." Simple, direct. Not poetry, but somehow better for its clarity.

Riley felt warmth spread through her chest at the certainty in his voice. This was why she kept coming back to him—to them. The steadiness that she'd never found anywhere else.

"I don't always know how to trust that," she admitted, her voice softer. "Especially after Vegas."

The words hung between them, honest in a way that cost her. After Ethan, she'd built walls so high she wasn't sure how anyone would climb them. Then Joe had come along, steady and certain—until Vegas had shown her that even he had moments where she became something to manage rather than someone to stand beside.

"Vegas wasn't my best," Joe said after a moment. His jaw tightened slightly—the closest he came to showing regret. "It won't happen again."

Three words, no elaborate explanation. That was Joe—economical even with his promises. But there was something in his eyes that made her want to believe him, despite the voice in her head that remembered how Ethan's pretty words had evaporated when tested.

Riley looked down, twisting the edge of the blanket between her fingers. "It's hard for me to know that for sure."

Joe was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady even through the screen. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, more certain.

"Then I'll prove it to you."

He didn't elaborate with flowery promises or detailed plans. That wasn't Joe's way. But there was a quiet determination in those five words that felt different from Ethan's practiced declarations—solid where Ethan had been all flash.

Riley looked up, meeting his eyes. "Okay."

One word that carried the weight of everything they weren't saying. A cautious opening, not a guarantee.

It surprised her, that simplicity. Most men would rush to differentiate themselves, to prove something. Joe just... waited. Like he understood time would matter more than words.

Riley let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The miles between them still stretched, but something about his steady gaze made them feel less insurmountable.

"Tell me something good," Riley said, softer now. "Something from today."

Joe's mouth quirked. "You're wearing my sweatshirt. That's pretty good."

Riley glanced down, suddenly aware of the faded LSU across her chest. She'd put it on after her shower without thinking. "Oh. Yeah."

“Yeah,” Joe said, voice low. “And I’ll be there Friday.”

Riley pulled her knees closer, settling deeper into the window seat. "What's your schedule tomorrow?"

“Meetings most of the morning. Lift after. Might run a couple routes if my shoulder’s good. I’ll be free by afternoon.”

They talked for a while longer—easy, winding conversation about nothing significant. How the jasmine had taken over her garden. A perfect pass Joe had thrown at practice. The étouffée disaster story her grandfather was planning to tell.

The house darkened around her as they talked, but Riley didn't move to turn on lights. There was something intimate about the soft blue glow from her screen, about being half-hidden in shadow while still letting him see her.

"You nervous?" Joe asked after a lull. "About me meeting them?"

Riley considered deflecting with humor, but something in his eyes made her answer honestly.

"Not nervous," she said. "Maybe a little... heightened."

Joe's brow lifted slightly. "Heightened?"

"It's crawfish on the bayou with my family. It's loud, and messy, and a little overwhelming if you're not used to it."

"Riley," Joe said, with the barest hint of a smile, "I played for LSU for two years. I know what a Louisiana family gathering looks like."

She laughed, soft and surprised. "Okay, fair."

"I know what I'm walking into," he said. "And anyway—" he paused, eyes steady on hers. "I work best under pressure. You forget what I do for a living?"

Riley let out a quiet laugh. "You say that now..."

"I got this," he said, voice low. "And I got you."

The words weren't loud or poetic. Just quiet, certain.

Riley looked down, trying to steady her breathing. The inside of her chest felt too full, like something might spill over if she moved too quickly.

"I know," she said after a moment. "I just needed to hear it."

Joe didn't respond with more reassurance. He just nodded, once, like he understood exactly what she meant.

Riley shifted, pulling a blanket higher around her shoulders, fatigue suddenly washing over her. The screen stayed propped against her knees.

"Don't hang up yet," she murmured, eyes already growing heavy.

"I wasn't planning to," Joe replied.

She closed her eyes. "Just... talk a little. Doesn't matter what."

Joe settled back against his headboard. "Alright," he said. "Today Sam dropped a weight on his foot during training. Didn't tell anyone for an hour because he didn't want to admit he was limping..."

His voice continued, low and steady like a current underneath her breathing. No flourishes, no dramatic storytelling. Just that even, measured cadence that somehow made everything feel more manageable.

Riley didn't answer. Her breathing slowed, deepened.

Still, Joe kept talking.

Just in case.

* * *

Morning came soft and warm, the way it always did in New Orleans this time of year. Riley woke to sunlight filtering through lace curtains, casting intricate patterns across her bedroom floor. For a moment, she just lay there, letting the familiar sounds of home settle around her—distant church bells, birds in the oak tree outside her window, the gentle hum of the ceiling fan circling above.

Her phone lay beside her pillow, dead. She must have fallen asleep during the call with Joe, the phone's battery draining quietly in the night. The realization brought a small smile to her lips, remembering his voice as she'd drifted off.

Riley stretched, then padded barefoot through the house, plugging in her phone before heading to the kitchen. The routine was automatic—coffee first, always. She moved through the familiar motions with her eyes half-closed, the rich scent of chicory gradually pulling her fully awake.

When the coffee was ready, she poured it into her favorite mug—chipped at the handle but too sentimental to replace—and carried it through the front room to the porch. The screen door creaked in protest as she pushed it open with her hip, the sound as familiar as her own heartbeat.

The morning air hit her skin like a warm breath—thick, sweet, already heavy with humidity. Her porch swing beckoned, its faded cushions still bearing the slight indentation from where she'd last sat. Riley settled into it, tucking one bare foot beneath her, the swing groaning softly as it accepted her weight.

From here, she could see most of her block—the neighbor's wind chimes swaying lazily in the breeze, Mrs. Guidry already sweeping her sidewalk across the street, the community garden on the corner bursting with life. Everything exactly where it should be, down to the tabby cat watching her suspiciously from beneath the hydrangea bush.

"Morning to you too, Max," she murmured, taking a slow sip of coffee.

Her street was waking up — the slam of a screen door, the low rumble of a truck a few blocks over, a burst of laughter carried on the thick morning air. Somewhere, faint music drifted from an open window — brass and drums, bright and lazy.

Riley closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the back of the swing. The confession from last night still sat in her chest, no less true in the morning light. I think I'm in love with him. The words didn't feel as frightening now, here in the soft morning air of the place that had always held her truest self.

Her phone buzzed inside the house, the sound barely audible through the screen door. Probably Joe, awake and already finished with his morning workout. The thought made her smile again—their different rhythms somehow finding ways to align.

She would go in soon. She would call him back, tell him about the neighbor's cat and the church bells and how the morning light turned her garden gold. But for now, she let herself sit a moment longer, feet pushing gently against the porch floor, setting the swing in motion.

The movement was hypnotic—forward and back, the subtle creak of chains, the world rocking gently. Riley took another sip of coffee, eyes drifting to the edge of her porch where she'd planted jasmine last spring. It had nearly taken over the railing now, white flowers nodding in the breeze, filling the air with sweetness.

Her grandfather had always said plants bloomed best for people who talked to them. She'd never been sure if she believed him, but found herself doing it anyway.

“He’s coming on Friday,” she told the jasmine quietly. “Make sure you show off for him, yeah?”

The jasmine didn't respond, but a breeze ruffled through it, sending a trace of fragrance her way. Riley smiled into her coffee.

Her phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. With a soft sigh—not of irritation, just of transition—she rose from the swing and padded back toward the screen door. The wood was warm beneath her bare feet, still holding yesterday's sunshine.

As she reached for the handle, she paused, turning back to look at her little corner of New Orleans one more time. The morning light caught on the wrought iron of her fence, the dew on the elephant ears, the wind chimes swaying lazily in the corner.

"We're doing this," she whispered to no one in particular. "We're really doing this."

Then she pulled open the door and stepped inside, ready to start her day in earnest—ready to call him back, ready to face whatever came next.

The house seemed to sigh around her in agreement.

* * *

Riley padded back inside, the screen door clicking shut behind her. The house welcomed her with familiar creaks and whispers—old wood settling, ceiling fans stirring the air. She moved through the front room, fingers trailing along the edge of her record collection, the vintage guitar propped in the corner, the stack of books that never seemed to get any smaller no matter how many she read.

Her phone buzzed again from where she'd left it charging on the kitchen island. She picked it up, the screen lighting to reveal three missed calls and a string of texts—all from Joe. The last one had just come through:

Joe: Phone dead?

She smiled, thumbing through the earlier messages.

Joe: You conked out during the call. I stayed on until your breathing evened out.

Joe: Finished workout. Thought you might want to see the damage.

And then, surprisingly, a photo.

Riley's eyebrows rose slightly. Joe rarely sent selfies—a stark contrast to how often he asked for them from her. It wasn't that he had anything against them; he just didn't think to document himself the way she did naturally. But when he did send one, it always felt like a small gift, an unspoken acknowledgment that he was thinking of her enough to break his usual patterns.

But there he was on her screen. Hair damp with sweat, face flushed from exertion, gray workout shirt clinging to his shoulders. He wasn't smiling exactly—Joe never gave a full smile in photos—but there was something soft around his eyes, something private in the slight curve of his mouth. Behind him, the early morning light of the training facility cast everything in a clean, bright glow.

He looked... happy. And a little tired. And very much like someone who'd been thinking about her while he went through his routine.

Riley leaned against the counter, something warm unfurling in her chest. She tapped the image, studying the details—the slight shadow of stubble he hadn't yet shaved, the barely visible scar above his eyebrow from a college game, the way his hair stuck up slightly at the crown where he'd probably run his hand through it.

He looked good. Of course he looked good—that was never in question. But this wasn't the polished, media-ready Joe Burrow that most people saw. This was just... Joe. Her Joe. Sweaty and rumpled and real.

She tapped reply, suddenly eager to connect.

Riley: Sorry for the radio silence. Woke up and took my coffee to the porch. Phone was dead from our call.

She hesitated, then added:

Riley: You look good all sweaty. Send these more often.

Riley set the phone down and moved to the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and the remains of a bell pepper. She'd need more than coffee if she was going to face the day—especially a day that included a visit to Papa.

The phone buzzed again as she was cracking eggs into a bowl.

Joe: Don't get used to it. Just happened to look decent today.

She laughed out loud, nearly dropping the whisk.

Riley: Decent is an understatement. Any chance of seeing more next time?

Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Appeared again.

Joe: Maybe. If you ask nice.

Riley grinned, setting the phone down to continue making her breakfast. The morning light streamed through the kitchen window, catching on the copper pans hanging above the island, the collection of vintage concert posters on the far wall, the plants crowding every available surface.

She moved through the familiar space with practiced ease, whisking eggs, chopping vegetables, the rhythms of home coming back to her body without conscious thought. The house felt different this morning—lighter somehow, like her confession to Egan and Laura had shifted something inside her that the walls could sense.

I think I'm in love with him.

The words still sent a flutter of panic through her chest, but it was softer now. Less sharp. More like anticipation than fear.

Her phone buzzed one more time as she was plating her eggs.

Joe: Plans today?

She picked it up, typing one-handed while she carried her plate to the small table by the window.

Riley: Breakfast. Then Papa at the retirement home. Need to prepare him for your arrival.

Joe: He need preparing?

Riley smiled, thinking of her grandfather's endless stories and embarrassing photo albums.

Riley: Let's just say he's got 25 years of Riley stories and zero filter. Damage control is needed.

Three dots. A pause.

Joe: Looking forward to it.

Riley took a bite of her eggs, considering her response. She could warn Joe more specifically about Papa's tendency to overshare, tell him how the sweet old man had no concept of boundaries when it came to his "songbird." But that wasn't how they operated. Not anymore.

Riley: He'll talk your ear off, but he's the best person I know. Just need to remind him which stories are off-limits.

Joe: The more embarrassing, the better.

She set the phone down, focusing on her breakfast for a few minutes. The eggs were perfect—just the right amount of pepper, the way her mother had taught her. Through the window, she could see the garden coming alive with morning activity—a hummingbird darting between flowers, the neighbor's cat stalking through the bushes, sunlight catching on dew that hadn't yet burned away.

One more day until Joe arrived. Two until the crawfish boil. Her world was about to collide with his in a way they hadn't yet experienced—not the careful boundaries of their separate cities, not the controlled environment of a weekend visit. This was her home, her family, her deepest roots.

She should be terrified. Part of her was.

But mostly, she just wanted him here—wanted to see him in her space, sitting on her porch swing, talking with her grandfather, his hand steady on the small of her back while chaos swirled around them.

Riley finished her breakfast and carried the plate to the sink, glancing at the clock on the microwave. If she left now, she'd have plenty of time to stop for beignets before reaching Magnolia Gardens.

* * *

The Magnolia Gardens Retirement Community sat on three lush acres just outside the city limits, close enough to New Orleans to feel connected but far enough to escape the constant noise. Unlike many of the sterile facilities Riley had toured, this one had character—garden plots for residents who still wanted to grow their own tomatoes, a music room with instruments available day and night, and a bar that served actual drinks during happy hour. It was the only place Willis Carter had agreed to even consider.

Riley pulled into a visitor spot, grabbing the bag of fresh beignets she'd picked up on the way. She didn't bother checking her reflection—her grandfather had seen her in every possible state and never once commented on her appearance, except to say she looked like her grandmother when she smiled.

The receptionist brightened when she walked in. "Miss Carter! Your grandfather's been up since dawn waiting for you. He's checked his watch about twenty times in the last hour alone."

Riley laughed. "That sounds like him. I'm not even late."

"Try telling him that," Darlene said with a fond shake of her head. "He's out in the garden pavilion. Said something about the light being better out there for showing you some new photos his brother sent."

Riley stepped through the sliding glass doors into the garden pavilion, where sunlight filtered through the latticed roof, casting dappled patterns across the wooden tables. She spotted her grandfather immediately, his silver hair catching the light as he bent over a photo album.

"Papa," she called, and Willis Carter looked up, his weathered face breaking into a smile that transformed him from stern patriarch to delighted grandparent in an instant.

“Well, there she is,” he said, pushing back from the table. “I was just about to go hunt you down.”

“I’m on time,” Riley said, grinning as she walked over.

“Didn’t say you weren’t. Just said I was about to come get you.” He leaned in, kissed her temple, then zeroed in on the bag in her hand. “Tell me that’s what I think it is.”

“Still warm,” she said, holding out the beignets like a peace offering.

Willis made a satisfied sound deep in his throat. “That’s my girl.”

She sat down beside him, setting the bag between them as he pulled one out and bit into it like it was the first real food he’d had in weeks.

“They don’t make ’em like this in the cafeteria,” he said around a mouthful. “Tastes like the Quarter. Before they ruined it.”

“You say that every time.”

“And I’ll keep saying it.” He dusted sugar from his hands and nudged a photo album toward her. “Now come look. Your uncle finally mailed those pictures from their trip to Orange Beach. Took him long enough. I already had to call and pretend I was dying just to get him to send ‘em.”

Riley snorted. “You really did that?”

“Course not,” he said, flipping the album open. “I just sighed real heavy on the phone. He got the message.”

She leaned in to look. There were sun-faded snapshots of Uncle Teddy grinning in front of a shrimp boat, a picture of the two brothers standing in matching fishing shirts and holding up a stringer of redfish.

“This one,” Willis said, pointing at a blurry shot of the horizon. “That’s where we used to go crabbing with your mama when she was little. You’d have loved it out there.”

“I remember the stories,” Riley said softly, brushing her finger over the edge of the photo.

“You look good, Papa.”

“I feel good,” he said, like it wasn’t a given. “They let me tend the tomatoes out back. I talk to ‘em like Gram used to. Helps ‘em grow.”

“I talked to my jasmine this morning,” she said, voice soft. “Told it to show off.”

Papa chuckled, a low, familiar sound.

“I bet they will,” he said.

He nudged her gently with his elbow. “And how’s my baby?”

She didn’t answer right away. The sunlight had shifted, warming the back of her neck. She kept her eyes on a picture of two boys fishing—one clearly Willis, maybe ten years old, holding a catfish longer than his arm.

Riley looked up from the photo, meeting her grandfather's expectant gaze.

"I'm good," she said, then after a pause, "Really good, actually."

Willis studied her face, his eyes sharp despite his age. "That have anything to do with the quarterback coming to my crawfish boil this weekend?"

Riley felt warmth rise to her cheeks. "Maybe."

"Only maybe?" Willis raised a bushy eyebrow, his mouth quirking up at one corner. "Girl, you're practically glowing. I haven't seen you look like this since you got your first record deal."

She laughed softly. "It's different, Papa."

"Course it's different. That was business. This is—" he gestured vaguely with one sugar-dusted hand, "—something else entirely."

Riley nodded, not bothering to deny it. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Lay it on me," he said, leaning back in his chair, eyes twinkling. "You need my blessing? Want me to have a man-to-man with this Burrow boy?"

"God, no," Riley said quickly. "The exact opposite, actually. I need you to promise not to..." she searched for the right word, "...overwhelm him."

"Me? Overwhelming? I'm offended, darlin'." But his smile grew wider, showing he was anything but.

"Papa, I'm serious. Joe is..." She paused, trying to articulate what made Joe different. "He's more reserved. He thinks before he speaks. Plans everything."

"Sounds boring," Willis said, but his eyes were kind.

"He's not boring," Riley insisted. "He's steady. Solid. But he's also private, and I just don't want him to feel ambushed by the full Willis Carter Experience within five minutes of meeting you."

Her grandfather raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. No baby pictures. No stories about how you used to make me take you to jazz clubs when you were ten because you wanted to see the horn players up close."

"Exactly," Riley said. "And no interrogations about his family or his plans or—"

"What's the fun in that?" Willis interrupted, but he was smiling. "Alright, I'll behave. For the first hour, at least."

"Two hours."

"Hour and a half, and I reserve the right to tell the story about your first attempt at crawfish étouffée. That one's non-negotiable."

Riley groaned. "Papa, I was fourteen and nearly burned down the kitchen."

"And future generations deserve to know this information," he said solemnly, though his eyes danced with mischief. "It's historical record at this point."

She shook her head, but couldn't keep from smiling. "You're impossible."

"That's what your grandmother used to say." Willis's face softened with memory. "She'd have liked this one, I think."

"You haven't even met him yet."

"Don't need to," Willis said with the certainty of a man who trusted his instincts implicitly. "I can see it in your face. The way you light up when you talk about him. That tells me everything I need to know."

Riley felt something catch in her chest—that particular ache that always came when her grandfather showed just how deeply he saw her.

"He makes me happy, Papa," she said simply.

Willis nodded. "Good. That's what matters." He reached over and patted her hand. "The rest is just details."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sunlight warming the table between them, the sounds of the garden a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

"So," Willis said finally. "Tell me something about him that I won't read in those sports magazines. Something real."

Riley thought for a moment, her fingers tracing the edge of the photo album. "He listens," she said. "Not the way most people do, where they're just waiting for their turn to talk. He actually hears what I'm saying."

Willis nodded approvingly. "That's rare."

"And he's not impressed by any of it—the fame, the music, none of that matters to him. He sees me, not Riley Carter the singer."

"Smart man."

"He stayed on the phone with me last night," she continued, her voice softening. "I fell asleep, and he just... stayed. Kept talking so I wouldn't feel alone."

Willis's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Now that," he said, "is something worth holding onto."

Riley looked down at her hands, suddenly self-conscious about how much she was revealing. But this was Papa—the man who'd taught her to fish and make roux and stand up for herself. If she couldn't be honest with him, who could she be honest with?

"I think I'm falling in love with him," she said quietly.

The words hung in the air between them, more real now that she'd said them to Papa than when she'd confessed them to Egan or Laura.

Willis didn't look surprised. He just nodded slowly, his weathered face creasing into a gentle smile. "About time," he said.

"That's it? 'About time'?"

"What'd you expect me to say?" he asked, spreading his hands. "That it's too soon? That you should slow down? Baby, you've never slowed down a day in your life. Always jumping first, asking questions later."

"Not always," Riley protested weakly.

"Always," he countered with absolute certainty. "You get that from me. Your grandma used to say we were both born without brakes. The number of times I had to fish you out of trouble because you decided to follow your heart without a second thought..." He shook his head, though his eyes were fond.

Riley laughed despite herself. "You saying Joe's my brake system?"

"I'm saying everybody needs someone who balances them out," he said, suddenly serious. "Sounds like maybe you found yours. Someone steady to match your wildfire."

The words settled over her like a blessing. Riley reached across the table and squeezed her grandfather's hand. "Thanks, Papa."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, mischief returning to his expression. "I still reserve the right to tell that étouffée story if he asks where you learned to cook."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, darlin'."

Riley shook her head, smiling despite herself. "One condition. You have to show him the photo of you with James Booker first. The one where you're wearing that ridiculous hat."

"That hat was the height of fashion in 1972!"

"It looks like something died on your head, Papa."

Willis laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the garden pavilion. "Deal. My embarrassment for yours. That's fair."

He closed the photo album and set it aside, then reached for another beignet. "Now, tell me about this album you're working on. I hear things. People say it's your best yet."

Riley settled in, her heart lighter than it had been in days. This was home—her grandfather's laughter, the sweet scent of beignets, sunlight filtering through the lattice above them. And soon, Joe would be here too.

For the first time, the thought didn't scare her at all.

* * *

The restaurant was buzzing, the kind of local spot where the waiter didn’t write anything down and the ceiling fans were older than the building permits. Riley spotted them right away—Tomas nursing a Bloody Mary, Egan mid-story, Jen and Jeremy tucked into opposite corners of the weathered wooden table, all of them halfway through drinks and deeply in their rhythm.

“There she is,” Egan said, lifting her glass like a toast as Riley slid into the open seat. “Miss You’ve-Got-A-Glow.”

“I swear to God,” Riley said, reaching for a menu, “if one more person tells me I’m glowing, I’m going to light something on fire just to stay consistent.”

“Oh, she’s feisty,” Tomas said. “Definitely saw Papa this morning.”

The restaurant was buzzing, the kind of local spot where the waiter didn’t write anything down and the ceiling fans were older than the building permits. Riley spotted them right away—Tomas nursing a Bloody Mary, Egan mid-story, Jen and Jeremy tucked into opposite corners of the weathered wooden table, all of them halfway through drinks and deeply in their rhythm.

Riley smirked. “I fed him beignets and he gave me emotional clarity. It’s a powerful combo.”

“And how is our dear Willis?” Jen asked. “Still charming? Still plotting your social downfall via embarrassing childhood stories?”

“Absolutely,” Riley said. “He’s pacing himself for Saturday. Said he’s saving the étouffée disaster story for just the right moment.”

“That man is a menace,” Jeremy said fondly. “I love him.”

There was a lull as a server stopped by to take Riley’s drink order. Once they were alone again, Tomas leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Alright then, big weekend. You ready?”

“I think so,” Riley said, then added, “He’s coming to the boil.”

Jen blinked. “The boil?”

Egan leaned back, a big smile on her face. “I told her last night that's not a casual introduction.”

“You sure he knows what he’s walking into?” Jeremy asked. “Because I remember our first boil with your family, and I’m still recovering.”

“He doesn’t know,” Riley said. “Not really. But he wants to.”

“And this’ll be the first time he’s meeting any of them?” Tomas asked, sounding it out like he needed to hear it twice.

Riley nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s huge.”

“I know,” she said more quietly. “I didn’t plan for it to happen like this, but… it feels right.”

“You want us hovering nearby?” Egan teased. “Incognito support group? Code names? Backup plan if Cousin Laney tries to convert him to her homemade moonshine religion?”

Riley laughed. “No, I think I want it to just be family. As in, y’all stay far away.”

“Rude,” Jen said, lifting her glass.

“But fair,” Jeremy added.

“You’ll tell us everything after,” Tomas said.

“Of course,” Riley said, smiling. “If he survives.”

Tomas sat back in his chair, arms folded. “You know he’s gonna be fine, right?”

Riley arched an eyebrow. “Fine how?”

“Fine as in your family already thinks he walks on water. He could show up late, mispronounce étouffée, and still get a standing ovation just for being the boy from LSU.”

“Exactly,” Jeremy said. “The man’s basically a folk hero. Your aunties are gonna be feral.”

“They are not,” Riley said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Oh no, they will be,” Egan said. “You know how many women in your family sat in that living room in purple and gold, screaming at the TV like it was church?”

“I hate this,” Riley muttered, hiding behind her tea.

“You love it,” Jen said. “You just hate that we’re right.”

“Okay, sure. The football thing helps,” Riley admitted. “But he’s quiet. Not shy, just… intentional. And y’all know my family. It’s a lot.”

“You’re a lot,” Jeremy said with a wink.

“Exactly. So imagine that but forty more of me, and half of them are drunk.”

“Oh, he’s toast,” Tomas said.

“I’m serious,” Riley said. “I just want him to feel like he can be himself. Not some version of what they expect.”

Egan tilted her head. “So let him.”

Riley looked at her.

“Let him be himself,” Egan said again. “Not football-Joe, not your-boyfriend-Joe. Just… Joe. If he’s who you say he is, he’ll handle it.”

“He will,” Riley said quietly, almost to herself.

Jen reached over and squeezed her wrist. “And if not, we’ll stage a rescue and blame it on a football emergency.”

“No rescues,” Riley said, grinning now. “He wants to be there.”

“Then he’ll be fine,” Tomas said. “Honestly, I’m more worried about you. You’ve never let someone this far in before.”

Riley’s smile dimmed, just slightly.

“Not like this,” she said. “But it feels… different. Like it’s not about proving anything. I just want him there.”

“Then that’s the whole thing,” Jeremy said. “That’s the sign.”They sat with that for a moment, sunlight sliding across the table as a server dropped off the check.

“You telling Papa how serious this is?” Jen asked as they stood.

Riley nodded. “He already knows. He said Gram would’ve liked him.”

Egan smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Then I guess that’s that.”

* * *

Joe checked his watch. He had about forty minutes before he needed to be at the facility for a meeting with Coach Taylor. Just enough time to pick up his grandfather's watch from Ashford's downtown.

The repair had taken longer than expected—something about a custom part that needed to be ordered—but the timing worked out perfectly. He'd have it back before heading to New Orleans on Friday.

The afternoon was bright but not too warm, Cincinnati showing off its best spring weather. Joe kept his head down anyway, ball cap pulled low, sunglasses on. Not that he minded being recognized, but sometimes a ten-minute errand could turn into an hour of selfies and small talk. Today, he just didn't have the time.

The bell chimed softly as he pushed open the door to Ashford Jewelers. The shop was small but elegant—dark wood cabinets, discreet lighting, the subtle smell of leather and polish. It had been in the same family for generations, the kind of place that still kept handwritten records in leather-bound books.

"Mr. Burrow," the older man behind the counter greeted him with a subtle nod. No fuss, no fanfare. Just the quiet acknowledgment that came from mutual respect. It was one of the reasons Joe kept coming back here. That, and the fact that they'd never once leaked a word about his purchases.

"Mr. Ashford. Just here to pick up my grandfather's piece."

"Of course. I have it ready for you." He disappeared into the back room.

Joe waited, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the display cases out of habit more than interest. Watches, cufflinks, tie clips—all carefully arranged under glass. Then his gaze shifted to the women's section.

A bracelet caught his eye.

Not the flashy diamonds or statement pieces that dominated most of the case. This was tucked in a corner, distinct from the others—a slender gold band, textured to resemble snakeskin, with a delicate clasp that reminded him of a serpent's head.

It wasn't something he would have normally noticed. But it reminded him immediately of Riley—elegant but with an edge, the golden scales catching light in a way that seemed alive. He could picture it on her wrist as she played guitar, the gold warm against her skin.

"That's a unique piece," Mr. Ashford said, returning with a small leather box. He'd caught Joe staring. "Python design. Eighteen karat gold. We just received it last week."

Joe nodded. "Can I see it?"

If Mr. Ashford was surprised, he didn't show it. He set the watch box on the counter and unlocked the display case, carefully removing the bracelet.

Joe found himself studying it longer than he intended. The craftsmanship was exceptional—each scale meticulously detailed, the whole piece flowing like water when it moved.

"It's from a French designer," Mr. Ashford explained. "Very limited edition. The texture is quite remarkable."

Joe held it in his palm, feeling its weight. It wasn't heavy, but it had substance. The scales caught the light from every angle, creating a subtle shimmer that reminded him of the way stage lights played across Riley's skin when she performed.

He hadn't planned on buying Riley anything. They hadn't discussed gifts, and he was careful not to push the relationship faster than either of them was ready for. But something about this piece felt right—like it had been waiting here for him to find.

It wasn't showy or presumptuous. It wouldn't overwhelm her or make her feel obligated. It was just... her.

"How much?" he asked.

Mr. Ashford quoted a price that would have made most people flinch. Joe just nodded.

"I'll get this too," he said, handing the bracelet back.

He didn’t know if she’d wear it every day. But he knew, without question, she’d understand exactly what it meant.

Mr. Ashford nodded, carefully returning the piece to its velvet cushion while he processed the purchase. He boxed both items with practiced precision—the watch in its leather case, the bracelet in a slim black velvet box.

“You picked well,” Mr. Ashford said, setting the watch and the bracelet in front of him.

Joe nodded, tucking both boxes into his jacket pocket.

As he pushed back through the door into the Cincinnati sunshine, Joe felt a lightness in his chest. The impulsive purchase wasn't like him—he approached most decisions methodically, weighing options, considering consequences. But with Riley, sometimes instinct just took over.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A calendar reminder for his meeting. Joe quickened his pace slightly, but his thoughts remained with the bracelet—with the way the gold scales would catch the light as she moved.

As he slipped the boxes into his jacket pocket, his phone buzzed with a text from Riley:

Riley: You at your meeting yet?

Joe glanced at the time, thumb already moving.

Joe: Almost. Walking over now.

Riley: Just checking. Not trying to interrupt your grind or whatever.

Joe: You’re not. Can I call you after?

Riley: Yeah. I’ll be home.

He tucked the phone back in his pocket. The velvet box was warm now from being close to him, nestled beside the watch he came to pick up.

He’d call her after.

* * *

Riley moved through her house with the phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, pulling fresh sheets onto the bed with quick, practiced movements.

"Tell me again what time you land?" she asked, tucking a corner under the mattress.

"Noon," Joe replied. She could hear the soft rustle of clothing on his end. "You sure you don't mind picking me up?"

"Of course not," she said, smoothing the sheets with her palm. "Though I won't be holding any embarrassing sign with your name on it."

Joe chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Appreciate the restraint."

"The house is excited you're coming back," Riley said, glancing around. "The jasmine's practically taken over the entire front porch for spring. I can't wait for you to see it."

"Last time I was there, I remember how everything smelled," Joe said. "Different from anywhere else I've been. Like something alive."

"It's a full-on ambush," she replied, smiling at the memory of showing him her home for the first time. "Though I'm pretty sure you can handle a little overgrown garden."

"Besides comfy clothes," he said. She heard a zipper close on his end. "Anything else I should pack?"

"Nah, just stuff to be comfortable in."

Riley paused, surveying the room. "I'm trying to decide if I should clean more or if that'll just make you uncomfortable. Like you'll know I cleaned for you."

"I already know you're cleaning for me," he said. "I can hear you moving around."

Riley stopped mid-motion, a second pillow suspended in her hands. "That obvious, huh?"

"It's not a bad thing," Joe said. "I like that you care enough to do it."

She set the pillow down and moved to the window, drawing back the curtains to let in the evening light. "My approach is very strategic. Clean enough that you're impressed, but messy enough that you know I'm still me."

"Sounds perfect." A brief pause. "Should I bring anything for your family?"

Riley leaned against the windowsill, watching the shadows lengthen across her garden. "Just you," she said, softer now. "Just show up. The rest will figure itself out."

"That's it?" There was something careful in his voice.

"That's it," she confirmed. "Papa's not big on gifts. He just wants to size you up in person."

She moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge and drawing her knees up. "You nervous?"

The question hung between them—simple, direct.

"About meeting your family? A little," he admitted after a moment. "Not in a bad way."

"Papa's already planning his best stories," she warned. "I've negotiated him down to only moderate embarrassment."

"Looking forward to it," Joe said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I like learning pieces of you I don't know yet."

Riley's throat tightened unexpectedly. "Yeah, well," she said, trying to keep her voice light, "just remember that when he starts showing childhood photos."

Another pause, this one comfortable. She could picture him moving methodically around his bedroom, carefully selecting what to pack, everything organized and deliberate.

Another pause, this one comfortable. She could picture him moving methodically around his bedroom, carefully selecting what to pack, everything organized and deliberate.

"You know," Joe said, his voice dropping lower, "I was thinking about that first night in New Orleans. At the hotel."

Riley settled back against her headboard. "What about it?"

"I didn't want it to end," he said simply. "Had this moment where I was sitting there, watching you talk about the city, thinking about asking you to stay. But I got stuck in my head about it."

"You never said anything."

"Didn't have to," he said. "You very awkwardly asked me to come home with you instead."

Riley laughed, surprised. "I wasn't awkward!"

"You were," Joe said, amusement threading through his voice. "Started talking fast, wouldn't look at me. Then just blurted it out."

"God," she groaned, covering her face even though he couldn't see her. "It was that bad?"

"It was perfect," he said quietly. "Made it real."

The confession lingered between them, somehow both casual and significant in the way only Joe could manage.

"Sixteen hours," she said after a moment.

"Yeah, not long now," he replied.

Neither of them spoke for a few beats. Just the low hum of the line, the subtle nearness of the other’s breath.

“Alright,” Riley said quietly, shifting onto her side. “You should sleep.”

“So should you.”

“I’m trying.”

He didn’t say anything for a second, then, “See you soon.”

She smiled, small and real. “Yeah. Night, Joe.”

“Night.”

She waited until the line went quiet before setting her phone down beside her. The screen went dark, but the stillness didn’t feel empty. Just full of everything that was coming.

* * *

Riley woke early, even before the sunlight had finished climbing the shutters. The house was quiet in that specific, charged way it got before something changed—still, but waiting.

She moved slowly. Poured coffee, barefoot on the cool tile. Let the jasmine-sweet air drift through the kitchen windows. Her phone sat on the counter, untouched, but she felt it the way you feel another person in a room.

Sixteen hours had become eight. Then six.

By the time she’d showered and thrown her hair up, the house felt different—like it already knew who was coming.

She set fresh towels in the bathroom. Tucked an extra charger into the outlet beside her bed. These were not dramatic gestures. Just small, quiet ways of saying this space is yours too.

Her phone buzzed as she was buttoning up a shirt.

Joe: Boarding now.

Riley smiled. Tapped out a quick reply.

Riley: I’ll be there when you land.

She tucked the phone into her back pocket, the smile lingering longer than she meant it to.

Then she went to find her shoes — and something to do, anything to fill the hours until it was time to pick him up.

[writingfromthestars35]

And then, there was you.

Chapter 2

WARNINGS: possible spoilers up ahead especially if you haven’t played the games! Some spicyness if you squint your eyes.

Blood

Some violence

Chapter 1

Glancing at the boy, you took in the amount of shape he was in. Before you could comprehend the rush of emotions that fled your body, you rushed Ellie.

Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, you dragged her outside. You practically flung her to the ground.

“What have you done, Ellie?” You all but screamed at her. She couldn’t meet your eyes, which pissed you off even more.

“Look at me” you shouted at her. Her head raised, finally meeting your eyes. Tears welling yet again in her eyes. Her lip began to quiver when she spoke.

“I don’t know” she began, “I found them strung up on posts on the beach- she was so skinny” she started sobbing again. “God Y/N I was just so angry, still. I had come all this way for Joel, but even in the end, it was him who stopped me.” her eyes started searching yours, almost asking for permission. You looked away.

You understood why Ellie did what she did, hell you don’t think even you couldn’t have done what she had done being in the situation she was in. Even Abby, I mean hell technically Joel killed her dad first. They were both in the right. Still though, the bloody, skinny bruised mess both Abby and the boy had came to you in, flashed your mind. Your stomach twisted at the thought. As much as you wanted to to empathize with her, you couldn’t. Not after she had hurt you the way she did, then left you- literally- to put back the pieces.

“I think you should go” you said quietly, your heart strings tugging. Even as angry as you were with her, seeing her in this state brought back memories of when Joel died. You weren’t someone to wish pain amongst others, even if they had hurt you first. Though with all that being said, you still didn’t want her here, and you had an inkling neither did Abby.

Ellie’s had snapped up, wide eyes looking at your own. You crossed your arms over your chest almost as if you were using them as a shield. You saw confusion pass through her eyes, then change to understanding.

Slowly she got up, head hanging low. She was about to speak again but snapped her mouth shut. With that she began walking down the street, no doubt to Dina's, a sour voice piqued up in your head.

You went back into the house, you had a job to do.

Abby and the boy still on the couch, you made your way back over to them. Kneeling once again in front of Abby.

“Why are you helping us?” She spoke for the first time since she had arrived. Her eyes make contact with your own. You had to suppress a gasp, her blue eyes speaking so much more than she ever could. The pain was there, mixed with a million different other emotions that you weren’t able to make out.

“I think it’s possible we share a mutual enemy.” You said. You couldn’t really think of anything else to say, because why were you? Everyone loved Joel, the hurt rattled the community greater than any earthquake would. Realistically, you really shouldn’t. But Abby and that boy wobbling through your door like wounded puppies, how could you say no?

You meant what you said too, so it’s not as if you were lying. You and Abby did share a common enemy, though Abby probably more so.

Abby nodded in response, not questioning your short answer or the obvious inner monologue that was racing in your head. Instead she leaned back into the couch, grabbing the hem of her shirt and began to pull it up.

Your cheeks flushed, feeling the beginning of heat trickle down to your neck. It was not the time to get flustered. You though to yourself, you focused your eyes on the boy instead. Remembering the last time you had been this close to a shirtless woman, but quickly pushing those thoughts away after envisioning Ellie’s face.

“Well if you're so determined in helping me then, you could start here” Abby says, motioning to a long gash going from the end of her ribs to right under her sports bra.

Cursing your beginning to redden face, you quickly get to work. Disinfecting the wound then stitching it up, when you got to the band of her sports bra, you cut a small slit so it wouldn’t bother her stitches. After that, you gave her body one more once over, making sure there wasn’t anywhere else that required your immediate attention.

Turning your attention to the boy, shifting your weight so you were now kneeling in front of the boy. You gave him a good look, and saw how he shared the same hollow face as Abby. They must be starving. You didn’t notice anything major that required stitching. You touched his face to attempt to direct his attention towards you.

He flinched.

You did your best to ignore it, but made a mental note to be patient. “And what’s your name hon?” You asked as softly as you could, fighting the tightness in your throat.

He looked at you for a moment, studied your face and said “Lev.” Offering no additional information.

“Hi Lev, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N, let me get these cuts cleaned up and I’ll make you two a warm meal. You must be hungry” you told him. He nodded in agreement.

You saw past the brave front he was holding onto, seeing into his hardened heart. This was nothing new, you remembered when you were probably around his age the same front you put up. This was the new normal for this new world, there was no childhood innocence anymore.

You began to clean his wounds so he wouldn’t risk getting an infection. After that you picked up your kit, and began to make some food for them.

“Alright, let me whip you guys up some food” you said as you stood up. Abby met your eye and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you” she said, voice barely above a whisper. You nodded you head returning the smile- something you haven’t done in ages.

*************************************

After you made up some food for them, nothing exquisite, some spaghetti and meatballs with a ceasar salad on the side. You plated up their dinner, with some cups of water and utensils and placed them on the table.

“Soups on you two!” You called softly from the kitchen. Both of their heads whipped back to the sound of your voice. Abby was the first to rise from the couch, then Lev followed suit. You had made yourself a cup of jasmine tea, sitting in your spot at the table and sipped it slowly. You didn’t make yourself a plate due to it being the end of the week and your rations were slim pickings as it is.

They hastily sat at the table, mouths all but watering. Abby picked up her fork, looked at Lev and turned to you. She stopped, confusion etched on her face.

“Where’s your food?” She asked, almost suspiciously. Lev looked at you too, halting the fork from entering his mouth.

“I’m not hungry, I had a big lunch” you lied.

Abby squinted her eyes at you, growing suspicious. She glanced at Lev, then back at you. Placing her hands on the table, slightly pushing the plate away from her.

You realized what was wrong, she probably thought you had poisoned the food. Getting up, you grabbed a fork of your own from the utensil drawer. Leaning over the table you grabbed a bite off of Abby’s plate, then one off Lev’s. Chewing them both and swallowing both of the bites, you sat back in your chair re-grabbing your tea.

Giving Abby a wide smile, you said “See? Not poisoned. Not that I could poison you cuties” sending a wink Abby’s direction.

She huffed, cheeks turning ever so slightly pink, and began to eat. Lev, still studying the food, began to eat a little after Abby.

************************************

I promised a couple people I would upload tonight! So here it is! I feel like I’m moving a little slow buttttt, I do have a somewhat spicy chapter planned for chapter three 🥵 I hope everyone likes it and as always let me know what you think!

[itsnesss]

hii i was thinking if you could do a KA12 fic with the song "i miss you im sorry" or "i love you im sorry" by gracie abrams? Plus love your style of writing!💗

𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you receive a call from kimi, who apologizes for everything and admits he misses you

warnings | angst, emotional conflict, broken relationship, unresolved feelings

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more ka12 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The hum of the city outside your apartment window felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, to another life. Inside, it was quiet, almost suffocating. Your room was tidy, too tidy for the kind of chaos that once filled it. The bed, the desk, the walls—everything was in its place, but it didn’t feel like home. It felt empty. And it wasn’t just the space. It was the absence of him.

Kimi.

You hadn’t spoken in months. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that time when you couldn’t escape him, when every argument, every laugh, every touch felt like it was imprinted on your soul. But now… now everything was just an echo. His name on your phone screen was the first reminder of how much time had passed.

You sat there for a long while, just staring at his name. Kimi Antonelli. A knot tightened in your stomach. The memories hit you harder than you expected, crashing over you like a wave you couldn’t outrun. The good, the bad, the moments of pure joy, the moments of furious fights, all wrapped up in one tangled mess. And somehow, they all led back to him.

The first time you met him felt like destiny—chaotic, unexpected, but inevitable. He was brash and loud, never afraid to speak his mind. He’d challenged you in ways no one else had, pushing your buttons, testing your patience. But somehow, it worked. In the midst of it all, you found something beautiful in him, something real. You both fought, you both disagreed, but at the end of the day, there was always the promise of something more.

The sound of your phone vibrating again snapped you out of your thoughts. You hesitated, the weight of your emotions pulling you in different directions. But then, as if against your will, you answered.

"Hello?" Your voice was hesitant, unsure, the cracks in your facade showing. The silence on the other side of the line only made your heart beat faster.

"Hey." Kimi's voice was soft, but it carried the weight of everything that had happened. "I… I’ve been thinking about you."

You closed your eyes, a wave of emotion flooding over you. It was the kind of ache you couldn’t ignore, one that lived inside you, gnawing at you, growing louder the longer you tried to suppress it. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck in your throat.

"I miss you," he added quietly, as if it were a confession. "I’m sorry for everything, for how things ended. I shouldn’t have let it go like that."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret and longing. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Kimi… why now? Why are you calling me after all this time?"

There was a pause, a long one, filled only with the sound of his breathing. When he spoke again, it was slow, measured, as if he was carefully choosing his words.

"Because I can’t get you out of my head," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice raw and real. "I’ve tried, but… I miss you. I miss us. I miss the way we used to be."

You felt a tightness in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. His words had opened a door you thought was long closed. The pain, the hurt, the fights—it all rushed back. And yet, there was something else, something deeper. The longing. The love. The part of you that still wanted him, despite everything.

"I miss you too," you finally whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But it’s not that simple, Kimi. It’s never been that simple with us."

You could hear him exhale on the other end, the sound of frustration mixed with relief. "I know," he said. "I know it’s complicated. I know we’ve both messed up, but… I can’t help it. I keep thinking about the fights. About how we’d scream at each other and then… and then everything would be fine again. And I don’t want to lose that."

The memories flooded your mind. The arguments that started over something small and escalated into something huge. The yelling, the harsh words, the broken dishes. But then, like magic, it would all disappear. The apologies would come, and somehow, despite the chaos, you both found a way back to each other. You remembered how those fights, while painful, were a part of you. How you both knew how to hurt each other, but also how to heal. You missed that. You missed him.

"Do you remember that time in your old apartment?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "When we fought about everything, and we broke a plate? And then, just like that, we made up… but I didn’t know how much it meant until now."

There was silence again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if he was savoring the moment, remembering it just as vividly as you were.

"I remember," Kimi said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember everything. I never wanted to hurt you, but sometimes… sometimes I didn’t know how not to. I guess we both got lost in the chaos."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "I don’t want to go back to that," you said softly. "But I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something. I can’t pretend I didn’t feel it. All the fighting, all the chaos—it was just… us. And now it’s gone."

Another long silence. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know if you were ready to face the reality of what he was offering, of what he was asking. The past was painful, but it was also familiar. And sometimes, familiarity was all you had left.

"I don’t want to let go of this," Kimi said, his voice almost a plea. "I don’t want to lose us. I miss you, and I’m sorry for everything. I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone."

The weight of his words settled on you, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel everything. The love. The pain. The regret. All of it.

"I miss you too, Kimi," you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. "But I don’t know if I can go through that again. The fights, the pain… I don’t know if I can handle it."

He didn’t answer right away, but you could hear him breathing, steady but heavy. "I don’t know either. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to go through it again. Maybe we can start over, and this time, we can try to make it right."

You closed your eyes, thinking about the possibility. Could you really go back to him? Could you find a way to let go of the past and build something new? You didn’t know. But for the first time in months, you wanted to try.

"Maybe we can," you said softly. "But we have to promise, Kimi… we can’t keep repeating the same mistakes. We have to be better."

"I promise," he said without hesitation. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. I just want you in my life again."

And for the first time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could try again. You could heal. You could forgive.

"I miss you," you whispered again, your voice filled with the weight of everything you hadn’t said in so long.

"I miss you too, he replied, and in those words, you found the beginning of something new.

[lyrarizii]

completely agreeing with this

People tend to forget alastor is human too instead of a heartless mindless robot cannabalistic killing machine

Vox is an awful human being, stalking alastor the whole day, never mind his privacy. People jst ignore that bc he is the pathetic type of villain which people make his entire character. Same goes for Lucifer too, he is depressed and his wife alledgly left him for heaven. So the fandom babies him. Completely forgetting the fact he is the literal devil.

Getting off track, people rather side with the side who is sad. Vox has been rejected, in society this is a very heartbreaking moment, so people sympathize. But! They always forget about the other party, why? Because they dared to hurt someone. But thats bullshit, is the opposite party supposed to enter an unhappy relationship? All because someone decided to confess their feelings to them? No. You as a person have complete right to reject someone and they should take that no with respect. Vox always reminds me of those guys who hit on women and dont take no for an answer and then follow them home.

Because what if Alastor did enter that unhappy relationship? Then everyone would be saying he shouldnt even have done it in the first place, he shouldve rejected vox, its his own fault he is in this mess.

Rejection is shit, both times the one who rejects is blamed.

But but! I do have a really good fic where it explores and follows alastor's pov when vox confesses. Can share the link if ya want :D

Also totally agreeing with the Husk part of this. Always baffled when husk gets babied so much. Like did yall forget he was an Overlord? Sinners have to kill and enslave and manipulate to become an Overlord. Husk literally had to do all this. And we see he enjoyed being an Overlord as seen in the flashbacks, drunk with power. Manic grin. "It was nice to have that power"

And people completely forget all that because he had a sad song and backstory.

Sure we got to see 1 scene where husk was threatened by alastor, but that was after he literally said something very triggering after alastor was already riled up because of lucifer not to forget. Now im not victim blaming! Alastor had no right at all to react like that. But husk couldve been smarter.

People just pick on alastor because he is the only one who openly flaunts how evil he is. Nobody else does that, they all get babied by the narrative. Husk, vox, lucifer. All victims of alastor.

But we want to talk about al? We wanna talk abt him? Lets talk abt how viv said he is the Dexter of serial killers. Only killing people who have killed others, he killed rapists and abusers and killers. (Hopefully, since this wasnt confirmed canon in the show, this was said before the Amazon show)

But we wanna baby alastor? Sure we can do that.

He was a mixed Creole man in the early 20th century, just do a quick Google search and see how hard life was for poc.

More info, it is semi canon his dad was abusive towards him and his mother, there. Baby him.

People just pick on alastor because he does t show the fact he also lived through alot. He hides it behind a mask of murder.

Alastor and Aphobia in the Hazbin Hotel Fandom

(If you're a Vox fan or a Husk fan, I suggest you don't read this post!)

This isn't a normal post, but I'm just tired of everything going on in the fandom.

This is mostly a ramble, so I'm going to make little to no sense.

First of all, I'd like to talk about Vox, and how he is portrayed in Radiostatic.

There's almost only angst posts about how Vox feels. I see a lot of people only sympathizing with Vox, while calling Alastor heartless.

Alastor is being STALKED by Vox.

And if you think that Alastor LIKES it, you need to PAY ATTENTION to his facial expressions when Vox ISN'T watching. When he walks out of the tailor, he has an annoyed expression. At the end of Stayed Gone, his expression is similar to that of when he was telling Mimzy to leave. Alastor DOESN'T like being stalked, his sassy attitude is him hiding his true emotions.

Also, Vox is with VALENTINO. It is implied that he LIKES Valentino's antics.

Vivziepop SAID that Vox (and Velvette) enable and ENGAGE in Valentino's behavior.

Yet, I only see people talking about how sad Vox must have been, and how he must be heartbroken.

I have a bit of a past. I've been stalked myself. One time, I was confronted by my stalker's friends, and they were mad at ME for breaking his heart, not me, who was getting stalked. Yes, they were biased, but there is a THEME going on here.

Empathizing with the stalker instead of the one being stalked because they broke the stalker's heart.

I don't know how everyone decided on Vox and Alastor's backstory, especially with people insisting that Alastor is ONLY asexual. I don't know how the same people who insist that, also think that Alastor rejected Vox.

Maybe it's because of... The fact that Alastor is aromantic-coded?

Yet, people still only focus on how Vox feels.

Now, let's talk about Husk. Mainly how people only talk about how Alastor is abusive to Husk thus Alastor is pure evil (sometimes how he is worse than Valentino).

Does anyone remember what Husk said about himself? Husk literally stated that when HE was an overlord, he GAMBLED WITH SOULS. Who knows if Husk ever gambled with Valentino?

But everyone is fine with HUSK, and how he is PERFECTLY REDEEMABLE.

And before you say that Alastor doesn't want to change, HUSK didn't want to change EITHER until Alastor got his soul.

So... What's the difference here?

Maybe Husk's chemistry with Angel Dust?

How people can ship Husk with Angel Dust?

Thus Husk is perfect in every way?

Nobody talks about how Alastor treats Niffty. Nobody talks about how Alastor got USED by his friend.

But Husk has a possible romantic-interest and HE'S the one being defended?

Also, Angel Dust was a member of the Mafia and I don't see people calling him a monster. Maybe it's because Angel Dust is VISIBLY distressed about his problems. Alastor isn't, so he's completely fine (when he doesn't want to seem weak so he hides his emotions). Alastor is an imperfect victim.

And before you say that Alastor was a serial killer, let's take a look at some of his kills! I'm not mentioning all of them, but if you want me to look at one, just tell me.

THE LOAN SHARKS. Vaggie wanted to kill them first. And when Husk and Angel killed Loan Sharks, nobody had a problem with that. Maybe because Alastor was gleefully killing his set- oh wait Angel Dust was having fun killing them too.

The Egg Boiz!1! (He didn't kill them, but whatever). Vaggie went to Alastor first, and told him to get rid of them. Although she empathized "humanely", that may mean that she wanted Alastor to just... ABANDON THEM ON THE SIDE OF THE STREET??? Instead Alastor somehow ended up babysitting them or some crap and told them to "guard the entrance" knowing damn well they would just be dumb about it. And the Egg Boi that DID tag along? Frank? Alastor wasn't even mad.

Idk I'm done

[buddietommys]

"Do you think we're soulmates in every universe?"

"Are we even soulmates in this one?"

[bayetea]

for funsies - chapter 1 preview:

Clouds like pillows floated over Rosenbrandt. There was no hope of the sun piercing through such dense overcast, a thick white cotton pad packed tight against the sky. Rain bled from it often and unrepentantly, fog coiled and surfed through the heavy atmosphere, and a durable stillness mastered the air--a permanent state of unchallenged normalcy. It was the way that Rosenbrandt always was, the way its people presumed life would always be. And the sun thus remained a lost artifact, for it had not been seen in over one hundred years.

Dozens of spires perched on the rooftops below--skinny fingers with talons for nails stabbing towards the sky. Stone masonry buildings sat uniformly on cobblestone roads where streetlamps shone through layered darkness. Curfew soon. Noctivagants were not tolerated without good reason, and the people of Rosenbrandt in their drab, wool cloaks were scrambling to put themselves in a place where they belonged: home, a workplace, or anywhere else, so long as they were indoors and the doors were closed shut.

As for Luke, he wasn’t in such a rush. Someone like him really didn’t have to be.

He and his fellow soldiers were hunched around the bar of Dakota’s Tavern, a quaint, moody affair with sparse lighting and half-attempted decorations: paintings loosely affixed to the walls, weary rugs older than the wooden floor beneath them, random knick-knacks in place of table centerpieces. The air was stiff with mixed scents of old leather and barley-based beer, which was slightly repugnant to Luke. He never cared for this low-grade bar nor its cheap offerings, but it was what his troops preferred, and he was used to their poorly cultivated tastes.

Rancor and chatter filled up the room. About a dozen of them had gathered here after work and already surrendered to their evening rituals: get stupid drunk, have a laugh with the crew, and then stumble home before the nightwatchers stalked through the streets.

“Nothing for you tonight, General?”

He spared a glance towards his first lieutenant, Nyssa Barrera. A hardened, stoic woman with short, dark hair and labored eyes that seemed permanently exhausted by her circumstances. She didn’t have to be so formal with him during their off-hours, and he had told her so before, but Nyssa wasn’t the type to let her guard down after work. He respected her for that.

“Nothing for me.” Luke confirmed bluntly. “I have places to be after this.”

“Places like the Grace House?” teased Sherman Yang on Nyssa’s left. A faint dash of blush was smeared over his cheeks as his eyes were dazed from the beguiles of his liquor. He was a good lieutenant--the second one after Nyssa--but the man's low tolerance for alcohol was a compelling blight against his credibility. “Places like--like the president’s daughter’s bedroom?”

Luke smirked. “Aren’t you tired of making the same joke?”

“I’m just saying,” he slurred, holding his hands up to deflect from criticism. “Always over there at night. At night. Past curfew. Seems suspicious… is all I'm saying."

Nyssa grimaced. "Yang. He's the general. He reports directly to the Graces. Do you have to make something vulgar out of everything?”

“Ughhhh,” was his signature exaggerated groan. “Lighten up, Barrera. For once in your life.”

“For once in my life,” she echoed. “Not likely. Maybe after I die.”

The two kept speaking about something or other--Nyssa tolerating more meaningless verbiage from Sherman, Sherman trying and failing to get a rise of her. Luke had lost interest in them. He was here to keep an eye on his troops, to ensure the truly drunken ones were taken care of and stalled from becoming too disorderly in public--which was unacceptable, and would reflect on him poorly. But his current boredom had transformed their chatter into muffled and indistinct whirs, had set a thick blur over his tawdry surroundings. There was nothing for him here. He’d rather be somewhere else.

“--Barrera,” Luke intruded suddenly on her talk with Sherman. “I should get going. You can take care of things here, can’t you?”

Nyssa frowned--though she was always frowning one way or another--but still nodded her head dutifully. “You can go. Don’t let us keep you from matters with the president.”

“Or his daughter,” Sherman spoke.

She scowled and chided him again. Maybe it was Nyssa’s distaste for sordid behavior that made her so defensive of Luke’s intentions. Maybe it was her unflinching regard for the chain of command that impelled her to demand respect for his integrity. He wasn’t sure; he didn’t know anything about Nyssa beyond what their line of work necessitated. But it was always her voice that rushed first to dispel suspicion towards his relationship with Thalia Grace, as though the whispers and jibes were of actual consequence or even detriment.

In reality, and no one really knew this, Luke savored the rumors. He liked that others recognized the possibility of something going on between them, that others thought it feasible for the head of the military to be involved with the president’s daughter. He liked the privilege of owning a secret that inquirers tried and failed to uncover--was there a dalliance brewing? Were they kissing in the night? And was he courting her, was he a marriage prospect? And wouldn’t that make sense? Weren’t they a good fit?

They asked him all the time. They floated gossip everywhere. And the pervasiveness of that ongoing narrative was almost enough of a thrill to make up for the fact that the stories were largely fictitious. Almost so. But indulgence in fiction could never sublimate Luke’s urge to seek out more than what he already had.

As for right now, he was inclined to seek out conversation improved from that of drunken soldiers. Luke excused himself respectfully and exited the tavern.

went insane last night and drew a thaluke scene from pillows over rosenbrandt (vampire au) wip out of nowhere (it's not for kids sorry)

[kindahoping4forever]

Ashton performing with Eternity Speedway @ Desert 5 Spot LA - 20 June 2024

[kaiserouo]

i wanna add rods and holes on the angler company robots how do i even come up with a plot to justify the design

(im just rambling please dont actually help me with this)

[privatelife]

been unspeakably horny for like 3 weeks straight im starting to get scared. well anyway. happy year