#OSU campus

[federal-reserve-bonds-dog]

Guy Christensen is no longer enrolled at OSU over his antisemitic social media activity.

[digitalcockroach]

chose the first furry webcomic i saw on a site and its fucking set in Oregon come on

[cavydude]

Anyone still here who remembers ten years ago when my uni won the sportball? Well they finally did it again :D

[buggybee48]

OSU football culture is crazy

[honeyncherry]

secret of us IV - joe burrow

summary tick tock joe, your time is running out. you'd better make your move before she slips away for good

content angst, swearing, slow burn

part three ; next

For as long as he can recall, Joe has always been a victim of Impostor Syndrome. No matter how many accolades he earned or how many times he proved himself, it was never enough. The feeling stayed, an insistent voice that whispered he didn’t belong. That he wasn’t enough. It crept into the moments that should have felt triumphant, dulling their shine, leaving him wondering when the world would realize he was just faking it more than not.

Love, he’d always thought, was the same. Not him, not something he deserved. How could it be when he was constantly battling the belief that he wasn’t enough. Not good enough, not selfless enough, not strong enough to hold on to something as rare as love? He’d convinced himself he was too flawed, too guarded, and too consumed by the weight of his own insecurities to ever be someone’s safe haven.

He believed love deserved someone who wasn’t afraid of it, someone who wouldn’t ruin it just by trying to hold on too tightly.

​​With a life that’s always been marked by transience — teammates who came and went, fans whose loyalty burned bright but faded just as quickly, and moments of glory that felt fleeting the second the final whistle blew, Joe had learned to live with uncertainty. The instability of it all only reinforced his doubts, leaving him convinced that nothing good ever stayed. Not for long. Not for him.

It was a quiet ache, the kind that didn’t scream or demand attention but lingered in the corners of his mind. He’d felt it since he was young, though he couldn’t name it then. It was the echo of his mom’s laughter when she thought he wasn’t listening, the way his dad’s hand would rest on his shoulder after a tough game. It was fleeting gestures, not foundations. And maybe that was the problem: he didn’t know how to believe in something that wouldn’t slip away.

But then you came around.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment you became different, no single flashpoint where everything shifted. Maybe it was that first week at OSU, when you sat beside him on a ratty couch at a teammate’s house party.

He’d been perched on the edge of the couch, nursing a drink he didn’t want, his knee bouncing with restless energy. The party felt too loud, too crowded, like he was watching from behind a pane of glass instead of being part of it. Then you sat down beside him, close enough that your leg brushed his.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” you’d said, your voice loud enough to cut through the music but soft enough to feel like a secret.

Startled, he’d glanced at you, unsure how to respond. “Not really my scene,” he finally admitted, his voice low and uncertain.

You’d laughed, a bright, easy sound that made his shoulders drop a fraction. “Same. My friends dragged me here against my will.” You paused, your eyes scanning the room as if you were searching for a way out. Joe thought that might be the end of it, just another fleeting exchange.

But then you straightened up, turning toward him with a curious tilt of your head. “Want to get some air?”

He didn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him, like you weren’t judging him for feeling out of place. Or maybe it was because, for the first time since arriving on campus, he felt like he’d found someone worth knowing. Not his roommate, who was overly eager about sharing a room with someone on the team. Not even his teammates, who barely acknowledged him off the field.

That night, sitting with you on the back steps of the house, talking about anything and everything, felt like the first time in ages he could just breathe.

That was the first thread.

Then there was the aftermath of the 2020 game against Clemson. The field was a frenzy. Players shouting, confetti raining down like a golden storm, and fans roaring from the stands. Reporters swarmed coaches and teammates, microphones jostling for space, cameras snapping endlessly. It was chaos, beautiful and overwhelming.

The National Championship. They’d done it. He’d done it.

Joe let out a shaky laugh, raking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair as a teammate clapped him hard on the back. His body felt like it had been through a war, bruised and battered, but he barely noticed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, numbing the aches. This was it. The moment he’d dreamed of since he was a kid. Yet, standing in the middle of the confetti-strewn field, it still didn’t feel entirely real.

Reporters pushed toward him, but their questions blurred into static. He answered on autopilot, the words coming easily. Praise the team. Credit the coaches. Downplay his own role. He meant every word, but beneath it all was a flicker of something else. A nagging itch he hadn’t been able to shake all day.

You weren’t here.

You’d called a few days before, your voice every bit apologetic. “It’s a family wedding, Joe. I hate missing this, but I’ll be glued to ESPN, screaming at every play. You’re going to kill it.”

He’d smiled through the phone, forcing himself to sound unaffected. “It’s fine. You’ve got stuff to do.”

But it wasn’t fine to him. Not really. He knew it was selfish, knew he should’ve been grateful you even cared enough to tell him beforehand. But the thought still crept in uninvitedly. You’d been there for so many games, cheering him on with that unwavering support that he didn’t always know how to handle. And now, at the biggest moment of his career, you weren’t.

He swallowed the thought, trying to shake the disappointment. The crowd was still chanting, the cameras still flashing, and the night was far from over. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it.

But then, as he glanced toward the edge of the field, something caught his eye.

At first, it was just a glimpse — a flash of familiarity near the barricade. His eyes caught on the figure for a moment before darting away, his chest tightening instinctively. No, it couldn’t be. It was just the uproar messing with his head, the exhaustion playing tricks on him.

But it plagued him, begging for his attention.

Joe hesitated.

What if he was wrong? What if it wasn’t you? The thought made his stomach twist, disappointment threatening to creep in yet again before he could stop it. He told himself to let it go, to focus on the celebration. But he stood frozen in place.

Against his better judgment, he turned fully toward the sight, his heart thudding in his chest.

And there you were.

Standing near the barricade, mid-conversation with a friend, your profile unmistakable under the glow of the stadium lights. His breath caught, the air rushing out of his lungs like he’d been tackled. It was you.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, his mind scrambling to catch up. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. You had obligations. You’d told him yourself. 

And yet, here you were, real and undeniable as if the universe had decided to drop you into the middle of his mayhem just to remind him you were always there when it mattered most.

Your friend nudged you, pointing in his direction. You turned, eyes meeting his from across the distance.

The moment stretched, a fragile thread holding the two of you in place.

Then you smiled, a soft, warming smile that seemed to slow the madness around him. His chest tightened, the thrum of his pulse roaring in his ears as his breath caught. He watched as you lifted your hand, fingers curling into a small, hesitant wave. The gesture felt delicate, almost cautious, as if you were feeling your way through the moment, unsure of how he might react.

Joe felt frozen, his legs rooted in the turf, but everything inside him surged forward.

You were here.

Before he could stop himself, he was moving. The reporters were focused on the coaches, giving him a chance to slip away unnoticed. His legs felt heavy, his body sore, but none of that mattered. He jogged toward you, the noise of the stadium fading with every step.

When he reached the barricade, he didn’t think twice. He leaned over and pulled you into his arms, his face burying into the curve of your neck.

“You’re here,” he breathed, his voice crackled with emotion.

“Of course I am,” you said, words muffled as you held him just as tightly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He pulled back slightly, hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes searched your face. “You lied about the wedding?”

A mischievous grin spread across your face, one that made his heart skip a beat. “Maybe. I thought a surprise would be more fun.”

Joe laughed, a sound that was part disbelief and part relief, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, just for you.

Before he could say more, he felt a strong arm hook around his waist.

“Burrow! Come on, man!” Ja’Marr cheered, tugging him back toward the crowd. Joe reluctantly let go of you, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll find you later,” he grinned quickly, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

As he was dragged back into the chaos, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, searching for you in the crowd. You were still standing there, watching him with a smile that made everything else melt away.

The noise, the confetti, the cameras, it all felt secondary. Because in that moment, to Joe, the championship wasn’t just about the trophy or the victory.

It was about you. The way you were there for him. Every. Single. Time.

That thread was golden.

Or maybe it was later, on those long nights during his rookie year with the Bengals. When the weight of expectations pressed heavy on his chest and your voice on the other end of the line was the only thing that could keep him grounded.

He remembered one night in particular. The season had been brutal thus far, each game feeling like another test he wasn’t sure he could pass. He’d spent the day running drills, analyzing film, and listening to coaches dissect every decision he’d made on and off the field. By the time he got home, his house felt suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that left him alone with his doubts.

He’d called you without thinking, the phone pressed tightly to his ear as he finally took a second to sit down. “I feel like I’m drowning,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His voice faltered in a way he hadn’t meant for you to hear, betraying just how close he was to breaking. 

You didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not drowning, Joe,” you said, your voice steady and sure. “You’re just in deep water. You know how to swim.”

He let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “A swimming reference? Really? What am I, Phelps?” he asked, half-smirking, half-expecting you to laugh it off.

“Yeah, I am,” you shot back, unfazed. “Because it’s true. You’re a better swimmer than you give yourself credit for.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head as he sank deeper into the couch. “What if I forgot how?” he played along, the doubt still clinging to his words.

“Then I’ll jump in after you,” you replied, the words so calm and certain that they made him pause. At first, he thought you were joking, but the conviction in your tone made his head spin. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to process what you’d just said.

It wasn’t the first time someone had offered support. Though, oftentimes, it felt hollow coming from them. People would praise him then turn their backs and mock him when he wasn’t looking. But with you, it was different. Your belief in him didn’t feel fake or conditional. It felt real, unshakable and right in a way that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“Why are you so sure I’ll figure it out?” he’d asked, his voice softer now, the pressure loosening just enough to let him breathe.

“Because you’re you,” you said simply. “And I’ve never known you to back down from anything. Even if you feel like you’re sinking now, you’ll get through it. You always do.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he closed his eyes and let your voice wash over him as you started talking about your day — little things like the mix-up at the printing machine that morning or the neighbor who’d just adopted a cat. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but it was exactly what he needed. Enough to pull him out of his head, enough to ease the tension in his body and mind until he could finally sit still.

This was the thread that held everything together.

Joe had, overall, always been good at keeping things in their place. It’s what made him excel under pressure, what allowed him to keep his head when everything around him spun out of control. But you? You blurred the lines. You seeped into the cracks he’d worked so hard to seal, and he hated you for it almost as much as he loved you for it.

It took him years to understand it. Years of standing too close yet not close enough, of watching you steal his hoodies and tease him about his game-day routines, of feeling your hand brush his arm in ways that left his skin tingling long after. Years of telling himself it was just friendship, because anything else felt too big, too dangerous.

And then it hit him.

It wasn’t a revelation that came in a rush or a sudden burst of clarity. It crept in slowly, like the tide pulling back just enough to reveal what had always been there. Joe loved you. He’d loved you for longer than he could admit to himself. And the weight of it? It was crushing.

He was always terrified of losing control, of letting his emotions dictate his decisions. Football demanded a sort of precision: discipline so ruthless it bordered on obsession, a singular focus that left no room for distractions or vulnerability. Every play, every moment on the field, required him to suppress the nagging sentiments inside, to bury the doubts and emotions that had built up over the years and threatened to surface.

Anything less than perfect control felt like weakness, and weakness wasn’t something he could afford. Not on the field. Not off it. 

But you? You were the exception. The one thing he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried.

Joe thought about the night you’d shown up at his house, your voice trembling as you demanded answers he wasn’t ready to give. The way your eyes searched his, raw and pleading, left him feeling more exposed than he’d ever been on any field. He’d wanted to tell you then. He wanted to reach for you, pull you close, and let the words spill out in an unstoppable manner.

But he froze. The fear clawing at his chest was too strong to ignore. Fear of ruining what you had. Fear of being too much, or worse, not enough. Fear of you seeing the parts of him he’d worked so hard to bury. The parts that weren’t perfect or polished. The parts that felt fragile in a way he couldn’t admit, even to himself.

So now, sitting in his car outside the bar, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached, he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep running from this, from you. It wasn’t just about the guilt — though that was part of it. It was about the pain of your absence, the way it haunted him in ways he couldn’t ignore.

​​The sound of Drew’s voice echoed, dragging him back to earlier that day.

The call started off casual… until Drew’s tone shifted mid-sentence.

“Oh, yeah, we’re hitting that new bar tonight—” Drew began, only for Mia’s voice to cut in sharply from the background. “Drew!”

Joe frowned, catching the muffled sound of Mia hissing something he couldn’t make out. There was a pause, the sound of rustling, and then Drew’s voice returned, noticeably higher-pitched and nervous. “Uh, never mind. It’s not important.”

“What bar?” Joe asked, the question coming out sharper than he intended.

“It’s nothing, man,” Drew said quickly, his words tripping over themselves. “Just a thing Claire planned. Don’t worry about it.”

Joe’s brows furrowed, his grip on his phone tightening. “A thing? You’re being weird, Drew.”

“I’m not being weird!” Drew replied too fast. “Just… you know how the girls get when they’re planning stuff. Look, I've gotta go, man. I’ll talk to you later.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Joe staring at the screen, unease prickling at him. Drew was hiding something. He was sure of it.

Later, after hours of the conversation looping endlessly in his mind, Joe finally bit the bullet and texted Drew.

Joe: What’s going on with this bar thing? Don’t lie to me.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Joe’s stomach churned as the seconds dragged on. Finally, a response came through.

Drew: It’s nothing serious. Just a casual thing.

Joe’s jaw clenched as he stared at the message. He tapped out a reply.

Joe: Who’s going?

Another long pause.

Drew: Me, Mia, Claire, Lily. A few others.

The answer was too vague, and Joe knew Drew well enough to recognize when he was dodging. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

Joe: Is she going?

The reply came faster this time.

Drew: Yeah. I think so.

He exhaled slowly, a knot forming in his stomach as the next question pressed forward, almost on instinct.

Joe: Why wouldn’t Mia want me to know?

Yet again, the typing bubble appeared, vanished, and then reappeared, as if mocking him with its cruel, drawn-out rhythm. Each second stretched unbearably until Drew’s response finally arrived.

Drew: Claire’s bringing some guy to meet her.

Joe stared at the screen. The words blurred as his mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing through his head, none of them good.

Joe: What guy?

Drew: I don’t know. Just some friend of hers. She’s been hyping him up for a while.

Joe: You knew about this?

Drew: Not really. Mia didn’t tell me much. She didn’t want you to find out.

His thoughts spiraled, building into a picture he didn’t want to see but couldn’t ignore. He read it again, the weight of the implication sinking in.

That’s all it took.

Now, sitting in the quiet of his car, Joe leaned back against the headrest, his eyes slipping shut as memories crept in. Your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing like it belonged to the very fabric of the room. The nights you’d sat cross-legged on his couch, the furrow in your brow deepening as you stubbornly argued over which movie to watch — maddening, yet somehow the one of the most endearing things about you. And the way you’d looked at him, your gaze piercing, like you could see straight through every boundary he’d ever built.

It wasn’t new. None of it was. He’d always loved you. He could see that now, clear as day, and it had taken him far too long to accept it. Joe saw no point in fighting the pull of something that felt as natural as breathing.

The thought of walking into that bar, of seeing you standing there with someone else, made his head hurt in ways he didn’t want to explain. But it wasn’t just jealousy that drove him now. It wasn’t just the idea of someone else holding the space he wanted so desperately to claim. It was deeper than that.

It was the need to stop running. To tell you everything. Lay it all bare and let you decide what comes next, because the idea of losing you, not just as a possibility but as a certainty — was unbearable.

If he didn’t go in now, if he let this moment slip through his fingers, he knew he’d never forgive himself.

Joe opened his eyes, exhaling slowly as he reached for the door handle. The weight in his chest didn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. It wasn’t gone, but it was manageable. For the first time in a long time, he felt grounded in who he was.

Because this time, he wasn’t running.

Joe entered the bar, weaving his way through as the crowd shifted and broke around him, creating a path he barely noticed. His mind raced with everything he wanted to say, but had no idea how to begin. 

He found his friends easily, and when he reached the table, the tension was immediate, a heavy cloud settling over the group.

Mia noticed first. Her expression softened, a mix of pity and quiet concern etched into her features. Drew, on the other hand, couldn’t even meet Joe’s gaze for more than a second. His back straightened like he’d been caught sneaking out past curfew, staring intently at his drink like it might save him from the confrontation brewing. Claire didn’t bother hiding her displeasure, her glare vicious. Predictably, she was the first to speak.

“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

Joe didn’t even look at her. His focus was locked on Drew, the words tumbling out. “Where is she?”

Drew hesitated, glancing nervously at Mia, who gave him a pointed look that said; You got yourself into this. “Uh…” Drew stammered. “She’s at the bar.”

Joe didn’t wait for more. He turned on his heel, his movements purposeful as he wove back through the crowd toward the bar. Behind him, he could hear Claire muttering something under her breath, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was you.

And when Joe spotted you, he stopped just short of the bar, his eyes narrowing. You stood with one hand resting lightly on the counter, nodding at something the guy next to you was saying. Your lips curved into a faint smile, head tilted slightly, but something was off.

From a distance it might’ve looked like you were interested, though, Joe noticed the way your gaze drifted. Your tight-lipped smile didn’t reach your eyes and your attention flickered away, glancing toward the bottles behind the counter as if they were more interesting than the guy next to you. You were looking for a way out.

Joe shifted his weight, his attention snapping to the guy. He was… average. Polished in a way that felt like he was trying too hard. Neatly pressed shirt, carefully styled hair, and a smile that bordered on overconfident. Joe felt his jaw tighten. This is the guy Claire thinks you should be with? This is who she thinks is worth your time?

As he stopped just behind you, the guy’s voice drifted over. Something about the lighting in the bar, or maybe the music. It was mundane, predictable, and Joe smirked. He wasn’t surprised you weren’t invested. Of course you’re bored, he thought. This guy’s got the personality of a waiting room.

Joe tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he caught the guy’s words falter mid-sentence. He hadn’t even spoken yet, but his presence alone was already throwing the guy. Before Joe could step closer, you turned, your gaze following the guy’s faltering focus.

And then you saw him.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a fleeting second, everything else seemed to fall silent. Joe paused as he took in the way your expression shifted. Surprise, confusion, something else he couldn’t quite place. He held your gaze, unflinching, his jaw tight as he tried to dissect the emotions screening across your face.

The soft glow of the bar lights cast a warm halo around you, catching in your hair and highlighting the faint furrow in your brow. Your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, but no words came.

Joe didn’t speak either, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours, the unspoken tension crackling between you like a live wire.

He let the moment stretch, another faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He finally stepped to your side, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise that ebbed back in. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, his tone smooth and laced with just enough edge to make his authority known.

His gaze flicked briefly to the guy before landing back on you. “Sounded like a real captivating conversation.”

The guy shifted uneasily, clearing his throat but offering no reply.

You? You just stared up at Joe, wide-eyed and silence.

For a moment, the world held its breath, leaving only the three of you in this precarious, unbalanced triangle.

Joe? Joe wasn’t about to let the balance tip away from him.

The turned toward Joe, the strain in his polite smile visible. “Uh… can I help you with something?”

Joe barely looked at him. “Not unless you plan on leaving,” he said, his attention fixing entirely on you once more. He didn’t miss the glint of something different in your eyes — annoyance, perhaps, or was it relief? His voice dropped, leaning just close enough for you to hear over the noise.

“We need to talk.”

You hesitated, your hand tightening slightly on the edge of the bartop. “Now?”

Joe nodded, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Yeah. Now.”

You glanced briefly at the guy, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, maybe intervene. But Joe’s glare sliced through whatever courage he might have been mustering. He thought twice, shoulders stiffening as his hands lifted in a silent gesture of surrender.

With a small nod — whether it was understanding or reluctant resignation, Joe couldn’t be sure — the guy stepped back and turned, making his way through the crowd toward the table where the others sat. Joe caught a brief glimpse of Mia’s unsure frown and Drew’s poorly concealed grimace, but he didn’t pay mind to them.

He didn’t care.

His focus was locked entirely on you.

“Let’s go,” he said.

You hesitated, glancing between him and the group at the table. “But, Joe—”

“Now,” he repeated, cutting you off. There was no bite in his tone, but the urgency was impossible to ignore.

Without another word, Joe reached for your wrist. His touch was firm but not rough as he turned toward the exit, his grip guiding you to the exit. You followed without protest, your steps quickening to keep pace with his long strides.

Joe caught the faint shiver that passed through you the moment the cool night air hit your faces. He didn’t stop, didn’t loosen his grip on your wrist, but his stride slowed just enough for you to keep up.

The rowdiness of the bar gradually faded behind you, replaced by the whir of traffic and the occasional burst of muffled laughter from people on the streets. Joe kept moving, leading you past the glowing streetlamps and the lingering smokers, until he turned sharply into a narrow alleyway.

As soon as he stopped, he let go of your wrist, stepping back as if to put space between his own chaotic emotions and you. The alley was dim, the faint light from a singular light nearby casting jagged shadows against the brick walls. Joe faced you, his shoulders rigid, jaw set. His lips parted, but the words didn’t come immediately.

“Well?” you demanded, your voice clipped. “You dragged me out here. Are you going to say something, or should I just head back?”

Joe’s brow furrowed, the bite in your tone stinging more than it should have. He exhaled hard through his nose, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his otherwise steady demeanor. “Why were you with him?”

“Why do you care?” you fired back, chin lifting.

“I asked first.” His voice was short now, mirroring yours.

“And I’m asking why it matters,” you countered, your head tilting slightly as you took a step closer.

“Because it does!” The words came out harsher than he intended, bouncing off the narrow walls of the alley. His hand dragged through his hair, tugging at the roots in a futile attempt to soothe the building headache. “It matters because I couldn’t stand seeing you with him. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your eyes widened, your weight shifting as if the force of his words had pushed you back. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t stand it’? Since when do you care who I’m with?”

Joe glanced away, his jaw clenching tightly as he fought the impulse to retreat. His hands flexed at his sides, the memory of the guy’s too-eager grin still gnawing at the edges of his self-control. “Since always,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground.

You scoffed, the sound disbelieving as you shook your head. “That’s a convenient thing to say now.”

The bitterness in your voice hit like a low blow. Joe flinched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as the frustration boiled over. 

He paused. “Just… seeing you with him tonight—” His voice wavered, the words stalling as if they physically pained him to say. His breath hitched, each syllable dragging itself out, “I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Your arms loosened slightly, the edge in your expression and voice easing enough to make him pause. “Ignore what, Joe?”

The words hung unavoidably in the silence between you. Joe’s eyes lifted to meet yours, searching for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to give. Vulnerability clawed at him, splintering the guarded facade he’d clung to so desperately — but there was no point in hiding anymore.

“Joe,” you prompted again, this time so softly it was almost a whisper.

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against the faint edge of your crossed arms. “Just tell me,” he said, his voice lower now, tainted with desperation. His arms twitched, like they wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “Tell me it doesn’t matter to you. Tell me you want to go back to him, to anyone, and I’ll walk away. But if it’s not him, if there’s even the smallest part of you that feels—” His voice broke slightly, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “Just say it. Please.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Joe’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his lungs feeling tight as if he’d forgotten how to breathe, the seconds stretching unbearably. Then, slowly, you shook your head, the motion subtle but certain.

“It’s not him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joe exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of relief so intense it felt like it might crush him. His pulse still hounded in his ears, but it wasn’t chaos, it was clarity.

Of course it’s not him. He’d known it before he asked, before you even shook your head. Joe knew you, and he knew that guy wasn’t you. Could never be. The realization settled inside him, carrying a flicker of hope so bright it nearly hurt to hold.

He didn’t realize he’d stumbled closer until he caught a faint whiff of your perfume, the scent pulling him in like it always did. You were so close now, he could feel the faint warmth of your breath brushing his skin.

“Okay,” Joe rasped, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat, using his hands to shake the nerves before bringing them together in front of him. His knuckles cracked softly as he flexed them, his fingers fidgeting in an unconscious rhythm. He took a deep breath to compose himself.

“Okay, wait. I— there’s something I need to say. And I’m probably going to screw it up, because that’s just what I do, but I need to say it anyway.”

You didn’t respond, just looked at him, waiting. Joe placed his hands on his hips, “I didn’t plan this. Hell, I didn’t even plan on being here tonight. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away. Not after Drew told me what Claire was doing. Especially not after seeing you sitting with him, talking to him.”

A bitter laugh slipped out, self-directed and harsh. “And I know, I know I don’t have any right to feel like that. I’ve been distant. A dick. Call it whatever you want. But the truth is… I couldn’t handle it. You. Us. All of it. Because every time I was near you, I felt like I was standing too close to something I didn’t know how to handle.”

Joe hesitated, his throat constricting, his next words quieter, spoken with effort. “But it wasn’t the kind of edge you run from. It was the kind you jump off. Because being around you — being near you, it’s like nothing else fits. Nothing else makes sense. And I’m so goddamn tired of pretending it’s anything else.”

He let the words settle between you, the meaning of them filling the air. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

“I love you,” he said finally, the words falling between you like they’d been waiting there all along. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Maybe longer than I’ve even let myself admit. But I was too scared to say it. I was too scared of screwing it all up and losing the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Joe’s gaze stayed locked on yours, unflinching, his body tensing like he wanted to close the space between you. “But tonight, thinking of you with someone else… it hit me. I’m not scared of losing you anymore. I’m scared of not trying. Of letting you walk away without knowing how much you mean to me.”

His breath hitched, the final words trembling on his lips. “So, yeah. That’s it. That’s what I needed to say.”

The air felt heavy, thick with everything he’d just admitted. For a moment, you simply stared at him, your lips parting as if to say something, but no sound came. 

The confession curled in the air between you. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything more, as if he’d laid everything he had at your feet and was now waiting, bracing, for what you would do with it. 

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the briefest moment, he thought he caught it: a flicker of a smile, faint but unmistakable. Like maybe, just maybe, you were about to let him in. Joe’s heart jumped in anticipation.

You opened your mouth—

Flash!

The blinding light sliced through the moment, echoing through the stillness of the alleyway, leaving quiet in tatters.

Flash.

[reasonsforhope]

"Growing up, Mackenzee Thompson always wanted a deeper connection with her tribe and culture.

The 26-year-old member of the Choctaw Nation said she grew up outside of her tribe’s reservation and wasn’t sure what her place within the Indigenous community would be.

Through a first-of-its-kind program, Thompson said she’s now figured out how she can best serve her people — as a doctor.

Thompson is graduating as part of the inaugural class from Oklahoma State University’s College of Osteopathic Medicine at the Cherokee Nation. It’s the first physician training program on a Native American reservation and in affiliation with a tribal government, according to school and tribal officials.

“I couldn’t even have dreamed this up,” she said. “To be able to serve my people and learn more about my culture is so exciting. I have learned so much already.”

Thompson is one of nine Native graduates, who make up more than 20 percent of the class of 46 students, said Dr. Natasha Bray, the school’s dean. There are an additional 15 Native students graduating from the school’s Tulsa campus.

The OSU-COM graduates include students from 14 different tribes, including Cherokee, Choctaw, Muscogee, Seminole, Chickasaw, Alaska Native, Caddo, and Osage.

Bray said OSU partnered with the Cherokee Nation to open the school in 2020 to help erase the shortage of Indigenous doctors nationwide. There are about 841,000 active physicians practicing in the United States. Of those, nearly 2,500 — or 0.3 percent — are Native American, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges.

When American Indian and Alaska Native people visit Indian Health Service clinics, there aren’t enough doctors or nurses to provide “quality and timely health care,” according to a 2018 report from the Government Accountability Office. On average, a quarter of IHS provider positions — from physicians to nurses and other care positions –are vacant.

“These students here are going to make a generational impact,” Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Chuck Hoskin Jr. told the students days before graduation. “There is such a need in this state and in this region for physicians and this school was created out of a concern about the pipeline of doctors into our health system.”

The Cherokee Nation spent $40 million to build the college in its capital of Tahlequah. The walls of the campus feature artifacts of Cherokee culture as well as paintings to remember important figures from Cherokee history. An oath of commitment on the wall is written in both English and Cherokee.

The physician training program was launched in the first year of the pandemic.

Bray said OSU and Cherokee leadership felt it was important to have the school in the heart of the Cherokee Nation, home to more than 141,000 people, because students would be able to get experience treating Indigenous patients. In Tahlequah, students live and study in a small town about an hour east of Tulsa with a population of less than 24,000 people.

“While many students learn about the problems facing these rural communities,” Bray said. “Our students are getting to see them firsthand and learn from those experiences.”

While students from the college are free to choose where to complete their residency after graduation, an emphasis is placed on serving rural and Indigenous areas of the country.

There’s also a severe lack of physicians in rural America, a shortage that existed before the COVID-19 pandemic. The Association of American Medical Colleges has projected that rural counties could see a shortage between 37,800 and 124,000 physicians by 2034. An additional 180,000 doctors would be needed in rural counties and other underserved populations to make up the difference.

Bray said OSU saw an opportunity to not only help correct the underrepresentation of Native physicians but also fill a workforce need to help serve and improve health care outcomes in rural populations.

“We knew we’d need to identify students who had a desire to serve these communities and also stay in these communities,” she said.

Osteopathic doctors, or DOs, have the same qualifications and training as allopathic doctors, or MDs, but the two types of doctors attend different schools. While MDs learn from traditional programs, DOs take on additional training at osteopathic schools that focus on holistic medicine, like how to reduce patient discomfort by physically manipulating muscles and bones. DOs are more likely to work in primary care and rural areas to help combat the health care shortages in those areas.

As part of the curriculum, the school invited Native elders and healers to help teach students about Indigenous science and practices...

Thompson said she was able to bring those experiences into her appointments. Instead of asking only standard doctor questions, she’s been getting curious and asking about her patient’s diets, and if they are taking any natural remedies.

“It’s our mission to be as culturally competent as we can,” she said. “Learning this is making me not only a better doctor but helping patients trust me more.”

-via PBS NewsHour, May 23, 2024

[trevuorzegras]

BLOOD TRAITOR 　LUKE HUGHES

　　　luke hughes x fem OSU!reader

SUMMARY 　after following her family’s expectations to ohio state, y/n’s world shifts when her bestfriend tyler duke transfers to michigan. leading her to an unexpected connection with his teammate, luke.

contains 　family pressure, college rival romance, semi plot, mentions of platonic tyler duke x reader, use of y/n.

note 　this is for @lukesfawn!!

　　BEFORE COLLEGE, y/n had no clue what she wanted to do with her life. She had always known she was good at communicating, but was that really something to build a future on? The uncertainty weighed on her.

Being born and raised in Ohio came with its ups and downs. A major down: the pressure to follow in her family's footsteps and attend Ohio State University. Her whole life had been filled with relatives talking about how proud they'd be to see her there, how perfect it would be.

So when she arrived at OSU, she expected to hate it. But then she met Tyler Duke — a loud, charismatic hockey player with confidence that bordered on charming arrogance.

The two clicked instantly. Tyler was everything y/n wasn't: extroverted, loud, commanding. She was quiet, observant, and thoughtful. But somehow, it worked. They became best friends in record time.

So when Tyler told her he was transferring to the University of Michigan to be closer to his brother, her heart shattered. Sure, she had other friends, but no one like him. No one who got her like Tyler did.

She started to retreat — stopped going out, stopped making an effort. She buried herself in schoolwork, convincing herself it was the right thing to do.

Months passed before Tyler finally called her out. He invited her to the Michigan vs. Ohio football game, insisting she drive up for the weekend. She hesitated... but she missed him. Of course she'd go.

The moment she saw him outside a little restaurant in Ann Arbor, her heart felt whole again. He pulled her into a tight hug, laughing at how she practically launched herself at him.

"Come meet the guys," he grinned, guiding her toward a group of his teammates.

She smiled and nodded as Tyler introduced them, her gaze flitting from face to face-until her eyes landed on him. A tall, broad-shouldered brunette with messy curls and kind eyes.

Her breath caught.

Tyler smirked, oblivious to the internal chaos.

"And that's Luke."

From that moment on, no one else mattered.

During lunch, y/n found a way to sit across from Luke. The group was split across a few booths, but she hardly noticed. Her focus was locked on Luke — quiet, thoughtful, and effortlessly handsome.

Tyler noticed everything. He knew y/n well enough to recognize the look in her eyes. She had never been one for dating — always too focused, too scared to stray from what her family expected. But this? This was different.

To his amusement, Luke seemed just as captivated.

He asked questions about her, listened intently, smiled like it was second nature. Tyler couldn't help but shoot him a knowing look and waggle his eyebrows.

Yeah. Luke was definitely in trouble.

Later at the game, Tyler made sure y/n and Luke sat together. Y/n rolled her eyes at the obvious matchmaking, but didn't complain.

As the night grew colder, she crossed her arms tightly, shivering in her light jacket. Luke noticed. Of course he did — he hadn't looked away from her all evening.

Wordlessly, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.

She blinked up at him. "Doesn't this make me some kind of blood traitor?"

He chuckled. "Maybe. But a blood traitor has never looked so good."

Yeah. She was definitely in trouble too.

The weekend flew by. Tyler showed her the campus, the rink, his favorite local haunts. And somehow, Luke was always there. At first, he claimed he was just bored. But by the third hangout, no one even asked anymore.

Y/n didn't mind. She liked having him around. More than liked, really.

When it came time to leave, Tyler complained loudly. He begged her to transfer to Michigan.

Joked about kidnapping her. But beneath the jokes was something real: he didn't want to say goodbye again.

Neither did Luke.

So as y/n loaded her bag into her car, Luke walked up, hands in his pockets, eyes unsure.

"You don't have to decide anything now," he said quietly, "but... l'd really like to see you again."

She smiled, heart racing. “Then I guess you'll have to visit Ohio sometime."

He chuckled. "Deal."

Three months later, y/n stood once again on the edge of the University of Michigan campus — this time, with her own acceptance letter in hand.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she took a deep breath, eyes scanning the familiar sights: the towering buildings, students buzzing around, the crisp winter air filling her lungs. Only this time, it was her campus too.

She had done it. She had said no to the expectations, no to the pressure, and yes to herself. To her future. To the unknown.

To him.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket before she could take another step.

Tyler: Where are you? We're waitingggg.

She smiled and texted back quickly before following the path toward the dorms.

When she reached them, Tyler was already outside bouncing on the balls of his feet, wearing a ridiculous grin and a maize-and-blue beanie.

"I told you l'd get you to transfer," he beamed, pulling her into a tight hug that lifted her slightly off the ground.

"I'm starting to think you manifest everything you want," she laughed into his shoulder.

He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "Not everything. That one was a team effort." He nodded behind her.

Y/n turned.

Luke stood a few steps away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, watching her with a look that made her heart stop. His smile was gentle, almost shy-but his eyes held so much more.

"I didn't think you'd really do it," he said, walking up to her.

She tilted her head. "Why not?"

"I don't know," he said softly. "Maybe because I didn’t think you would ever want me."

There was a moment of silence between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. The wind danced around them, tugging at her jacket, but she didn't notice the cold.

"I thought about you every day," she said.

He stepped closer. "I thought about you every night."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I thought I was making the biggest mistake. Leaving everything behind. But now.."

She looked up into his eyes, voice lowering.

"Now it just feels like I'm finally in the right place."

Luke reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His hand lingered there, warm against her skin.

"I want to be something real for you, Y/N," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Not just a few days... not just a nice memory."

Her heart thundered in her chest.

"Then kiss me," she said.

Luke didn't hesitate.

His lips met hers with the kind of softness that felt like coming home — like every missed moment, every text left unsent, every mile apart had led to this one. The world seemed to still around them, the cold forgotten, time holding its breath.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

"You sure you're ready for this?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

She nodded, eyes shining. "I was ready the second I saw you."

Behind them, Tyler groaned loudly. "Finally!

Jesus, I thought I was gonna have to lock you two in a room or something."

They both laughed, but neither let go.

In that moment, y/n realized something. She had found something so much more. More than the expectations, more than the pressure.

NAVIGATION　　 ✶ 　　NHL MASTERLIST

© V A M P — please do not copy, repost, translate, or use my work without consent.

[crushpunky]

how joe and college!reader met

masterlist

i know joe’s college career is a little “unusual” with transfer portal, graduating early, etc, but for simplicity im just gonna say he spent two years at OSU and two at LSU before graduating. there’s some star wars talk/reference in here but nothing too deep lol

Y/n tapped the top of her pen against her chin, mindlessly stirring her coffee as she waited for the rest of her classmates to shuffle in. Junior year at LSU was off to a bold start with Statistics in Economics bright and early at 9 am.

“Um, is this seat taken?” A voice pulled y/n out of her thoughts. She looked up and was greeted by a rather tall young man with a head of blonde hair and a kind smile. She hadn’t remembered ever seeing him around campus, but something about him seemed strangely familiar.

“No, you’re good.” Y/n said, flashing him a quick smile as he took his seat. Y/n watched as he shuffled through his LSU branded backpack and began to pull out his laptop, freezing part of the way through.

“This is Statistics in Economics, right?” The boy turned to y/n, a worried expression on his face.

“Yes it is.” Y/n giggled as the boy let out an exaggerated sigh before putting his laptop down on the table in front of them..

“Sorry, I just… I’m a transfer and am still getting used to everything.” The boy chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. Y/n nodded, gnawing on her lip as she watched his leg bounce underneath the table.

“Where did you transfer from?” Y/n asked, hoping a bit of small talk would help to soothe her classmates' obvious nervousness.

“Ohio State,” the boy nodded. “It’s in… Ohio, obviously.”

“Yeah?” Y/n teased. “Why LSU?”

“Well… I play football.” The boy said, his voice low, as if the revelation was some sort of secret. Y/n nodded, her expression neutral. The boy was thankful, gathering within the short time he’d been at LSU that people tended to freak out about football… well most people.

“Hmm.” Y/n said simply, the familiarity she had felt earlier maybe starting to clear up. She had remembered something about a new quarterback transferring from OSU, what was his name? Jack? Jim? Honestly, she didn’t follow football close enough to remember.

“I’m Joe, by the way. Probably should introduce myself.” The boy laughed. Ah, Joe, that was it.

“Y/n.” Y/n responded, smiling simply. “It’s nice to meet you, Joe.”

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n.” Joe responded, returning her smile as his eyes flicked over her before landing on the laptop that sat closed in front of her. Immediately, he noticed the large Star Wars sticker that adorned the case.

“You a big Star Wars fan?” Joe cleared his throat, pointing to the R2-D2 on her laptop. She followed his gaze, looking down at it before looking back at him with a nervous chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. I was practically raised on the movies.” Y/n said as she took a sip of her coffee, her fingers tracing lightly along the edge of the sticker as she waited for the inevitable teasing that was about to come from the athlete.

“Same,” Joe scooted his chair further underneath the table, turning to face her as he propped his forearms onto the table. “I think I can quote the entirety of Empire Strikes Back.”

“Really?” Y/n quirked a brow. “I mean I’m more of a Return of the Jedi girl, but I understand.”

“So you like the Ewoks?” Joe teased, leaning in with an exaggerated scoff that caused a giggle to escape y/n’s lips.

“Oh c’mon, they’re cute! Don’t be heartless.” Y/n shook her head, looking away from Joe’s intense gaze.

“I’m not heartless! I like ‘cute’ things, just not those bears.” Joe shrugged before slumping back in his chair, his legs spread wide in front of him as he crossed his arms across his chest. The hem of his shorts rode up his legs, revealing the tanned skin of his well toned thighs. His t-shirt shifted as he crossed his arms, the muscles of his arms on proud display. His teasing smile was— well, she sure wasn’t immune to the boy's charm, especially his Star Wars knowledge.

“What kind of ‘cute’ things do you like, hmm? I can’t imagine big bad football player Joe cuddling up with a stuffed Yoda.” Y/n said, turning her chair to face him.

“How’d you know I have a stuffed Yoda?” Joe furrowed his brows, his expression quickly turning serious before cracking into a smile that made y/n roll her eyes.

“In all seriousness,” Joe said, scooting closer to y/n as he spoke, her crossed legs now resting between his spread legs. “I like… cats, I’m a big cat guy.”

“Well, I guess those are pretty cute.” Y/n shrugged.

“What about you? What do you like?” Joe asked, propping his elbow up on the table and resting his head. Y/n bit her lip for a second, thinking about her response as her eyes trailed over to her drink sitting on her desk.

“I like watching movies, going on walks, coffee from cute little cafes.” Y/n said simply. As she spoke, it was almost like she’d known Joe for years, the conversation flowing smoothly as the two of them sat comfortably next to each other.

“Well, which cute little cafes do you recommend? Y’know, maybe for someone new to the area or something.” Joe teased, his eyes watching intently as y/n talked, his ears holding on every word she said.

“Well, I would probably recommend Java Joe’s.” Y/n grinned.

“Yeah, I might have to try that out,” Joe sighed, turning to rest his face in his hand “These 9 ams are gonna be the death of me I can feel it.”

“Agreed.” Y/n nodded, watching as Joe slowly began to peek through his fingers at her, causing her to laugh as her cheeks began to warm.

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you there and we can continue our Star Wars discussion, y/n.” Joe said, his attention remaining on her.

“Yeah, I’d like that, Joe.” Y/n smiled, her eyes only leaving him when the lights dimmed, signalling the start of class.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Any fics where the Warblers find out about a break up (could be the ones in canon or not) and their reactions or determination to help get them back together?

Here are some long fics that might include what you are looking for. ~Jen

Crowded House  by kellyb321

All of your favorite Warblers and a few new faces, too. Follow our boys as they start their lives in NYC, each couple facing their own challenges, heartbreak, self-discovery and redemption. Stick around as they realize support, acceptance and most importantly, true love can all be found in one big Crowded House. Heavy on the Klaine and Niff.

~~~~~

Your Perfect Sub by xonceinadream

12 years after Blaine first transferred to Dalton Academy, a prestigious boarding school for doms, Blaine is nothing like he was. He’s much more confident, much more sure of himself and he brings along his sub (and fiance) Kurt to a reunion to prove it. Prompt: 10 years after high school graduation, the Warblers decide to have reunion where they all bring their subs for a get together. A lot of the Warblers, especially Sebastian and Hunter make jokes about how Blaine probably has never found a Sub, or if he’s converted to a Sub, etc. They’re all really shocked when they find out that Blaine turned out to be really successful- he inherited his father’s corporation, and he has a sub- Kurt who he’s engaged to. During the reunion, Blaine oozes Dom and he’s super assertive, especially with Kurt who’s his perfect little sub for the whole night….

Note: Part 2 of Ignite series

~~~~~ Reprise by Calliope_Melpomene  Read at:  [PDF]

During Kurt’s senior year at NYADA, a life-changing event causes him to take a leave of absence and what was supposed to be a short stay turns into years. His life certainly isn’t what he expected, but he’s not exactly unhappy. His name is not lit up in lights on Broadway, but he’s involved in community theater and LGBTQ groups in Columbus and has friends who love him and casual lovers. But turning 35 has made him restless and he’s longing for the life he had before. Burt talks him into taking some classes at Ohio State University to finish his degree and start focusing on himself again. What Kurt finds on the OSU campus is much more than he bargained for.

[eretzyisrael]

by Vita Fellig

Ohio State University senior Adam Kling estimates that he’s seen between 50 and 100 anti-Israel protests on campus in the last four years. But what the Jewish biomedical engineering student experienced on Jan. 27, on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, was new to him.

On Monday evening, some 60 antisemitic protesters braved near-freezing temperatures to chant and yell outside of the Schottenstein Chabad House at OSU in an effort to disrupt presentations by two former Israeli soldiers about their experiences being injured while responding to Hamas’s terror attacks in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.

Although the Jewish center bears the public university’s name, it’s not an official Ohio State University entity, and its current building is off-campus. Kling told JNS that it was unusual for protesters to target a site that wasn’t on the university grounds.

“It’s one thing to do it on campus. It is a public university, and you have free speech, which I 100% support your right to go out and protest what you believe right on campus,” he said. “This is the first time that they’ve taken the step to go from campus to surrounding us at our own home, a religious building on campus where people are supposed to feel safe.”

Kling told JNS that he is “obviously not a law expert” but is “just struggling to see where the line is when it comes to religious intimidation when you stand outside a religious building and scream threats to all the Jewish people in there, calling them ‘terrorists,’ ‘baby killers’ and ‘war criminals.’”

“We are in Columbus, Ohio, 6,000 miles away from the Middle East,” he said. “I don’t understand how intimidating and threatening me off campus at a Jewish place of worship has anything to do with politics or does anything to support your cause.”

“It is 2025 and the 80th anniversary of Auschwitz being liberated, and there is someone Jewish in Ohio, in America, that is scared to walk home,” he said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

[avalil18]

(Series) Only The Young

Summary: you and Joe meet at OSU and start to get to know each other

Pairing: Joe burrow x reader

———————

September 10 2017

Y/n POV

It was a cool September day at OSU. The sun was shining but a crisp in the air flowed. I was heading out the door to go to my English class. I was wearing jeans, a white long sleeve Flowy top, and boots. My backpack was as heavy as a boulder and was making my back ache. Once I got to my English class I sat down on one of the auditorium seats and pulled out the moving table from my arm chair to put my notebook and pen on. After a few minutes more people started to come I wasn’t really paying attention to any one of them until someone caught my eye. It was one of the quarterbacks from the football team. He recently joined the class. I’ve seen him walk around before and I’ve seen him play. He is really good at football but I don’t understand why he is a backup. He should be QB1 from the way I seen him play. He sat down in the row below me. He fisted bumped someone who was probably one of his friends and pulled out his stuff from his bag. He was so cute. But I have to focus. The class was long but all I could think about was him. He was right there the whole time just being perfect. As the bell rang it startled me but I got up and put my book in my hands and swung my backpack on my shoulder. As I was getting out of the row to head out someone bumped into me. It was him! My books fell out of my hand and he went to pick it up.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry”-joe

“Are you ok?”- joe said as he handed me my books back

I smiled

“Yeah! I’m ok. Sorry that was my fault I wasn’t looking.”-you

“Haha! Don’t worry about it I wasn’t looking either.”-joe

“I’m Joe by the way, Joe burrow!”-joe

He puts his hands on the straps of his backpack clearly not knowing if he should shake my hand

“I’m y/n!”- you

“Well y/n it was nice meeting you,and so sorry for bumping into you.”-joe

“Don’t worry about it! And it was nice meeting you to Joe burrow.” -You say with a smile

Joe smiles big trying not to blush but I could definitely see it.

We both walked out and onto the main campus. He wasn’t a little bit behind me but I could feel eyes on me as I walked and knew it was him which gave me butterflies.

“Wait y/n,wait up!”-joe

I turned around to see his beautiful blue eyes and wide smile.

“Do you by any chance have the notes from last class? I missed them because I was at an away game.”-joe

I smiled

“Yeah! I was actually about to go to the library to finish them though. You can join if you want!” - you

Um! What was I thinking! Inviting the QB to take notes with me!

“Yeah actually! I would like that!”-joe

“Great! This way!”-you

Joe started walking with me and my heart was pounding. After a few minutes Joe spoke up.

“So, tell me about yourself!”-joe

“Haha! Well since you want to know so badly. I am from Northgate,Ohio which is right out of Cincinnati. I have an older sister and a twin brother! And I love dogs and the beach!”-you

“Oh!I’m from Ohio too! I have two older brothers!”-joe

“Really! Where in Ohio?”-you

“Athens!”- joe

“Oh I’ve been of Athens! My friends and I used to go there sometimes during the summer because there is this old house on the lake and where we used to hang out!”- you

“Yeah! The famous lake house! I go there all the time!”-joe

“Haha that’s so funny! People in Athens are so sweet that’s one of the reasons I’ve always loved going.”-you

“Yeah,they are really nice!”-joe

Joe and I got to work on our notes but we couldn’t stop talking and laughing.

“So you really only seen Star Wars once?”-joe

“Yes!”-you

“Damm y/n I really got to go take you to go see it. You have to watch it!”-joe

I looked at him in shock. Did Joe just ask me out?

“Let me take you out Saturday night! We can go to the theater right around the corner.”- joe

“Are you asking me out on a date, burrow?”-you

“Maybe…”-joe

“Well then it’s a date!”-you

“It’s a date! Here give me your phone number.”-joe

I handed him my phone. My heart is racing. I can’t believe I’m going on a date with Joe!

“Here! I will text you.”-joe says handing back your phone.

“Ok! See ya! Got to get to physics which sucks!”-you

Joe looks back at you in shock.

“You hate physics? I love it!”-joe

“What!! I can’t stand it! I don’t understand what Professor Burn talks about. Well I just don’t understand it in general.”-you

“How about I help you! You can help me in English and I will return the favor by helping you with physics!”-joe

“Ok! I got to go but text me!”-you

“Ok! Bye y/n!”-joe

“Bye Joe!”-you

I walked away with a smile on my face.

————————-

Joes POV

I got into English class and there she was y/n. She was beautiful. Brunette hair, blue eyes, and an amazing smile. She’s very sweet and calm. She has a funny laugh that makes me get butterflies. She sits right behind me. I always find myself looking at her for to long whenever she gets called on.

As I was walking out I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped into her.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!”-joe

I bent down to get her notebook and English book. As I gave it to her she smiled which made me get all giddy inside. I introduced myself and she did the same. We both walked out and I didn’t want to stop talking to her so I decided to say I didn’t do my notes and if she could let me borrow her notes. I actually did do them. All of it. I ran up to her and I asked. I then found myself sitting in the library with y/n taking notes. I found myself staring at her beauty. She was perfect. I knew I needed to ask her out. She got me. And not a lot of people really click with me like she did. She was different. A good different. So I asked if she wanted to watch Star Wars with me at the theatre even though i watched it millions of times. And she said yes! I gave her my phone number and turns out she needed help with physics which is my specialty. My plan is to take her out Saturday then maybe if she feels comfortable to come back to my place to study. Not to do anything else. I’m not that kind of person to rush into things like that and I know people are different when it comes to those kinda getting together things and I respect it. I was kinda sad when she left to go to class. I just wanted to keep talking to her forever. But now I have to plan the perfect night for Saturday.

——————-

Authors note:Ahhhhh first one of the series! Yay! I hope you guys like it! This is apart of How you get the girl🩷✌️

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

90s!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He got out, hopped one state over, and planned on continuing an anonymous existence of cold beds and numbers scribbled on forearms. One small problem in that plan, or maybe one big problem.

warnings | 18+ smut, angst, columbus OH deserves a TW in and of itself (i love it so)

a/n | I am so excited to be sharing the first chapter of this series. A very special thanks must be given to @pr0ximamidnight who lets me scream about these characters all the time, and who also made the absolutely amazing artwork for this fic! As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this one, drop me a line :)

......................................

“You coming tonight?”

“Who’s playing?”

“Up and coming, you haven’t heard of them.” 

“Oh, so they’re shit then?” 

“Don’t be a snob, Steven. Even your beloved Elliott Smith started out as a nobody. Hell, he still is a nobody.”

“You told Art that I’d cover the front tonight, didn’t you?” The silence is enough of an answer. Steve sighs.

“Eddie.” 

“Come on, Steve. Money is money, I don’t see why you’re complaining when I was gracious enough to get you a little more of it.” His so very gracious roommate is already halfway out the door, a grin and shrug that tells Steve there will be no squirming out of this. Great. 

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy a trip to the Newport Club, especially not when it’s free and all he has to do is check tickets and let girls feel him up a little on the way into the music hall. But it’s  Wednesday, and he has work tomorrow, and he’s feeling a little more pitiful than usual since their AC unit busted out and has yet to be fixed. Their landlord told them he would be getting to it about two weeks ago, and Steve is starting to wilt around the edges in the close grip of the heat and humidity. So no, he’s not really feeling a gig at the moment. But yes, money is money, and he doesn’t have much time to whine to himself about it when he’s already running late to his shift at Katzinger’s. 

Columbus has been good to him, something he is reminded of every morning when he bikes across town to get to the deli. Urban enough to be anonymous, but still cheap enough for him to pay rent with the patchwork jobs he does. And not Hawkins, so it’s already miles ahead just because of that. 

“I got lox no schmear for Tiffany. There you go, sweetheart, have a nice day.” Tiffany left her phone number at the bottom of her receipt for him, a little heart too. Yet another way Columbus has treated him well, the bevy of OSU students that seem to like what Steve has going on. Eddie calls it his “soft-prozac look,” whatever the hell that means. Certainly different from his polo shirts and varsity jacket days, but a whole lot else has changed since then.

Things are easy, simple, and he likes it that way. Making sandwiches and smiling at coeds until three, a new Tiffany every week, no strings, no stress. And the music scene at the fringes of campus. While his roommate prefers a sound with a little more edge, Steve prefers the softer, sadder stuff, and there’s plenty of it getting passed around on burned CDs and in the dim, dank bars downtown. That’s how he first started picking up gigs at the Newport Club. Art took one look at him, the remnant strength from the days of the king, and stuck him out front with a scowl and a folded wad of cash. Not to mention the perk that once the crowd is packed in, he gets to lean in the doorway and turn his good ear to the music.

…

She’s running late. Actually, she was running late twenty minutes ago. Now it’s just laughable. And somewhere in the slow slump of afternoon into evening, it has started raining. So there’s that, the hem of her skirt sticking and sweating around her ankles, skin turned tacky in the humid air. But she’s a little too focused on digging her ticket out of the bottom of her bag as she does a sort of jump-walk toward the club.

Who was it again? A friend of a friend’s boyfriend who had an extra ticket to this new band’s gig. She can’t even remember the name. Probably something precious and pretentious like toaster aneurysm. 

Shit, not good, not even the remnants of a crowd still waiting outside the venue, just some guy with his arms folded over his chest, leaning in the doorway with one doc marten crossed over the other. His eyebrow cocks, a crack of his gum rolled with his jaw when she approaches. She can hear the dull thrum of a bass coming from inside, already started.

“Hi, I’m here for the show, here’s my–”

“The show started fifteen minutes ago, sweetheart.” It’s a little stunning, not snappy, but entirely bored in the way he says it, sighing and slumping back against the wall, a flick of his chin to toss his thick flop of hair out of his eyes. 

“Okay, so? Just take my ticket and let me in.” Not in the mood, not that she ever is, for this bullshit tough guy act. Said tough guy squints at her, tongue poking in his cheek like really, this is a grave inconvenience to him, when he could have already taken her ticket and let her in and gotten back to his brooding hunch. 

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I’m Steve.”

“Good for you, Steve.” Great, he thought that was funny, a huff of a laugh and half a smile, perfect teeth and frustratingly perfect dimple. She was going for bitchy, actually. When he finally uncrosses his arms from over his chest, hooking his knuckles into the pockets of his pants, she gets a better look at his t-shirt. He must have shrunk it in the wash, or maybe it’s intentional, the way it fits so snug that the muscles in his arms bulge over the sleeves, the I heart metal  logo stretched to burst across his chest. Elliott Smith fan, so at least he’s got that going for him. 

“Are you really not gonna let me in?” 

“Are you really not gonna tell me your name?”

“It’s Ruth, okay?

“That’s an old-fashioned name.”

“So is Steve.” By now, the band has already gotten through two more songs since she got here, and she’s starting to think she’s going to have to resign herself to listening to scraps through the propped open door. For his part, Steve seems perfectly content with the situation, his chin tilted toward the sound as he pulls a menthol out of his back pocket and lights it up. For her part, Ruth is just annoyed enough to reach out and swipe the cigarette from his fingers before it makes it to his mouth, taking a smug inhale as he lets out a petulant whine of hey.

“If you’re gonna keep me out here, the least you can do is offer some refreshments.” To be fair, the more she hears of the music dripping out from the club, the less interested she is in joining the crowd, some kind of post-punk shoegaze dirge-fest from the sound of it. And no, it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the long line of his throat when he lets smoke seep out in a hiss, head tilted back to keep his exhale from washing over her face. No, nothing to do with that, and nothing to do with the way the tendons in his forearms jump, all spilled shadow when he offers her back the cigarette. No, definitely nothing to do with that either. 

“Are you a student?” 

“No, are you?”

“No, so what do you do then?”

“I work at the library.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm. What about you?”

“I work at Katz, you know? Over in german village?”

“Yeah, everyone knows Katz. I like Brown Bag better though, they’ve got that tofu cream cheese.”

“Who the hell likes tofu cream cheese? Are you vegan or something?” Rapid fire, somewhere in the volley she has mirrored his posture, her shoulder brushing against his as she rests back against the wall, fingers flickering back and forth, trying to sip down the last few drags of their shared cigarette. 

“No, I just like the taste better. Regular cream cheese gives me the heebies.” He hums, the dip and bob of his throat catching the warm shock of the streetlights. She lets herself watch him for a beat, the quick flit of her eyes away from his when he looks right back at her. Back and forth like that, she collects up every freckle she can find, the two on the side of his neck, on his cheek. Pretty boy at rest. The music is mere afterthought.

…

He’s glad he decided to be difficult tonight. The truth is, he really isn’t supposed to let people in after the set starts, something about code violations and fire hazards. But usually, he’ll nod along a few stragglers hurrying into the club, no big deal. Chalk it up to the heat, to no AC, to whatever, Steve was not feeling so generous tonight, and he’s never been so grateful for his snappy streak as he is right now.

“What size shoe did you say you are?” He’s not entirely sure how things unraveled to this. Him, with his shoeless, socked foot hovering just above the sidewalk, and her, holding her sneaker in one hand, with his doc marten on her foot, giving a few experimental shuffles in it, the hem of her skirt swirling around her shins with it. 

“Men’s twelve, probably too big for you, honey.” Her nose scrunches, mouth screwing to the side like she can’t possibly stand being called that. He tucks that away in his mind through the constant din of the concert going on inside.

“Hmm, I think I could make it work if I doubled up my socks.” 

“You gonna steal my shoes, is that your angle?”

“Well, I do need a refund for my ticket since someone wouldn’t let me in.” He scoffs, dipping his chin to hide behind his hair, just a little, buying time to think of something clever to say back to her. 

“Judging by that noise, I think I did you a favor actually.” Ruth grins, and as if on cue, a particularly discordant warble of guitar whines through the door, both of them wincing at it.

“Maybe you’re right. How much longer you think they got?” She wobbles to the side as she toes out of his boot, and Steve moves before he can think, one hand to her waist, one cupping her elbow. Up close like this, he can see the way her eyeliner has smudged at the edges, a stray speck of it on the arc of her cheek. But it’s catch and release, a laugh light in her chest as she pulls away to put her own shoe back on. 

“I’d say they’re wrapping up. We could, you know, get out of here if you wanted to.” Fun, right? That’s what this is. The flirt and flair of it, a game they both seem to be intent on. 

“Where are we going, Steve?” She tilts her head, sing-songing his name.

Steve is good at this, the logistics of it all. Hers or his. His, they decide, because hers is further away. And mercy, Eddie has been shacking up with the produce stocker from the natural grocery store over in Bexley, so they don’t have to worry about being quiet when they stumble through the door to his apartment. 

Graceless, groaning into her mouth when his hip hits the corner of the kitchen counter, and then a different noise entirely skittering up the back of his throat when Ruth’s palm finds the hurt and rubs it out with quick heat up under the hem of his t-shirt.

Here’s the thing, most of the time, he prefers to keep his shirt on. It’s not that anyone has been rude or repulsed by the scars that splay over his skin. Something much worse. A pitying thing, a pitiful thing. The drop of their brow and a pulled frown and oh my gosh, what happened to you? Yeah, he’d prefer to keep his shirt on most of the time. But right now, he wants a little more. A little more sense, a little more touch, a little more of her palms on bare skin. So it’s more feel than thought when he tugs his shirt off over his head, shivering down with it when she noses down his neck to drop her lips to the top of his shoulder. Bruise-colored kisses, he doesn’t resist the urge to thumb away the smear of her dark lipstick in the corner of her mouth. She chases after his touch, a kiss to the pad of his thumb before her grin turns sharp with the nick of her teeth. 

…

Pretty boy is pretty all over. Freckles all over, she maps them with her mouth, a slow sneak down his stomach to the waist band of his briefs. And he’s got a bedframe too, bonus. Yeah, pretty all over, flushed-pink tip when she slides his briefs down his thighs, just enough for the thick weight of him to smear pearling pleasure over the coarse hair trailing down his clenched stomach. She’s no better though, thighs clenching together in useless friction where she’s kneeling between his legs, cotton underwear that used to say Wednesday on the front and a bra that’s just as old. She really hadn’t been expecting something like this, though Steve doesn’t seem to mind, lips parted in a ghost of a swollen smile, eyes hazy with want.

“Can I?”

“You can do whatever you want, honey, fuck.” She has to temper her grin when she takes him into her mouth, pleasant pain and pressure in the hinge of her jaw because Steve certainly has something to brag about. Impossible to take all of him, she settles for laving her tongue over the vein running the underside of his cock, spit-slick palm curling around the rest. Pretty boy pretty all over making pretty sounds too. Huffs of breath that turn into groans when she swallows around him, muscle jumping under her palm that’s pressed over his stomach, her nails grazing in an implicit command. Take what you are given, pretty boy. And he does, perfectly, preening under her touch, little pants of fuck, s’good, really good that shiver straight down her spine and into her pelvis. She only realizes that her hand that isn’t working the base of him has dipped down into her panties when Steve lets out a ragged shit, that’s hot, lashes dropped down to his cheeks with the way he’s staring at her. And then it’s all quiet c’mere, c’mere, honey, insistent hand at her jaw coaxing her up, clashing teeth when they both misjudge the first kiss, and then a sigh when they get the second one right.

“You have condoms, right?” 

“Yeah, I got it, just let me–” She doesn’t exactly make it easy, mouthing at his neck as he leans over to rifle through his nightstand, jostling her in his lap with a frustrated huff that she doesn’t like the sound of.

“Fuck.”

“Are you, like, out?” He settles back against his headboard with a sigh, an answer in and of itself. 

“I bet my roommate has some though. Gimme a sec, I’ll be right back.” Quite the show, his bare ass shuffling out of his room. She lays back on the mattress, maybe wishful thinking in taking off the rest of her clothes, though Steve is quick to return with a grin and a foil packet pinched between two fingers. 

“You sitting pretty like that for me, honey?” A little wolfish, animal and annoying in how smug he smiles as he climbs onto the end of the bed, catching her knee before she can close her legs, palm smoothing down the inside of her thigh. 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Steven.” 

“Steven, huh?” He tilts his head, almost absent-minded, his eyes hooded and heavy, dropped to the crux of her hips. She can’t help her quiet gasp when he drags his thumb through her swollen cunt, pad of his finger notching at her entrance, teasing, testing, before smearing back up to her clit in a lazy arc. 

“Fuck, that’s pretty. Are you ready for me?” Cocky, but also clear care. She leans up on an elbow, puling him down by his nape before her stupid heart can kick up too much at the sentiment. His hair tickles against her sternum, forehead pressed there so he can look down at his fumbling with the condom wrapper, clearly distracted, maybe by the way she’s trailing her foot up and down the back of his leg, dark nail polish against tan skin. 

It’s a stretch, of course. Perfect ache in her hips, all she can manage is an uh-huh high in her throat when he asks her if she’s alright. And then deeper, taking more of him, all of him until it’s Steve letting out the pathetic sounds, something like a whimper that she laps up, tongue flickering behind his teeth. 

The rest is a slow, spiraling, slump. It’s obscenely warm in his room, humid too, so pretty soon sweat starts to pearl and pool. In clavicles, in dips and bend of muscle, skin sticking to skin with salt and sighs, almost smothering with how Steve drapes over her. He moves good, smooth and strong like he knows what he’s doing, though it eventually devolves into a deep grind more than anything else, both of them chasing down pleasure. He smells like that clove gum he was chewing, the menthol too, and like he spent the day out sweltering in the  midsummer heat. She can’t help but dip her nose down into the center of his sternum, breathing him in as her nails dig and slip against his shoulder blades. Though soon he’s coaxing her, lemme see, honey, there you are, pretty eyes. 

Embarrassing really, that’s what snaps and snarls her into and over the edge. His eyes, blown out black, steady and certain on her. She comes so hard that she starts to shiver in the heat.

…

“Mmf.” It isn’t enough to rouse him, still slumped on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow. But it does feel good, light scratches across his shoulder blades, then trailing up the nape of his neck and into his hair. He sighs, content in his tangle of sheets.

“I know you’re awake.” He can’t help it, smile spreading, one eye squinting open to find Ruth looking right at him, kneeling alongside the bed.

“Why’re you dressed?” 

“I need to go home before my shift. I smell like a swamp.” 

“Sorry, AC is busted.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.” He squints sitting up, washed down in the early morning light, already missing the feel of her hand tangled in his hair.

“Can I get your number?” For once, he’d like to do this again. Ruth smiles, settling into her hip as she looks down at him.

“You got a pen?” He does, tucked into a notebook that he keeps in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, not even worried about how uncool he looks fumbling for it and a scrap of paper to give to her. Purple nail polish, he notes, so dark the color is only a suggestion. He watches the flicker of it as she passes back the pen and paper to him.

“Thanks for a nice night, pretty boy.” Still sleep-shaken, but with it enough for her words to send a flush of heat up his neck.

“Yeah, Ruth, I had a good time too. So I’ll call you?” Already halfway out his bedroom door, she still smiles over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh, you do that.” 

It’s early enough that he can linger in the scent of her in his sheets, pressing his face hard into the mattress before finally willing himself to get up. By the time he shuffles out into the living room with one and a half boots on, Eddie is back and crunching through a burnt piece of toast in front of the microwave. 

“Hey, who was that spooky-looking chick that slinked– slunk? Whatever, left earlier this morning?” 

“Her name is Ruth.” All that he offers up, pointedly focusing on pouring himself a cup of coffee. Eddie scoffs, crumbs scattering.

“Okay, and? Flavor of the week, or what?” 

“Mmm.”

“No, you’re telling me Morticia is gonna turn an honest man out of you?” Steve’s turn to scoff this time, choosing to take a long pull of coffee rather than indulging Eddie with a real answer. 

“You get her number?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna call her?”

“Jesus, Ed, yes, lay off.”

“Oh, now I know you really like this one. You’re only bitchy about the ones you really like.” 

“Fuck off. How’s Herb, or whatever his name is.”

“Don’t be so gauche, Steven, and for the record, his name is Leif.”

“Right.”

“Anyways, Harrington Doctrine, yeah?”

“Yeah, man, exactly.” 

Now normally, according to the Harrington Doctrine, Steve should wait a full forty-eight hours, minimum, before even thinking about calling her. He does not follow the Harrington Doctrine. In fact, he barely makes it through the rest of the day without picking up a phone. When he gets home from his shift at the deli, however, he paces himself. Takes a shower first, checks the answering machine, willing away a little more time, anything to temper his apparent want. But when he does finally dial up the number on the scrap of paper he kept tucked in his notebook, he is sorely disappointed by the answer he gets on the other end.

“Brown Bag deli, how may I help you?” First, shock, reasoning to himself that he must have punched it in wrong. He tries again, careful in each button pressed.

“Brown Bag deli, how may I help–” He slams the phone back into its receiver this time, just as Eddie walks through the front door, home from his shift at the tattoo shop where he apprentices.

“Damn, tell that phone how you really feel.” 

“She gave me a fake number.”

“What? Who?”

“Mort– Ruth. I can’t believe this, she seriously gave me a fake number.” With all the tact that he usually has, Eddie plucks the scrap of paper from Steve’s hand, a grumbled lemme see as he dials the number. At first, a lift off of hope in his chest when Eddie stays on the line, brow furrowed.

“Hi, yeah, do you guys still do that portobello melt thing? Can I get that without tomatoes? Yeah, to– hey.” Steve only half pays attention to Eddie’s protest when he takes the phone and clicks it back in the receiver, something heavy settling sick in his stomach.

“She really gave me a fake number. What the fuck?” 

“Sorry, man, I guess no Addam’s Family Values for you.” 

…

He doesn’t usually get like this. Lord knows, Steve has taken his fair share of rejection. So why this one is stinging harder, lingering longer, especially when he barely knew the girl, is beyond him. 

Maybe the boldness of her rejection. A brazen, brash no. The humiliation of unassuming hope, small flames are so quick to be smothered. Or maybe the way he feels like a fool, plain and simple, for thinking there was something more happening when there so apparently wasn’t. Fun, he tells himself. She had been in it for fun. And she got her fun, and got out. And is that not one of his favorite moves in the book? Plenty of fun of his own, after all. 

But what is maybe the worst part, he can’t stop thinking about it, about her. Nearly filled up the rest of his notebook with what he can remember, nearly a whole month’s worth of remembering now. Piecemeal, by this point, the line of her nose, the curve of her brow, half a smile. What he can always recall clearly, the patterned print of flowers that was on her skirt. He scribbles it everywhere, in the margins of old receipts, in sharpie on parchment paper, slow days at the deli getting passed somewhere hazy in his mind. 

He has a headache by the time he gets back to his apartment most afternoons, opting for a few advil and closed blinds over any of the phone numbers that continue to get tucked into his hands.

“How much longer are you gonna do this?”

“Mmm.”

“Steve.”

“What?” He doesn’t have to  look to know exactly how Eddie is standing right now. In the doorway to his bedroom with his arms crossed and his hip cocked to the side, his version of concern.

“It’s been a fucking month, man. Greener pastures, fish in the sea, et cetera et cetera. You haven’t even gone to any shows since the double-M, for Christ’s sake.”

“Double-M?”

“Morticia meltdown.” Steve sighs, more interested in another swatch of flowers that he’s filling a blank page in his notebook with. Mercy, before Eddie can continue to needle him, the phone rings. He only catches scraps of what is said, but his ears prick when he hears Eddie let out a quiet oh.

“Steven, my liege, my lad, it’s  for you!” Great, probably Art calling to find out where the hell he’s been. Still, he gets up, only paying an ounce of attention to Eddie’s shit-eating grin when he takes the phone from him.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Steve?” Still only half-way paying attention, snapping his fingers in Eddie’s direction when he starts rifling through a box of cereal that Steve bought, looking for the dinky plastic toy inside, no doubt. 

“Uh, yeah, who is this?” He snaps his fingers again when Eddie keeps digging through the cereal box, mouthing the words stop it when his roommate still persists in his hunt. Steve’s going to have to buy new cereal. 

“It’s— it’s Ruth? Um, from the Newport, remember?” It’s a strange feeling, first his stomach sinking, a tight fist in his throat too, and most embarrassingly of all, that flip in his chest, that kick of hope, even now, stupid.

“Oh, oh, yeah, I remember. How did– how’d you get this number?” 

“I asked Art for it, figured he’d have your info. Listen, Steve, I need to apologize for what I did. That was just– fucking childish of me, and I hope you know that it had way more to do with my own fucked-upness than it did with anything about you.” 

“Yeah, it’s okay, you know, but it was pretty fucked up.” Stupid, how that hope floats to the top of his throat, because maybe apology means trying again. Maybe he’d like to try again. 

“There’s something else I have to tell you.” 

“Okay?” She sighs, a crackled sound over the line that makes his brow pinch.

“Look, there’s no nice way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out.” At this point, Eddie has crept closer, hand still buried in the cereal box, eyes wide and rapt at what is probably a stricken expression on Steve’s face.

“I’m pregnant, Steve.” What does hope turn into? A dizzying feeling, dumb and dull and done. His ears ring with it.

“I– you’re– you– what?” 

“I’m pregnant. And before you do that guy thing of asking if it’s yours, I’m pretty damn sure that it is.” Somewhere in the slow unraveling of this, he has pressed one palm to the wall, whole body slumping toward it, head dropped between his shoulder blades to try to make as much of everything else quiet so he can focus on this.

“Okay, um, okay. Do you wanna– you know– because it’s your body and if you wanna— you should–”

“I’ve decided I’m keeping it.” The way his heart seizes, stops for a beat, and then trips back over itself into rhythm scares him, palm finding his chest like he could rub that feeling out and away. 

“Right, that’s– yeah. Do you, like, need help, or–”

“No, I don’t need your help. I just– it seemed like the right thing to do to tell you, so that’s what I’m doing. But, yeah, I don’t, like, expect anything from you.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut, hard, trying to tamp down the heat starting to rise behind them, a foreign feeling, a falling feeling.

“Yeah, okay, thank you for telling me, Ruth.” Because what else could he say? It’s like he hears the words coming out of his mouth from somewhere just over his shoulder. And there’s more that he’d like to say, the right things to say, but Ruth is already beating him to it.

“So, yeah, I guess that’s all. Take care of yourself, Steve.” Already hanging up, and that sounds permanent. That sounds like no intention of ever seeing him again. The phone hangs by its chord, swinging limp a few inches above the ground.

“Steve, what the fuck was that?” One long exhale for him, shitshitshitshit. Eddie sets down the cereal box and takes him by the shoulders, squared off and trying to catch his vacant, glazed stare.

“I– we– she–”

“Did you use protection?” He blinks, nods, relieved that Eddie has already gotten explanation enough from eavesdropping on the call.

“Yeah, fuck, yes. I took a condom from your stash, it was a brand new box.” Something strange passes over Eddie’s expression, blanching and jaw slackening. 

“Steve, which box of condoms did you open?”

“What do you mean which box? The one in your closet, on the top shelf.” Eddie’s hands drop from his shoulders, brows shot straight up his forehead.

“Oh jesus christ.”

“Jesus christ? What– Ed, what the fuck does that mean?” Steve gets no reply, Eddie already scuttling into his room, followed by the distant sound of rummaging, and then a low curse. 

“So here’s the thing, Stevie, these condoms–” Eddie comes back out of his room brandishing said box of condoms, the box that Steve had opened that night with Ruth. He has a smile that slants sheepish on his face, and Steve is already starting to feel sick.

“Yeah, these condoms are from eighty-nine.” 

“As in– as in nineteen-eighty-nine?” 

“That would be correct, yes.” Eddie has already taken a few tentative steps backward, putting the kitchen counter between him and Steve. But Steve is too struck dumb to even consider anything like vengeance on his roommate, dragging both his hands through his hair and tugging hard until it hurts.

“Who– why– what the fuck are you doing with five-year-old condoms?”

“Ha, well, you see, I figured after a decade or two maybe they’d be worth something, you know? Like a collector’s item.” Wordless, Steve shuffles over to Eddie and takes the box of condoms from his hands, something like a laugh that sounds so sharp Eddie winces at the sound.

“Ed, a signed poster is a collector’s item. This is a box of condoms– this is– this is junk.” 

“Well it’s junk now, Steven, since someone opened it.”

“Oh no, uh-uh, you don’t get to be pissy about this, not when there’s literally a girl who’s pregnant because you’re such a fucking hoarder.” 

“Uh, excuse me, I’m not the one who didn’t check the expiration date when they went fumbling around for a condom.”

“I didn’t think I needed to worry about five-year-old condoms, fuck!” The volume of his voice surprises even him, silence falling heavy and hard in the echo of it. Steve rests his hands on the counter, letting his shoulders shrug up to his ears, slumping down into his bones. Eddie rests a cautious hand on his arm.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Ed. I really don’t know.”

[wild-zamboni]

Enchanted by the way the teens at work have no idea they live in a city. Like it’s just hilarious when I hear a teen say “there’s nothing to do in Ohio” and it’s like you were JUST telling me that you had a cosi annual pass as a kid. We have a huge zoo. There are constantly huge big name concerts and broadway touring shows playing at our huge theaters. You live blocks away from OSU campus. There are places in the world that do not have movie theaters. There is plenty to do you live in COLUMBUS

[starry-hughes]

❝ stay here, i'll run you a bath. ❞ kent

star’s 1 year celly!

-

kent let out a laugh when you entered the apartment but then he saw your face. you were standing in the doorway. muddy and wet clothes. hair soaking wet and tears in your eyes. your backpack was wet too, you were just hoping it was water resistant enough to protect your stuff inside.

“baby what happened?” he stood quickly when he realized you were about to cry. “i didn’t know it was going to rain and i walked to campus,” your voice broke. you were cold and wet, making you shiver.

kent knew that the apartment was close enough for you to walk to the osu campus but he thought you always carried an umbrella with you. “what happened to your umbrella?”

“i changed backpacks last week remember?” you sniffled, “and some car hit a puddle and covered me in water and mud.” you were about to cry. “okay, just stay here, i’ll run you a bath. and get you a towel. take your shoes off, i’ll make sure they get dry.”

you waited until he got back with a towel and you heard the bathtub filling up. “let’s get you warmed up,” he whispered and got you to the bathroom. you got out of the muddy wet clothes and almost cried when you realized how muddy you were. “it’s okay! don’t cry, please, we will get all the mud off you.”

he let you rest in the bath by yourself while he threw your clothes into the washer and even put your shoes in there too. he threw your new pair of clothes for after the bath into the dryer along with a fluffy towel so you’d be warm afterwards.

“you ready to get out?” kent asked when he found you warmed up and mud free. the water was gross so you did a quick hot shower to make sure you were completely clean. kent got you wrapped in a towel and got your clothes laid out.

“i’m sorry about your bad day baby,” he said. “you made it slightly better.”

[theodorenussphotography]

A gray fox I photographed on the western edge of the OSU campus

[deepspacedukat]

Telltale Drip

I know Tolaris is a shitty person. I do. But he is also pretty. So, for this little drabble, we’re gonna all collectively agree that the Tolaris in this fic is a version of himself who didn’t do the creepy mind meld thing to T’Pol. Okay? Okay. So! In the episode he was in, he mentioned that he used to teach literature at the Shirkar Academy, which is a Vulcan university. This is a little drabble of an idea about why he really left, beyond all that “more to life than logic” reasoning that he gave.

Day 17: Precome

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

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Tolaris (ST:ENT) x Vulcan!Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Teacher/student fantasy, sexual fantasy, one-sided attraction, masturbation, the heart and lok want what they can’t have, copious amounts of precome.

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She was one of his most accomplished students. With two degrees to her name prior to enrolling in his literature class, Tolaris knew she was something special. It was illogical to dwell on her beauty since she did not attend his lectures for the purpose of pleasing others with her appearance, but he couldn’t help it.

Demure and proper yet opinionated, she’d challenged one of his assertions on the very first day of class, and Tolaris had to admit that she defended her position admirably. She would have a distinguished career and make many leaps forward in her research, he could tell. There were even rumors of the Vulcan Science Academy inviting her to join.

Her betrothed was indeed a fortunate man. They’d met on campus once when she needed to discuss some scheduling detail, and Tolaris wished nothing more than to take his place. In the recesses of the literature professor’s mind, he harbored a sort of fantasy - a daydream in which he challenged her betrothed and won her through the ritual combat. The thought of proving himself to her by killing the unworthy oaf to whom her parents had promised her sent a bolt of satisfaction through him.

He was very aware that by indulging such thoughts he was allowing his emotions to control the direction his mind took, but was there not more to life than duty and logic? Was there no room for the passion which he desired to shower upon her? Given the opportunity to do so, he would happily show her what a devoted mate could do for her.

As it was, he always made sure to give her his full attention when she spoke or asked a question - an extra hint of focus spiraled through his irises as his eyes focused on her, much like they had today. She had requested clarification about a thematic variation he’d discussed, and he had given her the most thorough answer he could possibly muster.

His heart had thrummed rapidly in his side at her gentle, murmured gratitude.

“Lesek, osu.” He’d managed a nod of acknowledgment, but he was forced to stand behind his desk as he continued his lecture. Tolaris had no choice. Until he could control his body’s reaction to her, he needed to hide the evidence of his arousal. He would have suspected that his pon farr was approaching had it not been for her repeated ability to draw such inappropriate reactions from him.

As soon as the lecture had ended and all the students had filed out, Tolaris went into his office and activated the appropriate privacy precautions. This was a weakness, but he needed release. He unwrapped his robes enough to get at the trousers and tunic he wore beneath, only to find a large damp spot over the bulging fabric.

His pre-ejaculate had always been rather prolific, so, truly, he should not have been surprised that his clothing had already been soiled. Thinking ahead, he carefully removed his outer robes and draped them over a chair to the side. Sitting behind his desk and removing his damp, leaking lok from the confines of his clothing, Tolaris moaned quietly at the visible evidence of what she did to him simply by existing.

He almost hoped that his pon farr had been knocked out of its cycle simply so that he could let out a little of the emotion that he’d been bottling up since this term started. This was beginning to become too much for him.

How shameful was he that he would feel the need to rut into his hand in broad daylight in his office? Anyone could catch him. Tolaris would be thrown out in disgrace, and a position at the Shirkar Academy was too good of an opportunity to be wasted.

...Or was it? Would it even be wasted if he allowed himself time to explore these persistent, building feelings? Surely such an endeavor would be dangerous. Most others who had attempted to do so ended up reverting to their primal natures - they became savage beasts so intent upon allowing passion to control their minds that they were practically feral.

A shiver ran up Tolaris’s spine when he allowed himself to consider what it might be like to allow himself to succumb to such urges. The hunger that he felt stirring beneath his normally calm surface would be displayed proudly and prominently on his face.

Would she like him better that way? Would it give her pleasure to see how desperate and lustful she rendered him with a simple glance? Oh, he would strip naked and crawl to her, if such an action pleased her!

His hips jutted upwards, forcing his lok through his palm’s tight grip at an even more rapid pace than before. Precome dripped over his fingers and down his wrist, dampening the sleeve of his tunic in a trail of damning desire. He would need to remain cautious when walking home this evening lest he unknowingly allow others to view the evidence of his momentary weakness.

His pleasure built more rapidly than he was expecting, and just when he had begun imagining what it would be like to mate with the object of his desire while in the throes of such savagery, the taut, delicate string of his arousal snapped throwing him into the strongest orgasm he’d had since his last Burning. With his mouth open in a silent shout, Tolaris covered the head of his lok with his other hand and caught his cum in his palm before he could make too big of a mess.

While he caught his breath, he laid his head back against his chair, trying to control his emotions once more. Perhaps it was time that he consider looking for others who were having the same difficulty that he was. Perhaps if he sought out the V’tosh ka’tur he could make a more informed decision about his future...and his options.

For now, though, he needed to clean himself up and head home to meditate.

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Vulcan Words:

lesek = thank you

osu = sir

V’tosh ka’tur = Vulcans without logic

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