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eternalsunrise · 2 months ago

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when in france

nfl! joe burrow x fem! reader

wc: 3.1k

tags! established relationship, college sweethearts (because i said so), 💍 hint hint, no smut!

notes! abby try not to write sickening fluff challenge failed horribly. i keep going back and forth about whether i like or not but i hope you guys do! mwah 💋

when joe told you he’d be attending and modeling for fashion week, you were ecstatic. you’ve been encouraging him to step out of his comfort zone, and it seemed like he was finally listening during this offseason.

when he told you the event was in france, you were even more stunned. you were so excited for him. there was no one more deserving of these opportunities than your joe.

and when he asked you to accompany him, you were absolutely floored. sure you knew he loved you. you’ve felt it every day for years. but an experience like this, you were so grateful he’d even consider sharing this with you.

“are you sure? really babe it’s okay, i won’t be upset.” you had reassured him the day he found out about the opportunity.

joe just looked at you like you had three heads over his dinner, his fork clattering as he dropped it onto the plate. he reaches his arm across the table and clasps your hand with his, “hey. don’t be silly. you’re my girl. there’s no one, and i mean no one, i’d rather do this with.”

there’s something about joe’s soft, steady voice that always reassures you in the way he knows you need. he places a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles. you don’t worry about it again.

your time in france is an absolute whirlwind. joe had warned you that his schedule was pretty packed, but you didn’t mind. after all, you’ve grown used to the hustle bustle of football season. nothing like the fast life. dinners, meetings, panels, runways, and parties. you’re supporting joe through it all, and he notices. hell, everyone notices.

the first dinner you all have together is after a runway show in cannes.

you’re chatting with a woman sitting next to you, laughing and sipping a glass of white wine. joe is on the other side of you, catching up with JJ and some of the other guys. of course the topic has reverted back to football, hard to avoid with those two at the table together. JJ and another friend are in a heated discussion about the rules surrounding taunting when the food arrives.

when the plates hit the table, joe watches your actions from the corner of his eye. you pick at your side choice, before putting the smallest bite into your mouth. reaction almost immediate, you turn to joe with a grimace that he knows all too well.

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head back and forth as he begins to eat his own meal, “i told you. i knew you wouldn’t like them cooked that way.”

you did this every time the two of you had dinner somewhere new. you like to order something you’d usually never try on the menu, in hopes of enjoying it. and joe, who knows you better than anyone, always warns you against it. then every single time, you flash him an adorable smile and say the same thing, “well, when in___”

this started when he brought you to ohio for the first time. the two of you were having lunch in cincy before heading to athens to meet his parents. you inquired about ‘cincinnati chili’, to which joe explained and confessed that even he didn’t enjoy chili served over spaghetti. but you had said “well, when in cincinnati!” with such excitement, that he didn’t have the heart to argue further.

the hometown specialty almost made you puke all over his childhood bedroom hours later. flash forward some years and the song and dance was still the same.

you shake your head, trying to lie. you’re stubborn. the last thing you want to do is admit he was right about this…again.

you attempt another bite, poking the food around your white, porcelain plate. “it’s not that bad joey…i kinda like it…”

you’re lying through your teeth. joe knows. he always does. the man has been reading you like a playbook since college.

so with a sigh he picks up both of your plates, making easy work of switching them. this is also a reoccurring affair. joe always orders something he knows you’ll enjoy, pretty much expecting you not to like your exotic choices. he never tells you this of course. but he’s not picky, so no harm no foul.

you frown down at your new dinner, as much as it looks delicious, you feel bad taking your boyfriend’s food. “no joey you don’t have to do that. i’ll eat it i swear!”

joe just gives you an affectionate eye roll, tapping your thigh a few times under the table, “eat baby.” he gently commands, picking up a fork and beginning to eat your rejected meal. his hand lingers, and you intertwine it with yours, leaning over and placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. you murmur a thank you against his skin, joe hums in response.

unbeknownst to you both, the people across from you were tuned in to the entire exhange. sharing amused glances with JJ, who just shrugs, “they’ve always been like this.”

the two of you resume eating, when the man across from joe speaks up in an amused tone, “so how long?”

joe looks up, confusion written on his face, “excuse me?” he swallows a bite and decides you’re right. this isn’t good at all, but he’s gonna eat every bite.

the man chuckles, sipping his drink. “sorry i didn’t mean to pry. it’s just, you two remind me of me and my wife early on in our marriage. i just assumed you must be newlyweds.”

the words catch your attention and your eyes turn into saucers. newlyweds? did the two of you really act married? the idea of being joe’s for life, officially; your stomach twists in lovesick knots. sure you’ve definitely thought about it. after all, you’ve been by his side for almost 5 years now. but you didn’t know where joe stood when it came to life long commitment. the idea that he might not want that with you, is sorta frightening. you don’t have time to overthink it though, a couple of ladies pulling you back into busy conversation.

justin gives joe a knowing smirk. he holds a hand up and wiggles his fingers, pretending he’s wearing a ring. an action he used to do back when joe would ditch them to hang out with you after lsu practices.

you’re so preoccupied you don’t notice joe’s hand playing with yours a little later into the meal. he takes one of your daily rings off of your index finger, slipping it onto the special one next to your pinky. he twirls it around a couple times, smiling fondly.

the rest of your days abroad pass in pictures of time. you and joe eating croissants early in the morning. sneaking kisses in your hotels elevator. joe asking if he had anything in his teeth before walking in a backless suit.

“were you planning on smiling on the runway babe?” you teased.

joe just shrugs, “maybe. it’s hard not to when i know you’re watching me.”

before you know it, it’s the vogue world after party, marking your last night before returning to the states. the night is lots of fun, full of mingling and laughter. although…there’s something up with your boyfriend. you’re not sure what, but he seems almost anxious. it’s usually out of joe’s character to be antsy, they call him joe cool for a reason. he’s been fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down every time the two of you were sitting. he’s quiet, but still sweet to you in a way that’s reassuring you that he’s okay. you blame his odd behavior on exhaustion, or maybe his social battery draining. maybe even the strobe lights are giving him a headache, which is bittersweet because they make his blues shine so well.

it’s well past midnight, and you’re sitting on joe’s lap wearing a black dress that compliments his outfit. you’re chatting with some people while

your boyfriend sits silently. you have no idea, but his mind is running a mile a second. one of his hands is wrapped around your waist, the other twirling stands of your hair that sit against the back of your dress. his heart thumps against his chest as he uses his leverage against you to raise himself up. he takes a deep breath, and leans his body forward to reach your ear. “you wanna get out of here?” deep voice rumbles from his chest and tickles your ear. it makes a shiver run up your spine.

you turn your head to look behind you, your noses are almost touching this way. the loose curl sitting against his forehead is begging you to brush it away. you resist the urge.

“sure babe, if you’re ready?”

joe looks at you with a look so full of adoration you think you might melt. he presses a quick kiss to your lips, “i’m ready. i already called the car.”

paris is stunning late at night, lights twinkling across the city. joe watches you stare out the cab window. he looks at you the way he has all night, full of love and an indescribable devotion. you’re so mesmerized by the landscape you don’t even notice you’ve passed your hotel until joe clears his throat.

your eyebrows furrow in confusion when joe turns your head to face him. “do you trust me?” the question is serious, but his voice is kind of rocky. like he’s nervous. but what for?

you nod your head with a laugh, “of course joey. why?”

joe smiles and deflects from the question. “alright. close your eyes for me then.”

now you’re really confused. you tilt your head at him, watching as the smile remains on his face. he’s really waiting on you to close your eyes. well, you choose to honor you words, closing your eyes tightly. you’re guessing a surprise is in store.

you feel the car slow to a stop. your hands drum on your lap, anticipation building in your gut.

joe places a hand on your thigh. “don’t get out yet, i’ll come around and get you.”

you nod your head, eyes still clenched to prove your honesty. you hear a car door shut and footsteps coming closer.

joe takes a deep breath, crisp night air filling his lungs. a shaky hand grips your car door, pulling it open.

you hear joe thank the driver, before he gently takes hold of your hands. he guides you to stand and step out of the car. you hear the cab drive away and your heart thumping in your ears.

the warmth of joe’s hands covers your eyes, making you laugh. whatever this surprise is, joe’s pretty adamant in not wanting you to spoil it.

you begin walking forward at joes command. “we almost there?”

you feel your body turn to the right, and suddenly the presence of his hands disappears.

“alright. open em’” he backs away from you, hands shoved into black pants.

you open your eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the lights blinking all over the place. you gasp at what’s in front of you, your eyes trailing upwards. “joe…you…”

he grants you a chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way you adored. “you didn’t think we’d leave before i let you see the eiffel tower did you?”

you just stare at the beautiful structure in front of you, trying to convince yourself it was real. there’s something so breathtaking about being in front of something you’ve only seen in photos.

joe is staring at you with the same fascination that you’re giving a wonder of the world. 5 years and you still make the confidence flee from him. you take his breath away simply by being well, you. he’s been a nervous wreck all day. but staring at you right now, in the middle of paris. he’s never been so sure of anything.

you’re rubbing your bare arms, but the cold isn’t even bothering you.

that doesn’t matter to joe. he slips his charcoal jacket off, draping it over your shoulders. you feel strong arms around you, a comfortable warmth covering you. joe rests his chin on your shoulder, turning and placing a few kisses on your cheek. his nose cold against your skin, but you still welcome the contact.

a content sigh escapes you, “it’s so stunning, isn’t it? there’s something so romantic about it.”

joe nods, but to be honest he’s barely even glanced at the tower. he calls your name, his voice cracking is like a bullet shooting through his ego.

you turn to face him, a grin on your face. “i know i keep saying it but thank you. thank you so much for bringing me here.”

joe’s response doesn’t miss a beat, “i’d take you anywhere. i want to take you everywhere, show you the world. that’s what you deserve.”

the sincerity of his words coupled with the setting make your heart soar. suddenly he unravels himself from you. you turn around to face him confused. you open your mouth to question him but he interrupts you by grabbing your hands, squeezing them with his own.

“i love you. i’ve loved you for 5 years and somehow i still love you more each day. you’re the best part of me. you make me a better man, and i wanna be that man for you, always.” joe’s voice is strained as if he’s getting emotional. it’s so rare to see from him. the fact that he’s getting choked up over you. his love for you nonetheless, you feel your own throat tighten. you feel your eyes well up with tears. joe brings your intertwined hands to rest against his chest, his heart pounding in a way he’s sure you feel. the night air sweeps his hair around, that single curl waving at you.

“the first time i thought you to ohio, i saw howmuch my family loved you…and i realized something.”

that was only 6 months into your relationship. a spring break in march that joe wanted to spend with his family. he asked you to tag along and although you were petrified, you agreed. you’ve never felt nervous around his family after that, quite the opposite actually.

suddenly joe steps back from you, a hand reaching into his pocket. the implication of what’s happening makes your mouth dry up. it’s like you’re frozen, just staring at him with wide eyes.

“i–i went out and got this as soon as we got back to baton rouge. i’ve held on to it all this time….and i brought it with me because i thought well, when in france. right?” joe tries his best to keep his voice steady, a nervous chuckle escaping him. and sure enough, a little black, velvet box appears in his hand.

a hand flies to your mouth, and you look around as if a camera crew is going to appear and tell you you’re being pranked. but alas, it’s just you, joe, and the eiffel tower.

“joe….” the tears are definitely flowing now, silently down your face. you couldn’t believe your eyes. this was really happening. right now. in paris at almost 2 in the morning.

you watch as joe gets down on one knee. he tries to tame his trembling hands as he opens the little box, but to no avail. the quarterback that is usually so collected, has crumbled down to mush that you hold in the palm of your hand.

joe perches the box in between his hands, early morning moonlight dances across the diamond ring.

he breathes your name like a prayer, “i meant what i said. i would want to do this. or anything, with anyone else. i want to be yours forever if you’ll have me. so angel, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

joe flashes you that boyish smile that you fell in love with all those years ago. it’s then that you realize it isn’t just joe kneeling before you.

it’s the handsome transfer student from ohio that asks you where bronson hall is. it’s the boy that invites you to watch him play football, and forgets to mention he’s the new star quarterback. it’s the guy your friends ask about when you’re blushing at brunch. it’s the teary eyed heisman trophy winner who thanks you in his speech. it’s the cincinnati bengal who trusts you decorate the new apartment you share together. it’s the guy that plays catch with your younger family members at thanksgiving. it’s your boyfriend that invited you to france. it’s your joe.

this is the easiest question you’ve ever been asked.

“yes. oh my fucking god! a million times yes!” you exclaim, heels clicking the pavement as you jump up and down a couple of times. you’re confused when you look down and see joe still kneeling below you, his grin rivaling the city lights. then you realize, you don’t have the ring on yet. “oh fuck which hand is it?!” your brain is so frazzled, you just stick both hands out toward him.

joe gently grabs your left hand, ring perfectly slipping onto your ring finger. he admires it for a moment and places a kiss on your knuckles.

he’s standing up straight for less than a second before you’re pouncing on him, throwing your arms around him. you pull his neck down toward you, crashing your lips together in a bruising kiss.

joe returns your affection quickly. hands find home holding your face, thumbs dusting away tears. this kiss is different than any you’ve had in the past. it’s a seal. a promise. a sign of your devotion to one another deepening after tonight.

the two of you stay like that for a moment. so caught up in one another. the anticipation of a lifetime together makes you feel as light as a feather.

the two of you break away with sharp inhales, crisp air filling your lungs. you remove your hands from his neck, instead grabbing his in your own and giving a laugh at their state, “babe. you’re shaking.”

joe nods, tongue darting out to lick his lips. he gives your hands a squeeze. “yeah well. good thing i got you to keep me steady.”

the ride back to the hotel is full of giggles and light touches. the ring on your finger is like a magnet to your eyes. you can’t look away, even as joe is extra affectionate; kissing all over your cheek and the side of your neck. you’re so full of love it feels hard to breathe.

“hey joey?”

your boyfriend fiancée pulls his head back to look you in the eyes, “yeah, pretty?”

you put your now ring clad hand on joe’s chest. he looks down at it with a smirk, before meeting your eyes once again.

“what do you think about that backless suit for the wedding?”

#joe burrow x reader #x reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fic #joe burrow

546 notes · View notes

bengals-barnesbabe · 5 months ago

Text

Coach Burrow

Pairing: Dad!Joe Burrow x Nurse!WifeReader

Description: Joe gets offered his favorite job yet!

Warnings: Fluffy, but suggestive towards the end ;)

Word Count: 2.4k

Main Masterlist

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ °

Life after the NFL wasn’t that much different for Joe Burrow. The 4x SuperBowl MVP was practically handed an elite coaching position the second he announced his retirement. So yea, not much is different from when he started all those years ago.

“MOM, where’s dad? We need him ASAP! MOM!” Your 6th grade son, Leo shouted running into the house.

Ok some things are different.

“HEY NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE! Take your shoes off please.” Rolling your eyes at the boy and his friend as they removed their muddy cleats then continued their rampage. You’d spent the entire afternoon cleaning the house and doing the laundry so when you left for your 13 hour shift tonight you wouldn’t have to worry about your kids not having anything to wear or your husband having to focus on anything but work and your 4 kids. So you were not letting some 11 year olds mess it up.

That's when you realized it was only 4:30, “hey!”

The two middle schoolers stop just before entering the backyard and turn to face you in the kitchen.

“Aren‘t you two supposed to be at practice? Why’d you take the bus?” You ask.

“Our coach was fired!” Chris, Leo’s partner in crime exclaims with a smile.

“Okay, that doesn’t answer the running in my house or the smile on your faces.” Your forehead creases looking at the overly giddy kids.

“We want dad to take his place.” Well that makes sense.

“Ok what makes you think he has time to coach both your team and Ohio State’s?” Joe’s job is flexible, but not that flexible.

“Easy, he goes to work from 9 to 4 and comes home at the same time practice is. So if he was our coach he could change our practice time from 4:30 to 5. BOOM he has time.” They say will full confidence in their plan.

If only he’d put that much effort into his math homework. But you give them credit for putting it together in such a short notice.

You chuckle and wave them off to pitch their idea to your husband of 15 years.

The boys find your husband outside “playing” around with his new grill.

“Dad!” The man turns around confused at his youngest son’s voice.

“Leo, what are you doing home? Chris does your mom know you’re not at practice?” He pulls the lid down on the grill and gives his best ‘dad glare.’

“We came to get you! We need a new coach! And we want it to be you.” They plead.

Joe smirks and crosses his built arms. “Oh yea? Give me one good reason why I should be your coach?”

The boys look at each other a bit panicked, so they discuss it in a little huddle that makes Joe smile.

When they break, Joe puts back on his serious facade.

“Ok dad here’s our offer, if you agree to be our coach, I’ll get all A’s this year.”

The dad’s brows raise in a surprised and impressed way.

Truth is, Joe knew all about their coach’s departure. Over a week ago, the school sent an email to him personally asking if he could fill the position temporarily or even permanently. He said he’d have to check with his family before making any decisions.

Yesterday they decided to inform him that a number of other dads/ supporters had already applied so there’d be a formal try out today at 5.

The boys walked into the house at 4:30 and all he’d been waiting for was his son’s approval.

“You know what bud, I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.” He says shaking his mini-me’s hand. The shake quickly turns into him being ‘dragged’ into the house.

“We gotta go! You need to be there right now.” Joe just shakes his head and grabs his keys.

“I see you didn’t take much convincing.” You give him a knowing look as he walks around the kitchen counter to where you’re seated.

He chuckles, “I may have had some insider knowledge of the situation. But here’s the kicker, he agreed to make all A’s if I tried out.” Your husband smiles widely knowing how hard you’ve been trying to get the 11 year old to take his schooling seriously.

You scrunch your face as he pecks both cheeks before placing a much deeper kiss to your lips that you can’t help but reciprocate.

“Mom… dad that’s gross, we need to go it’s 4:45!” Leo whines causing you to separate from his father.

“Yea go kick butt Shiesty!” You wink as he’s pulled out of the house laughing.

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

When the boys get to the field they are surprised by the sight of your 14 year old twins, Malia and Miles, standing by the fence.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite firstborns, what are you doing here?” Joe asked giving them side hugs, the only acts of affection they’ve allowed him to show outside the house.

“I wanted to get burgers, but was dragged here by her.” Miles dead tones.

Malia rolls her eyes. “I came to fill out your application for coach so you’re welcome, please come up with an adequate ‘daughter’s appreciation day’ present to thank me.” She smiles, Joe snorts at teenager.

“Are you sure you’re my daughter because that was all your mother? Thank you for helping out Lia and Miles…” The young boy shrugs. “Exactly. You guys plan on staying until we’re done or do I need to call mom?”

“We’ll stay, I wanna see the looks on the other dads’ faces when they see you.” Miles replies rubbing his hands together.

“I guess I’m staying too.” Malia shrugs.

“Ok then.”

The tryouts had barely already started by the time Joe finally got to the field and just as Miles anticipated, the reactions were priceless.

“Mr. Evans, he’s here!” Leo yells running onto the field. His wild presence causes everyone look in his direction.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“The kid’s dad is Joe Burrow?!”

“I don’t know if I should be honored or scared.”

“We should all just leave now, he has 4 rings.”

Leo’s teacher, Mr. Evans shakes the former quarterback’s hand and welcomes him onto the field.

“Mr. Burrow, it’s good to see you again.”

“Please call me Joe, it’s nice to be able to come out.” He says.

“Of course Joe, you’re right on time too. Would you like to introduce yourself to everyone?”

Joe nodded, “yea of course.” Then turned towards his competitors. “Hey guys I’m Joe, Leo’s dad. I guess I kind of played for a bit, but that’s all behind me now.” He chuckles.

“If played for a bit means leading the best team in LSU history to an undefeated championship then going from ‘the underdog’ of the NFL to a future hall of famer with 4 SuperBowl rings? Than the rest of us haven’t even heard of the game.” Will, Chris’ dad scoffed. Joe patted his long time friend on the back then joined him in line.

“Ok so first we’re going to test your football knowledge then see how well you coach other kids, not your own.” Evans claps his hands and they get to work.

By the end of the first round, half of the applicants have been dismissed and unsurprisingly Joe leads the pack going into the second round.

“You know this isn’t fair right?” Will says in between rounds.

Joe sighs, “you do realize Leo and Chris practically tracked mud through the house just to get me here right?” Then smirks as the other guy rolls his eyes.

“Hey what if we made it fair?”

Will looks at him intrigued, “I’m listening.”

“Split the job, we already know it’s going to come down to us. So what do you say, partners?” Joe suggests.

“Damn Burrow,” Will instantly agrees. “I don’t know how you stay so humble.” He laughs.

Joe just points to his fan club on the bleachers. “Chris is your oldest, so you don’t even know the degree of humility teenagers will teach you but my wife helps also helps with that.”

When the men line back up for the rest of try outs, all of the other guys had already left.

Then Mr. Evans walks up to them. “So, I think it’s pretty clear who’s going to get the position.”

“Actually, we’ve decided to split it.” Will leads, the teacher looks to Joe confused.

“Yup, it would actually work out better if both of us share responsibility. There’s a lot of benefits to having two coaches, plus we’re doing it for free.”

Mr. Evans couldn’t argue against the offer so he just shook their hands.

“Alright Coach Burrow and Coach Williams. Welcome to the Wildcats.”

❀。• *₊ meanwhile at the house °。 ❀°。

“Mommy, I need help...”

You had just finished putting on your scrubs before your 6 year old started crying bloody murder. “What is it my love?”

Walking into her My Little Pony room you scanned every crevice for threats, but only landed on the young girl sitting on her floor with a notebook.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

You melted at the cute pout on her face as she pointed to her math book. “Jazzy, babygirl. Are the fractions giving you a hard time?” She nodded her head, you checked your watch (5:15) and decided to join her on the floor.

“Ok I have some spare time to help you on a few, but when daddy gets home I have to go work okay pretty girl?” She happily nodded and scooched herself into your lap.

For the next 20 minutes you simply watched and fiddled with your daughter’s dark curls as she studied her math. It became very clear within seconds that she just wanted to be with her mother as she didn’t ask any questions about the material.

Being a charge nurse meant your hours were more unpredictable, especially at your hospital. Most nurses worked 12 hour shifts but you were currently understaffed so you took it upon yourself to be a leader and help your team. You usually worked 3 overnight shifts a week, so you could be there when the kids get home from school. Even though you were home more often than not, there are times when your babies need you, so if one of them wanted more time with you there was no way you were going to reject them of that opportunity.

While you and your youngest were cuddled up on the ground in your own little world, Joe and his fan club arrived right on time for dinner.

“I’m starving, why couldn’t we stop for burgers?” Miles groaned throwing his backpack onto the couch.

Joe picked up the bag and put it back in his son’s hands. “Because even though she didn’t have to, your mother cooked before her shift. So you’re going to take your stuff upstairs and get washed up for dinner.” He gave him a pointed look and dismissed the teenager.

“Wow, I can’t wait to deal with that.” Joe shook his head and led his friend to the kitchen.

“You have no idea. I love my kids, but the older they get the more of me I see in them. It would cool when all he wanted to do was throw the football around, but now the stubbornness gene is really coming to bite me in the ass.” He snorted while warming up their dinner.

“How’s he doing with that, has he made varsity yet?” Will asks as the kids make their way downstairs.

“He’s good for a sophomore but not there yet. If he put more of his time into practice instead of chasing cheerleaders he could be better.” He responds just as the boy rounds the corner.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game dad. I got Becky Jackson’s number in third period, nothing’s stopping me now.” He smiles taking his place at the table.

“What happened to Marissa? I thought she was nice.” Joe chuckles as his wife joins the crew.

“You know how he is babe.” You give him a quick kiss wrapping your arms around him.

“Yea mom, he’s for the streets.”

“I am not for the streets! At least I have a date.”

You shake your head and slowly make your rounds. You quickly greet Will, grab your work and dinner bags, kiss the kids and walk with Joe to the front door.

“You’re really going to leave me in this chaos.” He sighs his hands still holding yours.

“I heard my teacher was for the streets.”

“What’s for the streets?”

You smirk against his chest, “oh I think you got this Shiesty, this is nothing compared to your O Line in those early years.”

His hands quickly drop your hands and find your waist. “Ok alright I see how you want this to go.” His voice low against your ear.

“What, I’m simply saying your risks for injury are dramatically lower.” Your arms go around his neck as he backs you into the corner out of your children’s vision, then a hand on your waist moves to grip the meat of your ass. You bite your lip as a low moan muffles against his chest.

“You think you’re funny. If it was just us right now, I’d show your ass what being funny gets you. But when you get back, you’re all mine mama.” He groans nipping your ear then pressing a hungry kiss to your lips. You moan into his soft yet bruising lips, pulling him in further.

“Oh god, Jazmine close your eyes.”

You both sigh as the giggles from your permanent cockblockers acknowledge their existence to you.

“I’m sending them to my parents tomorrow.”

“Do that and we might end up adding to the population.” You chuckle pulling away from your husband, who raises his brows at your comment.

“Don’t tempt me, you know exactly how I like you.” He playfully slaps your behind. “Kids, say goodnight to mom!”

You shake your head at him while being engulfed in hugs. “I love you, I’ll see you when you get home from school.”

“Bye momma..” The chorus sings.

They return to the table and you turn back to a smirking Joe. “See you tomorrow beautiful.” You blush hugging him once more before opening the door.

“Goodnight Coach Burrow, can’t wait practice with you tomorrow.” You wink as his eyes cerulean eyes darken then shut the door.

“Fuck, who said 5 kids was too many.”

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

A/N: Looks like a bitch came back to life! My trip was nice but not writing for so long killed me. Can’t wait to see how much gets posted in the next week

Xoxo Babe

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed and treasured ♡

#black reader #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow bengals #nfl imagine #dad!joe burrow #bengals barnesbabe #cincinnati bengals #joey b #fluff #coach burrow #nurse!reader #wife!reader #mom!reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months ago

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Skepticism

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(NFL)football player!reader

Summary: Tim is skeptical about the first female NFL player. When he shares his opinion with you, he doesn't realize that you are the woman he's talking about.

Warnings: fluff, Tim gets embarrassed and apologizes a bunch, flirting

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

A/N: Bodyguard Tim👀 If this reads like Eric Winter talking about sports in He Said, Ella Dijo just remember that he's Tim Bradford. They're pretty much the same.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The history of the NFL has changed forever! The first female player has been drafted into the NFL, in the Los Angeles Rams’ 13th pick.

Since the moment your name was called at the NFL draft, your life has been turned upside down. Being the first female player in the league has resulted in unending news coverage, mixed praise and backlash, and unescapable attention. People know your name now, and as you prepare to change your life forever by putting on a Rams jersey, you can only hope that the skeptics are wrong about you and what you’ll do on the field.

“Dinner tomorrow!” Lucy yells at Tim. “Be there!”

“I will,” he replies. “Unfortunately.”

“Be nice,” Angela chides.

“You can always back out and stay home to watch the game,” Nolan points out.

“If they’ll start showing the games again,” a nearby officer interjects. “Everything on ESPN has been about the chick that got drafted. Even during the games, she’s all the commentators can talk about.”

“There’s a girl in the NFL?” Lucy asks. “Finally!”

“Wait, who?” Tim inquires. “I stopped watching the draft before it was over, but how’d I miss that?”

“You must’ve been very busy,” the officer replies. “She’s everywhere, man. Football got ruined. They can’t leave anything sacred.”

Tim doesn’t add to the misogynistic view of his colleague but knows that he has some research to do. Football history has certainly changed, but Tim won’t decide on how he feels about a woman playing professionally until he learns more for himself.

“The Rams, man,” the officer laments.

The moment Tim arrives home after his shift, he turns on ESPN. SportsCenter is on, and he’s unsurprised to see a woman’s name projected behind the men at the desk.

“No, John, what we’re failing to consider is her history,” Rocky Boiman points out. “Her college playing record is better than the twelve male drafts ahead of her.”

“The point remains that a historically male-dominant sport is supposed to be male-dominant,” John Anderson argues.

“If we take the gender out, the size difference, everything except how well these people play, she blends right in,” Tedy Bruschi states. “Regardless of whether or not she should play, she can play, and she does it very well.”

“I’ve been watching her in action since her senior year of high school,” Rocky adds. “If anybody has what it takes to be here, we’re looking at her.”

“Until she gets hit,” John comments. “There may not be regulations against female players, but statistically, she is more likely to be injured.”

“Then she would’ve been injured in college,” Tedy interrupts. “At the end of the day, this comes down to one of two things. Either you don’t think women should be in the NFL, for whatever reason, or you’re ignoring the facts and judging her prematurely. I will end with this, if you think this woman should quit before she starts, you’re going to be proved wrong.”

The SportsCenter logo appears on the screen before Sarah Barshop of the Rams and Matt Bowen, an analyst, begin reviewing your stats and playing history. You played in college, but your stature and your above average statistics alone don’t convince Tim. Not because you’re a woman, but because he’s seen better odds. He’ll never say that you don’t deserve a spot on the team, but he won’t believe that you can make a difference to the team until he sees it. If you can prove it at all.

“They’re talking about you again,” your friend says.

You look up from your playbook diagram and smile. The men on SportsCenter have been talking about you every chance they get. It’s not just them, though, everyone with a pulse and an ounce of interest in football has an opinion of you.

“Still arguing about if I’ll get my collarbone snapped in the first game?” you guess. “Or have they moved on to female hormones?”

“Most of them are defending you. Your stats are all they seem to care about,” your friend explains. “Maybe you will have a fan base bigger than me and my cats.”

“But you’re all I need.”

“That and a Rams paycheck.”

You laugh and return your attention to the book before you. You’re entering a new world with a lot to prove, so you’re going to be ready for anything.

“Hey, we should go to dinner tomorrow night. We haven’t had time to celebrate with all of the interviews and everything.”

“That sounds great. Just don’t pick a sports bar.”

Tim looks away from the football game to check his watch. He’s got half an hour until Angela, Wesley, Lucy, Nolan, Nyla, James, Wade, and Luna are supposed to be here for dinner. Although Tim doesn’t remember whose decision it was to meet for an “end of the hardest week this year” dinner, he agreed to come. When he arrived nearly an hour early because he had nothing better to do, he found a seat at the bar and got invested in a game.

The restaurant isn’t busy, but the bar is nearly at capacity. It seems that everyone who wasn’t arrested this past week is now here, watching football and listening to updates on you. Every chance the announcers and reporters get, they bring you up. Tim refuses to change his opinion until he sees you in action. Your highlight reel has become an hourly regular on ESPN, but you’ll have to get through training and into next season before any of it will truly matter.

“What do you think about it?” the bartender asks as he wipes the spot beside Tim.

“I think we won’t know until we see her play,” Tim answers. “If we see her play.”

“My boss is convinced she’ll lead them to the Super Bowl, but I don’t think it’ll be that straightforward.”

“It never is,” Tim agrees.

“I also think it’s a little strange they don’t show her face. She was at the draft, but everything since then has been her in her uniform or at least her helmet.”

Someone yells for the bartender, and he nods at Tim before he walks away. It is strange, but Tim assumes that they’re trying to maintain the public image of you as a football player, and not just a woman.

As you enter the restaurant, you receive a text from your friend. Running late, so don’t have fun until I get there. You shake your head at the short message and ask the hostess for a seat at the bar while you wait. She points you toward the entrance, and you focus on finding a seat and avoiding any unnecessary spills as you navigate the crowded area.

“Excuse me?” you ask a man seated at the bar. “Can I sit here for just a few minutes?”

He turns toward you and nods, and your responding smile isn’t only gratitude. The man is incredibly attractive, you realize. As you sit on the stool beside him, you notice his attention is on the television screens over the bar. Several of them are broadcasting college football games, yet you see your name appear in the closed captions.

“Which game looks the best?” you ask him.

“Penn State and Missouri game isn’t bad,” he answers.

“Missouri’s better, I assume.”

“Aren’t they always?” he asks lightly.

Penn State’s coach calls a time out and you ask the bartender for a glass of water as the screen changes to the commentators. One of them mentions a play you made in college, and you roll your eyes. You don’t mind the attention, but they’re taking what should be about the players playing now and making it about you. The man beside you scoffs, and your smile grows.

“It never ends,” he mumbles under his breath, and he spins his bottle in one hand.

“Tired of hearing about her?” you ask.

“I mean, I don’t want to sound like every other man in this city, but, yeah, a little.”

“I get that. Skepticism isn’t a bad thing; you can have an opinion.”

“I’m just not sure I can have an opinion until she starts playing. Yeah, her college history was good, but she’s not in college anymore.”

“Right,” you agree.

“There’s a reason there hasn’t been a woman in a sport that intense. Injuries would be detrimental to her and the team,” he points out. “Not to mention the fact that we’ve only seen the good, every time someone tries to mention something she can’t do well, they get cut off with don’t judge her because she’s a woman.”

“Not that I don’t agree with the injury thing, but, I mean, women have been playing rugby for years and it’s just as intense.”

“Yeah, but that’s with other women. Seems like there’s just too much at stake for one girl to make history in the NFL. She hasn’t even proved anything yet other than the fact that women can be drafted.”

“And you don’t think she can prove more?” you ask. “Skeptical that she makes it through the next part?”

He lifts his glass and shrugs, which you take as a firm yes.

“I played football in high school,” he adds. “And I feel like I can see talent when it’s there. She has talent, I’m not arguing that, but I don’t see NFL-worthy talent yet.”

Someone says your name, and you turn. It’s a college-aged girl, and she smiles shyly as she asks for a picture. You immediately agree and slide out of your seat to hug her and take the picture.

As you pose with her, you notice that the man beside you is staring at his bottle with his lips pressed together. Maybe you should have introduced yourself the moment your name came up, but you wanted to hear the truth. And the fact that he didn’t just say no, she can’t do it gave you a boost of hope that you can. Skepticism is better than complete doubt.

“Sorry,” you tell him as you return to the stool beside him.

“No, I’m sorry,” he replies quickly. “I probably should have recognized you, but what I said- I mean, you’ve got talent, and I shouldn’t have said that you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt with a laugh. “I needed someone to be honest to my face for once.”

“You’re getting plenty of direct negative opinions,” he points out. “And I’m sorry.”

“Now you’re apologizing for every other football fan. Seriously, it’s no problem, no hard feelings.”

“But I-“

“You’re a cop, right?” you interrupt, gesturing to the badge on his hip. He nods, and you answer, “Truth and justice is your thing. You made some good points, too. I’ll use ‘em in my training to prove all the other skeptics wrong.”

“Which I believe you can! Seriously, though, can I buy you a drink or something? Anything to make it up to you?”

“Make what up?” you question, smiling as you lay your hand over his forearm. “I forgive you if that’s what you need to hear, but you didn’t do anything worth apologizing for.”

You move your hand to offer a handshake and properly introduce yourself. He inhales deeply before he shakes your hand.

“I’m Tim Bradford,” he says.

“And you’re a cop, I play football,” you finish. “Now that we know each other, can I ask what you’re doing here alone?”

“Guy like me in a place like this?” he jokes. “I’m waiting to meet some friends from work.”

You nod and say, “I’m meeting a friend, too. A little celebration of sorts.”

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure,” you agree.

“What made you get into football? Why it over any other sport?”

“Bear Bryant,” you answer seriously.

“Really?” Tim questions with his eyes narrowed.

“You’ll have to watch my ESPN special to find out. That or we could do this again another time, without the accidental meeting.”

“People are going to think you’re in this sport just to meet men,” Tim replies.

“Who says I’m not?” you tease. “But, seriously, you’re great, and I bet you could tell me how to win a Super Bowl.”

“You’re the football pro,” he points out. “I’m just a cop.”

You nod and look away, disappointed by his implied rejection. Suddenly, though, you remember what your agent told you.

“Well, if you don’t want to go on a date… I do need a bodyguard on my security team.”

Tim’s eyebrows raise as he turns in his seat to face you. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

You look away when your friend calls your name, and you wave at her before you stand. Stalling at Tim’s side, you add, “Think about it. I’d love to flirt with a bodyguard.”

“I will,” Tim promises softly.

“Come find me if you decide tonight.”

You smile at Tim and grip his arm kindly in place of a farewell. Tim Bradford believes in you and is considering your offered position of bodyguard, so you know you can get a Super Bowl ring this year. No matter how skeptical everyone else is.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #requests

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aftaylorglow · 1 year ago

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i want so badly for taylor swift to speak out against israel and the genocide this apartheid state is committing in palestine. im so proud of her and everything she has achieved this year, starting from the eras tour to her successful rerecords. it’s not a surprise she’s on top of many year-end most influential/best of the best lists.

but what then? what use is her ever-growing influence? it’s ridiculous to say but she’s the only one who has enough of a sway to make people actually pay attention to something. just look at how the voter registration in the US spiked again when she posted about it a few months ago. how the NFL had boosted views for the simple fact that she was attending the games. can you imagine how much the tides would change if she denounced israel’s atrocities? if she rallied for support for palestinians? the legions of swifties would actually listen and pay attention. because right now only a very small fraction of us care, truly care, about what’s happening. the rest are too busy fishing for a taylor nation notice.

yes, taylor swift cannot end wars. no, it’s not taylor swift’s job to make life better for an oppressed population. but she has the platform, the momentum, and the voice to bring all these issues to light.

this is not to mention how the apartheid state has been using her pictures, her lyrics, even the friendship bracelets to further their propaganda. did taylor not fervently oppose the n@zis who were calling her an aryan goddess a few years ago? even if this is all she does now, ask them not to use her for their propaganda, it would already do so much.

instead she’s silent. when her influence is needed the most, she’s not there.

the sad thing is, we all know she’ll live and thrive if she chooses to stay silent. hell, i have tickets to see her next year. she’ll continue to be successful and she will put out more albums and she’ll earn more money and she’ll be safe and happy. palestinians have none of any of this. some of them are dying under the rubble after their house is hit with b0mbs that israel is dropping as im typing this.

but if she uses her influence? if she puts pressure on the government, on joe biden whom she proudly endorsed, there’s a chance that she could tip the scales. and even if it doesn’t work, isn’t it better to have at least tried? even selfishly, will your conscience not feel lighter knowing you did something instead of nothing?

taylor, you have a ton of resources at your disposal. i hope you use them, and i hope you use your influence to help the palestinian people.

#taylor swift #time magazine #person of the year #swiftie #swifties for palestine #palestine #free palestine #swiftiesforpalestine

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 months ago

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The Princess & The Playboy: Six Months Timestamp

Summary: Dean has retired from the NFL and has been enjoying his downtime with the reader. While she and Eric want to make sure he's safe, Sam and Max need to figure out what they want to do with their lives going forward...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language, very brief mentions of smut

A/N: This timestamp takes place ~ six months after the end of the original series. Please enjoy!

_______

“Hey, wait a second-” you heard Dean say behind you before he let out a loud groan. You turned off the treadmill and hopped off the back, catching your breath while you took in the scene before you.

Dean was on his stomach, hands behind his back in a pair of zip ties as Eric straddled him and ruffled his hair.

“Watch and learn, kiddo,” he said, pulling Dean up by his shirt collar so he was sitting. “You’re thinking too much. Y/N? She’s been running for over an hour. Watch what she does.”

Eric waved you over away from the workout equipment. You ditched your headphones along the way, still breathing hard when Eric tossed a pair of zip ties at you.

“We’re playing Catch. Go.” Eric moved fast towards you, faster than any man in his forties had a right to be. You watched his footwork and dodged to the left, swing your leg out as he missed you and connecting with the back of his knee. He went down on the padded floor and you flew yourself on top of him, wedging your knee between his shoulder blades and using your own weight to sit on top of him. It was uncomfortable for him, painful if you really wanted to hurt him and put down more pressure. But you weren’t meant to stay here for long as he could get back up if he really tried.

No, you grabbed the back of his neck as you moved your knee to his side and when he instinctually shot his arm up to grab your wrist, you jabbed your fingers right into his armpit. It made his body jerk at the odd sensation and his hand slip, allowing you to force his wrist through one loop and tighten. Once you had it, you used the other loop to force his arm back and then with a carefully aimed jab just under the rib cage, he tensed again and you had both hands secured.

You rolled off him with a hard pant, Eric wincing a bit as he sat up. “You weren’t meant to win you little asshole.”

“Shouldn’t have trained me so good then,” you said, giving him a thumbs up. You got to your hands and knees, sitting back to stretch your legs as Eric got himself up and over to the wall where he had a pair of scissors.

“How the hell did you do that?” said Dean, Eric cutting himself free and then Dean. “You were literally doing sprints three minutes ago.”

“I think Eric’s point is it isn’t always physical,” you said, Eric offering Dean a towel to wipe up his sweat with. “We have to always be prepared, even if we’re exhausted. I’m sorry babe but he’s right, you do think too much when he’s teaching you moves. I was the same way at first. Now nearly a decade later look at me. You’ll get there.”

“To be fair, we’ve only been doing this stuff six months and you got the basics down good,” said Eric. An alarm on his watch pinged and he started to head out. “I’ll see you guys later. Y/N, we’ll head out a four.”

“Have fun at therapy,” you said, Eric rolling his eyes but smiling as he jogged down the hall to catch a quick shower. You turned to Dean who was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. “How do doing down there? Eric didn’t hurt anything?”

“Only my pride,” he sighed. You crawled over beside him, laying back so your head rested on his chest. “I can’t get any of this advanced crap. If anyone tries to bother you it’s not going to be some minor thing. It’ll be planned and-”

“And you didn’t start out throwing bombs down the field, knowing which play to run when. It’s just like football. You get the basics down and you build off of them. Sure, I know a lot now but I didn’t know the basics for two years. I still depend on Eric and Sloane and the team to keep us safe. It’s their job to protect us.”

“I know. Sometimes I worry though that I can’t protect you if it came down to it.” You laughed, Dean sitting up and sending you sliding down to his lap. He frowned at you. “Why’s that funny? I don’t know these moves. I couldn’t protect you back at that party. I’m not-”

“You stepped in front of me at that party when we found Sam and Max. You always walk between me and the street and switch sides if we go by an alley. You do so many little things that make me feel protected, Dean. Let the rest of them be the super soldiers. But you? I know if shit got real, you’re the most dangerous one of them all. You’re the one I want.” He pondered that for a moment, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I know you got me.”

“Yes, I do,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” You sat up, Dean’s arms pulling you into a hug. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

“A bit. I’m looking forward to it though. Are you excited to have the boys at a concert for the first time?” You hummed.

“Yeah, just keep an eye on them. I don’t want anyone with a VIP pass being weird to them. They haven’t been out in public much and those reporters are still hounding them.”

“I’ll ask my boys to watch their backs too,” said Dean, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “We ought to wash up. They should be getting out school soon.”

“Only if we can share,” you said, Dean chuckling before picking you up bridal style.

“Oh, I was planning on it.”

Thirty Minutes Later

“Hey Sammy,” you said from the kitchen, eating the late lunch Dean had prepared for you. Sam was smiling more than usual and you quirked an eyebrow. “Good day?”

“Amazing fucking day,” he said, taking off his backpack and pulling out a paper. Dean leaned over from across the island, Sam sliding it over. “I passed high school. Not even just my GED but I like passed it passed it. I’m gonna get a diploma and everything.”

“That’s awesome, Sammy,” said Dean, throwing his arm over Sam’s shoulders and hugging him tight. “You’ve always been such a nerd.”

You slipped away with your plate when noticed Max was on the back patio and hadn’t come inside yet.

“How was school?” you asked, taking a seat next to him at the patio table. He shrugged, slouching down. You offered him the other half of your sandwich, Max taking it after a beat. “Can I be brutally honest with you?”

“About…” he said with his mouth full, eating far too quickly. You pursed your lips, breathing slowly. “What?”

“Sam got his diploma because he was abducted with only a few months of high school left. You had years. You’re going to get your GED and that’s that.” Max frowned, crossing his arms before looking away. “You can go to college with a GED you know.”

“I know that,” he muttered. You hummed, leaning your head back.

“So stop comparing yourself to Sam. I am just as proud of you for working on that GED as I am of him for his diploma. We all are. Max…I don’t give a shit if you have straight A’s or what you want your education to look like. You’re twenty eight years old. You get to pick what you want.”

“He’s always been smarter than me. He came up with the plan to-”

“Bullshit. Don’t act like a fucking brat.” He turned in his seat, angry and wide eyes meeting yours. “Sam was seventeen when he was grabbed. You were fucking fourteen. You said you didn’t meet Sam until you were seventeen. Three years you were on your own. You survived as a fucking kid on your own. I know every goddamn awful fact about trafficking children so I know you were fucking smart to make it on your own. Don’t you ever down-play your intelligence, do you understand me? You’re going to be whatever the fuck you want to in life because any kid that survives that can do anything he wants to. Now sulk how you need to and then go congratulate Sam because your brother just got his diploma and families celebrate that shit.”

You grabbed the plate and stood, halfway across the patio when Max cleared his throat.

“Y/N.” You looked over you shoulder and sighed. He shrugged, a weird smile on his face. “Thanks. You and Dean, even Eric and Sloane, but you guys don’t baby us. I’m glad you’re still my sister.”

“Well I sure as shit ain’t your mom,” you said, Max laughing quietly. You nodded towards the door, Max taking his bag and walking over. “Let’s get a proper lunch before we head out, alright?”

Later That Night

“So you think the fans liked the show?” asked Dean around eleven. The house was much louder than you were used to after performances at the Wolves stadium. Someone had soft rock music playing through a bluetooth speaker on the patio. Half of the LA Wolves football team and their significant others were outside along with a few of his former coaches. Dean’s parents and Benny’s extended family. Eric and Sloane were talking in hushed tones in the kitchen with not an inch of space between them. Sam and Max were even talking to a few girls they’d met, younger sisters of a few of the players.

You rolled your eyes, laughing when Dean pulled you against his chest. “Based on the screams I’d say that all thought it was so lame when you came out to do your god awful dancing.”

“Um, excuse me but your choreographer said I was amazing,” scoffed Dean. You patted his arm, Dean pouting. “Was I really that bad?”

“You were great. That was for us anyways,” you said, both of your turning your heads when you heard a crash in the kitchen. Sloane was trying to pick up the mcdonalds boxes full of chicken nuggets off the ground while Eric held her waist, the pair of them giggling. “Can y’all keep it in your pants in public?”

“It was an accident,” said Eric with a shrug and smile that you recognized far too much these days.

“Go get horny in your bedroom,” you said, pointing at the stairs.

“Well if the boss says so,” said Eric, Sloane yelping when he picked her up, smacking his chest lightly. “What’d I do? You started it.”

“You’re such a liar,” she huffed, Eric humming as he waved goodnight. “Remember to-”

“Set the alarm,” said Dean. “Remember to wrap it up, old timer.”

Eric flipped him the bird as he headed up the stairs, mumbling something you couldn’t quite catch before they were gone.

“So those two are totally trying for a kid, right?” asked Dean.

“Oh, absolutely. The wedding is in three months and I’ve already seen Eric reading articles about first time parenting.” Dean smirked, your finger going up. “We. Are. Not. Ready.”

“I know. But maybe in a few years we will be. Let their rugrat have a little cousin with our rugrat.” Dean took your hand, pulling your tattooed wrist to his lips, kissing it gently. “After our own wedding of course.”

“I’d like that…eventually,” you yawned, Dean brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m alright. Just a bit tired.”

“You want to head up to bed? The boys and my folks can make sure everyone’s taken care of.”

“You sure?” you asked, Dean humming. “They have fun tonight?”

“I’m not sure you have bigger fans than those two,” he said, chuckling when one of your songs filtered in from outside. “Sam’s decided to do pre-law at Stanford in the fall. Apparently being famous helps you get into an Ivy League school late.”

“Good for him,” you said. “I don’t think Max is ready for college though.”

“It’ll be good for the boys to get some space. Max mentioned taking his GED maybe next month and then maybe technical school in the new year, work on cars with my uncle Bobby once he gets done.” You raised your eyebrows, smiling to yourself. “I may have had a chat with him while you were in rehearsals.”

“He needed it. He doesn’t have to go to school and honestly, in a garage he can just blend in and be a normal guy which is what he wants.” You let out another yawn, shaking your head. “Are you excited to start your work soon?”

“Yeah. Nervous but excited. I know some people think I should have taken a higher level-”

“Dean.” He met your gaze, taking a deep breath. “You had over three hundred job offers. Literally. If you’d wanted a pro or collegiate job, you would have taken it. If coaching a losing high school team is what makes you happy, then you’re going to do that.”

“I still don’t think they believed me when I said my goal was to get these kids to state within three years.”

“Oh that’s because they bet you’ll do it in one,” you teased, leaning your head against his chest.

“Come on, Princess of Pop,” said Dean, picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Hey guys,” said Sam, walking in with Max on his tail. “These girls invited us to go out to a bar with them. Is it cool if we go? Benny and Michael said they’d come with.”

“You’re adults, you don’t need to ask,” you said with a smile. “Just take a few guys for security with you. And watch your drinks. And practice safe sex if you-”

“And goodnight,” said Sam, heading back outside with a groan. Dean laughed as he headed for the stairs, his chest rumbling against yours.

“I just want them to be safe,” you said, Dean patting your back.

“I know, I know. They’re smart. S’good they want to go out, stretch their legs on their own. It means what we’re doing is working.”

“I guess it is,” you said, nuzzling into his neck with another yawn. “God. I can’t believe I toured non-stop for most of last year. How the hell did I do that?”

“You were just a wee bit exhausted,” said Dean as he reached the top of the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed so you can do it all over tomorrow night.”

“You know what I would kill for?” you asked. Dean kissed your temple, giving your body a big squeeze.

“One foot massage coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you murmured into his skin, Dean setting you down on your soft bedding.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

___________

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester au #dean x y/n #dean x female!reader

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joeybsversion · 1 year ago

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Jealous

Joe Burrow x Reader

Joe finds out about your past relationship with a famous NFL tight end

“Usually we talk about football, sometimes about life, and I’m always making fun of Jason.” Travis laughed. “But this week, we’re talking about a little something different on New Heights.” He raised his eyebrows. “Jason, you wanna let them know what’s going on?” He asked his brother.

“With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, there’s definitely lots of love in the air.” He winked at the camera. “Every week of February we are going to bring on an NFL player and his significant other and talk all thing L-O-V-E.” He spelled it out, causing a laugh from Travis. “Not our usual topic but I think we’ll still have some fun.”

“Damn right!” Travis joined in. “This week we have none other than the Ken and Barbie of the NFL world!” He began patting his hands on his knees, motioning for Jason to join in. “Drum roll please.” The pace got faster. “Please welcome Mr and Mrs. Burrow!” He cheered, causing applause from himself and Jason.

“Hey guys! Thanks for having us.” Joe laughed and took over the microphone.

“Bro, thanks for coming on! We’ve been looking forward to sitting down with you both!” Jason said. “You guys ready to just get straight into it?” He asked.

“For sure.” Joe smiled.

“Let’s do it!” You chimed in.

“First things first, give us a little rundown on your relationship.” Travis said.

“I’ll let you take this one away.” You motioned to Joe.

“Oh putting him on the spot!” Jason and Travis laughed.

“I wish I was being funny.” Joe laughed as he started “but we met at a Marvel movie brew fest.” You hid your face in embarrassment. “Super nerdy. Basically it was just a couple of hours of Marvel movie trivia and tasting different beers. But we ended up being on the same trivia team and thankfully I had some liquid courage and asked for her number.” Joe laughed.

“It’s true!” You chimed in. “It’s so embarrassing to tell the story.” You laughed. Travis gave Joe a hard time about it, causing a laugh from the whole group.

“We’ve basically been together ever since though.” Joe smiled at you.

“And let’s clear the air, Travis called you Mr and Mrs but you guys aren’t married yet, right?”

“That’s right. 6 years and still no ring.” You teased.

“You gotta get on that, Man!” Travis teased Joe. “I know a lot of people want to know how you manage a relationship with such busy schedules.” Travis changed the topic.

“It’s not easy.” You gave Joe a sheepish smile. “We FaceTime a lot when he’s on the road and try to spend as much time together as possible when he’s home.”

“Same with Kylie and I.” Jason chimed in. “Lots of phone calls and finding time, even if it’s 5 minutes to sit down and have a cup of coffee together.”

“Phone calls that get a little spicy?” Travis winked.

“I can’t help myself.” Joe answered and let out a shy laugh.

Your hand flew over your mouth, your face turning bright red.

“Hey you gotta find time when you can! Even if that means over the phone!” Jason defended, fist bumping Joe.

“NEXT QUESTION!” You interrupted, hoping to change the subject.

“How did you know she was the one?” Travis asked.

“I like being with her.”

“No shit.” Travis laughed. “Be more specific.”

Joe laughed, “It’s easy being with her. She understands me in a way no one else does. when I’m not with her, I wish she was there. When I am with her I want that time to last forever.”

“Awww, Joey.” You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Get a room!” Travis joked.

“Hey bro, no need to be jealous! You’ll feel that way about someone one day.” Jason teased his little brother. “And just to think, it could’ve been her at one point.” Jason pointed towards you.

“That’s true.” Travis nodded. “We were a hot item back in the day.”

You started to laugh but we’re quickly interrupted by Joe, “What?” He asked and furrowed his eye brows at you.

“Yeah, Trav and I know each other.” You laughed.

“Before she was a Bengal fan she was a Chiefs fan!” Travis gave Joe a hard time.

Joes mood instantly changed. The rest of the interview was awkward, his answers were short, he was done joking around, and he barely looked at you or Travis.

Things wrapped up and you said your goodbyes and followed an angry Joe out to the car.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned as he backed out of the driveway and sped down the street.

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and Travis?” He asked, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip on the steering wheel.

“It was a three month fling that I barely remember.” You laughed.

“Bull shit.” He countered.

“No, not bull shit.” You answered and then rode in silence for a few minutes. “Why are you so mad?” You questioned.

“I’m not mad.” He paused. “I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Anytime anyone looks at you or speaks to you, I’m jealous. I want all of your minutes and all of your words. I want all of you, all of the time.” He answered.

You laughed, unable to catch your breath for a moment. “Joey, you have me. I promise. There is no reason to be jealous.” You assured him. “In case my reaction to your idiocy, I love you. And only you.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow one shot #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow instagram

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keeksandgigz · 10 months ago

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it's you and me (that's my whole world)- day 1 of keeks's lover house series♡

Day 1 of my Lover House Series♡

♡rockstar!eddie munson x famous!fem!reader♡

allusion of smut, r and eddie are in a secret relationship, disgustingly fluffy, kinda sad and angsty<3

"the whole school is rolling fake dice/ you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes"

You don't know how much longer you can go on with this lie.

"A PR Relationship for the ages" it was called on every single tabloid, everyone knew it was fake. Yet, you deluded yourself nobody did.

You deluded yourself that nobody knew it was to cover up the disastrous encounter with the paparazzi, catching you stumbling out of a dingy club hand in hand with Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson- your secret boyfriend. In those pictures he sported various lipstick marks on his face and neck. Your management team was furious.

To keep up the "American Sweetheart" image, you'd been persuaded to date some airhead quarterback, up and coming NFL star. And you'd tried, tried to hard to be able to establish something with this guy, but there wasn't much there there to begin with.

But you catch yourself running back to him. Every Wednesday night, he meets you at his New York apartment, adrenaline and fear thrumming within you as you enter through the back alley of his building.

Feeling safe in the comfort of his home, it's like a fortress where no one can reach you, a place where you can forget about the rest of the world and their demands and lay in his arms.

It's a swirl of lips, hands, tongues and limbs once you step foot in his door. The desperation to feel him as close as possible, starved for his touch, needing to feel him close. You seem to crave him with every fiber of your being as you often waste no time getting each other's clothes off.

Feeling the warmth of his skin, tracing the ink of his tattooed chest. He handles you with such gentleness and care that you can't fathom how a man like him could easily tarnish your image.

"Beautiful girl, missed you so much this week" he mumbles against the soft skin of your abdomen as he kisses down your body "Wednesday never comes fast enough, does it?" he chuckles, caressing the sides of your thighs, peppering kisses from the arch of your foot to your knee.

A slow tease, as it may seem, but in reality, it's just a way to make time go by more slowly, an illusion to grant yourself a longer night with him. A prayer to make your Wednesday nights never ending.

That's why you're tangled in sheets at 3 AM, while Eddie draws circles on your arm. "Y'know I don't mind having to hide, right?"

You sigh "I know, I just wish we could come clean, so I don't have to fake date that piece of shit" a gentle kiss is placed on your forehead.

"Soon, angel, I promise. M'fixing my image for you, so we can show up to your fancy events hand in hand. Everyone's gonna wish they didn't make shit up about us" he smiles, cradling your face in his hands. He is fighting sleep tooth and nail to be able to steal a glimpse, one more look, see how beautiful you look in the glowing yellow light of his side lamp.

"It's always gonna be you and me, baby" that's what he'd often say. A promise that things will eventually go your way.

It's too late to turn on the big light. So he allows himself one more touch, one more look, a caress.

Damning himself for falling victim to sleep, he looks at you one last time, already in the arms of Morpheus, as he lets himself sleep.

He doesn't hear you stir at 6 am, like clockwork. You grab your clothes and make your journey down the back stairs of the building, where your driver is waiting for you.

You look up. One day you'll get to wake up with him.

Day 2 is Reputation! Find the form here!

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #keeks's lover house series

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evansbby · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 (𝐏𝐎𝐘𝐓 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark Steve, heavy misogyny, a/b/o dynamics, stalking, smut, daddy!kink, swearing, 18+, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You walk into the lecture hall and Steve doesn’t know how to act.

𝐀/𝐍: Well, it’s finally here! This is a prequel of my fic Preying on You Tonight, completely in the point of view of everyone’s favourite toxic king, Steve! This is around 11k words. Please enjoy!

The first time Steve sees you, it’s like he suddenly can’t breathe. And the funniest thing is, he doesn’t even see you at first – he senses you, as ridiculous as that sounds. He’s just sitting there in the middle of the lecture hall, prodding the back of Bucky’s head as his friend lays slumped over on his desk, looking comically hungover – dark eyebags, rumpled clothes, red eyes – the works.

And then Steve feels this strange sensation, this prickling feeling at the back of his neck that makes his heart beat faster too. Almost like he’s nervous or anxious – which is stupid because Steve is never nervous or anxious. Even during the biggest football games of the season, with hordes of people in the crowd and even NFL recruiters watching, Steve still doesn’t break a sweat.

So, why does it suddenly feel like all the air’s been forced out of his lungs?

And then it hits him. It’s only the tiniest hint of the most incredible scent that he’s ever smelled, but it hits him like a fucking freight train. He remembers being really young, and his mother would grow magnolias in her garden. He remembers being almost obsessed with the smell, and inexplicably being drawn to the garden countless times before temptation finally gave in and he plucked a handful of the delicate flower, smelling it greedily.

His mother had just laughed – she never got angry at him. And Steve still remembers how he’d clutched the flowers tightly in his little fist all throughout lunch; because now that he had them, he could never let them go. And they smelled so intoxicatingly good – creamy and sweet, like vanilla with swirls of lemon. They smelled like spring, and Steve always liked spring. He’d kept the flowers by his bedside table (in his drawer, so his dad wouldn’t see).

But soon enough, the flowers had wilted – and that had made Steve mad. “What’s it gonna take to keep them alive?!” He’d demanded his mother, probably only about five years old yet angry at the world and angry at his flowers for dying on him. And his mother had patted his head, and soothed him with kisses.

“Love, Stevie. It takes love to keep them alive. Love, and patience and nurturing.”

And Steve remembers looking at his mother, then looking down at his poor, dead magnolias… A beat passing before he’d promptly thrown them to the ground and stomped all over them. If they were weak enough to just die like that, then he had no use for them. No matter how good they smelled.

But now, in the lecture hall on the first day of his senior year of college, Steve smells those magnolias again. Creamy and seductive yet reminding him of innocence, and youth, and memories of spring and new life. Just the right level of sweet, tickling his nostrils pleasantly, before he takes the deepest whiff of his life, like he just can’t get enough of the addicting smell.

And then he sees you.

Half-hidden by the most outrageously large hoodie he’s ever seen, with your books clutched to your chest and the shyest little smile on your face, you tentatively enter the lecture hall and Steve feels like his heart has stopped.

But… why?

He’s not blind – he can see you’re pretty. Very pretty. Softly pretty, is how Steve would describe it if he had to. All shy and hesitant as you make your way into the gigantic lecture hall, like a little butterfly in a jungle. He sees how you smile around, but you don’t seem to know anyone because you take a seat in the front row all by yourself, looking all intimidated and scared and excited and nervous, all rolled into one. And it creates the most attractive combination and he can’t stop staring at you.

You’re an omega, you have to be, judging by your demeanour and your scent – although the intoxicating smell seems to be fading away slowly as the minutes go by. And Steve wonders what exactly you’re doing here. There are barely any girls in this class – and absolutely no omegas. In Steve’s opinion, a World Politics class is no place for an omega to be hanging around – especially one as weak and delicate-looking as you. Maybe you’re lost, because you don’t look like you belong here at all, not in this lecture, and not in this university either – or any other university for that matter.

Steve firmly believes that omegas like you should be at home – cooking or cleaning or waiting patiently on all fours to be fucked by alphas like himself. And that thought – as out of the blue as it was – immediately has his cock thickening in his slacks.

But you stick out like a sore thumb, with your patchy little book bag that looks like it’s been DIY-ed out of a pair of old jeans, and your little sneakers that are still scuffed even though he can tell you’ve tried to scrub them clean and polish them and make them look new. You’re not from here, you’re not like the people he’s grown up with. He’s never seen you before – who the hell are you?

And why do you smell so good?

“Well, well, well – fresh meat.” Bucky is suddenly no longer hungover, eyes alert as he follows Steve’s gaze and locks in on you.

Tiny, little you in the front row of the lecture hall, unpacking all your textbooks and already starting with your notes despite the fact that the lecture hasn’t even begun yet. What could you possibly be writing down? The damn date?

And Steve feels an inexplicable wave of irritation because it’s not just Bucky who’s staring at you. He can see Thor, Andy, Ransom and Curtis, amongst others, lean forward with sick interest gleaming in their eyes at the sight of a little omega like you in their midst.

“She’s gorgeous.” Bucky whistles lowly, nudging Sam, who is also staring at you appreciatively. And it makes Steve want to gouge both their fucking eyes out. And he’s trying to keep his cool but it’s hard to do that when his breath seems to hitch every time he looks at you, and it’s confusing the fuck out of him because you’re just some random omega. And never before has an omega got a reaction like this out of him before.

“She’s probably lost.” Sam snorts, “I wonder if she’s an omega.”

Steve blinks, “She is. Can’t you smell her?”

The two alphas shake their heads before Bucky leans forward on the table to get a better look at you, “She’s probably on suppressants, but she looks like an omega. All shy and weak and shit.” He licks his lips, “That’s really fucking hot, if you ask me.”

Nobody fucking asked you! Steve wants to sneer but he manages to control himself.

“I call dibs.” Bucky announces, sitting up straight and baring his teeth like some sort of comical predator, and never in his life has Steve felt more irritation than how he does right now. Actually, irritation is an understatement – if Bucky wasn’t his best friend since childhood, he’d definitely have punched him in the face or at least verbally insulted him enough to knock him down a few pegs.

Suddenly, Steve’s happy that you’re wearing that ridiculously large hoodie because at least your body’s shielded from all the less-than-innocent gazes that seem to be drinking you in from all angles. And how fucking dare they look at you? When Steve saw you first? Smelled you first??

She’s way below my league, Steve has to remind himself. He’s Steve Rogers, star alpha quarterback and captain of the football team. From one of the most distinguished families in New York, with a future in both the NFL and politics, both with his own talent and his father’s connections.

And then there’s you. With your clothes that clearly look like they’re hand-me-downs, and your scuffed trainers and the fact that you’re probably a nobody scholarship student fresh out of some trashy, no-good neighbourhood. Nope, Steve knows he’s leagues above you, and he knows that the lucky omega he ends up with will be from an esteemed and traditional family. And that’s definitely not you.

So then why does his heart skip a fucking beat when he sees you smile softly at the professor who has just entered the room? And why does he want to rip the professor’s heart out and feed it to him for daring to smile back at you? Dumb fucking asshole professor… Steve could have him fired in a heartbeat. How dare he look at you, how dare Bucky look at you, how dare anyone look at you–

“She’s fucking the professor.”

“Huh?” Bucky stops dead in the middle of explaining his elaborate plan to seduce the class’s newest omega. “What did you say?”

Steve runs his hand through his hair and shoots his friend a smug smile, “I recognise her now. I saw her earlier today when I went to the professor’s office. He had her bent over his desk – and I’m sure it wasn’t the first time.” The lies roll off his tongue smooth as butter, and he feels not a pang of remorse as he watches the dreamy look on Bucky’s face morph into one of disgust.

“Yeah, she’s just a trashy bimbo omega from some small hick town,” Steve continues, relishing the gullible looks of immediate disdain on both Bucky and Sam’s faces. And he knows word will spread fast – it always does around here. “And I’m pretty sure I heard a rumour about a girl sleeping with the dean to gain admission – that was definitely about her too.”

Sam scoffs, “So she’s probably a stupid no-brain slut. As if this place wasn’t going downhill already, now they’re taking in hick-town omegas too.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Bucky, who is still staring longingly at you.

“Hey, Buck. Speaking of slutty omegas – Natasha was asking about you the other day.”

The brunette tears his gaze away from you, “She was?”

Lying comes quite easily to Steve. “Yeah, Sharon mentioned it. Maybe you should give her a call, I know Nat’s an easy slut but at least she doesn’t fuck professors and deans to get herself through college, right?”

Manipulating his friends is almost as easy as lying, and Steve smirks as Bucky finally nods and gets his phone out. And Steve leans back, letting out a sigh of relief because he knows word travels fast, and soon none of these half-wit alphas would be giving you a second glance. And maybe a small part of him knows that spreading this rumour is unfair on you, but in a way, he’s doing you a favour. He’s just protecting you, isn’t he? From all the unwanted attention?

***

Bucky: Heads up, your girlfriend is about to walk in through the front door.

Steve stares at the text for a few seconds, mild irritation brewing inside him. But he feels no real sense of panic or urgency as he glances down at the girl on her knees in front of him – Priya or Ria or something, he can’t remember. Not that it matters anyways. He tugs on her hair, smirking as she protests with her mouth full of his cock.

“Hurry up. My girlfriend’s on her way over.” He informs Priya/Ria, who starts sputtering and trying to push herself off him but Steve keeps her head in place, lazily thrusting in and out of her mouth as he quickly texts Bucky back.

Steve: Stall her for a few minutes.

Bucky replies with a thumbs up and Steve tosses his phone aside, trying to focus on what’s right in front of him. And in this case, it’s a scantily clad girl whose head is currently bobbing up and down on his dick. Steve sighs, clutching her hair harder and increasing the pace of his thrusts, wanting to cum quickly and get rid of her straight after.

He’d already fucked her half an hour ago before taking a smoke break during which she’d unfortunately stuck around. And there’s a part of Steve that doesn’t even care, that wants Sharon to walk in on him getting blown by some random bitch. And it isn’t the first time he’s cheated on her either. The way Steve sees it, why stick to one girl when you could have every single one? And he’s confident that there isn’t a single girl at this university who wouldn’t spread her legs for him.

And then his thoughts fall on you. Fragile, innocent little omega who is now forever labelled as the campus slut. But would you spread your legs for him? Steve bets you’re inexperienced, judging by how shy and studious you look, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get you to sleep with him. Fuck, he can’t help but imagine you on your knees in front of him, eyes wide as saucers and tears dripping down your cheeks as he fucks your face. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He cums embarrassingly quickly, images of you pouting and crying as he shoves his big dick down your throat flashing before his eyes. And God, he knows he can do better than you, better than some lowlife scholarship omega with scuffed trainers and a dumbly peculiar taste in oversized hoodies. Yet he can’t understand why just the singular thought of you blowing him had him cumming faster than Sharon or any of the other girls ever could.

He doesn’t really have time to mull over any of this, however, shoving Priya/Ria off his dick and tossing her clothes at her while she sputters on the floor.

“Get dressed, Sharon’s downstairs.” Steve tucks his dick back into his sweats before grabbing his phone and settling down on his bed.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, why didn’t you tell me she was coming over today? You know she’s head cheerleader this year? If she sees me here, she’ll kick me off the squad!” Priya/Ria laments but Steve is already bored, finding a random Tetris game on his phone more interesting than whatever this bitch is spewing as he lets out a yawn.

Priya/Ria complains and panics for the next three minutes, and Steve doesn’t spare her a second glance as she grumbles her way out the window. Annoying slut. Speaking of which, Sharon bursts into his room not three seconds after Priya/Ria leaves.

“Baby!” Sharon squeals, launching herself at him at top speed, and Steve holds onto her waist gingerly, letting her cover his face in kisses. “I missed you so much!”

She’d been skiing in Vermont with her family for the past two weeks, and it had been a damn good two weeks for Steve. Quiet and peaceful without his girlfriend’s dumb chatter acting as an incessant background noise to his thoughts. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded if she’d extended her trip and stayed away for another two weeks, because hooking up with other girls sure was a lot easier when she was gone.

“I thought about you every night, babe. I really wish you’d come with me!” She gushes, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulders as she straddles his hips. God. Now he has to make conversation with her and pretend he’s interested in her dumb bullshit family life. How has he been keeping up this act for two years now? I mean sure, Sharon’s a good fuck but she’s not that good.

“I told you, it’s football season.” He yawns, hoping she’ll get the hint and fuck off. Or she could stay, he didn’t really care as long as she kept quiet. But Sharon does the complete opposite, instead launching into a whole account about how he should have been there and how good the snow was and how many new outfits she bought and how many pictures she took and blah blah blah. Honestly, all her mindless chatter does is consolidate the fact that he needs to break up with her soon.

“And I would’ve come up to you sooner but Bucky kept talking to me.” Sharon wrinkles her nose, absentmindedly tracing shapes on his chest before laying her head down on it and snuggling up into him. “I think he has a crush on me.”

Steve snorts at that, “Bucky does not have a crush on you.”

She whips her head up, “What makes you so sure?”

Because me and Bucky have the exact same taste in girls and it’s not you, Steve wants to say but he manages to refrain. “He likes quiet girls,” Steve finds himself saying instead except he’s talking more about himself now, “Shy girls who know their place.”

Sharon rolls her eyes, “All you alphas are stuck in the past, aren’t you?” She sighs before bumping her nose against his, “It’s a good thing I lucked out with you, babe. Can you imagine where we’d be if you hadn’t asked me out sophomore year?”

I’d probably be free, Steve thinks to himself. In many ways, he’d been a different person two years ago when he’d asked Sharon out for the first time. He’d always been traditional, wanting to settle down with the right omega after he graduated, definitely have a few children. And even if he had thought Sharon would be his long-term girlfriend-turned wife by the end of college – he certainly didn’t think that anymore.

Nope, Sharon wouldn’t be the one he’d be marrying, she was useful for a good fuck now and again but nothing more than that, not wife material. She definitely wouldn’t be the omega who would eventually carry his children and his legacy.

And then for some unexplained reason, Steve’s mind shifts to you. How shy you were in class, how you kept to yourself with your eyes downcast. He may have falsely labelled you as the campus slut but he was sure you were a virgin, or extremely inexperienced at the very least. And then an image flashes through his mind: you, all knocked up and round with his baby. In a pretty dress of his choosing, cooking him dinner with an obedient smile on your face. Fuck. He feels his cock harden almost immediately.

“Ooh, you missed me, didn’t you?” Sharon sits back up and grinds down on his crotch with a mischievous smile on her face. “I can’t believe you went without sex for two whole weeks. It must’ve been torture for you.”

“You can’t even imagine.” Steve says distractedly. Sharon’s pulling his sweats down and undressing herself but he’s still got his mind on you. God, you’d look so sexy if he got you pregnant. He wouldn’t allow you to wear your stupid hoodies anymore. No, it would be all skirts and dresses – how an omega is supposed to dress. And then he’d bend you over and fuck you real good, like you’ve never been fucked before. Or maybe he’d let you ride him, all pregnant and weepy and shy on top of him, your eyes shining like you worship him…

He's painfully hard now, and Sharon’s jerking him off while he pretends it’s you. You, all innocent and unsure of what you’re doing. Looking up at him and begging him to tell you how to do it, how to please your alpha. You’re a stupid, no-good scholarship omega who is clearly below his league, but in this moment all Steve can think about it how goddamn fucking sexy you’d look holding his cock, or sucking it – or sitting on it.

“Mm, keep going, baby.” Steve murmurs, pretending like you’re in front of him right now instead of his insufferable girlfriend. “Make daddy feel good.”

He’s so deep into his daydream that he doesn’t even notice that Sharon is fully undressed until he feels her line the tip of his dick against her leaking hole. He manages to swat her off just in time, reaching out to rummage through his nightstand drawer and tossing a condom at her.

Sharon’s face falls before she scoffs, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t use protection. You never used to.”

“Just put it on.” Steve isn’t in the mood for her bullshit. If he fucked her raw, then she’d most likely get pregnant. Then he’d have to marry her and take care of her – which wouldn’t be ideal, especially since he’s now planning on breaking up with her. But he’s happy he’s trained Sharon well enough to know when he’s not fucking around. Without another word, she unrolls the condom onto his dick before sinking down on it, moaning like a fucking porn-star as she does it.

He flips her over so she’s on her hands and knees and he doesn’t have to look at her. This way, it’s easier to imagine that it’s you. And Steve’s now accepted the fact that if he wants to get off, he’s going to have to think of you. Fuck, he bets you’d cry if he ever fucked you. Either cry or pass out from how good he’d make you feel. He bets you’d beg him to knot you, to give you his babies. And he would. Fuck.

Sharon lets out a moan and a string of curse words along with his name, and Steve has to forcibly shove her face into the pillow to zone her out. Because all he really wants to do is picture you. Fuck, he wishes he could cum inside you, hear you squeak and moan while he completely ruins you for any other man. Except there wouldn’t be any other man because you belong to Steve.

Mine, he thinks with gritted teeth, picturing your nervous little smile when you’d entered the lecture hall that morning, all mine.

***

“A little birdie told me that that little omega is only a freshman.” Bucky says, perking Steve’s interest immediately as they walk into their World Politics lecture a few days later. “Which means she’s either really fucking smart to be taking a senior class, or she fucked her way up.”

“She definitely fucked her way into the class,” Steve finds himself saying, “Omegas aren’t smart, so there’s no way she’d have gotten into the class otherwise.” He feels a wave of irritation, however. A freshman. In a senior class. And an omega, no less. There was no way, no fucking way.

And there you are again, sitting front row with all your pens lined out in front of you like some stupid, eager omega. His nose twitches, trying to sniff your addictive scent but it seems that whatever cheap suppressant you’re taking is extra strong today, because he can’t detect it at all. And this irritates him even more, because, embarrassing as it was, he’d been looking forward to spending the lecture smelling your goddamn fucking scent.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Bucky pipes up when they cross by your table, and you look up immediately. And Steve can feel his heart in his fucking throat because you make direct eye contact with him and not Bucky. The brunette seems unperturbed, however, “I’m Bucky. This is Sam, and this is Steve.”

You look up and nod at each of them. “Hi, Bucky. Hi, Sam. Hello, Steve.”

For a moment, it feels like Steve’s in heaven. And it’s the fucking cheesiest thing in the world, but it’s in the way you say his name. All soft and shy and clearly self-conscious yet in an extremely cute way. Fuck, what was he, fifteen years old? He doesn’t care, though, he wants to hear you say his name again. And preferably not whilst also saying his friends’ names in the same sentence.

And it irritates him that Bucky spoke to you first. Steve had seen you first therefore it only made sense that he should’ve spoken to you first too. It also irritates him how close Bucky and Sam are standing to you, and how you’re shooting them a small smile right this instant.

Steve is silently seething, and Bucky and Sam are grinning at you like you’re some kind of spectacle. You tell them your name (and his heart skips a beat when he hears it, because it fits you perfectly and he feels like he’s known this name all his life).

And then, no one speaks for a while, and he sees you shift slightly, clearly uncomfortable as you bite your lip. For a second, he wishes he could read your mind, but it doesn’t matter because you have the world’s most emotive face. He can practically see your thoughts as they race through your head. He knows that you’re intimidated by him, by all three of them – but that’s nothing new. And then you open your mouth to speak.

“H-How are you guys finding this class so far?” You ask in a voice sweet as honey. And Steve hates how other alphas around the room have whipped their heads towards you again. He hates how Sam’s features have softened as he looks you over, and he hates how Bucky’s got that predatory look in his eye again, the same one he had last time. He knows he has to do something. Fast.

“Funny, we were going to ask you the same thing.” Steve says, and you blink up at him.

“Me? I, uh, I really like it.” You say shyly, and he can tell that you have trouble maintaining eye contact with him but you try your best as you continue, “Some of the concepts are challenging, but I’m really enjoying it.”

“Oh, I bet you’re really enjoying it.” Steve grins, pointedly glancing at the professor before fixing his gaze back on you, innuendo dripping from his tone. Bucky catches on and chuckles, as does Sam.

You look confused, “Um, I don’t understand–”

Sam snorts, “Don’t play dumb.”

“Is it the class you’re enjoying, sweetheart, or what happens after it?” Bucky joins in.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And sure, there’s a voice at the back of Steve’s head telling him to quit it and back off. That sensible voice that shows its face from time to time, telling him that you don’t deserve this at all. But he chooses to ignore it, and maybe it’s because he’s been irritated ever since he found out you’re a fucking freshman omega in a senior class where you don’t belong. Or since Bucky spoke to you first before Steve could, and he could see that interest in Bucky’s eyes. Either way, he ignores the voice of rationality in his head. He’s Steve fucking Rogers, after all. He can say whatever he wants to.

“Wearing grossly oversized outfits to hide your body won’t hide the fact that you’re a slut.” Steve says it softly, but everyone hears it. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way your head whips up to look at him, the way your lower lip quivers and the way your breath hitches.

“Wh-What? I’m not a… a–”

“A slut? Come on. Everyone knows you spread your legs to get into this class. That’s probably why you sit in the front row, too. So the professor can get a good eyeful of the campus slut before you got to his office after class.” Steve smirks, although it isn’t very satisfying to see your face crumple at his words, and he feels a pang of guilt that he tries his hardest to ignore. You shake your head.

“No! I didn’t–”

“Omegas like you don’t belong in a class like this,” Sam pipes up, and you bow your head. Steve can see your hands trembling under the table as you clasp them in your lap. And God, you look so small, so weak in your big fucking hoodie that nearly swallows you whole. You look like you’re begging for an alpha like him to protect you. But what’s he supposed to protect you from – himself?

He watches you for the rest of the class. You sit there, determinedly taking notes as if three alphas didn’t just embarrass and insult you at the start of the lecture. You don’t ever raise your hand to answer any questions, but Steve can tell that you know all the answers. It’s the way you mouth them cutely, the way you nod when the correct answer is said – as if you knew it all along. It’s the way your nose scrunches in concentration as you read every word of the lecture slides before writing it all down. In a way, he admires your persistence and devotion to your goddamned notes. Omegas are known to be devoted – but to their alphas, not World fucking Politics lectures.

You still look morose and deflated by the time the lecture ends, taking ages to slowly pack your book bag. Sam and Bucky leave, but Steve hangs back. Talk to her! The voice in his head urges him. Tell her you mistook her for someone else, tell her you didn’t mean it! Ask her out! And he lets himself imagine it for a second, asking you out on a date. Picking you up and presenting you with yellow roses, taking you to a restaurant that’s way too fancy for you, and you’d probably be wearing that goddamn hoodie, too.

He almost smiles, before shaking the thought away. I’m not that pathetic, he thinks. Some random scholarship omega isn’t worth taking on a date. There’s a peculiar longing within him but he stuffs it deeper down inside himself. Girls long for him, not the other way around and it’s best if he remembers that.

That doesn’t stop him from following you out of the lecture hall, however. It’s cute, the way you lug your bookbag on your shoulder. You’ve stocked it so full of unnecessary textbooks that it’s weighing you down like a tonne of rocks. His hands itch to help you, but he has to hang back because you don’t know he’s there, and also because you’re now on the phone.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, or who you’re on the phone with. But after a few minutes, your shoulders prop up and the pep in your step returns. Whoever is on the other end of the line – probably a friend or your mom – has managed to cheer you up. He gets close enough to hear you say:

“Yes. I’m going to try harder to make friends. Don’t you worry about me!”

It’s sickening. How cute you sound. And it’s even more sickening how he finds himself following you all the way back to your dorm room, keeping his head low and a small distance between the two of you. And sure, he’s never fucking stalked a girl before and this is definitely unhinged behaviour, but it’s like he can’t help it.

And it’s kind of fun observing you. At one point, you stop in front of a rose bush to smell the delicate flowers. Steve thinks back to how he’d imagined asking you out and giving you a bouquet of yellow roses. He lets himself imagine some more: you bringing the bouquet up to your nose and inhaling gently, a pretty smile on your face as you stand up on your tiptoes to kiss him and tell him thank you.

The picture sits pretty in his mind for a good ten seconds, a smile touching his lips before he aggressively wipes it off. Stop being a sappy fucking loser, he tells himself, before refocusing on his omega. You’re making your way into your dorm building now – it’s one of the cheaper ones on campus. The dorms in there are about the size of postage stamps, and it makes him think of everything he could provide for you: money, clothes, gifts – anything you asked for.

Ask her out! The voice inside his head is beguiling. If he asked you out, he would no longer have to deal with Sharon. If he asked you out, Bucky and the rest of them would all back the fuck up. So then what was stopping him? What was stopping him from marching straight into your stupid tiny fucking dorm room and telling you that he’d pick you up tomorrow at 7 for dinner?

She’s below my fucking league, he reminds himself, although that excuse seems to be getting flimsier and flimsier. He’s distracted from his inner turmoil, however, when he sees you appear in your room through your window. You neatly place your bag on your desk before pulling your hoodie over your head. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he watches closely as your tank top is next, joining your hoodie on the floor.

Steve’s lost count of how many girls he’s seen naked in his lifetime, but none of them hold a candle to what he’s seeing right now. The way you slip your leggings down, stepping out of them, now just in your bra and panties. Fuck, you’re so sexy. So fucking sexy, and he can feel himself getting rock hard. And half of him wants to reprimand you, chastise you for being so fucking stupid to be changing without drawing your curtains first. He should take you over his fucking knee for that…

But the other half of him just stands there, transfixed. You wriggle into a tee, your legs still bare and your cute ass on display for a few more seconds before you put on a pair of pyjama shorts. It’s when you sit down on your desk which is facing the window, that he finally backs off. Forcibly ripping his gaze away from you and walking away, the vision of you ingrained deeply in his head.

That night, in the privacy of his shower, he cums harder than he ever has before. Just the sight of you changing replaying over and over again in his brain. Nobody has ever had such an effect on him before, and he wonders what this means. Even after he’s jacked off, he can’t seem to shake you out of his mind. It’s like his eyes are itching to just see you again, drink you in again.

Finally, from the depths of one of his drawers, Steve pulls out an old sketchbook that his mother had bought for him on one of his birthdays. She was the only one who knew that he could draw, and she kept encouraging him to do it despite the fact that Steve hadn’t touched an art supply for years now. But it’s like his fingers are itching to put the images in his head down on paper.

And once he starts drawing, it’s like he can’t stop. It comes so naturally to him, like he’s known your face for years and committed it to his memory. He draws you sitting front row during the lecture, trying his hardest to capture that look of concentration on your face, the furrow of your brow, the way you bite your lip. He even draws you in your ridiculously oversized hoodie, how it practically swallows you whole. And he finds himself smiling at how cute you look in it – despite the fact that omegas aren’t supposed to wear things like that.

One thing becomes abundantly clear to Steve that night. He wants you. He wants to own you. He doesn’t want you to belong to anybody else, not now and not ever. But aren’t you out of his league? So then what? Just fuck her once and get her out of your system, he tries to tell himself. But would that be enough? Girls have always been easy subjects for Steve, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself confused, and his thoughts seem to be at war with each other.

It's only been a week since he first laid eyes on you but it’s like he can’t get you out of his head. He wants you to be his, yet at the same time he can’t believe that he’s fallen for some random scholarship omega. Fallen? No, he hasn’t fallen for you. It’s just lust. Just lust. Just. Lust.

It has to be, right?

***

The next World Politics lecture falls on a Friday – and it’s been three whole days since Steve has last seen you. Three torturously long days filled with Sharon’s irritating squawking and incessant presence in his room. Steve finds that she no longer makes him hard, and every time he fucks her, he finds himself longing for you in her place. You wouldn’t howl so annoyingly when you came, or scratch at his back like a stupid bitch. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you scratched his back while he fucked you dumb into the mattress, your eyes glazed over and tears running down your cheeks as he knots inside you again and again.

And that’s what Steve’s daydreaming about before the start of the lecture, when he feels a light tap on his shoulder.

“Ex-Excuse me?”

He turns around and his heart skips a beat. You. In a huge green hoodie, almost eye level to him despite the fact that he’s sitting down and you’re standing up. Fuck, you look really cute, all shy as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. And Steve isn’t used to girls coming up to him. He knows he’s very intimidating, as are Bucky and Sam, who have now also turned to gawk at the little omega standing in front of the three of them.

Steve doesn’t know what to do, because up until a second ago he was in the middle of imagining you naked underneath him while he fucked you so hard you saw stars. And now here you are, standing before him with a Tupperware container in your hands, looking uncomfortable and shy as ever.

“Look who it is, Little Miss Campus Slut.” Sam is the first to speak.

Steve watches you blink and take a deep breath before you speak. “H-Hello, Steve. Sam. Bucky.” You nod at each of them, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the sound of you saying his name – he just wishes he wasn’t lumped in with his friends every time.

“I th-think we – uh – I think we all got off on the wrong foot last time,” Your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve finds your stutter kind of cute. “I kn-know you guys were probably joking but, I – uh…” You swallow, and Steve has to admire your guts. He can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with how nervous you look. You shake your head and smile softly, “I made these. For you. I mean, all three of you. As a kind of peace offering.”

You open the Tupperware container and hold it out towards him. Inside, there are about a dozen brownies, cut into neat little squares. The smell alone is heavenly, and he can see that some of them have pieces of caramel oozing out. From his peripheral, he can see Bucky lick his lips.

“I baked them this morning,” You say proudly, “A friend of mine told me that there’s nothing a batch of brownies can’t solve. So, these are for you, and maybe now we could be friends?”

Sweet, naïve, innocent. God, you’re everything Steve wants in a girl. And for a second, he lets his thoughts run wild again. This time, he imagines you baking brownies for him – solely him – in a big house he’s bought for the two of you. You’re heavily pregnant and wearing a cherry print apron, and you sit on his lap while you serve him the freshly baked brownies. An alpha and his little omega, knocked up and completely devoted to him. A perfect family. The perfect life.

Which is why it makes little sense when he slaps his hand upwards, knocking the container out of your hand and sending the brownies flying everywhere, landing on the floor in a sorry heap by your feet. Sam and Bucky burst out laughing, and Steve smiles coolly, although he doesn’t really feel like smiling on the inside. Why did he do that?

Because she’s a stupid scholarship omega, and I can do whatever I want, he answers his own question but even he has to admit that his reasoning is less than satisfactory.

Your eyes widen in shock before your face crumples, “Wh-Why would you do that?”

Steve shrugs, “It’s not very nice of you to try and feed us your weird, contaminated brownies. I mean, we don’t know where your hands have been, do we? Oh wait, we do.” He looks pointedly at the professor at the front of the room before looking back at you, a smug smile on his face that he tries hard not to let falter when he sees the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“I worked re-really hard on those.” You look like you’ve wilted, and there’s that one part deep inside him – maybe his soul? – telling him how fucked up he is for doing what he’s just done. But it’s just a joke, he justifies to himself.

“Don’t get all emotional just because we don’t want your STD brownies.” Steve says, trying hard to keep stone-faced as he watches you flinch and gasp at his words.

“I-I-I don’t have an STD!”

“I-I-I don’t care.” Steve mimics your stutter, making his voice all high-pitched. Sam and Bucky laugh again, along with a bunch of other people who are within earshot. And the look of hurt that crosses your face seems to ingrain itself in his brain, searing him from the inside out till he almost feels sick. Fuck. Why did he keep going?

Because she doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He’s made fun of billions of others in the past, and this shouldn’t be any different, right?

With your lower lip quivering, you swallow back your tears. And he’s surprised when he sees you narrow your eyes at him, “Th-That was really mean.”

And maybe it’s because you’re glaring at him and he doesn’t like that, or maybe it’s because you look so fucking small – standing there with your chin upturned and hands shaking in anger at being wronged. But Steve feels himself getting hard – rock hard. Part of him wants to gather your quivering body in his arms and kiss you and hug you and protect you from it all. But a larger part of him feels this strong need, this hunger, to control you. You look so small, so hurt, so submissive. He can see licks of anger through the tears in your eyes, however, and he wants to snuff it out. Control you completely. Make you bend to his will and listen to his every command.

“Y-You shouldn’t have done that.” You say quietly and Steve narrows his eyes.

“Shouldn’t have done what, omega?” He chews the word around, savours it before spitting it out, and he loves how your eyes widen at being called by your designation. He’s never called anyone by their designation before, and the surge of power he feels over you when he does? Fuck, it’s irreplaceable.

“Th-That’s not my name.” You try and stand your ground but really, it’s not like you’re any match for him. “Don’t call me that – p-please.”

“Why not? That’s what you are, after all. Your name doesn’t matter to me – whatever it is.” (He knows exactly what your name is, because he’s spent the past few days thinking about how great it would sound if you put his last name next to it, but that’s beside the point).

“And I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what to do, omega.” He adds smoothly, noting how you bow your head in submission, but there are still angry tears glistening in your eyes and he can see your hands balled into fists by your sides, and you’re opening your mouth as if to argue with him. Snuff it out, he tells himself, snuff out any fight she has left in her.

“Don’t think you can talk back to an alpha. Just because you fucked your way into college doesn’t mean the rest of us are going to give you special treatment.” He says, every one of his words dripping in acid. And he wonders how far he can take it, how much further he can control you…

“Now, I want you to keep your mouth shut, walk back over to your seat and sit down and remain silent for the rest of the class.” He orders you before shooting you a smirk. “Now.”

He watches your eyes widen when you realise that it’s an alpha command, and then you’re walking away, head down and an empty Tupperware container in your hand. And the pure power trip Steve gets from it all has adrenaline and excitement pumping through his veins and straight down to his cock. Fuck. He’s never alpha-commanded an omega like this before. Sharon sometimes but it’s never been as gratifying as this.

It's in your stance, how weak and little you look as you walk dejectedly back to your seat. You’ve listened to him, and the power he gets from that is unbeatable. And addicting. He wants to feel it again. Sure, he’s always been domineering with girls but with you, it’s different. You’re different. So perfect and shy, so pretty and submissive… Fuck, he’s so hard now.

He leans back in his seat, staring at you while you get your books out with shaky hands. That’s when he notices that you’re crying, your hands keep reaching up to wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie and your shoulders quiver uncontrollably. Shit. Steve had made you cry, and his heart pangs with guilt. But it’s confusing, because there’s a dark part of him that’s so turned on right now, that wants to lick your tears up then embarrass you some more. Then you’d cry some more and he’d push you down to your knees, shove his cock in your mouth and really give you something to cry about.

But he also wants to gather you in his arms, hold you in his lap and comfort you. Tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he doesn’t know why he’s doing all this. Well, he does know why – but sometimes he isn’t convinced by his own rationale. Control you. Comfort you. Control you. Comfort you. Control you–

“Hey, these are pretty good.” Bucky’s voice knocks Steve out of his reverie, and he looks down to see his friend scooping up pieces of brownie off the ground.

Sam groans, “Please tell me you’re not eating the floor-brownies.”

“What? They’re good!” Bucky defends himself with a mouthful of the sweet treat. “Shit, you know what? I wouldn’t even mind getting an STD. I think she’s worth it. So fucking hot and she bakes too? I wonder what else she can do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, wanting nothing more than to punch Bucky in the skull for calling his omega hot. Because of course, Steve’s already consolidated in his mind that you’re his. He just has to figure out what exactly he wants from you. For now, however, he’s content with staring at you from afar, and imagining how pretty you’d look baking brownies for him and bending over while he made you cum on his knot over and over again.

***

“You know, I’d let you mark me if you wanted to.” Sharon says one day, out of nowhere. Steve’s walking her to one of her classes (or more like, she’d seen him walking with his friends and dragged him away).

Steve barks out a laugh, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? We’re both seniors, about to graduate and we’re in a serious, committed relationship.” Sharon squeezes his hand, and Steve feels a sudden urge to throw up. What a dumb fucking idiot Sharon was, as if he’d ever mark her. He’s still trying to figure out how to break up with her – he absolutely hates talking to her and he doesn’t even consider her a good fuck anymore. She’s lucky he’s kept her around for this long, yet has the audacity to talk about marking.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that.” He says, hoping to drop the subject but of course, she doesn’t seem to want to let it go.

“Come on, babe. I remember back when we first started going out, you told me that you wanted to marry me and have a ton of kids! I remember thinking how cute you sounded when you said that.”

Steve doesn’t even have the energy to correct her. Sure, he’d said that he was a traditional alpha just like his father. He wanted to get married young and have kids young too. However, he’d never mentioned wanting all of this with Sharon, but of course the dumb bitch had selective hearing and liked to make stuff up, but that wasn’t Steve’s fault.

He lets her talk for the duration of their walk up to her lecture, and all he contributes is a disinterested grunt now and again. But Sharon loves the sound of her own voice, so she doesn’t seem to notice his lack of interest in conversing with her. Finally, outside her lecture hall, she stands up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. And it’s while he’s kissing his girlfriend that Steve feels a prickle in the back of his neck. Almost like he’s being watched.

He opens his eyes, looking straight ahead beyond Sharon’s shoulder. And there you are, sitting in the courtyard. You look like a fucking angel, bathing in the sunlight that peaks out at you through the branches of the tree you’re sat underneath. And you’ve got this almost curious look on your face as you watch him kiss his girlfriend. He makes eye contact with you for about five magical seconds before you realise that he’s watching you, all while his lips move against Sharon’s.

Quickly, you bury your nose in the book you’re reading, and he can see your eyes widening in alarm. Somehow, he knows your heart’s racing – because his is too. And he feels this longing for you, wishing so bad that it was you he was kissing instead of Sharon. But you’d been watching him! What did that mean? Maybe you liked him how he likes you?

I don’t like her! He tells himself stubbornly, she’s below my league… But he doesn’t know who he’s kidding with that excuse anymore.

Bidding Sharon goodbye, he can’t help but feel this gravitational pull, tugging him over to you. For a second, he imagines sitting down next to you, asking you what you’re reading and watching as you happily tell him. And he’d be interested in what you have to say, because you’re not a stupid bitch like Sharon or any of the other girls on campus. You’re special. And so beautiful.

He watches as you slowly lose yourself in whatever book you’re reading, and you’ve got a fucking juice-box next to you which you sip on every so often. God, could you be any cuter? You look so innocent, and for one dark second, he wishes he could just take you and lock you up in his house. You’d be safe over there, inside the house and away from any college like a good, traditional little omega. And he’d buy you a whole library full of books to keep you happy, and you’d cook and clean and dote on him and carry his babies, and that would make him happy.

Steve finds himself walking over, casting a shadow over your figure as he looms above you, and you look up at him fearfully. Fuck. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way you’re looking at him right now. Like you’re wary, scared – like he’s this formidable alpha that could completely ruin you – which is all true.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.” He says softly, and you gulp.

“H-Hello, Steve.” You attempt a smile but you’re shaking like a leaf. And he’s surprised that you’re still greeting him nicely despite how horrible he was to you in the last lecture.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but it comes out sounding like a demand.

“Just reading.” You answer, and he can see that you’re trying to hide your shaking hands. The book rests open in your lap, and you look so sweet, sitting down by his feet. It makes him imagine nasty things, like wanting to pull you forward by your hair, make you mouth at his crotch in front of everyone in this courtyard, make you beg for his alpha cock before he shoves it down past your quivering lips.

Which is why it doesn’t make much sense when, in one fluid motion, he steps down hard on your juice-box, the liquid spurting out and splattering all over your top, and the open book too, immediately leaving large, blotchy stains on both.

“Oh no!” You lament, panic overtaking your features as you immediately begin to fan out the book, shaking it and trying to get the water out. But all Steve can focus on is your wet top – it’s oversized but it’s not a hoodie, at least – and the way it clings to your skin. You’re so fucking hot, and you don’t even realise it – you seem more preoccupied by the damn book.

“It was a library book!” You say quietly, tears forming in your eyes and Steve feels another pang of guilt because he’s made you cry again. “I can’t… I can’t afford…” Your voice trails off.

Steve smirks, “You can’t afford to replace the book, can you?” It consolidates every assumption he’d made about you. You come from nothing and you’re a no one, with your hand-me-down clothes and DIY bookbag. He truly could give you anything and everything you’d ever want, and he lets himself imagine it. Him buying you bags and bags of clothes, helping you put them on, dressing you up like his own little doll that smells sweet like magnolias and is devoted to him. He bets you’d be so thankful – you’re not used to any kind of riches after all – and you’d worship him in return.

And all of this gives him an idea. A way to exert even more control over you, and give you a bit in return too. Grabbing his wallet from his jacket pocket, he fishes out a hundred-dollar bill. You’re too busy trying to shake the liquid off your book that you don’t even notice it when he reaches forward and tucks the crisp note into the hemline of your top.

You gasp, “What’s… What’re you doing?”

“You know that report we have due next week, don’t you?” Steve muses, scanning your face carefully. He sees your throat bob as you swallow, hanging onto his every word as you hold the hundred-dollar bill between your fingers gingerly. “Why don’t you do mine for me, omega?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “Th-That’s dishonest! And I have my own report to do–” You try to hand him the money back but he bats your hand away. And he knows he could easily use an alpha-command on you and make you exactly what he asks of you, just like how he made you walk away in the lecture last time after the brownie incident.

But he craves true control over you, and maybe he can manipulate you? Mould your pretty little mind into wanting to please him? He knows you’re biologically wired to please him; your base omega desires want nothing more than to make an alpha proud – he knows that. He could play into that, use that. Manipulate you, and find out just how far he can take this sweet control over you.

“Come on, omega, I really think you should do my report.” Steve keeps his voice even, his eyes boring into yours with intensity, and you look like you’re about to melt under his gaze. “Otherwise, you’ll disappoint me. And you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?

Almost as if you’re hypnotised, you shake your head no. And Steve can’t believe how easy this is, and he wonders whether his scent smells good to you, and whether it has any effect on you. It must do… because you look like you’re about to turn into putty in his hands.

“B-But it’s cheating.” You whisper.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re going to do my report for me, and you’re going to put all your effort into it. Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing an omega like you is good for. Pleasing an alpha. You want to please me, don’t you?”

He loves how he can practically read every single thought that crosses inside that pretty little head of yours. He loves the look of conflict on your face, how you’re trying to fight against your base desires. It makes him feel powerful, strong – how someone can have that much control over another human being, it thrills him.

Finally, you nod, and whisper a delicate “okay” that goes straight to Steve’s dick. You’re so beautiful and submissive, he can’t help but reach out to tap your cheek condescendingly. What a good girl, he wants to say, but that would be overdoing it. Instead, he just smirks and leaves, loving how you sit there, stunned and with the hundred still between your thumb and forefinger.

He goes home that day and jerks off thinking about you and all the power he exerted over you today. How easy it was to make you cry, then manipulate you into doing exactly what he wanted you to. He pumps his dick to the thought of how innocent you are, how sweet and pretty and how you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a girl – he just didn’t know it until now.

He also thinks about what you’re going to do with the money he gave you. Replacing the library book wouldn’t cost that much, and he hopes you spend the rest of the hundred on clothes or jewellery for yourself. That way, it would be like he bought something for you, he bought it for you and now you’re wearing it on your skin. Something he bought. Because you belong to Steve. And then he cums hard, slapping the bathroom wall so hard that one of the tiles chips.

Then, he cleans off and gets his sketchbook out. He draws you sitting under the tree with your little juice-box. He makes sure to make the drawing as detailed as possible, down to the top you were wearing and the way you looked so engrossed in your book. At the last second, he adds one more detail. A jagged mark on the side of your neck. His mark. Then he slams his sketchbook shut and buries it under his bed.

You give Steve his finished report only two days later, at the start of the next lecture. Quietly, you scurry up to him and wordlessly hold out the typed-up paper placed neatly in a binder. He snatches it from you, making sure to remain stone-faced except you don’t even make eye-contact with him – which is mildly irritating. But he guesses you’re too scared of him, and this proves to be true because you quickly walk back to your seat as soon as he takes the report from you.

Sam whistles lowly, “Out of everyone in this class, you made the slut omega do your paper?”

“Good luck redoing the whole thing, unless you want an F.” Bucky adds.

Steve opens the report to scan through it, and the hundred-dollar bill flutters out from where it was tucked in the first page. Huh. You’d returned the money. His heart can’t help but sink, because here he was trying to help you and you’d thrown it back in his face. Curiously, he watches you in your usual seat in the front row. You’re texting someone on your phone and he feels a wave of jealousy. Was there someone else taking care of you? A boyfriend?

He pushes that thought out of his mind as soon as it enters it. No. You’re too sweet, too pure to have a boyfriend. You’re a lonely little omega, and the only person who talks to you on campus is Steve. That’s how he’s painted you in his head and that’s what you are.

But now he wants to find out more about you. And it’s easy enough, going to the admin office and flirting with one of the secretaries. Easily noting down the password to the computer that had all the freshman student details on it, and when the giggling secretary excused herself to go to the bathroom, he quickly typed in your name.

And all your information pops up on the screen in front of him. Home address (some random, desolate hick-town, just as he suspected), your phone number (he quickly saves it on his phone) as well as your mother’s contact details. No father. Interesting. It meant you probably had some sort of daddy issues that Steve could undoubtedly take advantage of in the future.

Back in his own room, Steve stares at your number on his phone. He could easily call you right this instant, or text you. He could thank you for doing his report and offer to take you out. And then he’d show up at your doorstep with a bouquet of yellow roses, take you to the most expensive restaurant in town and then he’d drive up to a great spot he knows, where the two of you could stargaze and then he’d kiss you for the first time before taking you to the backseat of his car and making love to you, all soft and sweet – because you’re soft and sweet.

Steve has to forcibly push these sappy thoughts out of his head. He’s not a lovesick fifteen-year-old kid, for fucksakes! He’s an alpha, way above the league of some small, hick-town omega who comes from a broken home. It’s just lust, he reminds himself, lust and control. That’s all you want with her, Steve. Remember that.

Weeks go by where Steve doesn’t miss a chance when it comes to bullying you. It’s just an extremely easy thing to do, despite the fact that sometimes, it feels like he’s putting his heart through a shredder when he sees you bow your head and cry. Why can’t he just leave you alone? Why is he so goddamned obsessed with you?

He stares at you a lot, too. And sometimes, he finds you staring back at him before you quickly look away. She has a crush on me, too! He thinks to himself before shaking his head and trying to focus on something else. But he can’t. You’re everywhere. Even when he hooks up with other girls now, he picks ones out who have the same features as you. Same hair colour, same skin-tone. That way, it’s easier to pretend it’s you when he’s fucking them from behind.

But it’s not you. You’d be so much better. So much sweeter, so much more subservient. And Steve wants you so bad, it’s starting to become a physical need.

He, along with Bucky and Sam, sit in the row behind you on the day everyone gets their graded reports back. He does it so he can catch another whiff of your scent which he hasn’t smelled since the first day he saw you. But to no avail – your suppressants are too fucking strong and this irritates him no end.

Bucky and Sam spend the lecture poking fun at you, juvenile jokes which Steve doesn’t even find funny despite the fact that he’s the one who started the whole ‘campus slut’ movement in the first place.

But from his position behind you, he can see you type in your passcode to unlock your phone, and subconsciously he commits it to his memory. He wonders who you text and call, what friends you have. Ever since he looked you up on the computer system, he just wants to know every single thing about you. And he knows he’s acting like a fucking creep – sometimes he has the strong urge to just grab you and smell you, smell your hair and your neck and just bury his nose into you. It’s insane. No other girl has made him feel like this, but it’s like he can’t help it.

Steve gets an A+ on his report, and when he glances at you holding your own paper, he sees you got an A+ too. Which means you submitted two top tier research papers. A smart omega, he thinks to himself. And he hates that you’re smart. Well, he admires you for it but he hates that he admires it. Because you shouldn’t be here writing reports on world politics. No, you should be inside a kitchen. Or in his bed.

He watches you smile and clasp your hands together, clearly happy with your grade. And he hangs back again, waiting for Bucky and Sam to leave at the end of the lecture before he approaches you.

“Congratulations, omega. Did you let the professor put it up your ass so he’d give you the highest grade in class?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

But this time, you don’t even protest against his lie, or even look at him. No, you keep your gaze diverted, staring intensely at the floor before you scrunch your eyes up. Shit. You’re well and truly afraid of him – he can practically see you shaking. And is it possible to feel bad yet get hard at the same time? Steve doesn’t know anymore, he’s always hard when he’s in your presence.

He watches you scurry away, looking intimidated beyond belief. And as you leave, you accidentally brush up against him. Your whole body, brushing up against his front, and Steve feels like someone’s kicked him in the fucking balls because it winds him. His heart seems to skip several beats and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Your body had only made contact with his for a few seconds at most, but he can’t believe the effect it had on him. Your soft little body, like a boost of serotonin straight to his heart. And his cock. Fuck. You practically half-run out of the room in a bid to get away from him, and you have no fucking clue that you’ve left him reeling. He’s 6’6 and weighs about 240 pounds but an unassuming little omega has almost knocked him off his feet.

And this incenses him. It embarrasses him. It confuses him.

I need to fuck her; he thinks to himself. I need to feel her again. Claim her. Make her mine.

Maybe then I’ll get her out of my system once and for all.

A/N: And there we go! i know yall may be a bit disappointed since this does not advance the plot at all and nothing really happened but!! this is just meant to be an insight into Steve’s head!! i know a lot of you want to know what he was thinking so here you go!! I do want to note that he DOES come across as a fucking psycho askfsdajkfn but he’s a dark character what can i say??? He develops a lot from here tho! ANYWAYS, please leave feedback, i’d love to know what you think! I hope you enjoyed!! bye dhfsdnk

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #dark steve rogers #mcu #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans x reader

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livwritesstuff · 10 months ago

Text

So Hazel and Robbie are Swifties – 100%. For reference – I am not, but I'm also able to acknowledge that I am part of the minority in this so here we are.

An unexpected side effect of this is that, when Taylor Swift starts publicly dating a football player and making appearances at the games that Steve and Moe just so happen to watch, Robbie and Hazel start joining them.

To be clear – Steve loves this. Sure, they have some questionable things to say about the games, but who cares? He's just so thrilled to be talking about sports with his kids.

The real victim here is Moe.

Unlike her sisters, Moe is not a Swiftie, mostly because Moe stubbornly refuses to partake in anything that makes it to mainstream popularity (it’s one of the ways she takes after Eddie), so she is not thrilled about this arrangement.

Hazel: What if they have to go to the bathroom?

Steve: They go before.

Hazel: But…they’re drinking water, right?

Moe: *long-suffering groan*

Steve: There’s also halftime, hon.

Robbie: What if, like, two players are feuding and then they end up on the same team?

Robbie: Not gonna lie, that’s kinda hot.

Steve: *silently agrees*

Hazel: How do they decide who’s on the field together? Is it, like, numerical order or do they just go off of vibes

Steve: Well, there’s a–

Robbie, completely interrupting him: Do you think it’s a little reductive, to, like, assign them a number?

Robbie: Like, does anybody bother to learn their names?

Eddie: Ah, Robbie, my pride and joy. You’ve discovered the true marginalized group in this country.

Eddie: NFL players.

Moe: Oh my god. I hate you all.

#don’t worry all three of them are united in disgust over the halftime show being usher #steve: what’s wrong with usher?#moe: isn’t it supposed to be someone *relevant*?#eddie who hasn’t cared about the superbowl halftime show since prince played in ‘06: ooh sick burn #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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happeehippie · 10 months ago

Text

instagram j.b.

summary: follow joe and his fiance evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim is Yasmin Quintana*

series masterlist.

breezyevie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, bengals, and 367,972 others

breezyevie: pics i sent my mom this week

view all 9,736 comments…

user: im sorry what did we do to deserve this?

> breezyevie: i want to post more life stuff!

eviesmomma: i love you two!

> breezyevie: we love you mama!

user: not the love note 😢

> breezyevie: jb is the best.

user: someone needs to take away your ig. i’m sick of seeing ur bf.

> breezyevie: fiancé

joeyb_9: you look pretty everyday.. fyi.

> breezyevie: you are the loml.

user: my dream

millyg: you make me sick.

> breezyevie: envy is a disease. 🤪

user: i’m blocking you.

breezyevie

liked by millyg, joeyb_9, eviesmomma, and 736,820 others

breezyevie: GameDey! me and mills are ready for the divisional round

view all 10,837 comments…

user: i’ll be there tailgating atleast

user: seriously how much orange do you own

> breezyevie: i don’t think i can answer.

user: let’s get it! WHO DEY

joeyb_9: make sure you bring your helmet.

> breezyevie: i’ll be ready to save the day if needed.

user: yaaaaasss my fav!

millyg: i just want to make it clear that i am an eagles/chargers fan and i don’t own cincy merch.

> breezyevie: i tried to get her to wear some of mine. she says she’s no bandwagon.

joeyb_9

liked by breezyevie, lahjay10_, joemainmixon, and 492,936 others

joeyb_9: King in the North

view all 50,736 comments…

user: i know a gangster when i see one

user: you’re a pos.

bengals: 👑

user: the hardest post of all time

breezyevie: king of my heart. 💗

> user: the tswift reference 😭

> user: i knew i could count my queen to be a swiftie

> breezyevie: all of the best people are.. except joe. 🫠

user: joe is so fine tbh

user: joe cool.

lahjay10_: my boy 💪🏽💪🏽

breezyevie

liked by bengals, joeyb_9, millyb, and 927,062 others

breezyevie: there is nothing i love more than watching my joey do the damn thing. #whodey

view all 6,397 comments…

user: i love him

> breezyevie: he’s just the best

user: him not posting pics of you is a red flag

> breezyevie: i’m not sure why this bothers y’all so much.

millyg: i’m obsessed with you

> breezyevie: nooo. i love you.

user: queen of the afc

> breezyevie: stop it right now!

user: be honest did you pick joes game day fit?

> breezyevie: 👀

user: how does it feel to be dating the best qb in the history of the nfl?

> breezyevie: my joey. 🧡

joeyb_9: always supporting me 🤍

user: you’re like obsessed with him.

> breezyevie: i am.

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, lahjay10_, and 1,639,388 others

joeyb_9: “Cartier glasses I won’t even peek at you”

view all 27,672 comments…

bengals: Icon

user: if you’re ever feeling down with ur busted gf let me know

> millyg: let’s respect my girl. they’ve been together for almost six years, he don’t care about you.

> user: they are engaged now, get a life.

user: jacket goes HARD

lahjay10_: you bad ass!

user: work it joe

breezyevie: best dressed qb in the league?

> joeyb_9: with a little help. 👀

user: this guy has no clue 🤣

user: i was unaware of the swag

millyg: drip

breezyevies ig stories

#bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #nfl #nfl imagine #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow instagram

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sourholland · 7 months ago

Text

WELCOME TO THE STYLE MASTERLIST

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → hope u guys like this :)

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol

word count → 3.3k

remember to reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 6

“It’s one picture, don’t drive yourself crazy over it,” Joe’s voice came through your phone. “I get why you’re freaking out, but I think we both agree that it could be a lot worse.”

“That’s the problem. This was our first time out together, who’s to say there aren’t more pictures like this but worse? We haven’t exactly been careful about seeing each other, Joe.”

There was a brief silence, the sound of his car air conditioner creating a white noise in the background of your phone call. He texted you back almost instantaneously after you sent him the screenshot from Twitter. He said he would have to tell his coaches he was having an important family matter so that they would allow him to walk out to take the call in the middle of analyzing game film. It took him all but five minutes to get outside and phone you.

“I know,” he sighed, inhaling a quick breath before he spoke again. “We’ll be better about stuff, you know I’ll make sure I’m not so–”

“It’s more than that and you know it. This doesn’t just end with one shitty photo on Twitter, it only gets worse from here. It makes no difference if we’re trying harder to sneak around because at some point one of us is going to fuck up, that’s if we already haven’t and don’t know, and then would all of this have been worth it?” You snapped at him, thankful he could not see the tears threatening to spill over and dampen your cheeks. “The fucking around and being casual hookup buddies. Will it have been worth it? Maybe for you, but that’s because you’re Joe Burrow and we both know we’re not even in remotely similar spots in this situation.”

“What are fucking talking about? That’s all bullshit, you know that’s bullshit,” his voice raised slightly, a twinge of hurt evident. “Look, Y/N–I understand that we aren’t exactly in the same position, but that doesn’t make it fair for you to act like none of this matters to me or whatever the fuck you’re going on about as far as all of this being worth it. What’s going on between us has never had anything to do with me, or my name, or what position I hold on the team.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Of course it has something to do with who you are, it always had something to do with who you are and you can’t seriously tell me you don’t know that. You’re in the NFL and a star quarterback for fucks sake. You went to the Super Bowl last year! You can’t seriously sit here and tell me we’re risking the same things?”

The line was quiet, save for the sound of both of you breathing. Perhaps you were being petty, but Joe was being inconsiderate of what a loss of job would mean for you. He sounded hurt by the fact that the two of you hooking up was not a good enough reason to lose out on the extra money. The public humiliation you would receive was a whole different factor to be conquered in itself. While you might not know what this was like for him, he sure as hell wouldn’t ever know what it is like for you.

Social status and money were such fickle things, seemingly unimportant in some scenarios until suddenly they became the center of the universe again. Joe would never again live a fully mundane life, he couldn’t see through the eyes of a college student who already had trouble making ends meet. It felt so unfair to know how this story would end, however if you could potentially stop it from being made worse, you might be thankful in the long run.

“You’re right, that was a stupid thing for me to say. But Y/N, I’m just as much in this as you. It’s not easy for me either.”

“It shouldn’t have to be hard,” you sighed, face hot with emotion as you stared downward at your feet. “I just feel like we might be better off leaving this where it is, you know? Before things get messy. Which they will, you know they will.”

Joe didn’t speak at first, his silence left a sharp ache to burrow itself deep within your ribcage. His voice came out firm but hoarse, “If that’s what you want.”

As your breath grew slightly ragged, you realized that you hadn’t been preparing for his nonchalant response. Selfishly, you let a hand slide to your chest and then throat as you swallowed and attempted to formulate a response to his words. The line was silent, save for the sound of Joe’s breathing.

“Is that what you want?” You asked him.

“It seems like that’s what you want, seeing as you were the one who brought it up. And if this is just sex then why should it matter?” said Joe, his tone defensive and his voice breathier than usual. “This is just sex to you, right?”

No, you wanted to shout at him. This is so much more than sex and you know that, but the second you said it aloud it could not be taken back and then things truly became complicated. Joe wished to provoke you, the tone of his voice said as much. This annoyed you, his desire to make this even more difficult for you.

“What do you want me to say to that?”

“It’s a simple question,” Joe hurled, clearly irritated.

“No, it’s not. You know that,” you sniffled. “How I feel about you doesn’t matter when we’re in this situation, anyway.”

“Bullshit, it’s not a simple question because you’re making it complicated. How you feel doesn’t matter because you say it doesn’t matter,” Joe answered furiously. “Look, I have to get back inside, but I just want to say that you saying all of this right now is really fucking selfish. Especially after all of the mixed signals you send… I never know what you actually want from me. One second you’re pissed off at the idea of me even seeing another girl and now you’re breaking stuff off with me over the phone.”

You flinched at his assessment, “I’m just trying to do the right thing for both of us.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The line went dead and you knew he had hung up, frustrated with you and the entire situation. You let your hands run over your face, feeling a deep pain in your chest as you buried your face into the blankets on your couch that still held his distant scent. He surely hated now, unable to comprehend how deep your feelings for him went. Much deeper than his for you, you were sure of. When you told him that your relationship would grow messy, you hadn’t been lying. However, a piece of you was not solely referring to the conflict within your work.

You debated calling him back, but knew that he would have already made it back into the facility. He sounded so upset with you, more so than he had ever been before. Joe was usually quite relaxed and level-headed, though now he was most definitely frustrated by the argument itself.

Joe made no other attempts to contact you for the remainder of the day. That night, you let your phone sit idly by as you made dinner and still nothing. Maybe the two of you had broken up, that was what you had insisted anyways. He made you act like a complete idiot sometimes, thoughts skewed and rash as if you were once again sixteen. Nothing about Joe was in disarray, he always seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say and do. It never came out awkward or clunky, despite how he described his usual anxiety during interviews.

Attempting to sleep was difficult, your mind racing a mile a minute. Thoughts of Joe persisted, leaving you ridden with guilt and sadness about the supposed no contact. You knew not to text, though. Not only would it have been unfair to you, but Joe as well. There was also the fact that it would never work between the two of you, the carousel of disappointment and pain was unavoidable.

⋆------------⋆

The Bengals lost their next preseason game against the Giants, the game was close but ended the same as the Cardinals had. The only difference in this game was Joe’s attendance, he wore a headset on the sidelines with his coaches as the team played. Still out on injury, he was helping to give instruction to his teammates most of the game.

You had briefly locked eyes with Joe before the game began, everyone scrambling about to get into positions. His expression was blank, as if he had no idea who you were and there was never anything there. Your eyes raked over him, the way that the shirt he wore hugged his biceps and back. Joe spared the cheerleaders more glances than usual this game, watching more than he ever had time to while playing. You caught his lingering gaze once or twice, mind racing.

The final preseason game against the Rams played out the exact same, save for the fact that the Bengals won. It had been two weeks between the game and the morning of yours and Joe’s heated argument. The post on Twitter had somewhat died off at twenty thousand likes and his fans eventually found something new to speculate about.

Sydney and Lena were absolutely furious when you divulged all information regarding the fight you had caused, earning a few much deserved playful swots to the arm. They attempted to coerce you into calling him and smoothing things over, insisting that you shouldn’t just end things on such an awful note. Once you explained more of the predicament and how you felt no desire to be ripped apart on the internet or by your coaches, both girls simply sighed and nodded at your decision. They understood how difficult it was for you, especially after silent tears had begun to fall during the long winded explanation of how seriously NFL executives and management took player-cheerleader fraternization and how it would unfortunately not just be swept under the rug when you two inevitably got caught.

The wallowing in self-pity lasted for another week before the girls had finally called for the bedrotting to end, “Babe, don’t cry. Come on, wipe those tears. We’re going out tonight,” said Sydney, sitting criss cross on your bedroom floor. “It’s Friday night, you’re hot as fuck and you’re an NFL cheerleader. I love you so I’m going to be honest with you right now, I get that you fumbled Joe Burrow, but we both know that he was just a guy at the end of the day. So again, you are hot as fuck and we’re going out. What do I always say?”

“I’m not feeling it tonight, Syd,” your reply was muffled as you spoke into the pillow you lay face down into. “Go without me.”

“Bitch, stop. You’re going out, we’re getting fucked up. Lena’s already on her way over here and you know she’s not leaving without you so let’s go. You’ll feel better, by the time we get to the club you’re going to be like ‘Who’s Joe Burrow anyways?’”

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” you sighed, turning to look up at the ceiling. “You don’t want me to come, I’m miserable and sad and I’m only going to spoil everyone’s fun.”

“I don’t care, Y/N. Spoil my fun, ruin my night, I’d say throw up in my clutch but you already managed that last time we went out. I just want to see you out of this bed for something other than practice, work, or class. You’re like a ghost and I’m not going to watch you throw away your senior year because of some erotic work hookup with a guy who I’m sure couldn’t even hold a candle to you,” Sydney spieled, perched on the edge of your bed. “The only way to get over a man is to get under a new one!”

Eventually Sydney did manage to get you up, it only took ripping all of the blankets off of you and hiding your phone. Once Lena came in and began tidying up the somewhat mess you’d been allowing to collect, you realized getting out was probably the best course of action. Although you had no plans of getting under any new guy, Sydney appreciated your partially willing participation once she began to do your hair and makeup.

Lena dumped a bag of going out tops onto your bed, sifting through them and throwing each top into a certain pile. Some of them were from freshman year, leaving both you and Sydney to cringe and shout at her to make sure it went into the rapidly growing mass of ‘absolutely not’ tops. Eventually you settled for a fitted lilac top, adorned with sheer lace everywhere but the cups. Sydney wore a timeless black bodysuit that she had swiped from your closet during study abroad and Lena opted for blue slip dress and promised Sydney she would take care of her leather jacket if she let her borrow it.

The three of you Ubered to the club, knowing that you planned to drink. As soon as you slid into the backseat of the SUV, Sydney pulled her purse into her lap and was suddenly handing out shooters. There was one Malibu, a Fireball, and a Pink Whitney.

“Fuck that, I can’t even smell that shit without wanting to throw up,” you shook your head, pretending to gag in a dramatic motion. “You’re better off throwing the Pink Shitney out the window.”

“Throw up?” The driver’s head whipped towards the backseat suddenly. “No, no! If you throw up, I charge extra.”

“Nobody is going to throw up, sir,” Lena reassured him and looked back at both you and Sydney with a laugh. “Well, I don’t want it either. Rock, paper, scissors?”

Sydney and Lena went first, Lena won and chose the Malibu. You faced Sydney now, playing rock as she threw out scissors and proceeded to hunch over in fake despair as you snatched the shot of Fireball. Not that the taste was much better, but after a few horrible experiences with Pink Whitney during freshman year, you could no longer stomach it without revisiting the memories of endless mornings spent hugging the toilet bowl of your dorm floor after drinking with your girls and relishing in the alcohol that tastes identical to Minute Maid once you grew drunk enough.

The drive to the club was about fifteen minutes from your apartment, each of you taking a couple of photos together and dissecting Lena’s texts with her ex from the night before.Sydney was bantering with the driver once you finally pulled up beside the curb out front of the club, a considerably long queue already forming at the front door.

“You look so hot,” Lena told you, practically skipping to join the line and get inside. “So do you, Syd.”

The bouncer worked quickly, only sending a few people away as he looked over IDs and gestured clusters inside of the club. Thankfully, your fake ID days had passed and you were finally able to toss it. Most of the drinking you had done over the course of your time at school was with small groups of girlfriends and occasionally nights spent at sleazy bars that weren’t strict about obviously fake IDs. Frats had never been your scene, although you managed to go a few times during your freshman year for the experience.

Once the three of you made it inside, Sydney immediately went to the bar after claiming the first round of drinks were on her. There were colorful lights illuminating the crowded atmosphere of those dancing and drinking with friends. The club mix that was playing boomed, your ears adjusting to the insanely loud music as Sydney approached with drinks and held up her phone to snap a photo of you and Lena.

“Drink up!” Sydney called out to both of you, taking a long sip and looking around the club in search of tonight’s target.

It didn’t take long for Lena to pull both of you to dance, integrating yourselves with a group of sweaty, twenty-something girls who were the level of drunk you hoped to be soon enough. The floor vibrated, moisture collecting at your temples and hairline as you rocked against Sydney in a slightly buzzed bliss. One of the girls you had just met had her arms thrown around your neck, all of you singing at different pitches.

A rotation of going to grab more drinks and then rejoining your group on the floor had begun, both you and Lena alternating who bought the next round of shots after Sydney found a cute guy at the bar to flirt with. The film of sweat clinging to your skin became unnoticeable after you grew drunk enough to stop caring, your face hot from drinking and dancing.

“Lena!” You called over the music, drink in-hand. “I have to pee, I’ll be right back!”

“What?” She leaned in. “Bathroom? I’ll come with you!”

“No, stay! I’ll be good,” you promised, knowing she had already made two trips with you.

“You sure?”

“Yes!” You shouted over your shoulder, already making your way to the slightly grungy, low-lit bathroom.

There was a singular open stall, stray bits of toilet paper and a fake eyelash adorning the floor as you drunkenly made your way around the girls reapplying makeup in the mirror. Thoughts of the game washed over you, in turn bringing on thoughts of Joe. Something about going to the bathroom and finally having a few moments of peace allowed you to assess how intoxicated you truly were, which was considerable. The thought of talking to him outweighed the small voice of reason in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding that it would be a problem for your sober self.

As you left the bathroom, rather than going back out to dance with Lena, you leaned against the wall of the hallway and braced yourself in order to stay upright. You pulled your phone from your clutch, sighing and opening his contact. It was late, he might be asleep, you thought. Without thinking much, you dazedly pressed the call button and closed your eyes as the phone rang and you awaited his potential answer.

“Y/N,” his voice came through clear, not even taking two rings to pick up your call.

“Hi, Joe,” you concentrated very hard on your tone and slightly slurred speech, doing your best to sound sober.”M’sorry it’s so late, I just–I was thinking about you, which I know that I shouldn’t because we’re broken up but I was. I wanted to talk to you, I know you probably hate me and everything, or I hate you or whatever. I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” His voice comes out level, emotionless even.

The silence between the two of you is palpable, “No,” you hiccup.

He says nothing for a few seconds, “Are you at the club?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I can hear music and people talking, it sounds like you’re in a club.”

This was wrong, you should not be calling Joe. Why couldn’t you shake him? After all of this, you only continued to want more. All you have done is hurt him and yourself through this situation, unable to make up your mind. Everything you have worked so hard for should be worth more than Joe Burrow, so why didn’t it feel like that?

“Yeah,” you replied, the slurring evident in your voice. “You got me.”

“This isn’t fair, YN… You calling me fucked up and out with who the hell knows isn’t right, not after you call me and tell me you would rather, ‘leave things where they are.’ I like you! I feel like I have made that incredibly obvious, and yet here we are once again.” He rattled off, voice slightly raised. “Look, I’m sorry to be an asshole but clearly you either can’t see or don’t care about how this has affected me or my life. And I get it, you’re still in college and we’re just in completely different stages of life as far as your age–”

“My age?” You finally interrupted his rambling, ready to counter him with what you would most likely regret saying tomorrow. “How come you’re suddenly so fucking mature and I’m just a kid?”

“Well for starters, you are the one who blindsided me a few weeks ago over the phone. You are the one who just called me up at one in the morning, for what? To tell me again that you don’t want to be with me? Or is this some sick joke where you apologize and then can’t remember when you wake up?” He snapped at you. “So yeah, Y/N… I would go as far as to say you’re the immature one in this situation.”

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of you, internalizing Joe’s words as you shifted weight from one foot to the other. Everything was fuzzy, your thoughts askew and irrational as you tried to compile the right words to respond with. He had never taken that tone with you before, nor had he ever sounded so hurt. Maybe he was right.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” was all you could muster without giving away how inebriated you truly are, figuring that would only make things worse. “I regret everything, all of it. We shouldn’t have started anything in the first place, but everytime you come near me it’s just so hard not to want you–” You trailed off, regret was most definitely not the right word, you mean to say that you regret how things have played out.

“Y/N, stop. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying,” he sighed. “Are you safe? Should I get you an Uber or do you have a way home?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you say quietly.

“Then I’m gonna get off of here, call me once you’ve sobered up.”

His words stung, your heart cracking at the justifiable dismissal. He was most definitely not in the wrong here, but it didn’t make it any less hard. His usual flirtation and humor was long gone, replaced by obvious disdain due to the way you had ended things.

“Bye, Joe.”

“Get home safe, Y/N.”

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