#I WANT HER TO HOLD ME FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER A | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yaniluvs · 1 day ago

Text

“nerds don't date , right?” ⎯ how to lose a bet and your heart in seven days.

[ 정인 ] ✷ ‎. . things just get more interesting when you're fake-dating the hot nerd and are involved in a bet with him.

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , forced proximity , classmates to lovers , uni au , fake dating , skz ensemble . 64OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. suggestive , as of now . ┆ 📹 ⋮ a y.jg mini series .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note 𑁍ࠬܓ hihi >< so like, part two hehehehhehehe. this turned out to be literally double the wc from the previous one..... oh and i just crossed 8OO followers???? what???? like two posts ago i crossed 7OO, oh good lord, thank you so much!! comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading, love <3

you had never seen jeongin this stressed in your uni year.

it had been barely a day since the dinner, and he was already acting like his life was spiraling out of control. not that you blamed him—you were a handful, after all. but still, the man looked like he was fighting for survival, while you?

you were thriving.

not only were you fake-dating him in front of his family, but thanks to him, you also had the perfect bet to keep things interesting.

and now? now, you were at the usual café on campus, sitting comfortably with your group—felix, ryujin, yeji, and minho—while absolutely basking in the aftermath of your deal with jeongin.

the blonde leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "so let me get this straight," he began, voice amused.

"you made a bet with the yang jeongin—topper, nerd, absolute try-hard—where you get to flirt with him for three whole months, and if he falls for you, you win?"

you grinned, stirring your latte lazily. "mhm."

ryujin raised a brow. "and if you lose?"

you waved a dismissive hand. "then he gets to ignore me forever, i guess."

yeji snorted. "as if he'd actually do that. boy’s definitely gonna lose."

minho, who had been silently observing all this time, sipped his americano before finally speaking. "you're really confident, huh?"

you flashed him a smirk. "min, have you met me? of course, i'm confident. i know he’s gonna fall for me. i learn from the best, you know."

felix grinned. "well, duh. everyone loves you."

yeji smirked. "hyunjin and jisung sure do."

ryujin laughed. "oh yeah, didn’t hyunjin say you were literally his type?"

you shrugged, fighting back a smirk. "maybe."

felix gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "oh my god. is this why jeongin is acting so feral? is he jealous?"

"no, he’s probably just pissed that i exist."

minho scoffed. "that’ll change soon enough."

"exactly," you said smugly. "so, obviously, i’m winning this bet. there’s no way i’m falling first."

your friends exchanged looks, all of them barely holding back their very obvious amusement.

"sure," yeji said, lips twitching.

"of course," ryujin agreed.

minho sipped his drink again. "i totally believe you."

felix just grinned. "this is gonna be fun."

meanwhile.

jeongin had never been this mentally exhausted in his life.

one dinner. one stupid dinner. that was all it was supposed to be.

now? now he was fake-dating y/n in front of his entire family and locked in a three-month bet that would undoubtedly ruin him.

and to make things worse? jisung, seungmin, hyunjin, aeri, and yunah were not helping.

"bro," hyunjin was saying, leaning against the café booth with a stupid grin, "you’re done for."

"over. finished." jisung added, looking way too entertained.

jeongin shot them both a glare. "i am not going to fall for her."

hyunjin raised an eyebrow. "really?"

seungmin, ever the realist, merely sighed. "jeongin, have you met y/n?"

"yes, seungmin," jeongin deadpanned. "i have. unfortunately.*"

yunah giggled, twirling her straw. "she’s really pretty, though."

aeri smirked. "and hot. and cute. and bold."

hyunjin nudged jeongin. "she literally calls you 'hot nerd.' i would’ve folded instantly." he said, dramatically putting a hand on his heart while pretending to faint.

jeongin shot him a disgusted look. "you have no standards."

jisung snorted. "and you have no chance."

"i hate all of you." (and we're back !!)

"no, you don’t," jisung said, grinning. "you hate that you know we’re right."

seungmin nodded. "statistically speaking, you're screwed."

"oh my god," jeongin muttered.

jisung clapped his hands together. "alright! place your bets! how long do we think it’ll take for jeongin to fall first?"

"two weeks," hyunjin said immediately.

"a month," aeri guessed.

yunah smirked. "three weeks, max."

"one week," jisung announced proudly.

jeongin slammed his drink down. "i hate every single one of you."

almost a week later.

you found jeongin in the library, because of course you did.

dressed in an oversized cream sweater, silver-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on his nose, black slacks, and expensive-looking loafers, he looked annoyingly good for someone who spent all his time studying.

unfortunately for him, you were here to ruin his peace.

sliding into the seat across from him, you grinned. "morning, iyennie."

jeongin didn’t even look up. "no."

you gasped dramatically. "no? that’s all i get? where’s my 'good morning, beautiful?' my 'you look stunning today, y/n'?"

jeongin exhaled sharply. "why are you here?"

you leaned forward on your elbows, smirking. "to see my lovely boyfriend, obviously."

jeongin twitched. "we are not fake-dating at uni."

you shrugged. "doesn’t mean i can’t flirt with you."

jeongin dragged a hand down his face. "i hate this bet."

"you literally proposed it, genius."

his jaw clenched. "i hate you."

you batted your lashes. "no, you don’t."

jeongin physically recoiled. "oh my god."

across the library, hyunjin and jisung sat at another table, watching the interaction with matching grins.

hyunjin nudged jisung. "one week?"

jisung smirked. "one week."

. . .

“i’ve decided that i’m going to end you.”

jeongin barely looked up from his notes. “cool. try not to be too obvious about it.”

“no, really,” you said, leaning forward across the library table, resting your chin on your hands as you stared at him. “i’m going to make your life miserable.”

jeongin finally glanced up, adjusting his silver-rimmed glasses with the most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. “isn’t that what you’ve already been doing?”

you gasped, placing a dramatic hand over your chest. “wow. that was hurtful, iyen.”

jeongin twitched. “stop calling me that.”

you grinned. “make me.”

his fingers curled around his pen, and for a second, you wondered if he was genuinely considering launching it at your forehead.

the library was quiet, aside from the occasional whispers of students flipping through books, the dull hum of the air conditioning, and the muffled sounds of footsteps against the carpeted floor. your table was nestled in the back corner, surrounded by towering bookshelves and dim lighting that gave the whole setting a very academic romance kind of vibe—not that jeongin would ever admit that.

and, of course, the two of you weren’t alone.

like said earlier, across from you, at another table, were felix, ryujin, yeji, and minho, watching with way too much amusement.

they can't miss good entertainment, right?

and a few tables away, jisung, hyunjin, seungmin, aeri, and yunah, were also watching with expressions that ranged from entertained to downright smug.

because, honestly? no one believed jeongin was going to win this bet.

not even jeongin himself.

"are you done?" he asked, voice clipped, flipping a page in his notes.

you smirked. "not even close."

leaning back in your chair, you crossed one leg over the other, watching him with open interest. he was dressed as he always was—annoyingly fashionable for someone who didn’t seem to care about fashion. a fitted black turtleneck, an oversized houndstooth blazer, tailored slacks, and his signature silver-rimmed glasses that rested so perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

his black hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration all morning (which, knowing you, he probably had).

"you know," you mused, tilting your head, "if you weren’t so insufferable, i’d probably have a crush on you."

his pen hovered mid-air, his lips parting slightly before he turned to glare at you. "what?"

you shrugged. "what? i’m just saying. you’re kind of my type. hot. smart. dresses well. severely grumpy. i like a challenge."

jeongin’s eye twitched. "w—"

"oh my god," hyunjin suddenly groaned from across the room, throwing his head back. "can you two just kiss already?"

jeongin immediately choked on air.

your lips twitched as you turned to hyunjin. "not yet, jinnie. i have a bet to win, remember?"

hyunjin smirked. "oh, you will win. no doubt about it."

jisung laughed. "he’s already halfway there."

"this is a library, hello?" the librarian hissed.

"but we're the only ones here, miss y-"

jeongin slammed his book shut, stood up, and turned to you with murder in his eyes. "we’re leaving."

you blinked innocently. "we are?"

"yes." he grabbed your wrist and tugged you up from your seat, ignoring the very loud, very obnoxious oooohhhhhs coming from both friend groups.

felix gasped. "look at him. so dominant."

"i didn’t know he had it in him."

"they grow up so fast."

seungmin merely shook his head, unimpressed. "he’s just running away."

jeongin glared at all of them before practically dragging you out of the library.

now playing, if you love me by colde

the late afternoon sun draped the campus in warm, honey-colored light, stretching long shadows across the pavement. the air was crisp but comfortable, carrying the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee from the campus café nearby. a few students walked past, caught up in their own conversations, but none of them paid much attention to the very mismatched pair walking down the sidepath.

jeongin was suffering.

because you were practically dragging him.

"y/n," he grumbled, his arm stiff as you held onto his wrist. "why are you like this?"

you hummed, pretending to think. "born this way, i guess?"

jeongin sighed, shaking his head. "no remorse. none at all."

"absolutely none," you confirmed cheerfully, still leading him forward.

he didn’t know where you were taking him. you probably didn’t either. but that didn’t seem to matter to you. it was just one of those things—where you decided something, and everyone else just had to go along with it.

he really should have thought this through before making that bet.

the sky was beginning to shift into soft hues of orange and almost blue when jeongin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, glancing at the screen, and immediately stiffened.

his mom.

he stopped walking so abruptly that you almost crashed into him.

"whoa—" you blinked at him. "what’s wrong?"

he held up a finger. "be quiet."

you snorted. "like hell."

"y/n."

you grinned, unbothered, as he answered the call.

"hello?" jeongin said, his voice immediately shifting into something softer, more polite.

"oh, jeongin! how are you, sweetheart?"

you gasped dramatically beside him. sweetheart?

jeongin shot you a look. a warning. a plea.

you ignored it completely.

"hello, ms. yang!" you chirped before he could stop you, leaning in way too close to the phone. "how are you?"

there was a pause on the other end.

and then—

"oh, y/n, dear! how lovely to hear your voice!"

jeongin closed his eyes. no, no, no—

you beamed. "aw, you're so sweet. it's lovely to hear yours too!"

jeongin wanted to die.

his mother laughed. "such a charming girl! i hope my son is treating you well?"

you turned to him with the smuggest smile, tilting your head. "oh, he’s wonderful, ms. yang. so sweet. so attentive."

jeongin gave you a blank stare, deadpan. you? a menace.

his mother sighed happily. "ah, that's good to hear. oh! that reminds me—jeongin, darling, you haven’t forgotten about next weekend, have you?"

jeongin blinked. "uh… next weekend?"

you raised an eyebrow, watching him.

"the family gathering, jeongin!" his mom continued. "your uncle’s wedding anniversary celebration. you have to come. and of course, you must bring y/n!"

jeongin froze.

you?

you? (i'd be offended)

he turned to you so fast you almost thought his neck might snap.

you, on the other hand, were staring at him with way too much excitement in your eyes.

he cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay neutral. "oh… right. that."

you leaned in, lips parted in interest.

ms. yang laughed. "don't tell me you forgot?"

jeongin exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his temple. "i… might have."

you gasped. "baby!"

he glared.

"oh, don’t worry, dear," his mom said, brushing past his frustration entirely. "it’s going to be a lovely event! you must come with him, y/n! i won’t take no for an answer."

your grin widened.

jeongin knew that look.

it was the look of pure evil. the look of someone who had just won. (no he just read too many comics)

you placed a hand over your heart, feigning surprise. "oh my gosh, ms. yang, really? you’d want me there?"

"of course!" his mother said immediately. "you’re practically family now!"

jeongin almost choked for the umpteenth time that day.

you looked so pleased.

"well, in that case," you said sweetly, "i’d love to come. wouldn't want to disappoint a lovely lady like you, ms. yang."

ms. yang sighed, completely oblivious to his suffering. "wonderful! oh, i knew i liked this girl!"

jeongin shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. why him?

"alright, sweetheart, i won’t keep you two," his mom said. "make sure to text me later, okay?"

"yeah, yeah," he muttered, still trying to process what had just happened. "bye, mom."

"have a good evening, ms. yang!" you called cheerfully.

the call ended.

silence. and then—

"you evil, evil woman," jeongin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

you grinned. "aw, is my baby upset?"

"don’t call me that."

"oh, but i must," you teased, tapping his arm. "we are dating, after all."

jeongin groaned.

you rocked back on your heels. "sooo. a family event, huh?"

"shut up."

"your entire family is gonna be there?"

"y/n—"

"and your relatives?"

jeongin exhaled slowly, praying for patience. "yes."

you beamed. "god, i love this bet."

jeongin stared at you. "why are you enjoying this?"

you shrugged. "because you're not."

his eye twitched. "i hate you." (.........yeah, yk the drill)

"you love me."

"shut up."

you giggled, nudging his arm as you started walking again. "come on, hot nerd. we have so much planning to do."

jeongin sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he followed after you.

he wasn't going to lose this bet.

he wasn't.

but, why did it feel like you had already won?

—

the city was beginning to glow.

golden streetlights flickered on, one by one, casting soft halos onto the pavement. neon signs buzzed to life in the distance, painting the skyline in hues of red, blue, and green. the cool evening air carried a mix of scents—freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café, the faint spice of street food stalls setting up for the night, and something softer, like rain on warm pavement.

and in the middle of it all—you and jeongin.

he was still following you, albeit begrudgingly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

"are you actually planning on telling me where we're going?" jeongin asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

you only grinned, walking a little ahead of him, as you turned around, still walking backwards, facing him. "nope."

he sighed. "of course not."

as the two of you had left the campus a while ago, jeongin had expected you to stop at the nearest café, maybe a convenience store. but instead, you kept walking. past the busy streets, past the familiar landmarks, past the places where most students usually hung out.

and now?

now, you were leading him through quieter roads, where the buildings weren't as tall, where the sky was starting to open up above you, where the city lights didn’t drown out the stars entirely.

it was weirdly peaceful.

not that he'd admit it.

"you're too trusting," jeongin muttered, watching as you walked ahead of him without a care in the world.

you glanced over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "oh? and why's that?"

"you’re just… walking around at night, alone, dragging me—your supposed fake boyfriend—to some unknown location." he narrowed his eyes. "for all you know, i could be leading you into danger."

you let out a soft laugh. "oh, please. if anyone’s the danger here, it’s me."

jeongin rolled his eyes. "right."

"you think i'm scared of you, topper?" you smirked, nudging his shoulder. "you’re, like, the least threatening person i’ve ever met."

"good," he said flatly. "that means i can stop pretending to tolerate you."

you gasped dramatically. "so rude! and here i was, thinking we were bonding!"

"bonding?" jeongin scoffed. "you kidnapped me."

you hummed, tilting your head. "wouldn’t call it kidnapping. more like… involuntary adventuring."

"that’s literally just a fancier way of saying kidnapping."

"details, details." you waved a hand dismissively, your bracelets jingling softly.

jeongin shook his head, but there was a small—very small—curve to his lips.

for a while, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. the only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of your footsteps against the pavement, the occasional passing car, and the distant chatter of city life.

"you come here often?" jeongin asked suddenly, his voice softer now.

you glanced at him, slightly surprised by the question. "hmm?"

"wherever it is we're going," he clarified, watching your expression closely. "you seem… familiar with the way."

you hesitated for a second, but then you smiled. "yeah. i do."

he studied you, noticing how your fingers fiddled with the strap of your bag—a small, almost absentminded gesture. "alone?"

"sometimes." you exhaled lightly, looking up at the sky. "other times, with my friends."

jeongin didn’t miss the slight shift in your tone. it was subtle, but it was there.

"and tonight?" he asked, glancing at you. "why me?"

you turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze.

and for a moment—just a moment—you didn’t say anything.

the city lights reflected in your eyes, turning them into something almost ethereal. the night breeze played with the loose strands of your hair, making them dance against your cheekbones. there was something unreadable in your expression, something jeongin couldn’t quite place.

but then— you grinned.

"because i felt like annoying you," you said simply.

jeongin blinked. and then scoffed. "wow. and here i thought i was special."

"oh, you are," you teased, looping your arm through his before he could react. "you're my favorite victim, actually."

he stiffened. "y/n—"

"you’re warm," you interrupted, pressing closer. "a human heater. i should keep you around more often."

jeongin let out a very long sigh, tilting his head toward the sky like he was asking some higher power for patience.

"you're insufferable," he muttered.

"and you are cute."

"shut up."

you giggled. "ooooh, that blush is telling me a different story."

jeongin groaned, refusing to meet your gaze. "i hate this bet."

"you love this bet."

he side-eyed you. "you know, i think you might be evil."

you only winked. "oh, honey. i'm very aware."

and the walk continued like that—small banter, stolen glances, the occasional brush of hands when neither of you were paying attention.

jeongin hated how natural it felt.

hated how easy it was to talk to you.

hated how, despite himself, he was actually curious about where you were taking him.

he didn’t get attached.

he didn’t, right?.

but with every teasing smile you threw his way, with every time your fingers lingered against his, with every moment you laughed at something he said—

he started to wonder.

maybe jisung had been right.

maybe this bet was a really, really bad idea.

the view you chose for me

the path sloped upward, curving gently along the hillside. the city behind you had slowly started to fade, the buzzing neon signs replaced by the soft hum of cicadas, the distant rustling of leaves, and the whisper of the evening breeze. the sky above stretched out like a painting, shifting from the last golden hues of sunset into the deepening blues of twilight.

jeongin slowed his steps, glancing at you. "are we almost there?"

"patience, iyennie," you hummed, walking ahead with a skip in your step. "good things take time."

he rolled his eyes, but a small, amused exhale escaped his lips.

then, finally, the world opened up.

the trees thinned, revealing an expansive hilltop that overlooked the city. a vast, open field of wild grass spread around you, swaying lightly in the wind. the horizon stretched endlessly, where the last golden threads of daylight kissed the deepening night. below, the city twinkled like scattered stars, a soft, pulsing glow of blues, oranges, and whites.

and above, the first stars had begun to appear.

tiny, glimmering specks against a sky that seemed endless. wisps of deep indigo melted into shades of violet, streaked with soft pinks from the remnants of the sun. there was something ethereal about it—something quiet, untouched, almost unreal.

jeongin exhaled, barely noticing how his breath caught for a second.

you, on the other hand, stretched your arms out with a dramatic sigh. "isn't it beautiful?"

he glanced at you.

the wind had tousled your hair, strands of it floating like silk against the dim light. your face, turned toward the sky, was bathed in soft twilight, the shadows curving gently along your cheekbones. your eyes reflected the distant stars, and when you smiled—

your lips curled into a slow, satisfied grin, and your eyes crinkled into tiny crescents.

something in jeongin’s chest lurched.

"yeah," he murmured before he could stop himself. "it is."

you turned to him, blinking. "see? told you it was worth it."

jeongin tore his gaze away, clearing his throat. "it’s… alright."

you laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. "wow. that almost sounded like a compliment, yang."

"don’t push your luck," he muttered, walking past you.

you grinned, plopping down on the grass before patting the space next to you. "sit. enjoy the view."

he hesitated.

then, with a small sigh, he sat down beside you, the grass cool beneath his palms. the air smelled faintly of earth and rain, the breeze gentle as it curled around both of you.

a moment passed in silence, the two of you simply staring at the sky.

you reached into your bag, pulling out a small snack box.

jeongin glanced over. "what’s that?"

"food, obviously," you teased, opening the lid. inside, neatly packed, were a few triangular onigiris wrapped in seaweed. "can't survive without snacking every moment,"

you picked one up and held it out to him. "here. i made these this morning."

jeongin blinked. "you cooked?"

"is it so surprising? i'm a good chef, i'll have you know." you frown, and wiggled the rice ball in front of him. "c’mon. try it. first time making them, so i need honest feedback, topper."

he hesitated, eyeing you for a second before reaching out to take it.

and that’s when it happened.

you looked at him—waiting, expectant, your expression filled with the kind of excitement that was so genuine it almost startled him. the soft glow of the evening light traced the edges of your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the arch of your brow, the slight parting of your lips. your lashes cast tiny shadows against your skin, and when you smiled, your dimples deepened, your eyes turning into crescents once again.

jeongin—

forgot to breathe.

for a fraction of a second, he didn’t care about the stupid bet. didn’t care about the fake dating, or the fact that he was supposed to be annoyed by all of this.

all he could think about—

was how pretty you looked.

and then—

you turned your gaze back to the sky.

the moment broke, like ripples in a pond.

jeongin blinked rapidly, forcing himself to look anywhere else. he bit into the onigiri, trying to act normal.

it was good.

really good.

but he wasn’t about to inflate your ego, obviously.

"it’s… okay," he mumbled.

you frowned, clutching your chest. "just okay?"

he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "i’m just being honest, like you asked."

you narrowed your eyes, then suddenly leaned in closer, way too close. "are you lying?"

jeongin stiffened.

you were right there, inches from his face, eyes locked onto his like you were searching for the truth. the scent of vanilla and something faintly floral drifted from you, and jeongin—

had to grip his knee to keep himself from leaning back.

"i—" he swallowed. "no."

you hummed, tilting your head. "hmm. suspicious."

then, before he could react, you grinned.

"well, i think i did an amazing job." you leaned back, stretching your arms behind you. "maybe i should become a chef. quit university. open a cute little café. i’d call it ‘y/n’s love bites.’"

"love bites?" jeongin actually choked on air this time.

"hey, careful!" your eyes widened, your hands immediately burying into your bag, pulling a bottle out. you hand it to him, after opening it.

"what? is it not a nice name?" you pout at the look he gave you after gulping down the entire bottle, still coughing.

"really though? love bites?"

"mhm." you laughed. "because.. love bites. and because i’m good at biting. and love. and actually, love b-"

"god forbid a man wants to have a snack in peace."

you burst out laughing. "jeez, relax, iyennie. i’m kidding."

"you’re really insufferable."

"and you are fun to tease." you winked.

jeongin groaned, looking away.

but his ears—

were very, very red.

—

the stars were out in full now, scattered across the endless stretch of the night sky. the city below twinkled in response, as if the lights of the world and the heavens were competing for brilliance. the grass beneath you both was soft, slightly damp from the evening air, but comforting in a way that made neither of you want to move.

the silence between you had settled into something familiar—not awkward, not tense. just there. a moment where neither of you had to fill the space with meaningless words.

but then again, you’d never been one for silence.

"so," you started, shifting slightly so you faced him, "i realized something."

jeongin barely glanced at you, still watching the stars. "what?"

"i don’t know anything about you."

he raised an eyebrow. "you know plenty."

"mm, do i?" you leaned back on your palms. "i know you're stinky smart. i know you have the ability to make even professors shut up with a single argument. i know you have the fashion sense of a pinterest model and the patience of a grandma stuck in traffic."

jeongin let out a dry chuckle. "that’s oddly specific."

"am i wrong?"

"…no."

"exactly." you grinned before tilting your head. "but i mean, i don’t know you. like, i don’t know what makes you tick. what makes you.. you. i don’t know what you wanted to be when you were a kid, what your childhood was like, what your favorite memory is."

jeongin stayed quiet, eyes flickering toward you briefly.

you rested your chin on your knees, watching him. "i wanna know."

"you’re way too curious."

"and you’re way too closed off."

he sighed, shaking his head. "you don’t need to know all that. we’re only dating in front of my parents. not here."

"yeah, well, i want to get to know you," you said simply. "and this is completely unrelated to the whole fake dating thing. it can be platonic, you know? i just think it’s unfair that you probably know way more about me than i do about you."

jeongin looked at you, thoughtful. "do i?"

"you tell me, topper."

his lips twitched slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he was considering something. then, with a small sigh, he leaned back on his elbows.

"alright. what do you want to know?"

your eyes lit up. "anything?"

"within reason."

you hummed, thinking. "okay. what did you want to be when you were a kid?"

jeongin let out a short laugh. "you’re gonna make fun of me."

"oh, now i really have to know."

he rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. "i wanted to be a detective."

your eyebrows shot up. "no way. detective yang jeongin?"

"yeah, yeah," he muttered. "i used to love mystery novels as a kid. thought i’d grow up solving impossible cases, catching criminals, the whole thing."

you grinned. "that’s actually kind of cute."

he scoffed. "yeah, well, then i realized i’d have to deal with actual crime, and i was like, ‘yeah, no thanks.’"

you burst out laughing. "you wanted to be sherlock holmes but without the danger?"

"pretty much." he shrugged. "so i settled for something else."

"which is?"

"business and english."

you made a face. "oh so we're almost twinning?"

"i thought you knew?"

"um no? we barely share any other sessions, only sometimes, business."

"well that's because we have different batches, genius."

"huh. when's yours?"

"at nine."

you clicked your tongue. "good lord, typical topper behavior."

he shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. "alright, your turn. what did you want to be as a kid?"

you hummed. "i went through so many phases. i wanted to be a singer, a poet, an author, a fashion designer, a painter… i was all over the place."

jeongin’s eyes softened slightly. "you’re still kind of all those things."

you blinked, caught off guard, ready to fight. "excuse me?"

"no, i mean, you write. you sing. you compose. you’re always dressed like you just walked out of a magazine." his voice was casual, as if he wasn’t just casually complimenting you without thinking.

and for some reason—

your heart stumbled a little.

you quickly recovered, clearing your throat. "well. somebody is paying attention."

he smirked. "unfortunately."

you gasped, nudging his shoulder. "and here i thought we were having a moment."

"you should know better by now," he teased, but there was something gentle in the way he said it.

you huffed dramatically. "fine, whatever. but i thought walking out of a magazine was your thing?"

"i wouldn't mind someone appreciating fashion, darling."

"...moving on. next question. what’s your favorite memory?"

jeongin hesitated for a second. then, with a small exhale, he said, "when i was ten, my family took a trip to japan. we went during the cherry blossom season, and i remember standing under this huge tree, just watching the petals fall. it felt like…" he paused, searching for the word. "magic."

your lips parted slightly.

for a moment, you could see it—ten-year-old jeongin standing under a sea of pink, eyes wide with wonder, cherry blossoms falling around him like soft whispers of a dream.

"you still remember it that vividly?" you asked softly.

"yeah." he looked up at the sky. "some moments just… stick with you."

your chest ached a little at that.

you didn’t know why.

you shook off the feeling. "well. that’s a very wholesome memory."

he smirked. "what were you expecting? something embarrassing?"

"maybe," you admitted, grinning. "but i like this one, too."

a comfortable silence settled between you again.

"what about you?" he asked.

you blinked. "huh?"

"your favorite memory."

you smiled slightly, hugging your knees. "i have a lot of good ones. but, if i had to pick, maybe…" you trailed off, thinking.

jeongin waited patiently.

you finally spoke. "back home, we used to have power outages a lot. and whenever that happened, my mom and i would sit outside with candles, just talking. we’d make shadow animals on the wall, tell stories, and drink warm milk while waiting for the lights to come back."

jeongin listened intently, his expression unreadable.

"it was such a simple thing," you murmured, "but it always made me feel.. safe."

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

then, finally, he said, "that sounds.. comforting."

you glanced at him.

there was something warm in his eyes, something quiet and understanding.

and for the first time that night—

you weren’t thinking about the bet.

you weren’t thinking about how you were supposed to be fake dating in front of his parents.

it was just the two of you.

sitting under the stars.

sharing pieces of yourselves you never expected to.

and somehow— it didn’t feel fake at all.

it was peaceful.

you were still determined to learn everything about him.

not just for the bet.

not just for fun.

but because, if you were honest, he intrigued you.

and you always liked figuring people out.

so, after a few minutes of silence, you spoke again.

"so," you started, shifting slightly to face him, "we were talking about memories."

jeongin glanced at you. "we were."

"you know what we weren't talking about?" you raised an eyebrow. "your love life."

he scoffed. "love life? who said i have one?"

you gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to your chest. "wait, no way. don’t tell me you’ve never had a girlfriend before, iyennie."

"i literally told you i've never been on a date.. like on day one." he shot you a look. "also, don't call me that."

"i think you know that i don't believe that," you grinned. "also, i will always call you that."

he exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting ever agreeing to this conversation. "i’ve had one."

you perked up. "so you did!" your eyes lit up with curiousity. "so, one? as in, just one?"

"yeah."

"how long ago?"

he hesitated for a second. "three years."

your mouth dropped open. "damn, that’s—wait. that means you’ve been single since you were—"

"yeah, yeah," he cut you off, rubbing the back of his neck. "i just… haven’t really been interested in dating since."

"interesting," you mused. "so what happened?"

jeongin sighed, clearly debating whether to answer.

then, after a moment, he said, "she was.. nice. we just weren’t meant to be, i guess."

you narrowed your eyes. "that’s such a boring answer, yang. give me details."

he smirked slightly, shaking his head. "you’re really nosy, you know that?"

"and you're really secretive." you tilted your head, watching him. "it’s okay if it.. ended badly. you can tell me."

he was quiet for a beat, then finally spoke.

"it wasn’t bad, exactly. we just had different priorities," he admitted. "she wanted a lot more attention, a lot more time together. and i was…" he paused, exhaling. "i was too focused on school, my goals. she got frustrated. said i didn’t care about her enough."

you hummed. "did you?"

he frowned slightly. "i did care about her."

"but maybe not in the way she wanted," you guessed.

jeongin gave you a look, as if surprised at how quickly you caught on. "yeah."

you nodded, thoughtful. "so, you’re the kind of guy who expresses love in actions, not words, huh?"

he blinked. "i guess you could say that."

"noted." you grinned. "i’ll expect a bunch of favors and free tutoring sessions as proof of love."

he rolled his eyes. "we’re not in love."

"not yet," you teased.

jeongin let out a dry chuckle. "you really think you’re gonna win this bet, huh?"

"oh, i know i will," you said smugly. "face it, topper, you like me."

"i tolerate you," he corrected.

"that's what they all say," you laughed. "give it time."

for a moment, he just watched you, his gaze unreadable. then, shaking his head, he muttered, "unbelievable."

you turned your attention back to the sky. "alright, next question."

"you’re not done interrogating me yet?"

"of course not. i’m just getting started." you shot him a smirk. "so, mr. future ceo, what’s something you’re actually passionate about? like, not just academically."

he hesitated.

you raised an eyebrow. "you do have hobbies, right? you don’t just study for fun?"

"of course i have hobbies," he muttered.

"well?"

"…i like music."

you blinked. "wait, really?"

he nodded. "yeah. i don’t do it as much now, but i used to sing trot with my grandparents all the time when i was younger."

you stared at him, genuinely surprised. "you? music?"

"what’s so shocking about that?"

"i don’t know! you just seem like ‘i only study and occasionally judge people’."

"well, i do judge people." he smirked. "i also kinda life photography, for some reason."

"really? so he likes singing and photography? what kinds?"

"mostly landscapes. architecture. things that don’t move too much."

you hummed. "so, no people?"

"not really." he glanced at you. "though… i think i’d like taking pictures of someone if they were interesting enough."

you tilted your head. "like who?"

for a second, jeongin didn’t answer. his eyes flickered over your face, something unreadable in his expression.

then, with a small smirk, he simply said, "dunno. haven’t found them yet."

your stomach did a weird little flip.

you cleared your throat. "huh. well. you should show me your pictures sometime."

he shrugged. "maybe."

you nudged his shoulder. "that means yes."

"that means maybe."

"sure, sure." you grinned before shifting topics. "alright, what’s your biggest ick in a person?"

he smirked slightly. "besides you?"

"rude," you huffed.

he pretended to think. "probably… people who pretend to be someone they’re not."

you nodded. "yeah, i get that. fake personalities are exhausting."

"what about you?"

you didn’t hesitate. "people who can’t communicate."

jeongin raised an eyebrow. "that’s… a very mature answer."

"right?" you sighed dramatically. "like, if you have a problem, just say it. why do people make everything so complicated?"

jeongin chuckled. "agreed."

there was a pause before you added, "also, people who wear socks to bed. they scare me."

he burst out laughing. "what? why?"

"i don't know, it just feels wrong!"

"you’re insane," he said, shaking his head.

"maybe. but at least i’m not a sock-sleeper."

jeongin laughed again, and for some reason, the sound made your chest feel warm.

the conversation continued, shifting from childhood stories to embarrassing moments, from random questions to deep musings.

at one point, you found yourself just… watching him.

the way his dimples appeared when he smiled.

the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

the way his gaze softened ever so slightly when he looked at you.

and maybe, just maybe—

you were in trouble.

but you weren’t going to admit that.

not yet.

for now, you were just a girl sitting under the stars with a boy who was supposed to be your fake boyfriend.

and yet, somehow—

it didn’t feel fake at all.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan

221 notes · View notes

wingedhallows · 3 days ago

Text

— PRIDE AND SELF-SABOTAGING —

♡ CHAPTER ONE ♡ — ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING ; 1.5k words vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy. Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim?

♡ navigation ♡

¸.*☆*.¸⁭ CHAPTER INDEX ¸.*☆*.¸⁭

— ₊˚⊹♡ TAG, YOU'RE IT

let me know below or send me a message and i'll add you to the taglist! :)

It’s nearly eight by the time you finally trudge into your dorm, limbs aching and feet screaming in protest. Ballet practice had dragged on forever, each repetition chipping away at your already dwindling energy. You barely have the strength to drop your gym bag by the door, let alone deal with anything else. Your bed is still a tangled mess from this morning—an inviting sight, whispering promises of rest.

The door swings open behind you before you even have a chance to collapse.

“There you are! I have the dress you’ve been eyeing.”

Margot’s voice is as bright as ever, cutting through your exhaustion like a knife. You let out a long sigh, already cursing your past self for ever agreeing to that damn frat party. The idea of squeezing into some overpriced, barely-there dress and subjecting yourself to a room full of sweaty, drunken people sounds about as appealing as running another hour of drills. Your unmade bed is calling your name, and yet—

“Don’t give me that face. You promised.” Margot flops onto your bed with a smug grin, completely unbothered by the mess. She places the sleek black dress beside your gym bag, fingers smoothing over the fabric like it’s some kind of sacred offering.

“Shut it.” You mutter, grabbing the dress with wary fingers, holding it up as if it might bite. Your brows knit together. “Why is it so damn short?”

Margot gasps, placing a hand over her heart like you’ve mortally offended her. “My love, my light—just put the damn dress on.” Her voice drips with amusement, and for a brief moment, you consider using the dress to strangle her.

Instead, you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Let me take a shower first, you gremlin.” With a sigh, you toss the dress back onto the bed and grab a fresh set of underwear.

Margot waves a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll just watch Love Island in the meantime.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smirk that tugs at your lips. With that, you disappear into the bathroom, already savoring the thought of hot water washing away the exhaustion of the day.

Something tells you you’re going to need it—because whatever’s waiting for you at that party? It’s bound to be a disaster.

By the time you, Margot, and Flint arrive at the party, the night air has turned bitterly cold. The kind of cold that bites at your exposed skin and makes you question every life choice that led you here—especially the one where you let Margot convince you that a jacket was “so unnecessary.”

The house is alive with noise and movement. Music booms from inside, rattling the walls, and the wide-open door spills golden light onto the porch, where groups of people linger, red solo cups in hand, laughter and cigarette smoke curling into the night. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, seriously considering turning around and walking right back to the warmth of your dorm. But Margot’s grip on your wrist is vice-like, and you swear she’d dislocate your shoulder before letting you escape.

“I can already taste the cider,” Flint grins, brushing a strand of auburn hair from his face as he strides ahead, leading the three of you inside.

Margot wasn’t lying about the temperature—it’s suffocatingly hot. The air is thick with body heat, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable scent of spiked punch. The house itself is barebones, exactly what you’d expect from the basketball team’s party pad: a battered leather couch shoved against the back wall, a TV teetering precariously on an ancient stand, and an assortment of mismatched furniture that looks like it was either stolen or salvaged from the side of the road.

Margot wastes no time pulling you through the crowd, her greetings blending into the music as she waves at nearly everyone she passes. Flint does the same, flashing grins and tossing casual nods like he’s in his element. You, on the other hand, are starting to wonder just how much time these two spend with the basketball team.

Before you can even think about hunting down a drink—some liquid courage to make this night bearable—a muscular arm snakes around your shoulders. The scent of sharp cologne hits you before you even see her.

Abby.

“There’s my favorite ballerina,” she says, her voice rich with amusement as she presses a cold bottle of beer into your hand.

You offer a small smile, taking it without protest. You know how this goes—she’ll remember in about twenty minutes that you don’t actually like beer and take it back, but for now, it’s easier to just hold it.

“Come on, you gotta meet some people.” Abby doesn’t wait for a response before tugging you along, effortlessly sweeping Margot and Flint into her orbit as well.

She leads you toward the couch, where familiar faces come into view. Ellie—a close friend of Abby’s, someone you get along with well enough. Ekko—a mutual acquaintance, though the specifics blur in your mind. But then—

Your breath catches for just a second.

She’s there.

Perched on the couch like she owns the place, her signature confidence practically radiating from her posture. Legs spread wide, a silent declaration of presence, of dominance—like she has something to prove.

Violet.

Your throat tightens as Abby practically shoves you into an armchair, directly across from Vi. The room feels stifling now, thick with the scent of alcohol and weed, the air buzzing with laughter and conversation, but all of it fades into the background the moment Abby starts her introductions.

She gestures around with that smug grin of hers, name-dropping people you already know—Ellie, Dina—but then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she nods toward her.

“And that’s the star of the show, Violet, but don’t call her that.”

Your stomach clenches as your gaze flickers to Vi, and—oh.

She’s looking at you. Not just looking, devouring.

Lidded eyes, heavy from booze and whatever else is floating through this party, trace over you like she’s committing you to memory. And when her tongue flicks out to drag slowly across her lower lip, your breath stutters. Your pulse is a traitor, hammering wildly in your chest.

And Vi? Vi is trying so damn hard to play it cool.

Relax. Don’t be weird. Just—act normal.

She rakes a hand through her short pink hair, willing her heart to calm the fuck down, but—gods, you’re so fucking pretty.

“Nice to meet you,” Vi says, her voice low and smooth, the kind of rich, golden tone that makes something in your stomach twist.

Shit.

“Likewise.” Your own voice comes out softer than you’d like, barely above a breath. You internally curse yourself for sounding so meek.

A lazy grin pulls at Vi’s lips, and she looks away just long enough to take a slow sip from her cup—like she’s giving you a moment to catch your breath, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. And goddamn, does she.

"A pretty bird, mh?” Abby grins, her voice lilting with amusement, and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. Suddenly, beer doesn’t seem so bad. You take a sip, hoping the alcohol will dull the way your heart is slamming against your ribs.

Vi lets out a low chuckle, slow and deliberate, and nods. “Pretty indeed.”

You swear you might combust on the spot.

“Interested?” Abby nudges Vi, her grin widening.

Vi scoffs, but her heart lurches violently in her chest. Fuck Abby. Fuck her teasing. And fuck the way you’re looking at her right now—like you’re actually waiting for her response, like the answer matters.

Her pride flares up. Her stupid, self-sabotaging brain jumps in before she can stop it. And before she can even think—

“Nope. Not my type.”

The words slip out, sharp and cold. The moment they leave her mouth, panic slams into her like a freight train.

What the fuck did she just say?

Your stomach drops. The sharp sting of humiliation settles deep in your chest, twisting tight like a blade.

She said it so easily. So carelessly. Like you weren’t sitting right there.

Vi swallows hard, but it’s too late to take it back. The damage is done.

And then she sees it—sees the way your eyes flicker away from hers, the way your fingers clench around the neck of the bottle like you’re grounding yourself against the sting.

Fuck.

She fucked up.

And judging by the way your expression hardens ever so slightly, the way you shut yourself off in an instant—Vi knows she might not get another chance to fix it.

The conversation grinds to a halt, the weight of Vi’s words settling over you like a lead blanket. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck, burning with the kind of humiliation that makes your skin feel too tight. You force down another sip of beer, but it does nothing to drown out the sting, the way the rejection rings in your ears, sharp and merciless.

You flick your gaze to Margot—please. A silent, desperate plea to leave, to run, to just get the fuck out of here before the lump in your throat gives you away.

Fuck Abby. Fuck this party. And most of all—fuck Vi.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

( @foralltheprettygirls ; @sawaagyapong ; @jivimatcha ; @majuia ; @uhmidkmuch ; @savedforlaterr ; @baylegend6 ; @elle-girlylesbian @dazevi )

#vi arcane #arcane #vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi imagine #vi league of legends #vi arcane fluff #vi arcane imagine #vi angst #vi masterlist #vi arcane angst #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane fanfic #vi arcane x y/n #violet arcane #arcane vi #vi fanfic

117 notes · View notes

luckykiwiii101 · 1 day ago

Text

SLEEPING MONSTROSITY

| | IF THIS DOESN’T WAKE YOU UP, NOTHING WILL | |

ཐི you might just live this life forever…ouch ཋྀ

And for you extra failure desensitised east siders -> CLICK ME!

Hey Upper East Siders.

Lately i’ve been thinking about how big of failure you are. And how you keep coming up with more stupid questions to ask bloggers because you can’t accept that life is just easy. I’d call you sleeping beauty, but unlike you, she actually woke up.

I want you to ask yourself how it feels knowing that even though you have all the power, you still don’t have the will to save yourself. Yet you think it’s all going to be okay. You still think you’re going to eventually manifest your dream life, and that this nightmare will come to an end.

Pardon my harsh words but that’s pathetic. Why? Because you told yourself the same thing months ago, and look where you are. You haven’t gotten anywhere. You may understand the law better but you haven’t done anything with it. And knowledge is useless when it’s held by…well, you. A lazy, hopeless, pathetic dreamer.

What actually makes you think that you’re going to be living your dream life by the time it hits 2027. You’re just staying still, and you’re going to continue to. You’re not on an escalator, you’re on a treadmill. Getting absolutely nowhere.

And as i’ve said before, leave those Pinterest boards on Pinterest. I can’t imagine how painful it must be to doom fully stare at something you know you’ll never give yourself. And save your dreams for nap time because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing them.

The amount of people that have left this app, without their dream lives…and you’re just going to end up being another one of them. Another day you take to procrastinate turns into a week, then into a month, 6 months, a year, two years, five years…twenty.

“I’ll persist later!!!” Yes. Exactly. You’ll persist “later.” Later as in, next week? next month? next year? Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn in to years, and years turn into decades, and decades turn into small little segments of your tragic little life, spent doing what? Trying? Procrastinating? Sulking? Or living the life of your dreams? Call it Russian roulette, but YOU’RE the one holding the gun to your head. Nowhere to run.

“I’ll try to enter the void state again tonight.” Yes. Exactly. You’ll TRY again. And you’ll try again the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. and so on…and so on…

But you know what’s the most shocking of all? The fact that you actually believe that everything is going to be okay. “I know i’ll win in the end.” Are you sure? Because you don’t win by staying the same. And that’s all you’ve been doing since forever.

You’re going to wake up tomorrow and make the same decision you’ve been making all your life. You’re going to deliberately and willingly choose to be someone you don’t want to be. As usual. Because that’s what’s comfortable to you. What can I say. You’re only human. And that’s all you’ll ever be.

But for someone like Blair Waldorf, failure is the end of the world. Because she’s uncomfortable with something she isn’t used to experiencing. But it’s only if she gets used to it, that she gets comfortable, and starts to let it in. And take over her. Sound familiar? Because it’s exactly what you’ve been doing to yourself. You’re so desensitised to failure that you read wake up calls in your sleep. Shrug them off, and move on. As if the words on this screen aren’t literally your reality.

If this doesn’t make your heart sink, i’m not sure what will. For some, the pain of knowing this might be too intense to ignore, for most of you, you’ll feel nothing. Your desensitisation to failure will be the death of you. What have you done to yourself…

Ouch!

- gossip girl

135 notes · View notes

nomie-11 · 2 days ago

Text

Dear Ellie

masterlist!

synopsis: after you pass away from an illness, ellie finds letters you had hidden away while you were still alive, and learns to live again

pairings: ellie williams x reader

Dear Ellie,

If your hand is in this jacket pocket, it means it’s getting cold out, and you need to grab your winter coat from the closet and clean this one. It’s nasty not to wash your summer coat.

——————————

A part of her didn’t want to put away her summer coat.

Putting away her summer coat would be allowing the last season you had been alive to pass her by. She didn’t like winter, didn’t like the cold bite in her cheeks. She wanted to stay in the warmth forever, swim in the freezing creeks and lay in the grass.

She clutched the jacket tighter around her, fingers curling into the fabric as if holding it close would keep you closer. The scent of summer was nearly gone, faded under the crisp chill of autumn leaves and approaching winter, but she swore she could still catch a trace of you—the faint scent of strawberries, like a whisper she couldn’t quite make out.

Ellie sat on the edge of her bed, the dim glow of the lamp casting long shadows against the walls. The note, your note, rested in her lap, the edges slightly crumpled from how many times she’d unfolded and remolded it. She traced the letters with a fingertip, your handwriting so familiar, so you.

Her throat tightened. She should put the coat away. Should clean it just like you told her to. But if she did that, if she packed it up in the closet, it would mean the last season you had held her in would have passed without any attempts of her holding back.

Despite her best attempts at clawing against time, to stay in the warm days of August and remember the feel of your hand in hers, she had been unsuccessful against the cooling of the air and the falling of the leaves. Ellie folded the note carefully, tucking it back into the pocket where it belonged. The coat stayed wrapped around her body.

Winter could wait. She wasn’t ready yet.

——————

Dear Ellie,

If it’s really winter now, you should be wearing those gloves I made you. The ones with the weird stitching because I messed up halfway through. You promised me you’d wear them.

I swear on my own grave, I’ll find a way to haunt you if you manage to get hypothermia.

————————

She found them buried at the bottom of her drawer, shoved beneath old scarves and mismatched socks.

The stitching was just as bad as she remembered.

Ellie turned them over in her hands, running her thumbs over the uneven thread. You’d cursed the whole time while making them, frustrated with every mistake, but you’d still given them to her with a proud little smile. She had laughed, told you they were the ugliest thing she’d ever seen, and you’d punched her in the arm for that.

Her vision blurred.

With a sharp inhale, she pulled the gloves on. They were too warm, too tight around her fingers, but she clenched her fists and kept them on anyway.

————————

Dear Ellie,

If the snow is melting, it means spring is coming! You always liked spring more than winter, even though you pretended not to care. I remember the way you looked at the first green buds on the trees, the way your shoulders relaxed when the sun started lingering a little longer in the sky.

I hope you’re letting yourself enjoy it.

Go outside, Els. Feel the mud under your boots. Breathe it in. And eat something fresh, for god’s sake. You live in a town with a greenhouse. Use it.

————————

The first signs of spring came slow—just hints at first, little glimpses of warmth breaking through the cold. The ice cracked, the snow thinned, and Ellie found herself standing outside, watching the way the world woke back up.

She hadn’t noticed how tense her shoulders had been all winter until she felt them ease.

For the first time in months, she let the sun sit on her face, let herself close her eyes and breathe in the damp, earthy scent of thawing ground.

It was strange how grief shifted with the seasons. Winter had been heavy, cold, a weight pressing down on her chest. But spring… spring was different. It still ached, still lingered in the quiet moments, but it wasn’t as sharp. It was softer, something almost gentle, like the calming kiss of a morning breeze.

She wandered to the greenhouse, hands stuffed in her pockets, and lingered by the rows of plants. You would have scolded her for not coming sooner.

So she picked a handful of strawberries.

She had never really liked them before—always found them when they weren’t ripe, too bitter and too sour—but when she bit into one now, it wasn’t like she remembered.

It was sweet.

——————————

Dear Ellie,

I bet the creek is freezing. But that never stopped me! You always called me crazy, but I think you liked it at heart—how alive it made me feel. You only ever stuck your feet in, but you should go all the way in now.

Go swimming for me. Scream when the cold hits you. Laugh when you resurface. Let yourself feel it all.

You’re still here, Els. Don’t just exist.

————————

Dina and Jesse’s had to drag her there.

Ellie resisted at first, muttering excuses, shoving her hands deeper into her jacket. But when they reached the creek, something pulled at her, something deep in her chest that she couldn’t quite name.

The water was crisp and fast, but the surface was smooth, catching the soft gold light of late spring. It was just as freezing as she remembered—just as sharp, just as breath-stealing.

Dina jumped first, her laughter echoing through the trees, and Jessie followed with a loud whoop.

Ellie hesitated at the edge, heart hammering.

Then she thought of you.

She thought of your grin, the way you used to look over your shoulder before you flipped off the higher rock into the cool rush of the river.

So she jumped.

The cold stole the breath from her lungs, but when she resurfaced, gasping, all she could do was laugh.

——————————

Dear Ellie,

It’s summer now, isn’t it?

I hope you’re not hiding inside like you do when it gets too hot. You never liked it, but summer was my favorite so you put up with it. I hope you’re still putting up with it.

I hope you go outside, feeling the grass under your feet, hiking up in the mountains, sneaking ice from Joel’s fancy freezer. I hope you’re letting yourself have all of it.

And I hope you’re not alone.

—————————

Joel was older now.

Ellie had always known that, had seen it in the way he over, the way he rubbed at his knees after a long day, the way he sighed when he sat down.

But lately, she really saw it.

She saw the gray in his hair, the lines that had deepened around his eyes. She saw the way his hands, once so steady, still so strong, sometimes trembled when he thought no one was looking.

She had spent so long being angry. Holding onto it like armor, like proof of something she couldn’t quite name.

But now?

Now, she just saw her dad getting older.

So she started spending more time with him. Small things at first—helping him with repairs, eating meals together, sitting on the porch on a dry summer night when the heat of the day finally faded.

One day, she found an old guitar string and fixed up the guitar he had given her years ago.

When she played, he closed his eyes and listened.

They didn’t talk about it, about the time they had lost, about the things that had stood between them for so long.

They didn’t have to.

—————————

Dear my love,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because you wrote to me first to make sure I didn’t go insane. Maybe because I’m afraid that if I stop talking to you, I’ll forget the sound of your voice.

I guess I just… I wanted to tell you that I did it.

I swam in the freezing creek. I screamed like a fucking idiot when I hut the water, and Dina laughed so hard she started crying. Jesse splashed me in the face, and for a second, it was like nothing had even changed.

I ate the strawberries from the greenhouse. And you were right—they totally aren’t bitter. I don’t think they ever were, I was just too much of an idiot to wait and get ready for them to ripen. You’d get a kick out of me trading anything for strawberries.

Joel and I… we’re okay now. I sit with him on his porch some nights, and we don’t really say much, but it’s enough. I think he’s happy I’m around more. I was an ass for ignoring him for so long.

It still hurts. I still miss you. Some nights, it hits me out of nowhere, and it’s like I can’t breathe. But then I think about what you’d say. I think about the way you’d roll your eyes at me, but then help me get back on my feet, go outside, live.

So I’m trying.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing you. But I’m learning that missing you doesn’t mean I have to stop living.

I’m carrying you with me, Y/n. Every season. Every letter. Every strawberry.

With all my love forever,

Ellie

What i think would happen if Ellie had an opportunity to actually grieve someone’s death

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

#ellie willams x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #tlou ellie x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #the last of us

135 notes · View notes

aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 days ago

Text

Forever Ain’t Long Enough

Paring: Glen Powell x Rockstar!Reader

Summary: Glen Powell and his rockstar love have been together for a decade, ever since they met on Scream Queens. Their relationship, once a well-kept Hollywood secret, is now making headlines—especially after their red carpet appearance at the Twisters premiere, where a certain ring was spotted. Now, sitting down for an exclusive interview ahead of her highly anticipated country comeback album, she finally confirms the rumors: not only did Glen propose, but they’re already married.

The camera flashes are still burned into her retinas. Last night, when they stepped onto the Twisters red carpet, she swore she heard the collective gasp from the press the second they noticed the ring. A decade together and somehow, they’d managed to keep this part a secret—until now.

“Alright,” the interviewer, a seasoned journalist with a warm smile, leans in with an air of intrigue. “Let’s start with the question on everyone’s mind. The Twisters premiere. The ring. Glen Powell finally putting a ring on the rockstar he’s been crushing on for ten years. Is it true?”

She laughs, shaking her head at the dramatics. “Oh, it’s true,” she admits, holding up her hand so the camera gets a good look at the diamond. “But we kinda forgot to tell people that we’ve actually been married for months.”

The interviewer’s jaw drops. “Wait—married? Glen Powell and his longtime rockstar girlfriend-turned-fiancée-turned-wife?”

She grins, nodding. “Yep.”

“Okay, hold on. You mean to tell me Glen Powell—Hollywood’s golden boy, America’s sweetheart—has been secretly married to you, country music’s newly returned queen, for how long?”

“Six months,” she confirms, sitting back against the leather chair. “We had a quiet ceremony on our ranch in Austin. Just family, some close friends, nothing crazy. I think after ten years together, we didn’t feel like we needed a spectacle. We just wanted us.”

The interviewer shakes her head in disbelief. “I need to process this. I feel like I’ve been lied to.”

She laughs again, running a hand through her hair. “I mean, we never lied. We just… didn’t correct anyone.”

“Unbelievable,” the interviewer mutters, then refocuses. “So, tell me—how did Glen propose? Because if this was under wraps, I’m guessing it wasn’t a public, get-down-on-one-knee-at-the-Oscars kind of thing.”

“Not even close,” she says, her smile softening. “It was at home, on the ranch. We were sitting on the porch, watching the sun go down, and he just—he pulled out the ring and said, ‘Ten years is a long time to wait, but forever still doesn’t feel like enough.’ And that was it. Simple. Perfect. Him.”

The interviewer sighs dramatically. “Well, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It really was,” she agrees, her fingers absentmindedly twisting her wedding ring. “And I know people always say ‘when you know, you know,’ but Glen—he’s always been it for me. Since day one. I think we both knew it, even when we were just kids messing around on Scream Queens.”

“So, does this mean the new album is about him?”

“Oh, yeah,” she confirms. “He’s all over this record. Every song, every lyric. It’s about the life we built together, the love we’ve grown into. It’s my love letter to him, to us, to Austin, to home. Making this album felt like coming back to myself.”

The interviewer sighs wistfully. “A secret wedding, a country comeback, and a husband who’s been in love with you since the minute he met you. You’re living the dream, girl.”

She grins, looking down at her ring before meeting the camera with a twinkle in her eye. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I really am.”

#glen powell #glen powell imagine #glen powell fanfic #glen powell x reader #glenpowelloneshot #imagine #oneshot #fanfic #glenpowellxreader

89 notes · View notes

acynicalsweetheart · 2 days ago

Note

Could you please write high school reader with daddy issues and meeting Jimmy. She lies to her mother to drop her off at a friend's house just to see Jimmy. He grooms her and thinks he has power over her when one day she drugs him ties him up and rapes him when he wakes up. +using a dildo on him for funsies :3

pairing: jimmy x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

dead dove do not eat: 18+, non-con/rape, dub-con, grooming sort of, age gap, daddy issues, daddy kink, drugs, smoking, virginity loss

author's note: hai no dildo on jimmy unfortunately LMFAO did try to follow everything else tho.. umm this took forever and ending is very rushed and very ass.. it’s this long cause i felt i had to make it a fic for the grooming aspect so . yah. interaction/feedback appreciated!!

You’re on your way home when this strange, shady type you’ve seen lurking outside of your school walks up to you. Is this it? The last moment of your life, the end, kaput? Okay, paranoia’s getting the better of you, might just be a new janitor or something—

“You got a lighter?” He asks ever-so-casually.

He’s… old. Real old. Like, fourty-something kind of old.

“What?”

“A lighter?” He makes a gesture with his hand, pretending to draw a lighter flame with his thumb.

“Umm… no,” why the hell would you have a lighter? “No I—I don’t, sorry.”

You didn’t think you looked that old. Or like you smoke, for that matter. It’s kind of hard to take offense to his words though, when he’s that cute. Cute in a hobo sort of way.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, hand gliding down his rough face like you not having a lighter is the worst thing since Elvis.

Is this what they call withdrawal?

“But I think they have some at the store.” You point your finger down the street, giving him a once-over and - for safety - deciding to add, “they’re cheap.”

“Forget it.” He tells you sternly, dismissing you with a wave of his hand like you’re cigarette smoke before walking away—opposite direction to the store.

You’re left there standing awkwardly, shifting your weight across your feet. Body moving before you have time to think, you trail after him.

“I can buy them for you, if you want,” ‘cause you’re a pushover and a people pleaser and an idiot all at once.

He scoffs, glances at you over his shoulder. “You think they’re gonna let a little girl like you buy lighters?”

“Well, I…” You can’t tell if he’s angry with you or if his face just naturally looks like that, pulled into a perpetual scowl.

“Just take ‘em,” he shrugs.

“Can’t you take them?” He might look broke, but surely—

“I would, if I was still allowed in the stores.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, looking down at your shoes. That’s unbelievably hot. Is he a felon or something?

“Yeah. Oh.”

And so maybe you do end up taking a lighter, casually shoving it into your pocket and walking out of the store, egged on by a man you were convinced was the school janitor. You actually still aren’t sure if he is or not.

He leads you to some lightly secluded street. The sun’s setting and you should really get back home.

“Umm, here…” your hands shake when you hand it over, fingers brushing against his callused ones. “Mister—”

“Jimmy.” He grabs the lighter like it was his all along, like you didn’t just feel your heart falling out of your ass when you committed an actual crime for him.

“Jimmy,” you try out his name carefully, syllables rolling off your tongue in a way that tells you you’re meant to be.

“You know, since you were such a good girl for me,” Jimmy pulls out a cigarette from a package you didn’t know he had and holds it out for you to see. “Why don’t we share one of these?”

It takes a minute for you to get back on earth.

“Oh, I don’t… do that,” you scratch the back of your head, knowing all too well that you’d get a third degree ass beating if your mom knew. “Smoke, I mean.”

“Had my first cig at nine, you’ll be fine,” Jimmy says nonchalantly with the cancer-stick hanging from his lips, his gaze pressing you subtly as he glares up at you. “First time for everything.”

He’s too irresistible and you don’t want to seem like a pussy in front of the only cool, older guy to ever pay you attention.

So you give in. Lord help you.

“O—okay, umm,” you awkwardly take a seat on the pavement next to him, too scared to look him in the eye. “I don’t really know how to.”

“You know how to use a lighter, don’t you?” You wonder how many cigarettes he’s smoked to get his voice this rough. If it gets rougher for every cigarette.

“Yes…” Your experience goes as far as having only ever used matches to light candles.

Hands still shaking like crazy, you struggle to light his cigarette. Jimmy scoffs and you shrink.

“There.”

Once you finally muster up the courage to look at him, it’s clear how unimpressed he is.

“Saw what I did there? You gotta inhale like this,” Jimmy takes another drag and you feel a cough building up in your chest just by watching. “Try it,” he blows out, hands over the smoke.

“Okay…” Jimmy helps you hold the cigarette like he’s your father and you’re his baby and the dart is a spoon. Well, you weren’t wrong about the coughing.

“No, no,” for the first time since you met, his upside-down mouth goes upwards and your heart skips a beat. “Gotta do it twice, so you feel it here,” Jimmy presses his palm to your chest, accidentally brushing his fingertips against your breasts in the process.

“Oh.” You almost moan, thankfully covered up by your coughs.

Jimmy helps you till you get it right, till there’s no cigarette left to be smoked. He doesn’t even put it out, just drops it onto the ground.

“Better keep this a secret from mommy, huh?”

Heat of embarrassment spreads across your face like a wildfire of some sort, and you freeze up. It’s like Jimmy can see right through you.

“Yeah…” you reply quietly, playing with your fingers.

But maybe you end up having your first kiss that evening, exchanging cigarette-flavoured spit with a stranger whom you met only a couple of hours ago. Maybe you let his hand trail further up your thigh than what was appropriate.

And maybe you keep coming back for more.

Hanging out with Jimmy becomes a regular part of your schedule. The secrecy of it is even more of a thrill—feels just like those colourful pills he shows you that make you feel as if you’re on another planet.

Mommy dearest doesn’t know a thing, and daddy dearest… Well, Jimmy’s pretty much the closest thing you have to a daddy dearest.

He’s so different and so cool and you feel so ashamed that you let him touch you and kiss you.

Jimmy’s your new world—he shows you these grassy things that you can roll and smoke like cigarettes and make you all dopey. He shows you this trashy, thrashy music that makes your ears hurt, not just ‘cause it’s that loud but ‘cause it’s that bad. He shows you that fingers can go in holes and places you never knew, that mouths can go where nobody is allowed.

He shows you fun. You think you’re in love.

You think you should die.

Jimmy finishes up rolling his joint, exhaling the smoke right in your face once he’s lit it. “You know, you should call me Daddy while we try it.”

It. The new thing. For you, obviously. The fuck, the sex, the cherry-popping. Jimmy can practically smell your virginity on you.

“You can—you can… do that?” You question meekly, gaze zeroing in on his blunt, too scared to look him in the eye. Too scared to say a sentence properly around him, really. “I mean, it’s not wrong? It… feels kind of wrong, it’s what you call your dad.”

“Knew a guy who called his girlfriend mom in bed.” And that guy is Jimmy, a couple of months ago actually. Not his proudest moment. But what’s done is done.

“Eww,” you snort like he’s told a joke.

After a moment of awkward silence and two guitar solos from the background music, Jimmy puts the dart down, letting the fugly thing sit and burn on a makeshift ashtray in the form of a plate. After 30 years of smoking you’d think he’d be better at getting them to look fucking decent at the very least.

“So? You’re gonna let me fuck you?” Jimmy asks into your neck, kissing it lazily so there’s less of a chance of you turning him down.

“I… don’t know, Jimmy.” You say so quietly he has to physically exert himself to hear you. Shouldn’t have. “I mean, we don’t really know each other that well and I—“

Way to ruin the mood.

He pulls away from your neck, groaning out of pure annoyance. “Come on, don’t be such a fucking milksop.”

“…What’s a milksop?” You ask, wide-eyed and newborn.

God, you’re making Jimmy feel old. He has to deliberately simplify words when talking to you, speak in fucking baby phrases ‘cause you’re a baby and the only language you understand is goo-goo goddamn ga-ga.

“Forget it,” he pinches his nose bridge and tries to not combust, “just let me do it. You didn’t come all the way here just so we could sit and listen to Pantera, did you?”

You look at Jimmy like he is speaking an ancient foreign language.

Right. He forgot you’re not only incompetent but uncultured as well.

“You don’t even know how old I am, Jimmy, I could be—“ Off you go again with your incessant babbling. Just when are you going to realize that he doesn’t give a fuck?

“You’re legal, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah,” your head hangs lowly, the skin on your arms suddenly looking a lot more interesting so you start picking on it. “I am but, Jimmy, it’s like you don’t even care.”

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, in every fucking sentence. You want him so bad—you’re just too pussy to say it out loud, which is literally what he was trying to tell you. He’ll just simply have to show you.

Jimmy is overdue for some good ‘ol cherry-popping after all.

Resuming his biting on your neck, he says things the way they are to hear you gasp. “That’s ‘cause I don’t.”

“That sounds naughty…”

He almost bursts out laughing, keep talking like that and you’ll end up in a porno in no time.

“You’ll let me do it,” Jimmy bares your tits, pulling your dress down, “won’t you, baby?” ‘Cause a pet name or two is all it takes to get you to melt.

You’re pushed down onto the bed before you can even reply. Left in only your underwear before you can even blink.

“Okay, Jimmy…” you say timidly.

“Remember what I told you?” His fingers trail down your tummy till he finds your panties, the print and ribbon something you’re much too old to be wearing.

“Daddy,” your voice gets stuck in your throat when he palms your clothed mound. “Yes, daddy,” you correct shakily.

And Jimmy’s fingers slide underneath the fabric, struggling to fit two in your pussy. You’re squeezing him so tight he thinks they might fall off and get stuck inside you.

He doesn’t let you cum.

That’s an activity that takes place on Jimmy’s dick and nowhere else.

Once your panties are off and you’re naked like the day you were born in front of him—dripping onto the sheets, Jimmy lazily pulls his cock out and you stare like it’s your first time ever seeing one.

“Like what you see?” It’s a rhetorical question, there’s a 95% chance that you’re judging him. Shit looks more like a wild animal than a dick if Jimmy’s being entirely honest.

“Is it going to fit?” You’re blinking up at him with those awfully glossy eyes of yours. “Daddy,” you add a minute too late.

“Don’t know,” Jimmy tells you honestly.

He prods at your entrance, trying to find the right angle that will slide him right in after a nice little struggle. Your expression contorts every way, resembling a crumpled napkin more than your actual face.

“Ouch, Jim—I mean, daddy,” your eyes and mouth are wide open, looking like Jimmy’s impaling you with a knife and not his dick. “It hurts.”

Dramatic much?

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he keeps pushing in, managing to get a quarter of his tip inside. “Nobody ever tell you that?”

“No…” you heave out, gripping onto his arms for dear life as he very choppily forces himself into your hole.

Jimmy coos at you unenthusiastically, “poor little girl.”

(You are, probably never heard of sex till Jimmy mentioned it.)

He doesn’t let you get adjusted—immediately starting to fuck you harder, faster, rougher than one should a virgin. Jimmy’s popping your cherry, alright. Can even spot a thin red layer coating his dick already.

“Ow, ow, ow,” you whimper under your breath with every thrust into your cunt. Kind of hilarious.

“You like it.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I… like it,” you repeat with the most pained look on your face, tears pricking at your lash lines.

Jimmy makes sure you feel all of his cock, drilling deep enough to feel your fleshy cervix ‘cause he’d like to hear you scream.

“Daddy,” you kick your legs, pussy struggling to keep Jimmy’s dick inside you. “Oh, daddy.” Not quite a scream.

“Yeah,” his eyes are glued to your stretched entrance, growing impossibly harder at the sight of your ruined pussy—ruined innocence. “Gonna make daddy cum already.”

“Not inside…”

Oh and now you’ve suddenly taken sex-ed classes?

Jimmy keeps slamming his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the room, he can hear you loud and clear over it. Purposely letting his groans loose so you really get the hint.

“Not inside, Jimmy, pleasepleaseplease not inside!” You claw anywhere and everywhere you can reach, trying to get him off. Didn’t he explicitly tell you to call him daddy?

“Huh?” His hips stutter against yours, movements turning sloppy as his balls tighten—readier than ever. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart.”

Just a moment later, Jimmy cums inside, shoots like a fucking pistol—bullets in the form of sperm straight into your womb.

You start sobbing.

Jimmy’s never been good at comforting so he rubs your clit in consolation.

“Better cum on daddy’s cock soon,” it’s like he’s speaking to a fucking brick wall. A crying, teenage-girl-shaped brick wall. “Getting pretty sensitive over here.”

Can’t exactly tell with your hands over your face but Jimmy thinks you cum, ‘cause you squeal and push his dick out.

Well, could’ve gone worse.

“I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you whisper between sniffles after receiving the thickest creampie Jimmy has ever given anybody. Uh huh.

He pulls out with a sloppy pop! and watches his cum mixed with your blood drip out of your gaping cunt, soaking through he’s sheets that he’s most definitely not going to clean.

Jimmy’s been smoking and drinking since before he fucking grew balls, do you seriously believe that his sperm’s going to knock you up? If Jimmy became a sperm donor, the only thing he’d be giving out is strains of herpes—not babies. To put things into perspective.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He tucks his softening dick back into his pants, “a plan-B should do the trick.”

“Okay…” you’re crawled up like a frightened mouse—a naked frightened mouse, all sorts of questionable fluids leaking out of all your holes. “Okay, Jimmy.”

At least you seem to know what a plan-B is. Jimmy half-expected you to go but Jimmy I didn’t have a plan-B! I didn’t even want to sleep with you in the first place! in that whiny voice you do that makes him want to light himself on fire.

And for safety’s sake—partly out of spite, “I heard they sell some at the store. Could get it for cheap.”

“You’re not gonna buy it for me?” You’re shaking like you have fucking hypothermia.

He shrugs. Only time not being allowed in stores has ever been of a convenience to Jimmy.

Once you’re dressed he ushers you out of his apartment that he hasn’t paid rent for in a couple of months.

“Bye.” Jimmy says slackly, pushing you out of the threshold to his place.

“But—“ you start frantically, confusion written all over your features.

He shuts the door in your face. Locks it, twice.

Through the peephole of his door, Jimmy can see how you’re limping like a lamb born yesterday on the way out. He bets your mommy ain’t gonna be too happy about that.

You’re so sick and tired of Jimmy treating you like shit. How is he allowed to do that and get away with it? Every single time.

He’s a sad sack of pure sleaze and you can’t believe you let him take your virginity all those months ago.

You sneak into his place unnoticed because he’s such a sad sack of pure sleaze that he hasn’t even locked his door. He’s asking for it.

From the hallway you can see that his glass is empty. Jimmy’s rolling one of those grassy things again, watching the TV and listening to his shitty music. You haven’t even seen Jimmy’s face yet but you know that he looks thirty years older every time you do.

Disgusting.

You’ll sleep with him one last time.

You trail into the kitchen with the stealth of an elephant, knocking over a lone empty beer can on the floor in the process, yet Jimmy doesn’t seem to notice.

Rummaging through his cabinets, you’re reminded of this conversation between Jimmy and his really cute friend with a very unusual name that you can’t remember. Jimmy was telling him about the roofies he keeps in the fourth cabinet while his friend just laughed awkwardly.

They should do the trick.

Rohypnol reads the package, half of the pills are missing. Foul. But then again—this is Jimmy you’re talking about.

You put a singular green oval pill in his drink, watching it dissolve and colour the alcohol a shade weirder.

Jimmy groans from the living room and you scramble to hide underneath his table like a scared little kid. Your freak of a not-boyfriend - ‘cause he never did ask you out - actually drinks the shit in one gulp.

After a moment he stumbles into his bedroom and you think he passes out ‘cause you hear obnoxiously loud snores echoing throughout the entire apartment.

Guess this is your time to shine. And… fuck.

Fuck, that word is so unnatural—so vulgar. And Jimmy uses it so casually.

To embarrass him the way he’s embarrassed you countless times, you undress the entirety of Jimmy’s body apart from his feet—never his feet.

You decide that restraining Jimmy might be for the better ‘cause he’s like a wild fucking rabid animal when he’s drunk. Actually, you don’t know if he is drunk but all for safety’s sake, right?

You’re trying to make this as un-personal as it can be but Jesus he is hot. You just have to feel him up one last time. How there’s not one area that’s not covered in at least some hair, cute brown and puffy nipples, and his dick.

The one that sits there sadly and all alone, giving you puppy eyes.

Maybe it’s a miracle that Jimmy is soft so you can play with it for just a little. Maybe it’s a shame that Jimmy’s not awake to grab your hair and force you down all the way till you’re gagging and choking around him.

Once he’s hard you slide off your panties and bare one of your tits ‘cause you’re feeling kind of bad for Jimmy against your will. How he’s the only one naked.

Sliding down on his cock, it feels just like the first time—stings like hell. But this is your revenge after all so you suck it up. Bounce up and down until your slickness can’t keep quiet and is coating his length.

It actually feels good when you’re the one in control for once. When you have time to adjust, to feel it inside you in a way that feels more like sex than getting stabbed repeatedly.

Jimmy’s eyes do that weird back and forth thing that looks a little demonic—his body twitches like you’re an exorcist and not a technical rapist. He’s fighting against literal sedatives, it’s kind of funny.

You keep riding him.

All Jimmy remembers is thinking that he’s gonna get another drink and get back to his nice fucking joint before he very oddly lost consciousness. Shit was a real scare, thought he died and went straight to hell for a second.

No—the real scare is that he’s awoken by a weight in his lap, a death grip around his dick like somebody’s trying to rip it off, and most importantly, you.

You’re the weight in his lap, the death grip around his dick because of course you fucking are.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jimmy asks very rightfully angry. Let a man smoke for fuck’s sake.

Moving your hips back and forth like it’s your first time horseback riding, you counter with a half-aborted, “shut—shut up, Jimmy…”

Yeah, that’s real convincing. You can’t even get the words out without stuttering. Probably the first time you’ve ever told somebody to shut up in your life.

“No.” Jimmy is a man and men do not take orders from women let alone little girls.

You slow your pace and Jimmy is about to push you off when he notices that he fucking can’t because he’s tied up like he’s in a torture chamber.

Creativity must not be your strong suit seeing as you’ve used three of his belts and a pink sparkly jumping rope for his left foot.

“Fuck,” he thrashes in your makeshift bondage fantasy come to life, “get off me, bitch.”

“No.” You tell him and force your polka-dot fucking panties in his mouth.

They taste good so who’s really losing here?

“I’ll kill you,” Jimmy tries to say with your underwear down his throat. It comes out inaudible and muffled and you fucking laugh.

“Mmm, yes, kill me, Jimmy.” You run a cold finger down his chest, put on this sexy voice. “That’s so hot.”

He can’t tell if you’re joking or if you’re just being fucked up like always.

“I’m serious,” it’s like he’s fucking chewing the fabric.

“You’re sexist? That sounds right.”

Jimmy fucking gives up, flopping down all boneless onto the mattress and glaring at the ceiling ‘cause he can’t stand your face. “Oh my God.”

Contrary to what Jimmy’s saying and doing, he actually quite enjoys it. Well, he would have, were you a fraction of a better rider. This is exactly why you don’t let virgins stick around. Either way, he wants you to stop because you’re fucking embarrassing him—he’s stuck underneath you like a damn sissy. And you can’t even get him let alone yourself off. Should just fucking give up and let Jimmy take care of the raping.

He’s been there, done that.

He endures your clear first attempt at roofying for about five minutes until you force yourself to cum. You’re obviously faking it for whatever reason, squeezing out ooh’s and ah-ah-ah’s like a pornstar.

“Fucking ugly slutbag,” Jimmy decides to add as his dick kicks inside you, a couple of more bounces away from filling you up the way he knows you like it.

“Whatever you say, Jimmy.”

And your bitch-ass just gets up and leaves. Jimmy is stuck in your makeshift restraints, panties in his mouth and butt fucking naked. Ruined orgasm at that. Fucking cunt.

He’s going to burn your goddamn house down.

88 notes · View notes

jburrgf · 2 days ago

Text

Friends II, The Love Trope Series.

Part II: Are We Still Friends?

◦pairing: ¡bestfriend! joe burrow x ¡bestfriend! reader

◦summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship. slow burn, soulmates.

◦description: it’s the first year of college, you and joe go together to OSU like you planned, since you found out he was going to columbus. things are okay, until you felt they’re not. joe is distant, so as you, and the feeling of undone feeling still tight both of you together.

◦ playlist: Friends, Ed Sheeran From Eden, Hoozier 21, Gracie Abramns You Belong With Me, Taylor Swift I Couldn't Be More In Love, The 1975

FALL 2015, OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY.

Y/N

The late summer sun hung low in the Ohio sky as I hoisted another box out of the trunk of my car. Sweat trickled down my temple as I set it on the curb beside the others, letting out a soft sigh. Moving day was chaotic—cars packed the dorm parking lot, and students scrambled back and forth with suitcases, lamps, and laundry baskets. But for me, the chaos was exciting.

College. It was finally happening.

I scanned the sea of faces, watching as everyone moved with a kind of nervous energy. For most of us, this was the start of something completely new, and the air seemed to buzz with possibility. I’d lucked out with a single dorm room—not many freshmen got one—and it felt like a small victory as I grabbed the last box and started making my way toward the building.

“Need a hand with that?”

I turned to see a girl about my age with curly auburn hair and bright green eyes, standing in the doorway of the room next to mine. She was holding a clipboard, looking like she’d been organizing her own unpacking. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and I couldn’t help but grin back.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. Last one,” I said, hoisting the box higher.

She stepped aside as I squeezed past her and into my room, setting the box down on my bare mattress. When I turned back around, she was leaning casually against the doorframe.

“I’m Lauren,” she said. “Your neighbor. I figured I’d introduce myself before the semester gets crazy.”

“Y/N,” I replied, brushing my hands on my jeans. “Nice to meet you.”

She stepped into the room, looking around at the neatly labeled boxes and the bare white walls. “Single room, huh? Lucky. They really hooked you up.”

I laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m not complaining.”

Lauren gave me a teasing smile. “So, are you here on a mission to focus completely on school, or are you going to let loose a little?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Let loose, huh? I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You know what I mean. Parties, meeting people, the whole college experience. Do you have a boyfriend back home, or are you starting fresh?”

The question caught me off guard, and for a second, I hesitated. A boyfriend? No, not officially. But the moment she asked, my thoughts immediately went to Joey.

Joe Burrow. My best friend.

I shook my head quickly. “No boyfriend,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

Lauren tilted her head, studying me curiously. “But you hesitated. There’s someone, isn’t there?”

I felt my cheeks warm and let out a soft laugh, brushing off the question. “Not exactly. Just… my best friend. We’ve known each other forever.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Is he cute?”

“Lauren!” I exclaimed, laughing again.

“What? It’s a valid question!” she said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, okay? He’s… objectively attractive, I guess.”

She gave me a knowing look, crossing her arms. “Uh-huh. And you’re telling me you two have never—?”

“Nope,” I cut her off quickly, shaking my head. “We’re just friends. Always have been.”

Lauren looked skeptical but didn’t press further. Instead, she smiled again and gestured toward the hallway. “Well, if you ever need anything—or if you want to hang out—you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Lauren,” I said genuinely.

As she left, I sat down on my bed, staring at the boxes scattered around the room. The start of college felt like a fresh chapter, but the thought of Joe still lingered at the back of my mind. I couldn’t help wondering how he was settling in on his end.

JOE BURROW.

The frat house was already buzzing with activity when I pulled up. A group of guys was lounging on the porch, beers in hand, as they laughed and shouted over each other. I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement as I walked up the steps.

“Yo, new guy!” one of them called out, a tall guy with dark hair and an easygoing grin. “You lost?”

I shook my head, smirking. “Nah. Just moving in.”

The guy hopped down from the porch, extending a hand. “I’m Ryan. You must be the quarterback they’ve been talking about.”

I shook his hand firmly. “Joe. Nice to meet you.”

Ryan gave me a once-over, nodding approvingly. “Welcome to the house, man. You’re gonna love it here.”

I followed him inside, where a few other guys were lounging on mismatched couches, watching a game on the massive flat-screen TV. Ryan introduced me to a couple of them, and I could already tell this was going to be a good group to hang out with.

“So, Joe,” one of the guys said, leaning back in his seat. “Quarterback, huh? You must have no trouble with the ladies.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Not really my focus right now.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryan said, grinning. “Come on, man. There’s gotta be someone back home, right?”

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the notification.

Y/N: Hope you’re settling in okay! <3

The heart emoji next to her name made me smile, and for a moment, I forgot where I was.

“Who’s that?” Ryan asked, leaning over to peek at my screen.

I quickly locked the phone, tucking it back into my pocket. “Just my best friend.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Best friend, huh? Does she know you’re calling her that?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that. We’ve known each other forever. She’s basically family.”

Ryan and the others exchanged a look, and I could tell they weren’t buying it.

“Whatever you say, man,” Ryan said, clapping me on the shoulder. “But if you ever need advice on how to make your move, we’ve got you covered.”

I shook my head, laughing as I grabbed my duffel bag and headed toward the stairs. These guys didn’t get it. Y/N wasn’t just some girl. She was Y/N—my best friend, the person who’d been by my side through everything.

But as I set my bag down in my room and pulled out my phone to text her back, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they were right. Maybe I wasn’t being honest with myself about how I really felt.

Y/N

The buzz of the first week of college was still settling, and my nerves hadn’t completely gone away. Armed with my notebook and an iced coffee, I walked into my Introduction to Literature class, scanning the room for an empty seat. It was a large lecture hall, and most of the seats were already filled with students chatting or scrolling on their phones.

The air inside the lecture hall felt a little too cold as I walked in, my backpack slung over one shoulder. The room was packed with students, all busy sorting through notes or tapping away at their laptops. I found an empty seat toward the middle and slid into it, pulling out my notebook. The class was introductory psychology, and I’d been looking forward to it.

A few minutes passed, and the professor started setting up at the front, but I wasn’t fully focused. My mind kept drifting to the people I’d met so far. I’d been here for only a few days, but I already felt like I was starting to find my place.

As I scanned the room, I noticed a guy walking in, just a few seats away from mine. He had tousled brown hair, sharp green eyes, and a relaxed smile that made him seem friendly. He caught my gaze and smiled back before sitting down next to me.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asked.

“Not at all,” I replied, his voice warm and inviting.

Sliding into the seat, I glanced at him briefly. He was tall, with slightly messy brown hair and striking green eyes. There was something inherently kind about the way he smiled—a smile that reached his eyes—and it put me at ease almost instantly.

"Hey, you’re in this class too?" he asked, pulling out a notebook and a pen.

"Yeah, I am," I replied, offering a smile of my own. "It’s nice to meet someone else who's excited for the semester."

He chuckled lightly, his eyes warm. "I wouldn’t say excited, but I’m definitely here to learn."

As we started talking about the class, I realized he was genuinely intelligent. The way he answered the professor's questions—thoughtful and concise—made me feel a little more at ease.

“Did you get what he said just now about postmodernism?” I whispered.

He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Yeah, here.” He slid his notebook closer so I could read his notes, which were perfectly legible and far better than my own.

“Wow,” I said softly, impressed. “You’ve got great handwriting.”

“Thanks,” he said, chuckling. “Years of practice. I’m Ryan, by the way.”

“Y/N,” I replied, smiling. “So, you’re a football player, right?” I asked, casually glancing at his team jacket that he had draped over the chair.

He nodded, smiling with a hint of pride. “Yeah, I play for the team.”

“Oh, cool,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual, though my heart was beating a little faster.

We exchanged a few more small details about the class, and soon, I found myself laughing at his dry sense of humor. It was effortless, and I felt comfortable around him in a way that surprised me.

At the end of the lecture, we walked out together, chatting about the material.

“You’re pretty smart,” he said, glancing over at me with a grin.

I laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

As we neared the door, he turned to me, his expression slightly more serious now. “So, what are you doing after class? Maybe we could grab coffee or something—study together?”

My heart fluttered. "Yeah, that sounds great."

We exchanged numbers quickly, and before I knew it, we were texting back and forth, making plans for later in the week. I couldn’t help but feel bubbly and happy. There was just something about him. Ryan wasn’t just nice—he was smart, thoughtful, and easy to talk to. It felt good to meet someone new, someone who made the whole overwhelming college experience seem a little less intimidating.

JOE BURROW.

The sound of rapid gunfire and explosions filled the living room of the frat house as I leaned forward, my thumbs flying over the controller. After the first practice of the year, I always take time to relax a little bit. I was deep in a match of Call of Duty, my focus unshakable, when the front door opened, and a group of guys walked in.

“Yo, Joe,” Ryan called out as he crossed the room toward me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” I said, pausing the game and sitting up. “What’s up?”

Ryan leaned back against the arm of the couch, looking unusually pleased with himself. “Met someone today in class. Sweet girl, really smart. Made the whole class way more tolerable.”

I shrugged, not thinking much of it. “Nice. Good for you.”

“Her name’s Y/N,” Ryan said casually, taking a sip of his water.

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. Y/N. My best friend. She’d been texting me here and there, and I had this nagging feeling that something was different about this year—about us. But hearing Ryan talk about her like this made my stomach turn.

“You met her? Where?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual but failing.

“We’re in the same psych class. She’s cool—smart too. We’re actually going to study together later in the week.” Ryan’s smile was wide, a little smug.

For a second, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to sound like a jealous idiot, but the thought of someone else hanging out with her—it bothered me more than I cared to admit.

“She’s smart?” I said, my voice a little too sharp.

Ryan glanced at me, catching the edge in my tone. “Yeah. We talked a lot during class. She’s definitely got her head on straight. You know her, right?”

I nodded, though my mind was racing. “Yeah. We’ve known each other forever. She’s… my best friend.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing his face. “Your best friend, huh? That’s crazy. She didn’t mention you, though.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Probably didn’t come up. She’s not one to talk about herself much.”

Ryan studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Huh. Well, she’s great. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so down-to-earth on the first day.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, she’s awesome.” I scratched the back of my neck. “She’s like family to me.”

Ryan gave me a skeptical glance, leaning back in the chair with a small chuckle. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”

For a brief second, jealousy flared in my chest. Ryan was a good guy—kind, funny, and ridiculously good-looking. And Y/N seemed to like him, which shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

But I pushed the feeling down as quickly as it had come. If Y/N was happy, that was all that mattered.

“You’ve got my blessing, man,” I said, my tone light and teasing.

Ryan grinned. “Thanks, dude. I’ll let you know if she’s into me.”

He looked at his phone for a second, then turned back to me with a more serious expression. “By the way, I gave your number to this girl from my class. She was asking about you, and I thought it might be good.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. A girl had asked about me?

I blinked, trying to keep my cool. “Yeah. That’s fine. I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

“She was asking if you were single,” he said with a shrug. “Figured I’d help you out. Don’t worry, she’s hot.”

Normally, I’d brush something like that off, but this time, I didn’t mind. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get to know someone new, especially if Y/N was starting to connect with Ryan.

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, shaking my head.

Ryan smiles, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, no pressure. Just thought you might like to know.”

My stomach twisted as I grabbed my phone, checking for any messages. There were a couple from Y/N, but my thoughts kept drifting to Ryan’s words. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to move on. It was just... the thought of her with someone else felt strange. Almost wrong.

But I couldn’t exactly say that, could I? She was my best friend. Nothing more.

Right?

Y/N

The restaurant was a cozy little place just off campus, tucked away from the bustling streets. The kind of spot you’d walk past a hundred times and never notice until someone pointed it out. Inside, the hum of conversation mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling garlic. I’d already claimed a booth by the window, sipping on my iced tea and staring out at the world beyond, trying not to overthink.

It was our first week of college, and while everything was new and exciting, it was also overwhelming. Having Joey around was like having a piece of home with me, something familiar to keep me grounded. When I saw him walk through the door, his messy hair falling into his eyes and his Ohio State hoodie looking soft and worn, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, trouble,” he greeted as he slid into the seat across from me, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, Joey,” I replied, my voice soft but happy.

He grabbed a menu, glancing over it before looking up at me. “Alright, first week of college. Give me the rundown. How’s it been?”

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand as I thought about it. “Honestly? It’s been... good. Busy, but good. My professors seem nice enough, and the classes are interesting so far. And I’ve met some cool people.”

Joey’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing across his face. “Cool people, huh? Like who?”

“Well, Lauren from down the hall is awesome. She’s fun and, like, effortlessly cool. She invited me to this festival thing during spring break,” I said, my excitement building as I described it. “It’s kind of like a pool party, but there’s powder paint, soap, and bubbles. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms and smirking. “You’re telling me you want to get covered in paint and soap, and you think that’s amazing?”

“Joey,” I whined, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Please, will you come with me? I don’t want to go alone.”

He held my gaze for a moment, like he was deciding whether to give in or let me squirm a little longer. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Fine. I’ll go. But if I get paint in my hair, you’re on cleanup duty.”

“Deal!” I said, grinning triumphantly.

As our food arrived and we started eating, the conversation drifted to other things—classes, our dorms, and little anecdotes about our first week. But eventually, I found myself talking about Ryan.

“He’s in my Intro to Physcology class,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “He’s really nice, Joey. Like, genuinely nice. And smart, too.”

Joey paused mid-bite, glancing at me with an unreadable expression. “Ryan, huh? What’s his deal?”

“He’s on the football team, and I know you know him by now. I mean, I don’t know him that well yet, but we’re going out tomorrow,” I admitted, shrugging. “It’s not, like, a date or anything. Just... you know, hanging out.”

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “That’s... great. He seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “It’s just nice to talk to someone new, you know? Not that you’re not great, Joey. You’re the best, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said with a mock-serious expression, making me laugh.

The rest of lunch was easy, comfortable. Joey had a way of making me forget about everything else, even just for a little while.

JOE BURROW

After lunch, I walked back to the frat house, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. On the one hand, I was happy for Y/N. She deserved to meet new people, have new experiences. But on the other hand, the way she talked about Ryan—it was like a punch to the gut.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away as I stepped into the shower. The hot water was a relief, washing away the tension in my muscles, but it did nothing to clear my mind. By the time I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist, I still felt... off.

Sitting at my bed, I grabbed my phone to check for any messages.

Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Emily! Ryan said I could text you—hope that’s okay?

I stared at the screen, trying to place the name. Emily... oh, right. She was the girl who’d asked Ryan for my number. I hesitated for a second before typing back.

Me: Hey, no problem. What's up?

Her reply came almost instantly, and before I knew it, we were chatting. Emily was funny, confident in a way that caught me off guard, and easy to talk to. She mentioned being a football fan, which was a nice surprise. Most people only pretended to care about it once they found out who I was.

Emily: So, what are you doing tonight? Wanna grab a drink?

I glanced at the time, weighing my options. I didn’t really have plans, and honestly, it might be nice to get out for a bit.

Me: Yeah, sure. Where should we meet?

She sent me the name of a bar just off campus, and I quickly replied, confirming. Tossing my phone onto the bed, I stood up and pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. My hair was still damp as I ran a hand through it, trying to make it look presentable.

Just as I grabbed my keys, my phone buzzed again. It was a text from Y/N.

Y/N: Thanks for lunch, Joey. I already miss you :(

You’re the best!

I stared at the message, a strange warmth settling in my chest. For a moment, I thought about texting her back, but instead, I slipped the phone into my pocket and headed out the door.

Tonight wasn’t about Y/N. It couldn’t be. I had to stop letting my feelings for her dictate everything I did. Emily was nice, and this was my chance to start fresh.

[…]

The bar was alive with energy. The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional cheer from the pool tables blended into the beat of the music playing over the speakers. As I pushed through the heavy doors, I scanned the room, quickly spotting Emily sitting at the bar. She was hard to miss—blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a fitted shirt that seemed to shimmer under the dim neon lights, and little high waisted jeans. And, of course, a confidence in her posture that immediately caught my attention.

“Hey,” I said, stepping up beside her.

She turned, flashing a bright smile. “Hey, Joe. Glad you made it.”

I nodded, taking the seat next to her. “You’re hard to say no to.”

Her laugh was light, easy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The bartender approached, and I ordered a beer, Emily opting for a vodka soda. We chatted for a bit, keeping it casual at first. She asked about football, and I asked about her classes, but as the drinks started to flow, the conversation shifted.

“So,” she said, leaning closer, her lips quivering into a playful smile. “How good are you at the pool?”

“Decent,” I replied, matching her grin. “Why? You wanna find out?”

“Obviously,” she teased, grabbing her drink and sliding off the barstool. “Come on, QB. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

We made our way to the pool table, the low overhead light casting a golden glow on the felt. She grabbed a cue, expertly chalking the tip while I racked the balls. Her confidence was magnetic, and I couldn’t help but feel drawn to it.

“Ladies first,” I said, gesturing to the table.

“Chivalry isn’t dead after all,” she quipped, taking her shot. The balls scattered, and she sank one into the corner pocket with ease.

I raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I see how it is. You’ve played before.”

“Maybe a few times,” she said, her tone coy as she lined up her next shot.

We went back and forth, trading playful banter as we played. She was good, I’ll admit, but I wasn’t about to let her win without a fight. Eventually, she scored a tricky shot that had me shaking my head in disbelief.

“That was pure luck,” I said, leaning on my cue as she straightened up, a victorious smile on her face.

“Luck?” she echoed, tilting her head. “I’d call it skill.”

She stepped closer, her confidence radiating. Her eyes sparkled under the dim lights, and for a moment, I forgot about the game entirely. Acting on impulse, I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers. It wasn’t a deep kiss, more of a testing-the-waters kind of thing, but she responded instantly, her hand sliding to my arm.

When we pulled back, she was grinning. “I’ll take that as you admitting I won.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, smirking despite myself.

Y/N

The soft strumming of Hozier’s Like Real People Do filled my room, wrapping around me like a blanket as I sat cross-legged on my bed, a book resting on my lap. The evening was quiet, the kind of night that felt perfect for losing myself in another world. I turned a page, my fingers brushing the worn edges of the paper, when a sudden knock on my door pulled me from my little cocoon.

“Coming,” I called, setting the book aside and slipping off the bed.

When I opened the door, Lauren stood there, her energy practically buzzing.

“Why are you here?” she asked, pushing past me into the room. “It’s Friday night, Y/N. You’re supposed to be out, not... reading.”

“I like reading,” I said defensively, closing the door behind her.

“Yeah, but there’s a whole party happening at the bar right now,” she said, plopping onto my bed. “You should come. Everyone’s there.”

“Everyone?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lauren grinned. “Ryan’s there.”

That caught my attention. My heart did a little flip, and I tried to play it cool, but Lauren saw right through me.

“Don’t even try to pretend you’re not interested,” she said, standing up and pulling me toward my closet. “Come on, get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

I sighed, but a part of me was already excited. The thought of seeing Ryan again—and maybe getting to know him a little better—was enough to convince me. I let Lauren rummage through my clothes, eventually settling on a casual but cute outfit: high-waisted jeans, a fitted crop top, and my favorite sneakers.

“You look amazing,” Lauren said, stepping back to admire her work.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The bar was packed when we arrived, the energy infectious. Music thumped through the speakers, and laughter echoed from every corner. I scanned the room, looking for Ryan, when my gaze landed on someone else entirely.

Joe.

He was by the pool table, leaning against it with that easy confidence he always seemed to carry. But it wasn’t just him. A blonde girl stood next to him, laughing at something he said. And then—like a punch to the stomach—I saw it.

He kissed her.

I froze, my heart sinking. The world around me seemed to blur, the noise of the bar fading into the background. For a moment, all I could do was stand there, staring at them.

We were wearing the same clothes. Me and her, matching.

And she was kissing him.

“Y/N?” Lauren’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Let’s... let’s find Ryan.”

But as we moved deeper into the bar, my chest felt tight. I couldn’t shake the image of Joe and that girl, their kiss replaying in my mind like a cruel reminder of something I didn’t even fully understand.

And yet, I smiled. For Ryan. For myself. Like it didn’t matter. Like Joe kissing someone else didn’t feel like losing something I never had.

[…]

Spring break was finally here, and I was feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The festival was just around the corner, and my friends from high school had made the trip to Columbus to join us for it. They were all staying in my best friend’s sister’s apartment, which was conveniently just a few minutes away from the Ohio State campus. It felt strange to have everyone in one place again, especially since I hadn’t seen most of them since high school graduation.

I was sitting on the couch, scrolling through my phone while my friend, Lauren, was getting ready in the bathroom. The apartment was filled with the buzz of preparation, the sound of blow dryers and laughter echoing through the rooms. I felt a sense of nostalgia, but there was something else lurking behind it. The nagging, aching feeling of the distance that had grown between Joe and me. It had been weeks since I last saw him, and the silence between us was becoming deafening. We had both been so caught up in our own lives, so wrapped up in our new routines at college.

“Y/N!” Lauren called from the bathroom, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You’re not listening. What’s going on? You’re so quiet.”

I glanced up, trying to mask the sadness that had crept up inside me. “Sorry. I’m just... thinking.”

Lauren stepped out of the bathroom, adjusting the straps of her dress. “You’re thinking about Ryan, aren’t you?” she asked, a teasing grin on her face.

I blinked, startled by the directness of her question. “What? No... well, kind of. We’ve been hanging out more. It’s nice.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to explain it. “Yeah, I mean, he’s cool. We’ve been having a good time.”

She smiled, but there was a curious glint in her eyes. “And what about Joe?”

I stiffened, the mention of his name immediately triggering the ache in my chest. “Joe?” I repeated, trying to keep my tone casual. “I haven’t seen him in a while. It’s... been a couple of weeks, actually.”

Lauren watched me carefully, her expression softening. “You miss him, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond at first, staring at the floor. The truth hung heavy in the air, and I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud. Instead, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Things got weird after a while, and we just... haven’t talked.”

“Maybe you should reach out to him,” Lauren suggested, her voice gentle but insistent.

I smiled weakly, though the thought of reaching out made me feel even more unsure. “Maybe.”

But deep down, I knew that part of me was hoping that he would reach out first, that Joe would come back and say something—anything—to break the silence that had stretched between us.

JOE BURROW

The faint sound of a knock on my door pulled me out of the haze of half-consciousness. I groggily opened my eyes, only to find Emily lying beside me in bed, her body still warm next to mine.

“Joe,” she murmured, tracing a finger along my chest. “I’m not ready to get up yet.”

I glanced at the clock. I had an hour before I had to leave for the festival. A part of me wanted to just stay in bed, to ignore everything else and enjoy the moment. But there was something about Emily that didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t know what it was exactly, but it bothered me. The way she always seemed so... nonchalant about everything.

I pulled away slightly, rubbing my eyes. “I have that festival today, babe. The one you didn’t want to go to,” I said, my voice hoarse from sleep.

She barely reacted, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know. You have to get ready.”

Her tone was flat, as if she didn’t really care. The lack of enthusiasm, the indifference—something about it made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t used to this type of relationship, where everything seemed to float on the surface without any depth.

I sighed, standing up and reaching for my clothes. “I’m going. I’ll see you later.”

Emily gave me a quick nod, not even bothering to sit up. “Sure. Have fun.”

I gave her a kiss, and went to get ready.

As I pulled on my t-shirt and jeans, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this whole thing. I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t care, not really. But maybe that’s what this was—a distraction, something to fill the space while I tried to figure out where I stood with Y/N.

The thought of her hit me harder than I expected. It had been weeks, and the silence between us was suffocating. I had told myself that it was fine, that maybe it was better this way. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. I missed her.

After getting dressed, I grabbed my keys and headed out of the room. The guys were waiting for me downstairs. I forced myself to smile, to get into the mood of the festival, but something about the way the day was shaping up felt off.

Y/N

The festival was alive with energy, an explosion of colors, music, and laughter. People were dancing, some already covered in the vivid hues of colored powders that filled the air. The sun was warm, the beats of the music pulsing through my chest as I stood with my friends, our excitement contagious. I couldn’t help but smile, the festival atmosphere reminding me of simpler times.

Lauren nudged me playfully, a mischievous grin on her face. “Careful, Y/N. You might end up looking like a walking rainbow,” she teased, pointing to the vibrant splashes of color that now covered her shirt.

I chuckled, brushing the loose strands of hair away from my face. “It’s half the fun,” I said, shrugging. “Just don’t get it on my shoes!”

We were surrounded by laughter and people chatting, but a part of me couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in my chest. It had been weeks since I’d last seen Joe, and even though I had tried to push it aside, I couldn’t help but wonder where he was—what he was doing. The thought of him, with Emily, made me feel unsettled, even though I had no right to feel that way. We weren’t together, and I hadn’t even talked to him in days. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“Hey, you made it!” Ryan’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to see him standing in front of me, his signature grin plastered on his face. His green eyes sparkled with excitement as he stood there, dressed in a white t-shirt that was quickly becoming a canvas of color.

“Of course I did,” I replied with a smile, my voice almost a little too eager. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Ryan laughed, running a hand through his hair. “You seem pretty pumped about this. You’ve done this before, right?”

I shook my head, my excitement making my voice lighter. “No, first time. But it’s a good start.” I motioned to the crowd. “This is insane, though. Everyone’s already covered in paint.”

He shrugged, his smile still warm. “Yeah, that’s the fun part. You’ll get used to it.” His tone was casual, but there was a spark in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore.

We spent the next few minutes chatting and laughing, getting completely covered in the neon powders. As much as I was enjoying his company, my mind kept drifting back to Joe. It wasn’t like me to get caught up in thoughts of him, especially when there was so much fun happening around me. But every now and then, I found myself scanning the crowd, looking for a familiar face.

I tried to push it away, but my heart skipped a beat when I finally spotted him.

Joe.

He was standing near the edge of the crowd, looking relaxed, laughing with his friends. But it was something in the way he stood that caught my attention—something that made my chest tighten. His hair was messier than usual, and his eyes sparkled with laughter. There was a magnetic pull toward him, an undeniable connection that seemed to draw me in.

But just as I started to walk toward him, something caught my eye. Emily. She was standing next to him, a flirtatious grin plastered on her face, her hand casually resting on his arm. They looked... good together, and it made something in my chest clench painfully.

For a moment, I stood frozen, my feet glued to the ground as I watched them interact. Joe was laughing, his hand resting on the small of Emily’s back as they shared a quiet joke. The warmth that had bloomed inside me earlier began to dissipate, replaced by an unexpected rush of jealousy and hurt.

I quickly turned away, feeling a knot form in my stomach. Why did it bother me so much to see him with her? Was it because I wanted it to be me? The thought of Joe and Emily together made my heart ache, and I couldn’t quite place why.

“Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to see him looking at me with concern.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil swirling inside me. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched. “Just... I wasn’t expecting to see him here.”

Ryan frowned but didn’t press me further. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “I’m good. Really.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy that shot through me. Why did it hurt so much to see him with her?

JOE BURROW.

I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me. I should’ve been having fun, should’ve been caught up in the excitement of the festival, but all I could think about was Y/N. It wasn’t like me to obsess over her like this, but ever since the whole thing with Emily started, it was like my mind couldn’t stop wandering back to her.

Emily and I had spent most of the day together, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Something about her felt distant, and the more time we spent together, the more I realized that I wasn’t really into her like I thought I was.

We were walking through the crowd when I caught a glimpse of Y/N from across the field. My heart nearly stopped. She looked stunning—her hair a mess of curls, her face bright with excitement, and her eyes sparkling even from a distance. I couldn’t help but stare, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emily standing next to me.

“Joe,” she said, tugging at my sleeve. “You’ve been spacing out all day. What’s up with you?”

I glanced at her, my mind still on Y/N. “Nothing,” I muttered, forcing a smile.

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. But before she could say anything, I turned to see Y/N’s eyes on me. For a brief second, our gazes locked, and I felt that familiar connection, the one I’d been trying to ignore for weeks now. But then, just as quickly, Y/N looked away, turning toward Ryan.

Something in me twisted.

“Let’s go drink something,” Emily suggested, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, trying to shake the lingering thoughts of Y/N. But as we walked toward the bar area, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder, my eyes searching for her in the crowd. She was laughing, talking to Ryan, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Something inside me clenched.

I needed to talk to her. But I didn’t know how.

Y/N

The music was deafening, the kind that pulsed through your veins and made the ground tremble beneath your feet. The air was thick with color, clouds of neon powder mixing with the humid evening air, clinging to our sweaty skin. I didn’t care. Not tonight.

Lauren grabbed my hand, pulling me further into the crowd as "Wake Me Up" by Avicii blared from the speakers. Everyone around us was jumping, laughing, and singing along at the top of their lungs, their energy infectious. I let out a laugh, throwing my arms in the air and spinning in a circle as Lauren cheered me on.

“You look like a walking rainbow!” she shouted over the music, pointing to the streaks of blue, pink, and green that covered my face and clothes.

“You too!” I shot back, laughing as I reached for another drink. The plastic cup in my hand was cold, the liquid a too-sweet mix of something fruity and alcohol that I couldn’t quite place. It didn’t matter. I needed this—needed to feel free, to let go of the weight that had been sitting on my chest ever since I saw Joe at the festival earlier.

It was stupid to care so much. He had Emily now. They were happy, or at least it seemed that way. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him—about the way he had looked at me earlier, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Y/N!” Ryan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see him weaving through the crowd, his white t-shirt smeared with streaks of color. He looked happy, carefree, his green eyes sparkling under the festival lights.

“Hey!” I said, forcing a smile as he reached me.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, grinning as he leaned in closer, his voice warm and inviting.

“I am,” I replied, taking another sip of my drink. “This is crazy, though. I don’t think I’ve ever been this covered in paint.”

He laughed, his hand brushing against mine as he gestured to the crowd. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To let loose, have fun?”

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Ryan was sweet—funny, easy to talk to. He didn’t make my heart race the way Joe did, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I needed someone who didn’t complicate things, someone who wasn’t tied to years of messy emotions and unspoken feelings.

So when Ryan leaned in, his hand resting gently on my waist as he tilted his head, I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let myself close the gap, pressing my lips to his.

And like that, I was kissing him.

JOE BURROW.

I spotted her the second it happened.

It was like the world had slowed down for a moment, everything else fading into the background as I stood there, frozen in place, watching Y/N kiss Ryan.

My chest tightened, an uncomfortable heat spreading through me as I clenched my fists at my sides. I told myself I had no right to feel this way—no right to be angry or jealous. She wasn’t mine. She never had been.

And yet, the sight of her with him made my stomach churn.

Avicii was still playing, on the back of my head. I could hear them, and my skin was burning.

“Joe?” Emily’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see her looking up at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been acting weird all night, man. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, glancing back toward Y/N.

Emily followed my gaze, her expression darkening when she saw what I was looking at. “Oh,” she said flatly. “It’s her.”

I didn’t respond, my jaw tightening as I watched Ryan pull Y/N closer, his hands resting on her waist.

Emily let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, finally turning to face her.

“You’re obsessed with her,” she said, her voice laced with frustration. “It’s like she’s all you think about.”

“I’m not—” I started, but Emily cut me off.

“Save it, Joe,” she said, stepping back. “If you’re so worried about her, maybe you should just go talk to her.”

“Where are you going?” I snapped.

“I know my way home.”

For a moment, I just stood there, watching as Emily walked away. She was right. I couldn’t stand here and pretend like I didn’t care.

I found Y/N near the edge of the crowd, her cheeks flushed and her hair a mess of curls streaked with neon colors. She was laughing with her friends, her cup half-empty in her hand, and Ryan stood beside her, his hand casually brushing against her arm as he leaned in to say something. My chest tightened at the sight.

“Y/N,” I called out, my voice louder than I intended.

She turned to look at me, her smile fading when she saw the look on my face. “Joe?”

“We need to talk,” I said firmly, ignoring the curious looks from her friends.

“Now?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes, now,” I insisted.

She sighed, handing her cup to Lauren before following me a few steps away from the crowd. “What’s so important that you had to interrupt my night? I was having fun!” she asked, her tone a little sharp.

I hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words, but the frustration bubbling inside me wouldn’t let me stay quiet. “I don’t trust him, Y/N,” I said finally, my voice low.

“Who?” she asked, crossing her arms defensively. But when she looked behind her, her mind got brighter.

“Yes, Ryan,” I said, my frustration boiling over. “I don’t think he’s good for you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You barely know him, Joe. How can you say that? He’s a nice guy, and he’s on your football team.”

“I know enough,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “I see the way he looks at you. He doesn’t care about you, Y/N. He just wants—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” I said, my tone softening as I stepped closer.

“Protect me?” she repeated, her voice rising in anger. “Joe, I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. You don’t get to decide who’s good enough for me.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off, her voice trembling now. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re so caught up in this idea that you have to ‘protect me’ that you don’t even realize how controlling you’re being. It’s exhausting, Joe. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” I said, my voice quieter now.

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” she said, her expression softening with sadness. “You’ve always done this. You act like I can’t make my own decisions, like I don’t know what’s best for me.”

I stood there, speechless, the weight of her words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

“And if you think Ryan isn’t good enough,” she continued, her voice breaking, “then who is, Joe? Tell me, who’s the perfect person for me in your eyes?”

I froze, the answer sitting on the tip of my tongue but refusing to come out.

It 's me, Y/N. I’m the perfect guy.

It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one that kissed you. It's been you since we were kids.

But I said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” she said bitterly, tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head. “You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you?” She took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes before looking up at me with a sad smile. “I can’t keep doing this, Joe. I can’t keep pretending that this… whatever this is between us, isn’t tearing me apart.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying I need space,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tears running down her cheeks. “I need to figure out who I am without you constantly hovering over me, questioning my choices.”

“Y/N, you don’t mean that, we are best friends.” I said, panic rising in my chest.

“I do,” she said, stepping back.

Her words felt like a knife to the chest, and I could only stand there, helpless, as she turned away.

“Don’t look for me, please. Just… just leave me alone.” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the festival.

And just like that, she walked back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there alone, the neon lights casting long shadows on the ground between us.

#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joeburrow #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #bengals #joe burrow angst

57 notes · View notes