#this is everything I did and will do at school today

[fawnnlvr]

red velvet hair | criminal minds

summary: in which the bau is never fully prepared for the disturbing stories of one of their assistant agents who never fails to leave them absolutely speechless.

pairing: criminal minds x catvalentine!reader

word count: 1.5k

warning: this is so stupid. mentions of blood and mental illness because cat valentine. ♥︎ this is truly the stupidest thing i have ever written and willingly posted. im sorry in advance to whoever has the misfortune of coming across this.

masterlist

author's note: this is honestly for doodoos and giggles. i just like the idea of having a ditzy reader like cat valentines absolutely traumatize the already traumatize. also, i know i should be posting about my hot!diva!reader but a girl can get distracted :( also i just love victorious and i might do her helping out spencer with his addiction because cat was addicted to bibble.

The BAU wasn't really sure how you got hired as a apart of the behavioral analysis unit since they were not sure how you passed the psychological evaluation or written tests. You were what the FBI considered a special exception, just like Spencer Reid since you were extrodinary in passing the phsyical tests and using unique ways to solve problems. You also were very charming towards your instructors and Strauss. It weren't even the little things that led them to question how your mind worked, it was the things you'd say and do outright that you considered to be normal; today was one of those days that Hotch made another mental note to get you drug tested later on.

You and Penelope gathered around Spencer's desk to see the photo that Penelope had printed out. You leaned on Spencer's chair while Penelope leaned on top of the desk as you all stared in shock.

"It's remarkable. Something like this makes you questioned everything you thought you knew." Spencer stated, shaking his head at Emily's photo as you nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, it's like the monolith in 2001." The computer tech commented, a teasing tone in her voice as she eyed Emily who sat not too far away.

"So there was actually a time when something like this was socially acceptable?"

Penelope sighed at Spencer's inquiry, "You and [Name] are young. 80s left a lot of people confused. This is erm... especially sad."

"Alright. Very funny guys. Very funny." Emily finally spoke out in a dry tone, snatching the paper out of Penelope's hand. "What'd you do to it?"

"Do?" Garcia hid a laugh.

"You obviously altered it in photoshop or something — that hair." Emily scoffed, as she showed the photo towards them, not believing it was ever her.

"Oh— no pussycat, that is— that's all you. Garfield High, class of '89."

Emily peered down back at the photo, a new frown appearing in her face, "You really didn't change anything?"

"I hacked it as is. You're really trying to tell me you don't remember rocking that look."

"Perhaps your lack of recognition stems from a dissociative fugue suffered from an adolescence. Say it a Siouxsie and the Banshees concert." Spencer joked which caused penelope to giggle but you were very confused.

"Who?"

"You don't know Sioxsie and the — nevermind" Emily cut herself off, sighing. It was already terrible that she graduated in the 80s and she did not need to be reminded of her age yet again.

"Well whoever they are, they must be pretty cool. I think you looked really cool in your yearbook photo, Emily." you said with such sincere and genuiness that the receiver of the compliment's heart warm.

"You think I looked cool?"

"Yeah! We could've maybe had been friends had we gone to school together. But, what happened to the coolness now?" you tilted your head. You asked the question without any hint of malicious intent, and full of genuine curiosity. You like when people dressed goth or alternative. You never were one for status quos and your entire high school was filled with people of that nature.

Spencer and Penelope stifled a laugh as Emily stared out into space, questioning where her life went wrong to have such a backhanded compliment by a girl who used to skip the number three when counting. They learned that habit was fixed during your FBI academy days.

"What are we talking about?" Morgan had joined the group, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Woah! Prentiss, that's you? Oh my that is, something!"

"What is going on?" Rossi followed behind Morgan, the same suprise is evident on his face. "Oh! That is a... lovely photo."

"You know what, what did you guys look like in high school because I am positive we all went through a phase." Emily asked, defensiveness clear in her tone.

"Well fear not because I had time this morning for another hacking of a fellow agent, Miss [Surname], and let's just say that I have never felt more jealous of a life lived than yours my dear."

"Oooo I haven't seen this picture in a while!" you squealed, excited to see how you were at one of the happiest times in your life. Penelope brought out the photo and everybody gathered around, curious as to what era of you they would see.

They always knew that you were a sort of special type of person but they had only met you in this era of your life. The you they know and love is somebody who is undeniably herself and a sweetheart who gives everybody her love unconditionally.

They never would've expected for Penelope to pull up a photo of an alternative fairy-like girl. You looked into the camera with the smile of a model in the perfect position that caught you from all the good angles. Your head perfectly tilted just a teensy bit down, your smile not quite reaching your eyes but offering a sense of lightheartedness and mischief, and your eyes captured this sort of fun youthfulness. You also wore a hot pink off the shoulder shirt with cybersigilism prints and many metal necklaces. But what caught the other agent's eyes the most was your red hair.

"Did you get your photo professionally taken?" Spencer inquired, his mouth still slightly agape.

"You barely aged! What year did you graduate?" Rossi asked, although he wasn't quite sure he wanted to hear the answer at his old age.

"Hollywood Arts, class of 2002." It had been six years since then but still at 24 years old, you barely changed in terms of style from your high school self.

"You went to an arts school?" Emily asked and you enthusiastically nodded.

"Who would've guessed I would've joined the FBI?" you laughed, reflecting on how much life had changed since then, "One time, I performed in a play as this spy who used bananas as a gun and now I get to use a real one. How crazy is that?"

"More concerning than crazy." Spencer muttered under his breath.

"What's with the red hair?" Morgan was still fixated on your dyed hair which sort of did make sense from how much you already express yourself through your clothing and personality like Penelope had.

"I had red hair for I think six years, but my hair wasn't exactly the healthiest so now it's natural, but i loved it so much." you shared with them.

"Why did you choose red?" Penelope questioned and you laughed because to you, the background behind the decision was one you could look back and find humor in.

At that moment, Hotch and JJ quickly made their way towards the bullpen area to inform the rest of the new case that had landed onto them that needed their utmost attention.

"That's actually a really fun story. In my freshmen year—" Hotch and JJ knew better than to interupt your while you are sharing a story because it could either truly be a fun story, or a disturbing one that they would later bookmark to discuss with you later. "I snuck out of my house to hang with my friends and when I tried sneaking back inside— my brother thought i was an intruder—"

The entire group could imagine where this story was going because any mention of your older brother never involved anything good nor legal, but none of them could have expected the full story. Except Doctor Reid, who quickly tied together the red hair connection to the scared brother.

"And so he took a vase and smashed it over my head. I was like knocked down for a few seconds but when I pulled myself up, I looked in the mirror and the blood had stained my hair since I had blonde highlights and I thought— wow, I look amazing with it! So later that week, I dyed it red. I also just really love red velvet cupcakes."

You innocently looked at the reactions of your fellow agents and none of them could speak. Emily opened then closed her mouth. Spencer couldn't even muster up any words for the first time in forever as you left his mouth slightly agape once again. He had predicted the story's route but even as he did, he is never prepared for you to actually say it. Sometimes he sort of hopes he is wrong, but on the off chance that he is, the story is always weirder or more disturbing than he imagined.

JJ and Penelope just locked eyes and couldn't move. Hotch blinked at you with the same stare of, 'We will call the counselor again'. Rossi learned to stop getting suprise and just offered you an encouraging smile and thankfully, he broke the silence.

"Red velvet cupcakes do look scrumptious. The red hair suited you."

You had an innocent laugh, "Right? When me and my friends performed a food song to little kids, I even dressed as a red velvet cupcakes. I had this whipped cream hat and everything."

"Um, I think Hotch and JJ have a case." Spencer stated and everybody did their best to snap out of their daze and direct their attention towards what should be more important.

"[Surname], can you please get the preparations ready for the trip." Hotch stated. You were the assistant of the group and part of your job involved getting traveling arrangements ready and helping JJ communicate with people.

"On it, sir!" You walked away without a care in the world as the rest of the agents made their way to the briefing room.

"Hotch." Morgan stated his superior's name with loud concern.

"I know Morgan."

[chuxmy]

Hello! I really love all your work, especially the Seung Jae one. Speaking of Seung Jae, can I request a one shot smut about him (if you're comfortable to write smut) where reader and him have a private and secret relationship. Then one day, someone was flirting to the reader but reader is so shy and naive that she thinks that he is friendly to her. Then, Seung Jae saw it and felt rage, jealousy, and possessiveness towards her. Btw, their relationship is not toxic but there are times that it can be toxic when Seung Jae can't control his emotion. Thankie 😘

Only mine

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You smiled at the wrong guy.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, jealousy, praise kink, mdni

A/N: *gulp* it‘s kinda hot in here..

You’ve always been soft.

Polite. Shy. The kind of person who smiles at strangers without thinking twice. It’s part of your charm one of the reasons Seongje fell for you. But sometimes, that sweetness felt like a curse.

Because it made people think they had a chance with you.

And today, someone took that chance.

It was during break, near the vending machines. A boy from another class. You didn’t know him well he wasn’t even on your radar. But he struck up a conversation. Said something about how you looked better every time he saw you, called you “adorable” in this half joking, half serious voice.

You thought he was being friendly.

You smiled. Awkwardly. Tucked your hair behind your ear and said, “That’s really nice of you,” like you always did.

You didn’t see the possessive stare from across the hallway.

But Seongje did.

He saw everything.

You don’t notice his silence until hours later after school, when you meet in the unused music room, like always.

You close the door behind you, expecting his usual smirk, his lazy voice teasing, “Took you long enough.”

But when you turn, he’s already across the room. Eyes dark. Hands in his pockets.

Something is off.

“Seongje?” you ask gently. “What’s wrong?”

He says nothing. Just stares at you.

Then moves.

Fast.

You barely register the way his hand slides behind your neck, how his mouth crashes onto yours, how your back slams into the nearest wall with a gasp. His kiss is rough. Messy. Tongue pushing past your lips like he’s trying to claim every part of you.

You whimper, clutching at his hoodie. “W-wait, what—?”

“You smiled at him,” he hisses against your lips.

You blink. “Who—?”

“That fucker by the vending machines.”

Your breath catches. “He was just being nice…”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “You really believe that?”

You swallow. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem. You never think when it comes to this shit.”

His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s sharp. Laced with frustration. With something worse.. hurt. As if your smile had cut him in ways you didn’t even understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice small. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”

He kisses you again. Harder. Teeth clashing.

“You didn’t upset me,” he growls. “He did. But watching you smile at him like that… like you enjoyed it…”

“I didn’t,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hands are already under your shirt, calloused fingers skating across your ribs, making you shiver.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs darkly. “You don’t see how guys look at you. You think they just want to be friends?”

Your silence answers for you.

His hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt. You gasp when his fingers brush your inner thigh, the heat of him pressed between your legs.

“They want you,” he breathes, dragging his lips down your jaw, to your neck. “They want to take you from me. And you don’t even fucking notice.”

His touch is rough, almost desperate, like he’s trying to erase the idea of anyone else from your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say softly, trembling.

“I know,” he mutters, dragging your panties down. “You never do.”

Then, lower, much lower he rasps, “But you need to remember who this belongs to.”

You inhale sharply when he dips his head, mouth brushing against your core.

“I—I didn’t know someone could be this jealous…”

He looks up, eyes blazing.

“You think this is just jealousy?” His voice drops an octave. “I love you so much it makes me crazy.”

Then he slides his tongue along your folds.

You choke on your breath, hand flying to your mouth to muffle the moan. Your other hand buries in his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue moves with skill you didn’t know someone like him had.

“You’re already soaked,” he murmurs against you. “You liked me getting jealous, didn’t you?”

“N-no, I—”

“Liar.”

He fucks you with his tongue until your thighs shake.

Then he stands, pulling you to him. Lifting you with one strong arm under your thighs, he carries you to the piano bench and sets you down, your legs spread around him.

His pants drop. You barely see it happen, your eyes are half lidded with need, your breath uneven.

He doesn’t ask.

He slides in deep, all at once.

You cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders.

He’s big, he always is and this position makes it even deeper. You squirm, gasping his name.

“I know,” he groans, forehead resting against yours. “I know it’s a lot.”

But he doesn’t stop.

He won’t.

His hips begin to move slow at first, then faster. He grunts softly each time he sinks into you, the wet sound of your bodies filling the small room.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again and again. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clinging to him like a lifeline. “Only yours.”

Your body wraps around him like you were made for him. His thrusts hit deep, dragging broken sounds from your throat.

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside you again. And again. And again.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice wrecked. “I want to see your face when I make you come.”

You do.

You look up at him, eyes wide and shining with emotion and he shatters.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Then your orgasm slams into you like a wave, blinding, breath stealing, intense. You moan, body shaking, clinging to him with everything you have.

He follows seconds later, hips jerking as he empties inside you, groaning your name.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move.

He stays pressed against you, arms around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

You’re both breathing hard.

Your fingers stroke his hair.

“…You okay now?” you whisper.

He laughs quietly. “No.”

You blink.

He lifts his head. “Because I know I’ll feel this again. The second someone else even looks at you.”

You smile sadly. “You can’t keep getting mad at me for being… me.”

“I know.” He kisses your collarbone. “But I can remind you who you belong to.”

You cup his cheek.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your hand.

“…I still will.”

[ce1estiall]

nothing left

summary paige x reader paige sending mixed signals as you grew up, but what do they mean?

warnings angst, fluff

celestial notes hey guys, second fic hope you like it 😁 this is inspired by “no me queda más (i have nothing left)” by selena which is one of my favorite songs!

“i have nothing left, if your return today would be an impossibility, and this was not love

what you deny today, what you say never happened, is the sweetest memory of my life.” no me queda más - selena

it was the first day of freshman orientation. new high school, new peers, new teachers, new city, everything. you recently moved to hopkins in the summer. you checked your schedule as you had

block 1 first. you entered the classroom as one of the first people there with nervousness. your teacher greeted you with a smile. as you sat down and started drawing in your sketch book, a blonde and tall girl was walking towards you. nike headband, messy bun, hopkins basketball hoody with sweatpants and some jordans. "hey! im paige." she said softly, as she chose to sit down next to you. "oh, hi." you were too shy and caught off guard, but paige just kept talking. there was just something about her that made you comfortable. "i like your drawing, its very beautiful. do you do art as a hobby?" she asked, slowly trying to make you break out of your shell. you spoke more confidently this time, sitting up straight against your chair. "thank you. yeah, i really like to draw and paint and makes me express myself." paige leaned her hand against her head, look towards you. "you know what makes me express myself?" you thought for a second. "no idea. what is it?"

"basketball. i wouldn't have enough time in the world to tell you about basketball." oh but paige did. the entire class, she talked to you about the sport she cared about the most. she told you how she played a bunch of sports when she was younger, but basketball stuck the most. how she played jv at hopkins in just 7th grade, and was mostly likely to make varsity as a freshman. she played aau since 4th grade and was going to continue. she told you about her basketball dreams, receiving an offer from uconn and eventually going to the wnba. ever since that one interaction, you spoke out to her more. paige eventually became your best friend. you got her, and she got you. you would always hang out together after school, unless she had practice. you would walk to the park or the plaza, fooling around and goofing off while getting food.

both of you growing up in high school together made you guys not only learn a lot about each other, but yourselves also. you realized sports were never your thing, art was always your style. you didn't know how to shoot a basketball or pass a volleyball to save your life. you were the quiet, girly-ish girl. headphones in, sketch book near, a massive vinyl collection, academic weapon, and tones of paint canvases and posters in your room. however, paige was the total opposite. total tomboy, extrovert, sporty, sore-loser, but she was also smart also. no wonder why she was in biology honors with you.

one hang out, you both were having real and deep personal conversations. one being as paige told you something she didn't tell anyone before. "i like girls, does that change anything between us?" she asked you, sitting at the edge of your bed looking worried. "of course not. thank you for telling me paige." ever since that day, it had you thinking about your sexual orientation.

as you both continued your high school journey, you were still super close, basically like sisters. you watched paige play during the high school season, and also sometimes went to her aau tournaments if they were in town. you always had to represent her, and she would look every game in the stands to see if you were there.

you watched paige work tirelessly and consistently as you saw one of her dreams come true. an offer from uconn. you never forgot that day.

lil paigey🏀: GUESS WHAT

lil paigey🏀: HELLO

lil paigey🏀: ANSWER ME

you: WHAT

you: WHAT HAPPENED

lil paigey🏀: guess who i just got off the phone with bitch

you: no idea

lil paigey🏀: GENO AURIEMMA.

you didnt speak basketball, so you were so incredibly lost.

you: is this a good or bad thing

lil paigey🏀: HELLO HE'S THE HEAD COACH FOR UCONN. I GOT AN OFFER

you: ARE YOU SERIOUS??? YOU'RE NOT FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT?

lil paigey🏀: OFC NOT HELLO??

you: paige im so incredibly proud of you and how much your hard work has payed off.

the next day at school, you ran up to her, squeezing her into a hug so tight that she could barely breathe. "lil paigey!!!!" you squealed. “im so so so proud of you. i almost cried when you told me.” she looked at you after you both released from the hug. it wasn’t a normal look. it felt like it had more meaning. the way her blue eyes dilated, gave you a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t describe.

acceptance day came for college applications. you applied to uconn of course, and got accepted. paige acted the same way you did when she told you she received an offer.

time passed, graduation happened like a blink of an eye. paige was focused and locked in for college basketball. you had a dorm next to the basketball team. paige quickly introduced you to her teammates, and you all got along well. sometimes before or after practices she would stay in your dorm and relax or do any homework.

some practices were later than usual, which caused her to come to your dorm later in the night.

paige had a 7pm practice that usually lasted 2 hours. you were at your desk with an amber scent candle burning next to you. notes, pens, and highlighters scattered all over your desk. you had a statistics exam the next morning, and were trying to retain as much information as possible. just as you were in your mode and focused, a knock came from the door. it was 9pm.

you got up from your desk in a daze and opened the front door. by your surprise, it was paige.

"can i stay here for the night?" she asked, out of breath.

"well hello to you too. didn't you just get out of practice? and why?" you asked her, rubbing your eyes.

"yes. and water leakage. soooo can i?" paige seemed exhausted and energetic at once. you had no idea what you were about to get yourself into.

"sure. i dont have an extra room tho, so its the couch or-" she stopped you. "can i sleep with you?"

you didn't mind. you've known paige since forever. nothing would happen, right? "yeah thats fine. make yourself comfortable."

a feeling in your body over came you. you suddenly broke out into a hot flash, but you ignored it.

paige walked inside, taking her slides off. she then walked into your room, you were right behind her. you saw the way her face lot up when she entered, observing everything. you sonny angels and smitski collection, legos, cds, posters, and a diffuser with eucalyptus spraying. it was a very clean and relaxing space to paige.

"this is your room?" she looked at you in awe. "in all the years i've known you, it was never this organized."

you laughed. "gee, thanks paige. you should be the last one talking."

"you know you enjoy my sense of humor." she jumped onto the bed, into your pile of plushies and stuffed animals. you handed her the control. "im gonna get a snack really quick. want anything?"

"you got my favorites?" she asked. you rolled your eyes and walked into the kitchen. you opened the cabinet and grabbed gold and paige's favorite, oreos.

you went back to your room and sat down next to her. "how do you not give these up during the season." you placed the party size pack of oreos and infront of both of you. paige picked "criminal minds" to watch, another one of her favorites. you and paige were both relaxed at this point as both of you suddenly became closer.

a sudden wave of sleepiness went over you. next thing you know, you were out like a light. you fell asleep on paiges shoulder. she quickly noticed, turning to look at you. she was trying not to move too much to not wake you up. she played with your wavy, brown hair and massaged your shoulder with one arm as she was still watching criminal minds. "good night" she spoke softly into your ear. she turned the tv off and slept next to you, soundly.

the next day, you woke up and found her gone. you checked your phone and saw she left a text

p BUCKETSS 🪣: if you wake up and im not there, i had early practice today. don't worry, im okay. see you later 💫

you went to your biochem class at 11am. after, you returned to your dorm and studied again for statistics test you had at 1pm.

the time was now 7pm, and another knock occurred on your door as you were making dinner. you unlocked the door and not surprised that it was paige. "can i stay here again?"

"yeah thats fine. i'm making dinner." she walked into the kitchen as you close the door behind her. you went back to cooking.

"what are you making?" she asked curiously. she stared at the food like she was ravenous.

"chicken with roasted potatoes. want some?" you asked, grabbing out two plates. "yes, please" she smiled. you served her the plate as she sat down at the island. herbs and spices flooded her nose, smelling delicious. she took a bite of the food, and instantly fell in love with your cooking.

"when the fuck did you learn how to cook? i swear this is the best meal i've ever had in my life." she was enjoying the meal like it was her last one on earth. "okay thats a stretch now." you said laughing.

just like yesterday, she went into your room, and watched criminal minds. after you washed the dishes, you went and sat down next to her. her same arm on your shoulders. an exciting feeling overcame you. she asked you about her day and remembered about your statistics test. you told her you crammed and still passed. next moment after you both talked for what seemed like it would never end, she was knocked out. this time, her head on your shoulder. you smiled at the sigh of her. "good night, p buckets." you whispered into her ear.

same thing happened, you woke up with her missing, but she left you another text.

over the next couple of days, not only would she sleep with you in the evenings in her dorm, but she would always find time to spend with you. after practices, you would drive to get both of you something to eat and go shopping. she payed for everything when you insisted to buy her something. that nil money was in fact treating her very well.

after the shopping spree, she wanted to stay with you, at her dorm. the drive back at storrs was very, interesting. the tension between both of you was thick, and in the air. while paige drove home instead of you, when "snooze" by sza was playing, she was singing the lyrics while putting her hand on your thigh.

she sung quietly, but beautifully. never skipping a word. it was like she knew this song by heart. you noticed the playlist title called "falling in love". at the stoplights, she would look at you. a look of love. the same feeling you got the other day returned back. you were now putting the pieces together on why you're feeling this way. you're in love.

you arrived at her dorm. as you walked in, you were greeted by one of her roommates and teammate, kk arnold.

"hey girly pop how are you!" kk reached in for a hug "ugh and look whos back. just kidding you know i love you p boogers"

"bro shut up" she told kk. "don't mind her. lets go to my room."

"ouhh what yall finna do?" she said, acting childish. you gave her a glare that said "shut up" in the nicest way possible.

you entered her room, it was a mess. clothes everywhere, basketball shoes all over the floors, empty water bottles, but you didn't mind. you sat down on her bed hugging her stuff animal. you broke the silence first. "thanks for paying for my things today. you didn't have to."

paige smirked. "its no problem. that was my giving back for you letting me stay those couple of nights."

you suddenly felt uncomfortable, but in a good way. the tension was still there, and you didn't want to do something you were going to regret. "i have to go. ill see you later tho."

"yeah" paige said, in disappointment that you had to leave so early. "bye"

"bye paige. bye kk" you said opening the door as you were leaving.

"bye girly pop!" kk yelled.

since that interaction, paige was looking for you. after classes, during your lunch, at her games, after practices, she never wanted to leave you. when you were with her, you were always happy. you didn't want the moment to end. all your problems left when she was with you. her flirting or teasing or terrible jokes always made you laugh or crack a smile. it was official. you were in love with you childhood best friend, paige.

you felt like paige was giving you mixed signals. sure, you knew paige was gay, but you were starting to realize you liked girls also. paige has dated girls before and would usually tell you about it, but you never had that opportunity. you didn't fall in love so easily and no one liked you like that, ever. paige was never afraid to show the different side of her. very flirty, touchy, and up close with you. it flustered you in a way and gave you butterflies in a way.

more time together lead to you falling for her more. and falling hard. after driving yourself practically insane on what she was trying to signal to you, you decide to tell her how you felt.

you walked to her dorm building, eventually finding her number. you knocked twice with anticipation. the door opened, it was paige.

"look who chased me." she darted.

"can we talk? can i come inside?" you said seriously.

she saw the change in your face. "i need to talk to you about something also. yeah, sure."

you walked to her room and sat at the edge of her bed, she sat next to you, looking at your face. "should you go first or should i?" she chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

"look paige. i really appreciate you hanging out with me recently and reconnect again with your schedule and basketball. we've know each other since we were teenagers, but we're starting to be closer than ever before. i've noticed recently on how you're acting with me. the flirty comments. you touching my thighs or hugging me from behind out of the blue. it made me feel something, like an electrifying feeling that flows through my body. when i go to bed, thats all i think about. its you. im in love with you paige." you spoke, legs shaking from the anxiety. the way you saw her body language, it wasn't a good sign.

"oh." she said as she zoned out for a couple of seconds. oh? was that all she had to say?

"hey." she touched your thigh again in consolidation. "thank you for telling me this. what i wanted to tell you was that i'm talking to someone. i've been talking to them for a couple of months now. we have a date soon. you know i've always been touchy and extroverted." tears started forming in your eyes, out of anger. paige continued "i'm telling you this, especially now because i don't want to play with your feelings or get you hopes high. i'm sorry if this isn't the news you wanted to hear, but i will always be your best friend, okay?"

you just tuned her out. "yeah, sure. i have to leave."

you stormed out of her dorm, slamming the door as you left. the walk back to your dorm was sad, as the sky was cloudy and humid, like you. you cried all the way walking until you arrived at your dorm, jumping onto your bed and sobbing. as you were defeated, and paige was happy, you still kept this memory. you secretly had hope in the bottom of your heart that she would've felt the same, and she would've stayed with you. you now have to see paige as a friend, as though you lived in love, but were wrong on how she felt. you have nothing left.

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Baby Blurb #6

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Animal Kingdom Masterlist Pope x Hawk Playlist Well Enough Alone Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Hawk, Pope and Lena do a gender reveal. Word Count: .9k Content Warning: no warnings. AN: I'm genuinely having so much fun with these and all the messages you guys are sending me about dad!Pope! There are only a few more pregnancy blurbs left before we head into baby territory. please comment & reblog :)

As much as Pope and Hawk wanted to find out the gender at the twenty week ultrasound, they had the NP write it down on a piece of paper so they could do a more intimate reveal with Lena when she got home. When Hawk told her on the way to school that today was the day they were going to find out, she was all smiles and giggles. And when Hawk told her they were going to wait for her to get out of school to find out, she was elated. 

Pope volunteered to get Lena at pickup while Hawk just stared at the folded piece of paper on the coffee table. Regardless of what it said, she was going to be happy -they both were. All of her panels came back clear and everything on the scan looked good, much to Pope’s relief. All of his special grocery shopping and researching and reading had paid off so far, but when this pregnancy was done, Hawk was never going to touch a leafy green vegetable so long as she lived. 

"Take this kaaaaale and shove it," She sang to Pope one night to the tune of Johnny Paycheck. He did not find it as humorous as she did.

Lena had been an absolute trooper with all of this. When they initially told her they were going to have a baby, she was excited, but that excitement turned to sadness the further she sat with the fact that a baby was coming. 

“Are you going to forget about me when the baby comes?” She asked Pope while they were out at the park one afternoon while Hawk was at the shop. They had finally gotten Lena out of the shell that Baz put her in and now she had reverted back to the way she knew how to protect herself from emotional hurt. 

“Why would we forget you?” Pope asked her. She shrugged. 

“Danny said when his mom had a baby, he was sent to stay with his grandma for a while. He said that’s what happens when moms have babies.”

“You're going to be right there with us, Lena. You’re not going anywhere else, and especially not to grandma Smurf’s.” Pope reassured her. “You’re a part of this family and the baby is going to be looking up to you when they get here. How are they gonna know how to be a kid if you’re not there to teach them?” This brought a half-grin out of her. 

Now, all Lena could talk about was the baby. It was the first thing she asked about in the morning, and the last person she said good night to when Hawk tucked her into bed. Pope had even enlisted her in the Baby Thalia campaign, effectively creating a mutiny under her own roof. 

Lena was a big help in picking the furniture and decorations for the nursery, and she insisted on helping around the house, even though Hawk wasn’t that big yet. It was still incredibly sweet and Hawk knew she just wanted to be included, so she made sure every milestone, and everything between, was celebrated with her. 

The sound of the front door opening and little footsteps running through the house broke Hawk out of her thoughts. 

“Is it time?” Lena' shouted's voice echoed off the walls as she ran full speed into the living room until she flew onto the sofa. Her long, curly hair bounced in a curtain around her as she got comfortable on the cushions. “Uncle Pope said you were waiting for me. You didn’t peek, did you?” 

“Of course not! We waited for you just like I promised this morning, but we need to wait for your Uncle Pope to get in here before we find out.”

“Uncle Pope!” Lena shouted impatiently, making Hawk laugh at her enthusiasm. 

“I’m coming,” He finally entered the living room, stepping down cautiously with an anxious grin. “How do you want to do this?” Pope asked Hawk. She looked down to Lena next to her and picked up the piece of paper. 

“Do you want to do the honors, Lena?” The little girl’s brown eyes widened, but her grin only grew wider. 

“Really?” She looked at Pope, who came to sit next to her, sandwiching her between the two adults. 

“Can’t think of anyone better.” He said, his palm coming around to place itself on Hawk’s lower back. Hawk handed her the folded paper and brought her eyes to meet Pope’s. A nervous, excited energy crackled between them and his heart grew when Hawk smiled at him. 

Lena carefully unfolded the paper in her hands, careful to not rip it. She held it close to her chest so neither Pope nor Hawk could see as she read it. She screamed excitedly into the paper, giggling like a maniac when she pulled it over her face, legs kicking like she could take off running if her feet touched the floor. 

Pope knew.

He knew by her reaction what that paper said, but he wanted to hear it. Lena turned to Hawk, hugging her with everything she had. 

“It’s a girl!” She shouted into Hawk’s chest, bouncing in her spot. “It’s a girl! We knew it, didn’t we, Uncle Pope?” She looked to her uncle, who couldn’t take his eyes off of Hawk.

“Yes we did.” His voice was thick with emotion, tears lining his eyes. Lena momentarily composed herself and dropped to the floor so she could be eye level with Hawk’s bump. Hawk couldn’t hold back the happy tears as Pope scored over to her, wrapping his arms around her to pull her into his chest. “I told you so.” He whispered into Hawk’s ear so only she would hear, before kissing behind it affectionately. 

“Baby Thalia,” Lena cooed, “I can’t wait to meet you.” 

BABY THALIA LORE BEGINS NOW

[womanofwords]

Frozen Heart (Part 16)

TW: yandere behaviour, infantilism.

Bruce sat you next to him during breakfast, trying to feed you pancakes. He was probably just loving that your arm was broken, judging by the smirk on his face.

"You are doing such a good job of eating your breakfast," Bruce cooed.

"Not interested in being Daddy's favourite, but thanks," you snark, in between mouthfuls. "Wouldn't want to take Damian's spot."

"You think Damian's my favourite?" Bruce asked.

"He's your mini-me. He's cold and heartless, like you. When I see you, I see him, and when I see him, I see you. He is yours."

Damian stared down at his cereal. This was part of the reason why you didn't like him. He reminded you of the father that didn't give you the time of day. Then again, the stuff he had done didn't help. If only he could do this again, redo the time he had with you again. He could be the sweet little brother that defended you from mean paparazzi and asked to take naps in your room. You were in need of care.

"Here you go, Y/N," Damian said, offering you a cookie. You picked it up and sniffed it.

"Is this poisoned?" you asked.

Damian's jaw fell open. Dick, Jason, and Tim snickered quietly behind you. "No, Y/N. I didn't tamper with the cookie," Damian promised.

"Then why did you give it to me? Is there a razor blade? A kid at my school shoved thumb tacks into an apple and gave it to me. Did you give me thumb tacks inside a cookie?"

Nobody was laughing now. This was a rare insight into your life and outlook, the sad one that they now got heartbreaking glimpses into. "No, Y/N, there are no thumbtacks or any sharp objects. It's OK to eat it," Damian promised.

"Y/N, would you like me to check what's inside your cookie?" Duke asked. "One of my powers is X-ray vision. If there's something wrong, I'll see it."

Your eyes grew wide. "You can do that?"

"Of course. But if you don't want me to-"

"Please check it!" You all but thrust the cookie into his hands. "I trust you, Duke."

The rest of the table struggled to split their attention between you and Duke, heads moving like the spectators at a tennis match. Duke was able to look at you without you scowling, touch you without you flinching away, and now he was trusted with your food.

They were going to kill him.

*_*_*_*_*_

Duke whistled as he left your room. You were doing such a good job of trusting him. Today, you were trusting him with a cookie. But soon, you would trust him with everything.

"We need to talk," Dick said. Duke turned around to see Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Bruce behind him. They all looked murderous.

"Can I help you?" Duke asked.

"What did you do to Y/N? You need to tell us what you did to have them want you around," Dick said. "I've been trying so hard and they're reduced me to tears twice!"

"They smiled at you, Duke," Damian said. "They trusted you with food. They don't fear or hate you or resent you."

"Duke." Bruce's voice came in clearly, making everyone else quiet down "Y/N seems interested in your powers. Are you using your powers to entice them or take advantage of them?"

Duke scoffed. "You're way overthinking it. I just made myself into a safe, non-crazy person so they would trust me and ask for me. I don't play detective or therapist, I just . . . soothed them. You guys have been full-on and all in, and it's scaring them."

Alfred walked by with arms laden with snacks. Your favourites. "Master Duke, Y/N wants to see you in their room. They said that they wanted to see the pretty spirals again."

"I have to go," Duke said. "Y/N wants me."

Duke left them all where they stood, seething with rage. He wiped the smug look off his face before he went to see you, though.

"There you are!" Duke smiled, as you giggled. "Wanna eat snacks together?"

"Yeah!" You were conscious of your smiles at Duke, but you couldn't help it. You'd never had a big brother before, and it was so much fun!

"Say aah," Duke warbled, bringing a snack to your lips. You opened your mouth, accepting the sweet treat without hesitation. "Sweet child, oh I love you so!"

"Huh?" You raised a confused eyebrow; why was Duke calling you sweet? But you went with it; Duke was harmless.

"Oh, you are so good and so cute. I'm going to put you into these blankets and make sure you don't get sick." Duke wrapped you in blankets, so tightly that you could not move the few parts of your body that weren't broken. You didn't care, though. Your big brother was looking after you and it felt so good.

"I want you to look after me, Duke, not them," you said. "They're so suffocating."

Duke smiled. "That makes so much sense, little one."

"Hello, Y/N," Damian said, dragging a blanket in with him. "What are you doing here with Duke?"

"Taking a nap," you said.

"Good. So am I," Damian said. "I will stay with you for the duration of this nap."

"No thanks, Damian. I try to avoid seeing you just before sleeping, because it infects my sleep and I have nightmares about failed exorcisms and dogs chasing me down hallways that stretch away from me," you said.

Duke bit his tongue, but Damian still saw a smirk retreat from the metahuman's face. "I'll make sure he doesn't face you," he soothed.

"That would be nice," you said.

Damian panicked. "Y/N, I need to make sure you're OK! I can't leave you alone with Duke and Alfred! I'm your blood sibling!"

"You didn't care about that when you were spilling my blood. Go have your nap in another room."

One minute, Damian was in your room. The next minute, the little hellspawn was outside like any dog. You smiled into your blanket.

"Thank you, Duke," you said.

"You're welcome, little one. You can take your little naps in peace," Duke said. "Any worries you have? Need anything?"

"No," you said, as your breathing evened out. "Thank you so much."

*_*_*_*_*_

Duke left the door to your room open and allowed your father and siblings to look at your sleeping form. "You denied me of this picture of innocence," Damian said. "If I could kill you without making a sound that wakes Y/N, I would do it without a second thought."

"So cute," Dick said, already tearing up.

"I know," Stephanie said. "When will it be our turn? Duke is hogging them."

"I just responded when they asked for me," Duke said, pouring salt into open wounds.

"Great. How are we supposed to make that happen, Duke?" Tim demanded. "Y/N hates us. Like, really hates us."

"Make yourselves useful," Duke said. "Y/N will tolerate you if they need you. Make them need you. Give yourselves a job and don't go overboard. Don't just go in asking for snuggles and giving out pet names."

"If we need jobs to be in Y/N's life, then we can do that," Bruce said. "I had thought that being their daddy was enough, but clearly I need more leverage. That is certainly doable."

First

Previous

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @kittzu, @justwannabecat, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @vanessa-boo, @jscrawls, @sirenetheblogger, @lovebug-apple.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Hello hello! I’ve been OBSESSED with your writing and it’s so good, my head goes BRR

I wonder if it would be okay if perhaps you could do a people pleaser MC who’s essentially very dedicated to filling tasks or requests, both inside and outside of work, even in the personal life. The Yandere essentially catches wind of it after seeing just how far the lengths go and manipulates it both in their favor while also encouraging rest and recharging. A double edged sword where the Yandere wants the pleasing to be for them but also let darling have a recharge.

Sorry this took me so long!!

You were, by all outward appearances, the dream employee, the ideal friend, the model partner—even to people you weren’t actually dating. If someone asked for help moving apartments, you showed up an hour early with coffee. If a coworker missed a deadline, you stayed late and filed the report without asking for credit. If a neighbor's dog needed walking, you rearranged your schedule, never complained, and even picked up specialty treats on the way. Your phone was a cascade of unread messages, all asking something of you, and you answered every single one. Always.

There was something soothing in it, the predictability of being needed. It gave your life shape, form, importance. A purpose. Every "thank you" was a small reassurance that you hadn’t wasted your day, hadn’t wasted yourself.

But of course, it took its toll.

You were always tired. Not the kind of tired that a nap or a weekend could fix, but the bone-deep fatigue that creeps in when you never say no, when your worth becomes synonymous with service. Your shoulders slumped even when you smiled. Your phone vibrated, and you flinched. Your apartment was clean—but only after a friend mentioned they'd be stopping by.

They noticed it first. They noticed you first, really. They watched you refill someone’s coffee at work like it was second nature. Noticed how your fingers trembled slightly as you massaged your temple while answering an eighth back-to-back favor over text. You weren’t doing it for attention. That’s what made it so genuine. That’s what made you so dangerous to yourself—and so irresistible.

At first, they simply made themselves part of the background. A supportive coworker, an innocuous neighbor, maybe a classmate if you were in school. They inserted themselves like a bookmark into your day, gently noting which requests you accepted, which ones you stumbled under, and—more importantly—which ones you never denied.

It became a game, of sorts.

"Hey, can you help me carry this box?"

Of course you did.

"Would you mind reviewing my proposal tonight?"

No problem. Midnight was still technically today.

But one day, they broke the rhythm.

"You’ve done so much for everyone else lately. I want you to rest tonight. Just rest. For me."

And of course, you did. For the first time, you took a long bath instead of answering emails. Ate dinner while it was still warm. Slept without an alarm.

The next morning, they smiled sweetly. "See? Doesn’t that feel better? You're no good to anyone burnt out. Least of all to me."

That was the start of the double-edged sword.

You, ever the pleaser, couldn’t deny the earnest tone, couldn’t resist the gentle push to care for yourself—especially not when it was framed as another form of service. Rest, because I want you to be okay. Because I need you to be strong—for me.

And so, the manipulation deepened. They made themselves the center of your orbit, cloaking control in kindness.

"Skip helping with the community cleanup. They won’t appreciate it like I do."

"Don’t exhaust yourself on their problems. Let them fail. I’d never let you drown like that."

"You don’t need to fix everything. Just be mine. Be well. Be whole. That’s what I want."

So you began to withdraw—gently, quietly—from the world. Your phone still buzzed, but you turned it face-down. You still smiled, but mostly at them. Because suddenly, pleasing someone didn’t hurt. It didn’t leave you hollow. It left you seen. Valued. Loved.

Of course, you didn’t see the subtle tracking apps, the ghosted messages they intercepted, the small favors "accidentally" sabotaged so others would stop relying on you. You didn’t question why you had more free time lately—or why it was always spent under their watchful eye.

And them? They were content, in a twisted, possessive way. Because they encouraged the rest. They were a good influence. They made you healthy again. But only in their arms, only in their world.

"You don’t have to be everything for everyone. Just be mine. That’s enough."

And you, who had never felt like enough, finally believed it.

Masterlist

[bettelaboure]

⊹The Art of The First Time⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

fourth part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: sexual tension, explicit sexual exploration, embarrassment, mature language, peer pressure, and high school dynamics involving gossip and judgment

⊹ Summary: the reader reluctantly agrees to be tutored by awkward and quiet Seung-Hyun, she fullfil her side of the deal to be the one teaching him life’s more intimate lessons

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

​​It was Thursday and you needed to blow off some steam.

"Come onnnn!" you groaned under your breath. "Just do it!" Your fingers moved faster, desperation tingling under your skin. "Please... please, God, let me."

Your eyes stared up at the ceiling, your other hand gripping the sheets. You were so close. So needy. So—

Knock, knock.

"Y/N?" your mom's voice rang through the door. "Is everything okay in there?"

For fuck's sake.

"Yeah! Everything's fine, Mom!" you called out, scrambling to pull the hoodie down over your legs.

"Okay. Your dad and I are leaving now. We won’t be back till late."

"Tell everyone I said hi," you muttered as you heard her footsteps fade.

You got out of bed, your legs still trembling slightly, frustration boiling just under the surface. You walked over to the mirror and looked at yourself—just a hoodie and your underwear. Your tanned skin stood out against the creamy white cotton.

"Why can't you just do it?" you whispered, cheeks flushed, hair a tangled mess. The irony wasn’t lost on you—here you were, tutoring Choi Seung-Hyun about sex, and you couldn't even finish yourself off.

Shit. Seung-Hyun.

You glanced at the clock. Less than thirty minutes to get to his place, and it was a twenty-five-minute walk if you didn’t stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you cursed as you scrambled to find pants. Where the hell were they?!

Tripping over your own feet while pulling them on, you barely made it into the bathroom. As you brushed your hair and splashed water on your face, your mind raced.

What the hell were you going to teach Seung-Hyun today? You'd covered kissing. You'd made out. Was it time for... fingering?

Did you even want his fingers inside you?

You shook the thought off. It was too soon. Probably.

When you arrived, only a couple minutes late, he didn’t mention the time. Instead, Seung-Hyun opened the door and let you in, his usual soft-spoken manner putting you at ease.

It was another Past-tense session. You went through the basics. Another test sheet. A five this time. Better than a two.

"Do you even attend English class?" he asked as he handed back your paper.

You shrugged, eyes averted. It was a clear 'no'.

He sighed. "Y/N, you'd improve a lot faster if you went to class. One tutoring session a week isn't a miracle cure."

"Yeah, but you're supposed to be the best tutor, right?"

"Did you even watch the documentary I sent you? The one on the History site?"

You didn’t need to respond. Your face answered for you.

"I'm not Superman. You gotta meet me halfway."

You knew he was right, but it was hard to admit. School felt like a void you were floating in, each class draining more energy than the last. Most of your teachers gave up on you last year. So what was the point?

"Have you ever dry-humped before?" you blurted, the words flying from your lips before your brain could catch up.

What. The. Fuck.

Seung-Hyun looked completely stunned. "What?"

"Never mind," you muttered, pretending to be absorbed in your test paper.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way he kissed you. The feel of his lips, the scent of spearmint gum and apple juice. He was surprisingly good at it. Better than you expected.

"What is it?" he asked, still watching you.

You looked up and took a breath. "I can show you. If you want."

He hesitated, nerves warring with curiosity in his eyes. But then he nodded.

You led him to the living room and gestured for him to sit. He did, cautiously, like he was stepping into unknown territory.

"Shit," you muttered, checking your phone. "Two percent battery."

"I got it." He handed you his phone. A playlist started streaming through the speakers.

The Blackstreet.

"You like them?" you asked, surprised.

"Yeah. They're cool. You?"

"Never listened much, but Jae-mi says they have the best sex songs."

You walked back over to him and asked, "Is it okay if I... get on you?"

His nod was small but clear. You straddled his lap, adjusting your legs to fit over his tall frame. It was intimate, awkwardly so.

"Okay," you said, steadying yourself. "Kiss me."

His eyes widened. "I thought you were—"

"Are you or are you not trying to knock Se-mi’s socks off with your sexy skills?" you raised a brow.

He knew you were right. Again. He straightened up, lifted a trembling hand. He was so nervous.

You touched his cheek. "Look in my eyes. If you're gonna kiss a girl, start there."

He met your gaze. A storm of blue and gray, with silver specks flickering near the center.

"Now look at my lips," you whispered. He did. You could see his throat bob.

"Ask to kiss me."

"Huh?"

"Consent is sexy. Ask."

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

"Yes."

He kissed you, and this time, he meant it. His lips were soft but eager, his hands cradling your face. As your mouths opened and tongues explored, something shifted. The kiss grew desperate. Messy.

You shifted your hips, rising slightly before settling your core directly against his.

He gasped and pulled back, eyes wide. You met his gaze. "Is this okay?"

He took a shaky breath. "Yes."

You began moving your hips, slowly, letting the friction build. His breath caught.

"What... w-what are you doing?"

"Follow me. Move with me."

His hands found your lower back, tentative at first. Then he moved, hips pressing up into yours, matching your rhythm.

"Like this?"

You nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Like that."

The friction increased. Your lips returned to his, tasting each soft groan he let slip. The tension built. Your thighs trembled.

He bucked up harder. You gasped as you felt it—the pressure against your core. He was hard. Really hard.

Holy hell.

You cursed under your breath as a sharp jolt of pleasure pulsed through you.

His breath hitched. He moved faster. Desperation took over.

Until—

"Holy shit," Seung-Hyun grunted suddenly, voice strained. "Fuck."

He pushed you off him. You fell to the rug with a soft thud.

He bolted.

You sat there, dazed, staring after him as he fled into the kitchen.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered to himself.

You stood, smoothing your hoodie as you followed him.

"Seung-Hyun? You okay?"

He looked pale. Terrified.

And then you saw it. The dark stain across his jeans.

Oh.

You tried to keep your expression calm. "Hey. It’s okay. This happens. Especially the first time. Let me—"

"No!" he backed away like you’d just tried to slap him. "C-Can you leave, please?"

You wanted to laugh, but held it in. Poor guy.

He wasn’t just embarrassed. He was humiliated. Like it was something shameful.

Unless...

Wait. Was that... his first orgasm?

You blinked.

Holy shit. You just gave Choi Seung-Hyun his first orgasm.

Damn, girl.

“Soooo…” Jae-mi slammed her lunch tray onto the table with the kind of dramatic flair only she could get away with. She plopped down beside you, her eyes glinting like she’d been waiting hours to say what came next.

“What does Choi Seung-Hyun’s cum-face look like?”

You choked—full-on spluttered—your water going down the wrong pipe as your face turned red. You coughed into your sleeve, struggling to recover while she looked on like she'd just asked what you thought of his shoes.

“What?!” you wheezed, clutching your chest like she’d personally tried to kill you.

She just shrugged innocently. “Haven’t you guys even... y’know?”

“We didn’t.” Your voice was flat, immediate, automatic.

But your stomach twisted because it wasn’t entirely true. He had, but the way Seung-Hyun had reacted afterward—embarrassed, fragile, wide-eyed like he’d broken something inside himself—had left you reeling. Talking about it felt like betrayal. He was new to all of this, and you couldn’t throw that sacred little moment into the lunchtime gossip pile like a used napkin.

“You didn’t?” Jae-mi tilted her head, her voice slow and disbelieving. “Then what did you do?”

“Nothing,” you lied, fiddling with your spoon.

She stared at you.

You sighed. “We just kissed again.”

Still staring.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, feeling cornered. “You have no idea how innocent he is.”

She raised an eyebrow. You dropped your voice lower, almost whispering.

“He’s never had an orgasm before. Like... ever.”

Jae-mi paused, processing. “Wait. He’s eighteen. That’s, like, against nature.”

“I know! Every guy in ninth grade was obsessed with dick jokes and watching porn behind the bleachers. But Seung-Hyun? He’s like... a virgin Buddhist monk reborn as a K-pop visual.”

“But he must’ve gotten hard before. I mean, he’s still human, right?”

“Oh, he definitely has. Yesterday, actually. And girl, let me just say—he’s packing.”

Jae-mi almost dropped her fries. “Y/N!”

You fanned your face dramatically. “Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t trying to see it. But the boy’s got a nuclear weapon tucked in his pants, and it went off—without warning.”

She let out a wheezing laugh.

“But he skipped tutoring today,” you added, growing more serious. “I think he’s embarrassed. Do you think he even knows how normal all this is? I mean, he’s obsessed with science books. How can someone who studies biology not understand how his own body works?”

Jae-mi’s smile softened. “It’s not about knowledge. It’s about experience. Textbooks can’t teach you what sex feels like.”

You bit your lip and looked around. Soo-ah was definitely glancing over.

“It’s like he’s never done anything,” you whispered.

“When you say ‘anything’...”

You just gave her a look.

“Well, damn.” She leaned back. “Bathroom?”

“Bathroom.”

Everyone knew what ‘bathroom’ meant. Not ‘I have to pee’ bathroom—but the ‘I need to whisper secrets where the walls are tiled’ bathroom.

The echo of your boots hit the floor as the two of you entered the empty space. No stalling girls. Just quiet and the low hum of flickering lights. Jae-mi leaned on the sink. You paced.

“I seriously don’t know what to do,” you confessed. “I can handle that he hasn’t kissed many girls—or any. But how do I teach him without making him feel like a science experiment? It’s not like I can hand him a manual.”

Jae-mi started applying lip gloss like this was just another day in her guidance counselor fantasy. “Maybe you should show him.”

“You mean jerk him off?” you deadpanned.

She paused. “I mean—yeah, eventually—but start by showing him what he’s missing. Get him used to the idea of sex. The idea of women.”

You slumped against the tiled wall. “So... a porn movie night?”

Jae-mi chuckled. “I’m serious. He’s going to drown if you throw him straight into the deep end. You need to get him comfortable with the water first.”

You crossed your arms. “Most porn is terrible. It’s all fake moans, bad lighting, and men who act like jackhammers. If he learns from that, he’s going to think choking someone is foreplay.”

“That’s why you have me,” she said, tapping the gloss to your chest like a fairy godmother. “I know the sites for women. I know the books. We’re talking detailed, healthy, educational... and hot.”

You blinked. “You think this’ll actually work?”

“I promise. That boy will be rubbing one out daily by next week.”

You snorted. “Just don’t give him any of that BDSM crap you’re into. I don’t want him asking me to tie him up before he’s even seen a naked woman.”

Jae-mi turned scarlet. “I do not—”

You cut her off, grinning. “You literally have books with whips on the cover. And don’t think I didn’t see the ‘leather harness tutorial’ tab you left open last week.”

“Okay!” she shouted, flailing her hands. “Okay! I’ll pick the right ones!”

“Perfect.” You kissed her cheek and strutted out of the bathroom.

Behind you, her voice echoed, “And stay out of my sex life!”

You laughed. “Never! As long as your short ass is still my best friend!”

Later, after school, the mall practically called your name.

Jae-mi had gone home to study like the responsible gremlin she was, leaving you to wander Victoria’s Secret on your own.

You stood in front of a wall of thongs, debating.

Dark green? Mysterious seductress. Light blue? Virgin who says "oops" after moaning your name. There was also one in blush pink that made you feel like a cupcake with a secret.

Back when you were with Jun-ho, it was always babydolls. He liked them. You didn’t. They were itchy, got in the way, and made you feel like you were trying too hard.

But the yellow lace set the salesgirl handed you? That was a whole different vibe. You stood in the dressing room mirror, staring at yourself.

Curves highlighted. Chest lifted. Ass? Glorious.

“Damn, girl,” you muttered, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips.

You bought it. And a plum set too. Because why the hell not?

At the register, just as you were feeling peak hot-girl energy, fate decided to spice things up.

“Se-mi?” you asked, spotting the petite girl a few feet over, clutching a pack of neon booty shorts.

She turned, wide-eyed. “Um... yes?”

She hadn’t expected you to talk to her. You were enemies. Most girls like her thought girls like you only existed to ruin their GPA or date their crushes.

“I didn’t peg you as the booty shorts type,” you said with an easy smile.

Her face flushed. “I... Kim Jong-in said they were sexy.”

Of course. Of course it was Jong-in. High school’s answer to a walking STI.

“You should never listen to that idiot,” you said. “He thinks Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are the same characters.”

She blinked. “They’re not?”

You sighed. “Never mind. Point is—impress someone who wants more than ass. Someone who sees you.”

Like Seung-Hyun.

“He’s not that dumb,” she defended weakly.

“The guy thinks Catcher in the Rye is a baseball drama.”

Her face fell as she stared at the booty shorts like they’d just cheated on her.

“Oh.”

Then she looked up, smiled—genuinely. “Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.”

You shrugged. “Us girls gotta stick together, right?”

She nodded, paid, and left.

You didn’t love her. But you’d be damned if Seung-Hyun ever thought she was better than you.

He owed you. Big time.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[dracosprettygirl]

۶ৎ this godforsaken mess that you made me.

pairing: deatheater!draco x reader word count: 4.9k words summary: You swore you’d stay away. He swore he didn’t care. But somewhere between bruised lips and bruised hearts, the lines blurred. He’s unraveling. So are you. And it was never supposed to feel like this. Not love. Not safety. Not need. Just fire. And it’s burning you both alive. warnings: 18+; mdni; deatheater!draco; dark!draco; implied slytherin!reader; ANGST (in all caps), secret relationship, emotional manipulation, rough intimacy, bruises, unresolved tension, canon-compliant darkness, toxic comfort, Slytherin-level denial theo makes an appearance; set in hogwarts; plot-heavy; mentions of violence & injury; mentions of blood; not proofread. let me know if i missed anything! A/N: it's 5 A.M. this was a direct result of playing folklore on loop while studying for law school finals. i'm TIRED. see ya'll after finals okay bye love you guys. massive thanks to @heavenlybodies333 for inspiring this and just being the sweetest EVER. go read their fic i'll be a good girl in hell RIGHT NOW.

♫ illicit affairs by taylor swift. | the night we met by lord huron.

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

The first time you kissed Draco Malfoy, it wasn’t romantic.

In fact the thought of romance, and with Draco of all people at that—it almost made you sick to your stomach. No, this thing you had with Draco, whatever it was, was anything but romantic.

It was reckless, almost violent, a clashing of tongue and teeth in the back of an abandoned classroom on the third floor, inkpots and parchment crashing to the floor as his fingers gripped your waist, lifting your feet off the ground and pressing your back into the wall. Your legs hooked themselves around his waist, your fingers frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You didn’t know what you were doing—and you didn’t think he did, either. 

Neither of you had thought this through, but it didn’t stop you—you didn’t care.

Not when his grip shifted to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh punishingly hard. Not when his mouth burned its path down the column of your throat. Not even when he guided himself into you with that delicious burn, groaning your name like sin.

Because the truth was, you were tired of being numb. 

And with Draco, you felt everything.

Every inch of him as he rolled his hips into yours, one hand gripping your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his, his voice a deep rasp in your ear. “That’s it. Take it all—I know you can do it.” 

Your fingernails trailed scratches down his chest, his shoulders, his back, trying to keep from making a sound. 

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asked, a cocky smirk tipping the corner of his mouth as he slowed down to an agonizing pace, making you whine in frustration. “Nothing coming out of that smart mouth today?”

“Shut up,” was all you could muster, acting like he wasn’t about to drive you insane right then and there. 

Because you knew giving into Draco was dangerous—you knew you’d never recover.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not like this, in this quiet, borrowed moment with him pressed against you and the door locked behind.

Sixth year was already filled to the brim with secrets. The kind that weren’t meant to be spoken aloud. The kind that tasted like blood and fire and ash.

Everyone knew something was happening to Draco Malfoy. He was thinner. Paler. His smile had vanished somewhere in the summer, gone with the July warmth.

But you—you knew.

You’d seen the Mark on his forearm in the shadows of the Common Room, late one night when he’d reached for your wrist to stop you from leaving. He’d looked at you with tired, empty eyes, and you knew—in that moment, you knew what he was.

And you kissed him anyway, until your breath caught in your lungs and his fingers crept up the hem of your skirt, until you were sure you’d made him forget—just for a little while.

It wasn’t love. Not at first.

It was desperation. It was needing to feel something again. It was the way your name cracked apart in his mouth when you touched him like he wasn’t broken. Like he wasn’t damned.

You weren’t brave. You weren’t noble. You were a Slytherin through and through—ambitious, self-preserving, and drawn to danger like a moth to flame.

And Draco was the fire that would eventually burn you alive.

You just didn’t care.

The shower was supposed to make you feel better.

Steam billowed around you, the hot water pouring down your back, but it did nothing to erase the marks Draco had left on you—dark bruises trailing down your throat and collarbones, lingering at the curve of your breasts. You cursed softly under your breath, fingers digging into the sore spots in a half-hearted attempt to rub them away. You needed to cover this up before anyone saw—especially Draco. 

You needed to rid yourself of the marks he’d left on your body, but you couldn’t figure out how to erase the ones he was leaving on your heart.

In the Great Hall, Draco sat stiffly, barely listening to Theo and Blaise argue over something or the other—but his mind kept drifting elsewhere.

Specifically?

You.

The way you felt under him. The way you had responded to his every touch. The soft gasp that parted your lips when he touched you in just the right spot.

Draco clenched his jaw so hard he almost cracked a tooth. The Mark on his forearm burned—a constant reminder of what he was, of what he had to do. 

He couldn’t afford any distractions. And that’s all you were—a beautiful, disastrous distraction.

Draco couldn’t afford to lose focus. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Theo, who grinned at him from across the table. “You clearly had some fun last night, mate.”

Draco’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. Theo’s eyes flicked toward Draco’s collar, the barest hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. 

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Must've been some girl if you’re not even bragging about it." 

“None of your bloody business, Nott,” Draco snapped. His grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles were white.

And then—like a cruel twist of fate—you walked in.

You were late, as usual, hair still damp from your shower, lips flushed, collar hiked up just enough to conceal the marks that no one seemed to notice. Well, almost no one.

“Well, well,” Theo drawled. “Looks like someone had a long night.”

Draco could see you swallow, refusing to meet his eyes as you slipped into the seat next to Pansy. It was for the best, he supposed, that you didn’t even glance at him. Draco knew Theo, and he knew it wouldn’t take his friend long to put two and two together. 

“I overslept,” you said simply, pouring yourself some tea. 

Theo quirked an eyebrow. When he spoke, his words were directed at you, but his eyes were on Draco. “I don’t know, y/n. I think you hardly slept at all.”

It had rules, this illicit affair of yours. You made them. He followed them. 

1. Make sure nobody saw you leave.

2. Leave no trace behind.

3. No one could know.

4. It meant nothing.

5. You wouldn’t talk about it outside these walls.

6. You’d end it before it ruined you.

But the rules crumbled as quickly as they were written.

Because he started adding to the stacks of books on your bedside table, notes scrawled on the title pages in careful, neat handwriting that said things like “Saw this and thought of you.”

Because you started drawing the curve of his mouth in the margins of your parchment during Charms.

Because the way he looked at you after you’d kissed made you forget why it had to be a secret at all.

And worst of all?

Because it started to mean everything.

You met in hidden places: the Room of Requirement, empty classrooms, disused corridors behind tapestry-covered walls.

He never smiled anymore, except when he was with you.

You saw the worst parts of him. The bloodied knuckles after hours in the Room with cursed cabinets. The panic in his voice when he told you he didn’t think he could do it—whatever it was. The nightmares that left him gasping in the night, shaking in your arms.

You held him. You listened.

You never asked for promises. He never gave any.

Because this wasn’t supposed to be love.

It was supposed to be survival.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said one night, forehead pressed against yours.

“You always say that,” you whispered. “But I’m here anyway.”

His hand cupped your cheek like he was trying to memorize it. Like he knew this couldn’t last.

“I don’t want to be this person anymore,” he said. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you replied. “Not with me.”

And for a while, that lie was enough.

He kissed you like an apology he could never say out loud.

Like he wanted to carve himself into your bones so you’d remember him even when he was gone.

Because he would be gone. That much you both knew. Maybe not in body—but in every way that mattered.

You let him touch you like you were the only thing in the world still soft. Still sacred. Still human. And when his mouth found yours in the quiet dark, when he whispered “please” like a broken prayer against your skin, you gave in. Every time.

Because it was easier than saying the truth out loud.

Because you couldn’t stop.

Not even when you should have.

You weren’t foolish enough to believe it would last.

You noticed the changes—the way he flinched when you asked what he was doing at night. The way his hands lingered too long over that damn cabinet in the Room of Requirement. The way he stared at Dumbledore during dinner like he was memorizing him.

And the mark on his arm—it started to bleed through his skin in other ways.

He looked older now. Harder.

And you? You still kept his secrets like they were your own. You told no one. Not even your friends. Especially not your friends.

Because to love Draco Malfoy—whatever this twisted version of love was—was to be complicit.

And you were.

You knew it.

And still, you stayed.

You found him in the hallway near the prefect’s bathroom, his tie loose, his shirt collar stained with something that looked too much like blood to be dismissed as ink.

He didn't flinch when he saw you. He never did.

Instead, he stared—like he’s waiting to see what version of you he’s going to get tonight. The soft one who whispers comfort into his shoulder, or the cruel one who dares to name the truth before he’s ready to hear it.

Tonight, you’re tired. Just tired. Of the sneaking around, of the looks exchanged across the Slytherin table, of the aching silence that stretches wider than the Black Lake.

“I was looking for you,” you said.

He looked back down the hallway. No one else. Just the two of you, cloaked in shadows and ancient stone.

“Found me,” he said, voice dry.

You took a step closer. He didn't move away, but he didn’t lean in either. There was a line drawn between you—one neither of you would name, but both of you toed.

“You missed rounds. Again.”

“I was busy.”

You folded your arms. “Doing what?”

He met your eyes for a fraction of a second too long.

“Nothing,” he said. And there it was—the first lie of the night.

You didn’t call him on it. Not yet.

Instead, you brushed past him, your shoulder grazing his as you unlocked the door behind you with a murmured password. The prefect’s bathroom, gilded in moonlight.

He followed.

He always did.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound too loud in the hush of the bathroom, where moonlight spilled across the marble floor and steam curled lazily from an already drawn bath.

You didn’t plan to run it. Maybe the castle did it for you. Or maybe some part of you, the part that always hoped despite everything, did it on instinct.

He didn’t ask.

You didn’t offer.

Instead, you walked to the edge of the water, your reflection blurring in the gentle ripples. Behind you, Draco lingered by the door like he wasn’t sure he belonged there anymore—like the floor might vanish beneath him if he took one more step.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” you said softly, fingers trailing along the rim of the tub. “I thought maybe… maybe this time you wouldn’t come back.”

He exhaled, a sharp breath through his nose. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You turned to face him, leaning back against the tiled wall, your arms folded again—this time across your chest like armor. “You keep disappearing, and I keep pretending not to notice.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, the dim light catching the smear of blood near his collarbone.

Your gaze flickered to it. “That’s not nothing, Draco.”

He looked down, like he’d just remembered it was there. “It’s not mine.”

“Whose is it?”

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

You pushed off the wall and took a step toward him. “You think I don’t notice the bruises you try to hide? The way you flinch when someone slams a book too loud or walks too fast behind you?”

“Drop it,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, and there it was—the cruel version of you, the one he dreaded and craved in equal measure. “I’m tired of pretending we’re just... tired.”

Draco's jaw clenched, and his eyes finally met yours. There was something feral in them tonight. Desperate. On edge.

“You want the truth?” he bit out. “Fine. I was with Mattheo. And Montague. And someone else I didn’t recognize. They needed something done. I didn’t ask why. I just—did it.”

Your chest tightened. “Did what?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask me that.”

“I’m asking anyway.”

He stepped forward, close now, his voice low and hoarse. “Something awful, alright? Something I can’t unsee and I sure as hell can’t tell you about because if I do, it makes it real.”

You looked at him then—not the Slytherin boy with quick wit and lazy smirks, but the one beneath it all. The one who kept trading pieces of himself for a loyalty he didn’t even believe in anymore.

You reached up, fingers brushing the bloodstain on his collar.

His breath caught.

“I don’t need you to tell me everything,” you whispered. “But don’t lie to me, Draco. Not when it’s killing you.”

His hands hovered in the space between you—hesitating, shaking slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you tonight. You saved him the trouble, stepping into his orbit and pressing your forehead to his chest.

He exhaled slowly, and his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he held too tight.

You stayed like that—wrapped in steam and silence, cloaked in something heavier than longing.

And for once, neither of you moved first.

The next morning, the Great Hall was full of its usual chaos—owls swooping overhead, toast burning at the edges, Ravenclaws buried in essays even as they ate.

You sat in your usual spot at the Slytherin table, posture straight, tie neat. The picture of control. No one would guess you spent the night wrapped around someone who refused to name what you were to each other.

Except maybe her.

Pansy.

She slid into the seat across from you like she owned the entire table—because, in many ways, she did. There was something dangerous in the way her eyes flicked over you, like she was cataloging all the tiny fractures in your mask.

“You look like hell,” she said sweetly, stirring sugar into her tea without looking up.

You didn’t rise to the bait. “So do you.”

She smiled like you just proved her point. “Didn’t sleep well?”

You glanced down at your plate. Toast. Jam. Untouched.

“I slept fine.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “Funny. Draco didn’t show up for breakfast either.”

That got your attention. You looked up—too quickly.

She noticed.

You schooled your expression, forced a shrug. “He probably overslept.”

Pansy leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “You know, for someone who claims not to care, you sure keep track of him like a hawk.”

You said nothing.

She tilted her head, watching you the way a cat watched a wounded bird. “Whatever it is you’re doing with him… it’s not going to end well.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Of course not.” Her smile was all venom and velvet. “But just in case you forgot—he’s broken. And broken things don’t love back.”

You stared at her for a long moment.

Then you stood, collecting your bag without a word. Your breakfast remained untouched.

Behind you, Pansy called out, “I’m just trying to help!”

You didn’t look back.

Because you knew she wasn’t wrong.

You found Draco in the Astronomy Tower twenty minutes later, sitting on the floor with a cigarette between his fingers and a Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook open in his lap, unread.

His tie was missing. His eyes were rimmed red. You didn’t ask if he slept.

“Pansy’s poking around,” you said, lowering yourself beside him. “She knows something’s off.”

He flicked ash out the window. “She always knows. That’s her thing.”

You paused. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you then, smoke curling between his lips.

“They’re going to find out,” you murmured. “All of it. Us.”

His eyes darkened. “There is no us.”

You flinched. It hurt more than it should.

You nodded slowly, biting back whatever ache was clawing its way up your throat. “Right. Of course.”

You started to stand—but he grabbed your wrist, grip firm.

There was a war in his eyes. Something unspoken. Something half-alive.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said hoarsely. “I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

You kneeled again, closer now. “Then learn.”

He looked at you like you were sunlight filtering through prison bars—warm, unreachable, unwanted only because he didn’t think he deserved it.

And still, his fingers didn’t let go of yours.

Not yet.

You didn’t know the exact day things broke.

Maybe it was when he stopped meeting your eyes in the

hallway. Maybe it was when the letters stopped coming. Maybe it was the night you woke up to silence and realized he wasn’t there anymore.

But by the time the whispers stopped and the looks faded, you knew one thing for certain.

The storm was coming.

And this time, you weren’t running.

It started with a whisper.

The next morning, the halls hummed with it—like static before a storm. A name, passed from mouth to mouth with all the poison of a curse.

Yours.

You didn’t understand at first, not until you caught sight of the Gryffindor Prefect across the Great Hall, frowning down at a crumpled piece of parchment. Not until a Hufflepuff second-year flinched when you walked by. Not until Professor Sinistra looked at you a second too long before continuing her roll call.

And then, in the corridor outside Arithmancy, Pansy Parkinson slinked up behind you, voice sugary and sharp.

“Careful, darling. People were saying you’d been spending time with traitors.”

You turned slowly. “What people?”

She shrugged, her smile as vicious as ever. “Does it matter? You might want to tell your little shadow prince to stop making enemies unless he wanted to take you down with him.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked away, pulse roaring in your ears.

You found Draco where he always was when things went to hell—leaning against the back of the Owlery tower, alone, hood pulled low like he was trying to become a shadow.

He saw you coming.

“They know,” you said. “About you. About me.”

Theo didn’t look surprised. “I heard.”

“There was a rumor you cursed Mulciber.”

“Not a rumor.”

Your breath caught. “Draco—”

“I told you. I don't regret it.”

“That isn't the point!” Your voice cracked. “They're coming after you. And if they thought I was helping you—”

He met your eyes. For the first time, he looked tired. No masks. No wit. Just a boy pressed too close to the edge.

“I don't expect you to stay.”

You flinched. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this noble.”

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You stepped closer, close enough to smell the cold on his robes. “You think I care about protecting myself if it means letting you face this alone?”

“I think you were smarter than me,” he said. “And I think you still had a future here.”

You stared at him. Then, voice low, you said:

“Not if it doesn't have you in it.”

That was what broke him.

Not the blood. Not the fights. Not the names on the list or the looming threat of exposure.

It was you.

You, choosing him when no one else would.

He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just stood there, eyes shining in a way you’d never seen before.

“I don't know how this ends,” he said.

You took his hand anyway. “Then we’d find out together.”

It was late when you found him again.

This time, he wasn’t waiting in the hallway or tucked behind a staircase like some dark secret. He was in the Astronomy Tower, lying flat on his back across the cold stone, robes spread like wings.

The stars blinked faint above him, the sky smeared with cloud and memory.

You hesitated in the doorway.

“You aren't supposed to be here,” he said, without looking.

“I never am.”

That earned a faint smile. Barely there. Barely him.

You stepped closer. Your footsteps echoed in the silence, soft as regret. He didn’t move when you sat beside him, knees drawn to your chest.

Minutes passed.

Then he said, “Do you think I'm a bad person?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised you. But it did.

You glanced at him. His eyes were still fixed on the sky, like he was afraid of what he’d see if he looked at you instead.

“No,” you said.

He didn’t respond.

“You’ve done bad things,” you added. “But you… Draco, you're just a boy. You are just a boy. And no one ever gave you a chance to be that.”

At that, he turned. Slowly. Like the words were painful to hear.

His voice was quieter than before. Rougher. “I was ten the first time I lied to save someone else. Twelve the first time I didn’t.”

You said nothing. You didn’t ask who. You didn’t ask why.

You just reached out and took his hand.

His fingers twitched under yours, as if unsure how to accept the softness. But then they curled around you—tightly, almost desperately.

“I kept thinking… maybe if I was different, better, you wouldn’t be in danger.”

“Maybe,” you said, “but then I wouldn’t be in love either.”

That silenced him.

He looked at you fully now, the shield in his eyes cracked wide open. And you saw it: the guilt, the fear, the ache that lived under his skin.

“You love me?” he asked, like he was afraid to believe it.

You nodded.

And he cracked.

Not in the way he did when angry or scared—but in the quiet way people did when something too kind finally found them.

He shifted then, pulled you against him, burying his face into your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck. Unsteady.

You wrapped your arms around him, one hand threading through his hair, the other pressed to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Neither of you spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because, finally, you didn’t need to.

The last time you were together, it wasn’t soft.

It was desperate. Angry. Bitter.

You were yelling before the door had even finished closing behind you.

“You’re shutting me out!”

“You don’t want to be part of this!”

“I want you!”

“I’m not yours to want!”

You stared at each other, chests heaving.

And then—he kissed you.

You bit his lip. He tugged at your shirt. You clawed at him like you wanted to tear the truth out of his chest. And when he pressed you into the desk, when he buried himself inside you like he was drowning, you both knew this wasn’t about love.

It was a goodbye you couldn’t bear to speak.

And when it was over, he didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

You just buttoned your shirt with shaking fingers and walked away without looking back.

The next morning, you felt it—the tension curling in your chest like a wound slowly tightening. The air was thick with it, thick enough to taste in the back of your throat.

You’d never felt this nervous before.

And you hated it.

The sun filtered through the windows of the Great Hall, bathing the tables in pale gold. But everything felt too bright, too loud. You couldn’t focus on the chatter around you, the clinking of cutlery, the soft rustle of robes. Your gaze kept slipping to the far end of the table, where he sat, stiff and silent, eyes focused on his plate.

Draco was rarely ever still. But today, he was nothing but.

You tried to shake off the nagging feeling in your gut, but it only tightened when you saw it—the parchment folded neatly by his elbow, the one that wasn’t his. The one you’d seen before, the one that had mentioned your name in the scribbled ink.

Your heart raced. A low hum built in your ears, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. You knew that thing—the thing that had always been beneath everything between you—was about to surface.

“You're leaving,” you said, the words barely a whisper.

His gaze flicked to you. No surprise, no apology. Just a cold, hard certainty.

“I don't have a choice,” he said, voice flat.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him, demand that he see you, see the us you’d fought so hard for.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely steady. “What's more important than this?”

What's more important than us?

He didn’t answer. His hands gripped the edges of the parchment like a lifeline, fingers trembling, and in that moment, you knew.

He’d been protecting you by staying away. By keeping you out of whatever this was—whatever danger he was walking into.

“Draco—”

“I swore I would protect you,” he said, cutting you off. His voice cracked on the last word. “That was all I can do. The rest…” He shook his head, eyes flickering briefly to meet yours. “The rest is something I have to face alone.”

Your chest ached, an ache so deep, so unbearable, it almost hurt to breathe.

“So you're choosing this over me,” you whispered, the words raw and cutting.

He faltered. For a brief second, you saw the confusion, the guilt flit across his face, but then it was gone, hidden behind a mask that was even colder than before.

“I'm choosing you,” he said, voice low but firm. “This is the only way I can keep you safe.”

“By leaving?” The laugh that left your lips sounded bitter, empty. “You think this'll keep me safe?”

Draco's hands clenched at his sides, and you could see the way his entire body was wound tight, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“You don't understand,” he said, and you heard the rawness in his voice now—the crack, the crack you’d been waiting for. “If I stay here—if I stay close to you—I’d just bring more danger, more hurt. It's better this way.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you snapped, pushing back from the table. The sound of the chair scraping across the stone felt too loud in the tense quiet that hung between you.

“You don't get to make that choice for me,” you continued, voice shaking with the weight of everything unsaid. “You don't get to decide that for me. I'm not some helpless damsel, Draco. You thought I need to be protected? I don't. I never did.”

His eyes flickered to yours, too intense, too raw. And for a heartbeat, just one, you saw the real struggle behind his mask.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, softer now, more to himself than to you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a step closer. “I don't want better. I want you.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Draco…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Stay. Don’t leave me.”

For the first time in days, Draco seemed to crack. The walls he’d built between you crumbled, and you saw the pain, the helplessness, the love that he’d tried so hard to bury.

“I can't promise you that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I swear to you, I’ll come back.”

You wanted to believe him.

But with every part of you, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

“I'm asking for promises,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “I'm asking for you to stay now. To stay here—with me—so I can fight beside you.”

He closed his eyes for a second, and when they opened again, there was something different in them. A decision.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I'm not strong enough to keep you safe and be with you. Not like this.”

But you knew the truth now—the one he wouldn’t admit.

He was too strong. That was the problem.

Because Draco Malfoy didn’t know how to let anyone in without breaking.

After that, things spiraled.

The night Dumbledore died, you were in the Astronomy Tower, watching the stars.

You heard the screams. The shouts. The footsteps.

You heard his name whispered like a curse.

And when you ran—ran—down the corridors, heart pounding, lungs burning—you were already too late.

You saw the blood. The wand. The look in his eyes.

And you knew.

He was gone.

Not dead. But gone all the same.

He didn’t say goodbye.

You didn’t expect him to.

But Merlin, you hoped.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you still feel him. In the weight of a hand that isn’t there. In the silence between breaths.

You told yourself you were fine.

You lied.

Because the thing about illicit affairs is—they leave something behind.

Always.

You remember the smell of him on your sheets. The way he said your name like it tasted sweet on his tongue. The way he looked at you like he wanted to be better. For you.

But he wasn’t.

He never would be.

And you—stupid girl—you loved him anyway.

taglist !

© dracosprettygirl.tumblr 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated & motivating!

[rekino2114]

I’m missing the Nayuta daughter au posts… So celebrating Nayuta’s birthday request! Could be headcannons or a oneshot, it’s up to you! (it’s not my birthday btw, mines in November, but still, I had an idea!) how far would Makima and her husband go for their daughter? How many presents? Who would be invited? Anyone from public safety? (Would her aunts be invited <.< ? And if so what would Fami and Yoru bring?) Where do you think Nayuta would want to go for her birthday? Also, (this is a bit suggestive, so only add this if you want to) what if Nayuta asked for a sibling for her birthday, and then Y/n looks over and sees Makima giving him the look. And their both like “well… gotta give our daughter what she wants-“ sorry if school is bothering you, as a college student, I know its really tiring ;-;

…imagine if Yoru brings Nayuta a loaded shotgun or smth-

You and makima celebrating nayuta's birthday

A/n:the second request was sent literally today and it fit with the second part of yours so I added it here

From the moment nayuta understood what a birthday was she was very excited to celebrate them, she gets everything she wants for an entire day? She couldn't have been happier, just as you and makima couldn't have been happier to celebrate with her

She will get the day off no matter what and no one can tell otherwise. There are paperworks to do? Aki can handle them a devil is attacking a city? She'll just send someone else to take care of it without caring too much. Nothing can stop her from spending this day with her family

Makima will literally buy anything nayuta wants, she's rich anyway so money is definitely not a problem and she probably already knows most of the stuff her daughter wants even without asking her because she has a great memory when it comes to things like that but just to be sure she will ask her and buy everything she says.

She'll even give you a little gift. She knows it's not your birthday and you don't need it, but she just can't help but spoil you on any occasion she gets and she was shopping anyways and saw this and thought of you so just take it. She won't take no for an answer

"So nayuta do you like your gifts?"

"Yeah! They're amazing! It's exactly what I wanted"

"I'm glad to hear that, what about you darling?"

"W-well I love it too but you really didn't have to"

"But I wanted to, didn't you say you liked that?"

"Yeah I do but-"

"Then there's no problem, I love spoiling my two favorite people on any occasion and this was the perfect one, so please just accept it"

"........thanks you're the best makima"

"It's no problem darling"

Even if makima wanted this to be a party on the smaller and cozier side with only you three nayuta insisted on denji being invited which turned into power and aki coming too because the fiend didn't stop yelling until she was invited too and someone had to babysit the two of them

Makima told them to leave early though and no one dared defy her

Nayuta's aunts came too (and asa too technically who was very very embarrassed and uncomfortable the whole time even if she wasn't in control of the body for most of the party)

Yoru genuinely forgot she was invited until asa mentioned it to her on the day itself so she had no time to buy a gift so she just bought an actual shotgun that thankfully wasn't a former human at least

You and makima immediately told her to throw it away and almost banned her from the party because of that

".........why did you think bringing our daughter a loaded shotgun was a good idea?"

".......I mean I always wanted a shotgun as a gift when I was little"

".....you can literally make one whenever you want"

".......so?"

Fami had absolutely no idea what to bring and almost had a mental breakdown while deciding cause she thought her niece would hate her if she brought something bad

She ended up bringing the top 5 results that came up when she searched "things human children like" (and that her boyfriend helped her choose) which resulted in tons of toys that nayuta liked

Death brought a lot of food....like a lot way more than the people at the party could eat so she just brought the leftovers home for herself and her own bf (she also definitely had to stop herself from eating more than one slice of the cake)

Death was also the most comfortable around nayuta, even if she didn't talk much your daughter liked her and said that she was her favorite auntie....which might have resulted in fami crying a bit

The whole day was just amazing for all three of you but makima's favorite part was definitely at the end of the day when you three cuddled and watched nayuta's favorite movie together. Just hearing her laugh and smile at it made her heart melt even more than usual... she really loved this so much

"Hey, Mommy, daddy today was awesome!"

"Really? We're glad you think so"

"Yeah, thank you! It was super cool and....c-can we do it tomorrow too?"

"Sorry yuta, but birthdays are only once a year remember?"

"O-oh yeah sorry"

"It's fine"

"......but thank you again! You're the best mommy and daddy in the planet!'

"......thank you......you have no idea what that means to me"

After that you put her to bed and told her that she still had one birthday wish if she wanted

"I want a sister!"

"........w-what?"

"Yeah yesterday i saw two girls who looked the same and they were playing together and having so much fun and I want that too!"

"Well we have to give our daughter what she wants isn't that right darling?"

"....I suppose you're right, but it will take more than one day for the wish to come true.......a-and sleep a lot tonight ok?"

[grey-spark]

Making Predictions About Suo

Suo is one of the most mysterious and complex characters, and I want to make some predictions about him. I’m aware that most of you already know what I’m about to cover but I need to spell out the evidence here to make my arguments. So let's get right into it:

Warning: minor manga spoilers ahead

GOING OVER THE EVIDENCE

1. Nobody knows about Suo’s past.

Not even Umemiya, who is basically the ears of Bofurin.

That's a big deal. Not only is he a mystery to us, but he's a mystery to everyone in the story. Nirei has no real data on him. Hiragi says he heard his name a lot but went to a different school. Which also begs the question, why did he come to Makochi?

2. Suo talks about his master and his style fondly.

After he has a fight with man-bun guy, Nirei asks him about his fighting style and Suo says this:

Notice the way he talks about his master. It seems rather fond. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't seize. He seems uncomfortable talking about himself, but he's still willing to share. If Suo has any angst it doesn't seem to be related to his master and style. So what is Suo's source of angst and who is this master of his?

3. Suo has a “diet” where he never eats with anyone.

In a show were eating with other people is a big deal, he repeatedly refuses to eat food with other people. There is zero chance this is a quirk or an actual diet. He doesn't even eat during a leadership summit, where it's sort of disrespectful to refuse.

4. Suo is almost certainly hiding arm tattoos.

We NEVER see Suo in short sleeves. Even in the merch and advertisements. He never shows his bare arms.

And in the beach episode, he seems to avoid taking off his clothes to swim, and doesn't even want to risk getting wet. Probably out of fear of water making his rash guard see through. (Also why does he wear a long sleeve rash guard if he has no intention of swimming.)

5. He’s going to fight Sakura at some point.

This is not a fact per-se, but it's been hinted. Sakura is already thinking about ways to get Suo to fight him seriously.

Suo and Sakura have this strange rivalry were Suo has already conceded defeat. There's this strange tension between them. They're basically opposites. A man with nothing to hide verse a man with everything to hide. And the only way its going to be resolved is by "talking" through fighting.

Recap

Nobody knows about Suo’s past.

Suo talks about his master and his style fondly. 

Suo has a “diet” where he never eats with anyone.

Suo is almost certainly hiding a tattoo. 

It’s been hinted that he’s going to fight Sakura seriously. 

Using these established facts we can start to make some deductions and predictions about his story arc.

DEDUCTIONS/PREDICTIONS

Questions: 4a- Why would Suo hide/be ashamed of a tattoo?  3a- Why isn’t he eating?

Answer: He’s ashamed. He doesn’t eat for the same reason child Umemiya wouldn’t eat. He hates himself and the tattoo he's hiding has something to do with it. He’s so guilty he can’t even eat. So chances are Suo was a scumbag in the past. The only people in the scope of this story who do super evil things are evil gangs, which is likely where the tattoo comes from.

Questions: 4b- How can Suo be friendly/good if he was in an evil gang? 2b- How can Suo have a nice master if he was in an evil gang? 1b- Why does Suo even go to Furin in the first place if he’s not from around there?

Answer: His eye. Suo lost his eye somehow and that turned him into an angry resentful person who fell into the wrong crowd. We see this in the KEEL arc where he temporarily regressed back into his revenge obsessed "eye-for-an-eye" mindset.

But eventually Suo must have had a crisis of conscience, and Suo was likely redeemed by his sensei somehow. His sensei was a positive infulence in his life and may even be the reason he turned into a sinophile. His sensei made Suo into the friendly person he is today. In fact, he may have been the one to suggest going to Bofurin as a way to make friends and “further his training.”

Question: 5c- How are Sukura and Suo going to fight if they are close friends?

Answer: Suo is going to be blackmailed into leaving Bofurin. Sakura is going to fight him to stay but ultimately lose.

Or more generally, Suo is going to do something Sakura completely disagrees with. And it will almost certainly be about his old gang. I don’t see Suo becoming a real villain, so he’s most likely going to be blackmailed. Suo will see this as a rational self sacrifice (which is on theme with the KEEL and Gravel story arcs). Sakura will challenge Suo to a fight on the condition that if he wins Suo will stay, but Sakura will lose. Sugishita will replace him as the third party member and this will force Sugi to grow, which is the first new plot element introduced after the Noroshi war.

WHAT TO EXPECT

Given these deductions we can guess a SUPER VAGUE order of events. These are all vague predictions. Some of it could be false, but I’m 80% sure that 80% of this will be true:

>Suo will leave suddenly after his old gang blackmails him to return. >Sakura will fight to stop him but lose. >Class 1-1 will form a task force to find Suo. (This could take many chapters resulting in Sugishita taking his place.) >Class 1-1 will eventually find Suo at the evil gang base. >Sakura and Suo will have a rematch where he comes home. > The gang will declare war on Bofurin/Makochi unless they surrender Suo. (This could even lead to another Extinction war.)

But theses are just my guesses. Ultimately, I have no idea where Nii-sensei is going to take the story. But the evidence seems to point in this self-deprecating direction...

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Homecoming | Ten.Two

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 12k

Requested: No | Yes

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

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

📌 Requests: Open

Author’s Note:

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

This chapter is about the calm before the shift. The comfort, the warmth, the feeling of coming home to someone and starting to believe this could last. It’s about those little domestic moments that sneak up on you and start to feel like real life. The way love settles into the quiet spaces. In making someone a shake, you guessed your way through. In the way bodies find their natural rhythm. Realizing someone fits not just in your bed, but your life.

For Joe, it’s learning that showing up doesn’t always mean grand gestures. Sometimes it means letting go of control, eating the meal someone made for you, and feeling how good it is to be cared for while watching someone move through their world with that natural grace he’s never quite learned. For Riley, it’s that flicker of recognition that this man fits not just in her present, but in her future. In her routines, hopefully, her family, and her dreams of building something permanent.

It’s sweet. It’s intimate. It’s the kind of chapter that feels like laying your head on someone’s chest and breathing in sync. It’s about the way homecoming feels different when you’re coming home to someone, not just somewhere.

Thank you again for reading and supporting this story. You guys keep me going through dead week and beyond. Truly.

Happy reading! 🩵🏡

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

---

The plane taxied across the tarmac, bright Louisiana sun beating down on the windows. Joe leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers once on the armrest—the only outward sign of the anticipation coursing through him. The flight attendant's voice crackled over the speaker, but the words barely registered. His mind was already outside the plane.

He’d spent the flight half-watching game film, half-ignoring the nervous energy building all week. That was his way compartmentalize, stay busy, stay in control. But now, with New Orleans stretching out below him, the excitement he’d tried to shove down was buzzing just under his skin.

The seatbelt sign dinged off. He grabbed his bag, ducked into the aisle, and moved through the crowd at that same steady pace he did everything unbothered, unhurried.

His phone buzzed as he stepped into the terminal.

Riley: I'm outside. Gray 4Runner. Parked where the giant pelican sign is.

Joe: Walking out now.

He moved through the small airport, cap pulled low, bag slung over one shoulder. A few heads turned, but he barely noticed. His pace picked up without thinking, moving toward her.

The automatic doors slid open, and the humidity wrapped around him thick and unrelenting, a sharp contrast to the harsh blast of airport AC and the echo of rolling suitcases and overhead announcements. That Louisiana kind of heat familiar, but still enough to knock the wind out of you. He blinked against the sun, eyes sweeping the pickup lane.

Then he saw it the gray 4Runner idling at the curb, windows down, music barely audible over the airport noise.

Riley was half-hanging out the driver's side window, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, scanning the terminal doors. She hadn't spotted him yet, and for a moment, Joe just watched her—the casual way she drummed her fingers on the door, how she occasionally blew a strand of hair from her face, the slight bounce of her shoulders to whatever song was playing.

No carefully maintained image. No calculated pose. Just Riley.

Joe felt the corner of his mouth tug upward as he crossed toward the car. He opened the back door first, tossed his bag in, then rounded to the passenger side.

Riley’s head turned as he opened the door, and she smiled. Bright, easy, like she couldn’t help it. She shifted toward him without thinking, like her body already knew what to do.

"Hey, lovey," she said, voice warm with something just for him.

"Hey," Joe replied, taking her in. She looked more vibrant here, more settled in her own skin than in Cincinnati or LA.

Without overthinking it, Joe leaned across the console. His hand found the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing once across her cheek before he kissed her. Not brief, not rushed. Just slow and full, like he needed her to feel how much he’d missed her.

When he pulled back, Riley's eyes stayed closed for half a second longer, as if holding onto the moment. Her smile had softened into something private.

“Missed you,” she said, like she already knew he had.

Joe nodded, holding her gaze. "Yeah. Me too."

In that moment, the time apart collapsed. Five days compressed into nothing. That was how it had been from the start with them. Distance, schedules, complications, all of it faded when they were face to face, leaving just the gravity between them. The one thing in his life Joe couldn't calculate or control.

"I made lunch," Riley said, putting the car in drive while keeping her eyes on him. "Nothing fancy. Just some of that bread you liked last time and shrimp."

"Perfect," Joe said, settling back as she pulled away from the curb.

Riley’s hand found his on the console between them, fingers threading together like muscle memory. With his free hand, Joe reached for the window control and let the heavy air rush in. The city met him in waves, warm and heady, carrying the scent of magnolia and jasmine blooming somewhere nearby.  He remembered it from his LSU days, but it hit different now. It wasn’t just New Orleans. It was her.

Riley glanced over, taking in his simple gray T-shirt and navy joggers. There was nothing deliberate about how good he looked. It was just him, unthinking and effortless. She smiled, one hand still on the wheel.

“You packed layers, right? The weather here’s been crazy. Hot one minute, storming the next.”

Joe nodded. "I'm good."

"My auntie’s been getting ready since yesterday,” she said, turning onto a side street, navigating through neighborhoods where trees hung low over the road. “Pretty sure she bought out half the seafood market this morning.”

“I’ve been thinking about crawfish all week,” Joe said, and she could hear the genuine anticipation in his voice.

Riley's mouth curved. "She's going all out. Said she's testing your Louisiana credentials with her special batch."

“I’m not worried,” Joe said, voice easy.

Riley laughed. "That's what I told her. 'I said you could probably out-eat half the family.'"

“You’ll still need to watch yourself,” Riley said, mock-serious. “Megan’s boyfriend got exiled to the kids’ table last year for peeling them wrong.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Exiled, huh?”

"Family tradition," Riley said with a shrug. "We judge people by how they eat."

The street narrowed, houses growing more colorful as they turned into her neighborhood. The jasmine she’d mentioned was exactly as described, spilling over fences and gates, spreading across the sidewalks in waves of green and white. Her house sat in the middle of the block,  its lilac paint as vivid as he remembered. 

She pulled into the small driveway and cut the engine, the sudden silence thick with anticipation. For a moment, neither of them moved. It felt like they both needed that breath of stillness before stepping into whatever came next.

"Welcome back," Riley said finally.

Joe nodded, taking in the house with fresh eyes. During Mardi Gras, he’d seen it in fragments. Dim light, celebration chaos, his attention split between the unfamiliar space and the woman leading him through it. Now, in daylight, the details stood out. The weathered trim, the porch swing moving gently in the breeze, the flower boxes overflowing beneath each window.

He felt it again, that same quiet certainty from months ago. This must be the place.

They grabbed his bag and walked up the path together, Riley’s keys jingling in her hand. The gate creaked as she pushed it open, the sound oddly satisfying. Real, not pristine. So different from his carefully maintained house.

"You were right, the jasmine is intense this year," Joe observed.

“I told you, it’s taking over.” Riley bumped her shoulder against his. “Kind of like you in my life.”

Joe glanced at her, catching the mix of teasing and vulnerability in her expression. "That a complaint?"

"HA! Not even close," she said, unlocking the front door.

The house wrapped around them as they stepped inside. Cool air carried traces of something cooking, wood floors creaked beneath their weight, light filtered through lace curtains and caught on record sleeves and picture frames. Everything was exactly as he remembered. He understood why it had stayed with him.

Riley set her keys in a ceramic bowl by the door. "Lunch is almost ready. Just need to finish the sauce."

Joe set his bag beside the entry table. The feeling settled in quietly, familiar and steady. Vintage concert posters. A guitar in the corner. A stack of books marked with candy wrappers and dog-eared pages. Everything just as he remembered, but it carried a different weight now. Like something that had taken root. Like a place that had been waiting for him.

He followed her into the kitchen, where she’d turned the pot back on and two places were already set at the small table by the window.

Nothing fancy. Just Riley. Thoughtful without making a thing of it, already making space for him without needing to say a word.

Riley moved to the stove, lifting the lid to check whatever was inside. Without thinking, Joe stepped behind her, hands finding her waist, chin resting lightly on top of her head.

She leaned back against him instantly, her body relaxing into his. "Been waiting all week for exactly this," she said quietly.

Joe didn’t need to say anything. He just tightened his arms slightly and pressed a kiss to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Actions over words, always his way. Riley felt herself soften into him, her body understanding what he meant before her mind caught up.

Riley turned in his arms, wooden spoon still in hand, face tilted up to his. Her expression was open in the way that always caught him off guard. No defenses, no performance. Just Riley, looking at him like he was the answer to a question she’d been carrying. He felt the weight of that look, how rare it was, how unguarded, and found himself wanting to be worthy of it.

"I should finish this," she said, gesturing to the stove with the spoon, "or we'll be eating burnt sauce."

Joe nodded, releasing her but not moving far. "Need help?"

"Just cut the bread? It's warming in the oven."

The familiar rhythm of preparing a meal together felt surprisingly natural, considering they'd only done this a handful of times. Joe found the bread wrapped in foil, Riley ladled the shrimp and sauce into shallow bowls, and they moved around the small kitchen with an ease that suggested they'd been doing this for years rather than months.

"So tomorrow's the crawfish interrogation," Joe said, setting the bread on a cutting board.

Riley laughed. "Is that what you're calling it now? The crawfish interrogation?"

"Seems accurate based on your description."

She carried the bowls to the table, her movements unhurried. "It's not an interrogation. It's just... Papa wanting to make sure you're good enough for his baby."

"And the technique evaluation," Joe added, deadpan.

"That's just a bonus torture method," Riley said, grinning. "If you nail the crawfish technique, he might even skip the baby photos."

"Now I'm definitely worried."

They settled at the table, sunlight casting dappled patterns through the lace curtains. Riley passed him a napkin, their fingers brushing briefly.

"They're going to like you," she said, suddenly serious. "You know that, right?"

Joe looked at her, considering his response. "That matters to you. That they approve."

Riley's expression opened, surprise flickering across her face at his perception. "Yeah. It does."

"Then I'll make sure they do," he said simply.

It wasn’t bravado or empty reassurance. Just a statement of intent, delivered with the same calm certainty he brought to everything that mattered. Riley’s family was important to her, so they were important to him. Problem identified, solution determined.

Riley studied him for a moment, then shook her head slightly, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that," Joe confirmed.

The tension in her shoulders visibly eased. "Alright then, lovey. Let's eat before it gets cold."

The shrimp was perfect. Spicy and rich, the sauce layered with flavor in a way that seemed effortless but wasn’t. Joe took another bite, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"This is fucking good," he said simply.

No embellishment, no comparison. Just straightforward appreciation. Riley grinned, clearly pleased.

"Thanks," she said. “Made it for you.”

They settled back into comfortable silence for a few moments, the house quiet around them except for the occasional creak of old wood settling.

"Tell me about your session with Dak yesterday," Riley said eventually. "That new footwork drill you mentioned."

Joe paused, surprised she'd remembered that detail from their brief call. "We're tweaking the progression. Small adjustments to my drop, trying to shave off a tenth of a second."

"Tell me how," she prompted.

Joe’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile, but close. He used his hands as he explained, gesturing with quiet precision to show the weight transfer points, the subtle shift in timing.

“It’s about loading the back foot differently,” he said, his right hand marking the pivot. “Most people wouldn’t catch it, but at game speed, it matters.”

It was the kind of microscopic adjustment that sounded obsessive to outsiders, but at his level, fractions of seconds determined completions or interceptions. Riley leaned forward slightly, asking questions that showed she was actually listening, not just being polite.

It struck him, not for the first time, how rare that was. Someone who engaged with his off-season work without pretending to know more than they did, without dismissing it as excessive or unnecessary. Riley approached it the way she approached music, with respect for the craft behind it.

When he finished explaining, she nodded thoughtfully. "So it's like... microadjusting technique. The basic movement stays the same, but you're refining the efficiency."

"Exactly," Joe said, surprised by how perfectly she'd distilled it.

Riley smiled, pleased with herself. "See? I'm learning your language."

"You are," he agreed, and found he meant it more deeply than the words suggested.

They finished the meal in easy conversation. Riley’s plans to help Egan with a recording project the day after he left. Joe’s teammate Sam and his latest misadventure. The neighbor’s cat that had taken to sleeping on her porch. Nothing profound, nothing dramatic. Just the quiet pleasure of being in the same space again.

As Riley gathered their empty bowls, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I didn't plan anything major for today. Figured you might want to just... be here for a while. Get settled."

Joe nodded, understanding what she wasn't saying. She was giving him space to adjust, to transition from the controlled environment of his training schedule to the warmth and chaos of her world. It was a small consideration, but it spoke volumes about how well she'd come to know him.

"That sounds perfect," he said.

Standing in her sun-drenched kitchen, watching her move with the casual confidence of someone completely at home, Joe felt something in his chest loosen. A tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The careful compartmentalization he kept in Cincinnati didn’t seem necessary here.

It wasn’t something she said. It was just how she was with him. No expectations, no edits. And somehow, that made him want to meet her there. Not as someone better. Just as himself, with nothing held back.

* * *

They cleared the table slowly, neither in a rush. Riley rinsed the bowls in the sink, humming under her breath. A song he didn’t recognize, maybe something new. Joe leaned against the counter, drying dishes without being asked.

It wasn’t domesticity for show. Just a rhythm, unspoken and easy.

When the last glass was stacked in the drying rack, Riley turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Want to sit outside for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Porch swing?”

She nodded.

They stepped out into the brightness, the screen door clicking shut behind them. Jasmine wound through the railing and along the steps, blooming wild and fragrant in the afternoon light. The porch swing creaked as Joe sat first, one arm stretching across the back as he settled in. He glanced at her, then patted his thigh.

Riley didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the swing, folding easily into him, her head resting in his lap, feet propped up on the far end. Her curls brushed against his shirt, bare legs stretched out and relaxed, one hand resting lightly on his knee.

The swing moved beneath them, slow and steady. Down the block, wind chimes tinkled, soft as breath.

Joe’s hand moved instinctively to her hair, fingers combing through it without rhythm. Not to soothe, not to distract. Just to touch.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

The silence stretched, soft and unhurried. Riley’s fingers moved absently over his knee. She did that sometimes, like she just needed the contact. Joe let his head fall back against the swing and closed his eyes. For the first time all day, maybe longer, he felt himself fully relax.

“You ever think about leaving LA?” he said quietly, his hand still in her hair. 

Her fingers paused.

She didn’t look up right away—just let the question hang there a second like it deserved its own breath.

Then “You mean for good?”

Joe didn’t press. Just nodded once. “Yeah.”

“All the time,” she said.

Joe didn’t respond right away. Just kept tracing slow, absent lines along her shoulder.

“It’s good for work,” Riley added. “For the band. Meetings, sessions, press, all that noise. But I don’t know… it’s not home.”

She turned her face a little, resting her cheek more firmly against his thigh.

“It gets lonely,” she said. “Even when I’m busy. Especially when I’m busy, actually. There’s too much of everything and not enough of anything that sticks.”

Joe stayed quiet, listening.

“A lot of shit with Ethan happened there,” she said. “And there are people I still run into sometimes. Old habits I don’t want near me. It’s not like I’m on the edge or anything. I’m not. It’s just… LA doesn’t forget who you used to be. Even when you’re trying to be someone different.”

“Andy loves it,” she said. “Pete could take it or leave it. Daniel hates it more than I do.

Joe didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low and even. “You think you’ll leave?”

Riley shifted slightly against him. Not pulling away, just enough to glance up and check if he was looking at her.

He was.

“Yeah,” she said.

It wasn’t a maybe. Wasn’t hesitant.

“Not today,” she added. “Not tomorrow. But I don’t think I’m meant to stay there.”

Joe nodded, just once. Quiet understanding.

Riley let her head rest back in his lap, eyes fixed on the spot where the jasmine reached across the porch rail.

“Feels good to say that out loud,” she said after a while.

Joe looked down at her, his hand still resting lightly on her side.

“Thanks for sharing it with me,” he said.

Joe let the silence stretch a little longer. Then he asked, quiet and even, “You ever thought about moving the work here?”

Riley nodded. “Yeah. We’ve talked about it.”

She shifted slightly in his lap, not pulling away, just adjusting, her legs stretching out a little farther.

“Something outside the city,” she said. “Not in New Orleans proper. A little land, enough space to build something that’s ours. We’ve been in the hustle so long, we haven’t really slowed down to make it real.”

She looked up at him. “But yeah. It’s come up.”

The swing creaked beneath them, a gentle rhythm as Joe pushed against the porch floor with one foot. He was quiet, thinking about what she'd said. About LA not being home. About wanting somewhere with space, with land.

"What would you need?" he asked finally. "To make it happen?"

Riley considered this, her eyes following a hummingbird that darted toward the jasmine. "Time, mostly. To figure out the logistics. Find the right property. Build something that works for recording." She paused. "And everyone would need to be on board. It'd change a lot of things."

Joe nodded, his hand resuming its gentle movement through her hair. "The band would move too?"

"That's the idea," she said. "At least part-time. Andy might keep a place in LA. But Pete and Daniel... they'd be all in, I think."

Joe tried to picture it. Riley here permanently, not just between tours or on breaks. New Orleans would hold more of her. The distance between them would be fixed now, defined. Cincinnati to New Orleans, instead of Cincinnati to wherever she happened to be that week.

He’d asked without thinking too hard about it, but part of him had wanted to know. Not just if she’d leave LA, but if she’d ever look farther. If she’d ever look his way.

"It'd be good," he said, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "You here. Closer to your grandfather. To the things that matter."

Riley looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, sure now. "You light up here. It's different from how you are anywhere else."

Her fingers found his free hand, twining through it loosely. "Not everywhere else," she said softly.

Joe glanced down at her, not quite able to read her expression. "No?"

"I'm pretty sure I lit up in Cincinnati too," she said, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just in a different way."

The implication hung there, unspoken but understood. Joe didn’t push. He just tightened his hand around hers, quiet and steady.

She’d heard what he hadn’t quite meant to say. And that changed something, even if neither of them named it.

The swing moved with them, slow and even. The afternoon stretched soft and gold around them. No rush to figure anything out. Just the quiet sense that whatever came next, they were already thinking about it together.

* * *

The swing had gone quiet, their movement slowed to barely more than a breath. The sun was sinking now, casting the porch in a low amber wash.

Joe’s hand rested at her hip, steady and warm.

Riley’s voice broke the silence.

“You wanna go in?”

He nodded, but didn’t move yet. “Yeah. I was thinking I might take a shower.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curving just slightly.

Joe looked at her, already catching on. There was a glint in her eye, a hint of something unspoken.

“You wanna take one with me?” he asked, smile tugging at his mouth.

Riley didn’t blink. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

He tapped her thigh lightly. “Alright, come on,” he said, voice low.

The swing groaned in protest as they left it behind.

They made their way through the house, quiet and easy.

Riley turned the taps, and steam began to gather in the air. She pulled her tank over her head in one clean motion, the fabric catching slightly at her shoulder.

Joe stepped in behind her, quiet and steady like always. His shirt hit the tile beside hers. Then his jeans. Then his socks.

Nothing said. Nothing needed.

She stepped in first, eyes closed as the water hit her collarbone, running down her chest in rivulets.

Joe followed.

The space was small, but they didn’t bump or shift awkwardly. They knew how to move around each other now. 

Riley let the water slick her hair back, then turned, her hands finding his waist. Joe leaned into the spray, eyes fluttering shut as it hit his face.

He exhaled slowly.

Neither of them spoke.

She reached for the shampoo, worked a little into her palm, and stepped closer. Joe bent to meet her hands, his head lowered, eyes still shut. Her fingers moved gently through his hair, slow and sure, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make his breath hitch.

When she rinsed, his hands slid to her hips. Not pulling, not asking for more. Just holding. Like he needed the contact to make it real.

When it was her turn, he took the bottle from her without needing to be told.

His hands were larger, less practiced, but careful. Almost reverent.

Joe tipped her chin back gently, making sure no soap stayed at her temple. His knuckles brushed her jaw. Her eyes closed.

They stood under the water until the heat began to fade. Skin pruned, muscles loose, neither ready to let the moment shift just yet.

When they finally stepped out, towels wrapped and skin damp and chilled, Riley reached for the edge of the fogged mirror and wiped a small circle clean. Just enough to see her own face.

Joe watched her from behind, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his collarbone.

He didn’t say anything.

But when she caught his gaze in the glass, he didn’t look away.

They moved without hurry, toweling off as the last of the steam thinned in the air. Riley tugged on one of her softest shirts, oversized and collar stretched, then padded barefoot into the bedroom.

The light had changed since earlier. It came in low now, warm, brushing the floor in long streaks.

Joe followed a moment later, still drying his hair with one end of the towel. He didn’t say anything; he just watched her for a second, as if he were filing the whole scene away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her damp hair, not really trying to detangle it. Just moving slowly. Letting herself feel everything. The water on her skin. The weight of the day shifting.

Joe dropped the towel at the foot of the bed and pulled on a clean pair of shorts, his movements unhurried. When he crossed the room, Riley didn’t look up, but she felt the mattress shift beside her. His thigh against hers. Warm.

For a while, they just sat like that. Facing forward. Shoulders touching. Sharing the quiet.

Joe’s hand found hers without fanfare. He threaded their fingers together, thumb brushing lightly along the side of hers. 

She turned to him, and he met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It didn’t need to be. It just…was. She turned to him, and he met her halfway.

They lay back eventually, not under the covers, just stretched out on top, her head on his chest, his hand resting on the slope of her thigh. The room around them hummed with late afternoon stillness. Outside, the cicadas were starting up.

Neither of them said much. They didn’t need to.

His fingers traced lazy shapes against her leg, the same way hers had on the porch. Her breathing slowed to match his rhythm.

She could hear his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Steady and sure. The kind of sound that made everything else quiet down.

After a while, Joe's hand stilled on her leg. "Hey," he said quietly.

Riley lifted her head from his chest, meeting his eyes. "Hmm?"

"Need to get up for a second."

She shifted, rolling to the side to let him move. Joe sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the shorts and t-shirt he'd put on after their shower hanging loosely on his frame. He moved to where his bag sat on the floor near her dresser, kneeling with that unhurried precision that characterized everything he did.

Riley watched him, propped up on one elbow, sheet draped across her. Joe unzipped a side compartment, retrieving something small before returning to the bed. No explanation, no announcement—just that quiet certainty in his movements.

He settled beside her, a small velvet box in his hand. Black, slim, unassuming.

"Got you something," he said simply, extending it to her.

Riley's eyes moved from the box to his face, a hint of surprise flickering across her features. She sat up fully, the sheet tucked loosely around her, and took it. Her fingers were light against the velvet.

Opening it slowly, she found a bracelet that caught the late afternoon light and held it—gold scales textured like a serpent's skin, fluid and alive even while perfectly still. The clasp was subtle but distinctive, echoing a snake's head in a way that was elegant rather than literal.

Riley turned the bracelet in her hands, thumb brushing the clasp. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Joe didn’t say anything right away. Just watched her. Steady, open.

Riley looked at the bracelet for another second, then up at him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, a little quieter now. “You just… saw it and got it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Thought of you.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. Like he didn’t even realize what it meant. Not really.

Something caught low in her throat. It wasn’t the bracelet, not really. It was the fact that he’d been out, living his day, and somewhere in the middle of it, he’d seen something and thought: Riley would like this.

That hadn’t happened before.

She nodded once, not trusting her voice. Then held out her wrist.

Joe took it carefully, fastening the clasp with that quiet precision of his. The bracelet slid into place like it had always belonged there. His thumb grazed the inside of her wrist before he let go.

“There,” he said.

Riley looked down at it. Then at him.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “Wanted to.”

Her chest tightened, not in a bad way, just sudden.

She leaned in, pressed her lips to his. Slow. Deliberate. More thank you than anything else.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far. Just rested her forehead against his, her voice low.

“No one’s ever done that.”

Joe's jaw flexed slightly, the only outward sign of what those words did to him.

“You deserve it,” he said. Simple. Certain.

He didn’t look away. And she felt it land low and real, right where she carried the part of her that still wasn’t used to being chosen like this.

* * *

Riley didn’t say anything at first. She just set the box aside and shifted into his lap, slow and certain.

Joe didn’t move, just let his hands rest at her hips as she leaned in and kissed him softly, unrushed, full of feeling.

When she pulled back, she looked at him like it was already obvious.

“Thank you,” she said. Quietly.

Joe just nodded, his thumb brushing her side. “You’re welcome.” 

Riley didn’t move at first. Just stayed there in his lap, one knee on either side of him, the hem of her T-shirt skimming her thighs. Her hands were on his shoulders. Just there to feel him close.

She looked at him for a long moment, something settling behind her eyes. Like she caught a piece of him he didn’t mean to show, and decided to hold it anyway.

Then, quietly,

“Let me take care of you.”

Joe didn’t speak. Just blinked once. She felt the way his hands tensed a little where they rested at her hips, not in resistance. Just in that way, he always did when he was trying to stay in control of himself.

She kissed him again. Slow. Deliberate. More breath than pressure.

And when she pulled back, she didn’t look away as she slid off his lap, settling on the floor between his knees.

Joe watched her the whole way down.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. She just let her hands settle on his thighs, her thumbs brushing along the inside like she was smoothing something invisible out of him.

He was still. Breathing steadily. But she could feel it in him, that quiet coil he carried all the time. The one he never let slip unless he was with her.

It wasn’t a show. Just a quiet thank you, pressed into skin.

Her voice was soft as her fingers curled under the waistband.

“Okay?”

Joe didn’t nod this time. Didn’t move. He just looked at her, like maybe he couldn’t believe she was real.

Then, rough and low,

“Yeah.” 

She didn’t rush. She didn’t look away.

Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, easing the fabric down over his hips, her knuckles grazing his skin as she went.

 Joe shifted slightly, lifting for her without being asked. That alone said everything, how much he trusted her, and how much he wanted this too.

Once his shorts were off, she let her hands settle on his thighs again. Just breathing. Just taking him in.

She could feel the heat of him. Could see the way his cock was already thickening, the weight of it pressing against the cotton of his briefs.

But she didn’t reach for it yet.

Instead, she leaned in and kissed the skin just above his waistband, right at the dip of his hip. Quiet. Intentional.

Joe exhaled hard, the kind of breath that sounded like it had been sitting in his chest for too long.

Her voice barely carried, but he heard it.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just let me.”

He didn’t say anything. Just let his hands fall back to the bed, fingers curling into the comforter behind him like he needed something to hold on to.

Joe’s jaw was tight. Not because he was tense, but because he was trying not to come undone

She tugged the fabric down, and he lifted again for her, quiet and obedient. Not because she asked, but because he wanted to give her whatever she needed.

His cock sprang free, heavy and already half-hard. Her breath caught. Just want, hitting all at once.

She didn’t flinch or look away. Just took him in, calm and sure. Like she already knew he liked this. Like she loved him like this.

She shifted closer, her hand wrapping around him. Careful, but not tentative. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She lowered her head with no hesitation.

And when her mouth closed over him, slow, soft, wet, Joe’s whole body went still.

Not tense. Not bracing.

Just quiet.

She started with just the head, lips sealing around him with purpose. A slow pull, the kind of suction that made him twitch against her tongue. No rush. No show. Just the kind of pressure that said she knew exactly where he was most sensitive and wanted him to feel it.

Joe let out a low breath through his nose, eyes locked on her. One hand slid forward, fingers grazing her hair, not to guide her, just to touch. Like he needed the anchor.

She hollowed her cheeks slightly, easing down a little further. Not all at once. Just enough to feel him pulse on her tongue. Her hand moved in tandem, stroking the base with the same rhythm her mouth had found slow, steady, present.

Joe’s fingers tightened slightly at the back of her head.

“Riley.” It came out quietly, hoarse. Like he hadn’t meant to say it, but couldn’t help himself.

She looked up at him, her mouth still around him, and something in her expression wrecked him. She wasn’t asking for anything. She wasn’t seeking a reaction. She was offering. Quietly. Intimately. Like she already knew she belonged there—like his body had always made space for her. 

Then she closed her eyes again and took him deeper. Slower this time. Her hand moved with her mouth, smooth and deliberate, matching the pressure of her lips. It wasn’t about technique. It was about feel. About how she knew exactly what he needed, not just his body, but all of him.

Joe’s breath caught, barely audible, and the hand still tangled in her hair flexed like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She could feel him start to swell more fully against her tongue, feel the tension begin to build in his thighs. He was holding back, of course, he was. He always did. Always trying to stay composed, even now, when she had him bare and breathless in her mouth.

She pulled back just slightly, let her tongue drag across the underside of him before she eased down again. A rhythm, not fast, but focused. Intentional. Like she was trying to pull the weight from his chest, one slow stroke at a time.

His hips shifted under her, just barely, like he couldn’t help it. She tightened her hand a little and hollowed her cheeks again, and that made him groan quietly, strangled, like the sound slipped out before he could stop it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes falling shut.

Still trying to hold it together.

She didn’t stop. Just kept giving. Kept knowing.

She pulled back just enough to breathe and look at him, his chest rising, eyes heavy, jaw clenched like he was still trying to hang on.

Then she whispered it, soft and certain, the words falling from her lips like a secret only meant for him.

“Baby… let go.”

Something in his expression cracked. Just a flicker, but she saw it.

And then she took him back in. Faster this time, but just as focused. Like she was pulling him out of something heavy. One stroke at a time.

Joe let out a low, broken sound. His hips lifted just slightly into her mouth, breath stuttering as the restraint in him finally began to shake loose. One hand slid down her back, not to stop her. Just to touch her. To feel something solid while the rest of him started to unravel.

He was close now. She could tell. The way his thighs tensed beneath her palms, the way his cock pulsed thick and full against her tongue. He was still trying to stay quiet, of course, he was, but he was losing that now, and she loved him for it.

Loved that he trusted her enough to come undone.

She didn’t rush him.

Just stayed there, mouth warm around him, hands steady at his thighs, watching the tension rise through his body like a tide he could no longer hold back.

Joe’s head dropped, breath rough through his nose, brow tight with effort. His hand shifted in her hair, not rough but firm now, guiding her just enough. He was close, and his body knew it before he did.

She felt it before he said anything. The way he tightened under her. The way his whole body braced, like something was about to break open inside him.

And then—

“Fuck, Riley—”

His voice cracked, and that was it.

He came hard, hips jerking once against her mouth before he caught himself, his other hand curling into the bedsheet like he needed something to bear the weight of it.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. She took all of him, let him give it to her slow and messy and full, every pulse of him spilling against her tongue. She held him through it, eyes closed now, her hand still stroking slowly at the base as he emptied into her.

He groaned low, not sharp, not loud. Just raw. Unmasked.

And when it passed, when his muscles finally eased beneath her palms, she stayed there a moment longer. Letting him breathe. Letting him feel what it meant to be held like that.

She pulled back slowly, careful, her lips still parted as she swallowed. Her breath came softly through her nose. She didn’t wipe her mouth right away, just looked up at him from between his knees, her fingers still splayed lightly on his thighs, thumbs brushing absent circles like she was calming him back down from wherever he’d gone.

Joe looked wrecked.

Head tipped back slightly. Chest rising slowly. One hand still clenched in the bedsheet, the other limp in her hair like he’d forgotten it was there.

When his eyes finally found hers, they were heavy-lidded, glassy, like he hadn’t come all the way back yet.

She gave him the smallest smile. Not coy. Just… soft.

Then she stood slow and sure, knees brushing his as she rose and climbed back into his lap without a word. Straddled him again like before, her thighs warm against his, her hands sliding gently up his arms until they settled at the back of his neck.

He let her.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just rested his forehead against her collarbone, breath still uneven, hands sliding around her waist like he needed to hold something real.

Riley stroked the back of his neck. Quiet, grounding. Like she knew exactly how to bring him home.

“You good?” she whispered.

Joe nodded into her shoulder, slowly. His voice was rough when it came.

“Yeah.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Jesus.”

She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, her smile soft against his skin.

��Did I break you?”

Joe let out a breath, voice low and wrecked. “Maybe a little.”

She laughed quietly and warmly and pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while. Riley in his lap, her arms loosely around his neck, her body warm and steady against his. His forehead rested against her shoulder, and she could feel his breath shift slowly, grounding, like he was finally settling back into himself.

She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just let her fingers trail gently through the short hair at the nape of his neck, calming, constant. Like she could ease whatever still lingered in him.

His hands stayed at her waist. Not to guide. Just to hold. Like she was the thing keeping him grounded.

Fading light slipped through the window, warm against his skin. Evening sounds carried in from the street, but they barely registered.

Like they’d stepped into a pause.

He shifted a little, just enough to look at her. His eyes were clearer now, still quiet. Still full.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at her the way he always did when he didn’t have the words for what he felt.

And Riley, without needing to ask, leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Soft. Certain.

She stayed there, forehead against his, the weight of the moment still hanging between them.

And for a long while, neither of them moved.

Eventually, Riley shifted in his lap, just enough to press a soft kiss to his temple before she stood. She didn’t say anything. Just moved with quiet ease, her bare feet making no sound as she crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

Joe stayed where he was, elbows on his knees now, his body loose in a way it rarely was. His head dipped forward for a second like he was catching up to himself.

She returned a minute later with a warm cloth, folded small in her hands. Knelt between his legs again like it was the most natural thing in the world. And when she reached for him gently, unhurried, he didn’t flinch.

She cleaned him up with that same quiet care. Not clinical. Not showy. Just real.

He watched her the whole time, something unreadable in his expression. Something soft and unguarded.

Just hers.

Joe exhaled softly, eyes still on her. That look again like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Riley gave him the smallest smile. Then stood again, moving toward the laundry hamper in the corner to toss the clothes in.

Joe tugged his boxers back up, slower than usual. Like the moment still hadn’t fully let him go.

The sound of her footsteps padded down the hall, followed by the low creak of the fridge door opening. A cabinet closing. The gentle clink of a glass being set on the counter.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at the floor, feeling the hum of her still in his body.

Then he stood.

The house was quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. He followed the sound of her ice clinking gently in a glass, the refrigerator door closing with a soft thud.

She was at the counter, back to him, pouring water into a tumbler. Loose strands of hair had slipped from behind her ear. Her T-shirt hung long on her frame, one shoulder bare.

He stepped in behind her quietly, gently, and leaned in.

Pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, warm and slow. He felt her pause, just for a second.

“Thank you,” he said, low against her skin.

Riley didn’t turn around right away. Just set the glass down and let her fingers brush over his where they’d come to rest lightly at her hips.

“You’re welcome,” she said, just as softly.

Then she leaned back into him, her body fitting into his like it always had a place there.

It wasn’t just the orgasm. It was what came with it the way she saw him, held him, made him feel like he didn’t have to keep everything inside.

* * *

She tossed the peeled garlic into the pan, the sizzle filling the quiet. Joe stayed where he was, arms folded across his chest, content just to watch her move. The smell of butter and spice bloomed in the air, rich and familiar.

Then her phone rang from the windowsill, screen lighting up with Papa in bold letters.

Riley wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked it up, already smiling. “Hey Papa.”

“Hey baby,” he said, voice warm and familiar. “I was just callin’ to check and see if Joe made it in alright.”

Riley glanced over at Joe, who met her eyes across the kitchen. She smiled a little. “He did. He’s sitting in my kitchen right now lookin’ real suspicious of the way I’m about to repurpose these shrimp.”

Joe huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Good,” Papa said. “Just wanted to check on y’all before I went to sleep and see what time y’all pickin’ me up tomorrow.”

“Thinkin’ around ten-thirty,” she said, turning the burner down. “That work for you?”

“Sounds good.”

“Joe, son, I’m lookin’ forward to finally meetin’ you.”

Joe raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Same here. Appreciate the invite.”

There was a pause, then Riley’s Papa chuckled. “Alright then. I’m gonna let y’all get back to your evening. This old man’s gotta get some sleep.”

“Night, Papa. Love you,” Riley called out, already moving to put her phone on the sill.

She stirred the pan again. “You hear that?” she said, still facing the stove. “Already in good graces.”

Joe leaned back in the chair, eyes on her.

"That's a relief," he said. "Though I'm guessing his in-person vetting process might be a bit more thorough." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What else should I know before meeting him?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes soft. “Just be yourself,” she said. “He’s gonna love you.”

* * *

Riley scooped the last of the shrimp into the pan, gave it a final stir, then cut the heat. She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating the food without saying much.

Joe leaned back in his chair, watching her. Still quiet. Still coming down from the last few hours, the kind of full you don’t always get from food.

She set a bowl in front of him, shrimp and grits, still steaming, garnished like she actually cared what it looked like, and reached for another plate.

“Go ahead and start,” she said, not looking up. “I’m gonna run a plate over to Ms. Josephine real quick.”

Joe blinked, like it took him a second to process.

“The neighbor?

Riley nodded. “Yeah. She hasn’t been feeling great. I’ve been bringing her little things. This’ll last her a couple of meals.”

She pulled a paper bag from the drawer and slipped the plate inside, fingers moving quickly and easily.

Joe didn’t argue. Didn’t offer to go. He just sat there, one hand resting on the bowl she’d made for him, the other on the table, watching her like he was still learning her in real time.

And maybe he was.

The screen door clicked shut behind her, and Joe sat still for a moment, eyes on the space she'd just left.

Then he stood, carrying his bowl with him, and stepped out onto the porch.

The evening was warm, heavy with jasmine and the slow hum of insects. Across the street, he could see Riley in the streetlight, a covered dish balanced in her hand as she talked to someone just beyond the screen of another porch. Ms. Josephine. He remembered her from the last time. Just a quick hello, a kind smile. He couldn’t hear Riley’s words but could tell she was smiling. That specific smile she reserved for people she’d known forever.

He sat on the top step, bowl balanced on his knee, spoon in hand. Took a bite. It was stupid good, rich, salty, spicy, creamy. Something deeper than comfort food. It tasted like someone cared if you'd eaten. If you were alright.

He watched as the elderly woman's hand reached through the screen door to accept the leftovers, lingering on Riley's wrist for a moment in silent gratitude. A simple exchange that spoke volumes about who Riley was when no one was watching.

She moved like someone who belonged everywhere. Someone who remembered neighbors' birthdays and saved portions of dinner without being asked. Someone who knew what mattered.

And all he could think was God, she's better than me.

Not dramatic. Not self-pitying.

Just true.

He took another bite and let the quiet settle around him, wondering if the food tasted even better now that he'd seen this small act of kindness, this glimpse of the Riley that existed before him and would exist long after.

Ms. Josephine called something after Riley that made her laugh, the sound carrying across the quiet street. She waved goodbye, lingering a moment before turning back toward home toward him.

When she spotted Joe on the steps, she paused briefly, as if seeing him in a new light, then crossed the street with unhurried steps. The warmth of the evening clung to her as she approached, settled beside him on the porch step, their shoulders not quite touching.

"Ms. Josephine says the Saints are going all the way this year," Riley said, leaning back on her palms. "I didn't have the heart to tell her what you'd think about that."

Joe smiled, still working on the last of his food. "Smart. Don't want to get you banned from the neighborhood."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the rhythm of the night around them. A distant car. Cicadas. Someone's wind chimes three houses down.

"You do that a lot?" Joe asked finally, nodding toward Ms. Josephine's. "The leftovers thing."

Riley shrugged, but there was nothing dismissive about it. "Her arthritis makes cooking hard. And she used to feed half the block when I was growing up." She glanced at him. "Not a big deal."

But it was. That was the thing about Riley that kept throwing him off balance, the way she wore her goodness so lightly. Like it wasn't worth mentioning.

"You're good at this," he said quietly.

"At what? Feeding the elderly?" Her tone was teasing, but her eyes stayed on his, curious.

"At..." He gestured vaguely with his spoon, searching for the right words. "Being connected. To a place. To people." He set his empty bowl beside him. "I don't think I've ever brought my neighbor leftovers."

“Well, in your defense,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his, “all your neighbors are probably rich. They’ve probably got chefs.”

Joe let out a soft breath—almost a laugh. “Probably,” he said. “Though that’s not really an excuse, is it?” He looked out at the street, at the houses with their porch lights coming on one by one as darkness fell. "I don't even know most of their names."

The quiet admission felt easier than explaining what he was really thinking, that wealth and status had somehow distanced him from the kind of community Riley seemed to create so effortlessly. That somewhere between Ohio and the NFL, he'd traded connection for control.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just passing through everywhere I go," he added, quieter now.

The words felt raw once they were out, more honest than he'd intended. But Riley didn't rush to fill the silence or offer easy reassurance. She just let his admission breathe between them.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Or maybe you just haven't found your place yet." She turned to face him, her expression open, unguarded. "Sometimes it's not about where. It's who."

Riley held his gaze for a moment after she spoke, then pushed herself up with a soft exhale.

“I should grab mine before it gets cold,” she said, brushing her hands on her shorts as she stood.

Joe nodded, but didn’t move. Just watched as she disappeared back inside, screen door creaking shut behind her.

A minute later, she returned with her bowl and a fresh napkin, settling beside him on the step like she’d never left.

They didn’t speak at first. Just ate, side by side, their plates lit by the soft glow from inside the house.

* * *

Joe lay on his back, Riley’s head resting in the crook of his shoulder, her breathing steady against his chest. The ceiling fan above them turned lazily, barely disturbing the quiet that had settled between them.

Tomorrow, he would meet her family, her grandfather, the man she called Papa, whose approval seemed to matter more to Riley than anyone else’s. Joe wasn’t nervous exactly, but there was a weight to it that felt significant. Like crossing some invisible threshold in their relationship.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Riley murmured, her voice husky with sleep as she traced idle patterns on his chest. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”

Joe smiled in the darkness, his fingers finding their way into her hair. “Just thinking about the first time I was here.”

“At my house?” She shifted to look up at him, chin resting on his chest.

“Yeah.” He paused, gathering words for something he’d never said out loud. “I never told you… what it was like. Walking in here that first time.”

Riley propped herself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. Joe didn’t offer up personal revelations easily unless they clawed their way out. “Tell me,” she said softly.

He was quiet for a moment, eyes on the ceiling. “Remember that record store?”

She nodded, her hair brushing his skin.

“I never told you why I bought that Talking Heads album.” He shifted slightly, turning toward her. “When I walked into your house that night, this song just… showed up in my head. ‘This Must Be the Place.’”

His voice stayed low, steady. “My dad used to play it on Sunday mornings when I was a kid. It was the happiest I ever felt growing up, just normal, quiet moments when everything felt right.”

He paused, swallowing. “Then I walk into Elvin’s shop, and it’s right there. Front and center. Like the universe was trying to tell me something.”

Riley didn’t speak. Just looked at him, eyes soft and open in the low light.

“I don’t really believe in signs,” he said.

“But?” she prompted.

He looked over at her.

“But I believed that one.”

Riley's breath caught somewhere in her chest. Joe wasn't a man of many words, which made the ones he chose matter more. A simple admission like that from him felt monumental.

"You never said anything," she said finally. Not accusatory, just wondering.

Joe's hand found the small of her back, warm against her skin. "What would I have said?" His voice was low, almost contemplative. "That walking into this house made me feel more at home than any place I'd lived in for as long as I can remember?"

Riley stayed quiet, listening.

"That I felt that way after knowing you for a week? Two?" He exhaled, the sound barely audible. "That it made no sense how comfortable I felt in a place I'd never been before, with someone I barely knew?"

He paused, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "We'd had dinner once in New York. A couple of phone calls. That was it. And then I'm standing in your living room feeling like..."

He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Like what?" Riley prompted softly.

"Like I'd been looking for something without knowing what it was. And suddenly there it was." He shifted slightly, his eyes finding hers in the darkness. "It wasn't just the house. It was you in it."

Riley felt a flicker of vulnerability at his admission. They'd only met in February, and here they were in late April, already so tangled in each other's lives. It had happened fast, maybe too fast for logic, but somehow exactly right in every other way.

"I know it's crazy," he continued, as if reading her thoughts. "We barely knew each other then. Hell, we barely know each other now." His voice held no uncertainty despite his words. "But I think that's what scared me the most, how it didn't feel like we were strangers. Not even from the beginning."

Riley placed her palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her hand. "I know," she said simply, because she did. That immediate recognition had been there for her too, though she'd tried to dismiss it as attraction, chemistry, anything but what it had actually been.

“I felt it too,” she admitted. “That first night here. I’ve brought people into this house before, but watching you take it all in was different. Like you were seeing parts of me I hadn’t shown you yet, and you weren’t running for the door.”

She let out a small, breathless laugh. “I thought I was imagining it. That connection. I kept telling myself we barely knew each other, that it was just… I don’t know, chemistry or something. Because the alternative was terrifying.”

She leaned down and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. “Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. “For telling me. For being here. For buying a record you couldn’t even play.”

Riley watched him a moment longer, her hair falling around them like a curtain. He looked up at her, steady and unguarded, and it stirred something deep and certain inside her.

She could have said it then. Could have let it slip out easy, right there between them.

But she didn’t. She kissed him then. Not urgent, not hurried. Just real. The kind of kiss that settled instead of sparked. That said, I’m here.

When she started to move, ready to deepen it, Joe’s hands moved to her hips. He guided her down onto her back with a quiet kind of care, like he didn’t want to rush any of it.

Her head hit the pillow. “Joe…”

“I need to,” he said quietly, already kissing down her neck, over her collarbone.

She didn’t say anything else, just lay back, her chest rising beneath his touch, the sheet cooling quickly as he pushed it aside.

His fingers found the waistband of her underwear. He didn’t rush. Didn’t look up right away. He just moved like he knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t want to miss any part.

When he did glance up, it wasn’t a question, not really. He just wanted her with him.

She didn’t answer with words.

Instead, she reached down slowly, deliberately, and slid her own underwear down her thighs, lifting her hips just enough to help. A quiet offering. Not shy, not performative. Just open.

Joe watched her, eyes dark and steady, like he was watching something sacred unfold.

He lowered himself without a word, settling between her legs like that had been the plan all along. Not rushed. Not tentative.

Her breath caught when he kissed the inside of her knee, then again higher, her thigh, her hip. No rhythm yet, just reverence.

She ran her fingers through his hair, not guiding him, just needing to touch him. To keep him close.

She didn’t shake or gasp or fall apart. She just went still, breath shallow, like her body couldn’t keep up with what it meant to be wanted like this.

* * *

Joe woke at 6:43 AM, eyes opening to the golden morning light already streaming through Riley's lace curtains. Beside him, Riley slept deeply, one arm flung above her head, her breathing slow and even. He watched her for a moment, taking in how the sunlight caught in her hair, turning the strands to burnished gold against the white pillowcase.

Carefully, he eased himself from the bed, practiced at not disturbing her. Experience had taught him that Riley slept like the dead before 9 AM, a fact that still amused him, given his own hardwired early-rising habits.

He moved quietly through her room, finding his running shoes in his bag. The ritual was familiar, routine. He put on his compression shorts, performance t-shirt, shoes laced to the perfect tension. His mind was already shifting into preparation mode, not for a game, but for something that felt equally significant.

Meeting Willis Carter, Papa, wasn't just about making a good impression. It was about showing up as the man Riley had seen last night, the one who was more than carefully crafted press conferences and calibrated public appearances. The real Joe. Whoever that was.

Outside, the morning was already warm, the sun well above the horizon, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. New Orleans was coming to life around him, with early risers walking dogs, a few people heading to work, and the occasional delivery truck rumbling past. The city had a different energy in the morning light, less chaotic but no less vibrant than it had been at night.

He set off at an easy pace, letting his body warm up as he mapped a route through Riley’s neighborhood. His mind worked the way it did before games. Methodical. Strategic. He wasn’t nervous, exactly. Joe Burrow didn’t get nervous. But he was focused. Aware of the stakes.

What did he know about Papa? Riley spoke of him with reverence tinged with protectiveness. He and her Gram raised her when her mother couldn't, or wouldn't. Worked multiple jobs to keep them afloat. Gave Riley her first guitar, a fact she'd shared late one night in Cincinnati, her voice soft with memory.

Joe turned a corner, increasing his pace slightly. If football had taught him anything, it was that preparation mattered, but adaptation mattered more. You could study every play, memorize every strategy, but in the end, it came down to showing up fully present, ready to respond to whatever happened on the field.

Today would be no different.

By the time he circled back to Riley's street, the sun was higher, the heat beginning to build in earnest. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, his mind clear and focused in that post-run state that always felt like a reset.

He let himself in quietly, half-expecting the house to be as silent as when he'd left. Instead, he caught the faint notes of music coming from the kitchen, something bluesy and old, with a voice like gravel over velvet.

Following the sound, he found Riley at the stove, her back to him as she swayed slightly to the music. She wore one of his t-shirts, the hem hitting mid-thigh, her hair piled messily on top of her head. The domesticity of the scene hit him with unexpected force.

"You're up early," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Riley turned, a slow smile spreading across her face as she took in his running clothes and damp hair.

“And you’ve been productive, I see.”

She nodded toward the counter.

“Made you a shake. Didn’t know exactly what you liked, so I Googled a recipe that looked decent. Chocolate, banana, almond butter. Hopefully close to what you’re used to.”

Joe crossed the kitchen and picked up the shake, the weight of it familiar, the gesture anything but. She wasn’t a morning person. He knew that. And still, she’d gotten up, made sure there was something waiting for him. That landed hard in his chest.

Morning light spilled across the counter. Riley moved around the kitchen like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. It was exactly how he liked it.

Then he set the glass down, stepped in close, and kissed her. No build-up. No teasing. Just a kiss that said everything he didn’t know how to say.

Riley smiled as he pulled away, then turned back to the stove like it hadn’t just shifted something in the room. She flipped the French toast, the edges golden and crisp.

“You should try the routes through the Garden District sometime,” she said, voice easy. “Cooler in the mornings with all those oak trees.”

He took another sip, then glanced at her over the rim of the mug. “You should come with me next time.”

He leaned against the counter, glass in hand, sweat still drying across his chest. His shirt clung at the collar and shoulders, and his hair, never really neat to begin with, was sticking up at odd angles, unruly from the run and the weight of the headband he’d just pulled off. A few pieces curled damp against his forehead, catching in the light.

She didn’t mean to stare. But there was something about the way he looked in that moment, flushed, loose-limbed, hair a mess, body buzzing from exertion, that knocked something loose in her.

“I’d like that,” she said when he suggested the run. It came out softer than she intended.

He nodded, watching her for a beat. Not pressing.

She turned back to the stove, reaching for the plates. As she moved past him, her fingers skimmed his arm lightly, casually, but her pulse kicked all the same. His skin was warm. Still humming from movement. Still carrying the scent of wind and salt and something so unmistakably him that it made her head go a little quiet.

She didn’t say anything.

But she needed to move.

Or she was going to reach for him without thinking.

They ate standing up, plates balanced on the counter, too hungry to bother with the table. The French toast disappeared fast, the bacon even faster, quiet chewing, occasional glances, and something humming low beneath it all.

Riley moved around him easily, brushing past to refill her coffee, her bare shoulder grazing his arm in a way that felt more deliberate than accidental. She didn’t mean to linger, but she didn’t really stop herself, either.

Joe set his fork down and leaned into the counter slightly, watching her over the rim of his glass. His voice was low, casual but not careless.

She could feel the shift in his attention. The way his eyes tracked her, not overt or showy, but hungry in a way that felt deeper. Like he’d taken in everything she hadn’t said and already made up his mind.

His gaze didn’t leave hers. “We have time?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the way he said it. Low. Even. Like he wasn’t asking permission, just checking the clock before he did what he was already planning to do.

“For what?” she asked, though part of her already knew.

He held her there with just his eyes.

Joe raised his eyebrows, not smiling. “Riley, you know what I mean.”

Something in her stilled.

They were standing in a warm, sunlit kitchen, plates half-stacked by the sink, her coffee still steaming. But the air shifted like it had thickened around them, like the room was waiting to see what she’d say.

“We don’t have to pick up Papa until ten,” she said, voice barely above a murmur.

Joe didn’t wait for more.

He stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her waist, and then she was weightless, lifted in one smooth, practiced motion, his shoulder pressed against her stomach, her hair swinging forward.

“Joe—”

He was already moving, steady down the hall like this was routine, like he knew exactly what she needed before she did.

“You could’ve warned me,” she said, half breathless, half laughing.

His hand settled behind her thigh, his pace unhurried. “Bird,” he said, voice low near her back, “you were practically hyperventilating in the kitchen.”

Riley huffed a soft laugh against the fabric of his shirt. “I was not.”

“You were,” he said, steady as ever. “Kept looking at me like you didn’t know whether to finish your breakfast or climb me.”

She didn’t respond because he was not wrong, but because she didn’t trust her voice.

Joe adjusted his hold just slightly, his arm tightening beneath her knees. “I made the call.”

He carried her through the doorway like it was nothing, then crossed into the bedroom and set her down at the edge of the bed. His hands were steady, careful, like he was placing something he didn’t want to break.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, voice low. “Take your clothes off.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Riley didn’t move at first. She just watched the empty doorway, heart pounding in her chest.

Then she reached for the hem of her shirt.

When he came back, steam drifted behind him from the open bathroom door. His shirt was gone. So were his shorts. He was barefoot, quiet, eyes already on her.

Riley had done what he asked. Mostly. Her shirt was off, balled on the floor near her feet. She was still working on the rest, but paused when she saw him.

Joe didn’t speak. Just walked toward her, calm and sure, like he always was when he knew exactly what he wanted.

He stopped in front of her and looked down, eyes sweeping over her in a way that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hesitant. Just… his.

“Good girl,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Then he leaned in and kissed her. Hard. No hesitation. No buildup.

He turned her with both hands, guiding her down onto the bed, her body folding easily under his touch.

She caught herself on her elbows. Joe moved in behind her, warm and solid, his hands rougher now. He still hadn’t cooled off completely, not from the run, not from her. And it showed.

Her breath came fast, shallow beneath him, and he felt it — the way she arched, the way her body answered his without hesitation. It lit something in him. Pushed everything sharper.

He gripped her hips tighter and leaned in, mouth close to her ear. “You feel that?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t really an answer. Not with the way she pushed back into him, not with the way her breath caught again when his hand slid down to guide himself against her.

He pressed in slowly, just enough for both of them to feel it.

Riley’s fingers curled into the sheets. She made a sound, soft but broken, and it went straight through him.

Joe’s grip tightened. He sank into her all at once, one smooth, solid thrust, and everything else fell away.

The slap of skin, her breathing, his name, all of it tangled together, messy and real.

She was panting now, forehead pressed to her forearm, thighs trembling with every push.

He didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. Not with the way she was giving herself over to it. To him.

Every sound she made twisted something deeper inside him. The way she gasped when his angle changed. The way her hips pushed back to meet him, greedy for it. The way she said his name, like it was the only thing tethering her to the room.

His hand slid up her back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades, holding her steady. Not to control her to stay connected. To feel every inch of what she was giving him.

“Right there,” she choked out, voice high and breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He wasn’t going to.

Not until she came around him.

He felt it before she said a word, the way her body clenched tight, the way her breath broke into fragments. Her hand fisted in the sheets, her other reaching back for him like she needed something to hold on to.

Joe didn’t let go. Just kept his rhythm through it, steady, relentless, until she cried out, trembling under him, her whole body arching with it.

Only then did he let himself go.

He sank deeper, jaw clenched, a low sound tearing from his throat as he followed her over the edge. His hips stuttered once, twice, then held there, his hands still firm on her skin like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathing. Just there.

Joe leaned in, his voice low near her ear. “Feel better now?”

Riley let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. Her body was still twitching beneath his, skin flushed and damp. She turned her head just enough for her cheek to brush his jaw.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. “Stop it.”

Joe smirked, pressing one more kiss to her shoulder before standing up just enough to give her ass a playful swat.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s shower this off. We’ve got to go meet your family.”

[evanwevand]

[ch1zzie]

Okayyy I might take a bit of a break! School JUST started again after break and everything is going all over the place so I might need some time to figure it out along with some other work I have to do so YA! Urrr no arts for now sadlys

I will see you!! I'm not sure when!!

I LOVE U!

[novasorbit]

jfc.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

What's ur presentation all about...? Am scared /lh

funnily enough it's about the ADA/americans-with-disabilities act :^)

[raiiny-bay]

line art finished……..