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lockpickingliar · 3 months ago

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Kokichi would have thrived in the SDR2 class, actually.

Like, I dunno. I just feel like they would have been much more willing to work with him rather than fight against him like the V3 cast constantly does. In particular, one of the things that makes a notable difference between 77B and V3 is this:

Flexibility for Individuality and Willingness to Address Other Points of View

Class 77B are all much more understanding of one another's neuroses and make room for each other in a way that the V3 cast just doesn't. They communicate a lot more in a way that makes everyone feel included, and everyone has room to voice their concerns and have them taken seriously. V3 by contrast is almost always arguing in a way where everyone is fighting to be heard, but no one is actually listening.

Mahiru voices her complaint over Twogami appointing himself as leader, and discussion follows to why exactly Twogami would be the best fit for the position anyway, assuaging her concerns. There are misunderstandings between them, like with the intentions behind Hiyoko's shrine being misconstrued as malicious due to her poor taste, but those feelings and intentions are discussed and everyone comes around fairly quickly. Fuyuhiko throws his weight around a lot in the beginning as a the Ultimate Yakuza, and even threatens to kill, but everyone at the very least recognizes this as posturing and leaves him alone until he's able to come around. The only genuine threat is Nagito, who takes clear and focused action to cause harm in chapter 1, and even then he is simply tied up for a single chapter. He's still taken care of and acknowledged as a member of the group by others in the class, and when he falls ill to the Despair Disease, he is given extra care due to his weak constitution.

In that sense, I feel like they would be a lot more willing to make room for and work with Kokichi's particular ways of coping and engaging with others, because they understand that everyone in the class has their "thing" that makes them who they are. They're going to work with those things to make sure everyone is on the same page and everything gets done.

Unlike the rest of his classmates, Kokichi himself is also flexible in this way. He bounces off of people in whatever way he thinks would work best with them, and is only met with resistance from the V3 cast specifically because of his own neuroses and coping mechanisms with regard to lying and making jokes and pranks to lighten the mood. You could argue a lot of his jokes are kind of mean-spirited, but they frankly pale in comparison to Hiyoko's unprompted bullying and Fuyuhiko's blatant grandstanding. He leads people around during class trials, but Nagito does that too, and is honestly a lot more condescending about it. Even so, everyone in the class is willing to hear him out and follow along if it means getting to the bottom of things. That's the thing that separates them from the V3 cast, who go out of their way to try to shut Kokichi down simply because they think he's just fucking with them. Class 77B understands that whatever the others are saying, there's a reason behind it, and so are willing to pursue the issue to find out where it might go.

I could go on and on and on about each member of class 77B individually, but frankly that'd be an extremely long post and this one is already really long on its own. If people want to ask my opinions on Kokichi's chemistry with anyone in particular, they're free to send me an ask about it. I've already gone on a rant once about how I think he and Hiyoko would interact in the tags of a poll. Overall, I just feel like he'd fit in with that class a lot more than he would with V3.

For now, though, under a cut, I want to start with what I believe to be the microcosm of each class: the protagonists. In particular, how Hajime approaches his classmates, how Shuichi approaches Kokichi, and how I feel Hajime would be different about it.

Hajime Hinata and the Drive to Understand Others

Out of everyone in the SDR2 cast, Hajime himself is markedly the least tolerant, especially at the beginning. His entire arc is honestly largely about his rigidity and learning to be flexible with the rest of the class. Just based off his wariness in the prologue and how long it took him to click into the idea of just enjoying the trip, he has a long way to go. Even then, though, it wasn't necessarily his other classmates themselves that he was intolerant of. He was just freaked out about the situation and was perplexed that no one else seemed to be. It wasn't that he thought they were wrong, per se. It was more that he couldn't wrap his head around their point of view.

However, moving on through the rest of the game, Hajime goes out of his way to work to understand where the others are coming from, and becomes increasingly more tolerant and willing to work with his classmates the more he gets to know them. Even Nagito, who leads him around trials by the nose in a MUCH more overt and condescending way than Kokichi ever did with Shuichi. Hajime comments as much during many of the trials, how he knows Nagito's pulling some bullshit and it's frustrating him but he still goes along with it because he knows everyone is just trying to survive in their own way. He rolls with Nagito's punches to get to the bottom of things, even if he doesn't understand why Nagito's doing it the way he does in the moment. At the end of the day, Hajime knows that Nagito has some kind of logic set that he subscribes to, and wants to understand it so they don't have to constantly fight and make things harder for themselves (see: Nagito's FTEs).

Actually, the entire THEME of the FTEs in SDR2 is Hajime's desire to get to know his classmates and most importantly, understand their logic and motivations. He wants to know why they are the way that they are, not so he can change them, but so he can better mesh with and comprehend them as they are, to the point most FTEs to my knowledge end with something to the effect of "I think I understand XXX a little more now!" From that approach alone, Hajime is quite famous for ending his FTEs in a very close and friendly relationship with every single one of his classmates.

Shuichi Saihara and the Rigidity of One's Own Beliefs

Shuichi meanwhile is constantly at odds with Kokichi and telling him to stop doing what he's doing because he is intolerant of Kokichi's point of view. He doesn't get Kokichi at all and he doesn't really try to beyond a bewildered exclamation of Why!? for no reason other than to vent his frustration. He doesn't engage with Kokichi's methods in any way, making snap judgements as to whether Kokichi is lying or telling the truth (usually that he is lying) without inquiring further, and honestly spends most of his time trying to compete against them because he inherently believes that those methods are wrong simply because he can't make sense of them.

This even rings true in his FTEs where Kokichi spends the whole time goofing and playing games, and rather than engage with and try to understand the language Kokichi is speaking, Shuichi spends the entire time hung up on the inane concept that Kokichi made a threat on his life in the very first FTE. And it's like, I know, I KNOW about the good ending to Kokichi's Shot Through the Heart event. I know that Shuichi's best outcome with him is to tell him that he could tolerate Kokichi's lies, but that's not understanding, that's not comprehension.

That's a defeated white flag of "you do you, I'm too tired to fight you on this anymore."

Shuichi doesn't really want to understand any point of view that doesn't fit in well with his own. He gets along well with many of his other classmates, but that's primarily because they don't challenge his worldview as heavily as Kokichi does. Then, since the player is intended to engage with the story through Shuichi's perspective and Shuichi carries the driving ideology for the rest of the class, Kokichi suffers greatly for it.

Hajime's Approach to Kokichi

Don't get me wrong, he would be frustrated. He would be so, so frustrated with Kokichi's bullshit. However, I don't think he would be any more frustrated than he already is with Nagito's meandering nonsense during class trials. And above all else, he would not reject the fact that however Kokichi sees the world is real and sensible to Kokichi, and that in itself makes it worthy of understanding.

With all that in mind, I imagine that when faced with Kokichi's lies, he would take a more inquisitive approach: asking lots of questions regarding the details of any given story Kokichi may spin to better understand the narrative Kokichi is going for and thus deducing his intentions. Don't misunderstand—he would not necessarily believe anything Kokichi says. However, he wouldn't automatically accuse Kokichi of lying, either. Rather, he would treat Kokichi's words with the sentiment of Schrodinger's Truth. It is simultaneously true and false until Kokichi's intentions are deduced, thus coloring the reasoning behind the claims themselves.

Remember, Hajime values the idea that everyone has a reason for their actions and that reason follows a logic set and intention that can be examined and understood. Peko is very cold and distant due to a very strong sense of duty and justice. Gundam is very fantastical in his language because he feels more comfortable engaging with the world through fantasy. Akane is always laser-focused on food because of a poor childhood. They have reasons behind acting the way that they do, whether Hajime knows those reason or not, and those reasons and the behaviors attached to them should be respected.

So while Kokichi's lies may be frustrating and confusing at first, Hajime would not disregard the fact that they hold some sort of meaning to Kokichi, and so it would be better and more productive to engage with those lies on Kokichi's level. That would mean poking and prodding to get to the bottom of things. Needling around to feel out the truth. In Kokichi's infamous words, cornering psychologically.

So no, he would not believe everything Kokichi says at face value, but he wouldn't not believe it, either. He would recognize that Kokichi is very deliberate in the way he words things—little breadcrumbs to follow to whatever Kokichi thinks is important—and would very directly play his game and pry into those words to find whatever Kokichi is trying to show him. The claims themselves are not the important part, it's the greater topic and the implications such a claim entails. Just like Nagito does, Kokichi is trying to point at a particular detail without outright saying so, for one reason or another, and Hajime would recognize the value of that.

Putting this Approach into Practice

As an example, I want to examine the nature of Kokichi's FTEs and how Hajime might approach them. I dunno if I might want to write an actual fic of it at some point—it honestly sounds like a fun exercise—so I won't go into too much detail, but the way I think it would start is like this:

The instigation and overall behavior from Kokichi would be relatively the same. Hajime would come asking about his organization, so Kokichi would divulge a lot of (frankly ridiculous) information about it in a grandstanding lie, only to end the conversation threatening to kill Hajime for knowing too much. The only things I think might change are what specifically Hajime would focus on in this interaction.

From the very beginning, there is one thing that Kokichi always consistently does when talking about his organization that I think Hajime would take an interest in:

Kokichi always, always follows this format when introducing his organization:

He is the leader of a secret evil organization.

It has 10,000 members.

He is a liar.

Him being the leader of an organization is the truth.

It's like clockwork and I think Hajime would find that very interesting. It isn't really about the organization at this point, it's about the wording itself. Kokichi always introduces himself this way, so beyond the literal claims, what could the intention behind this format possibly be?

And Hajime might conclude that it's a tutorial.

Through this one scripted introduction, Kokichi conveys two very crucial things:

He lies, but he doesn't lie about everything.

He often lies about specific details of things that otherwise are true, either to embellish or for some other purpose.

So what does this mean for Hajime? That means this is a precedent that he is going to have to get accustomed to and figure out how to work with. Kokichi treats himself like a puzzle and he wants Hajime to figure him out. From this, he can finally start to think about what Kokichi is telling him:

He is the leader of a secret(?) evil(? probably not) organization.

It does NOT have 10,000 members.

He lies a lot, so don't take every detail of every thing he says at face value.

But at the end of the day there is always a grain of truth somewhere to be found.

From that point on, I imagine the way Hajime approaches the interaction and the details he decides to focus on would be very different. He would still be frustrated over the fact he has to do it at all, but he will do it anyway because at the end of the day he wants to understand Kokichi as he is.

And to understand Kokichi, he has to engage with him on his own terms.

Conclusion

This honestly got way longer than I was expecting it to, so I'm not entirely sure how to end it, but I hope it makes sense. I think about it a lot, how Kokichi might have been accepted a lot better in class 77B than in his own cast of V3. I would have loved to see how he might have been able to flourish and engage and help more directly in an environment where his thoughts and opinions are valued regardless of how he conveys them. If anyone wants me to elaborate on a particular part, or take a closer look at how any of the other members of class 77B might interact with Kokichi, please let me know!

#hajime hinata #kokichi ouma #danganronpa #sdr2 #hinata hajime #ouma kokichi #kokichi oma #oma kokichi #character analysis #meta analysis #ultimate archivist #kokichi in sdr2

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yandere-sins · 10 months ago

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Yan-Poll #23

Warning: This is a poll containing sexual content

Your yan is a little pathetic.

That's what you think to yourself as you stand in the bathroom with him, his nervous fidgeting with the towel around his hips feeling even more insulting than him telling you that you are not allowed to go take a shower alone. He was assertive then, the thought of having you separated from him by the bathroom door seemingly unbearable as he immediately stood and walked after you once you announced your plans.

As if you were a child, needing supervision.

But now it seemed like the tables had turned; your always so selfish captor suddenly nervous at the prospect of showering with you. He keeps stealing glances at the areas covered by your own towel, his thoughts probably spinning around the idea of seeing you naked for the first time since he captured you. You don't like it, but you don't have to like it. He does what he wants and you haven't showered in days since he locked you in your room as a punishment. You were smelly and grime was beginning to settle on your skin.

Before, he usually stood watch outside the bath, even when you just needed the toilet. That was uncomfortable enough. But your yan had yet to cross the boundary of invading on your bath-time. You had no idea what caused him to decide now was a good time to make his advances, but you weren't happy with it. Even less now that it almost seemed like he was more embarrassed than you were.

You sighed. It's been too long since you got to wash up and feel clean again. You could argue and tell him to get out, but things had only calmed down. Your body still hurt from him manhandling you, the rope burns still stinging when you touched them. If you couldn't have freedom, you shouldn't have to forgo basic needs like hygiene, even if his presence was unwanted.

Stepping up to the shower, you tried to ignore him. Ignore the way he matched your steps until he was back to breathing down your neck. You climbed over the rim of the bathtub and were about to pull the curtain close when he caught your hand in his, the pain of his touch making you wince. You didn't get to close the curtain until he was standing inside the bathtub with you, forcing the curtain close.

For a moment, only your heavy breaths could be heard. His were dancing over the exposed skin of your nape, the thought of this man you despised so close to you in such a small space feeling even more threatening than usual. It was no surprise that you jumped when his arms snaked around your body to the front, slipping between your skin and the towel. His touch was invading, no matter how gentle and careful every one of his movements was. Your pulse quickened, breathing getting harder and harder as you almost felt claustrophobic solely because of his presence. He halted momentarily when he felt your nervousness, then slowly untied the towel from its fixation on you, letting the fabric slide off.

There was more rustling behind you as he undid his own towel, and before you could reach out, he turned on the faucet. The water was always cold at first before it warmed up, but with the way you two were standing, he got hit by the icy stream instead of you. He took it with more stride than you thought he would after he seemed so nervous about all this.

Some droplets ricocheted onto you, and you bit your lip, arching your back. Still, soon, the temperature was rising to a comfortable warmth. You leaned back with your shoulders, trying to catch some water to start washing up. It felt so good to stand underneath the water again for so long, the cat wash at the sink in your room doing nothing for you compared to the heavenly feeling of grime sliding off you.

You felt his chest lean into you as your captor bent forward, grabbing the shampoo from the shelf. A nervous pang went through you as you heard him squeeze the gel onto his hand and watched the bottle being placed back before you felt his palms brushing against your head. Both your bodies were incredibly stiff as he started massaging it into your hair, never even asking for your permission. Still, you were more surprised about how good it felt to have someone wash your hair than his lack of boundaries.

Breathing out, you decided to try to relax, letting your yandere massage your scalp. One of his hands vanished temporarily, but you heard him aggressively rubbing his own head with it, probably using the foam on his hands for his hair. There it was again, that strange way of obsessing over you. If you were a couple, this would have probably made sense, but as you were not, this was just your stalker trying to feel closer to you by using your leftovers.

"You're beautiful," he mumbled suddenly, and the compliment caught you off-guard. A sense of shame washed over you as you felt the initial flattery, but it was normal to feel this way when you were most vulnerable, right? Naked and exposed to another being. This much was okay, right?

You tried to tell yourself that, but when he leaned forward again to reach for the body wash next, you felt something hard and eager brush between your buttcheeks. Your eyes widened and his hand halted, fingers curling into a fist in what could have only been frustration, but they unfurled as he let out a short, low groan. His other hand gripped your shoulder tightly, fingernails pressing into your skin.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled, annoyance in his voice—annoyance at himself. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," he kept repeating again and again. It became agonizingly clear he didn't intend to ruin the moment, but that he couldn't help himself from getting hard from merely being with you in the shower and washing your hair. That's how deep that man had fallen. Fallen into obsessive love with you.

"If you could just-- Let me-- Maybe we could-- I could--"

He didn't finish any of the sentences he blabbered, but you felt him grind against you, making you lose your balance and brace yourself against the wall in front of you. Your yan didn't back away. The position you were in was awful. Vulnerable and so, so easy to take advantage of. You felt him grind his cock against you again, another groan—this time bitten back but no less audible—escaping him as you realized he wouldn't just stop.

It was on you to stop this. To put an end to it before it was too late.

You knew it was a bad idea, but the shower was too tempting. You glanced to the side, only the curtain separating you from the room. But jumping out could cause you more harm than good; you could slip or fall, hit your head, or bang into any of the furniture around. However if you stayed... not sure he'd just let you go if you asked. He appeared so pathetic before, but you knew he was downright selfish at all times.

Your captor kept grinding against you, the feeling of his cock so invading, although still relatively harmless. But he was picking up the speed. If you wanted to act, you had to do it soon, but... should you? It might have been better to let him get it out of his system once. Perhaps he'd be overcome by shame and leave you alone afterwards, or he'd at least be satiated. You could endure the grinding, even if you risked more dangers if you allowed it to just happen. Tears stung in your eyes as you felt violated by him and your thoughts alike, the what-ifs unbearable and cruel.

You braced yourself and decided what to do.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

#yan-poll #yandere talk #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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sansaorgana · 7 months ago

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— DECEPTION (IX)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Negotiations with Herald Elrond do not go as smoothly as your husband planned and you become more and more aware of your feelings towards Adar.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This chapter is quite short but the previous one was long and it would be too big if I included this part there, meanwhile the next chapter(s) will be the last part(s) already with two alternative versions and the events from this one remain the same for both endings – that's why it's a separate chapter. 💕 By the way, do you remember the poll at the end of one of the previous chapters? Adar won there against Sauron, which means most of you would rather see the Reader in this story end up with Adar. As I said, there will be two alternative versions, so you can choose the ending. However, I think it is obvious already that both relationships will not be of an easy kind. There is lots of betrayal going on between Sauron and the Reader but also Adar finding out about her being Sauron's lover is deeply problematic... 🙈

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 3,650

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (IX)

You were responsible for looking after your prisoner Lady Galadriel while your husband was attacking Eregion and damming the river. He didn’t want you near the actual fight, at least not for now yet. You knew what he needed your prisoner for and you were supposed to prepare her for the task.

“Your husband is a fool,” Galadriel spoke to you through gritted teeth when you were leading her by the shackles inside the cage prepared for her. “I do not care if I live or die. I fight for ideas much bigger than you or I. I fight for Middle-earth and it will fail if Adar walks right into Sauron’s trap.”

“Perhaps,” you answered mysteriously and gave her a scolding look, “but you overestimate my influence on Adar. I think I have done that, too. He will not listen to me in this case. He is too determined to get rid of Sauron and to erase him from Middle-earth completely. He does not think rationally,” you explained to her. “He would burn the whole world, I think, if it would only take Sauron down with it.”

Galadriel stayed silent and you pushed her inside the cage before locking it and hiding the key. However, it was not time yet for her to be taken out of the war camp, so you just sat on a chair in front of the cage and kept staring at her, studying everything you had wished to be once as a young and naive Elven maiden.

“What is it like?” Galadriel asked in a whisper after a long while of silence.

“What do you mean?” You raised an eyebrow at her.

“What is it like to go down the dark path?” She furrowed her brows and your heart skipped a beat.

Why was she wondering? Was she considering it? Or had she in the past? Was Sauron the reason for that? Your lover?

“It is freeing but treacherous. It has its price like everything else,” you shrugged your arms.

“Do you love him? Do you love Adar?” She asked one more question but it did not feel like an interrogation. In a way, it felt like being questioned by a curious child.

But Lady Galadriel was not a curious child. She was one of the most noble Elven ladies. Her heart and mind had to be a real mess if she kept asking such things. And, once again, you had that malicious feeling that Sauron was the reason for her curiosity.

“I have grown to love him,” you admitted without thinking and then you looked away, trying to avoid her surprised gaze.

Because you were surprised, too. You had never said that out loud – not to him, not to anyone, not to your own self. And yet, your lips answered before your mind could think of a coherent and vague reply.

You loved Adar but you were so entangled in Sauron’s web that you brought him to his death.

“Are you asking me these because of Sauron the Dark Lord?” You asked Lady Galadriel, trying to change the subject. “Because of the past you once shared with him?”

“Funny. I have just realised you call yourself the Dark Lady of Mordor,” Galadriel also preferred to change the subject and talk about you rather than about herself.

“It is not the name I have given to myself. What are you insinuating?” You moved uncomfortably.

That was the exact reason why you did not want to spend too much time with her alone. You were scared that her heart – influenced by Sauron just like yours – would recognise you as her rival.

“Perhaps you do not hate him as much as your husband does. Perhaps you idolise him,” Galadriel pointed out and you stood up angrily and pressed the tip of your dagger to her throat.

“Shut it, you are pushing too hard, Elf,” you warned her and she looked down at the blade with widened eyes.

Sauron’s dagger. Of course. You only proved her point.

“It was a gift from my husband,” you explained and hid the dagger away. “He took it from Sauron’s dead body after killing him.”

“Beware. His items are as powerful as he, Uruk,” Galadriel threatened.

“I am not easily corrupted,” you remarked although it was a lie and an obvious one as well. And she knew it.

“Really?” She asked.

“I told you to shut it, didn’t I?” You only drawled out through gritted teeth and sat back on the chair.

The sounds from afar were making you feel anxious but you knew that now there was absolutely no chance of convincing Adar to go back home. He would never abandon the battlefield and retreat his forces. His pride was too grand for that and you could only watch how the events would turn out.

Perhaps Sauron would not win. There was a small thread of hope that he would not succeed in his scheme. It would not be the first time when Adar outsmarted him.

And even though you already knew that to Sauron you were nothing but a tool – you still felt guilty for thinking such thoughts. As if he was a god indeed but the funny thing was, you had never felt so guilty after abandoning the Valar. But you felt guilty now for a man so rotten and evil.

He should have stayed dead.

Charging Elven horses were a beautiful sight and quite powerful, too. Even if they were coming right at you. But you stood still despite your pounding heart and clinged to Adar’s arm to feel a bit safer.

If you were to die now alongside him – perhaps it would be for the better. You would miss out on so many awful things that were about to come.

And as you watched the Elven soldiers charging towards you, you thought they looked beautifully terrifying. Some part of you mourned you were no longer their kin but the other part of you felt oddly proud to be the very thing that repulsed them now, leading the army of filthy creatures shouting obscenities towards them. And in that way you were an Uruk, too. There was nothing saint to you and no rules to follow anymore.

Except for Sauron. He was your only exception but you hoped to get free of his chains, too.

Being Adar’s wife had taught you many things but humility was not one of the lessons. On the contrary, he had made you realise that you deserved to be treated as an equal.

At the sight of Lady Galadriel inside the cage, with an Orc’s blade cutting her neck and drawing blood, the army of the Elves stopped all of the sudden right in front of you. And the man leading them was Herald Elrond himself.

He was one of those important Elves that everyone knew but he had never treated you like you were worse just because you were a Lady from The Southlands, living inside the cold and raw fortress of Ostirith. He had always treated you with kindness and respect.

And now he was staring at you if you were something disgusting.

Many considered Galadriel to be made of pure light but it was him out of all who would be the most difficult to corrupt even though he was half-human.

“Welcome, Commander Elrond,” Adar took a step ahead, leaving you in the shadows with his children.

Long silence occurred but it was obvious that despite the hesitation, Elrond would not leave his friend in the enemy’s cage or continue the attack under such circumstances. Therefore, he nodded at his people and jumped out of his horse. He took one more man with him – Vorohil – and he agreed to follow you with him to your camp and negotiate.

You walked alongside Galadriel’s cage, watching her carefully as the Orcs kept pushing it with her inside. You could feel Elrond’s disgusted and curious eyes on you as you decided it was getting frustrating to be perceived by all those Elves who knew nothing of you or your history. All they knew was judgement – another hypocrisy of a kin known to be so pure and noble.

You truly wanted to go back to Mordor; to hide in the shadows and remain there forever, inside your realm and far away from others. Yet, who could you blame for being here and not there? It had been you pushing Adar to come to Eregion.

You stood next to your husband who was sitting by the table inside your tent. This time you did not choose to sit next to him like the last time when you had been negotiating with Lady Galadriel. She was in shackles by the wooden pole and Glûg was standing behind you, staring at Elrond and Vorohil with hatred in his small eyes.

There had been a time when his eyes had been nearly the same when laid upon you. And now he would die to defend you – of that you were sure.

“The Ring you carry,” Adar began once they were sitting across the table. “Show it to me,” he requested.

“A foolish act if I had brought it here,” Elrond pointed out.

“You are a courtier. More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword,” Adar told him and you smirked a little because you had thought the same of yourself.

Sauron himself had once told you something similar; an excuse to keep you away from the important events. And for many years you had believed in that. It was Adar who had gifted you a dagger to defend yourself and who had allowed you to keep the very sword you had used to doom The Southlands. It was him who had begun teaching you how to wield it and you really hoped he would live to finish this task.

“You’ve never seen me wield either,” Elrond answered.

“You should’ve just kept charging, Elrond,” Galadriel whispered.

“If she speaks again, cut out her tongue,” Adar looked up at Glûg and the Orc approached her to put his curved blade to her neck as other Orcs growled and Elrond moved uncomfortably. “Sauron is my enemy as much as yours,” Adar addressed him again. “Give me what I need to defeat him and let us all be rid of him.”

“Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion?” Elrond asked angrily.

“Eregion has fallen into shadow,” you interrupted them and Elrond looked up at you, a little surprised. Perhaps he was surprised to see that you were allowed to speak. “It belongs to The Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls,” you informed him and calling Sauron such a name rolled off your tongue with a bit of satisfaction.

But also guilt. Again.

“The Deceiver does not work alone,” Elrond looked up at you and your heart stopped beating for a moment as you blinked your eyes slowly, trying to remain calm. “You two have helped him like the fools that you are,” he spat out and you sighed out of relief.

“You cannot save Eregion now, it is a lost cause,” Adar told Elrond. “You can save Galadriel,” he looked behind to stare at her with Glûg still pressing his blade to her throat. “It is an earnest offer,” Adar added. “I suggest you take it and leave Sauron to me.”

He stood up and approached Elrond very slowly while looking at him carefully.

“You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar,” he pointed out and shook his head. “If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins, you must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmanoeuvre you, my forces outfight yours, and you will fall.”

“Not before I have painted the sands of the Glanduin black with the blood of your kin,” Elrond stood up to face Adar as his face winced in anger.

Glûg growled behind you and you shushed him, softly.

“Easy, my dear,” you addressed him, “it is nothing but the noble and pure Elves showing their hypocrisy once again. Oh, how glad I am to not be their kin any longer,” you looked deep into Elrond’s eyes.

Of course, technically you were. You would always be, no matter how many people would start calling you an Uruk. But in their eyes, you were no longer a part of the family and they would never accept you. Therefore, you were not their kin.

“Our children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn’t bear to hear spoken aloud,” Adar whispered to Elrond and you felt a shiver go down your spine when he called the Orcs your children.

Your children. Well, you had thought of it before, that in some way they were like step-children to you. But you had never expected him to say it out loud, especially in a moment like this; facing the enemy and making a statement to the outside world.

Your children. Another responsibility being put onto your shoulders. He had been right when he had told you that the power was a burden and him sharing it with you was not a gift – it was a curse. Being the Lord Father of the Orcs was yet another burden and now he wanted you to carry it with him. Like an equal he treated you as. Because there were downsides to being an equal to someone as powerful as well. If you were still as naive as before, you would think that Sauron had been simply protecting you from the burdens whenever he had been keeping you away from all the big things.

Your children. How could you betray them now? How could you lead them to death and slavery?

“Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely, Adar?” Elrond asked your husband, looking at him only but his words felt like knives stabbing your heart and creating a bleeding, open wound. “Are they?” Elrond asked, addressing the Orcs standing next to you.

You could feel their uneasiness and Glûg even lowered his blade from Galadriel’s throat. You nearly wanted to point out to Elrond that he was unwillingly following Sauron’s scheme at the moment, too; turning the Orcs against their Lord Father.

And you knew his question was a difficult one for your husband, because he didn’t answer it. He changed the subject instead.

“The Ring for Galadriel’s life. What is it to be?” He asked.

Elrond looked down and walked past Adar to watch Galadriel’s face. She was crying silent tears and in that moment, you nearly felt sorry for her.

“Ask me on the field,” Elrond turned around to face your husband again, “when the neck with a blade against is yours.”

The Orcs snarled and you snorted at his words, however your mockery was of a nervous kind and you could see that Adar was not happy with this outcome.

Despite his rotten and dark soul, you knew that he truly hoped to form some sort of alliance with the Elves for this battle. Deep within his soul, he hoped to get rid of Sauron and to prove to the Elves that his darkness was of a different kind than the Dark Lord’s. He hoped that in the end, the Elves would let the Orcs go back to Mordor in peace.

Even a man like Adar could be naive sometimes.

You approached him because your heart ached for him, especially at the sight of his expression.

“Very well,” he looked at Elrond’s face. “I will meet you there… with her head on a pike,” he threatened and you held his hand gently with your soft ones.

Elrond looked down at your joined fingers for a brief moment and then he stared intensely into your husband’s eyes.

“If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell,” he said.

Adar nodded slightly but he looked over his shoulder to lay his eyes upon Glûg to make sure.

“He’s unarmed,” Glûg said, therefore Adar nodded at Elrond and Glûg walked away from Galadriel.

You squeezed Adar’s hand tighter and stood in front of him, blocking his view and trying to distract his uneasy mind with yourself even though it felt treacherous since you were the very viper causing his demise.

“How strange is the way that the Elves love,” you whispered to him. “They would truly sacrifice people the most dear to them for their ideas,” you pointed out, bringing up the situation with Arondir and his human lover.

It felt now as if it had taken place in another lifetime.

Adar did not say anything to that and he kept watching Elrond carefully over your shoulder, which made you look down nervously as you fidgeted with his fingers; your wedding rings rubbing against each other and shimmering slightly in the dim light.

When Elrond – surprisingly – kissed Galadriel, everyone looked away, including the Orcs and most certainly your husband. You wondered about the nature of Elrond’s relationship with Galadirel but you did not care enough to actually ask about it or stare at them.

At least now Adar looked down at you and you lifted your eyes up to meet his gaze.

“Would you sacrifice me if it meant defeating Sauron?” You asked and gods only knew why because you truly did not want to know.

Adar cracked a sad smile and raised his free hand to caress your cheeks with his fingertips as he often did.

“I would find a way around,” he whispered.

“If there would be none,” you insisted.

“Then you know that I would have to,” he breathed out and you could see the pain and guilt in his eyes but his words felt like a punch.

You let go of his hand and moved away. That was also the moment when Elrond walked out of the tent in a hurry, calling for his friend to follow him. When they left, you walked out as well but you took the opposite turn to disappear inside the forest and go to your new favourite spot where the fallen tree was.

You sat on the grass with your back pressed to it as you took a deep breath in. And in that moment of weakness, you called out for Sauron once more with your mind and heart, risking him penetrating your soul and seeing your betrayal. But, as usual, he did not answer your call even though he was so close.

You had admitted to Galadriel that you loved your husband and on the same day he had said such a thing? Perhaps you still were a naive fool like you had been with Sauron.

But could you really be angry at him for answering that when you were the one deceiving him?

Your train of thoughts was interrupted by Adar himself who had followed you. He sighed at the sight of you and you wiped your tears quickly, hating to be seen crying for such a reason.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he admitted and offered you his hand to help you stand up but you ignored him, looking away. Adar rolled his eyes slightly and crouched down to be able to face you while he forced you to look back at him by grabbing your chin. “What does it matter to you anyway?” He asked. “Do you truly care about what I feel towards you?”

“Of course I do,” your eyes widened at his words. “You are all I have, Adar. You made sure of that, killing my father, turning my mother against me and destroying my home,” you reminded him.

“And how can you care after all of that?” He wondered out loud with a puzzled expression.

“You just cannot believe I could ever love you because you think of yourself as unworthy of it but what you believe does not mean nor can change anything,” you confessed, a little nervously.

He froze at your words and took his hand away from you as if you were made of fire. You kept looking at his face and crying silent tears – humiliation after confessing your feelings, guilt for being Sauron’s lover and pity for all the suffering the man in front of you had been through; all mixed together.

“I am a spirit much darker than you think, husband. It is me who is unworthy of you,” you dared to reveal.

“Do not speak such absurdities!” He got angry a little and looked away. After calming down, he laid his eyes back on your face and hesitated for a moment.

He opened his mouth to say something but the words were apparently too heavy to say them out loud and you understood that. But he did not leave you without any reply, however. His hands cupped your cheeks delicately and he leaned in to join your lips together in a kiss so soft and loving like none of your kisses that had ever been shared before.

With trembling hands, you cupped his scarred face, too, and deepened the kiss as more and more tears streamed down your cheeks.

And then… a glimpse. An odd tug at your heart, a short vision of Lord Celebrimbor’s forge, a flickering feeling causing shivers go down your body. Sauron had answered your call with delay and had made an attempt to reach you but what he had seen only caused him to retreat in a hurry and blind rage.

Adar sensed your sudden uneasiness and broke the kiss, moving away slightly to study your face carefully with his worried eyes.

“Are you quite alright, my love?” Adar asked you, addressing you in the Quenya language. Your heart clenched inside your chest at those words while you kept caressing his face with your thumbs.

“I will be after the battle,” you whispered. “Win it, so we can go home.”

MASTERLIST

#adar x reader #sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #lilysfiction

121 notes · View notes

vigilskeep · 8 months ago

Note

was looking thru ur old romance polls bc im planning on playing a new surana and im trying to decide whod be the most interesting romance, and i looked at the zevran sweep like huh i guess ppl really have an opinion. completely forgot u used to be zevsurana 😭😭 i know its bc of ur oc but do u have any general surana and zevran thoughts abt whatd make them good together?

i may no longer be tumblr user zevsurana but i am still zevran/surana truther number one

an elf is separated from all family & community & their own kind, and raised and trained in a place where they’re never safe, by people who never had their best interests at heart and who pressure them to betray the ones they love the most. and there’s someone else just like them in this, born worlds apart. but by chance and mishap and devastation they find their way to each other!!! and see a mirror!!! and fall in love!!! gets me every time

surana might never see this, but zevran is the one who most fiercely argues against a warden who tries to annul the circle. he’s got your back. the warden being dangerous is one of the things he admires in them, and no fear of magic or threat of templars could ever make him turn away. not to mention that zev literally approves of you considering making a deal with a demon... the dragon age gold standard of boyfriends for blood mages right here. get u a man who would absolutely steal ur phylactery for u in an instant

i just think it’s crazy to open the story of dao with a mage warden in the fade during their harrowing, the black city looming above with the weight of mages’ guilt, the blights always punishment for their sins, and to have zevran say at the end: for the chance to be by your side i would storm the black city itself. i’d damn the world all over again if you led me there. it would be worth it. wtf. wtf!!!

umm what else... i mean its literally a dashing rogue and tower princess (gender neutral) pairing... what more could u want

#it brings out a lot of exclamation marks in me.#sorry. it’s late #and i love them.

131 notes · View notes

mrs-delaney · 3 months ago

Text

Hide | Vegas Rules | Eight. Two

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 8.3k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, emotional vulnerability, intimate moments, jealousy, possessiveness, and what happens when watching becomes too much

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

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

🔥 Requests: Open

Author's Note: Part two of "Vegas Rules" is here! Early!

After leaving you hanging with that bathroom encounter, we get to see what happens when Joe and Riley stop dancing around each other and start having the difficult conversations.

This chapter dives deep into the aftermath—what happens when jealousy breaks the carefully constructed walls between them? When wanting someone from a distance becomes unbearable? When protection becomes possession?

For Joe, watching Riley from seven rows away becomes its own kind of torture—not because of what she's doing, but because of all the ways he's chosen not to be beside her. For Riley, it's the moment she stops accepting half-measures when "someday" and "not yet" are no longer enough.

The hotel room turns into something quieter, heavier—a space where control slips and the truth starts to spill. What began as release becomes reckoning.

And just when it seems they've reached an impasse, Joe makes a decision that surprises even himself—one that might either bridge their separate worlds or expose how fundamentally different they truly are.

Thank you all for the incredible engagement on the blog this week—it’s meant so much. I’ve loved reading your thoughts, your questions, and your theories. The poll is now closed, and we’ve officially said goodbye to the faceclaim. I’m hoping that shift makes this story feel even more immersive and personal as we move forward. 🎰👀💔

Asks are open; let's talk!

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

* * *

The contrast was whiplash.

Twelve hours ago, Riley had been lying in bed, tangled in too many feelings and too few answers. Now, she was in boots and highlighter, lights flashing in her face, the smell of beer and cologne thick in the air.

The arena pulsed with anticipation, thousands of bodies generating heat that seemed to distort the air despite the aggressive air conditioning. Lights swept across the crowd in rhythmic patterns, briefly illuminating faces before plunging sections back into relative darkness. The constant roar of conversation punctuated by occasional shouts created a physical pressure Joe could feel against his skin.

From his seat, Joe had a clear view of Riley—directly across the ring, just far enough that the space between them felt sharper than it should have. Close enough to catch every expression, every casual touch. Far enough that they might as well have been in different worlds.

She wore high-waisted black jeans and a cropped white tee, the hem just brushing her stomach when she moved. Her oversized brown jacket hung loose around her frame, lived-in and perfectly slouched. Boots instead of heels, dark sunglasses she didn’t bother taking off indoors. Joe had watched at least three different groups approach her for photos, and she handled each one the same way—easy, gracious, like fame had never managed to touch her center.

“You’re staring again,” Ja’Marr murmured beside him, amusement evident in his voice.

“I’m watching the warmups,” Joe lied, not taking his eyes off Riley, who was laughing at something Pete had said.

The fight hadn’t even started, and Joe was already losing his mind.

From his seat, he had a perfect view of Riley’s section—close enough to make out her expressions, far enough that it felt like she was in a different universe. And in that universe, Riley Carter was magnetic.

It didn’t stop.

All night, a steady stream of people flowed in and out of Riley’s orbit. Men, mostly. Some women. All of them stopping to lean in close, to touch her arm, her waist, her shoulder. To say something that made her smile in that way that made Joe feel like he was watching something he wasn’t supposed to see.

He didn’t know who they were. Colleagues, friends, people from the industry—maybe more. Maybe less. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they all seemed to know her. Want something from her. And she gave it—not everything, but enough. A laugh, a nod, a private look.

She was in her element, and he was in hell.

Riley wore it all like armor, that effortless charm that made people want to orbit her. And Joe just sat there, jaw tight, watching some asshole lean so close to her ear it made something sharp twist in his chest.

And then—of course—Dom showed up.

Wearing a black mesh shirt and confidence like cologne, he greeted her with the kind of casual familiarity that came with history. His hands found her waist as they hugged—too long, too easy—and when he pulled back, he kissed her cheek. Riley smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners like she was genuinely happy to see him. She said something that made Dom laugh, and then he dropped into the seat behind her—too close, too easy. Like he knew the shape of her space.

And once, he had.

Joe didn’t move. Just stared, heat pooling low in his gut.

It was the familiarity that got him. The comfort. The fact that Dom didn’t hesitate to claim space next to her while Joe had spent weeks hesitating.

Joe sat across the ring, frozen in place, wondering if she had any idea what she was doing to him.

He didn’t say a word for the rest of the fight. He barely registered the roar of the crowd, the brutal rhythm of fists hitting flesh, the pulsing lights that painted everyone in flashes of red and gold. Across the arena, Riley was the only thing in focus.

“You still planning to talk to her tonight?” Ja’Marr asked as people began to move around them.

“Yeah,” Joe said, his voice flat.

“You sure you’re gonna be able to wait that long?”

Joe didn’t answer. He was watching Riley hug someone goodbye, laughing at something Pete said as they gathered their things.

Then—just before she left—she looked up.

Right at him.

It wasn’t a long look. It wasn’t even obvious. But she found him across the distance, through the crowd and the noise and the dark.

And she winked.

Not teasing. Not smug. Just soft and sure. Like she was saying, I see you. I know. Don’t spiral. I’m still with you.

Joe sat back in his seat, breath leaving his lungs in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.

She disappeared into the crowd a second later.

But the knot in his chest loosened.

Just a little.

* * *

The fight ended in a blur—flashes from phones, bodies pressing toward the exits, handlers corralling them in opposite directions. Joe didn’t get a chance to catch her.

Back at his suite, towel slung low around his hips, he was halfway through washing the sweat and tension off when his phone buzzed.

Riley: We’re heading to Monarch for the after-party. If you’re going too… maybe we talk after?

He stared at the message for a beat, thumb ghosting over the screen.

Joe: Yeah. I’ll find you.

And now here he was.

Now, a few hours later, the after-party was in full swing. The club thumped with low, insistent bass, lights sweeping across bodies pressed together in varying stages of fame and flirtation.

Joe stood near the edge of his VIP section in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, all clean lines and stillness. He wasn’t drinking—just holding a half-empty glass out of habit. From his spot, he could see everything.

Especially her.

Riley was across the room, posted up in her own velvet-roped corner, flanked by Pete and Haley. She looked effortless—slightly tipsy, fully in her element, drink in hand as a revolving door of people filtered through to say hi. Industry types. A guy who looked like he played bass in a band Joe couldn’t name. Two separate actors. A DJ.

It wasn’t even that she was doing anything wrong. She wasn’t. She was polite, warm, occasionally flirty in that Riley way that wasn’t really flirting. But it didn’t matter.

Every time a guy leaned in too close, Joe felt it like a static charge under his skin.

Riley was mid-conversation with a guy Joe didn’t recognize—tall, too tan, too polished, laughing a little too hard at whatever she’d just said. His hand hovered at her elbow in that practiced way men used when they were trying to inch closer without getting caught doing it.

Joe didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t glare. Didn’t posture. Just moved—cutting cleanly across the floor, calm and certain, like he was stepping into a huddle with five seconds on the clock.

“Hey,” he said, low and easy as he reached them.

Riley turned instantly, eyes lighting the second she saw him. “Hey,” she echoed, warmer, steadier than he expected.

The man beside her paused, clearly trying to assess what kind of interruption this was. Joe didn’t look at him.

“I think we had plans,” Joe said, still looking only at Riley.

She smiled, small and knowing. “We did.”

And just like that, the other guy took the hint.

Riley didn’t ask questions. Didn’t tease, didn’t press. Just reached for her drink, took one last sip, and set it down like it hadn’t cost her anything to walk away from whatever conversation she was in. Like she’d been waiting for him.

Joe didn’t speak either. Just touched her lower back lightly, steering them through the crowd like he already had the route mapped in his head.

He had.

The side hallway was dimly lit and empty, save for the security guy near the back exit who gave Joe a subtle nod and stepped aside without a word. When they stepped out into the alley, the black SUV was already idling at the curb.

Joe opened the door for her. Riley didn’t hesitate—just slid in, quiet and composed. He followed, pulled the door shut behind them, and they were moving before either of them had said a word.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It was loaded.

Waiting.

Riley looked over at him, one brow raised, her voice easy but edged with something deeper.

“So,” she said. “We going to your place or mine?”

Joe let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—just barely.

“Mine,” he said, glancing out the window like it gave him something to focus on.

The SUV moved silently through the Vegas traffic, the tinted windows creating a private bubble separate from the neon chaos outside. Riley leaned back against the leather seat, watching Joe's profile as he stared ahead, his jaw still set with the same tension she'd noticed at the club.

"So," she said, breaking the silence. "Are we actually going to talk, or are we just going to sit in this loaded silence all the way back to your hotel?"

Joe turned to her then, his eyes softening slightly in the dim light. "I'm not great at this part."

"Which part?" Riley asked, shifting to face him fully.

"The part where I tell you how I felt watching you tonight," he admitted. "With all those guys circling you like they had some claim to your attention."

Riley studied him for a moment. “A few of them are friends. The rest? Background. They’re not important, Joe. Not the way you are.”

"I know that. Logically, I know that," Joe said, running a hand over his face. "But watching it happen... seeing the way they looked at you..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Is that why you came over? To stake your claim?" There was no accusation in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

“I came over because I couldn’t stand sitting in that club watching everyone have your attention but me,” Joe said, voice low and tight.

Riley looked at him, calm but unflinching.

“You could’ve had my attention, Joe.” Her eyes didn’t leave his. “You just didn’t want it in public.”

That landed. He didn’t deny it.

“You sat across the ring and acted like that would make it easier. For who, Joe?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I thought it was what we agreed on,” he said finally.

“Keeping things quiet. Low.”

Riley’s voice stayed even.

“We did. Because you needed it.”

Her voice softened, “But don’t act like I didn’t want to reach for you.

He didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

“I agreed because I get it,” she continued. “I know what it’s like to need space. To protect something before it’s real enough to survive being seen.”

She took a breath—not a dramatic pause, just a breath.

“But you can’t ask for distance and then punish me for standing where you left me.”

Riley kept going.

“You can’t have it both ways, Joe. You can’t build the distance, then resent me for not crossing it.”

“I know,” he said quietly. No defensiveness. Just truth.

“I know I asked for space. I just didn’t think it would feel like this.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, all eyes, all honesty.

“So what now?” she asked.

The SUV slowed as they approached the hotel entrance, but neither of them moved to exit.

"That's what we need to figure out," Joe said, meeting her gaze directly. "Tonight."

* * *

They entered through the hotel’s private entrance, steps quiet on the polished floor. No words passed between them, but the air was heavy with everything they hadn’t said. Riley kept a measured distance, matching his pace but not his proximity.

In the elevator, silence stretched thick between them—quiet, charged, not unfriendly. Just full.

Inside his suite, Joe moved to the minibar, more from habit than need. "Drink?"

"Please," Riley said, kicking off her shoes and perching on the arm of the sofa. She watched him pour two glasses, his movements precise and deliberate.

When he handed her the drink, his fingers brushed hers—a small touch that shouldn't have felt so significant.

I meant what I texted,” Joe said, setting his untouched glass on the table. “But it wasn’t just about last night. Or the bathroom. Or even Dom.”

He looked up at her. “It was about tonight too. About sitting across the room and realizing I did that to us.”

Riley didn’t move. Just watched him.

“I told myself keeping it quiet would protect something. But all it did was put you out of reach.”

His voice was low, but honest. “And watching everyone else step into the space I left?”

He shook his head. “That was on me.”

Riley’s voice was calm. Steady.

“I didn’t need you to claim me, Joe. I just needed you to show up.”

That hit harder than anything else tonight.

“I know,” he said.

“I didn’t know how to be close and still hold on to the version of me I’ve always been.”

“Maybe it’s not about control anymore,” Riley said quietly. “Maybe it’s about choosing what you want—even if it’s messy.”

Joe didn’t answer. Just looked at her—really looked at her.

She wasn’t guarded. Wasn’t asking for anything he hadn’t already started to give. And maybe that was what undid him.

Not pressure. Not expectation. Just her—still there.

He took a slow step forward, no longer holding back.

“What if I’ve never let anyone see me like this?”

Riley didn’t flinch.

“Then start with me.”

And that was it—the moment everything tilted.

He reached for her, hands finding her waist, her jaw, like he was afraid she might vanish if he didn’t hold on. But Riley didn’t flinch. She leaned in, brushing her mouth against his—not rushed, not needy. Just sure.

Her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips tracing heat across the planes of his back. He exhaled against her lips, and it sounded like surrender.

Joe kissed her then—not tentative, not cautious, but real. Full-bodied. Hungry in a way he hadn’t let himself feel before. It wasn’t about control anymore. It was about need.

And need was messier.

It was the kind of kiss that pushed her backward in slow, unsteady steps—until her calves hit the edge of the bed and she dropped into it, knees parting as he followed without hesitation. His weight pressed her down, and she welcomed it. Welcomed the grounding. The gravity. The way his body folded around hers like it was the only thing keeping her from flying apart.

Her fingers slid under his shirt, palms dragging over hot skin and the tension coiled tight beneath it. He hissed softly when her nails scraped down his spine, and the sound went straight to her core. There was no teasing this time, no performance. Just heat. Just need.

Joe pulled back only long enough to drag his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor with a careless flick of his wrist before returning to her mouth like he couldn’t stand the distance. His hands were all over her—gripping her hips, her thighs, her waist like he couldn’t decide where to settle. Like touching her was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

“Let me have you,” he said, voice rough. “Not just your body. You.”

“You already do,” she whispered, breath catching when his hips pressed forward.

He stilled. Just for a second. Then asked. “Then why are you holding on like you think I might leave.”

“Because it only feels real when it’s just us. When there’s no one else watching.”

Joe didn’t move. Not at first. His eyes stayed on hers, too steady, too soft for how hard her chest was beating. Then his thumb brushed her cheekbone—so gently it undid her.

“It is real,” he said. Quiet. Certain. Like he meant it more than anything he’d ever said out loud.

His forehead pressed to hers.

“I don’t know how to prove it to you. I just know I need you to let me try.”

That was the difference now—he wasn’t trying to control it. Or her. He wasn’t trying to fix it with sex or silence or space. He was just trying to stay. And something about that made her shiver harder than the air on her bare skin.

She didn’t say anything. Just nodded once. Sharp. Needing. Then kissed him like she believed him.

And when he kissed her back—slow, reverent, dragging his mouth down her neck like prayer—he didn’t take. He gave.

His hands moved with aching patience, skimming the sides of her thighs, the slope of her waist, the curve of her ribs like he was memorizing her all over again. Like he didn’t want to miss a single place she needed to be touched.

He sat back on his heels, pulling her with him, her legs loose around his waist, her breathing shallow now—more from feeling than anticipation.

When he peeled her shirt over her head, it wasn’t hurried. It was slow. Deliberate. His knuckles brushed reverently along her skin, like he was unwrapping something sacred. Something that wasn’t his unless she gave it.

And she did.

She let him look. Let him touch. Let herself be seen.

He kissed down her chest, over the swell of her breast, lower still. Not greedy—just wanting. Like this was his way of telling her all the things he didn’t know how to say.

His hands traced the waistband of her pants and underwear, thumbs pressing in, grounding her. When he slid them down, he didn’t look away. His mouth followed the path—soft, open, worshipful.

By the time he settled between her thighs, her whole body was trembling with how much she felt. How good it was to be wanted like this.

He kissed the inside of her knee. Then higher. Then higher.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she whispered, her voice shaky, overwhelmed.

“I’m not,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers as his lips hovered just above the place she ached. “I just want to make you feel good.”

And then he did.

The first swipe of his tongue made her jolt.

Not because it was unexpected—but because it felt like too much. Like everything.

His hands gripped her thighs, firm and steady, thumbs pressing into the soft give of her hips to keep her open for him. Anchored. Grounded. Her body trembled under the weight of it—not the pressure, but the care. The precision. The want.

He licked her again, slower this time. Testing. Tasting. Then again—deeper now, more sure. Like he couldn’t get enough of her. Like this was something he’d been craving for days, weeks, months, and was finally allowed to touch.

She exhaled on a moan, one hand sliding down to tangle in his hair. Not to guide him—just to have him. To feel the reality of his mouth on her, the messy, hot press of tongue and breath and reverence.

Joe groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight through her core. Like he needed this as much as she did. Like her pleasure was his, and he was chasing it with single-minded devotion.

He worked her slowly—mouth lazy but skilled, tongue dragging through her folds with maddening thoroughness. Every flick and circle and press was intentional, like he was reading the stutter of her breath and the way her hips jerked as a map.

And then he locked in.

His mouth sealed over her clit, tongue circling with just enough pressure to make her gasp, her back arching off the bed like her body couldn’t notrespond. His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her open, keeping her there, like he wantedher to feel all of it.

“Joe,” she gasped, head falling back, voice gone high and breathless.

He hummed again. Then sucked—just once, perfectly—and her thighs snapped around his shoulders before she could stop them.

She tried to close them. Tried to pull away—overstimulated, already too close.

But he didn’t let her.

His palms smoothed up the outside of her legs, pressing down gently, not stopping her, just reminding her: he was here. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Not this time.

Not when she was shaking under him. Not when her fingers were clenched in his hair like a lifeline. Not when she was coming undone on his tongue, whispering his name like it meant something sacred.

Because it did.

And he treated it that way.

Her thighs trembled around his shoulders, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up. Just held her steady and kept going, tongue unrelenting, mouth working her like he wanted her to fall apart for him.

Like he needed her to.

And she was close—God, she was close. Every nerve lit up and fraying. Her hips bucked helplessly, caught between instinct and overwhelm, but he just followed, mouth slick and insistent, his hands smoothing her down, grounding her, coaxing her deeper into the spiral.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he murmured, lips brushing slick and open against her skin. “Right here, Bird. Let go.”

Her body arched like a bowstring, tension pulling tight behind her ribs as her fingers fisted in the sheets, breath coming out in hitched, desperate gasps. His tongue found that rhythm again—just right, just perfect—and that was it.

She came like he’d pulled it from her with his bare hands.

A sharp cry tore from her throat, thighs clamping around his ears as her body seized and shook, wave after wave crashing through her. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t quiet. It was wrecking—full-body and full-hearted, a release too big to hold back.

Joe held her through all of it.

Stayed right there, mouth easing into gentle kisses, tongue softening into slow, reverent passes as her body twitched and trembled beneath him. He didn’t ask for more. Didn’t move. Just stayed. Anchored. Present.

Like he wanted her to feel that he was still there. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

When she finally stilled, when the tremors softened and her breath began to slow, Joe didn’t rush. He just rested his cheek lightly against the inside of her thigh, arms looped around her waist, holding her like he didn’t quite know how to let go

Riley carded trembling fingers through his hair.

For a long, slow moment, that was all it was. The sound of her breathing. The weight of his hands. The quiet press of his skin against hers.

And then he kissed her again. A slow, open-mouthed drag just above her knee. Then higher. Then higher. Not to tease this time, not to unravel—just to remind her he was still here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

By the time he rose over her, she was already reaching. Her hands caught his face, her thighs falling open to cradle his hips without thought.

Joe kissed her like she was the only thing left in the world that made sense. Like she was the only thing that ever had.

“I need you,” she whispered, voice wrecked, lips brushing his.

“You’ve got me,” he said, just as low.

Her hands slipped down his back, fingers splaying wide against the hard line of muscle. He was heavy and warm above her, the air thick with sweat and steam and the lingering ghost of her release. She felt drunk on it—on him.

When he rolled his hips, cock dragging heavy and hard against her, she gasped.

“Please,” she breathed.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t make her ask again.

One hand found her thigh, bracing her open, the other curling under her jaw as he kissed her deep—then deeper—as he pushed inside.

The stretch was slow. Deep. A steady, aching glide that made her gasp into his mouth, made her toes curl against the sheets. He filled her so completely, so carefully, it felt like something sacred.

Like he was putting her back together from the inside.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked on hers. “I’m right here, Riley. I’m not disappearing.”

Her breath caught. Something in her chest cracked open again—something old and aching and afraid—and she let it. Let him.

Let herself believe him.

She could barely breathe, barely think. Her arms looped around his shoulders, holding him tighter, her legs wrapping around his hips without meaning to.

He started to move—slow at first, deliberate. Each thrust deep and smooth, dragging pleasure up her spine like wildfire. Her breath caught with every one, her nails biting into his back.

Joe kept his eyes on her the whole time. Not rushed. Not distracted. Just there.

Every inch of him, completely hers.

“You’re not disappearing,” she gasped, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice cracked on the last syllable.

His rhythm faltered for just a beat—then he kissed her, hard.

“I’m not,” he said against her mouth. “Not going anywhere.”

And then he showed her.

With every thrust—slow, deep, relentless—he drove the words deeper than any promise ever had. Her hands slid up his back, anchoring herself to the press of his body, the heat of his skin, the steady rhythm of his breath against her mouth.

He moved like he wanted to memorize her. Like he wanted to leave proof in the way her hips arched to meet him, in the way her lips fell open in something halfway between a moan and a prayer.

“Joe,” she whispered, her voice so raw it barely held shape.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed, forehead pressed to hers, his pace never faltering. “I’ve always got you.”

She believed him because of the way he touched her—like he couldn’t help it. Because of the way he looked at her—like she wasn’t just a person, but a place. Like she was home.

His thrusts deepened, growing less measured now—still careful, still steady, but with a need that had begun to overtake him. She felt it in the way his jaw clenched against her temple. In the way his hands gripped her like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers.

She didn’t.

She anchored herself to him—legs locked tight around his hips, arms wound around his shoulders, mouth brushing against his jaw, his cheek, his ear. Anywhere she could reach. Anywhere she could stay.

“I’m close,” she gasped, hips rocking up to meet him, breath catching on a broken moan. “Joe, I—”

“I know,” he panted. “I feel you, Riley. Come with me.”

She did. With him. For him.

Her release crested hard and fast—tumbling through her in a rush of heat and lightning, her whole body tightening around him as she cried out. Joe followed on instinct, burying himself as deep as he could go, groaning her name like a vow.

And for a moment, the world stopped.

No cameras. No noise. No eyes. Just skin. Breath. The taste of sweat and salt and everything they hadn’t said.

He stayed inside her as they came down, his weight braced on his elbows, his mouth moving in soft, reverent patterns across her skin—her neck, her shoulder, the edge of her jaw.

“I’m still here,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek. “Still with you.”

Riley didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

She just held him closer.

They didn’t move at first.

Joe was still inside her, his forehead resting against hers, their breath mingling in short, quiet bursts. Her hands were splayed across his back, fingers loose now, no longer gripping. Just holding. Like she didn’t know how else to stay connected.

The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the faint hum of the Vegas lights outside the window. The rest of the world had gone still.

Joe exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling against hers, and she felt the moment his body began to soften—his arms relaxing, his weight lowering just enough to press her deeper into the mattress, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he didn’t know how.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice thick, lips brushing the edge of her temple.

She hummed in response, eyes still closed. Her skin buzzed. Not from the sex—not just that. From everything. From the way he’d looked at her. From the way he hadn’t looked away.

Joe shifted gently, easing out of her with a quiet groan. He didn’t go far. Just rolled to his side, one arm still wrapped around her waist, his hand splayed over her stomach like a promise.

She turned her face into his neck, her nose brushing the sharp edge of his jaw. “You okay?” she whispered.

He nodded. But then paused. “I don’t think I’ve ever… felt like that before.”

She swallowed, pulse kicking up again—not with arousal this time, but emotion. It pressed tight behind her ribs.

He looked down at her like he could feel it. Like he’d heard what she wasn’t saying.

“I meant it,” he said, voice rough. “All of it.”

“I know.” She touched his chest, fingertips tracing the spot over his heart. “I just… I don’t know how to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

His brow furrowed. “There’s no shoe, Bird.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just let her thumb move in soft circles, grounding herself in the feel of him. The quiet. The fact that he hadn’t pulled away.

“I want to believe that,” she whispered. “I really do.”

Joe’s hand slid into her hair, gentle, anchoring. “Then let me show you.”

She looked up at him.

And for once, he didn’t fill the silence. Didn’t try to fix it. He just held her gaze—steady, quiet, real.

Riley’s throat tightened. She felt raw. Open.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “That I’ll need too much.”

He didn’t even blink. “Then I’ll give you more.”

And God. It shouldn’t have hit her that hard.

But it did.

Her eyes filled before she could stop them, the sting catching her off guard. She blinked fast, trying to brush it away, but Joe just cupped her cheek, thumb catching the edge of a tear before it could fall.

“I’ve got you,” he said simply. “Okay?”

She nodded, breath shuddering in her chest.

He pulled her close again, tucking her into him like something precious. Her leg slid between his, their bodies tangled in a way that didn’t feel temporary. That didn’t feel like Vegas.

It felt like something else.

Something that might still break them.

Or save them.

* * *

Riley woke to sunlight bleeding in through the sheer curtains, pale and warm and too bright for the hour. Her body ached in that heavy, honey-slow way that only ever followed nights like that—nights where everything blurred together: want, fear, love, desperation.

She blinked, adjusting to the light, then turned her head.

Joe was still asleep beside her.

One arm thrown across her waist, bare chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. His face was turned slightly toward her, lips parted, lashes dark against his cheeks. He looked… soft. Younger somehow. Unburdened in a way she rarely got to see.

She didn’t move. Not right away.

Just laid there, memorizing the weight of his arm. The warmth of his skin. The way his fingers twitched lightly against her stomach, even in sleep—like he didn’t want to let go.

It undid her a little.

Because this was always the part that hurt the most. The in-between. The quiet.

The way it felt so real—like she could reach for him in the morning and know he’d still be there. Not just in body. But in heart. In choice.

She turned onto her side carefully, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck, letting herself breathe him in.

He stirred.

His arm tightened around her waist instinctively, his voice thick with sleep. “You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Still real,” he murmured, not opening his eyes.

That made her smile, even if it hurt a little. “Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Like she was trying to believe it.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled and warm and suspended in something that felt like safety. Like promise.

Until his phone buzzed.

A sharp, distant sound—from where he’d left it on the nightstand. But loud enough to split the quiet in two.

Joe didn’t move at first. Just exhaled slowly, the muscles in his back tensing beneath her hand.

Then he reached for it.

She watched his expression shift the second he looked at the screen—eyes narrowing, jaw tightening just slightly. He swiped to silence it but didn’t respond. Didn’t explain.

Something dropped in her chest.

Joe caught the change in her before she could mask it. He looked at her, voice gentle. “It’s nothing. Just Mark.”

She tried to keep her tone even. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He leaned in, kissed her cheek. “Don’t wanna think about any of that right now.”

But he already was.

She could see it in the way his eyes drifted toward the screen again. In the way his hand lingered on the sheets instead of on her skin.

And just like that, the bubble shifted.

Still warm. Still real.

But not quite weightless anymore.

Joe stayed in bed for another fifteen minutes, but the weight had shifted.

He was still warm beside her. Still soft. But quieter now.

Eventually, he rolled out of bed with a quiet groan, rubbing a hand down his face as he stretched. Riley propped herself up on one elbow, watching him cross to the bathroom. The morning light caught the curve of his shoulder, the long line of his back, the slight red indentations her nails had left along his ribs.

He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled—sleep-mussed and a little crooked, but real.

“Gonna shower,” he said, voice still rough.

“Okay.”

Riley stayed where she was, stretched on her stomach beneath the rumpled sheets, chin propped on the back of her hand. She watched the way he moved—slightly sore, unhurried. Loose in a way he only ever was in these rare in-between hours.

The bathroom door stayed open.

Steam started curling out within seconds, fogging the edges of the mirror and drifting into the soft morning light that had settled over the room. She heard the water shift pressure as he adjusted the temperature, the muted shuffle of his feet against the tile. A bottle opened. Then closed.

She didn’t move.

Couldn’t, really.

The ache in her thighs was still fresh. Her pulse still low and steady beneath her skin, like her body hadn’t quite returned to normal. Her mouth was dry, her limbs heavy. But her eyes stayed open—watching the way the steam swirled around the doorframe, like she could trace his silhouette in it.

She didn’t need to see him to know what he looked like.

Water slicking down his chest. His head tipped back beneath the spray. Hands braced on either side of the glass. Shoulders tense. Jaw tight.

Letting the heat soak into places she’d touched last night.

She swallowed thickly, her hand slipping under the pillow beside her head.

It was such a strange thing—wanting someone this much and still wondering if you’d be allowed to keep them when morning came.

Joe was here. Present. He hadn’t run.

But the day hadn’t started yet. The lights were still off. Their phones were still untouched.

She turned her head slightly, cheek sinking deeper into the pillow as the shower continued to run. The sound was steady. Comforting, even. Like a tether between them.

Eventually, he stepped out—hair wet, towel slung low, skin flushed from the heat. His eyes found hers immediately.

She hadn’t realized she’d been staring until he gave her a look that made her stomach twist. Soft. Knowing. Like maybe he’d been thinking about her too.

“I can put on coffee,” he offered.

But she didn’t answer right away. Just blinked, slow and heavy-lidded, and said, “Come back to bed first.”

Something shifted in his expression. Just slightly.

But he came.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just traced the condensation still clinging to his shoulder, the curve of his bicep slick and warm against her palm.

His skin smelled like hotel soap and her. The faintest trace of last night still lingered in the space between them—salt and sweat and something heavier.

Joe lay on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely at her waist. His thumb stroked slow, absent circles against her ribs, like he hadn’t realized he was doing it.

It was quiet in the room. Not empty. Just… soft. Tired. The kind of quiet that settled in after something big.

After something that mattered.

Riley didn’t move. Didn’t want to break it. Didn’t know what would happen if she did.

Because this was the part that always felt the most fragile.

The morning after.

When the dark couldn’t hide the truth anymore.

When things either stayed or slipped away.

“You’re staring,” Joe murmured, his voice low, a little raspy from sleep and steam.

Riley didn’t look away. Just let her fingers keep moving—lazy, barely-there strokes over the dip between his ribs.

“I like looking at you like this,” she said, quieter than she meant to. “When you’re not looking back.”

His eyes flicked down to hers, unreadable.

“Why?” he asked.

She shrugged, then pressed her palm flat against his chest like she could memorize the shape of him. “Because you let yourself be soft.”

Joe didn’t say anything right away.

“I want to be. With you.”

It made her heart trip in her chest. That quiet confession. The way it sounded like truth but still wore the shape of a hope.

She swallowed. “Then stay soft,” she whispered.

Joe nodded once, barely perceptible. His hand covered hers.

“I’m trying.”

And she believed him. Or—she wanted to. She wanted to believe that the version of him in this bed, in this moment, would be the one who showed up when it counted. When the lights were on and people were watching.

But part of her already knew that trying wouldn’t always be enough.

She didn’t say that, though. She just curled a little closer. Closed her eyes and let herself believe him for now.

Because in this room, in this bed, he was hers.

And in this moment, he stayed.

The silence stretched for a while—comfortable, not awkward. Just the kind of quiet that only comes when you’re too tired to fill it and too full to want to.

Her fingers traced aimless shapes across his chest. Slow, barely-there touches like her body still needed to confirm he was real. Still there. Still hers.

She didn’t open her eyes when she said it.

“Why did you call me Bird?”

Joe was quiet for a second. Long enough that she almost thought he wasn’t going to answer.

"Cause you feel like flight," he murmured. His voice was low, rough with sleep, like it hadn’t fully caught up with the rest of him yet. “Like you could be gone before I even knew you were leaving.”

Riley’s breath caught in her throat.

His fingers brushed her bare back, a quiet rhythm. Soothing. Steady.

“But you don’t leave,” he added, quieter now. “You stay. You always come back.”

She opened her eyes then, pressed her face closer to his skin.

“You really think that’s what I am?” she asked, voice just above a whisper. “Flight?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept drawing circles into her spine, one after another.

Then, finally “I think you scare me sometimes. How much I want to hold on.”

That broke something open in her chest—something small and aching and old.

“I’m not afraid to fly,” she said, voice catching. “I’m afraid you won’t be there when I land.”

Joe didn’t say anything. Just pulled her tighter. Pressed his lips to her hair and held her like maybe he needed to.

They stayed like that for a while. Still. Close.

Until Riley pulled back just enough to see his face. Her fingers brushed along his jaw, gentle.

“You leaving today?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long beat, like he was deciding something.

Then, quietly “Only if you are.”

She blinked at him, barely awake, but something in her chest had already gone sharp.

“What do you mean?”

Joe shifted, propped up on one elbow. His hair was still damp from the shower, curls falling loose against his forehead. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was really still here.

“I want to come with you,” he said.

She blinked again. Slowly this time.

“To LA?”

“Yeah.”

Her heart thudded once—too hard, too fast. “Why?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

"Because I'm tired of building walls between us. I spent all weekend watching you in your element, with your people, and instead of feeling threatened by it, I realized I want to understand that part of you too. I want to see your world, not just glimpses of it. And I'm ready to stop hiding behind excuses about privacy or control or whatever else I've been telling myself."

Riley stared at him. For a second, she didn’t breathe.

"You sure this isn't just because of what happened last night? Or because you feel guilty about Dom and the bathroom?"

Joe didn’t answer right away. Just reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“Last night—really, this whole trip—changed things,” he said quietly. “I don’t have all the answers, and I’m totally out of my element—but I feel like I’m losing you. And I don’t want that to happen.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him, heart thudding behind her ribs. Because she wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

And maybe she didn’t know what would happen next—maybe she wasn’t ready to hand him all her fear—but she could give him this.

She lifted a hand, brushed her thumb along the edge of his mouth.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Then come with me.”

Joe didn’t smile. Not quite. But something in his face eased—like a muscle that had been pulled tight finally let go.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead. Gentle. Steady. Like a promise he hadn’t quite figured out how to keep yet.

But for now, he was trying.

And for now, she let him.

They didn’t say anything for a while after that.

The light had shifted—warmer now, slanting in through the gaps in the curtains like it was trying to coax them out of bed. Riley had one leg tangled with his, her head tucked beneath his jaw, and for a few minutes, it felt like the world might actually wait for them.

But eventually, she stirred.

Joe felt it before she moved. The shift in her breath. The faint tension in her shoulders. That familiar quiet hum of I should go.

He tightened his arm around her just slightly. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

“I know,” she murmured, voice scratchy with sleep. “But I should probably get back. Everyone’s probably wondering where I am.”

Joe nodded, even though he didn’t want to. Even though the thought of her walking out that door made something in his chest twist.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Her makeup had long since smudged, hair a wild halo from sleep and sex and the way he’d tugged her close in the middle of the night. And still—she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’ll meet me at the plane?” she asked softly.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Promise?”

Joe reached up, brushing a thumb under her eye, like he could smooth out the uncertainty there.

“I promise, Bird.”

Her mouth curved faintly. And then, without another word, she leaned in and kissed him—slow and sure and quiet, like she was sealing something between them.

By the time she slid out of bed, tugged on her hoodie, and slipped out the door, the room felt colder.

Joe stared at the spot she’d left behind.

Then he reached for his phone.

* * *

Joe sat on the edge of the bed once the door shut behind her, the room suddenly too quiet. The echo of her voice still lingered, soft and unsure—“You’ll meet me at the plane?”

He didn’t hesitate.

He opened the group thread with Mike, Derrick, and Ja’Marr. The one that had been mostly memes and UFC commentary all weekend.

Joe: Not heading back with you guys. Flying out sooner.

It only took a few seconds.

Mike: Everything good?

Ja’Marr: LMAO what’d you do

Derrick: 👀

Joe exhaled through his nose. Smiled, just barely.

Joe: I’ll explain later. Just needed to do something different.

There was a beat of silence—then:

Mike: Proud of you, bro.

Ja’Marr: Tell her we said hi 😎

Joe leaned back against the headboard, phone still in his hand. The hotel room smelled faintly like Riley—her shampoo, her perfume, whatever lotion she’d used the night before. It clung to the sheets, the air, the space between his ribs.

He thumbed to his favorites and tapped Bill.

It rang twice.

“Joe?” Bill sounded alert, confused. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I’m okay. Just—need to loop you in.”

A pause.

“Alright,” Bill said carefully. “What’s going on?”

Joe scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not flying home with the guys. I’m going to L.A.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“With Riley?”

“Yeah.”

He could almost hear Bill thinking. Hear the shift in tone before he spoke.

"This a spontaneous decision or did something happen?"

"It's about everything," Joe said. Quiet, but certain. "The whole weekend. Her. Me. I've been pushing this away for weeks. I don't wanna do that anymore."

Bill exhaled slowly. “You sure about this?”

“No,” Joe admitted. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

There was silence again—then the soft creak of Bill’s chair as he leaned back.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let me know what you need from me.”

“Right now? Nothing,” Joe said. “Just figured if this goes sideways, you should at least know where to start looking.”

Bill let out a quiet laugh. “Noted.”

Joe sat on the edge of the bed after the call ended, elbows resting on his knees, the hotel room quiet around him.

The buzz of Vegas traffic drifted through the windows, distant and indifferent. His hoodie was slung over the back of a chair. Her perfume still hung faint in the air.

He didn’t move for a long moment.

It wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t the fight. It wasn’t even Dom.

It was all of it. The way she’d looked at him this morning—half-asleep, wrapped in his arms, still trying to believe he was real.

The way he’d felt watching her walk out the door.

She’d left space for him to follow. For once, he wasn’t going to waste it.

He stood, grabbed his hoodie, and reached for his bag.

He told her he'd meet her at the plane.

And he was going show up.

* * *

Riley sat curled into the corner of the jet’s cream leather couch, oversized hoodie pulled down over her knees, fingers wrapped around a mug she hadn’t sipped from. Her phone lay face-up beside her, dark screen offering no comfort.

Pete was stretched out across from her, scrolling through TikTok like he wasn’t paying attention. Andy had his legs crossed and was unwrapping a granola bar with suspicious focus. Haley, already in sunglasses and lip gloss, was perched at the table pretending to flip through a magazine.

“You know he’s coming, right?” Haley said, not looking up.

Riley didn’t answer.

Pete glanced over. “Unless he got snatched by airport security or abducted by aliens, he’ll be here.”

Andy crunched down on a bite of granola. “Want me to text Ja’Marr?”

Riley blinked. “You have Ja’Marr’s number?”

Andy shrugged, like it was obvious. “Yeah. After y’all ditched us, we trauma bonded over overpriced alcohol and abandonment issues.”

“No,” Riley said quickly. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Totally,” Pete said. “That’s why you’ve checked your phone six times in the last minute.”

“I’m not—” she started, then caught herself. Sighed. “This whole weekend was just… a lot.”

Haley finally looked up. “Yeah. It was. But he said he’s coming, right?”

Riley nodded slowly.

“Then let him show up,” she said. “Stop deciding for him before he even gets here.”

And just like that, the door clicked.

Everyone stilled.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Then a voice.

“Sorry I’m late,” Joe said, stepping into the cabin, hoodie still half-zipped, cheeks flushed from the wind. His eyes went straight to Riley. “Took me a minute to find the right place.”

Her breath caught.

He was here.

He was actually here.

Riley blinked once, twice—like her brain needed a second to catch up with what her body already knew. Relief hit first. Then disbelief. Then something warmer. Something she wasn’t ready to name yet.

“You made it,” she said, voice softer than she meant.

Joe gave a small, crooked smile. “Told you I would.”

“Wasn’t sure you would,” Pete murmured, not looking up from the coffee he was stirring at the little bar. “But hey, love a good third-act twist.”

Andy smirked, legs stretched out across the aisle. “He’s got the timing for it.”

Haley just offered a quiet thumbs-up from the corner, her face half-covered by a sleep mask she hadn’t bothered to pull all the way down.

But Riley didn’t laugh. Didn’t look away. Her eyes stayed fixed on him.

Joe took a step closer. Then another. His hand reached for the edge of the couch—not touching her, but grounding himself.

“Hey,” he said again, quieter now. Just for her.

And this time, she answered with something closer to a smile. “Hey.”

She shifted, just enough to make room beside her. Joe didn’t hesitate. He sank down into the leather seat, their knees brushing, the space between them so charged it felt like static.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Then Riley let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Thought maybe you’d change your mind.”

Joe shook his head once. “Didn’t.”

She nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the window, then back to him. “Okay.”

And that was it.

Not a resolution. Not a fix. Just a beginning—again.

The door sealed shut with a hiss. Engines hummed low beneath their feet as the flight crew moved quietly through the cabin, checking belts and offering drinks they all waved off.

Joe had barely sat down before Riley leaned into him—wordless, warm, her thigh pressed to his. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t push. Just rested his arm behind her shoulders and let it settle there.

Outside, the Vegas skyline slipped into dusk.

Then the jet lifted—smooth and quiet—and the world dropped away beneath them.

By the time they leveled off above the clouds, golden light slanting through the windows, Riley was curled against him on the couch, head resting back like she was pretending not to watch him.

Across from them, Andy sat with one arm draped casually over the back of his seat, eyes flicking between them, thoughtful.

Then he leaned forward a little. Extended a hand.

“Glad you’re coming with us, brother.”

Joe didn’t hesitate. He reached out and clasped his hand without missing a beat.

Joe’s voice was low. “Me too.”

Pete leaned forward from the seat across the aisle, expression unreadable for a second before it softened. “You coming to LA wasn’t what I expected,” he said, “but it feels like the right call.”

Joe nodded once. “Yeah. It does.”

For a moment, the jet hummed in quiet agreement—just the low thrum of the engines, the soft clink of ice settling in glasses.

Then Haley swung her legs up onto the couch beside Riley and raised her brows. “So… we gonna talk about what happened in the bathroom or…?”

Riley groaned and buried her face in Joe’s shoulder. “Oh my God.”

Joe just blinked, already bracing for it.

Haley grinned. “No? Nobody? Cool. I’ll start.”

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l1v1ngd3dgrrl · 6 months ago

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See you again [Daisuke x reader]

an: winner of my 'getting caught one-shot' poll. You're a pony express worker BUT you're not part of the Tulpar crew! instead you're doing an internship on another ship. You meet Daisuke during some training courses and before the ships get ready to take off the two of you sneak off and end your training with a bang (literally).

This took me longer than I wanted to I'm so sorry y'all. Consider this my gift to y'all <3

Word count: 1,587

MDNI banner: CafeKitsune

CW(S): Soft dom! Daisuke...I guess?, Semi Public sex and getting caught, fem terms/description for reader, one-night stands without the night part, dirty talk that isn't super filthy, dry humping uhh.. I don't think there's anything else that would apply? Daisuke is ooc again. freaksuke is partially canon i think so who knows.

It all started with these training courses that any new employees at Pony Express had to take. A week long very boring event that made you regret even applying for this job in the first place. Had it not been for your fellow Intern, Daisuke, you probably would have jumped ship from day one. He made things suck less with his cheesy jokes and not-so-suave pick up lines. It was cute honestly, watching him stumble over his words when the two of you talked one on one.

As the week progressed your friendship with Daisuke grew, and as that friendship grew so did your little mini crush on him. He was a good looking guy after all. You pushed those feelings down though, the likelihood of being put on the same ship was slim to none, So when Daisuke pulled you aside after the last class had ended to suggest spending some time together before you were separated you agreed in a heartbeat.

What you didn't expect was your little hang out to make its way into one of the lesser used hallways in the headquarters ,with both of you in some random office kissing each other as if your lives depended on it. His hands gripped your hips as he backed you into the door, fingers looping themselves in your belt loops on your jeans.

The thrill of being in a place where you two could easily get caught excited you in some odd way. Deciding to go all in, you grasp his face with both hands, deepening the kiss.

It catches him off guard and he lets out a surprised grunt, but smiles against your lips.

Game on.

He's hard. You can feel him rub against you from the confines of his jeans, The denim pulled taut around his bulge. You roll your hips against his and he groans. Quiet and throaty. "That's what we're doing?" he chuckles and rolls his hips against your own. The way his bulge rubs against you is divine, each thrust sending tingles down your spine.

Both of you had pulled away from the kiss, breaths coming out in short huffs and connected by a string of saliva as you essentially dry hump each other against the door. The pace now slightly erratic and frantic. He leans forward and rests his forehead against yours. "Good?" he mumbles and you wordlessly nod and bite your lip.

Every so often in the hall you hear the sound of footsteps and people talking, A reminder that you're not alone and could get interrupted at any minute.

He's the first to pull away, glancing over his shoulder and around the room. His eyes land on the desk that was in the center, well organized and decorated with expensive looking trinkets. He turns back to you and smirks. You simply raise an eyebrow as he gently tugs you by your hand. He sits in the rolling chair and pulls you onto his lap, his hands grasping your thighs as he presses kisses to your neck. He continues to grind into you, a bit slower now that he was sitting down.

You close your eyes and place both hands on the desk in front of you, Fingers mindlessly tracing the grain beneath them. "You're so pretty." he murmurs in-between kisses. "Ever since that first training course," he places a wet kiss on your pulse point, which makes you gasp. "I've wanted you."

"I've -ah- wanted you too." you feel him grin against your neck. His hands move their way to the button on your jeans, hesitating for a moment just in case you were gonna say no.

When your objection never came he hurriedly unbuttoned your jeans, and a hand slipping into your pants. Instantly his fingers rubbed circles on your clothed clit. You spread your legs a bit further, allowing him a little bit more room to work.

His hand pulled out of your pants and pushed your jeans down to your knees, his fingers move their way back to your underwear and push the fabric aside. One digit pumped inside you, curling as it moved.

Your hands grasped the desk as he moved, the sounds of your slick echoing in the room. A whine threatens to spill past your bitten lips. Behind you Daisuke chuckles, "Sounds like she likes that." He inserts another, pumping and curling the same as the first.

The whine you were holding back rips itself from your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth quickly. Daisuke groans at the sound and pulls his fingers out. You turn back to look at him and see him going to undo his belt. You stand up, careful not to trip over your own pants. His belt and jeans, and boxers hit the floor and pool around his ankles.

"Lean against the desk for me?" He whispers in your ear. You comply and lean against the wood, Daisuke begins to inset himself into you, it takes everything in your power to not cry out as you feel him sink deeper into you. Not out of pain, but at the sheer fullness you're feeling.

He bottoms out with a soft moan, both hands planted firmly against your hips. "Remember we gotta be quiet," he begins to move. "Don't wanna risk getting caught like this." You clench around him and chuckles. "-hah- seems like you like that idea though."

His hips snap against your backside, positioning in and out at an intense pace, you're mewling and frantically trying to stifle your moans against your palm. Daisuke is no better, swearing and panting under his breath.

You arch your back, allowing him hit a different angle. The second best decision you ever made, he's hitting just the right spot over and over, your palm drops and you let your moans flow freely. His name leaves your lips like a mantra.

Daisuke's pace begins to falter and he squeezes his eyes shut, no doubt reaching his breaking point. He holds back, determined to make you cum first.

"You're so hot-" he leans down to place wet kisses along your neck. "So perfect." You crane your neck as far as you can from this angle to capture his lips in a kiss. He obliges, tenderly kissing you back.

"I can't hold out for much longer." you admit against his lips. "I'm almost there too," He places a peck and resumes thrusting his hips. "I'll take you there I promise."

one of his hands sneak it's way down between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit as his thrusts get sloppier. The combination of the sensations is enough to make you see stars, jaw hanging open and a high pitched moan leaving your lips. He rubs you through the last bit of your high, his hips desperately chasing his own.

"So close," he pulls his thumb away and places the hand back on your hip. "S-so close, where do you want it?" You push back against him, mind still buzzing from the orgasm. "Inside-I want you to do it inside."

After that his hips thrust out of you once, twice, and a third time stilling as he painted your insides with his cum. Gasping for breath as he did. He stays inside you for a moment, trying to gather his wits.

A sudden cough from across the room catches the attention of both of you, and you feel your heart stop beating for a moment.

"Ah-Mr.Juarez and Ms. (L/N)," One of the instructors of the course says clearing his throat and looking away. "I'll let you two get decent, but after that you need to get yourselves down to the multi-purpose room."

"Shit-I'm sorry!" Daisuke splutters, quickly pulling out of you and tugging his boxers and pants back up. You cover your face and groan, certain you're gonna die from embarrassment.

"Just-" the instructor holds up his hand and sighs. "Just clean up and go on your way. I'll turn a blind eye to this." He turns to leave the room leaving you two alone again."

In a flash you're both dressed, clothes slightly disheveled from your activities. Not a word was spoken to each other as the two of you walked to the multi purpose room, embarrassment still lingering in the air.

"So uhm-" Daisuke starts bashfully. "Besides getting caught uh..How do you feel?" a rosy color dusting his cheeks. "I feel great actually." You admit, a smile creeping on your lips. "Cool cool," he nods and sucks his teeth. He digs around in his pocket and hands you a sticky note. "I was actually wanting to give you this before we had sex but uh there's my number so we can keep in contact."

The sticky note had his number, along side a drawing of a dog with the words 'text me?-Daisuke'

You grin and tuck the note into your pocket. "I like that, I'll give you mine once we're in the multi-purpose room."

He returns your grin and runs a hand through his hair. "Even if this doesn't turn into something more, I still think you're super cool and I wanna hang out more." he gestures to the logo on one of the walls. "Outside of all this I mean."

"I'd like that a lot, after we get back we can go grab pizza or something."

"Add going to the arcade and it's a date."

You giggle and shove his shoulder playfully. "Alright, I'll hold you to it. Pizza and arcade games."

#18+ mdni #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #mouthwashing smut #daisuke mouthwashing x reader

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