#Drop objects Protection systems

[websysteminternational]

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[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[hussyknee]

Wonder how far I can prod libs into finishing their full thought bubble behind all this "harm reduction" "genocide is a single issue" "you don't care about marginalized people in the US" "dyou want fascism WITH genocide???" screeching.

Okay, class, say it with me: "I don't want to live in a third world country like the ones we keep destroying."

Because you know. The countries your war criminal leaders keep bombing and starving and destabilising and leeching dry? We don't have trans or gay rights or women's rights or disability benefits or environmental or labour protections. No one would want to live in our countries obviously. You'd kill yourselves before you had to live like we do. Sure, we're only like this because you keep us trapped in poverty and violence and we still have full, happy lives worth living despite it but that's because we're used to it! We don't know any better! Not like you! You know what you deserve and you shouldn't have to lose anything as a consequence of your own political choices! Your government is supposed to happen to other people! Not you! So like, yeah, it's bad that the poors are being massacred wholesale or whatever, but like. That doesn't mean you gotta die with them, y'know? And by "death" you don't mean actual genocide like what's happening over here but "death" as in "having to live like we do".

The trolley problem metaphor is so goddamn attractive to you because you see yourself outside the tracks, objectively assessing the situation and making the "tough" "moral" choice for the collective good. It's imperialist horseshit. You don't have a democracy and it's not a trolley. What you have is an imperial death machine running on an apartheid system that decides who gets fed to it and who gets fed by it. That's your "two tracks"— the colonized and the colonizer, the core and the periphery, the white and the coloured. "Harm reduction"? Have you counted how many fucking millions in and around the world your death machine eats to keep how many of you "safe"? But our losses are a foregone conclusion, a matter of course, a regrettable necessity. The only variable is yours.

Every political choice in 200 years of your settler colony has been "genocide AND". "Genocide AND women's rights". "Genocide AND workers rights". "Genocide AND fascism". "Genocide AND democracy". The difference is that for the first time in your history you're now watching it livestreamed to the entire world in real time 24/7, exactly as your colony is about to capsize under the weight of its own bloodlust. A sea change from when your parents threw parties watching bombs dropping on Baghdad and then spent twenty years watching movies about sad it made the soldiers.

How do you count the victims when we are numbers and you are people? You scream about trans rights in the US while Palestinian trans children don't have the right to reach puberty. OSHA for you but Congolese children have to die in mines. Reproductive rights for the US while Sudanese women are raped in millions. Yes, but it's always been "genocide AND" no matter what, right? Do we want to sabotage the party that has never fucking cared about us and don't now even with half their own country screaming at them on the off-chance they might possibly maybe one day do?? Why are we acting so mad like it's YOUR fault that you're fighting for your quality of life over our corpses?? Do we want YOU to lose your rights over it??

Yes, actually. We do. We want you to have a taste of the reality that generations on generations of your illegal illegitimate white supremacist occupation has inflicted on us just so your worthless hide can sit there and call our genocides a single fucking issue. And let's be real: that's what you're so fucking afraid of.

[lessersole]

Bridging Boroughs

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Bartender!Reader with a past. Platonic!Matt Murdock

Summary: You and Matt come up with a plan to take on Kingpin politically.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Spoilers for DD:BA episode 8, (but works if you're not watching). Probably misunderstandings of the US political system.

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

Matt groans as he wakes up. He feels like he got punched in the chest by a truck.

He tries to take in his surroundings - it’s hard over the beeping of the machines, but under the stillness of night he realises someone is sitting beside his hospital bed.

“Heather?” He croaks.

“Nope,” comes the unapologetic answer. He recognises that voice, but hasn’t heard it in a while. Matt frowns - is he wrong?

The pressure of booted feet landing on his bed, one ankle crossing over the other as his guest casually stretches out her legs gives him a better idea who his visitor is. He tries another name.

“You got it," you confirm. Matt can hear the mirthless smile in your voice. “Glad to hear we’re not complete strangers, even if I never would have guessed you’d throw yourself in front of a bullet aimed at the Kingpin.”

“I wasn’t-” Matt’s protestations are cut off by a tightness in his chest and he coughs, wincing at the pain, “I wasn’t trying to protect him.”

Your feet leave the bed as you press a plastic cup of water against the back of his hand. Matt takes it as silently as it's offered, a few sips doing little to soothe the roughness of his throat.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks, reluctantly letting you take the glass from him when the wires tangled around him stop him reaching the sidetable himself.

“Well, that’s rude.” Your tone is more amused than offended.

“I mean it. I haven’t seen you since-” his voice dies in his throat.

“Since the funeral.” You finish for him, voice softer, “But I keep up to date. You’re all over the news. Thought it would be polite to visit an old friend in hospital.”

“We’re barely friends,” there’s a bitterness to Matt’s tone, more from regret than animosity. It’s been a long time since you were close, “And I’m pretty sure visiting hours were over a long time ago.”

“I make my own hours, you know that. And I said old friend.” You pause, continuing when his only objection is an irritated sigh. “Plus I saw a mutual acquaintance of ours recently - he was worried about you.”

Matt’s mouth sets in a hard line. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” your eyes scan over his damaged body, the tubes and machines keeping him alive, “And honestly, when Frank Castle is concerned about your mental health, something’s gotta be pretty wrong.”

“So you’re still in touch with Frank. And you think I’m the one who’s in trouble.”

“I drop in on him now and then, make sure he’s not dead. I don’t charge in on him like a madman with a deathwish.”

Matt grimaces.

“So come on, Matt. I’ve seen the other news about you too. The other you. What’s going on?”

In the absence of anyone else to talk to who won’t judge him, Matt reluctantly opens up.

Time passes, and as the sun threatens to break over the horizon, you both sink into thoughtful silence.

"Did you ever think that maybe you need to meet Fisk on his level?” You ask.

“I’d never do what he does,” Matt spits emphatically, “That’s the difference between us-”

“That was the difference between you. The difference now is that he’s the one who’s gone ‘legit’. Officially, at least.”

Matt opens his mouth to object, but you talk over him. “You not changing the city as a lawyer is nothing new. I thought you'd resigned yourself to that after - after Foggy. But Fisk isn’t fighting in the dark any more; you’ve lost your advantage.”

“So what, are you saying I should run for Mayor?”

“God, no. But we need to look in that direction. Maybe someone else, someone who’s pro-enhanced p-”

“Wait,” Matt bolts upright, ignoring the pain that slices through him, “There is someone. We could at least ask for help, while I’m stuck here.”

“Oh, so there’s a ‘we’ now?”

Matt grins, “How familiar are you with Brooklyn?”

—

Getting inside the Congressman’s office is easy for you, even in broad daylight. Plenty of people filing in and about, milling around - and you know how to go unnoticed. The bustling space is a much more casual, open place than you'd expected.

Getting access to him directly is more of a challenge.

After holding a store room door open for a smiling volunteer, you duck inside. Spotting a pile of discarded t-shirts from the recent campaign, you grab one and quickly swap it for your own plain top, before adding the casual blazer you'd worn to look appropriately professional on top of it. No need to be too obvious.

You'd spied his private office on your first loop around the floor, and now you make your way indirectly towards it. One well-placed slippery flyer in the path of a rushing intern later, and the woman stationed at the desk outside his door is running to the bathroom to try and soak the hot coffee out of her shirt.

Smiling benignly, you slip unseen into the Congressman’s office. The man you're looking for has his back to the door, standing behind a desk leafing through a file.

You have a moment to admire his broad back, the white shirt straining over strong shoulders, tapering down where it tucks into dark pants over narrow hips.

Forcing your eyes away from where they’ve drifted down, you've barely taken two steps into the room before he speaks.

“Are you one of those people who breaks in to try and sell me extra security?”

You stop abruptly - he hasn’t even turned around.

“No,” you answer casually, continuing to approach, “But maybe I should be, that sounds like a fun job. Do you think it pays well?”

“No idea,” finally Congressman Barnes turns to face you, dropping his papers onto the desk between you.

You let your gaze linger over his torso. He must get those shirts custom made, you think, so they're snug over his flat stomach without bursting the buttons over his chest.

Barnes crosses his arms, and the motion reminds you to look at his face, where he’s quirking an eyebrow at you, unflustered and unamused.

“So what are you doing breaking into my office?”

“Breaking in?” You try to sound offended, “I just wanted to meet the person I’ve been door knocking for-”

“You’re not one of the volunteers,” he interrupts cooly, “And you’re definitely not on the payroll. So now you need to explain why you’re lying as well as breaking in.”

“What, you know every single person who works for you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a beat while you recalculate your approach, then take the last few steps towards him, smiling broadly and holding out your hand, “I just wanted to say hi, have a quick chat.”

Instead of answering or shaking your hand, Barnes narrows his eyes suspiciously at you.

“And there was no breaking anything, so it wasn’t breaking in,” you grumble, lowering your hand.

“I’m still not hearing an explanation.”

“Okay,” you sigh, presumptuously dropping into one of the chairs in front of his desk, “I’ve come to ask what you’re planning to do about Mayor Fisk.”

Bucky’s neutral facade cracks in surprise. “What I'm planning to do about Mayor Fisk?” he repeats.

“His crusade against ‘vigilantes’,” you put air quotes around the loaded term, “His so-called taskforce are breaking every law they come up against to wipe out anyone they decide is suspicious, including everyone with enhanced abilities they can get their hands on. You were elected on a platform of protecting those same people, right? You can’t just do nothing.”

“I ran on more than one issue,” Bucky says, sitting down opposite you, “And Mayor Fisk was also elected by the people - and even if it wasn’t a key part of his campaign, as I understand it his opposition to vigilantes wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“That’s no excuse to just roll over and let him do what he wants!”

Bucky frowns. “No, it’s not,” he muses, “But so far his taskforce have restricted themselves to Manhattan. Unless they cross into Brooklyn, there’s not much I can do about it.”

You're visibly unimpressed at his answer, crossing your arms and glaring at him in place of a response.

After a moment of thought, Bucky’s gaze intensifies, and he leans towards you across the desk, “Do you have a - vested interest - in this?”

Fighting to keep your heart rate steady, you answer him honestly, “I’m here on behalf of a friend. And everyone else who feels hopeless about what the Kingpin is doing to our city. Everyone else who wants to fix it.”

Bucky studies you silently. Your answer was true - and you have no intention of sharing more than you need to about your history, or those nights when it bleeds into your present. Even Fisk never knew about you, and with Karen in California, Matt and Frank are the only people left in the city who have any idea what you've done, and neither of them know you've not given it up as thoroughly as you suggest.

"This friend," Bucky starts, clearly not believing you, "they didn't want to speak to me themselves?"

"They're in hospital." Your answer is more vehement than you intended, and you hope you've not given too much away.

Barnes sits back with a sigh, “Okay. I’ll talk to my team about it. We’ve been considering putting out a statement; a citizen complaint is a good enough reason to push that through. And I’ll look into what else we can do. Encourage an investigation into the taskforce, or some kind of oversight requirements. Legal protections for enhanced people with no record of vigilantism.”

It’s less than you wanted, but more than you'd hoped for from a politician. “Sounds like an okay start,” you allow.

An amused smile flickers across Bucky’s face as he stands up, dismissing you. You mirror him.

“Are you a Brooklyn resident?” He asks.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s a no.”

“Compassion doesn’t stop at the East River,” you retort, and Bucky’s smile widens.

“I agree. And I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to rein Fisk in and keep innocent people safe, inside my jurisdiction and out.” He holds his hand out to you.

“Good,” you answer begrudgingly, grasping his hand firmly, “I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he squeezes back, “And your friend - if it’s dangerous for them in Manhattan, there’s a safe place for them this side of the river. Always. If Fisk’s taskforce follows - well, there might be more I can do.”

“Good to know. And if you ever want to update me on your progress - save me trekking all the way out here again - I work at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen,” You give him the name as you turn to leave. “If you make good on your promise, I might even buy you a drink.”

Bucky smiles. It’s an appealing offer. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wait,” he nods to your shirt, where Vote Barnes for the 9th District is emblazoned across your chest, “Did you pay for that?”

Rolling your eyes, you slip your jacket from your shoulders, Bucky’s eyes following the smooth motion, “I was going to give it back,” you lie.

“Don’t.” he stops you, a quick twitch at the corner of his lips, “You can keep it. Looks good on you.”

You smile languidly as you pull the jacket back on.

“Thanks, Congressman,” you reach for the door handle, adding over your shoulder, “I’ve been looking for something to wear in bed.”

Once his door has swung shut behind you Bucky lets out a long breath, rubbing his right hand over his face as he sinks into his chair.

He could have handled that more professionally, but something in your fearless attitude and sly smile had intrigued him - and the reason for your questionable visit was smart, principled - and ballsy.

He’ll definitely be stopping by that bar in Hell’s Kitchen.

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

Part two

[pathologicalreid]

fluff masterlist

main masterlist

note: italicized titles denote requests

spencer reid x fem!reader

clue: in which penelope hosts a new year's eve party. with a murder mystery theme.

doctor and doctor: in which you add a degree to your repertoire

newly creds: in which the BAU team wants to see your newly issued credentials

nicknames: in which you meet the team for the first time, and receive your first nickname

attention: in which you attempt to get your boyfriends attention

fluorescent: in which spencer rambles about rocks and you get distracted

drop: in which reid seems to be there every time you drop something

occupational hazard: in which you and spencer have a discussion about the dangers of his job.

in sickness and in health: minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.

cryptic: you and spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams

breakfast in bed: your boyfriend surprises you with breakfast in bed to celebrate spring break

in plain sight: your quick thinking (in an attempt to protect him) leads to a very thankful spencer

puzzling: trying to tell spencer you're pregnant, but he's too concerned with your well-being to fill out your custom crossword puzzle

red flags: spencer protects you from a drunkard

(lack of) convenience: the power of suggestion leads you to take a pregnancy test while you're on a case - and it's positive

three's a family: you and spencer are surprised to find out that you're pregnant, while you're already in labor (yes, this is a second cryptic pregnancy fic)

pure and applied chemistry: your boyfriend picks you up as a surprise at your chemistry lab (biochemist!reader)

separation anxiety: spencer's first case back from paternity leave involves children, so a concerned party reaches out to you

orange juice: you and spencer have an announcement to make, but you're not sure how to go about it

a special occasion: moving your daughter into a toddler bed brings about some interesting conversation

kindergarten crush: when one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to question you

goads and goats: telling your dad (who's also your boss) you're pregnant ends in him giving spencer a hard time

a league of your own: when your boyfriend seemingly evolves, you resign yourself to the feeling of being left behind

fishbowl: you offer to bring spencer lunch when he forgets his at home, leading you to become an object of curiosity at the BAU.

dewey decimal system: in which spencer does the most spencer activity first thing in the morning - reorganizing your bookshelves

amorphous: your first ultrasound goes exactly how you'd expected it to, but not exactly how you'd wanted it to

sweet talker: in which french!reader gets caught using a special nickname for a particular genius

litmus test: in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

blue ribbon: in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen

first snow: in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

xoxo: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

christmas (baby please come home): in which Spencer isn't home to put his kids to bed on Christmas Eve, but they wake up to a surprise on Christmas morning

milk and cookies: in which you and Spencer try to bake gingerbread cookies with your daughter, the operative word being "try"

i'll be home for christmas: in which you, Spencer, and your toddler prepare for what will hopefully be your first Christmas together as a family

and it feels like home: in which Spencer confesses his love to you at the oddest of places - your sister's wedding

card trick: in which you broach a subject with Spencer that you're sure will be a dealbreaker - you don't want kids

safe space: in which Jack Hotchner comes to your classroom after spotting Mr. Scratch on school grounds

green-eyed monster: in which Spencer comforts your oldest daughter when she's jealous of the new addition to the family

hazardous materials: in which Spencer takes care of you after an accident in the lab

falling flat: in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

shelter from the storm: in which your son comes to your room in the middle of the night seeking the safety of his father's arms.

twenty questions: in which Spencer has all of the answers for stoned!reader's questions

broken wing: in which your daughter is convinced a fractured wrist means the end of her ballet career, you and Spencer have to convince her otherwise

i like it when you sleep for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it: in which Spencer Reid is a mosaic of every person he's ever known, and you are the only one who has ever been able to bring him back to the present

spencer reid x gn!reader:

heatmiser: spencer takes care of you when he comes home to find you sick

running on empty: spencer makes a bet to go without coffee and ends up foregoing all caffeine

spencer reid x platonic!fem!BAU!reader

neophyte (2): in which dr. reid gives advice to help you cope with the requirements of your new job

[demonic0angel]

Dead silent in the dragon au? I'm a sucker for them and I do like dragons

(Sure :D)

Part 4...?

Cassandra observed the lair of the Ghost King, a powerful dragon who was said to have an undiscoverable lair and a hoard full of mysterious treasures. In reality, while it had been hard to find, it was rather ordinary. She had seen bigger. Her own sire and guardian had a lair that was based entirely on an underground cave system and he had riches that had knights and lords from various kingdoms and countries coming to kill him every week.

The Ghost King’s lair was still impressive, just not what she had expected from the various rumors she heard. The lair was modestly sized and on the bigger side, and located inside of an abandoned human castle. The hoard itself was a collection of strange objects that she could not decipher.

Perhaps human object lovers like Jason, who collected books, and Damian, who had only just started to collect swords, would know.

Cassandra was a little confused by this collection, but the Ghost King’s scent was pleasing and some of the things he had were sparkly, so she wasn’t too ready to leave yet.

She perked up at the sound of growls and fire breathing. She flapped her little wings and climbed onto the ceiling with her claws. Quickly scurrying outside, she watched wide eyed as a beautiful white dragon was digging his teeth into a beefy yellow dragon. The white dragon was on the smaller side, leaner, but he had sharp fangs and claws and they were able to tear into the flesh of the other dragon easily.

The other dragon blew fire and wailed, but the white dragon pulled back to breathe out ice and trap it before digging back in, blood spurting and dripping from mortal wounds.

Cassandra watched in awe as the dragon flapped his wings for extra strength. Said wings were large and wide, colored white with black at the tips.

Most amazingly, they were feathered wings. The rest of the dragon’s body was scaled, but those feathered wings rose high and mighty, like clouds and mist.

The white dragon roared and then in one vicious move, bit down on the neck of the other dragon, reared his head back up, and then tossed it to the side, where the yellow dragon whimpered and then flew away with a flap. The white dragon bristled, snarling, before wiping away the blood on his snout.

Cassandra shivered at the raw strength of this dragon before she gave a low purr and crawled back inside, where she dropped from the ceiling and then began scenting the strange hoard. She was determined to meet this dragon for herself.

The Ghost King came back inside his lair, pausing as he registered her scent before he cautiously approached. When he saw her, he froze in place for a long time before he spoke.

“Hello. I am Danny, youngest son of the Nightingales.” He gave a bow, discreetly trying to rub off more of the blood on his pearly scales. His two pairs of eyes blinked at her, green and bright like emeralds.m

Cassandra gave a bow. “I am Cassandra, oldest daughter of the Waynes. What is your hoard made of?”

Danny, the Ghost King, crept towards her and said, “It’s my collection of astrology items. Human made things that let you see the stars.” He paused in front of her. “I love the stars. These things help me see and study them.”

Cassandra gave a turn, eying the hoard in a new light. “Fascinating. I’ve seen many hoards, yours are one of the most different.”

“… you like it?” He asked, tail wagging.

She nodded.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, tail wagging even more.

Cassandra paused. She had never been called beautiful by another dragon before. Her black scales looked muddy and they were freckled and scarred. She was not slender like other dragons, because she was a fighter, not a flier.

For a moment, she was extremely self conscious in front of this beautiful, white dragon who was King and powerful and interesting and gentle.

“I… I know that I am not the ideal mate, but I can protect our nest. I’m the best fighter in my family,” Cassandra said.

Danny leaned down and then nuzzled her. “You’re beautiful. No one has approached my lair or hoard before and stayed. Your scars are comets and your scales look like a starry night. I’m strong, but I hate fighting. With you, then maybe….”

Cassandra purred and rubbed against his chest, their scales making sparks together.

Danny returned the rumbling purr and then asked, “May I formally court you?”

She chirped happily. “You may.”

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter 13 | Viral

✨ Catch up on Hide if you’re new here! ✨ 🌟 Check out the masterlist if you want to see more by me! 🌟

pairing: joe burrow x riley carter (oc) word count: 12.7k requested: no

📝 this story is only posted on wattpad and tumblr under miss_delaney. if you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. 🚫 do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission. 🌻 requests: closed! 💌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

📝 author’s note: dropping this chapter a little early because some stories won’t let you sleep until you get them out of your head. viral was tough to write. i kept coming back to that ache of public mess, silence, and what it feels like when everyone has an opinion except the person you need most. ⚠️ just a small heads up: this chapter contains a confrontation between riley and her ex, ethan, involving unwanted physical contact and public escalation. nothing graphic, but if that’s tough for you, take care reading. this chapter is about fallout—the kind that happens out loud and in private. it’s about what it feels like to watch strangers build a narrative out of your worst moment, and the heartbreak of missing someone you can’t quite reach. it’s about phones in pieces and the spiral of “what if.” but it’s also about the people who show up—the ones who bring snacks, coffee, comfort, and quiet company when you need it most. riley’s hurting. joe’s panicking. nobody has the right words, but the love is real. thank you for sticking with me and these messy, stubborn characters. this one’s raw and a little uncomfortable, but sometimes that’s just how life goes. i hope you find something honest in here, and maybe even a little comfort. 🌙

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

Riley's text comes through with the video attached: Missing you. Only two more weeks?

Joe clicks play and watches David Byrne performing "This Must Be the Place" in what looks like an old TV studio, standing next to a tall floor lamp. Byrne lets the lamp tip toward him, catches it gently, and sets it upright. Then does it again. And again. A simple dance with an inanimate object, but there's something mesmerizing about his careful attention to it.

Joe watches it again immediately. There's something about the way Byrne never lets the lamp actually fall, the deliberate care he gives to this one fragile thing. By the third time through, watching Byrne perform their song with such tenderness, Joe understands exactly why Riley sent it and calls her back.

"Hey lovey, did you get my text?" Riley says when she picks up.

"Just watched it three times. The way he catches it every time it tips—like he's protecting something fragile and beautiful. That's what this feels like with you."

There's a soft laugh in her voice. "You know what's crazy? Byrne said he wrote it as 'a real honest kind of love song' without all the usual clichés. No grand gestures, just... this quiet certainty."

"Dad's Sunday morning song is hitting different now. Like it means what it was always supposed to mean."

"Pancakes and vinyl and feeling at home?"

"Yeah. Except now I know what home actually feels like."

The silence stretches between them, heavy with everything they're not saying, everything they miss about being in the same room.

"God, I miss you," Riley finally says.

"Two weeks feels like forever right now."

"After this weekend, I'm all yours. Well, as much as I can be with tour prep being insane, but—"

Joe's looking at Riley's chaotic calendar on his phone while they talk. "I see you have something scheduled Saturday the 19th, but..." He squints at the screen. "Your calendar just says 'IMPORTANT DINNER - DON'T FUCK THIS UP' in all caps. So I'm guessing that's mandatory?"

Riley's laughing. "That's my very professional scheduling system, thank you very much. And, yes, unfortunately, it is very mandatory. Why?"

"A friend from college is getting married. I kind of decided last minute to go, and I wanted to see if you could break away."

There's a pause, and when Riley speaks again, her tone has shifted. "You want me to come with you? To a wedding?"

"Yeah. I know it's short notice, but... yeah. I want you there."

Riley's voice gets quieter, clearly torn. "Joe, I... God, I wish I could. We finally got this meeting with Ticketmaster. We've been trying to get in the room with them for months to talk about pricing structures, making sure our fans can actually afford tickets. It's me, the guys, Gwen, Haley, our whole team, everyone's been preparing for weeks."

Joe's understanding is immediate. "Right. No, I get it. That's huge. You can't bail on your whole team."

"I really wish I could, though. I want to meet your friends, I want to be your plus-one at things like this..."

"It's okay, Birdie. Really. This matters."

"The next wedding. Or whatever. I'll make sure I'm free."

"Deal."

"How are you feeling about tomorrow? Last preseason game."

"I'm just ready for the season to start," Joe says. "Preseason feels like... practice with an audience."

"I've been watching all the games," Riley says, her voice softer. "This will be the first season I actually care about football."

Joe feels something shift in his chest. "Yeah?"

"The Dolls are trying to talk me into starting a fantasy football team, except none of us know anything about football, so it would be based purely on vibes. Like, who has the best name or looks good in their uniform."

Joe's laughing now. "That's the worst fantasy strategy I've ever heard."

"Hey, vibes are important. I bet we'd do better than you think."

"You absolutely would not."

"Rude. I'm not asking for your help anymore."

"Good, because I wasn't planning to help."

"Well, now you're definitely not invited to our draft party."

Neither of them says it out loud, but they both feel it—how little time they'll actually have once both their careers kick into high gear, how Joe asking her to come with him, wanting her to meet his friends, feels like the kind of step forward that makes her having to say no sting more than a simple scheduling conflict should.

"How's tour prep going?" Joe asks, and Riley can hear the shift in his voice, more serious now, genuinely asking.

"Exhausting. We're rehearsing like twelve hours a day. Pete's being a perfectionist about the setlist, Andy keeps changing his guitar setup, and Daniel..." Riley pauses. "Actually, Daniel's been the only sane one, which is terrifying."

"When do you leave?"

"Three weeks after the season starts. So we'll have, what, a few scattered visits before I'm gone for two months?"

The weight of that settles between them, how little time they'll actually have before she disappears on tour.

* * *

Joe sends the text as he pulls into the venue parking lot, still humming "This Must Be the Place" under his breath. The song has been stuck in his head since Riley sent that video, and he can't shake the image of David Byrne catching that lamp every time it tips, protecting something beautiful.

Walking into the reception, he's immediately hit with the familiar chaos of former teammates reuniting. Justin Hilliard's wedding has drawn half their old Ohio State defense, and Joe can already hear someone recounting a legendary practice story from their sophomore year.

"Burrow!"

He turns to see one of his former teammates approaching with a drink. "Man, I was wondering if you'd actually show up."

"Last-minute decision," Joe says. "Couldn't miss Justin getting married."

"Where's the girl? Zac said you took them all to her show in LA. We've all been dying to meet her."

Joe takes a sip of his drink, deflecting with the ease of someone who's had this conversation before. "She's working. Big meeting she couldn't get out of."

"She real though?"

"Very real."

Joe's voice carries a certainty that makes his teammate look at him twice. Before he can ask more, someone calls his name from across the room.

"I want to hear more about this later," he says before disappearing into the crowd.

Joe finds himself smiling as he heads toward the bar, thinking about Riley explaining fantasy football based on vibes to a room full of people who've probably never heard of half the players.

* * *

Joe's halfway through his second drink when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

"Hey, stranger."

He turns to find Olivia approaching, looking genuinely happy to see him. She's wearing a soft blue dress that brings out the color of her eyes; she looks beautiful.

"Livi. Hey." Joe smiles, and it's easy. No awkwardness, just two people who used to know each other well. "You look good."

"Thanks. You, too." She signals the bartender for a wine. "I heard you might be here. Justin said you RSVPed last minute."

"Yeah, decided I needed to get out of Cincinnati for a day." He takes a sip of his drink. "How've you been?"

"Good. Really good, actually. I moved to Nashville a few months ago."

"Nashville? That's a change."

"My boyfriend's in music production. The move just made sense." She accepts her wine from the bartender. "Speaking of... I heard through the grapevine you're seeing someone. Riley Carter?"

Joe's not surprised she knows their circle is tight, and news travels fast. "Yeah. I am."

"The rock star. That's... not what I would have predicted for you," Olivia says, but she's smiling. "But you look good. Really good. Not just successful, like you're actually enjoying your life."

"I am happy." The words come out easier than Joe expected. "She's... I love her."

Olivia's face brightens. "That's wonderful, Joe. You deserve that."

Joe realizes what he just said so easily—words he hasn't even said to Riley yet. "With her, everything feels..." He pauses, searching. "Like I can stop calculating. Like, I don't have to manage every piece of my life. She... she makes me want to be present."

Olivia studies his face. "You know what? You deserve to be this happy without worrying about what everyone else thinks. I never saw you talk about anyone the way you just talked about her. Even us."

She's right, he has been worrying about what everyone thinks. His team, the media, and fans who have opinions about his personal life.

"I used to think that was just you being careful," Olivia continues. "But maybe you were just waiting for the right person to stop being careful with."

Joe looks at her, this person who knew him for years, whom he loved just differently. "You know I loved you, right? What we had was real."

"I know." Olivia's smile is gentle and understanding. "But this is different. I can hear it in your voice. See it in your face. You're not holding anything back with her."

Joe nods, feeling better. It's good to hear that from someone who knew him before, who can see the difference. "Thanks for saying that."

"Now tell me about the Nashville guy," Joe says, genuinely interested. "Music production?"

"Nick. We met on Raya, actually." Olivia laughs. "I know, I know, dating apps. But he's really great. Works with a lot of country artists, and he's got this studio in his house that's just incredible. He's been teaching me about music production and all that technical stuff I never knew anything about."

"Funny how we both ended up with musicians, in our own way," Olivia says with a smile.

"I guess we have a type we didn't know about."

"Right? And Nashville is..." She pauses, searching for words. "It feels like home in a way that Cincinnati never did. Even though I loved my time here."

Joe nods, understanding exactly what she means about finding that feeling of home.

Before he can respond, a woman with a camera approaches them. "Excuse me, would you mind if I got a quick photo?"

Joe and Olivia exchange a glance. It's innocent enough, and they are comfortable together in the way that only people who've genuinely moved on can be.

"Sure," Olivia says easily.

They pose naturally, Joe's arm around Olivia's shoulders, both of them genuinely happy. Joe is thinking about Riley and how talking to Olivia has clarified something for him, while Olivia is clearly content with her new life in Nashville. The photographer snaps a few shots.

"Perfect! Thanks so much," the photographer says before moving on to capture other moments.

The rest of the reception passes in a blur of congratulations to Justin, catching up with old teammates, and the easy rhythm of people who've known each other for years. Joe finds himself relaxed in a way he hasn't been in a long time at events like this. Usually, he's calculating how long to stay, who might be watching, and what the optics are of every conversation.

Tonight feels different. When Eli asks about Riley, Joe finds himself describing how she processes the world through music, how she's taught him that not everything needs to be planned. When another teammate jokes about meeting her, Joe realizes he's tired of compartmentalizing, tired of treating his relationship like classified information.

* * *

Joe's barely out of the parking lot when he reaches for his phone to call Riley, then remembers she's probably still at her ticketmaster dinner. He settles for sending a quick text: The Wedding was good, missing you. Call me when you're done?

The drive back to Cincinnati gives him time to think, and Olivia's words keep circling back: You deserve to be this happy without worrying about what everyone else thinks.

She's right. He's spent so much energy managing how things look, being careful about who he's seen with, when, and where. Keeping Riley compartmentalized is not because he's ashamed of her, but because he's been protecting himself. Protecting the image he's built, the careful brand of being uncontroversial.

But sitting in that reception, talking about Riley with people who've known him since before any of this shit mattered, Joe realizes he's tired of protection. He's tired of having something good, something real, and treating it like a secret that needs to be managed.

Riley's not a problem to be solved or a risk to be calculated. She's the person who makes him feel most like himself. And it's time to stop hiding that.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, Joe's made a decision. He wants to go public, not with some grand announcement or orchestrated photo op, just by living their life together without constantly looking over his shoulder.

He wants to bring her to events. Wants to stop cropping her out of his world. Wants to introduce her as his girlfriend without it feeling like he's revealing state secrets.

Joe sits in his car for a moment, engine off, thinking about Riley in that industry meeting, fighting for her fans to have affordable tickets. She's not hiding who she is or what she stands for. Maybe it's time he learned something from that.

He checks his phone one more time, but there is no response from Riley yet. She's probably still in meetings, still fighting for what she believes is right.

Tomorrow he'll call his team and tell them he's done being so careful. Tonight, he'll wait for her call and figure out how to tell the woman he loves that he's ready to love her out loud.

* * *

The private dining room at Republique is understatedly elegant, featuring exposed brick, soft lighting, and a setting where million-dollar deals are often made over wine and small plates. Riley sits across from three Ticketmaster executives, her team flanking her like a well-oiled machine. The leather-bound presentation Gwen had their team prepare sits open between them, charts and data points highlighting everything they've spent weeks perfecting.

"What we're proposing isn't radical," Riley says, leaning forward slightly. "We want to eliminate dynamic pricing entirely for our tour. Set a hard cap on face value tickets and stick to it."

The lead executive, a woman named Janet, nods thoughtfully as she flips through their proposal. "The numbers you're showing here, you're talking about leaving significant revenue on the table."

"We're willing to take that hit," Pete chimes in from Riley's right. "Our fans shouldn't have to choose between rent and seeing us live."

Andy, usually the wildcard, is completely dialed in tonight. "We've run the projections. Even with reduced ticket prices, we expect to sell out every venue. The loyalty that builds is worth more than surge pricing."

Riley watches Janet's face carefully. "Look, we know surge pricing works for you. Supply and demand, market forces, all that. But our fans aren't commodities. They're teenagers saving up from part-time jobs. They're parents who budget for months to take their kids to a show."

Daniel clears his throat. “Honestly, the numbers are clear, price caps make people happier, and there’s way less drama with customer service. Fans stick around. It works.”

Haley slides a tablet across the table, showing their social media analytics. "Rambles fans trust us because we've never treated them like ATMs. This keeps that relationship intact."

"And the bot management?" another executive asks.

"That's where we need your help," Gwen says smoothly. "Better verification systems, improved queuing technology. We're not asking you to work for free, we're asking you to work with us."

Riley can feel the energy in the room shifting. "On resale and scalpers, we want aggressive monitoring. Any ticket being sold for more than face value plus fees gets flagged immediately. We'll promote official resale only."

Janet closes the presentation and looks at her colleagues. "This is... actually more comprehensive than most artists bring us."

"Because most artists don't spend months researching every aspect of fan experience," Riley says with a slight smile. "We do our homework."

"I can see that." Janet's expression is impressed, maybe even a little surprised. "The revenue projections are conservative but realistic. And the fan retention data is compelling."

Riley feels the familiar rush of being in her element, passionate, prepared, fighting for something that matters. This is what she does best: taking care of her people.

"So what do you think?" she asks. "Can we make this work?"

Janet exchanges glances with her team before turning back to Riley. "I think we can definitely work with this framework. There are some details to iron out, but the core concept... It's doable."

Riley tries to keep her expression professional, but she can feel Pete's excitement radiating beside her. They did it. After months of preparation, they actually did it.

"That's incredible," Gwen says, speaking for all of them. "When can we expect a formal response?"

"Give us a week to run this through our systems people," Janet says. "But I'm optimistic."

As they start gathering their materials, Riley feels a deep satisfaction settling in her chest. This is exactly why she does this, not for the money or the fame, but for moments like these, where she can actually make a difference for the people who support her.

"Should we celebrate?" Haley asks, grinning. "This calls for another bottle of wine."

"Absolutely," Riley says, settling back into her chair. "We earned this."

The conversation shifts from business to celebration as they order another round and toast their success. Pete tells stories about their early days playing venues where tickets cost five dollars. Andy makes increasingly ridiculous suggestions for victory celebrations. Daniel, emboldened by wine and success, actually cracks jokes.

Riley feels loose and happy in a way she hasn't in weeks. Tour prep has been stressful, with the constant rehearsals and pressure building toward their first show. But tonight reminds her why it's all worth it, these people, this work, this ability to fight for what matters.

* * *

After the Ticketmaster executives leave with promises to follow up within the week, Riley and her team stay behind to properly celebrate. The adrenaline from the successful meeting has them all buzzing with energy.

"I can't believe they actually went for it," Pete says, shaking his head in amazement. "The whole thing caps, bot management, resale monitoring."

"Did you see Janet's face when we showed her the fan retention data?" Andy grins. "She looked like we'd just presented her with the holy grail of customer satisfaction."

Riley takes a sip of her wine, feeling genuinely proud. "Three months of research and number-crunching. Worth every spreadsheet Gwen made me review."

"Every boring conference call with data analysts," Gwen adds with a laugh.

Daniel, who’s been quietly glowing all evening, finally speaks up. “This is the kind of thing that actually makes a difference for the fans. It’s huge.”

"That's the point," Riley says simply. "We've got a platform, we might as well use it for something good."

They spend another twenty minutes rehashing the meeting, analyzing every response, getting giddy over the implications. Riley feels the warm buzz of wine and success, surrounded by people who've become family over the years of building this together.

"Alright," Gwen finally says, checking her watch. "I should head out. Early morning tomorrow."

"Same," Haley agrees. "This was amazing, though. Really amazing."

As they settle the bill and start gathering their things, Riley feels loose and happy in a way she hasn’t in weeks. She wants to hold onto this feeling when tour prep ramps up again, wants to remember that all the stress is for nights like this, moments that make the hard parts worth it.

They're walking toward the restaurant's exit, still talking and laughing, when Riley spots a familiar figure at the bar. Her stomach drops instantly.

Ethan Mills is slumped over a whiskey, clearly several drinks past his limit. His hair is disheveled, his expensive shirt wrinkled, and even from across the room, Riley can tell he's not just drunk, he's obliterated.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Pete follows her gaze and immediately tenses. "Is that—"

"Yeah." Riley's mind is already calculating. Exit strategies. How to get past him without being seen. "Let's just go. Quickly."

But it's too late. Ethan's head lifts, and his unfocused eyes land directly on her. A slow, unpleasant smile spreads across his face as he slides off his barstool with the unsteady determination of someone very drunk with an agenda.

"Riley fucking Carter," Ethan calls out, loud enough that several other diners turn to look. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Riley's team immediately shifts into protective formation around her, but she puts a hand on Pete's arm. "It's fine. Let me handle this."

Ethan stumbles toward them, and the smell of whiskey hits her before he even opens his mouth again. “Word is Riley’s got herself a quarterback now. That's cute."

Riley's blood runs cold. "How do you—"

"Oh, come on, babe. You didn't get all our friends to yourself in the breakup." Ethan's words are slurred but pointed. "People talk. Even when y'all are trying to keep it quiet."

"Ethan, you need to go home," Riley says calmly, though her heart is racing. "Call someone."

"Don't tell me what to do." His voice grows louder and more aggressive. "You always think you know better than everyone else, don't you? Think you're so fucking perfect now."

Andy steps forward. "Dude, back off."

"Oh, the cavalry," Ethan sneers. "Still need your little boyfriend to fight your battles, Riley?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Riley says firmly. "And I don't need anyone to fight anything. You're drunk. Go home."

But Ethan's not done. "So what, you're too good for musicians now? Gotta upgrade to America's golden boy? Hope he likes surprises, never a dull moment with you, right?"

"That's enough," Pete cuts him off.

Riley can feel the eyes of other restaurant patrons on them now. This is exactly what she was trying to avoid: a scene, drama, the kind of spectacle that follows her around like a shadow from their toxic relationship.

"I'm leaving," she says simply, turning toward the exit.

That's when Ethan's hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back toward him.

"Don't walk away from me," he hisses, his grip tight enough to hurt.

Riley jerks her arm free, her face flashing with anger and something that looks like fear. In that split second, with phones already recording and cameras flashing, the optics are all wrong; it seems like she's the aggressor, as if she pushed him, as if she's the one causing problems.

"Don't ever touch me again," she says, her voice shaking with fury.

But the damage is already done. The photos are already taken. And by tomorrow morning, the headlines will paint her as the unstable ex attacking her former boyfriend at an upscale restaurant.

Riley doesn't know this yet. Right now, she's just trying to get her team safely out of a restaurant while her hands shake with adrenaline and her ex-boyfriend calls after her with increasingly nasty comments about her life, her choices, and the quarterback she's supposedly not good enough for.

* * *

Riley's hands are still shaking as she slides into the passenger seat of Pete's car. The others have scattered to their own rides, but Pete insisted on driving her home, and she's grateful for it. She doesn't trust herself behind the wheel right now.

"What the fuck was that?" she breathes, running her fingers through her hair. "How does he know about Joe? We've been so careful."

Pete starts the engine, his jaw tight with anger. "Ethan's always been a piece of shit, but that was next level. Grabbing you like that—"

"The photos," Riley interrupts, the reality hitting her. "Pete, there were people filming. This is going to be everywhere."

"Hey." Pete reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. "We'll figure it out. Call Joe. He can help you process this."

Riley nods, pulling out her phone with trembling fingers. She needs to hear his voice, needs him to tell her it's going to be okay, that they'll figure this out together.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Straight to voicemail.

"He's not answering," she says, trying again immediately. Same result.

"Try one more time," Pete suggests gently.

Third call. Still nothing.

Riley stares at her phone, feeling something crack open in her chest. She knows he's probably just asleep, probably had a long day at the wedding, but right now it feels like abandonment. Like when she needs him most, he's not there.

"He's probably just—" Pete starts.

"I know," Riley cuts him off, but her voice wavers. "I know he's probably asleep. It's just... fuck, Pete. Everything was going so well tonight. The meeting was perfect, we were celebrating, and then Ethan just..."

"Ruined it. Like he always does."

Riley leans her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. "He knows about Joe. Which means other people know. Which means we're not as private as we thought."

"That doesn't change anything though, right? You and Joe, you're solid."

"Are we?" The words slip out before Riley can stop them. "I mean, yeah, we are. But this... this is exactly what he's been worried about. Drama, headlines, his image getting dragged into my mess."

Pete pulls into Riley's driveway and turns off the engine. "Riles, this isn't your mess. This is Ethan being a drunk asshole. Joe will understand that."

Riley wants to believe that, but something cold is settling in her stomach. She keeps thinking about Joe's careful nature, his team's concerns, how hard they've worked to keep their relationship private.

"I'm staying tonight," Pete says, not making it a question. "Daniel and Andy are worried sick, and honestly, so am I. You shouldn't be alone right now."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm staying," Pete repeats firmly. "We'll make some tea, watch terrible movies, and tomorrow we'll deal with whatever fallout comes from tonight. But right now, you need someone here."

Riley nods, grateful beyond words for Pete's steady presence. "I love you, you know that?" she says quietly.

"Love you too, Riles."

As they walk toward her front door, she tries Joe's number one more time.

Still nothing.

* * *

Riley curls up on her couch with a mug of chamomile tea that's gone cold in her hands. Pete's in the kitchen, puttering around and giving her space to breathe, but she can feel his worried energy from across the room.

Her phone sits face down on the coffee table, but she can't stop herself from picking it up every few minutes to check if Joe has called back. Each time, nothing.

"Stop torturing yourself," Pete says gently, taking the chair across from her. "It's midnight here, but it's, what, three in Cincinnati? He's definitely drooling on his pillow by now."

"I know." Riley takes a shaky sip of tea. "I just... I needed to hear his voice tonight, you know? After everything with Ethan."

"Want to try again?"

Riley shakes her head. Three missed calls are enough. More than enough. She doesn't want to seem desperate, even though that's exactly how she feels.

"Let's see if anything's posted yet," she says, reaching for her phone.

"Riles, no. That's a terrible idea."

But she's already opening Instagram, searching for any mention of her name or the restaurant. It doesn't take long.

The first video appears on a gossip account with 2.3 million followers. The caption reads: "Riley Carter's restaurant meltdown - is the rock star back to her old ways?"

Riley's heart sinks as she watches grainy phone footage of the moment Ethan grabbed her wrist. Out of context, it appears that she's pushing him, making her seem like the aggressor. The angle completely misses Ethan's grip on her arm, completely misses his drunken state.

"Oh god," she whispers.

Pete moves to sit beside her on the couch. "Let me see."

More posts are appearing by the minute. Twitter is already exploding with speculation. #RileyCarterMeltdown is trending. The comments are brutal:

"Same old Riley, different day"

"Thought she cleaned up her act"

"Poor Ethan, he looked scared"

"Rock stars never change"

"Turn it off," Pete says firmly. "None of these people were there. None of them knows what actually happened."

But Riley keeps scrolling, unable to stop herself. Each new post feels like a punch to the gut. The narrative is already set: troubled rock star attacks ex-boyfriend at upscale restaurant. The fact that Ethan was blackout drunk doesn't matter. The fact that he grabbed her first doesn't matter.

"I should call Gwen," she mumbles.

"It's midnight, Riles. Call her tomorrow."

"This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow. Joe's going to see this and think—"

"Joe's going to see this and understand that your drunk ex ambushed you," Pete interrupts. "Because he knows you."

Riley wants to believe that, but she keeps thinking about all their conversations about being careful, about his image, about how they've worked so hard to keep their relationship private. And now this is exactly the kind of drama he's been worried about.

She opens Twitter again, searching for any mention of Joe. That's when she sees it: a photo from the wedding, posted by someone named Amy with the caption "Great seeing old friends tonight! ❤️ @justinhilliard's wedding was perfect!"

In the photo, Joe has his arm around a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair and light highlights. They both look relaxed, happy, and comfortable. Riley's stomach drops as she recognizes Olivia from Google searches she's done in weaker moments.

"Who's that?" Pete asks, looking over her shoulder.

"His ex," Riley says quietly. "Olivia."

They look so natural together, so easy. While Riley was getting ambushed by her toxic ex, Joe was posing for photos with his. The contrast feels devastating.

"It's just a picture, Riles. Doesn't mean anything."

Riley nods, but her throat feels tight. She knows it doesn't mean anything romantic, but right now, seeing Joe looking that comfortable with someone else while she's falling apart, it feels like everything.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Andy: Saw the videos. Are you okay? Want me to come over?

Then Daniel: This is bullshit. Everyone knows you're not like that anymore.

Then her mom said, 'Baby, I saw the news.' Call me.

Riley turns her phone face down again, feeling overwhelmed. "I can't deal with all of this tonight."

"Then don't," Pete says simply. "We'll watch something mindless until you fall asleep, and tomorrow we'll figure out how to handle it."

But as Pete scrolls through Netflix options, Riley can't shake the image of Joe and Olivia looking so perfectly at ease together. Can't stop thinking about how this night started with such a victory and ended with everything falling apart.

* * *

Joe wakes up at 9:23 AM feeling better than he has in weeks. The wedding, the conversation with Olivia, and his decision about going public with Riley —everything feels clear in the morning light. He's ready to stop hiding, ready to bring Riley into his world properly.

He reaches for his phone to text her good morning and sees seventeen missed calls.

His stomach drops immediately. Seventeen missed calls before 7 AM means a crisis.

The first call back is to Mark, his agent, who answers before the second ring.

"Jesus, Joe, finally. We've been trying to reach you for hours."

"What's wrong?" Joe sits up in bed, fully awake now.

"Have you seen the headlines? About Riley?"

Joe's blood goes cold. "What headlines?"

"Check your texts. I'm sending you links now."

Joe opens the first link Mark sends:

"Riley Carter's Restaurant Meltdown: Rock Star Attacks Ex at Upscale LA Eatery"

The photo shows Riley with her arm extended toward Ethan, her face twisted in anger. Out of context, it appears exactly as the headline suggests: an unprovoked attack.

"This is everywhere, Joe," Mark continues. "TMZ, People, Entertainment Tonight. The video's been viewed three million times since last night."

Joe scrolls through more headlines: "Troubled Rock Star Riley Carter Back to Old Ways," "Riley Carter's Violent Outburst Caught on Camera," "Is Riley Carter Spiraling Again?"

"Shit," Joe breathes.

"It gets worse. People are already asking what you think about this. Twitter's blowing up with questions about whether you're going to comment, whether you're still together. Your mentions are a mess."

Joe's phone buzzes with another call, Bill, his publicist.

"I need to take this," Joe tells Mark.

"Joe, thank God," Bill says the moment Joe answers. "We need to talk about damage control. This Riley situation is about to become your Riley situation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, social media is already speculating about your connection to her. And with your season starting, we cannot afford to have your name tied to this kind of drama."

Joe stares at the photos on his laptop screen. Riley looks unhinged and aggressive. Nothing like the woman who sent him that David Byrne video yesterday, nothing like the person who fights for her fans' affordable tickets.

"Have you talked to her?" Bill asks.

"No, I—I just woke up."

"Good. Could you not call her back yet? We need to discuss strategy first."

"Strategy?"

"Joe, this is exactly what we've been worried about with this relationship. Her past and reputation were always going to be a liability. And now it's playing out in real time."

Joe feels something cold settling in his chest. Yesterday, he was ready to go public, ready to stop caring what people thought. Today, faced with actual consequences, he's not sure.

"This is exactly what we've been worried about," Bill continues. "Her past is catching up, and now you're getting pulled into it. Every story about this is going to mention you by the third paragraph."

Joe looks at his phone and sees three missed calls from Riley from late last night. She was trying to reach him while this was happening, while her world was falling apart, and he was sleeping off wedding champagne.

"What are you suggesting?" Joe asks, though he's afraid he already knows.

"You need to be extra careful now. No comments, if anyone asks. Definitely no being seen together until this dies down. And Joe? Is this relationship worth this?"

Joe stares at the headlines again. The photos. The comments calling Riley unstable, violent, and a mess. Part of him knows there has to be more to the story. Riley doesn't start fights, doesn't attack people. But the evidence is right there on his screen, and his team's panic is infectious.

"I need to think," he says.

"Don't think too long," Mark chimes in, having joined the call. "Every hour this story grows, it gets harder to stay out of it."

After Joe hangs up, he sits in his bed staring at Riley's missed calls. Yesterday, he was ready to tell her he loved her, ready to stop hiding their relationship. Today, looking at these headlines, all he can think about is protecting himself.

He doesn't call her back. Not yet. First, he needs to figure out how to handle this without destroying everything he's built.

* * *

Joe stares at his phone for another ten minutes before finally calling Riley back. It's nearly 10 AM, and she tried to reach him at midnight. Realizing how long she's been dealing with this alone makes him sick with guilt.

She picks up on the first ring.

"Joe." Her voice is raw and exhausted, as if she's been crying.

"Hey. I'm sorry I missed your calls. I saw the headlines this morning and—"

"You saw the headlines before you called me back." It's not a question.

Joe pauses, realizing how that sounds. "My team called. They were panicking about—"

"About how this looks for you."

"Riley, what happened? The photos... they're saying you attacked Ethan."

Riley takes a shaky breath. "I didn't attack anyone. He was drunk out of his mind, Joe. Like, blackout drunk. He came up to us after our meeting and started saying things about you and about us. When I tried to leave, he grabbed my wrist."

"He grabbed you?"

"Yeah. And when I pulled away, that's when someone took the photo. It looks like I'm pushing him, but I was trying to get his hands off me."

Joe can hear the exhaustion in her voice, the hurt. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! I've been watching this story explode all night. People are calling me unstable and violent. They're saying I'm back to my old ways." Her voice cracks. "And the worst part? Ethan knew about us. He said people talk, that we weren't as private as we thought."

Joe feels that familiar clench of anxiety. "What exactly did he say?"

"Does it matter? The point is our relationship isn't as secret as we hoped, and now I'm a PR nightmare for you."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Riley's voice gets sharper. "Joe, I needed you last night. I was falling apart, and I called you three times, and you were... where were you?"

"I was asleep. I didn't know—"

"You were at a wedding. With Olivia."

Joe's stomach drops. "Riley—"

"I saw the photo. You two looked really comfortable."

"It was completely innocent. We just talked, caught up. She's seeing someone, she moved to Nashville—"

"While I was getting ambushed by my drunk ex, you were posing for pictures with yours."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Riley's voice rises. "You want to talk about fair? I got attacked last night, had cameras shoved in my face, and when I call you for support, you're too busy to answer."

"Riley, I'm sorry. I should have answered. But right now, with everything that's happening—"

"What? What about right now?"

Joe takes a breath, and he can hear his team's voices in his head. "We need to be more careful."

The silence that follows is deafening.

"More careful," Riley repeats slowly. "More careful than what, Joe? More careful than never going anywhere together? More careful than me having to crop you out of every photo?"

"Just until this blows over—"

"There it is." Riley's voice has gone cold. "Until this blows over. Until I stop being an embarrassment to your image."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes, it is. I know this is the part where you say you panicked, you didn't know what the fuck to do, it all looked bad. I get it. But not once was it because I was ashamed of you."

"I know that—"

"Do you? Because it sounds like you're more worried about how this affects your precious reputation than about the fact that your girlfriend got grabbed by her drunk ex."

"Riley, you know that's not—"

"What I know is that when push comes to shove, I'm the problem you need to manage. Not the person you want to protect."

Joe feels everything spiraling. "I'm trying to protect us—"

"No, you're trying to protect yourself. There's a difference."

"Riley, can you just—"

"What? Can I just what? Disappear until I'm convenient again? Make myself smaller so you don't have to worry about how it looks?"

"That's not what I'm asking—"

"Yeah, it is."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of Riley's uneven breathing.

"I can't do this," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Riley, wait—"

But the line's already dead.

Joe stares at his phone, the silence echoing in his ears. The quiet lasts maybe five seconds before panic sets in.

He calls back immediately. It rings four times, then goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again.—Same result.

"Riley, please pick up," he says after the third attempt goes to voicemail. "I know I fucked that up... please call me back."

Fourth call. Fifth. Sixth.

By the seventh call, it goes straight to voicemail without ringing. She's turned her phone off.

Joe sits in his kitchen, his phone silent in his hands, and knows that somewhere across the country, Riley is doing exactly what he would do protecting herself from more damage. The difference is, this time, he's the one causing it.

* * *

Joe rubs his face with his hands, replaying the conversation. Riley's voice when she said his name—raw, exhausted, like she'd been holding her breath all night waiting for him to call. And his first response wasn't to ask if she was okay, wasn't to tell her he was sorry she went through that alone. It was to mention the headlines.

You saw the headlines before you called me back.

She was right. He had seen them first. He had let Mark and Bill get into his head, had let their panic become his own. By the time he called her, he wasn't calling as her boyfriend who was worried about her, he was calling as someone who needed to manage a crisis.

The photos flash through his mind again. Riley looks angry and aggressive. Ethan looked startled, almost afraid. Joe knows Riley knows she doesn't start fights, doesn't attack people. In all the time he's known her, she's never violently lost her cool. She gets passionate, sure, but not aggressive.

But if he’s honest, looking at those headlines, he let himself believe it for longer than he should have. Or at least, he acted like he did.

I needed you last night.

That's him. While he was sleeping off wedding champagne, feeling good about his decision to go public, Riley was getting ambushed by her drunk ex. She was dealing with cameras and questions and her past being weaponized against her, and she'd had him. Three times.

And he'd be unreachable.

Joe thinks about the David Byrne video she'd seen just yesterday. The way she said she missed him. The conversation about their song, about home, about love that doesn't have to be justified to anyone else. How had he gone from that to "we need" to be more careful in less than twenty-four hours?

His team. Is this relationship worth it?

Bill's question sits like a stone in his chest. Three hours ago, Joe would have said yes without hesitation. Riley was worth it; he was worth the media attention, worth the complications, worth people having opinions about his personal life. She made him feel like himself in a way he'd never experienced before.

But when faced with actual consequences, actual headlines, and actual crises, he'd falter.

Joe gets up and walks to his living room, surveying his perfectly organized, impersonal space. Everything in its place, everything carefully curated. Before Riley, this house felt like enough: clean lines, no drama, no mess to manage.

Now it just feels empty.

He thinks about Riley’s in New Orleans, how every room feels lived in, every corner full of music and memories. The records stacked by the window, the mismatched mugs, the way it felt like home the moment he walked in.

While I was getting ambushed by my drunk ex, you were posing for pictures with yours.

The photo with Olivia. Joe pulls it up on his phone, him and Olivia smiling, his arm around her shoulders. They do look comfortable. Happy. Like two people who don't care about the world.

Meanwhile, Riley was fighting off her toxic ex and getting photographed at her worst moment.

The contrast is devastating when he really thinks about it. Olivia, who he'd told he loved Riley before ever telling Riley. Olivia, who'd encouraged him to stop worrying about what other people think. And there he was, twelve hours later, telling Riley they needed to be more careful because of what other people might think.

Joe drops onto the couch, the same spot where Riley had curled up against him just weeks ago, talking about her grandfather, her music, her fears about trusting someone new. She'd be vulnerable with him in ways she probably hadn't with anyone since Ethan destroyed her trust.

And this morning, he'd proved that trust was misplaced.

When push comes to shove, I'm the one you need to manage.

That's what she'd said, and Joe had denied it. But sitting here now, he realizes she was exactly right. The moment things got complicated, his instinct wasn't to protect her—it was to protect himself. To distance himself. To treat her like a liability instead of the person who'd made him happier than he'd ever been.

His phone sits silent on the coffee table. Part of him wants to call her back again, to try to apologize once more, to explain that he panicked and said all the wrong things. But he can hear the finality in her voice when she says she can't do this. Can see the pattern they've just fallen into—him pulling back every time external pressure mounts.

The worst part is that his team was probably right about the practical stuff. This will be a headache. There will be more headlines, more questions, more people having opinions about his personal life. Dating Riley Carter was never going to be simple.

But yesterday, sitting in his car after the wedding, he'd been ready for complicated. Ready to figure it out together instead of trying to solve it by keeping her at arm's length.

Now he's here, he gets another chance to choose differently.

Joe looks around his empty house and realizes that for all his talk about being careful, he might have just made the most careless mistake of his life.

The silence stretches on, and for the first time in years, Joe Burrow doesn't know how to fix what he's been. Worse, he's not sure he deserves the chance to try.

He'd told Olivia yesterday that he loved Riley. Said it so easily, so naturally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And less than twenty-four hours later, when Riley needed him to prove that love meant something, he'd failed completely.

The irony isn't lost on him—he'd spent his whole career learning from mistakes, adjusting, getting better. But with Riley, every time it mattered, he kept fucking up.

* * *

Riley sits on her couch, phone clutched in her shaking hands, trying to process what just happened. The conversation replays in her head on a loop—Joe's careful tone, his measured responses, the way he said "we need to be more careful" like she was a problem to be solved.

Her phone starts ringing again. Joe's name lights up the screen.

She doesn't answer.

It rings again. And again.

"Riley?" Pete calls from the kitchen, where he's been giving her space but clearly listening. "You okay?"

She's not okay. She's the furthest thing from okay. The phone keeps ringing—fourth call, fifth call—and with each buzz, something inside her breaks a little more.

By the sixth call, Riley can't take it anymore. She sees Joe's name appear again and something snaps.

Riley hurls the phone across the room.

It hits the brick wall next to her fireplace with a sickening crack. The screen goes black immediately, pieces of glass scattering across her hardwood floor.

The sudden silence is deafening.

“Riley!” Pete rushes in from the kitchen and takes in the scene—Riley hunched on the couch, her phone shattered against the wall, glass glinting on the floor.

"I broke it," she says through tears, staring at the wreckage. "I broke my phone."

"Okay," Pete says gently, sitting beside her on the couch. "We can get you a new phone."

"He kept calling." Riley's voice is barely above a whisper. "After telling me we need to be more careful, after basically saying I'm too much drama for his perfect life, he kept calling like that would fix it."

Pete carefully steps around the glass to examine the phone. The screen is completely shattered, and the device is bent at an unnatural angle. "Yeah, this is definitely dead."

Riley lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Perfect. Add it to the list, right?”

"Hey." Pete sits back down, his voice serious. "Talk to me. What did he say?"

Riley pulls her knees to her chest, making herself small. "He said we need to be more careful. Like we haven't been careful enough already. Like I haven't been hiding in the shadows of his life for months."

"And?"

"And I told him the truth. That when it matters, I'm just a problem he needs to manage." Riley's voice cracks. "He didn't even deny it, Pete. He just... he didn't deny it."

Pete is quiet for a moment, processing. "Maybe he was just scared. People say stupid things when they're scared."

"No." Riley shakes her head. "This wasn't scared. This was calculated. This was him choosing his image over me."

She thinks about last night—how confident she'd felt after the Ticketmaster meeting, how proud she'd been of fighting for her fans. How quickly it all turned to shit when Ethan showed up with his poison and his cameras.

"I called him three times last night," she continues. "Three times, Pete. And he was off taking cozy photos with his ex-girlfriend."

"You don't know that's what—"

"I saw the photo. They looked..." Riley struggles for the word. "Happy. Comfortable. Like two people who don't have to worry about being 'too careful' with each other."

Pete shakes his head. “It’s just a picture, Riles. Doesn’t mean anything.”

But Riley barely hears him.

“I’m such an idiot,” Riley says, burying her face in her hands. “I really thought he was different. I thought he saw past all the stories, past everything people think I am. I thought he actually saw me.”

"He does see you—"

“No, he doesn’t. Because if he understood me, he’d know I’d never start something like that. He’d know Ethan was the one who grabbed me. He’d know I needed him last night, and he wasn’t there.”

Riley looks at the shattered phone again, at the pieces of glass scattered across her floor. It feels symbolic somehow—the destruction of connection, of hope, of the carefully constructed bridge she'd built between her chaotic world and his ordered one.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she asks quietly.

Pete follows her gaze to the broken phone. "First, we clean this up. Then we get you a new phone. Then..."

"Then what?"

"Then we figure out how to get through this without him."

The words hit Riley like a physical blow. Without him. The thought of going back to her life before Joe—before someone who made her feel seen and valued and worth protecting—feels impossible.

But sitting here, surrounded by the debris of her broken phone and her broken trust, Riley realizes she might not have a choice.

"I can't keep doing this," she whispers. "I can't keep being someone's secret. I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt when the person I love chooses everyone else's opinion over me."

Pete reaches over and squeezes her hand. "Then don't."

Riley nods, but inside, something fundamental has shifted. The walls she'd slowly let down for Joe are rebuilding themselves, brick by brick. And this time, she's not sure anyone will be able to break through them again.

* * *

Pete looks at Riley crying on the couch, then at the shattered phone, then back at Riley. In all the years he's known her—through the worst of the Ethan days, through panic attacks before big shows, through family drama and industry bullshit—he's never seen her this broken.

"Come on," he says gently, standing up and extending his hand. "Let's get you outside. You love it out there by the pool."

Riley doesn't move. "I don't want to—"

"I know. But you need air, and I need to make some calls." Pete's voice is firm but kind. "Trust me."

She lets him pull her up from the couch, and he guides her through the sliding glass doors to the backyard. The pool sparkles in the late morning sun, lounge chairs lined up under the wide sky, the sound of water trickling from the small fountain she installed last year. Usually, this is her sanctuary. Today, it just feels like another place where she’s alone.

Pete settles her into her favorite chair, the one with the soft cushions that she always curls up in when they're writing songs out here. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Riley nods, pulling her knees to her chest and staring at the water.

Pete goes back inside and pulls out his own phone. First call: Haley.

“Pete? What’s wrong?” Haley answers immediately, her voice a little panicked.

"Riley needs us. Can you get over here?"

“Is this about the Ethan thing? I saw the videos—I’ve been trying to call her all morning.”

"It's about Joe. He fucked up. Bad. And Riley's..." Pete looks out at her through the glass doors. "She's not okay."

"I'm already getting dressed. Twenty minutes."

Next call: Daniel.

"Everything alright?" Daniel's voice is groggy—he was still asleep.

"Riley needs you here. Now."

The grogginess disappears instantly. "On my way."

Andy answers before Pete even hears it ring. "Dude, I've been watching Twitter all night. How bad is it?"

"Worse than the internet knows. Get here."

"Fuck. Yeah, I'm coming."

Last call: Laura.

"Pete? What's up?"

"Riley needs you. Joe broke her heart, and she broke her phone, and I need all hands on deck."

Laura doesn't hesitate. "I'll stop and get coffee on the way. The good stuff from that place she likes."

Pete pockets his phone and looks out at Riley through the glass doors. She's still curled up in the chair, staring at the water. Before going back outside, he opens his messages and finds Joe's contact.

Dude what the fuck. I've been in your corner this whole time. What are you doing?

The response comes faster than Pete expected.

I fucked up. Is she okay?

No, she's not okay. She threw her phone at the wall and broke it. She's crying her eyes out.

I've been trying to call her back

Well, you can stop now because her phone is in pieces

Pete, I know how this looks, but I panicked. My team was freaking out about the headlines

So you chose your team over her?

The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times before Joe's response comes through.

I don't know. Maybe. I wasn't thinking straight.

Joe, she needed you last night. She called you three times after Ethan ambushed her, and you didn't answer.

I was asleep. I didn't know what happened until this morning

And your first instinct was damage control instead of making sure she was okay

You're right.

She loves you, you know that, right? And you just told her she’s too much trouble for your perfect life.

That's not what I meant

But that's what you said. That's what she heard.

Another long pause before Joe responds.

How do I fix this?

Pete looks out at Riley, still staring at the water, and types back:

I honestly don't know if you can.

He puts his phone away and goes back outside. Whatever Joe's response might be, Pete doesn't want to see it right now. His focus needs to be on Riley.

"They're all coming," he says, settling into the chair next to her.

"You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." Pete's voice is matter-of-fact. "This is what we do. When one of us is hurting, we show up."

Riley looks at him, and for the first time since the phone call, her expression softens slightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"You'll never have to find out."

They sit in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the fountain and the distant sound of wind moving through the canyon. Pete knows Riley well enough to know she’s replaying the conversation with Joe, picking apart every word, every pause, every implication.

"Want to talk about what he said?" Pete asks finally.

Riley shakes her head. "I want to wait until everyone's here. I only want to say it once."

Pete nods. "Fair enough."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For staying. For calling everyone. For..." She gestures vaguely. "For knowing what I need before I do."

"That's what family does."

Riley's eyes fill with tears again, but these feel different. Not the desperate, betrayed tears from earlier, but something softer. Grateful.

"I love you guys so much," she whispers.

"We love you, too. And we're going to get you through this."

Pete means it. He's watched Riley survive worse than Joe Burrow. She's stronger than she knows, even if she can't see it right now.

But as he sits there watching her stare at the water, Pete can't shake the feeling that this particular heartbreak might take longer to heal than the others. Because this time, Riley had actually let herself believe it might be different.

* * *

Haley arrives first, twenty minutes after Pete’s call, with that focused expression she gets when there’s a crisis to manage.

"She still outside?" Haley asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Yeah. By the pool."

Haley nods and heads straight out, settling into the chair next to Riley. She pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through something work-related, creating a quiet presence without trying to force conversation.

Daniel shows up next, looking like he rolled out of bed and grabbed the first clothes he could find. His hair is going in three different directions.

"Brought snacks," he says, holding up a bag of gas station junk food. "And these." He sets down a case of White Claws.

Andy steps inside, worry written all over his face. “Okay, what’s going on? Pete sounded serious.”

Laura walks in last, carrying the good coffee from that place Riley likes and a small pharmacy bag. "Figured she might need caffeine and Advil," she says practically. "Where is she?"

They end up by the pool, everyone grabbing chairs or settling on the ground. Andy immediately cracks open a White Claw and offers one to Riley, who shakes her head. Daniel sprawls in a chair and closes his eyes. Laura distributes coffee. Haley stays close beside Riley, scrolling through her phone.

It's Riley who finally breaks the silence.

"Joe told me we needed to be more careful," she says to the water. "After Ethan grabbed me last night, the photos made it look like I attacked him."

The fidgeting stops. Everyone's attention shifts to Riley, but nobody jumps in with questions or outrage.

"More careful how?" Haley asks.

Riley explains the phone call, Joe's team's panic, and his suggestion that they lay low until things blow over. Her friends listen without interrupting, letting her get it all out.

"So I hung up on him," Riley finishes. "And then he kept calling, and I threw my phone at the wall."

Andy speaks first. "Good. The hanging-up part, not the phone-breaking part. That was expensive."

"Andy," Daniel says.

"What? I'm proud of her for hanging up. That was some weak-ass bullshit from him."

Pete looks around the group. “Her phone’s done for—smashed it after he kept calling.”

Laura nods. “So it’s not like she can talk to him, even if she wanted to.”

Riley just shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway.”

"How about 'go fuck yourself'?" Andy suggests helpfully.

"Or nothing," Haley says. "You don't owe him anything right now."

They spend the next few hours just existing in Riley’s space. Andy reorganizes her outdoor speakers and starts playing music. Daniel helps Haley clean up the glass from Riley’s broken phone, moving quietly. Laura forces everyone to eat the sandwiches she ordered, and Haley keeps Riley close.

No one tries to solve anything or offers advice about what Riley should do next. They just stay, filling her house with the familiar chaos of people who know how to be around each other.

After Pete texts Papa to let him know Riley’s phone is out of commission, it only takes a few hours for her mom to call Pete’s phone, worried. Word travels fast in Riley’s family. Pete hands off the call, and Riley finds herself retelling the story to someone who’s already planning a trip to Cincinnati to “have words” with Joe Burrow.

"Mom, no," Riley says. "I can handle this."

"I know you can, baby. But you shouldn't have to."

After she hangs up, Riley looks around at her friends scattered across her backyard and feels something loosen in her chest. Not better, exactly, but steadier.

"Seriously thanks for coming," she says. "All of you."

"Where else would we be?" Daniel asks, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

* * *

Riley sits cross-legged on her bedroom floor at 2:47 AM, acoustic guitar balanced on her lap, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper. Her friends left hours ago, but Pete's asleep in the guest room down the hall. The house is quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood, too full of thoughts she can't shut off.

She strums a chord progression she's been picking at for the past hour—something haunting and raw that matches the ache in her chest. The melody feels familiar, like it's been waiting inside her since that phone call with Joe.

Mmm, mmm, mmm

She hums softly, testing the sound. Sometimes songs start with nothing but a feeling, a vibration that needs to find words.

Riley's fingers move across the strings, and fragments start coming:

Everyone says I look happy...

She stops, shakes her head. That's not quite right. She tries again:

The more that you give, the less that I need...

She scribbles lines in her notebook, crossing out, rewriting. The melody pulls her toward something rawer, more honest:

'Cause they say that misery loves company It's not your fault I ruin everything And it's not your fault I can't be what you need

Her voice cracks on the last line. This is the part that hurts most—not that Joe was wrong, but that maybe she really is too much. Too complicated, too messy, too likely to bring chaos into someone's carefully ordered life.

Baby, angels like you can't fly down hell with me

She stops playing, staring at the words she's just written. The line came from nowhere, but it fits. It's about the distance between them—not just physical, but fundamental.

I'm everything they said I would be

Riley plays the line again, feeling the weight of it. Simple words, but they carry everything—all the ways she's been labeled, all the expectations she's lived up to whether she wanted to or not.

She keeps working, the words coming easier now:

I'll put you down slow, love you goodbye Before you let go, just one more time

It's about the inevitable ending she can see coming. The way loving her always seems to hurt the people who try. The way she's learned to protect herself by leaving first.

A little more hurt won't kill you Tonight

The words feel like confession and accusation rolled into one. Like admitting she knows she's poison while daring someone to love her anyway.

Riley writes until her fingertips are sore from the steel strings, until the notebook page is covered in lyrics that tell the truth about being the kind of person who breaks things just by existing in them. The song isn't finished—songs like this never really are—but the core is there. The raw honesty of knowing you're someone's biggest mistake.

By the time she finally sets the guitar aside, dawn is creeping through her windows. Her fingers ache and her voice is hoarse from singing the same phrases over and over.

Riley climbs into bed, leaving the notebook open on her nightstand. The pages are covered in her messy handwriting—crossed-out lines, fragments, half-formed thoughts that might become something real.

She closes her eyes and for the first time in days, the silence doesn't feel heavy. The song isn't finished, might not ever be, but it's hers. Her truth, her pain, her choice about what to do with both.

Sleep comes easier than it has since that phone call, dreamless and deep.

* * *

Saturday, 11:47 PM Can we talk?

Sunday, 7:23 AM Riley

Sunday, 10:15 AM I saw the actual video. I'm sorry.

Sunday, 2:33 PM Please answer

Sunday, 6:45 PM I know I fucked up

Sunday, 9:18 PM Don't want to lose you over this

Monday, 6:30 AM Riley

Monday, 11:42 AM Just want to talk

Monday, 3:55 PM Your team won't answer either

Monday, 7:21 PM This silence is killing me

Monday, 10:33 PM I was wrong about everything

Tuesday, 8:15 AM Practice today. Thinking about you

Tuesday, 12:00 PM Are you still coming Friday after my game?

Tuesday, 4:47 PM Riley please just tell me you're okay

Tuesday, 8:30 PM Long day. You would have made it better

Tuesday, 11:52 PM Can't sleep without knowing we're okay

Wednesday, 7:45 AM Your flight's still booked for Saturday

Wednesday, 2:20 PM I'll pick you up at the airport if you let me

Wednesday, 9:15 PM Last preseason game Friday. Then I'm free

Thursday, 6:30 AM Game tomorrow. Season starts next week

Thursday, 1:10 PM Remember when you said this would be your first season watching?

Thursday, 8:00 PM Still hoping you'll be there Saturday

Each message shows as delivered but never read. Joe stares at his phone after sending the last text, the simple words feeling inadequate but also all he can manage.

He doesn’t know that across the country, Riley’s phone is still in pieces in a drawer, and she’s been borrowing Pete’s phone for the essentials, staying offline the rest of the time.

He doesn’t know that she picked up a new phone yesterday but hasn’t set it up yet—no texts, no calls, nothing beyond what her team and family need.

He doesn’t know her flight to Cincinnati is still booked for Friday, or that she’s been staring at the confirmation email for hours, unable to decide whether to cancel or just not show up.

All Joe knows is the silence, and the growing realization that she might not be coming this weekend after all.

* * *

Joe stares at his phone Thursday night after sending what feels like his hundredth unanswered text. The silence is eating him alive, and tomorrow's preseason game feels meaningless when all he can think about is whether Riley will be on that flight Saturday.

He scrolls through his contacts and calls his dad.

"Joey," Jimmy answers on the second ring. "How you doing, son?"

"Not great."

Jimmy's tone immediately shifts. "What's wrong?"

"Riley and I... we had a fight."

There's a pause. Jimmy knows how Joe feels about Riley—he's been asking about her for months, has seen the change in his son since they started dating.

"What happened?"

Joe gives his dad the short version—the headlines, his team freaking out, telling Riley they needed to be more careful.

"She hasn't talked to me since," Joe says. "It's been five days."

"You try calling her?"

"Phone goes straight to voicemail."

Jimmy is quiet for a moment. "You know what doesn't work when you mess up?"

"What?"

"Sitting around waiting."

Joe feels something shift. "You think I should go to LA?"

"I think if you care about her, you don't let her sit there thinking you chose everyone else over her."

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Then you'll know. But Joey, from everything you've told us about Riley, she's not someone who gives up easy. If she's not talking to you, there's a reason."

Joe thinks about that last conversation, how hurt she sounded. "My game's tomorrow."

"Saturday's when she's supposed to come here?"

"Yeah. If she still is."

"Then you better figure out how to get to LA Saturday morning."

Joe's chest tightens. "What if I get there and it's over?"

"What if you don't go and she thinks you don't care enough to try?"

After Joe hangs up, he sits in his house thinking about Riley's voice when she hung up on him. How she said he was treating her like a problem to manage.

He calls Sarah to book a private flight to LA for Saturday morning.

Joe books it.

Tomorrow's the last preseason game. Saturday he'll find out if he still has her.

Either way, he's done waiting.

* * *

Riley stares at her new phone, Joe's messages lighting up the screen one after another. She got the replacement yesterday after living phone-free for three days, borrowing Pete's when absolutely necessary. Now all of Joe's texts from the past few days are flooding in, a steady stream of apologies and questions that her broken phone never received.

She could respond. Could end this silence that's been stretching between them for five days now.

She doesn't.

"He's asking if you're still coming Saturday," Haley says, reading over Pete's shoulder at Joe's latest message. "To Cincinnati."

Riley looks at her laptop screen, where the flight confirmation email sits open. Departure: Saturday 4:20 PM LAX to CVG. She's been staring at it for twenty minutes, cursor hovering over the "cancel trip" button.

"I don't know," she says honestly.

"What does your gut say?" Andy asks from where he's sprawled across her living room floor, supposedly helping her reorganize her vinyl collection but mostly just making piles based on "vibes."

Riley’s gut twists with how much she misses Joe. She keeps reaching for her phone to text him the stupidest things—a weird billboard, a song that made her laugh, even the fact that she caught herself watching his team’s highlights on SportsCenter just to feel close to him.

Her gut also says that nothing he's texted changes what he said to her on that phone call. That when things got complicated, his first instinct was to protect himself, not her.

"My gut says I'm tired of being someone's secret," she says finally.

Daniel looks up from the corner where he's been quietly tuning his guitar. "But you were okay with keeping it private before."

"Yeah, well, that was before I realized I'm always gonna be the problem." Riley's voice gets sharper. "The messy one, the complicated one, the one who makes everything harder. I'm so fucking tired of men treating me like I'm too much."

"And you think Joe's ashamed of you?" Laura asks gently.

Riley considers this. "I think Joe's more worried about how I look on paper than who I actually am."

Her phone buzzes with a text from—

Gwen: How are you holding up? Ready for rehearsal Monday?

Riley types back: As ready as I can be.

It's not entirely true. She's been trying to channel her heartbreak into her music, but everything she writes comes out either too angry or too sad. She needs the sweet spot—the place where pain becomes art instead of just noise.

"You know what's fucked up?" she says, looking around at her friends scattered throughout her living room. "I was actually excited about football season. I downloaded apps, I was going to understand down and goal and all that shit. I was ready to care about something I've never cared about because I cared about him."

"You still could," Pete offers.

Riley shakes her head. "Not anymore. Every game would just remind me of this."

Her phone buzzes again with another message from

 Joe: Still hoping you'll be there Saturday.

The casual hope in that message breaks something in Riley's chest. Like he just assumes she'll show up, that she'll swallow her hurt and pretend everything's fine because it's easier for him.

"I'm not going," she says suddenly.

"To Cincinnati?" Haley asks.

"To Cincinnati. I'm canceling the flight."

She pulls her laptop closer and clicks "cancel trip" before she can change her mind. The confirmation disappears, replaced by a cancellation notice and a small refund to her credit card.

"There," she says, closing the laptop. "Decision made."

Andy sits up from his record sorting. "How do you feel?"

Riley takes inventory of her emotions. Relief, mostly. And something that might be disappointment—not in herself, but in Joe. In the possibility of them that she's officially letting go.

"Free," she says, and means it.

Her phone buzzes with another message from 

Joe: Remember when you said this would be your first season watching?

This one hurts because yes, she remembers. She remembers being excited about learning his world, about having something to root for besides her own career. She remembers texting him that silly David Byrne video and feeling like they were building something real together.

"He doesn't know you're getting all of these," Laura observes.

"No," Riley agrees. "And I'm not telling him."

"Why not?"

Riley thinks about it. She could text him, let him know she’s seen his messages and explain why she’s been silent. It would probably fix things, at least for a little while.

However, it wouldn't address the bigger problem: that Joe's first instinct in a crisis is to pull away from her, rather than toward her. That he spent more energy managing the situation than supporting her through it.

"Because his first reaction told me everything I need to know," she says. "About him, about us, about what happens when things get hard."

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s panicking. Like, losing his mind a little…or a lot.”

"Good," Riley says, and she's surprised by how much she means it. "Maybe he'll learn something from it."

"And if he doesn't?"

Riley looks around her living room—at Andy surrounded by vinyl records, at Daniel with a guitar, at Pete and Haley and Laura, who've all rearranged their lives this week to make sure she wasn't alone. At the evidence of a full life that existed before Joe Burrow and will continue to exist after him.

"Then I'll be fine," she says. "I was fine before him. I'll be fine without him."

It's not entirely true yet, but she's working on making it true. And for the first time since that devastating phone call, Riley thinks she might actually get there.

Her phone stays silent for the rest of the night. But for once, the silence doesn't feel like abandonment.

It feels like choice.

* * *

X

@PopSpotter:

Not Ethan Mills and Riley Carter fighting in public again…She’s always in something messy.

@NFLFanatic89:

Why is Joe Burrow’s name getting dragged into this Riley Carter drama? Man’s never been messy a day in his life.

@AnonMusicTea:

So are Riley and Joe Burrow actually together, or did TikTok just make that up? Either way, if they are, I’d be running after last night.

@RileyCStan:

Okay but you can literally see Ethan grab her wrist in the video and people are calling her unhinged? Do better.

Instagram

@starwatchupdate:

Swipe for video: “Riley Carter Restaurant Meltdown? Fans spotted her arguing with ex Ethan Mills last night. Rumors swirl that NFL star Joe Burrow is ‘freaked out by the drama’—but nothing confirmed.”

Top Comments:

goldengoosefan: If she and Joe were together, he’d be long gone after this lol

ethanisoverparty: How is Ethan always at the center of the mess?

softvinylz: Feels like everyone’s blaming Riley when Ethan’s right there starting it.

Reddit

r/popculturechat [Megathread: Riley Carter, Ethan Mills, and Joe Burrow Rumors]

u/notanotherstan:

Why is everyone acting like Joe and Riley are a thing? I feel like there’s no actual evidence except one tabloid photo from months ago.

u/football_boy:

Honestly if she was with Joe, you think he’d deal with all this drama? Guy hates being in the spotlight unless it’s football.

u/musicrocks:

Poor Riley. Every time she gets her life together, some ex drags her back down.

TikTok

@popcultdive (duet with viral restaurant clip):

“POV: You’re Joe Burrow, waking up to your name trending because of someone else’s drama. The man’s probably making coffee in total peace and the internet’s like: what would Joe DO?? #notmycircus #rileycarterdrama”

@rileysrideordie:

[compilation of Riley’s best live performances and a caption: “She’s been through worse. Stop blaming women for their ex’s bullshit.”]

News/Blog Headlines

“Blind Item”

Blind Gossip:

“Which low-key NFL star is allegedly regretting his private flirtation with a headline-making musician after her ex caused a scene in public? Sources say he’s ‘focused on football and not here for the drama."

[galaxysupreme17]

Lure of the Moonstone

Y/n = Your name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader!

The woods surrounding Westview were a haven for Y/n, especially on days when her curiosity felt like an itch she couldn’t scratch indoors. The towering trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering secrets only the wind could carry. The air was crisp, tinged with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. Her favorite time to explore was the late afternoon light casting golden streams through the canopy.

Her boots crunched softly on the path as she meandered deeper into the woods. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just enjoying the quiet solitude. But something drew her off the trail—a faint glimmer in the underbrush.

Kneeling down, she pushed aside the foliage to reveal a beautiful moonstone, its surface smooth and glowing faintly as if it held a piece of the moon itself. Enchanted by its beauty, Y/n couldn’t resist. She reached out and picked it up.

At first, it felt warm and comforting, as if the stone were greeting her. But the warmth quickly turned into something else. A sharp, invasive pull, like a siphon draining her very essence. Her breath hitched, and she stumbled back, clutching the stone as if letting go would somehow make it worse.

Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, her vision blurring as the world around her tilted. The light from the stone pulsed erratically, its glow now menacing. The last thing she saw before darkness overtook her was the towering trees above, swaying as if mocking her.

In the Harkness-Vidal household, Agatha was in the middle of an intricate spell preparation when her connection to Y/n flared sharply. It wasn’t unusual for her to feel her daughter’s magic—a constant hum in her awareness. But this sudden, violent pull made her drop the herb she’d been grinding.

Her heart raced. “Y/n?” she called aloud, stepping away from her work.

Silence answered her.

The second wave hit her harder, a tug deep in her chest that sent panic coursing through her veins. She didn’t stop to think. Grabbing her coat, she used her magic to track the source of the disturbance.

When she arrived at the old oak grove, her heart plummeted. Y/n lay slumped against the tree’s roots, her body unnaturally still. The cursed moonstone rested in her hand, its glow faint but insidious.

Agatha knelt beside her daughter, her hands trembling as she cupped Y/n’s face. “No, no, no. Y/n, sweet girl, wake up. Mama’s here.”

Her voice cracked as she pried the moonstone from Y/n’s grasp. The moment her fingers touched it, a jolt of dark energy shot up her arm. She hissed in pain and dropped the cursed object, her magic flaring in defense. The stone pulsed threateningly on the ground, but her focus was on Y/n.

“Stay with me, baby,” she murmured, gathering Y/n into her arms. The girl’s skin was pale, her breaths shallow, and her normally vibrant magic was barely a flicker.

Agatha pressed her forehead against Y/n’s, her violet magic flaring around them as she channeled her own energy into her daughter. It was a delicate process, sustaining Y/n without overloading her weakened system.

One hand still glowing with magic, Agatha fumbled for her phone with the other and called Rio.

“Rio,” she said, her voice tight with fear. “I need you. The oak grove. Hurry.”

Rio arrived just as twilight began to creep over the woods, her basket of supplies swinging at her side. She spotted Agatha immediately, her wife’s figure hunched protectively over Y/n’s limp form.

“Agatha!” Rio called, rushing to their side. Her breath hitched when she saw Y/n’s pale face. “What happened?”

“That,” Agatha spat, nodding toward the moonstone lying nearby. “It’s cursed. It’s been draining her magic. I’m keeping her stable but can’t break it alone.”

Rio’s jaw tightened as she took in the scene. Without a word, she set her basket down and pulled out a sprig of rosemary, a piece of quartz, and a vial of salt.

“Hold her,” Rio said firmly. “I’ll take care of the stone.”

Agatha nodded, cradling Y/n closer. “I’ve got you, my little moonbeam,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Rio knelt beside the moonstone, arranging her materials in a circle around it. Her lips moved in a low chant, the green glow of her magic spreading like roots through the soil. The moonstone resisted, pulsing violently as if it were alive. But Rio was unrelenting, her voice rising in strength and command.

The stone shuddered, its light faltering. It cracked with one final surge of magic, then crumbled into ash. The curse dissipated, leaving the grove eerily quiet.

Rio slumped back, breathing heavily. “It’s done,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha looked down at Y/n, relief flooding her as her daughter stirred faintly in her arms. “Y/n? Can you hear me?”

“Mama…” Y/n’s voice was soft, but her eyes fluttered open, searching for Agatha’s face.

“I’m here, baby,” Agatha said, tears spilling over as she kissed Y/n’s forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Back at the house, Agatha carried Y/n to the master bedroom, her arms never loosening their grip. She eased onto the bed, propping herself against the headboard with Y/n curled in her lap.

“Mama…” Y/n murmured, her voice weak but full of trust.

“I’m right here,” Agatha whispered, brushing her fingers gently through Y/n’s hair. “You’re safe now, my love.”

Rio entered moments later with a warm mug of tea. She set it on the nightstand, climbed onto the bed, and settled beside Agatha. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of her wife holding their daughter so protectively.

“She’ll be okay,” Rio said gently, leaning her head against Agatha’s shoulder. “She’s strong, just like her mamá.”

Agatha didn’t respond immediately, focusing entirely on Y/n’s even breaths. After a moment, she sighed. “I can’t lose her, Rio.”

“You won’t,” Rio said firmly. She shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Agatha’s waist. “Mi Vida, she’s safe. You saved her.”

Agatha’s shoulders trembled, and tears began to fall silently. She leaned into Rio, who pressed a kiss to her head. “Mi amor,” Rio murmured softly, running her fingers soothingly through Agatha’s hair. “She’s here. We’re all here.”

The room fell quiet as Agatha’s tears slowed. She leaned her head back against Rio’s shoulder, her arms still tightly around Y/n. Rio’s hand continued its comforting motions, her presence a grounding force.

Hours passed like this, the three of them cocooned in the safety of their shared love. As Y/n drifted deeper into sleep, Agatha whispered, “I’ll always protect you, my little moonbeam.”

Rio kissed her wife’s head again, whispering, “Siempre,” before tightening her embrace. Together, they watched over Y/n, the light of the moon streaming through the window, a quiet reminder of the bond that held them together.

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Spawn (MK 11) with a flighty darling—run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run

🐍ֶָ֢ Spawn isn't surprised that you are absolutely terrified of him. Having a hellspawn stalk your New York apartment and refuse to leave you alone is one hell of a scare. Still, he refuses to acknowledge that he had a part in intertwining both of your fates. It wasn't exactly difficult. You are simply a human—a mortal.

A little magic here and there and stealing your soul from your body and infecting it with a part of him also helped.

🐍ֶָ֢ You were a perfect Earthrealmer. Despite your need to flee every time he materialized out of thin air. He almost never spoke. He was like a ghost. He'd drop off groceries or things that you had been wanting to buy for the longest time. He'd sit on the edge of your couch and watch movies with you. Although he'd mostly just stare at you. It's a bad habit of his, but he just can't stop it. Your aura is so irresistible. Still, you would hide behind your couch, under your bed, or run out of your apartment and not return for hours on end.

So he tried to amend this by being as non-threatening as possible. He'd try to make himself appear smaller. He'd move something gently to notify you right before he would appear. He kept nightmares out of your dreams. The bad energy and entities that were attracted by him were never allowed within your space.

🐍ֶָ֢ You tried using holy objects on him! From every religion, you tried something. Some objects would burn him more than others, but he was used to the suffering at this point. Spawn would pluck the object out of your hand and offer his instead. You'd start fearfully sobbing and praying to a deity, or deities. It was more of an inconvenience if anything. 

He's already pissed off enough gods in his lifetime. He doesn't need one stealing your soul back and keeping you from him.

🐍ֶָ֢ It doesn't help that his K7-Leetha, and by extension his cape, have taken a liking to you. Leetha reaches out to you often, taking a hold of you. He isn't the one doing it. It's the parasite willing his body to hold you. He feels the need to emphasize this since you don't believe him. It's one of the few times he has actually used his words.

He doesn't fear much, but he fears himself. He fears himself hurting the only person he loves.

That's so fucking cheesy, he knows. It's like the plot of some stupid, shitty paranormal romance book, like his ex read.

It terrifies him. His cape will wrap you up and snuggle into you, feeding off of your warmth and energy.

It makes you woozy and panicky, only fueling him.

🐍ֶָ֢ You try to attack him, and he lets you. He can't help but chuckle at your pathetic attempt. You're like a cornered animal attacking the person trying to help you. It didn't work any of the other times, so why would it work now?

He's truly okay with it.

If it makes you feel safe, then he'll take some gunshots, punches, knives, and anything else you throw at him.

🐍ֶָ֢ Spawn tries his best to be vulnerable with you so you aren't as skittish. He speaks a little of his backstory, trying to make his voice less deep and gritty so as not to intimidate you. He asks you to call him any name, any nickname, just not Albert or Spawn. Albert has long since died, and Spawn has been through far too much to be loveable. He's just whatever he is with you. He's okay with that.

🐍ֶָ֢ The most important part is to hide his grizzly murders from you. You know he is a hellspawn and has some horrible shit and some good things sprinkled along in there. Still, his slaughters for you are sacrificial in nature. They feed him and give his obsession life. It makes Leetha even more protective of you. You make Spawn happy. You make his systems all fuzzy and hormone-y. That's how Leetha would describe it.

He keeps this secret like his life depends on it. You're getting more used to him. Why make you scared of him again?

[websysteminternational]

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[simp-ly-writes]

Promises of Forever

Can be read as a standalone: For All Time (pt.2)

Paring: 10th Doctor x Fem! Time Lord!Reader, OC x Reader

Summary: On the run from the Doctor, your old spouse. You find yourself running into the arms of another yet what you both have yet to discover it that the plays of your heart and mind are from another. What will make of you all then?

Warnings: 3505 words. Depictions of Loneliness and Depression. Scenes of Jealousy, Protectiveness, Manipulation and Mind-Control.

A/N: This time we have our happy endings.

Masterlist | Taglist Request | edited.

Eyes always tired, combined with always picking at the skin of your finger tips and a blurring mind and memory; you exhibited all symptoms of unrivalled loneliness, an overwhelming state of depression. You couldn't even sense the time, the place, even signify the date- you lost motivation to explore new places, see new things, meet new people.

Your Tardis let out a whiny mumble as you sat on the cold tiled floors and leaned your back against the metal railings. The cold surfaces mixed with the warm toned lighting starting to dim as the Tardis embodied your apparent emotions. This juxtaposition held your mind confused as you listened to your voice echo down the various hallways and when it came sounding back into your ears- you could not even recognize your own voice calling after you.

In an effort to place some light into your soul, your Tardis took you to planets with endless sandy beaches. The small rocks warm beneath your feet as the equally warm and deep blue seas invited you in. Yet as you floated on your back, drifting off further into the waters that sparkled like sapphires, it was that ever growing void in your chest that kept expanding.

You started to question your morals- living with a foreign pain like this. It was not like the past pains you have experienced- your regenerations nor losing your home planet, or when finding out that you Doctor, or who was you Doctor was never really truly yours. These symptoms, this overwhelming hopelessness chilled every drop of blood in your system, shook your spine into a slump and placed unwavering bags underneath your eyes. You were a shadow of your former self, drifting from planet to planet with a dimming hope for finding a cure.

--

The Tardis put you back on earth, you lost count on what trip number this would be as you locked the blue door behind yourself and stepped out onto the quaint suburban roads. Streetlights started to hum quietly above yourself, illuminating the path towards the downtown core. Hundreds of houses passed you by, you could hear the inhabitants talking to one another as plates and drinks clinked against tables and laughter roared in your face before you shut out all the sounds around yourself.

Your chest felt tight the more you dwelled on these homely scenes, your head hung low as you kicked a rock down the road with yourself. The small pebble skipped over the uneven pavement, bouncing and rolling to a halt as you moved to catch up with it. So invested on moving this object you didn't realize you were bumping shoulders with a man walking his dog.

Looking up, flashing the man a small smile, you voiced your apology when observing his features. A cigarette hung out the side of his mouth, wavy hair fanned his face, accentuating his cheeks and brown eyes that flickered honey from the lamps above. "I'm sorry too, and for Millie here," doing his best to pull his pet away from sniffing your shoes to up your pant-leg as their paws patted your stomach, begging for a pet.

You looked down at the soft brown curls of the dog, how a bit of its hair clouded over the dogs eyes, a chuckle escapes from your lips as your eyes blow wide to the sound of it. Looking back at the man he nodded, letting the tension on the leash go as you began your pats, you can't believe how similar the owner can look to the pet. "I don't think I've seen you before, did you buy that house on the corner?" The owner makes small talk, head tilted as he watches you crouch down and sweep the hair our of the animals eyes, scratching behind her ear.

Millie's foot starts tapping against the pavement before she quickly steps off you, falling back and to the floor. You gasp in panic, fingers expanding wide as you freeze. The dog smiles at you, tail wagging as Millie demands belly rubs. "She wants some more pats if your willing?" your acquaintance translates the animals movements for you. Giving a firm nod, you return to your petting duties before answering his earlier question. "I didn't quite more here," you tease with, remembering your Tardis parked in the newly sold houses back garden.

Picking yourself up from the ground, you stand back to your full height just as Mille sits on your foot, giving you the order to stay as she looks out to her owner in wait. The man leans in more, eyes brimming with curiosity as you match his playful expression with a tilt to your head in the opposite direction. "What do you mean by not quite?" He takes one last drag of his cigarette before stomping it out with his boot. You start to eye his working clothes, dark straight-cut pants matched with boots and a blakck t-shirt was an odd paring for what you think this times aesthetics to be.

"Hm, I don't think I know you quite well enough to tell you," you shrug your shoulders, taking a step back as Millie quickly stands spinning around to watch you. "Is it illegal?" the man presses, smile falling slightly. "I can assure you I am perfectly legal on this planet, at this current moment," you say.

"On this... planet?" the man questions out, the pause allowing confusion to furrow his brows together. "Yep," you confirm, smile only growing as the man can't help but return with a chuckle, his mind walking the thin line between belief and concern for your mental health.

"Well then, Miss. Otherworldly, do tell me more- if you are willing of course?" he asks, starting to lean back against one of the lamp posts.

You look around, the dark and empty streets as you are the only souls in the area. "How about in a few minutes?"

"Okay then?" the man chuckles out, watching as you run off back in the direction you came from, jumping over the white picket fence with ease and the Tardis hums out in approval, excited for yet another trip so soon.

--

And just like that, a few moments later and a change of clothes, you run back out onto sunny roads and families walking around while adjusting your shirts collar, unbuttoning the few buttons as sweat coats your skin from the heat. The man from last night stands at the corner, a vest now strapped to his chest to match the one found on Millie. A checkered hat atop his head, hiding away his face from the sun.

"I never got your name," you state, enjoying the way he quickly pivots to attention. "Its you!" His eyes jump wide, hands trying not to point as his co-worker sipping their cup of coffee looks at you with confusion. "It's me!" you equal his enthusiasm, leaning down to pat Millie as her feet tap happily in greeting, trying to level down her own energy.

"Where did you go?" He asks, forgetting your question as his co-worker mumbles something, walking away and towards a police vehicle. "My question first."

"Jack."

"Jack..." you ask his name in question, testing the feel of it against your tongue.

"Exactly," he assures you.

"Well that makes things easy," you shrug your shoulders, moving out of the way, allowing for people to pass between you two.

"So, where did you go?" he asks again.

"I told you, a few minutes and I would be back-" You comment, voice laced with confusion.

"Well that was nearly five days ago..." he trails off, now eyeing your same outfit from that first meeting.

"Oh, might have miscalculated, it has been awhile since I've tried to be specific," you answer with nonchalance. Jack presses his fingers to his forehead, rubbing his temples in confusion as Millie stands in between his legs, smile still large and even growing at her owner's next words.

"Alright then... How about lunch?" Jack asks, his smile setting your skin alive, cheeks becoming warm as you shuffle your shoes against the pavement.

"Lunch- yes, I could- no yes I will go. But I must worn you of the dangers of being with me," you warn, Jacks smile falling the slightest bit, concern being written across his features as he holds out his hand for you to take.

"Then I'll keep my head on a swivel," he reassures you as you take his hand in your own. Millie trotting between you both.

--

One lunch would translate into a full weekend spent together, only extended as you took Jack on dozens of trips with yourself. That former hollowness in your chest began to be filled as travel times between planets soon amounted into telling stories with one another on the couch in the living space until he fell asleep by your side. Millie already snoring in between you both, her head resting on your thighs.

You would remember his favourite foods, holidays, and planets. Taking him for the universes best pancakes that used whipped-stars for butter or to that familiar beach planets all those galaxies away as you casted the ball in your hand as far as you could throw, loving the way Millie darting off and back to you both, already ready for round two.

Yet what you all were unsuspecting of was another time lord, lurking behind as he glared at the pair of you. Watching as this human took you into his arms, darting off into the sea and throwing you both in. Your laughter haunting his ears, your smile for another painted his vision green with envy as he walked, albeit slipping a bit with every step in the sand.

Donna ran after the doctor, mumbling to herself about always being on the run with her best friend as she called off after him- begging him to "wait up!"

--

Millie had run over to you both, her head down- teeth barred as she barked for your attention. Jack turned you both around, his grip tightening on your waist as your feet set themselves back onto the sand. Your eyes connect- your spine rigid, breath-caught, hands beginning to shake- memories flashed before your eyes.

You could feel his arms around you instead of Jacks. Holding you, covering you in his waistcoat, the concern in his eyes mirroring that of Jacks as he presses his forehead against your own. You hear the Doctors voice in your ear, whispering for you to match his breaths. You grip the hands on your hips, moving up towards their forearms- all you feel is skin. Your eyes fling themselves back open, not even reregistering that they closed moments before.

You are confused at the growing disappointment in your fingertips that ache for the warn cotton of a brown jacket. You look up to Jack who has you presses flushed against his chest. He accepted the danger long ago, helped to protect- to fight for you and showed you nothing but gentleness. Yet as his hands bruised your sides, you understood that your little flashbacks were reality once again. The Doctor was here, and moving quickly towards you both.

"Jack," you whispered, almost pleading to your partner. He shook his head, eyes cold as he glared at the man that had tormented you so. All those nights of holding you close, of listening to your heartbreak and sorrow. "You were meant to be life partners, and I... I begged for him to kill me," you choked on tears before thanking Jack for staying with you for giving you something to live for- that look in your eyes, he would never forget.

"Oi!" the doctor shouted, finger pointed at your back as Donna was still running after him. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my wife-"

"Your wife?" Jack coldly stated back in threatening question. He dropped his touch from you, walking over to tower over the Doctor- breaths shallow with rage. You still had your back to the scene, you listened to insult after insult before turning around, headache starting to form as Donna screeched at both men.

"School-children the lot of you!" Donna added to the growing fire, finger wagging in both their faces as you moved to stand beside her with your hands on your hips.

"Hello, darling," The Doctor greeted you with a wink, "I must say, you really do have a good right hook- have to teach me sometime," his hand outstretched, fingers waggling for you to take as if nothing had happened. Shaking your head with a scoff, the Doctor slowly moves his hand to behind his neck, whispering something to Donna before she smacks his straight against the back of his head.

You notice how his brown hair is tousled, as if running his hands through the strands a hundred times, pulling at the roots to find solutions to all his problems. Aftershave, coffee, and honey flood your senses once more being broken by sandalwood and earthy tones, Jack stands at your side, eyes asking to make an escape yet you can't move your legs. Stuck in place by the Doctors flushed cheeks and bright eyes as he sounds out Donna, rolling up his sleeves while looking at you- fighting off a smile.

"Names Jack, Doctor. And I think it's time we both left now" the officer simply states, answering the time lords earlier question. His form now dropping to hold Millie back by the collar as she barks and growls.

"Jack is it?- Well you don't mean jack shit to me. Love, please. Our last interaction, it didn't go at all how I was dreaming of it to be. You took me by surprise and well- gods why is this so complicated," The Doctor goes off on a tangent, getting lost in his inner turmoil.

You whisper underneath your breath, requesting for Jack to leave back to the Tardis. He raises a brow, refusing to take the key you extend towards him, shoving it right back into your chest. The Doctor, high on emotions points his sonic screwdriver towards Jack, rage in his eyes- taking his actions as violence towards you.

Your own go wide in horror, the Master voice haunting your actions as you step in front of the tool, taking out your own as you beg for Jack to leave. Donna's eyes plead, you hear her loud thoughts begging for your attention, just listen- make the madness stop. You are destroying one another. It was his plan all along.

Your hand starts to shake as does the Doctors, confusion knitting your brows together. Donna has forced Jack and Millie away from your side. You hear his shouts of protest as Donna practically bullies him away from you both.

The Doctor drops his screwdriver into the sand, tears fill in your eyes as he walk forward, your own pressed against his heart. Your head shakes, mind wavering as the Master's voice screams in your head- relentlessly thrashing for you to move. The Doctor holds your hand with both of his, keeping the tool aimed at himself.

"If one of us must truly go, then I can't have it being you. Your begs for mercy- for death, and now to see you so happy with another I... I would never have found another if knowing you were still out there. Seeing you with Jack, I think you understand the bitterness I felt, going from planet to planet- seeing those happier- livelier than I. It made me start to hate having two hearts, never being able to share both. I was human in the worst ways, so small minded to those opposed against me that I did become a monster. I will admit that yet I am no more a monster than the Master that plagues your mind."

He does not mean what he speaks, The Master calls to you. You feel his smile against your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek. Your spine crawls, a sob escaping between your lips. You shake your head, not knowing who to believe- overwhelmed with the senses that overcome you.

"Why would he speak to you, stay in your mind if begging you to leave?" the Doctor presses, hoping his words are connecting- cutting through whatever restraints the Master had placed. "It was always you, darling. All the other's were temporary just as are appearances. But you and me are for all time."

His vows have your reeling, falling forwards into his arms as you both fall back into the sand. Jack shouts his footsteps rapid as Donna follows after, reaching out towards the man- trying to stop him.

You sob and shake into the Doctor, pressing your head into his chest. Your sonic screwdriver falls beside his in the sand behind you both. The Doctors hand makes its way to your head, lighting coiling a strand of hair around his finger. His other hand rubs up and down your back.

A memory, a moment, every minute you are set in his arms are a flood of the past- what you failed to remember before ever crystal clear. "Universal domination is easier done when only one person is left in the world. Why waste resources when we could kill ourselves? It was his plan all along. Never friend, only foe," the Doctor reassures you, holding you through the waves of information as you sound out the sea.

You listen to his hearts beating in tune with your own, you feel his fingers snaking underneath your shirt as he draws out his name on your skin. Pulling your head up, cheeks flushed in seeing your state within the reflection of his eyes. The Doctor shushes you, head leaned upwards, brow raising in a silent ask and just as your lips lean closer to his own. Jacks voice roars over the waters, settling the sea and bursting the bubble you find yourselves enraptured in.

"Get your hands off of her!" Jack demands already leaning down to tear you off the Time Lord who can only send the largest of smiles his way. "No, I don't think I will for awhile," the Doctor teases before you are placing a hand over his mouth and roll off of him. The Doctor presses a playful kiss to your palm, sending a thumbs up to Donna who pumps her arms up in the air, shoving Jack aside to take your face, squishing your cheeks between her palms.

"Thank goodness you have came back around-"

Jacks mouth opens to protest as you take your stand in front of him, taking his hand into your own as Millie whimpers down by your feet. "Y-you promised me forever," Jack adds with albeit a bit of confusion, brows closed together with concern for your wellbeing and the formations of a broken heart.

"I promised your forever. Jack, if I were to go back with you now... you would well be into your senior years, a loving family by your side and that farmhouse you always dreamed of on the corner lot. I love you, Jack. You did own my heart- you do. But I would watch you grow old while staying this same age, I would always be becoming a different person, putting you in danger. I knew from day one it would never last, I warned you so," you explain softly, hand scratching up and down your arms. You feel a degree of guilt, of pity yet the Doctors voice floods your mind once more, Temporary to us, lifetime for then. Holds meaning nonetheless but in the end it is us for remain.

"I don't understand," Jack puts simply as Donna takes pity on the man.

Donna speaks up, taking your arm in her had, and taking her other arm around Jacks. "Time works differently in space, especially in spaces they can control, we say forever while they find the number for that. We are not without meaning but are without time," Donna adds bittersweetly, watching as your head casts towards the ground, the Doctor wrapping his arms around your waist breaking you away once more.

"I think its time to go home, I want to see my family," Donna adds, watching as the Doctor nods, hand capturing your own before walking over to the Tardis. Stopping to look back confusedly as to why you are not following.

"I have my own to maintain you know," you retort. "Yes I know, but we can use mine and-"

"I'm not just gonna park mine here and leave it! You leave yours!"

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would YOU ask me if you don't- ugh!"

Donna and Jack look between you both and then at one another. "They're fighting already?" Jack adds, a bit of hope in his chest as he watches you poke at the Doctors chest, a small smile teasing your cheeks as the Doctor distracts you with a kiss to your cheek.

"Well... they are an old married couple..."

[issa-pheonyx]

Being Johnny Cage's Niece...

𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹. 𝗬𝗲𝘀, 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝘀✨𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗮𝗻✨, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱-𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻𝗻𝘆. 𝗟𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗻 𝘆𝗮'𝗹𝗹 [𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆]🤭

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

-He is literally the fun uncle...with such dad jokes and puns that makes you double take on being his favorite. Yes, you're his favorite what makes you think he is open with you hanging around when he is in acting mode at work or he invites you to the red carpet to announce the winners for best actor (AKA him). Plus, there is a new game system you've been investing? He got you. Student loans? No need just tell him how much it is for each semester, he is very supportive of your career. "Is that your uncle Johnny fucking Cage!?" He is at the drop off waiting for you to be picked up in his red Lamborghini, blasting California Love,"Yup...that is my uncle."

-Speaking of his acting career he will NOT permit you to go to any film industry if he is not around. He will confront any sleazy creeps who dare to make you sign a contract, because you will be the biggest star like your uncle. Nope! Not on his watch. "Give me that. Who gave you this paper?" "Uh, some bald guy-" "Yeah, didn't I teach you any better talking to strangers??" "Uncle J you're not even my da-" "I'm calling your mom."

-Not only is he protective, but he will keep mad bugging you to teach you his martial art skills. It is just an excuse to have some uncle and niece bonding-both you hang out 24/7 it is ridiculous-so, you could be his trustee side kick and who knows if he ever has another movie coming in he would definitely drag put you in since you learned martial arts like him. On a serious note though he would let you know he is not doing it for clout (bullshit), but to make sure you are safe and know what to do in dangerous scenarios

-Of course, you will be bombarded with paparazzi when you're hanging with your uncle, however the pictures seem to have a unique pattern about you both. It is like a game between you and Johnny against them. You received little attention before your first movie with your uncle, yet after that you decide to troll them. Every picture they failed to take your face either you wearing a hoodie only seeing your mouth in view, surgical masks and not being to capture you pulling it down when you're eating/drinking cause the angle is shit. Or even then you would position yourself around objects or things that it just looks like a tree branch covered the majority of your face flashing a smile cause Johnny cracked a joke as he was smiling too, eating frozen yogurt going for a walk at the park

-Now being introduced with Lui Kang God of Fire, Sub Zero, Scorpion, and so much was mind blowing. Even you were part of it. Johnny being the protective uncle he absolutely REFUSED to get you involved. So, instead you had to stay close to him at all times since you were forced to join. It was quite a beauty since these different timelines had gorgeous views, so you would snap pictures here and there (without uncle Kenshi knowing cause he bonked you with the sword once). Plus, you were stunned how pretty everyone was there like holy shit why is everyone so hot???

-Furthermore, everyone was just as curious as they were with Johnny to you. "So, you're related to Johnny Cage?" Lui Kang asks as he was behind the entrance door of your uncle's mansion with his arms crossed,"Unfortunately, yes-" "That's it! Youngins' shouldn't be here. The adults are talking." The ladies were a little confused you can be the opposite of Johnny being humorous and all. "How can you tolerate such patience with an uncle so untamed, (Y/N)?" Kitana whispered to you after he told her she was gracefully aging for a 10,000 year old,"I don't know, princess. I question myself that everyday."

-Of course, your uncle J told you to be close to you at all costs, but you end up snapping when someone laid a hand on your uncle. That's when all that work of martial arts paid off when you were popping awf, honey. Everyone was shook and couldn't believe their eyes even Mileena complimented,"Such fire you show within kombat! I wish you can stay here in the Outworld to teach all my guards." You chuckled,"I would be very honored, your majesty, but I don't think uncle Johnny would be okay with that."

-Being his niece has taught you to enjoy life even when things don't go your way it'll get better. With you he learned that not everything shouldn't be taken so lightly when it is necessary especially to those he has a special bond with. Lets just say it is a healing and mind opening moment for you and you uncle away from the riches, the media, and fame into the Outworld

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁. 𝗠𝘆 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹~🖤🫣

[l4dymarika]

The most surprising thing about this episode was the lore drop about there always being a greater system above the whole Miraculous world. I wonder what the icons really mean—like, what each person’s role is in the system, and whether the symbols are telling us that. I also wonder if it’s an international organization. If that’s the case, then maybe every screen represents a country, and each symbol indicates the role they play or what they provide. But I genuinely doubt that theory—I just wanted to write it down here.

I wonder how much of it Gabriel knew, because if he wasn’t aware, that would mean Natalie was an undercover agent the whole time. As for the people saying that Natalie could be working against Maribug and Adrichat—I don’t think so. I believe her actions, like hiding the letter from Adrien, were just her way of protecting him from the system above. To support my theory, I have the screenshots below, which show that she lied to the court. She knew exactly what happened, and she did that to protect Maribug and Adrichat.

I think the phrase “yes Father” really suggests that Natalie might have been an agent all along, since she’s been in the system since birth. However, the fact that she calls him “Father” doesn’t necessarily mean she’s obedient to him. She actually objects to him multiple times, even in this one scene, which shows that she has no real loyalty towards him and the organisation, she’s just scared.

that’s all for now, hope I didn’t bore you and that what I said makes sense, I study law very passionately so I really tend to analyse things like that everywhere







[spicyllewyn]

Roleplaying with them.

(NSFW) Headcanons. - Moon system x reader. (+18)

Marc.

You had been feeling observed for about 15 minutes during your walk.

You were heading back home, as usual, too late for your own safety.

Nothing had happened to you so far, so what could you lose?

It wasn't until the whitish glow behind you appeared, combined with the shadow from the ground, that your attention finally turned to your back.

A few days ago, you had seen more than one moon painted on the streets.

You weren't surprised to come across him.

"How long have you been there?" He didn't speak, just shrugged.

"I can see my house from here, your job is done."

When you turned around, you heard him clear his throat. "Don't people thank superheroes more?"

He was no longer wearing the mask. His tousled curls fell over his forehead, and the tight ceremonial suit of Khonshu allowed you to see every detail on his body.

"I thought they did it only out of love for their fellow beings."

Another step, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

"Does anyone do things for free nowadays?"

He was right. And by the way his eyes wandered over your body, you didn't need to think much to guess what he was referring to.

His gaze was scorching you and you wanted to kiss his jaw until your lips hurt.

And you gave in, because who else was there to thank the masked vigilante who protected the nighttime travelers?

One step closer.

You were still in the middle of the deserted street, in plain sight of anyone who decided to take a nighttime stroll.

You didn't care much, not even when the cold concrete of the sidewalk made your knees ache.

His suit vanished in front of you, your eyes locked onto the pair of dark jeans that now filled your entire field of vision.

You licked on the fabric when you realized that he was already hard under his clothing.

And although the cold did not cause anything in him, your tongue did make him tremble.

A little more of force and you would have yanked the button off his jeans.

You were both clumsy, desperate.

Before you could object, the tip of his cock was pushing against your throat.

"Just like that, sweetie." And just when you thought her voice couldn't get any deeper.

Turns out, the terrifying Moon Knight was also a fan of encouraging his partners during sex.

He kept complimenting you, reminding you how well you were doing.

Although his moans spoke for him.

He had no compassion for you, when his hands were placed in your hair you knew you were no longer in control.

He rammed into your mouth with the brutality with which you had saw him punch people before.

You could only hear the gurgling of your saliva every time it slid down your tongue.

And your eyes filled up with tears as your nose bumped against the veil of his abdomen, you could feel him push you further.

Until you ran out of oxygen.

With two touches on his thigh he understood what you needed, finally letting go.

Your hand had to take care of the job, your saliva made it easier to stroke his already sensitive cock.

He looked at you, and you looked back at him.

"Thanks for taking care of me." Your smile was mocking, and Marc could only think about how cute your little face looked destroyed by him.

A chill ran through him from head to toe as the heat in his abdomen began to rise.

He was so close. "Just like that. Don't stop, -ah, fuck, please." His pleas confirmed the obvious to you.

You stuck out your tongue for him, and the mere image was too much for him.

It was obscene, he could see in you how much you wanted to swallow every drop he had to give you.

He came on your tongue. Actually, he came on your whole face.

And you squeezed anything that was left on him with your hand.

“Shit, I love you.” He said with a breathy, broken voice.

“Marc, don't get out of character!”

Steven.

"Sorry for the hour! Are there still tours available?" "Oh, Gods. You are just in time for the last one! But I'm afraid it will be just you and me, we're about to close."

At least this way you could ask anything that crossed your mind.

Steven was… dreamy.

You weren't the biggest fan of museums, but the guy was really doing his job for society.

You probably learned more there than in months of history classes.

And he made it so… enjoyable. So easy to understand, so much fun.

His eyes were shining as he spoke, and the 2-hour tour felt like 15 minutes.

"This is the least visited part of the museum." "Why?" "Many people are afraid of the ocean."

Both of you whispered, squinting your eyes to gaze at each other in the middle of the dark room.

A soft blue light gave the perfect tone to Steven's face as he looked at the exhibits as if it were the first time.

You leaned in to read the plaque in front of a representation of a shark skeleton.

And within seconds, a body positioned itself behind you. His chest against your back, one of his arms slid under yours, and he made you raise your hand.

His fingers guided yours to touch the fake skeleton.

"They don't have bones, you know?" A breathy moan escaped from his mouth when you pushed yourself towards him. "Oh no?" You played dumb. "It's, ah… gristle."

You tortured him by continuing to see the figure for extra seconds.

And when you turned around, Steven was on his knees

You smiled.

“I think it's my favorite room.” And in one jump you climbed onto a kind of high step that supported some other figures.

As if his lips had a magnet towards you, he began to kiss between your thighs.

Because of course, the first thing you did was spread your legs for him.

He kissed on top of the fabric until he got desperate.

You never thought that the shy museum guide in the baggy clothes would have the strength to pull your skinny jeans down in one fell swoop.

You've been wanting to mess up those soft curls ever since you laid eyes on him.

Right now, with his tongue working on you, it was the perfect opportunity.

"Oh shit." Your voice echoed through the empty room as you pushed him harder between your legs.

Steven refused to pull away for air, and you happily kept him between your legs.

He looked like a hungry man, you could feel his saliva running between your legs.

"Y-You do an amazing job." “Well, I always wanted to be a museum guide.” oh so innocent

"Steven!" It resounded so loudly in the room that you feared someone would discover you.

But not enough to shut you up.

It goes without saying that you finished sooner than expected, the adrenaline rush of being caught was always a fetish for you.

And when you looked down, you almost fainted.

His huge chocolate brown eyes were staring at you, barely parted enough for you to see his glossy lips full of you.

He had the expression of someone about to get into some mischief.

"No." "Yeah." "Steven, no." “How are you going to rate my good work in the suggestion and complaint box if I don't please you?”

Before you protested, his mouth was on you again.

2 orgasms were not enough for him.

Not even with 3, you lost count after 4, and he only stopped when your legs threatened to no longer support your weight.

You trembled, your vision was blurred and you couldn't bear the suffocating heat that you were feeling on your face.

“Did you like the tour?” He asked innocently as he adjusted your pants and finally faced you.

His face full of saliva and your fluids.

"You're awful at roleplay." "I know." He kissed you and you cleaned his mouth area with your tongue.

He looked at you with more wonder than at his favorite pieces in the museum.

"Let me take you to dinner, okay?"

Jake.

The honking of a car made you rush out of your house.

Your furrowed brow and your lips forming a pout gave you away as you got into the taxi.

Apparently, you were having a terrible day. You didn't even greet the driver as you got in.

"Bad day?" His accent did catch your attention. "Bad life." You replied with a nostalgic smile.

You could feel him looking at you constantly in the rearview mirror.

"Who would allow a beauty like you to get into a stranger's car at this hour?" "My fiancé is an idiot."

You made him scoff.

"I bet I can make you forget about him in seconds." "Seconds is quite ambitious."

He winked at you.

And you felt butterflies in your stomach.

The teasing way you turned your back on him made Jake accept the challenge.

Only God knows where he parked the car; you had never been in this part of the city before.

Him talking about seconds wasn't him being ambitious.

It was him being realistic.

Because before you could react you had the words stuck in your throat because his cock was deeply buried in you.

You were turning your back on him once again, this time by his choice.

You swore you could hear the screeching of the car with every movement of his hip.

"Does he fuck you like this, cariño?" He growled in your ear.

His questions made you dizzy, his thick accent and his hot breath hitting your ear.

"I bet he's never made you moan like that before." “Aw, look at you, honey. All cock-drunk and whiney.” "Pídeme más, amor, pídeme que te destroce."

You were staining the leather seat with saliva.

And Jake would pull on your hair to try and lift your face up a bit.

He didn't want you to keep quieting your whining like that, you knew it.

"More." It came out broken from your lips.

And he complied.

You could never think of another man like that, although to be fair, you didn't mean to.

“That fucking death-grip.” And while Jake seemed in control, he wasn't immune to your tricks, your way of taking the bull by the horns. “Amor, no, please, no… You are going to…”

He came inside of you.

And you shivered, keeping him inside.

"Look at that, cielo." After a few seconds, he pulled out, staring. “Do you think he will take you back now that I marked you as mine like this?”

And you made him laugh by cursing him out loud.

"Amor?" "Uh?" "You're going to clean that up." He poked you on the nose. Your cheek felt wet against the seat, your saliva making you groan.

[skolomorphic]

Hi! I found your web novel through zarinthel's rec on SV and it's been really great so far! I've started and not finished a lot of webnovels but I'm hoping yours will be the one to break that streak lol (no pressure! I'm just horrible at sticking to very long stories).

Out of curiosity do you have any horror/mystery webnovel recs? I think what makes me drop wns is the massive cast and like huge amount of fluff/found family stuff (the latter especially is why I couldn't get through trash of the counts family and orv tbh) but I figure the horror genre would be pretty good at limiting those things. I think I just really prefer tragedies lmao

hey thanks for checking out my story! i'm glad you like it so far, and no pressure to stick with it either -- webnovels aren't for everyone. they're kind of like the "tv shows" of literature: designed for short periods of consumption over long periods of time, at varying levels of quality. if that's not your preferred form of reading, nothing wrong with that. :p

your question made me realize that despite the amount of horror webnovels i read, i actually don't have that many recs... maybe because there aren't many that stand out as outstandingly recommendation worthy. i think the webnovel sphere also has a habit of tending towards wish fulfillment, so the horror is usually mixed in with other genres too, like romance, kingdom building, or "im secretly a god and don't need to worry about anything."

that said, here are some you can try out! if you find one you like, you can branch out from there and see what other similar works there are.

"ghost story, gotta work": your average korean salaryman and cowardly horror fan gets transmigrated into an scp type world, working as an employee whose job is to clear ghost stories. current fave. due to the translator's request, i am not sharing a direct name or link, but you should be able to find this webnovel by googling the keywords provided or maybe by visiting @necronatural's blog

deep sea embers. my mvp of horror novels. a man transmigrates into a post-apocalyptic steampunk world barely clinging to survival under the pressures of various lovecraftian horrors. mixes scp elements with somehow cohesive worldbuilding. that said, it's long and has a large cast. complete at ~800 chapters.

evil as humans: the main character, an evil spirit from ancient times, escapes his seal and disguises himself as an ordinary human in modern times. he joins an organization dedicated to monitoring, fighting, and sealing entities like himself. however, his desire to enjoy an ordinary human life is doomed by the greater forces moving in the world... complete and short for a webnovel (equivalent of a 2-3 book series). note: it is also BL

little mushroom: in a post-apocalyptic world where humanity is pushed to the brink of extinction by a world full of mutating living beings, a mushroom absorbs the blood of a human, learns its genetic code, and takes the form of a human. in order to find the "spore" that it lost, it decides to venture into a human base -- but it will need to dodge the eyes of the base's militant protectors first. very short for a webnovel, 80ish chapters, horror / slice of life / tragedy. note: it is also a BL

plague doctor: a med school student acquires a mysterious system at the same time that various supernatural plagues and disasters begin to befall the human world. it's been a few years since i caught up and i didn't finish it, but i remember enjoying this one a lot

my house of horrors: a young man inherits a haunted house from his parents and discovers that there is much more to the haunted house, and his own life, than he knew... long with large cast, but complete. you can think of it as a book series with 5-6 books.

seol object story: essentially an scp foundation universe. a human is reborn as an scp and observes the daily lives of humans trying to protect the world from other scps. it's half wish fulfillment, so it has a lot of "misunderstanding" comedy / slice of life as well.

outside of time: many years ago, the shattered face of "god" appeared in the sky, and disaster befell humanity. a young boy who has survived the gaze of god two times embarks on a journey to become strong enough to control his own fate. if you like cultivation stories, this one combines cultivation with a cosmic/lovecraftian genre. warning: Long

i think the uncrowned king of horror webnovels is lord of the mysteries, which has interesting and intricate worldbuilding and a lot of cool concepts. that said it's very long and the writing stye is dry as hell so i don't recommend it for people who can't get through that.

if none of these sound to your tastes you can always take a gander at the horror tag rankings list on novelupdates and browse until you see something you're interested in!

[finisnihil]

Liking Webtoons and wanting to analyze them is such a nightmare because most of their fandom activity is in the comments on the episodes, and a lot of the people there love to start beating characters the minute they're too morally grey/flawed or they're considered threatening to the main ship in any way.

For example, using For My Derelict Favorite, Helios gets dragged way too much at times. Like, I see people make him out to be a purely malicious force who's just as bad as Diana as if it's not emphasized that he acknowledges his feelings are wrong and will never act on them and the main reason why he harbors them is because the subejct of those feelings, Hestia, is way more competent than his wife.

A wife who's refusing to acknowledge nuance or her fading powers out of fear and insecurity and shuts down any attempts at healthy communication he attempts to initiate to the point she chases out the woman who basically raised him when his mother died. He can't rely on her and has basically no support system but he can rely on Hestia and his feelings are more born out of a desire to have somebody close who he can rely on.

The difference between Diana and him is WILDLY big, with Diana chasing out anyone who tries to question her and replacing them with the corrupt temple, choosing to drop her husband the minute he doesn't validate her batshit wild choices. She then decides to go and steal another woman's husband, who she previously condemned to the point of him becoming suicidal, because he defied her strict moral compass. Helios chooses to protect her still because she's his wife and he loves her and doesn't want to give up on her which is an objectively bad move, but he's in an awful position where anything he does will result in some kind of loss.

But I see the comments crawling with complete vilification and ignoring the character's honestly fascinating struggles so they can piss on him for threatening the beloved main ship. I even see some people compare him to WAYYYY worse characters, like Sovieshu from The Remarried Empress, which takes some sort of mental gymnastics as they are only similar to a surface level extent. Sovieshu is unredeemable but Helios is trying and making some bad calls while under pressure along the way.

For another example lets look at Annabel Lee from the amazing comic Nevermore. Everyone in the series is morally grey to some extent and some people will piss on Annabel Lee for being cruel, selfish, etc in such a shallow way. Instead of actually looking at her, a flawed character in a really fucked up situation trying to protect the one she loves at the cost of others, some people just say she's a bitch and want her to be expelled from the narrative for it. We can analyze Annabel Lee and why she’s Like That in so many ways because she's an incredibly dynamic and round character but some people don't care about that they just care she was Super Mean in some way and deem her The Enemy.

I have so many more examples like the fighting in the Jackson's Diary comments about who was the bad guy in a situation where both characters hurt each other in awful ways (I could go on about that for hours and might make a seperate analysis on it) but I think this post is long enough and I don't feel like inciting the possible wrath of any more comic fanbases.

Anyways if you're interested in any of the mentioned comics I encourage you to check them out for yourself!