#(they’re already dating they just like to mess with people)

[acesofspadess]

Track Walk {2}

landoscar x content creator!reader

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

series summary: You were invited to the Miami GP for your Track Walk series on social media, what follows after you run into a certain Papaya boy, no one could prepare you for...

series warnings: cursing, angst, smut, making out, mentions of people you may not like, mmf, threesome/throuple, if there is more let me know... ;)

a/n: this a long 4 part series, but the chapters will be released daily!! also... there is no hate to anyone mention in this story, it is a work of fiction and any hate towards the characters/people will be deleted.

Singapore 2024

So here you were, the Singapore GP. The past 5 days were eventful to say the least. Your body was covered in love bites from each boy, there was no telling who gave which. Apparently the entire grid and the wags knew, which helped them cover up to the media. You walked in with Lando and Oscar, laughing at a stupid joke Lando said. To anyone besides the drivers, it was a very fun friend group, but you were sure it would stir something up. “Hello, hello, hello.” You waved with a large smile at the camera. “We don’t usually do evening walks do we? But Singapore is the beginning of the night races so get used to it…” The track walk and the weekend went just as planned. During that weekend you met Max Fewtrell for the first time. It was very scary for you. This was someone Lando had grown up with, someone he had chosen to be one of the important people in his life, and you knew how this could look to an outsider- an F1 creator dating not one, but two, of the most prized drivers in the sport. But you two immediately hit it off. “I just know Oscar is enjoying not being the only one having to handle his mess.” He laughed as you guys watched Free Practise. “It’s not even the mess though, Max, it’s the food!...”

The entire weekend was looking favorable for McLaren, and then when Lando kept his position into the first lap, you knew it was game over, another McLaren win was pending. And right you were. “Lando Norris can stop hearing about his starts, and start hearing about his finishes! For the third time Lando Norris takes the chequered flag…”

You bounced up and down with Max as Lando screamed into the radio. “That's a double podium finish for McLaren!” You screamed and he laughed with you before giving you a hug. “They’ll want to see you.” He told her and she shook her head. “Too much attention, they’ll see us after.” She said not wanting to leave Max behind.

The music thumps through the club you all decided to go to after you finished at the track, vibrating the floors as colorful lights flash across the crowded room. Lando, Oscar, and you move through the throng of people, your body already buzzing with the high of celebration. Lando’s win had electrified the night, and the three of you are ready to let loose—carefully.

Lando’s arm stays draped over your shoulder as you make your way to a private booth near the dance floor, Oscar trailing closely behind. 

Around the booth, the other drivers and their girlfriends are scattered—Carlos and Rebecca, Max who was running solo, Charles and Alexandra, Pierre and Kika—all laughing and cheering. The energy is high, but there’s an unspoken understanding between them. They know. “I would say cheers to Lando’s amazing race-” Carlos started, “but you only won because of her.” Lando and Oscar shook their heads as everyone around you laughed.

You laughed too, cheeks heating as Lando pulls you closer. "You’re not wrong," he teases, brushing a quick, casual kiss against your temple. It’s brief enough to pass as friendly, but the way your heart skips betrays its meaning. Oscar slides in on your other side, his hand finding your knee under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze, hidden by the dim lighting and shadows.

They’re subtle but deliberate, their touches igniting sparks that make your heart race. The conversation swirls around you, but the trio only has eyes for each other. When the music shifts to something slower and sultry, Lando tugs your hand. "Dance with me," he says, voice low and irresistible.

You follow him onto the dance floor, Oscar not far behind. Lando’s hands find your waist, pulling you against him as your bodies move in sync. Oscar presses in from behind, his chest warm against your back as his fingers brush your arm, sending a thrill down your spine. It’s intoxicating—the heat, the music, the feel of both their bodies surrounding you.

But you have to be careful. Lando shifts slightly, turning you just enough to keep you shielded from prying eyes, and Oscar’s touch drifts away whenever someone looks too closely. The tension grows with every near-miss, every stolen glance, and every lingering brush of fingertips.

Lando leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re ours tonight," he murmurs, voice rough with desire. Your pulse quickens as Oscar’s lips skim your shoulder—quick, subtle, and hidden in the dim lights—adding to the heat coiling low in your stomach.

The three of you move as one, but always just discreet enough to keep your secret. The world blurs around you—flashing lights, the beat of the bass, laughter from your friends at the booth. None of it matters. All you can feel is the heat of their touches, the fire in their eyes, and the promise of what the rest of the night will hold.

f1gossipofficial

liked by user45 and others

f1gossipofficcial The papaya boys went out to celebrate last night with other drivers as well as their girlfriends, but pictures show the papaya boys very close with each other. This comes after a recent video McLaren uploaded where Oscar and Lando were seen holding hands at one point and being very touchy… 

user45 oh this is crazy

user67 how do papaya rules work now’

user18 they had a good time last night

user4 how about we stay out of there lives and not dissect and try to out people who clearly don’t want to be outed

user68 landoscar was too good to be fake

user49 i for sure thought one of themm was going to get with Y/N

user23 i thought it was Lando user90 i thought it was Oscar user62 am i crazy for saying both user23 user62 yes user49 user62yes user90 user62 yes

“This sucks.” Oscar said into her neck. They were at the airport saying goodbye because they wouldn’t see each other for another month. “I know, I’m sorry love.” You giggled softly at his dramatics. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, finger scratching the strands of hair at the top of his neck. You looked at Lando who watched the scene unfold. Oscar wasn’t much of a showy person, so seeing him show anything they never took for granted.��

“Osc, you okay?” Lando asked seeing his shoulders raise and then drop deeply. “I just feel so complete with her here, I don’t like when she isn’t.” He told his boyfriend who rubbed his back. He finally pulled off letting Lando hug you around your waist lifting you up. “Gonna miss you baby.” he said kissing your cheek knowing people were around. “I’ll miss you both so much. But we’ve done it before right? Osc you’ll see your family. Lan you’re going to Portugal with Max. We’ll al be so busy, it won’t feel like a month will it?”

Lando and Oscar nodded holding onto each other. You checked your RM watch, one the duo had gotten for you this previous weekend. “Time to go, babies.” you sighed. They scooped you into one big hug. “See you soon.” You kissed both of their cheeks before they walked off to their own gate, leaving you at yours. 

The month at home was supposed to be a time to recharge, but it only left you restless. Your days blurred together in a haze of casual errands, late-night shows, and constant texts from Lando and Oscar. The messages were frequent and full of love—updates about their time apart, teasing remarks, random photos, and sweet "miss you" notes despite the time zones. Even with their busy schedules, they made an effort to check in, and it always left you smiling.

Then came the post.

Your best friend stormed into your shared flat, phone clutched in hand. “Y/N, you need to see this,” she said, eyes wide with urgency. She handed you her phone, and your stomach dropped.

There, on a gossip page, was a photo of Lando and Magui faces and bodies very close to each other with big smiles on their face in company of Max and Pietra. The caption read: “Lando Norris spotted looking cozy with Magui and friends. This is after rumours of them earlier in the year were clouded over by new friend Y/n L/n and his teammate Oscar Piastri that Lando has been seen getting very flirty with...”

You froze, the phone trembling in your hands, the three of you already saw the airport photos of your group hug. It was what it was to you three though. “What the hell?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Your mind flashed back to when Lando and Oscar had confessed something about Magui. They’d told you they’d once considered inviting her into their relationship, but something had always held them back. Then they’d met you, and everything changed. They knew immediately they wanted you.

You pushed the memory away, your chest tightening as you stared at the picture.

Without a second thought, you dialed them both. They picked up almost immediately, Lando’s voice warm and his face smiley. “Hey, baby,” he greeted.

Your throat constricted. “I’m not coming to the next GP,” you blurted.

There was a pause. “What? Y/N, what are you talking about? We planned this together.” Oscar cut in confusion on his face.

“I just can’t,” you said, your voice breaking and eyes filling with tears. You didn’t want to bring up the post, unsure if Oscar even knew.

“Wait, what's wrong?” Lando asked, concerned about lacing his tone as he saw your eyes fill.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself. “I’ll talk to you later.” You hung up before they could say more.

That night, your best friend held you as you cried, her arms wrapped tightly around you. “They don’t deserve you if they’re going to pull this shit,” she murmured. But her words only made you cry harder.

The next day, your phone erupted with notifications.

From Lando: "Baby, I swear it’s not what it looks like. Please call me." "I would never do this to you. You have to trust me. Nothing happened." "I’ll explain everything if you just call me. Please, Y/N."

From Oscar: "Y/N, I didn’t think this would get so out of hand. I’m sorry." "You mean everything to us. Don’t let this ruin us." "Please, let’s talk. I’ll tell you everything."

From Max Fewtrell: "Y/N, you know Lando wouldn’t do this to you. He’s losing his mind right now. Please talk to him."

From Alexandra: "Hey, I saw the post. Are you okay? Call me if you need to vent."

From Rebecca: "Y/N, this is so unfair to you. If you need to talk, I’m here."

You ignored them all, until finally, you caved and called Lando and Oscar. They answered on FaceTime, both looking worried.

“Nothing is happening with Magui,” Lando said quickly.

Oscar nodded. “We wouldn’t do that to you. You have to know that.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” You sighed aggravatedly. “If you knew she was going to be there why wouldn’t you say anything? Why would you get close with her again knowing someone's eyes are always on  you.

But then, Lando and Oscar got very silent, you could have thought the screen froze, and something passed between them. It was subtle, but enough to make your stomach churn. “What?” you pressed.

Oscar sighed. “I knew she’d be there. I thought it would be fine.”

Your chest tightened as Oscar's words hit you like a punch. "You knew?" you whispered, barely able to contain the hurt. "You knew she'd be there and didn’t say anything?"

Oscar hesitated, looking like he wasn’t sure how to answer. "I didn’t think it would be a big deal," he said quietly. "I thought it’d just be... fine."

"But it is a big deal!" you snapped, your voice rising, frustration bubbling over. "If you had just told me, I wouldn’t be upset. I could have handled it, but now it feels like you’re hiding something. Like you’re trying to have your cake and eat it too."

Lando’s voice cut through the tension, softer but still desperate. "Y/N, that’s not it. We didn’t want you to feel like this. We didn’t mean for it to look like we were hiding anything from you."

"You did hide it, Lando," you shot back, shaking your head. "You knew she was going to be there, and you didn’t tell me. It makes it seem like you wanted to keep me in the dark while keeping her close, like I’m some backup plan."

Oscar looked pained, and Lando seemed to be searching for the right words. "It’s not like that," Oscar said quickly, but there was an edge of panic in his voice. "I didn’t think this would happen. I thought it’d be fine."

"But it’s not fine," you responded, your voice cracking slightly as the weight of it all hit you. "You’ve betrayed my trust, Oscar. And Lando, you should’ve known better. If you had told me, we could have figured it out. But now? Now I feel like everything we shared was an act, something to keep you occupied while you figured your feelings out."

Lando opened his mouth, clearly struggling, so Oscar spoke up in a low voice. "Please, Y/N, we didn’t mean to hurt you. We just... didn’t think—"

"Exactly," you interrupted, your voice soft. "You didn’t think. If you had, we wouldn’t be here right now. I know it's only been a few months, but I thought our relationship was stronger than this. I thought I meant more to you than this, but you’ve shown me I don’t."

“No Y/N-”

With that, you ended the call, the sound of the FaceTime disconnecting echoing in your ears. You sat back on the couch, your heart aching, but you knew this was the only way to handle it. They had crossed a line, and now you had to protect yourself from the mess they had made.

Max Fewtrell texted shortly after: "Y/N, I know what it looks like, but I promise Lando wouldn’t do this to you. He’s doing his head in and acting erratically, please talk to him. He’s about to go into a race weekend." 

Hattie messaged, too.. “Oscar fucked up, but I’ve also never seen him this upset with himself. He is so sorry, I’ll never tell you what to do, but just know he really cares.

You ignored everyone.

Of course you watched the triple header, you were still their girlfriend, and before that you were their number 1 supporter. Track Walks were not as fun to you during that time, everything reminded you of what happened. They still texted you everyday, telling you about their day, about their thoughts on the race, saying they missed you and they were so sorry.

But Brazil was a disaster. The rain poured relentlessly, creating dangerous conditions on the track. Both Lando and Oscar struggled, and a red flag giving those who hadn’t had a pitstop a free one essentially knocked Lando out of the Drivers' Championship contention, but besides that, out of a win. Your heart ached watching it all unfold, tears falling down your face slowly, but you stayed silent, refusing to reach out.

A few days later, Max went live on stream with Lando. Lando sounded tired, wanting to stay muted when he didn't have to be heard, his voice hoarse. He admitted he’d been eating old food from months ago and wasn’t feeling well. Max F texted both you and Oscar after the stream: "Lando needs you. He’s not doing well at all."

Oscar replied immediately: "I’m on my way."

You stared at the message, conflicted. It wasn't until the next day when you were eating lunch that Oscar's text messages were blowing up your phone,

Osco: Baby, I know you don't want to talk to us, but Lando really isn't doing well.

Osco: I've spent all morning with him crying into my arms, degrading himself, it hurts so much to hear. He thinks everything is over, he needs you baby. I need you. 

Finally, you texted Alexandra and Rebecca, asking what you should do. 

Mes Amours 💗

You: Help…Oscar’s been texting me about Lando this morning. He said he spent the morning crying, degrading himself, and thinks everything’s over. I want to be there, but I’m so hurt. I don’t know what to do.

Alexandra: Wow… I knew things were rough for them, but that’s heavy. You’ve got to take care of yourself first though. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.

Rebecca: I get that, but… it won’t get better if you don’t talk to them. And, Y/N, I’m going to be honest here: Carlos is worried about Lando too. He told me Lando’s been completely off lately—barely eating, barely talking. He’s spiraling.

Alexandra: Wait, really? I mean, I knew they weren’t doing great in Brazil, but I didn’t think it was that bad.

Rebecca: It is. Carlos says he hasn’t been himself for weeks. And honestly, if Carlos is worried, you know it’s serious. Lando needs you, Y/N. Even if it’s just to talk. You don’t have to forgive them yet, but they need you right now.

You: I’ve missed them so much, it hurts. But I’m scared. What if I go back and things still don’t feel right? What if they don’t really understand how much they hurt me?

Rebecca: Then you tell them. You lay it all out there. But Y/N, we know how deeply you care for them, and it’s obvious they care about you too. I think they understand, they just need to see you in person.

Alexandra: Whatever you do, we are holding your hand.  Taking a deep breath, you texted Max Verstappen: Can I use your jet?

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Angel: *gazing lovingly at Husk* He could kill me, and I'd thank him.

Cherri: *who has heard this for the millionth time* I'd thank him too

[scented-morker]

Wearing Enhypen’s clothes

Enha x implied fem reader, established relationship, 945 words (AGAIN), fluffff, jungwons is longer than everyone else’s😬

Heeseung

He is the perpetrator.

Like as soon as you walk in the door he shoves his hoodie onto you

It’s not cute either— your arms get stuck and your hair is messed up and staticky everywhere

But as soon as it’s on he pulls the hood down and looks at you with such a lovesick look even though you look like a gremlin

Every time you stay over he makes you wear his clothes because he just thinks you look so cute

And since his shirts/hoodies are too big on you it makes it easier to sneak his hands up them to hold your bare waist which is his favorite way to cuddle 😔

Jay

At first you were just so impressed with his style that you wanted to be like him 🥺

He though it was so cute when you walked out in one of the outfits he had posted a picture in one day and been like “how do you manage to make this look good 😭”

“Well for starters, the clothes actually fit me” he laughs and ruffles your hair

He likes to get matching outfits so you don’t always have to steal much of his stuff since you probably have a match

But you always end up stealing his accessories

The amount of times he’s complimented your necklace only to realize it was his 😐

You’re lucky he loves you

Likes when you slide his rings onto your fingers while you’re playing with his hands 🥰

Jake

THE KING OF SHARING CLOTHES

He will give you anything that you want from his closet, no questions asked

He loves trying to sneakily add articles of his clothing to your outfits

Like “hey what if you added- I don’t know- a flannel around your waist? Actually look, I’ve already go one right here. Let me put it on you.”

He loves coming home and seeing you in his hoodies or flannels (especially when they’re so long it looks like you aren’t wearing pants 😭)

Refers to his new purchases as “our new jacket” or will text you and ask “do you like this?”

And when you tell him it’s a mens shirt so you wouldn’t wear it he goes “actually, it’s a jake shirt, which means it’s a yn shirt.”

Sunghoon

He’s one to act like he doesn’t like it

But one time when you told him you were cold and he said “sounds like a you problem” you threatened to go get one of the other boys’ hoodie and he got so pouty and mad 😭

Now he always brings an extra one of HIS hoodies whenever you hang out because he doesn’t want you to get it from someone else

Also the type to show up at your house, see your collection of his clothes and tease you about it but then not take them back

And if you EVER tell him you need another one bc the ones you have don’t smell like him anymore—

He’s gonna need three to four business days to recover from that

Sunoo

Another one to refer to his closet as “our closet”

He always asks you to wear his stuff

Like you text him to ask what you should wear for your date and he tells you to just wear anything over and he’d give you something of his to wear

Sharing sweaters 🥺

Like little grandpa sweaters that you thrift somewhere and you guys share them like it’s the sisterhood of the traveling pants or something and send each other little pictures of where you were wearing it

“Today I wore our sweater to the ice cream shop! The guy in front of me in line ordered mint choco and it made me think of you” 🫶

Jungwon

Listen, he’s seen the romcoms— you’ve made him watch enough of them during movie nights to know that people like wearing their boyfriends clothes

He just had no idea how to offer it

Does he just walk up to you one day and say “here, wear this”? Does he take you to the cold section of the grocery store until you shiver and then give it to you?

HE DOESNT KNOW!!!

But one day you two come home from one of your dates and decide to just chill in his bed

Which is cool, except you had dressed a little nicer for the date and your outfit wasn’t exactly made for comfort

“Hey won, do you think I could borrow something to change into? My outfit isn’t very comfy.”

He scolds you at first for not wearing something you’re comfortable in because he’s gonna think you look beautiful no matter what you wear, but eventually gives you a tshirt and pair of shorts to change into

Laughs because you look like Adam Sandler

“I thought this was going to be cute but you look really funny”

Riki

Listen, he loves napping

And napping on you is one of his favorite places

So when your stupid pretty shirt was scratching against his face, Riki was very upset

He lets out a big dramatic groan, grabbing one of his hoodies from the floor next to his bed and shoving it onto you so that he can sleep in peace

You’re still wearing it when he wakes up, and earlier he was too tired to be embarassed but now he realizes what he did and gets a little red

“Thanks for the hoodie ki,” you tease him, but still refuse to give it back when he asks

“Well if you hate it that much you can take it off.”

“Never!! This is mine now!”

Cue him chasing you around to try and get it back

[cobrakaisb]

come one, come all

summary: percy jackson has finally arrived at camp half-blood, so why is he so shocked to see that people have genuine relationships here? aka, the four times percy thought you were dating luke, and the one time he actually asked. 

word count: 3.2k

featuring: percy pov!!, 4+1, vaping (again), sassy man apocalypse in the form of luke castellan, reader straight up not giving a fuck, percabeth crumbs (but you gotta squint)

author's note: i am so sorry for the delay with this one!! i was studying for finals, but now that i'm home from college for the summer, hopefully the updates will be more frequent 🤞

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

hermes cabin, day one, early afternoon

“this is the hermes cabin, home to both his children and the unclaimed,” chiron explains, walking up to the very loud and very rambunctious building. 

percy peers inside, and he’s immediately filled with dread. there’s barely enough room in the cabin for the people that actually live there, let alone him. why couldn’t his father claim him already? if anything, percy thought losing his mother would have been enough; clearly it wasn’t. his dread only intensifies, however, when chiron starts clapping his hands, calling the attention of all the campers. 

“woah wait a minute,” percy mumbles, but it’s too late. 

“this is percy jackson, i trust you will see to whatever he needs,” chiron announces. 

it takes the campers approximately two seconds to go back to whatever they were doing beforehand. some campers’ eyes linger a little bit longer on him, but for the most part, they’re all indifferent to his presence. finding a spot proves to be difficult, as every nook and cranny is inhabited.

“you can sleep over there,” a girl says, annoyed.

“thanks,” percy mumbles, but it falls on deaf ears. 

the spot isn’t half bad, but it isn’t great either. he’s stuck in between two sets of bunk beds, on a sleeping bag. a sleeping bag. one would think the gods could splurge a little for an air mattress, but percy guesses they must be selfish, at least based on the signs of this cabin: overrun, overfilled, and underdeveloped. he’s unpacking his backpack, the last remnants of his life before his mom explained his paternal lineage, when the whispers start. 

“that’s the kid. i think he’s the one that killed the minotaur,” someone whispers, or at least they try to, but percy hears the whole thing. 

he turns around, and comes face to face with a group of older campers, all boys. they’ve clearly been here a while (in the hermes cabin, or at camp, percy isn’t sure) based solely on the fact that they’re so comfortable in this environment. a tall, curly black-haired boy steps forward, so percy stands up. he tries to size up the older boy, but if it comes to a fight, he doesn’t think he’ll win. 

“look, if you guys want to start something, can you just…do it tomorrow?” he asks. 

the older boy doesn’t say anything. instead, he just takes a moment to look at percy, up and down. percy’s breath catches in his throat when he catches sight of the long scar running from the corner of his right eye to his jaw. he’s intimidating, to say the least. 

“i’m..” the boy starts to say, but he’s cut off by the sound of loud laughter. 

percy turns to face the door, following the older boy’s lead, and sees two girls walk into the cabin. they’re both in workout gear, clearly just coming from a training session, but only one of them moves to drop her stuff on a bed — a bottom bunk in the left hand corner — and the other walks right up to the guy in front of him.

percy wants to warn her, tell her that she shouldn’t mess with this kid. but the grumpy guy smiles at her, completely forgetting about percy.

“busy day?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“something like that,” the boy mumbles, throwing a sideways glance in percy’s direction. 

“oh i see,” she answers slowly, and now both of their eyes are on him. 

“luke treating you okay?” she asks. 

percy gulps, unsure how to answer her. girls don’t really talk to him, but there’s a first time for everything, he understands that especially well now.  

“he literally just got here,” luke says, shoving your shoulder. 

you smile at the older boy, and there’s something more behind that stare, but percy can’t really figure out what. 

“if he steps out of line, you let me know,” she instructs, jabbing her thumb in luke’s direction. 

percy nods, “yeah sure.” 

she smiles at him, before walking towards the exit of the cabin. as she’s at the threshold between the inside and the outdoors, she turns around with a mischievous look in her eyes. 

“meet me later?” she asks. 

“i’ll be there,” luke answers. 

she nods, satisfied, and leaves. percy watches luke, who continues to watch her. his eyebrows furrow. maybe he just doesn’t understand teenagers?

hermes cabin, day two, morning

percy’s startled awake. the deep, guttural voice from his dream still haunting him. the darkness from the nightmare is looming over him like a dark cloud. his gasps and heavy breathing draw the attention of luke and his friends, the former leaving his bottom bunk to walk over to percy’s sleeping bag.  

“you okay?” luke asks. 

percy wonders if he’s genuinely concerned. “super,” he replies. 

“we all get them, y’know. deep, intense nightmares. comes with being a demigod,” luke explains, watching percy struggle to get up from his bed.

“so does adhd and dyslexia. they’re your battle instincts talking. everything that’s made you different, an outcast, is normal here,” luke continues to explain, now standing toe to toe with percy. 

there’s silence between the two. percy wants to ask him about his godly parent. it’s been weighing on him since he spoke with luke briefly yesterday. for some reason, however, he feels like the question is out of line, too personal for someone he just met. 

yet, he can’t help himself: “so are you also…do you not know…are you…”

“am i unclaimed? no, hermes is my father, but that doesn’t matter. we’re all family here,” luke replies, giving percy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“and the girl from last night…is she…?” percy asks. 

luke chuckles at his uncertainty, clearly finding humor in his embarrassing situation. “no. she knows who her mother is. you should ask her about it.” 

percy nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. he feels angry all of a sudden looking around the hermes cabin. it’s filled to the brim with campers, some who know who their parents are, and others who don’t. he doesn’t think anyone should have to live like this; it’s not fair. 

“how can the gods just bring us here and ignore us? how is that fair?” percy asks. 

luke shakes his head, “spend all your time trying to figure out why the gods do what they do and you’ll go crazy. besides, you haven’t even experienced the best thing that camp has to offer.” 

“what’s that?” percy asks. 

“glory.”

percy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. he vaguely remembers hearing mr. bruner, or chiron, talk about glory in class, but he can’t pinpoint the exact memory. the way luke talks about it, however, makes percy think that it must be important. there has to be some reason why everyone is fighting for glory, why they deal with all the dangers of being a demigod. 

“demigods used to fight for glory. they called it kleos. it attaches meaning to your name, making you bigger, scarier, and more important,” luke explains, leading percy outside of the hermes cabin, along with a handful of his friends. 

“it puts respect on your name,” luke’s friend, chris barges in. 

percy’s smiles at that. he likes the sound of glory, especially when some girl shoulders past him, pushing his body right into luke’s. percy stumbles, turning to face the back of the girl. he wasn’t going to deal with this bullying crap at summer camp of all places. 

“hey,” he shouts, getting her attention. 

she turns around, immediately shoving him into the ground. percy gasps, staring up at her in shock, but before she can get a word in, the girl from last night is standing in front of him. 

“knock it off clarisse. it’s like his first day,” luke mumbles. 

the girl from last night helps him up, and he smiles at her in thanks. she nods, giving him a once over, ensuring that he’s okay before she turns back to clarisse. it’s like a switch flipped inside her. those same eyes, the ones showing kindness towards him just a mere second ago, are now filled with cold, hard, anger. 

clarisse says something to taunt him, but the girl just shakes her head, crossing her arms against her chest. 

“jealous that it wasn’t you?” she taunts, stepping into clarisse’s personal space. 

“no,” clarisse snaps, facing the other girl head on. 

“really? cause it sounds like you wish you were standing in his shoes right now. maybe then daddy would give you a little bit of attention, huh?” she replies. 

luke whispers her name in a seething tone, hand pulling on her shoulder to move her away from clarisse. however, she jerks out of his grip, continuing to stare head on at the curly haired girl with a satisfied smirk playing at her lips. 

“you better watch your back,” clarisse snaps, looking at percy once again before storming off. 

“and you better watch yours,” the girl, who’s still standing in front of percy protectively answers. 

clarisse doesn’t respond, and so luke takes the time to reprimand you. his voice is soft, and percy can barely hear, let alone register, the words coming out of his mouth. you roll your eyes at whatever he’s saying, barely paying attention. instead, percy notices that your eyes aren’t leaving luke’s lips, and he’s again left wondering what’s going on between the two of you. 

“but if i wasn’t here, who was gonna play hero?” you ask, a soft pout on your lips.

percy can tell you’re teasing luke, trying to get a rise out of him, but the older boy just shakes his head in response. percy watches as your finger reaches under his bright orange shirt, looping through one of the belt loops of his cargoes. luke leans down slightly, and percy thinks he might kiss you, but you step away from him in a fit of giggles. 

“i’ll see you later, counselor luke,” you tease, walking backwards so everyone can see the teasing smile on your face. 

percy makes a mental note not to get on your bad side. 

dining pavilion, day two, evening

“is there a greek god of disappointment, maybe someone should ask if he’s missing a kid,” percy grumbles, taking a seat at the table across from luke and chris. 

after a long day of training, with little to no rewards, percy felt utterly defeated. there was some good that came out of the day’s events, however, as he realized his lack of coordination did not make him a strong candidate for the apollo cabin. similarly, setting fire to the already burning forges had luke and chris ruling out hephaestus. regardless, he just wanted his dad to recognize him. after a life of torment and the loss of his mom, the one person who loved him, he could use the validation.

luke opens his mouth, ready to answer his previous question, but chris beats him to it.

“oizys…but she’s a goddess and her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s failure,” chris mumbles, pushing around the salad on his plate. 

“oh my gods chris, don’t scare the kid,” you shout, shoving his shoulder as you take a seat next to percy. 

another girl follows behind you, taking the seat on the other side of percy. he feels himself going rigid, why are these two older girls sitting by his side? he feels nervous all of a sudden, and wonders if this is normal. he looks nervously to luke, who seems to be the only one capable of providing actual guidance in these types of situations. 

luke doesn’t say anything, instead he’s too busy looking at you. 

“having daddy issues?” the girl on his right, who’s not you, asks. 

“um i guess,” percy answers, but he’s not confident in his words at all. 

the girl chuckles at him, a hand coming up to ruffle his blonde hair, and percy watches as her eyes twinkle with something akin to childish mischief. 

“maybe you’re her step-brother,” she says, gesturing towards you with a tip of her chin. 

“are you a child of aphrodite?” percy asks, because maybe this nice girl is referring to ares as his father. 

you stop chewing your dinner, shock crossing your features. the other three teens all burst into laughter, and percy doesn’t understand what’s wrong with his question. you’re pretty enough, and you seem to possess a tiny bit of mean girl energy (cause only regina george would have demolished clarisse like that). therefore, the logical conclusion is that you’re related to aphrodite. besides, aren’t ares and aphrodite secretly dating? so he’d be your step-brother? 

“what?” he asks, looking around. 

“aphrodite is not my mother,” you answer, white-knuckling the fork. 

“oh,” he says, “so who is?” 

percy watches as your jaw clenches, and you flash a dangerous look in luke’s direction. luke lifts his hands up in a state of defense, as if to say that he didn’t put percy up to this. you, however, don’t seem to believe him as you take one of the green grapes on your plate and chuck it at him. luke catches the grape in his mouth, chewing slowly with a smirk on his face. 

“almost sweetheart,” he taunts. 

you scoff before getting up from the table, with your plate, and walking towards the firepit in the middle of the pavilion. on your way over, you stick your fingers through luke’s curls, and shove his face down towards his mashed potatoes. 

“did i do something wrong?” he asks, looking at the remaining girl to his right. 

“nah, she’s always like that,” she answers.

“yeah,” chris mumbles, “if anyone knows it’s katrina.” 

they jump into their own conversation and percy watches as you drop your entire dinner into the fire pit. the flames turn a deep purple and you nod in satisfaction before walking off towards the cabins. 

he can’t figure out who likes the color purple, but wonders if it had anything to do with luke. however, he knows not to ask.

hermes cabin, day two, night

percy was supposed to be asleep twenty minutes ago, at least that’s when luke called for lights out and everyone crawled into bed. but, he really needs to use the bathroom. poor planning on his part, not going before bed time, but he knows he’ll never make it until morning. so, he gets up as quietly as possible, slips on his blue hoodie, and tip-toes towards the door of the hermes cabin. 

he hesitates for a moment, hearing two people talking quietly outside the door. he waits patiently, hoping that they’ll leave, but their conversation only keeps going. 

“and annabeth’s sure about this?” someone asks, and percy realizes that it’s you.

the other person scoffs, “you doubting my sister?”, and percy pinpoints the voice as luke’s.

“never. i’m doubting him,” you answer.

“c’mon, you know clarisse picks on everybody,” luke mumbles.

there’s a pause in the conversation, and percy thinks maybe you’ve left or moved on, but then your voice rings out into the quiet of the night: 

“i have this feeling that he’s important, but i can’t figure out why.” 

another pause. 

“we’ll see when he gets claimed,” luke answers. 

“if he gets claimed,” you reply. 

“he will, even if it’s hera style,” luke says, and percy can’t help himself from opening the door. 

“your mom’s hera? i thought she didn’t have kids!” percy shouts, shocking both you and luke. 

you jump, and percy watches as you move to hide the bright orange vape in your hand. you wave away some of the smoke, and luke steps slightly in front of you, blocking your body from percy’s view. he notices the protective edge in luke’s posture, and how there was already very little space between you two. 

“what are you doing out past curfew?” luke asks, staring percy down. 

“i could ask you the same thing, but for the record, i’m going to the bathroom,” percy explains, standing his guard. 

“just be quick, and watch out for the harpies,” you advise, tugging on the back of luke’s camp counselor shirt. 

percy nods before walking by the two of you to head down the stairs. once he’s a little ways away, he risks a glance back at the hermes cabin porch. you’re still standing there with luke, his palms resting on your waist as he rubs circles with his thumb on your exposed skin. you two are whispering about something, but he can’t figure out what. he sees you slip luke your vape, but looks away when the older boy takes a hit. 

that seemed oddly intimate. 

lakeshore, day three, post-capture the flag

he’s in for it now, at least that’s what he assumes when he sees half of clarisse’s spear in his fist. she screams loudly, and percy hopes that you’ll hear and come to his rescue. thankfully, his saving grace comes in the form of the head counselor of the hermes cabin. 

luke comes rushing down the side lines, holding the red flag high above his head. several people are following him, the entire blue team in fact, but percy can easily pinpoint you in the crowd. you don’t have a helmet on, which isn’t surprising to him; it fits your character. he notices how the baby hairs stick to your sweaty forehead, yet your eyes are bright and happy. this has to be the happiest he’s seen you. 

your eyes never leave luke, even as he accepts hugs, handshakes, and overall congratulations from the other members of the team. finally, after the novelty of winning wears off, and his siblings finally give luke some space, you walk over to him. you shoulder check him, causing him to stumble a little on his feet, but the happiness doesn’t leave either of your eyes. 

percy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. you’re mean to luke, but you’re also not mean to luke. 

“where’s my hug at?” luke asks, opening his arms wide for you. 

you snort at him, shoving him backwards with a firm hand on his chestplate. luke doesn’t seem to mind, however, as his smile widens and he pulls off his helmet. he shakes his head back and forth, letting his curls loose after being confined for so long. percy watches you watch him, bottom lip between your teeth. luke opens his mouth, ready to say something, but you prevent him from even doing so. instead, you grab onto the brown leather straps of his armor, and pull his lips down to yours.

all the campers ring out in cheers. some of them even clap at the display of affection from the two of you. 

“so they’re dating?” he asks no one in particular. 

“yes,” annabeth answers from beside him. 

he turns to look at her, understanding washing over him. you and luke are perfect for each other, balancing each other out. percy hopes he’ll find something like that with someone. he looks around camp, and his eyes land on annabeth, who magically appeared next to him. 

“hey wait…were you here the whole time?” percy asks her, feeling a little angry that she basically watched him get his ass kicked by clarisse. 

“percy,” she starts, “i’m really sorry about this,” and she pushes him into the water.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles

[goldfades]

★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms—like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days—knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[musaslullaby]

Being a future bride is torture

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: The wedding preparations are starting, and fans believe they’ve officially figured out who the princess is dating.

Face claim: People on Pinterest and Charles Leclerc.

Warning: Fluff, Instagram AU.

A/N: Maybe there will be a third part, i don't know.

Masterlist

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Ynofficial

Description: I’m so honored to introduce you to my future wife.

Liked by charles_leclerc, kellypiquet, and other 6.366.362.

imrebecca: I can’t wait for the big day, I love you so much.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I love you too.

imrebecca: No, I love you more. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: And I love you even more.

charles_leclerc: Please, stop.

georgerussell63: Don’t be jealous!

user45: Are the Ferrari WAG and Red Bull WAG best friends?

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Exactly, baby.

04_81: Aww, how cute!

carlossainz55: Rebecca is the most beautiful woman in the world.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Mine.

imrebecca: Hey, the annoying princess is beautiful too.

charles_leclerc: I can confirm that.

francisca.cgomes: Don’t leave out my little star.

carlossainz55: Let me rephrase: these two girls are the most beautiful women in the world.

carmenmmundt: Much better.

lilymhe: We’re watching you, Carlos.

maxverstappen1: Can I have the number of the girl in the red dress?

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Stop it, you're making me blush.

user56: They already act like a married couple.

Ynofficial: Married for twenty years.

lan_: So cute!

maxie_: I wonder where Kelly is right now.

Ynofficial: In the likes.

op81: Do you think they’re on good terms?

04_81: Rumor has it on Messenger that they had a fight.

ynqueen: Maybe.

Ynofficial

Description: We’ve picked the date but are still missing the location. We might end up getting married in the streets.

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxvertappen1, and other 7.766.222

maxverstappen1: The streets of Monaco do have a certain charm.

Ynofficial: With the circuit in the background.

imrebecca: Let’s get married on a yacht! ❤️ Like to author

landonorris: Please no.

georgerussell63: No, please, otherwise Lando might throw up on me.

Ynofficial: Seems like an extra reason to do it.

charles_leclerc: We’ve figured out that Yn loves sunsets.

lilymhe: You’re just figuring that out now?

carmenmmundt: We’ve known for a while.

Ynofficial: Charles, you should be ashamed.

yourbrother: Actually, I didn’t know this either.

Ynofficial: I’d kick you out of the house.

yourbrother: But the house isn’t yours.

Ynofficial: I’ll ask Mom to do it. We all know who the favorite child is.

yourbrother: That’s not true.

Ynofficial: You can leave crying now.

user32: If you ever listen to us, Yn, I like the second location.

❤️ Like to author

race_: It gives off Rapunzel vibes. ❤️ Like to author

f1_: I can totally see Yn as Rapunzel. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I’d need to grow my hair and eat a magic flower.

user21: I love you, Yn. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Love you too.

user21: I’m dying.

Ynofficial: Hold on, I’ll catch you.

Imrebecca

Description: A glass of wine while we wait for Yn.

Liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and other 8,483,939.

Ynofficial: I won’t be satisfied with the next 20 dresses either.

kellypiquet: They all look beautiful on you, darling. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Thanks for your patience, hello Kelly.

user43: Wait, didn’t these two hate each other?

maxie_: I’m so confused now.

1_11: Maybe we got everything wrong.

mad_max: Impossible, she’s with Max.

cl16: And you invite his ex to pick out a wedding dress? ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Good observation.

user67: Yn, we can’t take this anymore.

user21: Stop messing with us.

Ynofficial: Why should I stop? I’m having fun.

francisca.cgomes: Your face doesn’t look happy at all.

Ynofficial: I still feel too much like a princess.

imrebecca: Off to the next boutique!

lilymhe: I’ll join as soon as I can. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I’ll wait for you.

Ynlife: You’re gorgeous, Yn.

Ynqueen_: It’s so strange seeing Yn so elegant.

Ynofficial: It feels weird to me too.

maxverstappen1: Can I suggest a tighter dress?

❤️ Like to author

charles_leclerc: Since when are you a fashion expert?

Ynofficial: Since when do you have the right to comment on my posts?

charles_leclerc: Your brother gave me his blessing.

user45: Poor Charles.

charles_: What do you mean, blessing?

Ynqueenofworld: New couple: Yn and Charles!

charles_leclerc

Description: Elegant men, baby.

Liked by maxverstappen1, Ynofficial, and other 6.862.261.

user32: Charles, no smoking!

Ynofficial: No one will want to kiss you after that.

charles_leclerc: I know someone who would.

Ynofficial: I think you’re wrong.

charlie: Are they flirting?

vroom: No, they’re not.

race_: Yn, what are you doing? You’re getting married!

04_81: Esteban’s proud face though.

lan_: I love the pink suit!

charles_: Can we talk about the pattern on Charles’s shirt?

georgerussell63: Men in tuxedos!

lewishamilton: Never seen them so elegant.

landonorris: Max’s casual photo is hilarious.

estebanocon: Looks like he’s tampering with Charles’s car brakes.

maxverstappen1: Who said I wasn’t?

Ynofficial: I’m surprised you didn’t crash since Charles was driving.

estebanocon: We came close.

carlossainz55: Charles can’t drive at normal speed.

charles_leclerc: You’re exaggerating.

user67: Max trying to get rid of the guy in love with his wife.

maxie_: Charles, back off!

ynqueen: Can’t believe they’re getting married soon!

max1__: Neither can I.

11_1_: Can’t wait!

f1star_: Guys, help! We’re not understanding anything Max is with Yn?

estebanocon: Max is laughing.

francisca.cgomes: So is Yn.

Ynofficial

Description: I didn’t think planning a wedding would be so difficult.

Liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and other 8,483,939.

francisca.cgomes: That’s why I brought you on vacation.

❤️ Like to author

lilymhe: You see Yn looking relaxed, but she’s super anxious inside.

Ynofficial: That’s not true!

kellypiquet: I found you at 2 PM looking for ways to decorate the restaurant.

carmenmmundt: Sweetie, there’s no shame in admitting you’re anxious about this. You’re with us now, away from Monaco and your fiancé, just enjoy it. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I hate to admit it, but you’re right, Carmen.

georgerussell63: Not fair, girls!

landonorris: We want to come too.

Ynofficial: Sorry, but no boys allowed.

carlossainz55: I don’t trust leaving all of you together alone.

charles_leclerc: Girls, I want Yn back home in one piece.

imrebecca: Not even a scratch! ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I have my personal bodyguard.

maxverstappen1: Don’t drink too much.

Ynofficial: You’re not here, so I’ll do whatever I want.

yourbrother: You should listen to him for once.

Ynofficial: Don’t ruin our vacation!

user45: How cute, they all want to protect Yn.

charles_: You need some rest, girl.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Being a future bride is torture.

maxie_: Oops, Max is going to be mad!

Ynofficial: Leave him alone, he’ll calm down eventually.

Yn_max: I find it so funny that Kelly is just relaxing on a lounge chair.

Ynofficial: Not for long, though.

francisca.cgomes: Let’s say she had her share of fun.

op81: Tell us more!

lan_: We need to know!

kellypiquet: They threw a bottle of ice-cold wine at me.

Ynofficial: Sorry, but I won’t apologize!

user21: Oh my god!

f1world: Poor thing!

race: It must have been fun!

Ynofficial: It was!

user67: So, Yn and Kelly are friends, meaning either Max isn’t engaged to Yn, or they broke up and stayed friends.

f1star_: Guys, I think it’s the second option.

ynlife: No, I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have taken her to pick out the wedding dress.

user1: I think Max and Yn are just friends.

maxieeee___: No way, they’re together!

Ynqueen: Okay, but then it wouldn’t make sense for Kelly to be part of the wedding preparations.

11_1max: Maybe she just wants to be a good friend.

Ynofficial: Or maybe you’re all just way off track.

user56: What???

f1racelover: Are we wrong about everything?

Ynandmax: Yn, we can’t take it anymore!

charles_leclerc

Description: This girl wants me dead.

Liked by Ynofficial, carlossainz55, and other 636.261.737

f1lover: I can't believe it, even Charles with the soft launch.

race_: I hate you, Charles.

charles_: Tell us right now who this girl is.

charlos: Also tell this girl we need you alive.

cl16: Look how he looks at her.

user32: In my life, I want someone to look at me like that.

Ynofficial: I could look at you like that.

maxverstappen1: You're creepy.

charles_leclerc: Let her dream.

Ynofficial: You know I can read you, right?

user98: Free abs.

user87: Let's thank this woman for the photo.

Ynofficial: Girls, I know Charles is handsome, but a bit of restraint.

user12: Says the girl who's with Max Verstappen.

landonorris: Dude, did you let her walk all over you?

charles_leclerc: What can I do?

Ynofficial: She appreciates your obedience.

user1: YN KNOWS HER.

Ynofficial: Probably.

f1world: Can you tell us about her?

user99: Please, we want to know something about her.

Ynofficial: No

georgerussell63: Ask "her" why she didn't invite me.

carlossainz55: I wish I had seen everything live.

Ynofficial: I had to help him fasten her bra.

lovef1: You were there?

Ynofficial: Oops.

maxverstappen1: Yn, it's time for you to leave.

Ynofficial: Goodbye!

user54: What the...?

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸/

Tag list

@bookishnerd1132 @gigicisneros @lunamelona @raizelchrysanderoctavius @chocolatepoetryfun @imherenows-blog @iamkaku @scopeiguess

[neptxn3]

Astrology Notes III

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪₊‧°

Disclaimer, these are observations I have made through personal experience and thorough research, observations also vary depending on other natal placements involved

doesn’t resonate ≠ untrue 

♅ Pluto in the 10th house has a tendency to come across as very overbearing in the workplace. This is having a routinely structure you want to have done precisely every day, so this makes you ask your coworker if they want you to do the coffee run for a meeting, staying past closing time to make sure everything is in place, doing 10x as much work as your coworkers because you like things in a certain order.

it also causes coworkers to think of you as someone who’s willing to step over them in order to appear as this solid leader who is better than them ( and often times this does manifest in the native) but mostly it is subconscious.

It honestly reminds of the devil wears Prada where Andrea gets so good at guessing what Miranda’s expectations are that she goes over the top in order to please her and it gets to the point she manages to snag the trip to Paris that has always been given to Emily in the singular year she’s worked at the magazine. Andrea being Pluto person who unknowingly becomes the ‘better’ assistant.

♅ There’s a natural discomfort when one has the Moon placed in the first house, especially if placed in signs like Aquarius or Capricorn due to the fact that their emotions are put on display which is a forced vulnerability. 

I actually find fire placements (not typically Sagittarius) who actually find enjoyment in their faces being easily read? One because fire placements are less inclined to hide their feelings, and two because they can be a bit impatient to get their point across 

♅ Virgo placements are kinda funny in the sense that they’re not necessarily clean freaks, they won’t go out of their way to clean someone’s room because it’s dirty, but they are obviously very precise with their own mess, they don’t like being messy themselves you know? It’s not seen as a second nature to clean but rather an obligation for them because they need clean spaces in order to be productive with an active Mercury influence. 

I actually find it very common for Virgo placements to have an “organized mess” too. They know where they left their green paperclip in their messy rooms (it’s under the left desk leg). 

♅ Taurus placements , fixed signs in general, but especially Taurus placements grow up with a specific set of beliefs and morals that they follow through and through. It’s because of their fixed nature that they will refuse to change, in fact Taurus placements consider their perspective to be so correct, if afflicted, Taurus placements can be the hardest to evolve in your chart. 

♅ cancer risings tend to attract very dangerous men/women due to Scorpio being in their 5th house, this is actually why cancers fall under the sweet damsel in distress who dates the big bad boys in romantic tropes a lot lol but yes they actively seek people who have a dark reputation or damaged past as lovers

♅ People with Mars in the 12th house are often accused of being unmotivated and lazy by people in their life but it actually stems from the fact that mars is uncomfortable being in a house that’s connected to the unconscious mind while craving the open expression of anger and ambition mars naturally is. I actually find they overthink their actions. You can remind a person with mars in the 12th house to take out the trash before bed because the garbage collectors come tomorrow and they will spend the whole day cleaning the house, drain their energy and say “I’ll just wake up early and do it tomorrow” but they never do 😭 They confuse themselves!! 

it’s also interesting to note a person with a 12th house prominence that includes mars will be defensive about their said actions. “Take out the trash” “I was already planning on doing it but now I don’t want to”. I include 12th house prominence because a mars in the 12th also has stealthy actions and thoughts 🤫

♅ People with their 4th house ruler in the 7th house will have emotional withdrawals if their routine does not involve socializing with others. You’ll typically see this in people who choose to search for roommates during college, move in with close friends to “save on rent” or choose to never move out of their parents home ( I support this in this economy lol)

you’ll also see this in people who are serial daters, not to say that their relationships don’t impact them greatly, but they feel a requirement to express their feelings with others. 

Could make great therapists too actually

♅ Mercury square saturn people need precise instructions whenever they do something. Mercury can be very sporadic in square aspects because their communication is being misconstrued the same way a radios antennae need to be arranged in a certain way  in order to get signal. With Saturn representing structure, they prefer very detailed instructions on pretty much anything. You need them to get a wrench? It’s on the left? Top, middle, or bottom? And what color is it? Is it in the back or front of the cabinet? 

Also, Mercury square Saturn people, we’re you the kids who’s dad yelled at them for holding the flashlight the wrong way when fixing something? 

♅ I find it very funny when Aquarius placements are dubbed the people who change the world with their innovative ideas because you will connect that to them actively trying to improve society but it’s actually because they just want life to be easier to navigate for themselves. They’re the type to invent flying cars, not for the next Industrial Revolution that will forever change man once again, but because they want a cheaper way to save on overseas travel 😭. Don’t get the wrong idea, a lot of them realize their potential and eventually use their ideas for good, but it usually starts off as very personal and self serving. 

[sugrhigh]

THE BOY IS MINE - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- after years of friendship, you’ve seen matt date people before, but none of them have been as bad as this new one. you’ve never interfered with any of the girls in the past, but one night she takes it too far and your true feelings come out.

warnings- cursing, unprotected sex (pretend ur on birth control but also wrap it before you tap it), choking, cheating, dom!matt, it’s smut with a plot guys are we surprised (read at ur own fucking discretion PLEASE!)

a/n: thank you @stonermattsgf for the request!! i fucking loved this concept and the song eats down i hope i did u some justice <3 the touch it chris fic will be coming too cuz im fuckin with that song as well (if you weren’t tagged it wouldn’t let me tag you, i’m sorry!!)

@fawnchives @teapartyprincess4two @sturnioloco @mattinside @l9vesick @sturnsblunt @ev3rgreenxtrees @wh0resstuff @matthewsmocktails @cherrypostsposts @bxbynyah7 @seababehh @sturnsfav @mattsluv @sturniolossss @melanch0lybby @sturniolos-blog @lustfulslxt @sturnioloobssesd @ginswife @amypull @vivianalovesmatt @st4niolos @sturnioloobessed @sturnlova @bigbeefybitch @minhyucks @iheart-zegras @vicsguitarr @melonjollyranche @hearts4matty @vickyzloserz @user8000000 @xoxo4chrisss @unfilteredassmf @mattsbiggesthoe @chrisstopherfilmed @st3rniolo @goldengrapejuice @luv2matt @vsangel-starbies @mikaelabutterfield @mattnchrisworld @bluesturniolo333 @wurlibydominicfike @kp07on @hayleyreadsblog

in no universe did you expect to be pining after one of your best friends.

it had always been strictly platonic between you and matt, aside from a little harmless flirting over the years. you loved him and his brothers so much that you never wanted to mess anything up, or complicate things when the dynamic was already perfect.

but as much as you’re close with each of them, you know you’ve always understood matt on a deeper level. you share the same goals, the same fears, even the same taste in music and movies.

he’s always been the first person to check in, the only one who can read your mood like the back of his hand, the guy who cheers you up and lets you cry on his shoulder when things are shitty.

despite these sweet gestures, you’ve both had your fair share of relationships and flings while being best friends. none of them have ever bothered you before, and you’ve always tried to be respectful and kind to whichever girl he picks.

that is, until now.

matt is sitting across from you on the couch in their living room, slight frown etched on his face. his girlfriend, maya, has her legs sprawled across his lap comfortably, arms linked like she’s claiming him.

her eyes are practically locked on you. you don’t blame her; she’s well aware that you’re not her biggest fan.

all she does is complain about all of the things she doesn’t like about matt. last time she hung out with you guys, she was bitching about the fact that he kissed her in public at a party, as if she was worried he was scaring off other guys.

when he buys her flowers, they’re the wrong ones. if he takes her to dinner, she whines about the food. she’ll even criticize his clothes, demanding that they match and he hides the tattoos. to her, he can’t do anything right, even though he’s incredible just the way he is.

so it drives you absolutely insane watching the way she walks all over matt, all over his brothers, even you. it’s been two months of this agony, and you can’t believe it’s even lasted this long.

you spend nearly every day thinking about how much better you could treat him. every time he touches you, no matter how briefly, your skin burns in desire. it’s selfish to want someone who’s taken, and you’re well aware of that.

but you just love matt, you know him. and he deserves better. maybe it’s you, maybe it’s not. but it’s certainly not maya.

“give it to me, fuckhead.” chris’s voice rips you out of your trance, and you snap your head toward the middle of the U-shaped sofa.

he’s currently fighting nick for the remote, who slaps the side of his arm rather hard. chris lets go, only to pull his brother into a headlock seconds later. nick lets out a yelp of surprise, jamming an elbow into his side to get him to stop.

in all the commotion, you decide to grab the remote for yourself, a wide smile settling across your features as you take it into your palm.

they both notice quickly, groaning in protest as you wave it at them tauntingly.

“too slow! now i get to pick, idiots.” you tease.

“c’mon, i just went to war for that thing.” nick complains, kicking your leg half-heartedly, but you just shake your head.

“snooze you lose.”

you scroll through your options, trying to pay no mind to the way maya is whispering to matt for so long she could be reciting the bible. then your eyes land on a title that makes you pause, chuckling a little to yourself.

“oh no way, they have fucking cocaine bear on here?” chris cackles.

nick looks rather amused himself, raising his eyebrows like he’s intrigued. “i mean, i’m game.”

you glance over at matt, who’s already looking at you with a grin on his face. he mentioned the movie to you a little while ago, and how he just had to see how stupid it was eventually.

“why would we waste our time watching this shit? isn’t it supposed to be awful?” maya chimes from beside him, and your gaze narrows in on her.

“it’ll be funny, you know, ‘cause it’s so bad.” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and friendly.

she tilts her head to the side slightly, studying you with disapproving eyes. “yeah, i’m not so sure about trusting your taste. i mean, that god-awful outfit is just one example.”

the air seems to be sucked out of the room as you grip your sweats self-consciously. nobody moves, nobody speaks. you feel the anger flare up in your veins as you look at matt, wondering if he’s going to step in like he should.

but he doesn’t. in fact, he’s avoiding your gaze altogether. so you square your shoulders and turn your focus back to the girl you dislike so much. you’re done with the passive aggressive comments, with all of the bullshit glares and insults.

you’re done letting her bulldoze you. if matt wants to go through that, fine. but he doesn’t have to take everyone down with him by subjecting them to maya’s presence.

“well, you seem to be the only one who has a problem with my taste, so maybe you should just leave.” you say calmly, smiling sarcastically at the end because you can’t help it.

her mouth pops open, and you can hear chris and nick trying to stifle their gasps and chuckles. even the corner of matt’s lips turn up, which makes you wonder.

maya turns to look at her boyfriend, completely astonished. “are you seriously going to let her talk to me like that?”

he seems conflicted as he briefly looks your direction, clearing his throat to buy some time. you tilt an eyebrow, crossing your arms like you’re just waiting for him to pick his side.

she may have asked the question, but now you’re dying to know the answer.

“maya is right. and, uh, i think you should apologize.” matt fumbles with his words, unable to speak to you directly.

you feel the fury work its way up your face, and you force yourself to blink away the burning sensation of frustrated tears. maya looks far too satisfied, and you want to slap the smirk off of her face.

but you know you can’t lay hands on her, so you decide your words will have to be your knives.

“you know what, i am sorry,” you begin, raising your hands in surrender.

they’re both a bit surprised by this change in direction, so after a brief pause, you continue.

“i’m really sorry that you’re dating a stuck up bitch. i’m sorry that she’s constantly taking advantage of your kindness. i’m sorry that she treats you like shit, that she talks down to you like you’re a child, that she’s never satisfied with the things you do. and i’m especially sorry that you continue to let her, because you can do so much better.”

if maya’s eyeballs could pop out of her skull, you would imagine it would be exactly like how she looks right now. matt is also slack jawed beside her, and you can’t be near him any longer.

so you stand up, turning to leave the boy you love so much without another word.

the fresh night air of spring is a relief once you step out the front door, and you try to let it calm you as you hustle toward your car. you can already feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket as you move, presumably nick and chris.

you hope they’re not angry. it’s bad enough knowing that you’ve royally fucked things up with matt, but you couldn’t bare it if all three of them hated you.

you practically toss yourself into the drivers seat, slamming the door closed with a force that shakes the entire vehicle. you’re peeling out of the driveway before you can even reflect on the consequences of your actions, speeding home as if your life depended on it.

your ringtone continues to erupt as you drive along the backroads, but you force yourself to ignore it for the time being.

only once you throw the car into park in your own driveway do you check the messages, scrolling through the numerous notifications. unsurprisingly most of them are from nick and chris like you presumed, wondering if you’re alright and applauding you for finally standing up to the wicked witch of the west.

for a brief moment, their kind words make you feel better.

but then your eyes catch a contact that you actually don’t expect; matt’s. you stare at your device, throat going completely dry. a missed call and two texts.

matt

i’m coming over

don’t bother saying no, im already on my way

that was five minutes ago, which means he’s not too far behind you. you tear out of your car and across the yard, throwing the door open carelessly.

your heart is still slamming against your ribcage, and fear crawls up your throat as you press your back to the wood, kicking your flip flops off in the general direction of the coat rack.

your mind flashes to the idea of him yelling at you, which you suppose would be somewhat warranted. you’ve seen matt angry on a couple of occasions, and you can’t imagine he has anything kind to say to you right now.

you pace the foyer as you wait for his arrival, picking at the beds of your fingernails anxiously.

and then it happens; the loud knock on the front door, followed by another series of harsh slams.

impatient motherfucker.

you straighten up as your palm wraps around the knob, sucking in a breath before pulling it open to reveal a rather disheveled matt.

he’s breathing heavy, hair messy as if he’s been tugging at it for the entire drive. his earrings glint in the porch light as he stares at you like he’s trying to commit every feature to memory, wetting his lips hungrily.

“matt—”

you barely get his name out before he wraps his ring-clad fingers around your throat, pulling your mouth to his harshly. he molds against you perfectly, his other hand traveling to your hip to hold you flush against his own body.

he just couldn’t help it. he was so desperate on the entire ride over, replaying your outburst on a loop in his mind as he drove further and further away from his girlfriend. there’s been only a few occasions he’s seen you that upset, and your comments had been a necessary slap in the face.

plus, watching you fight for him when he was too much of a bitch to do it himself was a bigger turn-on than he’d like to admit.

all he’s ever wanted is you. and it shouldn’t have taken this long to admit it to himself.

matt guides you backwards, hand still squeezing your neck as he blindly kicks the door shut with one foot. you feel your back bump against the kitchen counter, and you’re trying to register what the hell is going on, but his kiss is so fucking intoxicating that it’s impossible to think clearly.

his tongue slides against yours passionately, and the flavored chapstick you’re wearing is driving him insane. you can feel him growing hard against your thigh as he toys with the elastic waistband of your pants suggestively.

you have no idea if this means it’s officially over with him and maya, but you find that you quite frankly don’t give a shit.

in this moment, he’s yours.

his fingers finally dip into your sweats a few seconds later, traveling down to brush against your clothed heat as he moves his mouth to your jaw sloppily. a breathy moan escapes before you can stop it, involuntarily rutting your hips against his cold rings in search of more friction.

one of your hands goes to grip the hair at the nape of his neck while the other claws at his back, desperately wrapping your knuckle around the cloth of his muscle tee.

“you like that?” matt grumbles against your throat, nipping at the skin as he begins to apply real pressure to your cunt in little circular motions.

your back arches and you tilt your head to the side so you can give him full access, silently hoping he’ll leave a mark behind.

“you’ve been thinking about me touching you like this, haven’t you? wishing i would come fuck you instead of her?” he questions further, moving his head slightly so he’s speaking directly into your ear.

the hand that was choking you slides down so he can grope your chest, his thumb running over one of your hardened nipples through the thin shirt you’re wearing. the combined pleasure has you whining in his grasp, a submissive sound that you wish you weren’t making.

you can feel him grinning as he presses his mouth to that sweet spot below your earlobe, his tongue darting out to wet the area.

“you want me just as much.” you manage to find your voice, though your claim is muttered with no conviction.

matt pauses his movements and brings both hands to your waistband again, which makes you whimper as you clench around nothing. his mouth finds yours briefly to swallow the sound, and he bites down on your bottom lip as he pulls away.

“you’re not wrong. so are you gonna give me what i want, baby?” he asks as he teases your sweats and panties just a little lower on your hips.

“keep going.” you plead.

you let go of your grip on his body so he can tug both items down to your ankles, helping you step out of their grasp before discarding them a couple feet away.

matt doesn’t immediately stand back up; instead he takes his time, kissing the side of your knees as his hands slide up the outside of your thighs. you feel so exposed, so on-display that you clench your legs together before you can help it.

he immediately pries them apart, shaking his head slightly with a little smirk. “don’t be shy now, you had so much to say earlier.”

his words spur you on, so you spread yourself wider, opting to grip the counter as he reattaches his lips to your inner thighs. matt inches closer and closer to where you really need him, taking his time to nip at the supple flesh that comes before.

he pulls away right when you think he’s finally about to put his mouth on you, letting his hot breath fan across your soaked center. it makes you shiver in anticipation, and you’re getting a little too needy now.

“quit fucking teas—oh shit.”

you throw your head back as his two fingers spread you apart, tongue coming in contact with the middle of your cunt as he laps at the wetness that had pooled there.

he slows his pace slightly after a moment, making sure to pay attention to the whole area, working his way up until his nose bumps against your clit. you spit a curse out, letting one hand go so you can grip his soft hair.

matt continues on, his lips closing around the sensitive bud so he can apply more pressure and suction. your gut flips at the sensation and your grip on his roots tightens as his mouth works.

he grumbles, loving the way you’re pulling at him so desperately. the noise sends vibrations through your core, which only makes the experience more enjoyable.

“fuckkk, matt, feels so good.” you praise dumbly, your words slurring.

the vocal admiration makes his pulse quicken, and at this point he’s straining against his jeans. he just can’t believe he’s got you like this, grinding your cunt against his face as if he’s the best you’ve ever had.

he can tell you’re growing closer just based on the little gasps and moans leaving your mouth, and your legs begin to shake ever so slightly. but he won’t let you finish just yet.

“want to be inside this pretty pussy.” he pulls away to say it, pressing one more wet kiss to the delicate area before he gets up.

you’re craving more, so you decide to take initiative, reaching for his belt and fumbling to undo the buckle. you tear it from the loops and toss it away, moving to his zipper as he reaches behind his head to tug his loose tank off.

his pants fall to the floor, leaving him in only his tented boxers. he’s quick to kick his shoes off, followed by his jeans right after.

then his hands go to your waist, fingers digging into the smooth flesh.

“up.” he instructs bluntly, helping lift you onto the end of the marbled countertop so he’s standing between your legs.

he lifts your shirt up next, and you help him out by throwing your arms above your head so he can fully remove it. his eyes train downwards, admiring the way your sheer bra hugs your tits. it hardly leaves anything to the imagination, and matt finds it extremely hot that you’ve been wearing it all night without him knowing.

before he can make a move, you surprise him by reaching back confidently to unhook the garment yourself. you let it slip from your shoulders before throwing it to your side, revealing your bare chest to him wordlessly.

he pulls his lip between his teeth as he exhales, gently guiding you downwards so your back is pressed flat against the cool surface. matt looks intimidating standing over you, his dark eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“you’re so fucking sexy.” he says in awe, leaning down to give you another real kiss, a salty mix of sweat and arousal on his lips.

then he finds his way down to your collarbone, staying there shortly before traveling between the valley of your breasts. without warning, he presses his tongue flat across one nipple, flicking it back and forth.

you push your chest further into his face with a moan, both hands in his hair this time. he moves to the other perky bud, sucking on it as his teeth graze the tissue ever so slightly.

you’re practically writhing underneath him, and you can feel the pit growing in your stomach again. so even though it feels incredible, you yank his head back off of your chest by his hair.

“need you to fuck me.” you mutter, pushing his hair out of his face with both of your hands.

matt nods once, straightening so he can slide his underwear down. his erection finally springs free, pink tip glistening with precum. you watch as he spreads the wetness around, pumping himself in his hand a few times.

he’s bigger than you expected, and your mouth is watering just thinking about how much you want him to be pounding into you already.

“wrap your legs around me princess.” he commands gruffly, and you do just as you’re told, hooking your ankles behind his back.

his dick presses against your heat, and you buck against it to try and feel more. matt is quick to steady your hips roughly, holding you down against the edge of the counter as he teases himself into your entrance.

you both moan, his low and rumbling, yours high-pitched and greedy. you use your thighs to pull him closer, forcing him to drive into you fully so you can feel that pleasurable stretch.

“mmmn—fuck, you’re so tight.” he sighs, giving you another moment before he begins to drag his cock in and out at a steady pace.

you rock with him as best you can, finding the perfect rhythm so that he’s plowing his full length into you, filling the house with the sound of skin slapping skin.

matt lets one hand wrap around your neck again to choke you, tattoos on display as his muscles flex, and the pressure traps your lewd cries in your throat. his other fingers continue to toy with your nipples, which makes you arch off the counter, head rolled back as your eyes screw shut.

“look at you, taking me like such a good girl. just like i knew you would.” he compliments breathlessly.

he starts snapping his hips harder, enjoying the way your tits bounce as you slide slightly against the slick counter. you look so fucking beautiful, mouth partially open, barely able to squeak out a moan.

never in a million years did matt think he’d get the opportunity to fulfill all of his shamefully dirty fantasies about you, but here you are, completely naked and spread out in your own kitchen.

you’re squeezing around him now with every stroke, and he somehow keeps getting deeper, hitting your g-spot in a way that makes you jerk.

the familiar feeling of your abs tightening occurs as you get closer to your orgasm, and you swear you’re seeing stars at this point. he’s right there with you, a groaning mess as your fingers reach up to dig into his bicep.

“yes, matt, right there! m’gonna—” you fumble over your words, unable to finish the thought as the satisfaction builds.

he uses the last of his strength to drill into you, moving both hands back to your waist quickly so he can slam you down on his cock a few more times.

“come all over this dick baby, don’t hold back.”

you’re practically screaming his name as you hit your high, releasing all over him as his hot cum spills into you at the same time.

he slows his movements as you look up at him with bleary eyes, enjoying the last moments of being inside you before he pulls out. you feel your mixed arousal dripping out onto the counter, and you don’t even care that you’ll have to clean it up later.

that was completely worth the mess.

your chest continues to heave as you relish in the come down, dropping your thighs from his hips so he’s free to move around.

but matt stays between them, leaning down to capture your mouth with his one final time. it’s brief, but it means more than either of you truly understand.

he’s the one to break it first, pressing his forehead against yours before he speaks. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you smile weakly, pushing against his chest to put some distance between the two of you. reality is creeping back in, reminding you that this was probably a one time thing.

“help me down?” you ask, and he complies.

matt lifts you a bit as you slide off the countertop, setting you back on real ground a second later. you’re not sure what to say as you stand before him, completely fucked out and terrified of whatever is coming next.

“so, um…i should probably get cleaned up.” you try to sound casual, even though you’re feeling anything but relaxed.

he immediately notices the switch in tone, the way you’re wrapping your arms around yourself like you’re trying to shrink away and hide. he’s also pretty sure he knows where this insecurity is coming from.

his fingers go to grip your chin gently, demanding that you look him in the face. your eyes widen as he brushes his thumb along your swollen bottom lip.

“i’m cutting things off with maya. i just…love you. and i’m sorry it took me so long.” matt finally admits.

it takes a second to click in your brain, but when it does a wide grin spreads across your face. butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you kiss the pad of his finger as he moves it along your mouth.

“i love you too, but i think you knew that already.” you tease playfully.

“yeah, maybe. but i like hearing you say it out loud.”

[neuvistar]

poly jingren x reader has been on my mind 4 so longgg.. ITS SO BADD. please give me more thirsts or thoughts abt poly!jingren x reader i’m lovin them rn | hint of fluff, mostly nsfw

short lil thirst ! jing yuan + blade x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), big dick jing yuan + blade foreal, reader implied 2 be shorter in height, degrading terms (whore, slut, etc), mentions of squirting, mating press + full nelson, SIZE KINK!! SIZE KINK!!, blade’s a lil mean but it’s ok bc it’s blade!, cum cum lots of cum (sounds funny but it’s okay </3) | overall suggestive content minors do not interact

poly!jingren who would have different tolerance of your brattiness. jing yuan having the highest patience for u n blade having the least! you always run to jing yuan whenever blade talks abt punishing u n he thinks it’s soso cute :(( he’s always protecting you, nuzzling against his chest with your arms wrapped around his huge body, ur so cute! a darling you are..

jing yuan always tried dodging the idea of you wearing short skirts in public, why? you would make his dick hard, easy. but, you decided it was a good idea to wear the shortest skirt known 2 mankind one day, paying him a visit at his office. imagine this, jing yuan would be at his office doing work at his desk n all of the sudden you walk in looking all slutty, a short skirt that just barely covers your plushy thighs and ass, he would brush it off at first up until you purposely drop the pen on his desk bending down to pick it up. once you stood up, you would already be bent over his desk. that’s what you wanted, after all. “are you trying to tempt me, dove? because it sure is working.” jing yuan has zero patience whenever you’re acting like a whore in public, he would plant kisses all over your back and pound into you like there’s no tomorrow, his big dick stretching you out :(( choked moans would leave your throat, rambling on about how rough he was being with you, and that people might hear you and walk in, but he didn’t care, infact that was the last of his worries. he savoured the feeling of your tight walls pulsing around his cock, cumming inside and cumming on your panties too! i hope u’ll enjoy the stickiness between your thighs <3 (he’ll snitch to blade too abt it, what a bitch)

poly!jingren would be protective over you, even though they’re a pain to be with sometimes due to their constant arguments and disagreements, dating them does have its benefits. they would stand on either side of you, one on your left and one on your right. geez, you look so cute compared to them, it’s like you were walking around with two dogs on your leash, reading to pounce at anyone who dares speak ill of you or touches you. speaking of size.. i feel like they’d both have a size kink, you’re just so short compared to them they can’t help but fantasize about bending you over and fucking you in different positions, i feel like they both each have their favourites on that.

jing yuan loves putting you in a mating press, he likes it becuz it makes him cum quicker! not even a few thrusts and he’s already cumming inside, loving how you squirt all over his cock. he would press your knees against your chest, folding you in half almost. he would gently draw circles on your knee while the tip of his dick kisses your cervix, he’s so sweet to you though.. whispering praises in your ear. he would catch you off guard sometimes due to how sweet he was with you, not noticing how much he came, staring down at the mess he made in your cunt w cum seeping out </3

blade would absolutely love folding you in a full nelson, bro has sm strength it scares you sometimes. he would hook his arms under your knees, thrusting his hips into you. “sucha’ whore for my cock, aren’t you? you like it when i fuck you hard like this, don’t you?” mmm also also maybe if he’s feeling it, i bet bro would let jing yuan would join too, but he wouldn’t impale you with his dick like blade is, no.. he would rub his cock against your slit, placing kisses on your legs. honestly, jing yuan is your saviour atp. cuz everytime blade folds you in a full nelson, he’s always concerned that he’ll break you, so he tries telling him to ease it up a bit with you <3

poly!jingren would have god like stamina and strength, great speed n strength comes w great consequences! whether it is in a non sexual way or not, i feel like their stamina n strength would be useful in your relationship, its a lil cute since ur kinda shorter in height n they would always tower over u n help i get things from the high shelf or cabinet, it’s so cute! <33 but yet.. it’s a lil scary in bed cuz they can last so long w u and fuck you until you forget your own name, but it’ll be fine!! you can handle them!

poly!jingren both probably didn’t realize they had a size kink until they got intimate with you, it was probably the last of their worries up until one night. blade would probably notice a cute little bump on your stomach, noticing just how small you rlly are compared to them, jing yuan would too! honestly they both just love how their huge cocks slide in and out of your pussy, the bulge on your stomach going down, up, down up, over and over again! you’re just so.. cute they can’t help but stretch your little pussy out a bit.

“cmon sweetheart, you got this. you’re so cute, mhm.. you can handle more right?“

“sure she can, she’s strong girl. if shes— mmp.. squeezing around us like that, i’m sure she can handle more.”

“mm.. mhm. i can see that.” jing yuan leaned down, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “do you like it when we stretch you out with our cocks like this, baby?”

“fuck yeah she does, look at her. she’s creaming on our cocks already. s’ messy.”

poly!jingren who would both try their best to be gentle to you, sometimes it backfires but you don’t seem to mind! what’s very true about them is they both don’t want to hurt you in anyway, sure they fuck you hard enough and punish you but their intentions r never to hurt u, they would always ask you if you’re okay, even if they see the slightest hint of discomfort or pain in your face. especially jing yuan, he’s rlly rlly sweet n same goes to blade but he shows it in his own way. u know that blade doesn’t mean half of the things he says (he knows ur a slut for their cock tho but that’s besides the point) n sometimes he can get carried away but he would apologize with a simple “sorry.” and ask you if he was too rough on you, both r sweethearts yk

[f1ora1f1owerswrites]

at the heart of it all

Summary: you’re Jake’s date to a family wedding, where every moment highlights the quiet love the two of you share.

Word Count: 544.

Warnings: established relationship, no use of y/n, fluff (duh).

***

The warm buzz of laughter and music filled the backyard, lights strung across the trees casting a soft glow over the wedding party. Jake stood next to you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a grounding weight amidst the cheerful chaos.

“You okay?” he murmured, leaning down so his voice reached only you.

You nodded, the corner of your mouth tugging into a smile. “I’m good.”

Jake’s green eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he grinned. “You’re lying,” he teased lightly, his tone affectionate. “C’mon, darlin’, they’re my family. You’ve met them countless times. They’re harmless.”

“Harmless? The same people who’ve already shared six embarrassing stories about you?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

Jake chuckled, the deep sound making your chest feel tight. “Okay, fair. But if they get too rowdy, just let me know and I’ll throw ‘em off the dance floor.”

You laughed, leaning into him slightly, the warmth of his presence calming your nerves. Jake pressed a quick kiss to your temple before stepping back to adjust his tie.

“Here,” you said, reaching up. “Let me.”

He stilled as your fingers deftly straightened the knot, his eyes fixed on your face with an expression so soft. “What would I do without you?” he asked, his voice low and sincere.

“Probably show up looking like a mess,” you teased, patting his chest once the tie was in place.

Jake’s smirk returned. “Good thing I’ve got you then.”

***

The reception was in full swing by the time Jake guided you back to your seats, a plate of food in his hands. “Here,” he said, placing it in front of you. “You haven’t eaten anything all night yet.”

“Jake, I-”

“No arguments,” he interrupted, shooting you a playful look. “I know how you get when you’re nervous, and I’m not letting you faint somewhere like this.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto your face. “Thanks.”

“Always,” he replied, brushing his fingers against yours as he handed you a fork.

***

Later, as the two of you stood with a group of Jake’s cousins, he kept a steady hand on your back, his thumb tracing small circles that only you seemed to notice. When someone directed a question your way, Jake gave you a subtle, gentle nudge, his eyes meeting yours with an encouraging warmth.

You took a breath and began to answer the question, and Jake’s expression melted into something tender. Even in a crowd, he had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room.

***

As the night wound down, you found yourselves swaying together on the dance floor. Jake’s arms were wrapped around you, holding you close as the music slowed.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said, voice soft against your ear.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

Jake’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, tilting your face toward his. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting go.”

Your lips met in a kiss that felt like a promise, a reminder of the love that had brought you here–to this moment, this new second family, this life you were building together.

***

A/N: i had soooo much fun writing this, i feel like i’ve enjoyed writing the meet-cutes but wanted to give a more “established” relationship a try! i hope you liked it!!

[unluckilyimnot]

Hey again thank you so much for answering my love language request I loved it sm😭hope you don’t mind but may I also ask for some jealousy/possessive/protectiveness headcanons for umemiya, suo, kyotaro and togame (plus any other characters you’d like!) thanks again💗💗

When they're jealous – suo, umemiya, kyotaro, togame

m.list | rules

Suo

he’s a chill guy but don’t mess even a little bit with the people he likes

he’s the over-protective type so he doesn’t really go through an jealous phase with strangers

he jump straight to the “touch them I break your arm” with a smile on his face

he stays behind you if you think they’re nice, just in case and to let them know that you’re taken ; maybe he’ll do most of the conversation to piss them off

if they’re clearly hitting on you, he doesn’t care much then, he would probably make a sappy note about them or their looks (he’s petty like that) and leave with you, kindly guiding you with a hand on your back

but he’s a possessive guy and let’s be honest, he’ll get jealous if you’re really close to sakura or nirei

“oh you like spending time with them ? Good.” but you can tell he’s annoyed – even if he’ll NEVER admit it

he would lie about him until swearing on his dead body

but don’t be surprised if he got more clingy around them with you after that, still subtly but enough for them to acknowledge it

he holds your hand a lot outside, it’s simple, people don’t mind it much he likes it – it says it all

“you know I love you right ?” sometimes you’re scared he doesn’t know I and sometimes, just mess with you a little, he acted likes he doesn’t

just because he loves how you can spend half of your day stopping, from time to time, what you’re doing just to kiss him or stroke his hair

Umemiya

less chill than he looks like

he’s more verbal about it I think, less shy to talk about it and show you that he’s not fine with it – as long that it’s a casual situation

like you spending more time with other person than him, to the point that he feels like you’re forgetting him within your own group friends or his

he would lay on your back, leave some of his weight for you to take care off before you beg him to stop, that he’s going to kill you – but he really just need affection

you cradling his face, kissing his nose, telling him you’re sorry – the most is when you two can spend a few dates together after that, cuddle up into each other's limbs

but if someone approach you and make you uncomfortable on top of that, that’s another question

he’s not silly anymore, he’ll make sure they leave as soon as possible

and if they don’t while he’s still asking politely then you are leaving

he doesn’t want to pick a fight, but he will if he has to – but it rarely happens

what happens though is him feeling he’s not good enough for you after seeing you being friendly with someone

sadly he’s the type to think that you can always find someone better than him, when he’s already all you can ask for – you have to remind him that a lot

Kyotaro

he has a hard time showing it when he’s jealous because he feels like he shouldn’t feel like this

you’re the one noticing there’s something wrong most of the time, because he tends to be distant, with Umemiya rather than you for a bit too long without him checking on you

you have to try to talk about it with him or he’ll never come talk to you

you have to be patient and understanding ngl, because he won’t admit it until you have to tell him it’s ok to feel bad a hundred time

you really have to reassure him a lot

in the end, he’s most likely to spent the rest of the day glue to you, following you like a lost puppy

pulling on your shirt when he feels like you’re too far, he expected you to make it up for him with some good quality time : so you’re not going anywhere

it makes you giggle a lot and you end up doing nothing with him for a whole afternoon while he’s curled up against you like a cat

Togame

he has a arm around you all the time outside, especially since him and his gang are around a lot of bars

he never has much to do for you to don’t get annoyed but he’s always careful

overly, he’s not the overprotective type, just quiet jealous but he plays it cool all the time

he pulls you over in his laps or for you to rest against his chest, an arm around your waist and if you’re in a quiet corner, he may leave a few kisses in your neck

only because he loves you so much he wants you to know – and for those over there looking at you as well

he whines a little when he feels left out to tease you and so you can fall into his arms, all sorry but god he wishes he could have you whole for himself at the moment

likes it when you make it up for him (yes like that) and you can expect the same from him if you happened to be jealous of someone too

[clownowo]

I love inventing terrible in universe fandom drama.

Gavintwt fell into a couple months of terrible discourse about Klavier’s sexuality. people argue about whether he's gay or just queerbaiting and then people argue about how this is invasive actually and real people can't queerbait and Klavier is just openly queer the whole time with a song literally titled "my boyfriend is the prosecution's witness". blissfully unaware.

There's a trend of Gavinner stans committing crimes or messing with crime scenes just to be prosecuted/called as a witness by Klavier. he has to put out a formal statement imploring his fans to pursue other methods of getting his attention:

just. please. stop. please.

A few years after the disbarment someone digs up an old viral post that's like

📖 tilthat February 15, 2018 TIL that during a case in 2016, a defense attorney cross-examined a parrot during the final day of court. The defense won the case. 🐢 tortise-law February 15, 2018 Sit your ass the hell down this motherfucker's name is fucking Phoenix Wright and you don't understand how fucking batshit that case is. He was defending prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, who he had previously DESTROYED THE PERFECT RECORD OF. And it STARTS with Wright proving a witness didn't actually see the murder because they were searching for the goddamned Loch Ness Monster. And not only that, the case ends with him ACCUSING THE OTHER PROSECUTOR, MANFRED VON KARMA, OF ORCHESTRATING THE WHOLE MURDER AND KILLING EDGEWORTH'S FATHER. AND HE WAS RIGHT???? LIKE???? 🎩 gay-ramarye February 16, 2018 holy shit reading this guy's wiki page is a fucking trip. not only does he have a perfect win record, that defendant immediately followed this up with FAKING HIS OWN DEATH??? spacejamminninja-deactivated2018 February 16, 2018 How is this not a tv show already. What the hell do you mean he faked his death 🪶 is-the-hawk-video-cute February 17, 2018 tbh if my defense attorney cross examined a parrot and accused the opposing counsel i'd fake my death too 🌸 pinkprincess February 18, 2018 japanifornia cases are just Like That i have never heard of a normal one.

and gavinblr suddenly realizes that that was the dude Klavier got DISBARRED a couple years ago. viral sensation parrot cross-examiner Phoenix Wright. the fandom goes crazy for a few days but then Klavier does a new photoshoot and they all move on.

A post joking about shipping Klavier’s brother with the guy Klavier got disbarred becomes a huge meme in gavinblr and a subsection begins writing ironic Krisnix RPF that progressively becomes genuine and then turnabout trump happens and the fandom explodes again. Half the Krisnix shippers jump ship to Klapollo because they felt weird about shipping a murderer (and did you SEE the Kitaki case? Klavier was sooo flirting with the defense <3). The other half doubled down and reveled in the angst potential. Part of the Klapollo shippers started truthing. They study court transcripts to prove that Klavier and Apollo are in love if not already dating. Unfortunately they’re right.

[86espresso]

dancing is a dangerous game ⋆.˚ ★—ONE

(au masterlist)

SUM ; he did not 🙅‍♀️ wrap it before he tapped it

WARNINGS ; finding out that you’re pregnant, whole lot of awkward talking bc that’s what I’m best at 👍, mostly humor, zegras is jobless, fluff, oc character (readers bsf), kissing? allusions to sex, drinking, anxiety

NOTES ; first fic we ball 🙂‍↕️

WC ; 2.3k

“Your place, or mine?”

Your place or mine?

Your place or mine.

Jack Hughes wishes he was cool enough to say it the way his older brother did, but unfortunately, he was not that gifted. Matter of Quinn being more articulate and approachable.

The only times Jack actually got some was when a girl approached him, or when they were done with the whole third date thing.

Tonight, he decided he would telepathically flirt with you by staring across the room. To him, this is the most effective form of flirting. You’d have to catch his eyes eventually.

Your hair was wild, eyeliner smudged and lipstick blotted, the thrill and the alcohol had you dancing and singing and acting lively, he immediately needed to know you better.

Judging by your energy and the way you sang along to every single song made him believe you might be a fun person to hang out with outside of having you in his bed.

God, he’s already formed a false version of you in his head.

Jack winced, feeling Trevor’s razor of an elbow poking at his rib.

“Literally just talk to her, bro.”

Jack stood there blinking and watched as Trevor switched out their drinks, giving him the stronger one out of the two. He covered his rib before Trevor could bruise it again.

“Christ, don’t do that. I can’t just go up to her and talk. Look at her.”

Trevor looked. He didn’t really see much besides a pretty girl getting shitfaced. He just shrugged and made Jack chug the strong drink, ordering two more for him to push him further.

The rest of was bits and pieces in Jack’s memory. He did, indeed, get as shitfaced as you. He remembers you coming over after noticing his gaze, resting your head on his shoulder (he nearly shat his pants), taking a sip out of his shot glass boldly and telling him that you liked it. That may have been a life altering experience for him; he thanked whichever god he pleased enough to deserve this.

The alcohol messed up his memory a bit; but he remembers your lips on his neck in the cab, his lips on your hipbones, and the warmth of your body close to his right before he drifted to sleep.

And now, it’s morning. He’s cold, alone, heavily disoriented, and doesn’t know his own name.

He realized he doesn’t know your name either, and came to the disappointing realization that you hadn’t even left a note with your number before making your departure. With a frown, he realized he would probably never see you again.

[•••]

“There again? I thought you’d give up by now, buddy.”

Jack knew that Trevor knew that he was borderline desperate to meet you again, but it still made him indignant; he did not need to call him out.

“I just think it’s a fun place, Z. Doesn’t mean I’m going there for someone specifically.” He busied himself with the chips aisle, looking for the one weird flavor he’d been wanting. He could feel Trevor’s eye roll at the back of his head.

Yes, it’s been two goddamn months since that night.

Yes, he’s been suspiciously frequenting the bar since then.

No, there is no correlation between those events and you.

Trevor opened his mouth again, but that’s when they heard two voices arguing in the aisle next to him. Jack turned around and raised a brow at Trevor, a silent invitation to eavesdrop. He, of course, took the bait.

Now, when Trevor and Jack say they hate drama, they mean they hate being involved in it. Other people’s drama, however? They’re watching like hawks.

“Winnie, I don’t want to hear about it anymore.” Female. Familiar.

“But it’s only fair.” Female. Unfamiliar. “It’s that man’s fault his condom was too big either way! Plus, if he’s the fath—”

“The condom was too small of anything—”

At that moment, Jack moved a little too close to the rack of salsa dip, and rattled it hard, loudly enough for the ladies to pause their conversation. He cussed under his breath, hoping they would assume he just got there. He tried to ignore Trevor’s attempt at stifling his laugh.

“Excuse me? Are you alright?” You turn around the corner, and of course: It’s you, and Jack is elated.

He looks genuinely happy. You look like you just watched someone get skinned alive.

You immediately turn around, trying (and failing) to pretend like you didn’t see him. “Oh my god—Winnie, this is the guy. Save me.” You whisper desperately, watching Jack quickly fix the salsa dips in the corner of your eye before he turns to you fully.

“You—uh.” The words just won’t come out.

Trevor tried to save him. “Hi, im Trevor.” He sticks out his hand which you take. “You must be my one night stand-in law.” He grins.

Your eyes shift between him and Jack. “You’ve slept with him too?”

His hand goes limp in yours as Winnie graciously snorts with laughter. Luckily, that catches Trevor’s attention and he moves to greet her.

Jack decided, in that moment, that he just short circuited seeing you in sweatpants and a hood covering your head with strands of hair peeking out to frame your bare face. A contrast to when he first saw.

“Well, h-how have you been?” You ask awkwardly, wishing you could drop dead right about now.

“Pretty good. Yourself?” He leans gently against the shelf and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a small smile.

“Oh, I’ve been alright.” You laugh weekly and bring your hand up to rub your tired eyes; sleep was a privilege nowadays. You were about to indicate that you had to leave before stopping short at Winnie glaring holes in the side your face, knowing that your chances of escaping were gone and she wouldn’t let down until you told him. Winnie smiled warmly and turned to Jack, sticking her hand out.

“You must be Drew.”

“Jack.” He furrowed his eyebrows, shaking her hand. “That actually sounds nothing like Drew—”

“Oh, fuck, don’t worry about it, it was just a random name we ran with.” You laugh again, fiddling with the boxes in your hands.

Jack desperately wanted to say something like ‘you’ve talked about me?’ but it was clear that you were trying to avoid him like the plague, so he refrained from ruining his chances to talk to you any further.

Winnie whispered something to Trevor which made his eyes comically widen, then they pretended to busy themselves with the shelves of chocolates.

“You look nice.” Jack smiled, you really did look pretty. Tired, probably a little sick, but pretty. “Like, glowing-”

“Jesus, please, not a glow.” You groan, putting your face in your hands. Jack’s gaze drops to the boxes you were holding.

“What are those?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Him noticing was the final nail to the coffin. It made your situation real-er than ever.

With a supportive glance from Winnie, and a deep inhale, you look at Jack again. Into those pretty, azure eyes that drew you to him in the first place.

“Pregnancy tests?” You say meekly, though it sounded more like you were asking. You hated how weak it sounded. “Look I don’t even know if I even am pregnant—”

The salsa dip rack shook again as Jack held on to it. “Oh—”

“Listen, look,” you move closer to him, “you can literally never see me or the kid, if it exists, ever again. I’m financially stable and I have lots of friends here that support me, so—”

“Wait, you’re sure it’s mine?” His voice felt like an echo to himself.

“Uh—yeah. That’s part of the reason I left, I’ve never exactly done one-time things. And I only knew you for that one night, so I kind of panicked. Being with a stranger.” You fumble with the boxes again, your anxiety peeking because even though you shouldn’t care, his lack of response was stressful.

He seemed to notice that, because next thing he was putting both of his hands on your shoulders. It was weird but made you feel a little calmer.

“Hey—it’s not like I’m upset with you or anything, okay? I—uh, think you—we should first make sure you are pregnant.” He loosens his hold a bit and steps closer. “And if you plan on keeping it, I want to be there. For you and the kid, I mean. Stick around, y’know? I can’t imagine life without my dad.”

His sentiment made you heavily emotional; this was kind of intimate for people who barely knew each other, but intimacy is how you ended up here anyway.

You sniffle, nodding. You weren’t exactly sick, but you weren’t feeling your best.

Jack felt his heart go soft and he hugged you, enveloping you in much needed warmth. When you wrapped your arms around him, you caught Winnie’s eye over his shoulder and were sure of a few things;

One, If you were having a baby, you’re keeping it. You’re still young, but you’ve always wanted to be a young mother, even if it was with a father you knew better. Your support system was very fortunately intact, even without Jack.

And two, you were sure that Jack would keep his promise of ‘sticking around’.

[•••]

“So, like, what do you do?” Jack’s head snapped up to meet Winnie’s sharp gaze.

The four of them had just walked into your apartment and you locked yourself in the bathroom with the tests. Winnie and Trevor hit it off immediately but she was still skeptic of Jack.

“Hm?”

“Your job? Wait, don’t tell me you don’t—”

“I have a job.” Jack rolled his eyes “I play.” He replied shortly, his head still spinning.

“Play? Fuck does that mean? Like poker, the guitar, or what?” Winnie squinted her eyes. “If I catch anything weird about you, you’re out.” Jack didn’t miss the way Trevor grinned stupidly at her.

“I play hockey. Professionally. Just 20 minutes away, in Jersey.” Jack huffed, he didn’t like the added stress of appealing to your best friend.

“Hm. Interesting, can’t say I’ve ever heard of you, Drew—”

“Jack—”

“Hold on.” She typed something on her phone and turned it to him. “Is this you?” It is Jack’s instagram profile, so he nods. She scrolls through his following and quirks a brow, “your following looks like you just graduated from a private, all-girls high school.”

Jack doesn’t even know what to say to that, much less what it means, so he just stays quiet before the bathroom door unlocks.

“Winnie, 3 minute timer, please,” you say, drying your hands on a towel, eyeing the five tests lined up on the counter face down. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the anxiety crawl back up your spine.

You let yourself relax at Jack’s soothing back rubs, and observe quietly for a moment while he scowled at whatever Winnie and Trevor were making fun of him for. His jawline is just barely peppered with stubble and he smells really nice. You can see why he was the choice that night.

Jack is quick to look back at you, having to tilt his head slightly downwards as he catches the expression on your face.

“It’s going to okay,” he mouths.

And when you flipped over every test to see that you had a real life shit-machine growing inside of you, you believed him.

[•••]

Jack got off the phone with his mother with a small breath of relief. The hundreds of insecurities that initially made their way through his head were overshadowed by a feeling of happiness; his mother was quick to assure him that it won’t be that difficult to figure it out.

Winnie was kneeling in front of you on the couch, trying to be comforting. Or something like that.

“Kill that thing.”

“Winnie, what the hell?”

“Babe, you have work! You have other things to do! And—” she lowered her voice, “—Drew might not be around that much to help.” She straightened again. “If you really want to keep it then it’s up to you, though.” She added softly.

You appreciated Winnie’s outlook on your situation, but that wasn’t what you needed because you were really, genuinely, sure you were keeping the kid.

“For the third time, it’s Jack. Why—?”

“I’m sorry, she’s just like that.” You speak up, finding the small frown on Jack’s face rather endearing. “What—uh, what did your mom say?”

“She wants to meet you. She’s happy.”

“That’s really sweet.” You say with a yawn, exhausted from the days events. Jack’s mother seems nice, but you were too tired to feel scared of her at the moment.

Jack notices that you were tired and nudged Trevor so they leave, but not before everyone exchanged numbers.

[•••]

The next available weekend Jack’s mom could come over was in two weeks. Which meant he had to keep the little secret from everyone around him. Well, except Trevor.

Jack could feel himself already growing protective of his..son? daughter? Still, it was just insane to him that he was going to have a child. His own child.

He can handle the scrutiny, but he was afraid for you and how you would have to deal with all of the outside pressure.

He shrugged off the thoughts, chugged the rest of his beer, and decided to just sleep on it.

Waking up after a good rest, Jack realized he was more excited than anything. Who cares what people say? He’s always wanted kids and off the top of his head, he doesn’t know anyone better than you that he would have them with.

He’ll just have to be really impressive and devoted to gain your trust.

And that’s what he was going to do.

[guywithn0name]

-Alphabet headcanons-

;Miles G Morales

Miles G Morales x any gender reader

🎸 | Masterlist | 🎸

I still haven’t finished a post I’ve had in my drafts for like 3 months already ( ・∇・) (it’s a Leon Kennedy post lol) but in the meantime I’m going to write this and actively ignore the drafts (^з^)-♡ and ik Miles from 1610 and this Miles are super similar but they have different headcannons since they are still different people and they’ve had different experiences so yeah lol.

Warnings: not rly proofread

-‘A’ is for AFFECTION (how affectionate are they?)

Miles isn’t one to show much affection beyond a simple hand-in-hand or a small and quick peck while in public. But he is more affectionate when you two are in private, or with people he’s comfortable around. His love language is acts of service along with quality time. He likes building his tech when you’re around, not really talking but just chilling together while listening to music. If Miles ever gives you gifts he’ll give you homemade gifts like; paper bouquet, handwritten letter, homemade food and ect. I don’t really think he’d give a lot of materialistic gifts. Mostly because over half of the money he steals is to help him and his mom. And he doesn’t really get the point of them either. He gets they’re nice, but why buy something expensive when you can make something?

-‘B’ is for BESTFRIEND (what are they like as a bestfriend?)

He’a a pretty chill guy to be friends with at the end of the day. He might be a bit closed off at first but when he opens up he’s a huge nerd. He’ll talk about his tech for hours if you know he’s the Prowler. If you two go to a McDonald’s or something, he’s the one who’ll give you one chicken nugget but not buy you a box for you because he’s too poor for that, but if you buy him McDonald’s or something like that, he will give you something self-made as a thank you gift.

-‘C’ is for CUDDLES (how and do they like to cuddle?)

He’s one of them sleepy cuddle people, he especially cuddles with you when he’s sleepy or tired. He acts like he’s a big spoon when y’all cuddle, but he’s really a secret little spoon. He isn’t big on showing affection like I said before, but he is semi cuddly when you two are alone in peace. He likes wrapping himself around you, full body hug and all.

-‘D’ is for DOMESTIC (if they settle down, how will they help?)

Miles is a bit hesitant on settling down with someone. He wants to, yeah. But because of his Prowler job he isn’t quick to just live with anybody. But that aside, let’s talk about what it’s like to live with Miles. He’s the type of person who wants to split the chores. The chores he would do is probably cooking and things along those lines. If you know he’s the Prowler you 100% will find some random parts around the place. The random prowler claw in the coffee table in the living room. Don’t worry about it, Miles just wanted to watch some tv while he was fixing it. Miles appearing in the kitchen, his hands somehow covered in oil? He’s just getting water, don’t mind the oil, it’s just from his motorcycle. The random motorcycle and tech parts on the kitchen counter? Don’t worry, he’ll clean it up soon. He always tries to clean up his messes, but you might find some things that don’t belong in random places.

-‘E’ is for ENDING (how would the break up go?)

Depending on the situation of the break up and who breaks up with who, he still probably might be a bit sad about it, before or after the break up. If you’re the one who’s breaking up with him, he’d definitely want a reason why. He’d probably feel upset about it if it was for a good reason. If he’s the one breaking up with you. There’s are two reasons for him to break up with you. Reason number one; he doesn’t like you anymore and he’s not cruel enough to date someone he doesn’t like. Reason number two; he doesn’t want to put you in danger because of his Prowler job, he just wants to protect you one of the few ways he knows how to.

-‘F’ is for FIANCÉ (how do they feel about marriage)

Miles’ a bit hesitant to marry someone, but he does want to marry someone at some point of his life. He wants the same kind of marriage and love his mom and dad had together. If Miles has a wedding, he’d want a small wedding with only close friends and family attending. He’s not that interested in a big wedding with a ton of people. He thinks a wedding is something only the people who you and him are actually close to.

-‘G’ is for GENTLE (how gentle are they?)

He tries his best to be gentle with you. But he isn’t too good with it. Miles had built a kind of wall around himself after his dad’s death. He still tries his best with you, but somewhat always keeps you at an arms length. But after some time he lets you get closer. Miles’ always careful not to make you uncomfortable or uneasy.

-‘H’ is for HUGS (do they like hugs?)

Miles does like hugs, but he definitely isn’t that clear about it. He also somehow has some of the warmest, and best hugs ever to exist. His hugs with his family member and close friends are like bearhugs. He’s a little awkward hugging strangers tho.

-‘I’ is for I LOVE YOU (when do they say I love you for the first time?)

All things considered, Miles was probably the one who said “I love you” first. You two were hanging out on the rooftop of the apartment complex he lived in, just chilling and looking at the stars while listening to music from his phone. And suddenly he just blurted the words “I love you” while admiring you. It was a cute moment.

-‘J’ is for JEALOUSY (do they get easily jealous? And if they do, what will they do?)

He doesn’t get jealous that much, only when other people obviously flirt with you or something along those lines, he’s more protective than jealous most of the time. He knows you’re loyal, so he doesn’t act too jealous. The most he’ll do when he’s jealous is a small tug on your hand to signal he wants to leave while glaring at the other person, he has a cold exterior so the glare wasn’t unnecessary surprising.

-‘K’ is for KISSES (how often do they like to get or give kisses, and where?)

Miles isn’t someone who likes to give a lot of affection in public, like I said earlier. He does like giving kisses, and reviving them. Miles just doesn’t like giving them in public. When he does give kisses in public, the most he’ll do is give a little peck on the cheek, forehead or on your temple. When he does kiss you on the lips, he’ll definitely do it when you two are alone or at each others place like I’ve said multiple times. When you two kiss, he likes to have his hand on you hip or on the side of you neck. Miles also likes giving soft pecks on the neck when you two cuddle. He enjoys getting kisses, but he doesn’t like showing that. His favourite part to get kissed is on his temple or on the crook of his neck, but only a gentle kiss or peck.

-‘L’ is for LITTLE ONES (how are they with kids?)

There’s only one word on how to describe Miles with kids, awkward. He isn’t bad with them, or good with them. Just awkward. He doesn’t wanna hurt one of them, because of that he doesn’t really know how to handle them. He’s too scared that he’ll hurt one, so he prefers not to interact with kids.

-‘M’ is for MORNINGS (how are mornings with them?

He’s a groggy morning boy. And like I mentioned he’s cuddly when he’s tired, so don’t be expecting to be able to get up early. So when you wake up, you’re 100% in some messy position with Miles wrapped around you or laying on top of you. He probably drooled at least a bit during the night too. His whole morning routine is pretty simple, get up from bed. (Like ten minutes after he woke up) Then changing his clothes and getting breakfast after brushing his teeth, a simple and quick morning.

-‘N’ is for NIGHTS (how are nights with them?)

Miles has a full on night routine, it’s not a complicated one, but he still has one. He always takes a shower before he goes to bed. And his whole skin routine is only water. How does he have such clear skin with so little effort? Only no one knows. He also wears a durag to bed, he also has like three different durags to choose from. Why? Don’t ask, seriously, don’t. (He doesn’t know either) He also always says “good night” and “love you” to his mom before going to sleep. When he moves out, he’ll text it to her occasionally, but every night but some nights. Just to remind her that he still exists. (They talk almost every other day or every day on the phone)

-‘O’ is for OPEN (how open are they about themselves?)

Miles was more open before his dad’s death, but he became a lot more closed off after it. It takes a while for him to fully trust someone. But when he does give someone his trust, it’s like peeling an onion, a lot of layers. He’s slow at opening up, but when he does it means he really does trust you. When he does in fact trust you, you’re one of his forever friends. He’s the type of guy to have a few close friends rather than a lot of not so close friends.

-‘P’ is for PATIENCE (how patient are they with you?)

Since Miles himself is a pretty standoffish, so he understands if you don’t want to be open with him right off the bat. He’s definitely patient with you as long as you’re patient with him too. He wants to take his time with the relationship, not rush to things.

-‘Q’ is for QUIZZES (how much do they remember about you?)

Miles actually remembers quite a lot about you. It’s pretty surprising since he’s the Prowler, and his school along with helping his mom at home too.

-‘R’ is for REMEMBER (what’s their favourite moment in the relationship?)

One of his favourite moments in your relationship was when he told you he was the Prowler. You two had been dating for about a year and half at that point. You were staying over the night at his place. It was almost Halloween and the two of you were coming up with costume ideas when the topic of vigilantes came up. Or more specifically, the Prowler. Miles had been thinking about telling you that he was the Prowler for a bit at this point. So, he decided that now was a good time to tell you. A bit later Miles takes a deep breath and then takes your hands in his, before finally telling you the truth of him being the Prowler. It was a really nice moment to the two of you, and now one of Miles favourite moment of your relationship.

-‘S’ is for SECURITY (how protective are they?)

He’s actually a little protective, he wasn’t as protective before his dad died, but he got more protective after it. He doesn’t wanna loose another person who’s close to him. He also developed a small habit of walking you home when you’re over at his place. The city’s dangerous and he knows it, he likes knowing that you got home safe after you leave his place, it gives him some comfort.

-‘T’ is for TRY (how much effort are they putting into the relationship, dates and ect?)

Miles puts in his share fair of effort into the relationship, but if he notices that you’re not putting the same amount of effort into the relationship he’ll become more distant. He wants that the both of you put in effort for the relationship, not just one-sided effort. Like I mentioned before, he likes giving hand-made gifts and likes to cook homemade meals for you. He isn’t the biggest fan of going on fancy dates or anything. Mostly because he doesn’t really have enough money to pay for them, plus the city he lives in (and most likely you) definitely isn’t the safest place to have dates outside. Miles really likes dates that are spent indoors at each others houses. He especially likes movie dates, and dates where you cook or bake together. Doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not, he’ll still have a lot of fun with you.

-‘U’ is for UGLY (what’s a bad habit of theirs?)

He sometimes has a dumb habit of forgetting to answer texts or calls when his phone’s on silent. And if he does see it, he sometimes forgets to respond completely and only realises it a few hours later.

-‘V’ is for VANITY (how insecure are they?)

He’s not an insecure person, at all. He’s pretty confident in himself, he’s just quiet. But like with my Miles 1610 alphabet headcannon, he’ll get a tiny iny bit insecure if you two haven’t spent time together in a while. (you should go read it if you haven’t already ;) )

-‘W’ is for WHOLE (do they feel whole without you?)

Miles would be sad without you, but he wouldn’t fully feel incomplete without you. But he would certainly miss you. He already lost his dad, so he knows how to deal with sadness. He would miss you. But it all depends if you died or left him. If you died Miles would definitely make a graffiti of you, just like he did of his dad. But if you left him, or the other way around. He would probably think about you time to time, even miss you at times. But he wouldn’t come after you, the walls around his heart wouldn’t let him.

-‘X’ is for XTRA (extra headcanon about them)

Miles is a great cook, his mom taught him how to cook since he’s been little. He wants to get a small tattoo in honour of his dad in the future. He likes drawing you in his sketchbooks, and as little doodles in sticky notes that are on his blueprints of his gear and other things. He actually doesn’t enjoy horror movies a lot, he gets scared easily by them even tho he puts on a front of not-being-scared-of-anything. Miles definitely tender headed, and he only ever lets a very specific barber or his mom touch his hair. And you if you’re lucky.

-‘Y’ is for YUCK (what can they not stand?)

He hates people who just cannot season food properly, it disgusts and pains him at the same time.

-‘Z’ is for ZLEEP (how is to sleep with them?)

Two words for sleeping with him; no space. He moves around a ton while he sleeps and like I mentioned earlier, he cuddles a lot while he sleeps. He definitely has a second blanket that he hugs in his sleep when he can’t cuddle anyone. He’s also one of those people who just cannot sleep without a blanket on. Is he overheating under it? Maybe. But he can’t not sleep with it. Without it he ain’t sleeping, honestly.

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! :)

[perseruna]

heyyyy do you have any details/sources for the ca*ill being a jackass thing? ngl i watch twn for yen and jaskier so i was already planning on continuing to season 4 but i'd love some reasons to be actively excited for the actor switch. but i haven't kept up on the behind-the-scenes stuff so i'm kinda lost on that front if you're up for sharing any of what you know!

okay guys buckle up this is THE anti henry cavill megathread xoxo

First of all him dating a teenager as a 33 year old fully grown man literally gross and disgusting.

Also as this quote implies they started dating a year prior and only went public when she was 19 so they supposedly started dating when she was 18.

His entire dating history is a MESS. Sure the women he dated are not him, but he chose to date them, I wouldn't even associate myself with people like these let alone be in a relationship with them. He dated the infamous transphobic TERF Gina Carano, albeit before her loud controversy, but I doubt her harmful views were any different back then. His current gf has a history of doing black face.

His "Me Too" comments.

His comments on the Me Too movement are literally so vile. If you don’t want to be called a rapist, just don’t rape women, it’s literally as simple as that. They’re even more foul because they’re promoting the idea that women lie about their abusive for fame, promoting that harmful rhetoric especially in our times is incredibly dangerous.

Now onto his on set behavior.

We can't talk about his set behavior without mentioning the deuxmoi set leak. Here's the transcript of it:

[Transcript:

There’s something I really really wanted to read to you guys--it has to do with why Henry Cavill left The Witcher. I know that was something that you guys were super interested in when it happened, and I just recently got this message. Somebody was like “Hey, do you want to know what really went down?” And I was like “Sure!” So let me just read it. It says:

“At the beginning of the show, Henry was good to work with. A lot of difficult demands that made people feel like he wasn’t a team player, but that’s not unusual for a really big star. Though in TV it truly usually doesn’t happen until the second season. But in season two and three something shifted and he became really impossible for women to work with, which is always a big problem, but even worse here because the showrunner is a woman. He would try to overrule her and try to get changes made last minute across the board without her knowledge, which, if you know anything about showrunning, is completely fucked. The showrunner has to sign off on every miniscule detail down to the buttons on a costume. Female writers and directors were suddenly being completely ignored on set, unable to do their jobs. Every department head was complaining. He started making comments—it wasn’t a sexual thing, he wasn’t grabbing anyone or being lewd, but it was disrespectful and toxic all the same.

“He is deeply addicted to video games, to the point where it was like working with any other addict. He was distracted, he was late, he was obsessive, and a lot of people think the misogyny came from gamer world. Video game bro language is not how you talk to coworkers, and he wouldn’t stop. Someone on the show compared it to watching someone get brainwashed by QAnon, like his whole personality shifted. Eventually his disrespect escalated. He would rewrite scenes without even alerting the other actors in the scenes until it was time to shoot. He decided that he didn’t want any romantic scenes at all—no kissing scenes, no shirtless scenes, et cetera. He wanted complete control of storylines but really had no idea of the limitations of TV, structure, budget, et cetera. He formed a weird alliance with one writer who was also a gamer, who eventually got fired after multiple HR complaints were made and after that writer left, Henry did anything he could to hold up production and cause problems.

“Eventually top brass at Netflix was tired of him costing them money with delays and HR investigations and the showrunner was asked to construct a potential exit for him. Netflix reached out to him personally and he was given one final warning, and violated that warning with an email he sent to the entire writing staff right after that meeting. That was it. It’s very disappointing.”

End transcript.]

Now believe me or not, but I know from a really good source that the leak was indeed real.

There's a lot of patterned behavior that tracks with what we know of him and his past controversies.

After that leak came out, there was a lot of people from different places coming to comment that ‘yes’ they’ve heard a very similar story adding a little bit more details of their own.

this quickly deleted tweet from one of the writers/producers:

there were rumors about him being an asshole to Anya specifically.

He went on record that he doesn't "understand" sex scenes. Which I know the sex discourse is rampant nowadays and each to their own, but he specifically signed up for a role that requires those scenes and then refused to do them and was allegedly nasty to Anya about it and with the way he talks about women...

Also it’s important to touch upon the “writer he had a weird alliance with” that man in question is Beau DeMayo of the recent fame of getting fired by Marvel from X-Men ‘97. He was previously allegedly fired from The Witcher for being emotionally and physically abusive. And he allegedly got fired from X-Men for being abusive as well. One of The Witcher writers tweeted this after Beau smeared them for “disliking the books” Beau was literally the first person to start that narrative.

The fact that it was HIS idea not to say lines of his dialogue in S1 and instead grunt. To the point that Joey had to take Henry’s lines and make it his own, so the plot would make sense, he talks about it in this interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=Oyh0t117t0U&, and then once S2 press arrived Henry was talking about how he was trying to fight the big bad writers to give him more lines. Ridiculous.

Everyone is already pointing out that the cast looks so much happier without him, and it’s very true. Henry was never present on close to any BTS pics from filming the previous seasons, or on any cast dinners or birthdays. He wouldn't even do any shared interviews with the other three mains but only had solo interviews which to me was giving disrespectful like you're an ensemble you’re not the only lead here. It felt like he was above them to sit down and answer questions with them. When they were doing press junkets in Brazil and Poland Anya, Joey and Freya would always arrive together and leave together with that man leaving all the events early and by himself. And like people who post quotes from the cast about him being perfect from press junkets as “proof” are insane to me like Obviously they’re going to say nice things about him, not only they're newcomers, and he's an established industry name, but they’re doing PRESS for a show that he’s a STAR of (well, was lmao)

The fact that he never defended Anya from the racist trolls, even though most of them were HIS fans. Like she had to go through so much and that man couldn’t make a single comment about it as a leading man BUT he could make a whole IG post because people were being mean to his gf and calling her out for doing blackface.

And sure people might say that a lot of these are unverified sources, and I’d get it if it was a singular case, but there are a ton of these accounts that all match each other. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[323cutie]

the way you look at me. | jyh

pairing ୨୧ yunho x reader

word count ୨୧ 650

genre ୨୧ suggestive mostly... making out, beginning of a relationship, sweet talking (almost dirty talking)... i need yunho bad

warnings ୨୧ suggestive/light smut Maybe if you really think about it

author's note ୨୧ guys the yunhoism has been so bad recently. He would fix me. ugh

18+ mdni!!

If there’s one word you’d use to describe Yunho, it’d be comfortable.

Spending the last few weeks getting to know him – deeper, better than before – makes you sure. He’s comfortable. Teasing and flirty and funny and kind. The epitome of charismatic, the kind of guy who draws everyone’s attention once he steps into the room. At first, in the beginning, pressed into the corner of a booth with him while your friends made their way to the dance floor, you thought it’d be awkward. Overwhelming. He was a newer addition to your friend group and you’ve never been any good at the new people thing. Yunho was – is – handsome, and attentive, and witty. You spent the entire night talking to him, ended up pressed thigh-to-thigh in the backseat of a taxi, opened your phone once you were in bed to a goodnight message from a contact you’d never texted one on one before.

It took some more comfortable nights out with your friends, a few inside jokes shared in the groupchat, and a bit of personal growth on your part (you swear your ex didn’t mess you up, but evidently…). But you figure the time doesn’t matter. You’re here now.

Pressed into Yunho’s lap on your couch, hands in his hair. His fingers tracing shapes into your back, your thighs. Memorizing his lips with your own, kissing and kissing and kissing…

It’s only your second date. But the buildup has made it seem like it’s taken so long… and he’s so familiar already. You wanted to play the semi-mysterious, aloof role, but it’s impossible with him. You’re completely transparent, out in the open, clear. Maybe there was never any avoiding it.

Yunho murmurs your name in between kisses and breaths and you hum, unwilling to part. You manage to anyways, catching your breath as he pushes hair away from your face and grabs your chin with his thumb and forefinger to direct your attention at him. (You’re melting.) “How far do you want to take this?” He asks. You can’t really focus on anything but his pink, kiss-swollen lips. “We can wait. I’m ready for whatever you are, honey.”

It’s insane. Completely impossible. You finally meet his eyes and they’re full of hearts and stars, and despite the control he’s established you understand in this moment he’s yours. He’s beautiful, and you want all of it. 

“Wanna go all the way,” you say, peeling the straps of your dress off your shoulders. Yunho’s hands land on your semi-bare thighs and he sighs when he catches a glimpse of the pretty white lace set you have on. “Wanna touch you. Feel you.”

He makes a noise in his throat like he’s trying to hold himself back. It’s the last thing you want. So you grab one of his hands and put it on your waist, just under your chest, his thumb brushing against the band of your bralette. “Yunho,” you all but plead.

It seems to do the trick. You don’t think he understands yet that you’d give everything to him if he just asked, but maybe it’s okay to wait on that part. He grips you a little harder and pulls you a little closer still, and you think you sigh when his lips meet yours again; stronger, sweeter, more sure. 

He’s confident in you, his hands all over like he’s known you his entire life. You can’t fault him – you feel that way, too. He ghosts one of his hands over your arms, your collarbones, your throat. The other makes itself busy in the space between your legs, initiating a slow grind that is every bit as delicious as it is torturing. Yunho smiles against your mouth when you moan.

“I know, sweet thing,” he coos. His voice is as sweet as honey but his fingers are setting a ruthless pace. “I’ll give it all to you, ‘kay? Now be good for me.”