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shdysders · 3 days ago

Text

no one noticed

pairing: jenna ortega & female reader

summary: in which you fly across the country to surprise jenna, holding onto the hope that things will go back to the way they were.

word count: 6.0k

author’s note: no one noticed - the marias

You couldn't tell when it had all started.

You didn't even know what it was.

All you knew was that it wasn't like it used to be.

Jenna used to notice everything. It was the way her gaze would linger a little longer than anyone else's, searching your face like it held all the answers.

She'd catch the smallest changes in your mood, the tiniest cracks in the facade you showed the world.

No one else noticed those things—not when you were quieter than usual, not when your smile didn't quite reach your eyes—but Jenna always did. She'd tilt her head, her brow furrowing in that way that meant she was piecing together a puzzle, and ask softly what was wrong.

It wasn't just your emotions she picked up on. It was everything. The way she'd notice when you'd changed your perfume, leaning closer and smiling as if it were her favorite secret.

Or how she'd spot the faintest smudge of eyeliner you'd tried to wipe away, running her thumb gently along your cheek without a word.

You hadn't even realized how much it had meant to you at the time, the way she saw you in ways no one else did. How she made you feel like you were someone worth noticing.

It had been effortless for her, her attention so natural and constant that you never had to ask for it. You'd be talking about something insignificant—some show you'd watched, something you'd read online—and she'd interrupt with a soft laugh, telling you how your eyes lit up when you were excited. She'd make you feel seen in a way that no one ever had, as if every little thing about you was worth treasuring.

Jenna had always been the person who noticed, even when no one else did.

So when that started to change, you wondered if it was all in your head.

At first, it felt small—just a few moments here and there that you could shrug off. Like when you'd been quiet during a phone call, and Jenna didn't pause to ask if something was wrong. Or when she'd missed the faint tremor in your voice, something she'd once been able to pick up on like a second language.

You told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that you were overthinking. But then it started happening more often. Little things piled up until they didn't feel so little anymore.

Still, you didn't want to blame her. Instead, you turned it on yourself, convincing yourself that you were imagining it. That you were making something out of nothing.

Maybe you'd just grown too used to her attention, you thought. Too dependent on the way she always noticed things no one else did. You felt almost ashamed for needing that kind of validation, for craving it the way you did.

There were nights when you couldn't sleep, lying awake and wondering if you'd lost your mind. You told yourself that she hadn't changed, that you were the problem—that you'd become hypersensitive, searching for cracks that weren't really there.

And since no one else seemed to notice it, you couldn't help but feel like you were wrong. Like you'd made it all up.

Jenna still said the right things sometimes. She still asked how you were, still smiled at you like you were her whole world when you were 'together'. But it didn't feel the same. There was a distance now, subtle but unmistakable, like a thin layer of glass separating you.

You told yourself that if no one else could see it, then it couldn't possibly be real. But deep down, you knew.

You knew, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself yet.

You'd told yourself over and over that things would get better.

Every time Jenna's name flashed across your screen, every time you saw her face smiling at you through a grainy video call, you felt that flicker of hope. She'd always say the right things—how much she missed you, how she couldn't wait to see you again. For a moment, you'd believe her.

But then the call would end, and you'd be left staring at your reflection on the dark screen, feeling emptier than before.

It was getting old, this routine of clinging to a connection that didn't feel real anymore. The virtual version of Jenna wasn't enough—it never was. You didn't want to see her through a screen; you wanted her here, next to you, holding you, laughing with you, noticing you.

But instead, you sat alone in the silence of your room, waiting for a text that might not come.

There were moments when you hated yourself for feeling this way. For needing her so much. You tried to rationalize it, telling yourself she was busy, that her work demanded more of her time now. You knew she wasn't doing it on purpose—but that didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear.

You'd catch yourself staring at your phone, half-hoping she'd call, half-hoping she wouldn't, because you didn't know if you could stand hearing her voice and still feeling so far away.

The distance wasn't just physical anymore. It was in every text that felt shorter than it used to, in the FaceTime calls where her eyes darted off-screen as if she had somewhere else to be. You'd thought, more than once, about asking her why she always looked like she was about to disappear. But you never did.

You'd told yourself it was because of work.

She loved what she did, and you loved that for her. How could you not? She'd always dreamed of it, always thrown herself into it with a passion that had drawn you to her in the first place. So, of course, she was busy. Of course, there were long days, packed schedules, and late nights. You'd whispered those words to yourself so often they became a mantra.

She's not ignoring you. She's just busy.

You told yourself that was the reason for the less frequent texts, the shorter calls, the way her replies came hours later now—sometimes not at all. It was work. It had to be. And you couldn't blame her for it. You wouldn’t blame her for it.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

It was getting old—lying awake in bed, phone clutched in your hand, fighting the pull of sleep just in case she'd call. Some nights, you didn't even know what you were waiting for. The sound of her voice? The comfort of knowing she was thinking of you? It never felt like enough.

And yet you kept waiting, night after night, feeling the ache of loneliness settle deeper into your chest.

You used to think you were strong, that you could handle the distance because it wasn't permanent, not really. But now, you weren't so sure. You felt yourself slipping, losing the ability to pretend everything was fine.

Maybe you'd lost it.

Maybe you were losing it—overanalyzing, clinging too tightly, wanting too much.

It wasn't like you could explain it to anyone else either. Nobody else saw what you did. Nobody else noticed how the little things were falling apart. So maybe you'd imagined it all.

And yet, lying there alone, staring at the darkened screen of your phone, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it wasn't just work.

It was something else.

You felt awful for even thinking it. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn and your chest tighten with guilt. But sometimes, late at night when the silence felt too heavy, the whispers in your mind grew too loud to ignore.

What if Jenna had found someone else?

She'd been gone for months now, busy with filming, constantly surrounded by new faces, sharing spaces and moments with people you didn't know and couldn't see. You knew it wasn't fair to think that way. She was away for work, doing what she loved. But still, the idea crept in like a shadow you couldn't chase away.

What if she'd found someone who could give her the things you couldn't? Someone who could be there for her in ways you weren't able to, offering physical comfort while you were hundreds of miles away?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought. It felt like a betrayal of her trust, an insult to everything you shared. Jenna wasn't like that. She wouldn't do that. But still, the ache of doubt lingered.

So instead, you turned the blame inward.

Maybe you were the problem.

Maybe this was all in your head, some twisted fabrication of a restless mind desperate for attention and reassurance. Maybe you were losing it—grasping at straws and creating problems where there weren't any. Or worse, maybe Jenna really was pulling away because of you.

Maybe you were too clingy, too needy, too pushy. Maybe she'd grown tired of the late-night calls, of your questions about her day, of you trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You'd lie awake in bed, turning those thoughts over and over until your chest felt tight and your eyes burned with tears you refused to let fall.

But you couldn't let yourself think that way. You couldn't let yourself spiral.

So you shoved it all down—every fear, every doubt, every whispered insecurity. You buried it beneath forced smiles and reassuring words, convincing yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You'd wait for her call, for her text, for any sign that things were still okay.

You had to believe it was just work.

Because the alternative would break you.

It made sense to keep it to yourself too. You avoided bringing it up—not to family, not to friends, and certainly not to Jenna. What would be the point? You'd perfected the art of acting like everything was fine, pasting on a smile that didn't falter even when your chest felt tight and your head felt heavy with unspoken worries.

Around others, you acted normal. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded when the conversation called for it, and deflected any questions that veered too close to how you were really feeling. Because, in the end, nobody could read your eyes.

Nobody even tried.

Nobody but Jenna.

At least, that's how it used to be. Once, she'd been the only one who could see through the cracks in your facade. She could look at you and know instantly when something was wrong, even when no one else had a clue. She wouldn't even have to ask; she just knew. It was something you'd always loved about her—that quiet attentiveness, the way she cared so deeply and effortlessly.

But now, it didn't feel that way anymore.

There was no point in letting the cracks show, no point in spilling everything when it felt like she wouldn't notice, or worse, that she didn't want to. So you kept it buried, tucked away behind your smiles and your carefully constructed responses.

You wished it weren't true. You wished you could believe she still saw you the way she once did. That she still noticed the things no one else did. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, that belief became harder and harder to hold onto.

And you hated yourself for it. For doubting her. For doubting what you had. For doubting the one person who had once been your constant.

It wasn't like you had proof. Nothing you were feeling, none of the doubts gnawing at the back of your mind, were confirmed to be true. That's what made it worse—the uncertainty of it all. You were acting like everything was fine, smiling through conversations and going about your days like you weren't slowly unraveling inside, but the truth was, you didn't even know what you were holding back anymore.

You didn't know if Jenna really was pulling away, or if you were just imagining it. You didn't know if the long silences and the hurried calls were a sign of something deeper, or just a product of her busy schedule. You didn't know if it was you, if maybe you'd been too needy, too much, or if it was something entirely out of your control.

And yet, you were pretending like you were fine. Around family, friends, even Jenna during the few moments you got to speak to her, you tried your best to act normal. Because if you couldn't even be sure of how you felt—if you couldn't even figure out what was real and what wasn't—then how could you explain it to anyone else?

It was easier to push it down, to keep the doubts and the worries locked up where no one could see them. Easier to smile and nod and go through the motions than to let anyone in on how you were really feeling.

Because deep down, you knew there was no point. Nobody had ever tried to read you, not really. Nobody but Jenna.

And that was what scared you the most. Because if she wasn't noticing now, maybe she never would.

Nothing about this felt right. The distance between you and Jenna was like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every action, every word. Should you ask her about it? Should you speak up, lay everything bare, and risk hearing what you were most afraid of?

It felt like the logical choice, the brave thing to do, but even the thought of it made your chest tighten. What if she confirmed your worst fears? What if she told you it was over, or worse—that she hadn't even noticed anything was wrong?

But keeping quiet didn't feel right either. Pretending you didn't feel the cracks widening between you, ignoring the ache of unanswered questions, felt like a betrayal to yourself. And yet, every time you tried to muster the courage to bring it up, something held you back.

The words would sit on the tip of your tongue, heavy and unspoken, while you sat in silence. You didn't know what to do, caught in this limbo where every decision felt wrong.

And maybe that was why you kept spiraling—because the loneliness of it all was unbearable. Lying in bed at night, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that this was normal, but the truth was that loneliness had a way of magnifying everything.

Every little doubt, every unanswered text, every distant call felt like another brick in the wall building between you.

You hated how much you overanalyzed everything, how your mind wouldn't let you rest. Every time your phone vibrated, you'd hold your breath, hoping it was her.

Every time it wasn't, your heart sank a little further. The quiet ate away at you, and the more time passed, the more you felt like you were the only one fighting to bridge the gap.

But forcing her wasn't an option either. It didn't feel right to demand more of her, to pull her into a conversation she didn't seem ready to have.

If you confronted her, if you said everything you'd been holding inside, what would happen? Would she tell you that you were right, that she'd already started to drift away?

Would she admit there was someone else, someone who could give her the kind of presence and attention you couldn't?

You couldn't bring yourself to think about it, let alone ask. If she wasn't yours in the way she used to be, you didn't want to know.

The idea of forcing her to stay, of begging her for something she wasn't willing to give freely, felt wrong in every sense. And yet, the thought of losing her entirely was unbearable.

So instead, you clung to the hope that time would fix it. If you didn't say anything, maybe things would fall back into place on their own. Maybe Jenna just needed space, time to navigate her busy schedule, and she'd eventually find her way back to you.

If you waited, if you were patient enough, maybe she'd realize what she had with you and want to hold onto it again.

But the waiting was agony. The longer you stayed silent, the more it felt like you were watching the clock, counting the minutes until something changed—or until it was too late. Time was supposed to heal things, wasn't it?

So why did it feel like the more time passed, the more everything unraveled?

There were moments when the thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome: What if Jenna was pulling away because she was leaving? It lingered at the edges of your mind, whispering possibilities you didn't want to believe.

The way her replies had become shorter, her texts less frequent, the way her calls felt rushed, like she couldn't wait to hang up. Was it just the stress of her work, or was she trying to create distance before breaking things off completely?

It felt absurd, cruel even, to think that way about her. But those doubts had a way of twisting everything, making every interaction feel like a confirmation of your worst fears.

Still, you clung to one fragile belief: it couldn't be that easy for her. Jenna wasn't the kind of person to let go without a fight. She wasn't the kind of person to give up on something she cared about.

And wasn't she still calling, even if less often? Wasn't she still texting, even if her words felt half-hearted? Surely, if she wanted to leave, she wouldn't be holding onto these threads of connection.

Surely, she couldn't just walk away from everything you'd built together. It wasn't that simple—was it?

It can't be that easy.

But even as you thought it, the uncertainty lingered. Because sometimes, it was easier to leave quietly, to let things fade without confrontation.

And what if that's what she was doing? What if she was pulling away so subtly that by the time you noticed, it would already be too late?

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone.

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone. The uncertainty clawed at you, feeding off the spaces between her words, the silences that stretched just a little too long.

Every time you hung up the phone, you'd sit there, staring at the darkened screen, trying to convince yourself that you were imagining things. That there was no way she could leave without a word.

But then she mentioned it. Casually, like it wasn't supposed to mean anything at all.

"We just wrapped the last scenes today. I'll be flying home soon," she said one night, her voice smooth and even. It was the sort of news that should've lit up your entire world, something that should've made you count the days until she walked through the door again.

But as much as you wanted to believe her, there was something in the way she said it that didn't sit right.

Her smile—soft, rehearsed—didn't reach her eyes. Her voice carried the right notes, hitting every expected beat, but none of it felt real. Not the way it used to.

She said she couldn't wait to see you, to hold you, to console you after being apart for so long, but it sounded like a line from one of her scripts—memorized, polished, and distant.

And the way her eyes darted away from the camera only added to the weight in your chest. You watched as her attention flickered to something else, something out of reach—a notification, a script, maybe just the corner of the room she was sitting in. It didn't matter what it was. What mattered was that it wasn't you.

She looked like she was about to disappear, like she couldn't wait to hang up.

The thought clung to you, sharp and unrelenting. You wanted to believe her, to hold onto the version of Jenna who used to make you feel like the center of her universe. But that Jenna was slipping through your fingers, one short call at a time.

Still, you smiled through it. You nodded when she said she'd be home soon, when she promised things would feel better once she was back. You told her you couldn't wait, forcing enthusiasm into your voice even though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

What else could you do? Confront her? Push her to say something she might not even be ready to admit? You didn't know if you were prepared to hear the answer, especially if it confirmed the worst of your fears.

So you kept quiet. You waited, holding onto the hope that maybe this time, when she walked through the door, she'd prove you wrong. That she'd wrap you in her arms and make you feel like everything was okay again.

But that hope, thin as it was, didn't erase the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It didn't stop you from replaying her words over and over, searching for something that wasn't there.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince yourself otherwise.

If she was coming home, maybe things could go back to how they used to be. Maybe the woman who noticed every small detail, who could read your emotions before you even knew how to name them, was still there. You clung to that possibility, desperate for it to be true. It felt like your last thread of hope, fragile and fraying, but still holding on.

Unable to sit in your spiraling thoughts any longer, you booked a flight to her city. It wasn't a decision you made lightly—flights weren't cheap, and it wasn't like you had money to throw away.

But logic didn't matter anymore. You told yourself it was worth it, that seeing her in person, surprising her as she was about to board her flight home, would make her remember what you had. It was reckless, maybe even unnecessary, but you didn't care.

You told yourself it was about the surprise. Showing up unannounced at the airport, catching her before she stepped on the plane home—it felt romantic in a way that you hadn't felt in months. A grand gesture to prove, not only to Jenna but to yourself, that there was still something worth fighting for.

If she saw you there, waiting for her at the airport before she even boarded her flight home, maybe it would remind her of what you had. Maybe it would remind her of the love that had once felt so natural, so easy.

You weren't packing bags or planning to stay; this wasn't about extending your time together. It was about showing her that you still cared enough to make the effort. That even when everything felt wrong, you were willing to fight for what you had. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to remind her why she had once fought for you, too.

You spent the entire flight running through scenarios in your mind. She'd see you across the terminal, and maybe her face would light up the way it used to when you surprised her.

Or maybe she'd be confused, unsure why you'd gone to such lengths when she'd already promised to come home. And then there was the other possibility, the one you couldn't bear to entertain for long: what if she didn't seem happy to see you at all?

What if her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she asked, gently but firmly, why you'd bothered?

Still, you clung to the hope. It was all you had left.

The plan was simple: show up unannounced, surprise her at the airport, and make her feel the way you used to. You pictured her running into your arms, her words spilling over with apologies for how distant she'd been.

Maybe she'd tell you she'd missed you just as much as you'd missed her. Maybe this would be the moment everything changed, the turning point you'd been waiting for.

But beneath that hope, there was a voice you couldn't silence. It whispered doubts you didn't want to hear: What if she'd already let go? What if this trip wasn't the romantic gesture you'd built it up to be, but just another reminder of how far apart you'd drifted?

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of seeing her again. That was what mattered. She was coming home, and you were going to make sure that this time, it felt like coming home to you.

When you arrived at the airport, the rush of excitement coursing through you made your hands tremble.

The overhead announcements blended with the distant hum of engines and the chatter of travelers, but all of it felt like background noise. Your focus was sharp, your mind singular: find Jenna.

You moved through the terminal with purpose, your eyes scanning every face in the crowd. Each time someone walked by, your heart jumped, only to settle back when it wasn't her. It was almost overwhelming—the sheer volume of people, the endless possibilities of where she might be.

But you didn't let it deter you. You kept walking, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floors as you weaved between bustling families and travelers clutching their luggage. The excitement hadn't dulled; it thrummed in your chest with every step.

You were just excited to see her face.

There was something surreal about the thought of seeing Jenna in person again. For months, your interactions had been reduced to grainy screens and lagging calls. The details of her face—once so familiar—had started to feel distant, like a memory that wasn't quite sharp anymore. But now, you'd see her clearly. No pixelation, no delays, no guessing whether her tone matched the look in her eyes.

You found yourself craning your neck, peering through the crowd, your pulse quickening with each new face that wasn't hers. Every person walking by seemed to blur together, but you didn't care. The anticipation was too strong, too consuming.

She'd be here soon. You were sure of it. And when you saw her—when she looked at you and realized you'd come all this way just to surprise her—you felt certain everything would fall back into place. You'd wrap her in your arms, and she'd smile that smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. Everything would go back to normal.

Your excitement only grew as you kept moving, your gaze darting across the terminal. The weight of the past few months seemed lighter here, replaced by the spark of hope that seeing her again brought.

You were so ready to leave behind the grainy screens, the clipped conversations, and the gnawing loneliness. Soon, you'd have her here—right in front of you.

Every brunette you spotted sent a rush of anticipation through you, only for it to fade as you realized it wasn't her. But the thought of seeing her in person kept you moving, your steps light despite the weight of everything you'd been carrying inside.

Then, you saw her.

For a split second, you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. She was just ahead, standing near one of the boarding gates, her familiar figure unmistakable even from this distance. Your heart swelled with relief and excitement, your hand twitching at your side as if it already itched to reach out to her. She was right there, and everything you'd been holding onto—the doubts, the fears—seemed to melt away.

But the joy that had begun to bloom in your chest withered almost instantly.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone standing next to her—a blonde, their features partially obscured by the way they were leaning close to Jenna. The scene in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach, your body freezing as the sight registered.

It wasn't just the proximity of their bodies; it was the way they seemed so at ease with one another. Jenna's laughter rang out, soft and warm, a sound you hadn't heard in weeks.

You took a shaky step closer, trying to convince yourself that there was some reasonable explanation. Maybe it was a colleague, a friend—someone who worked with her.

It had to be.

But the way Jenna tilted her head toward the person, her gaze soft and unguarded, made it impossible to ignore the intimacy between them.

Your breath caught when she reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of blonde hair away from the other person's face. The gesture was gentle, almost tender, and it felt like someone had grabbed your chest and squeezed. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even as your stomach churned with a sickening mix of disbelief and hurt.

She hadn't looked at you like that in months. Maybe longer.

The thought hit you before you could stop it, an unwelcome truth that only deepened the ache spreading through your chest. You tried to rationalize it—tried to tell yourself that you were overthinking, that you didn't know the full story—but the way they leaned toward each other, the way Jenna's lips curled into a smile that felt entirely too genuine, shattered every excuse you could muster.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, the bustling crowd around you fading into the background. Your fingers clenched at your sides, the hope you'd clung to so tightly now slipping through your grasp like sand.

The excitement that had carried you here dissolved, leaving behind a hollow ache that spread through your entire body.

You didn't know who the blonde was, couldn't make out their features fully, but it didn't matter.

All you could see was the way Jenna looked at them—the way she leaned in to whisper something, her expression so open and free. It was a look that once belonged to you, and now, it felt like a memory you could barely hold onto.

Your mind raced, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and heartbreak. Part of you wanted to march up to her, to demand answers, to ask her why she hadn't looked at you like that in so long. But another part of you—the quieter, more vulnerable part—knew you wouldn't.

Because what if the answer was exactly what you feared?

So, you stayed where you were, your chest tightening with every second that passed. The Jenna you'd come here to surprise, the one you'd hoped to reconnect with, felt farther away than ever—even though she was standing just a few feet in front of you.

You had wanted so badly to see her face, to feel like everything could be okay again. But now, as the scene played out before you, all you could think about was how foolish you'd been to hope.

You couldn't look away, no matter how much it hurt. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion—every crack and splinter dragging out the inevitable.

Jenna didn't even glance around the terminal, didn't seem to notice anyone but the blonde in front of her. Her focus was entirely on them, like the rest of the world didn't exist.

You tried to remind yourself that she couldn't have been looking for you—there was no reason for her to. She didn't know you were here, waiting, desperate to surprise her. Still, it didn't dull the sting. It didn't stop the ache in your chest as you watched her laugh, completely unaware of your presence. She looked so... comfortable. So at ease. She didn't even flinch when someone brushed past her shoulder, her attention glued to the person in front of her.

You felt rooted to the spot, your legs heavy and unwilling to move. All you could do was watch it unfold—the way her smile seemed unguarded, the way her body tilted slightly toward theirs as though pulled by an invisible string. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear what they were saying; their body language spoke louder than words ever could.

You wanted to believe that you were overreacting, that there was some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to convince yourself. Jenna didn't look like someone who was holding back. She didn't look like someone who was keeping anyone at arm's length.

And it hit you—how easy it all seemed for her.

Maybe leaving you really had been that easy for her.

The thought clawed at your insides, tearing through the fragile hope you'd carried with you. You'd thought it wouldn't be simple for her to drift away, that the bond you shared was too strong to break so easily. You'd convinced yourself that, deep down, she'd be struggling as much as you were, that her distance was temporary, that she still cared.

But now? Watching her like this, so at ease, so unbothered, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Maybe it really hadn't been hard for her to let go. Maybe she'd been letting go for a long time—so slowly, so quietly, that you hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Your chest tightened as the realization sunk in. You'd spent weeks, months, holding on to the hope that she would come back to you, that the distance between you wasn't as wide as it felt. And yet, here she was, looking happier and more present than you'd seen her in months—just not with you.

You blinked rapidly, your throat burning as you fought the urge to cry. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Seeing her again, being here, was supposed to remind you why you'd fought so hard to hold on. Instead, it was like a door being slammed shut in your face, a reminder of just how far apart you'd grown.

The irony wasn't lost on you: she was finally here, right in front of you, but it felt like you'd already lost her a long time ago.

You stood frozen, watching Jenna and the girl, their conversation seeming so effortless, so natural.

Their laughter was soft, shared like a secret, and it pulled them closer. You didn't need to hear what they were saying to know where it was heading.

The way Jenna leaned in just slightly, her head tilting toward the blonde, was enough to make your stomach drop.

You'd waited so long for this moment—for Jenna to come home, for her to hold you again, to console you with promises that everything was going to be okay. But as you watched her now, it was clear that wasn't going to happen. Not here. Not now. Not with you.

Your chest felt heavy, a knot tightening in your throat as you took a shaky step back, then another.

The world around you blurred, but it wasn't until you felt the wet streak on your cheek that you realized you were crying. The tears came slow and small, a quiet betrayal of everything you'd tried so hard to hold in.

You couldn't watch anymore. You couldn't stay there, hoping for something that had already slipped through your fingers. Without a second thought, you turned and started walking, weaving through the crowd with no real direction, just an aching need to get away.

You left before Jenna could see you, before she could ever know you were there.

And as you disappeared into the throng of travelers, you felt the weight of it—the emptiness, the quiet finality of leaving without a trace.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter

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honeyncherry · 3 days ago

Text

secret of us V - joe burrow

summary you’ve always been joe’s little secret, but secrets have a way of slipping through cracks — especially when love refuses to stay hidden anymore

content 18+, suggestive, angst, fluff

part four

It took three seconds to realize what was happening.

One. The blinding flash sears itself into your vision leaving a ghostly imprint behind. You blink, but the world doesn’t clear— it stays blurred, spinning out of focus. The air crackles, charged with something you feel coursing through every nerve.

Two. The shouted voices slice through the chaos as the pieces begin snapping into place: the cameras, the sudden crowd, the world collapsing in on itself. It feels like a nightmare where no matter how loud you scream, you can’t wake up.

Three. His hand grabs for yours, a grip of steel, and you hold on for dear life. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The pull of his touch says it all: Run.

It took fourteen seconds to get to the car.

One. Your feet falter on the pavement, his sudden tug jolting you forward. His pace is quick, his shoulders a solid wall against the growing noise.

Five. Your breath comes in short, uneven bursts. Your lungs burn, catching in your throat as you struggle to match his strides.

Nine. The car comes into view, his free hand fumbling for the keys in his pocket, every movement laced with urgency.

Fourteen. The door slams shut behind you, the echo rippling in the quiet. Inside, everything feels smaller, but no less suffocating.

It took eight seconds to leave the parking lot.

One. The click of the engine turning over, the low rumble vibrating through the silence.

Four. You don’t look at him. You can’t.

Six. The first motion forward, tires crunching against gravel as the car pulls away, leaving the chaos behind.

Eight. The world outside blurs, neon streaks against the darkness as the car slips into the flow of traffic.

And now?

It’s been four hundred and twelve seconds since that moment. Four hundred and twelve seconds since the flash of a camera shattered everything you thought you knew.

Is it possible for a single moment to stretch and shrink at the same time? To feel infinite and fleeting, slipping through your fingers even as it carves itself into your memory?

The question loops in your mind, circling endlessly, as the glow of the streetlights flashes across the car windows. The world outside feels unreal, hazy and distant. But here, everything feels vividly clear — painfully so. The rattle of the engine, the silence of the radio, the shallow sound of breathing in a space that feels impossibly heavy.

You replay it again and again: the savage flashes, freezing you in a way that feels too permanent, too exposed. His hand wrapped around yours, an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let go.

The way his eyes locked onto you, saying everything his voice didn’t. And you followed without question. Because how could you not, when he looked at you like that? Like the earth itself might crack open if you didn’t.

But now, in the suffocating quiet of the car, another thought lingers in an unshakeable manner: What does it mean when someone holds onto you like that? Like letting go isn’t even an option.

It feels bigger than the moment, spilling over into the corners of your mind where other thoughts linger. You’ve spent so long trying to untangle this, trying to understand the pull he has on you. This quiet gravity that makes it impossible to stay away, even when you know you probably should.

It’s not just the way he looks at you, though that’s part of it. It’s the way he exists in your life, like he’s always been there, even when he hasn’t. Like he’s a constant you didn’t realize you needed until it was too late to imagine life without him.

Four hundred and twelve seconds, and you’re still replaying it. The light. His hand. The urgency of the moment.

Four hundred and twelve seconds since the moment everything changed.

Four hundred and twelve seconds, and you still don’t know what to say.

The Solution

You’ve always been good at overthinking. Analyzing every word, every look, every moment until it loses its shape entirely. Luckily, over the years, you’ve learned how to temper the thoughts, pushing them aside just enough so they don’t consume you. Born out of necessity, it became a skill that made sense of things that felt too big, too messy to hold.

But tonight, in the stillness of Joe’s car, that careful control feels fragile. Like the threads holding your thoughts together could snap at any moment. The events of the night are too big, too messy, and too loud to fit into those neat corners you’ve carved space for.

When he parks right outside your apartment, Joe doesn’t move at first, his body stiff, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. One hand grips the gear stick so tightly his knuckles whiten, while the other rests on his knee, fingers twitching like they want to reach for something but don’t know what.

“I messed up,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence between you.

You glance at him, startled. “What?”

“I messed up,” he repeats, quieter now, almost like he’s talking to himself. His eyes stay fixed on the empty parking lot ahead, the glow of the overhead lights casting shadows across his face. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been smarter about all of this.”

You blink, the weight of his words hitting you all at once. “Joe, you couldn’t have—”

“Yes, I could’ve!” he snaps, voice loud enough to make you flinch. He exhales sharply, raising his hand and dragging it down his face. His palm scrapes over tired eyes before falling heavily to his lap. “This is my world. I know the risks, and I brought you into it anyway. Now look at what’s gonna happen.”

Your stomach twists at the guilt in his tone. “You didn’t do this,” you murmur, tone gentle. “Those people out there? That’s not on you. You didn’t ask for it, and neither did I, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “It feels like my fault. Every single part of this feels like my fault.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your chest ache. You want to reach for him, but something about the way he’s holding himself — so tightly wound, like he might snap, stops you. “Joe,” you say carefully. “You didn’t force me into this. I chose to be here. I chose you.”

His head snaps toward you, his eyes assessing you. For a moment, he looks like he doesn’t believe you, like he’s trying to find some hidden meaning in your words. “You don’t get it,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know what they’re going to say. What they’re going to do. They don’t care about you, about how this could hurt you. All they see is me, and anyone connected to me becomes fair game.”

“I don’t care about them,” you say firmly, cutting him off before he can spiral further. “I care about you. That’s all that matters to me.”

His jaw tightens, gaze dropping to where his hands rest in his lap. For a long moment, the only sound is the rattle of the car engine. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw, stripped of all the bravado he usually hides behind. “I’m scared.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Of what?”

“Of ruining this,” he repeats for the tenth time, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Of ruining us. Of losing you because I can’t keep my shit together.”

You don’t know what to say, so you do the only thing you can think of.

Your hand finds his where it rests on his leg, fingers curling gently around his own. His skin is cold to the touch, and you wonder if he’ll pull away. But instead, his hand shifts under yours, fingers threading through yours like it’s instinct.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you say softly, holding his stare. “I’m here, Joe. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip tightens, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to smile but doesn’t quite know how. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” he murmurs, almost like he’s trying to warn you away.

“Maybe I don’t,” you reply. “But I’m still here. That has to count for something.”

He watches you for a long moment, the tension in his body finally starting to ebb. “It counts for everything,” he says quietly, the words feeling so honest, so simple, you almost forget to breathe.

The silence that follows feels different. It’s still quiet, but the weight of it seems to shift, no longer pressing on you but instead settling between you like something you both understand now. There’s a calmness to it, a fragile kind of peace that you’re not sure either of you knows how to hold onto yet.

Joe turns back to the windshield, his hand still wrapped around yours. His thumb brushes absently across your knuckles, a soft, repetitive motion that somehow feels like it’s grounding you just as much as it seems to be grounding him.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, the words spoken so quietly you almost think you imagined them.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a soft smile ghosting across your lips.

And then you feel it. Not the fear of being exposed, or the chaos of his world pulling at yours. Not the shadows of doubt or the suffocating weight of all the things that could go wrong.

No. It’s a gnawing sensation, the tender pull deep in your chest that feels like both comfort and pain, wrapping itself around you like something you can’t shake. The kind of feeling that tells you what you’ve been denying for too long: you love him.

You’re in love with Joe.

You don’t know when it started, or how. Could it have been the stolen glances, when his eyes found yours across crowded rooms and locked onto you just long enough to make your heart stutter? Those glances weren’t casual. They felt as if they carried unspoken confessions, like he was saying something meant only for you.

Maybe it was in the warmth of his hand on those occasions when he reached for you. The way his fingers laced through yours with an ease that left you breathless, as if his touch had always been destined to find yours.

Or maybe it was in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, as though you were something he couldn’t figure out how to keep but couldn’t bear to lose. When he leaned in, just a little closer than necessary, it didn’t feel like coincidence — it felt like gravity, always pulling him toward you, like the universe itself had decided to play matchmaker. Like it knew he craved it, craved you.

Was it in the quiet nights, when the conversation faded but neither of you moved, and the world seemed to hold its breath around you? Those silences weren’t empty — no, they were full of all the things you were both too afraid to say.

Or maybe it was in the small, ordinary things: the way his laugh softened when you were the one making him smile, or the way his gaze held something deeper, like you weren’t just someone he cared for, you were someone he needed.

It’s possible that it wasn’t any one thing, but instead the way that being around him had shifted into something more, something inevitable. Like you had never truly been just friends.

Over the past couple of months, it had become harder to convince yourself otherwise. Harder to ignore the way your heartbeat kicked up when he was near. Every conversation seemed to carry more meaning than it used to, as if you were both inching toward something neither of you had planned but couldn’t stop.

So, maybe it wasn’t any one moment at all, but a slow unraveling, like the fragile thread holding you together had been pulled loose without you even noticing. Little by little, it unraveled until it finally snapped, and by the time you realized it, you were already falling.

And the fall wasn’t chaotic or sudden. It was quiet, so quiet you hadn’t even heard it coming until you hit the ground, breathless and entirely his.

With that realization comes the weight of everything you’ve tried to ignore.

You’d told yourself this wasn’t love. That it couldn’t be. That it was something temporary, something you could let go of when the time came. You tried to believe it and hold on to the idea that walking away would be easy.

But now, with his hand in yours and his faint declaration echoing in your mind: I love you — you know you were wrong. His words didn’t just sit there; they seeped in, filling the cracks you’d tried to patch over with excuses. Because it wasn’t just his touch that felt familiar; it was the way he laid his heart bare, leaving you no place to hide. They pulled you under.

You love him.

Terrifyingly.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

And the truth is, you don’t want to let him go.

Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe it’s the kind of thing that could ruin everything if you let it. But none of that matters anymore. Because in this moment — with his presence grounding you and the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips — it feels like enough.

For now, this is enough.

The Party

“It’s just something small,” Joe had said leaning against his kitchen counter. “Nothing big. Just a couple guys from the team, some of their girls, barely anyone.”

You’d hesitated then, rolling the strap of your top between your fingers. The thought of showing up somewhere in public with Joe still made your anxious thoughts skyrocket after what happened just a couple of days ago.

Safe to say, the media is ruthless.

Joe noticed your hesitation. His brows pulled together like he wanted to say something comforting, but wasn’t sure what. He didn’t push. He never did.

“Okay,” you agreed, nodding hopefully. Your voice was calmer than you felt. You pursed your lips, the realization settling in — this would be the first time you’d be in his world like this. You, him, and everyone else. Not hidden in the shadows but right there, where people could see you.

Would they wonder why Joe brought you? Would they piece together what the public had already started whispering about?

“It’s really no pressure,” Joe added, sagging his shoulders and leaning forward. “I just thought... it’d be nice to have you there.”

And just like that, the warmth in his voice melted through some of the fear knotted in your chest.

You managed a small smile. “I know.”

Now you’re here, standing just outside the front door of the house, the muffled thump of music vibrating through the walls. Joe is by your side, his hand resting lightly on your back as he opens the door.

“You good?” he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, even though your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest. “Mhm. Just a little nervous.”

His hand stays for a moment longer, warm and steady. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he murmurs. With that, he guides you inside.

The space is sprawling, filled with the soft glow of dim lighting, conversation, and music that pulses just enough to set the mood without being overwhelming. The smell of food drifts faintly from the kitchen, and you spot a few familiar faces mingling in small clusters around the room.

A few heads turn when you walk in, mostly curious glances. Nothing too intense, but enough to make you hyper-aware of Joe’s hand still resting lightly on your back. You hope you look more put together than you feel.

“Relax,” Joe murmurs, his lips brushing close to your ear. “I‘m right here.”

Before you can respond, Ja’Marr’s voice booms from across the room.

“Joe! There’s our golden boy.” He weaves through the crowd with his usual grin and a drink in hand. “And hey — look who he brought with him! Superstar, it’s been a minute.”

You smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. “You’ve been busy, Ja’Marr. Don’t blame me.”

He chuckles, pulling you into a quick, friendly hug. “True, but you could’ve texted. You’ve got my number, right?”

Joe raises a brow, smirking. “Pretty sure she has mine. That’s enough.”

Ja’Marr snorts. “Possessive much? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to steal her.”

Before either of you can respond, someone calls Ja’Marr’s name, waving him over. He gives you both a knowing smile, like he’s in on a secret you haven’t figured out yet. “I’ll catch up with you two later.”

Joe chuckles under his breath, leaning down so only you can hear. “Ignore him,” he mutters.

He guides you through the room, his chest brushing lightly against your back as you weave through groups of people. The hum of conversation and music blurs around you like static. Your first few conversations are polite but brief — quick introductions and names you probably won’t remember tomorrow.

As Joe leads you to the bar setup, you glance up at him. He seems relaxed, like he’s done this a million times, but you know better. You know how much he hates public interactions like this: the noise, the small talk — but somehow, he’s making it look effortless. He catches you watching him.

“You good?” he asks, voice soft.

You’re about to answer when someone stumbles into you, a guy neither of you recognize, tipsy and barely aware of how he’s thrown you off balance. Joe’s arm is around you in an instant, pulling you firmly against him.

“Watch it, buddy,” Joe says, cocking his head slightly as the guy mumbles an apology and stumbles off.

“I’m fine,” you say, stifling a laugh as you steady yourself. “Thanks, Captain America.”

Joe’s lips twitch. “Don’t tempt me. You know I’d tackle someone if I had to.”

“Oh, I know.” You nudge him playfully. “But let’s avoid that, yeah?”

He chuckles, urging you forward. His fingers brush against yours briefly as he grabs two drinks and hands you one. The cool glass anchors you, but it’s Joe’s presence hat keeps you steady.

Just as you’re settling in, familiar faces approach. Sam and Jess greet you with warm smiles, Jess pulling you into a quick hug.

“There she is!” Jess says, her eyes lighting up. “I was wondering when we’d see you.”

You smile as Jess nods toward Joe. “I see you’ve got your shadow tonight.”

Joe raises a brow. “Shadow?”

Jess grins. “You heard me. Wherever you go, she goes.”

Sam chuckles, giving Joe a playful nudge. “Or maybe it’s the other way around. What’s the deal, Burrow? Can’t keep her out of your sight?”

Joe laughs, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he shakes his head. Sam claps him on the back, and the two slip into conversation about something you don’t quite catch. Jess links her arm through yours, leading you a few steps away for a quick catch-up.

“How have you been?” she asks.

The conversation flows easily, filled with updates on work, life, and everything in between. Before you know it, Sam sneaks up behind Jess, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Mind if I steal my wife back?” he teases, swaying her slightly.

Jess giggles, leaning into him. “You’ve had me all night.”

“Still not enough,” Sam grins, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Jess rolls her eyes fondly as he tugs her back toward the crowd. “See you soon,” she calls with a wink.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you step back beside Joe.

“They’re always like that, huh?” you say.

Joe leans closer, his arm resting casually on the countertop, fingers brushing against yours again. “Yep. But they’re not wrong.”

You blink, a little caught off guard, and turn to face him. “About what?”

“Not wanting to let you out of my sight.”

Your breath catches, and before you can respond, he’s smiling again, the glint in his eyes softening the weight of his words.

“Come on,” he looks around. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.

Joe takes your hand, and you follow him as he weaves the two of you through the house, brushing past groups of people without a second glance. When the door to the back patio opens, the air shifts — cooler, quieter, an overall welcome contrast to the buzz inside. String lights hang above, casting a soft glow over the deck and the surrounding yard, like you’ve stepped into a secret corner of the night.

You settle onto the top step of the deck, knees tucked close together as you relax into the moment. Through the open patio door you spot a TV mounted inside, playing a replay of last night’s Thursday night game. The players’ jerseys blur across the screen as you watch them move, your thoughts drifting.

Joe catches you staring, the soft glow of the lights catching the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say softly, a smile pulling at your lips. “It just reminded me of when you tried to teach me how to throw a perfect spiral.”

Joe groans dramatically, tossing his head back like he’s reliving the trauma. “How could I forget? You nailed me right in the chest with the ball.”

“You told me to ‘just throw it!’” you protest, laughing. “That’s on you.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t mean at me,” he says, grinning. “But I’ll admit, you’ve got a hell of an arm.”

Your laughter lingers, but it fades when his hand brushes against your knee. It’s a whisper of a touch, something casual that feels anything but. He doesn’t move, and neither do you.

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, playful but edged with something deeper, “I still think you did it on purpose.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “Maybe I did.”

“Yeah?” His fingers shift slightly, sliding up and beginning to trace soft circles against your leg. “What else haven’t you told me?”

His touch sends butterflies through you and the playful banter blurs into something else entirely. His thigh presses lightly against yours, and when you meet his gaze, it’s no longer just playful; it’s careful and maybe even hopeful, like he’s giving you a choice.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to figure it out.”

His smile softens, but the weight of his gaze stays steady. The space between you shrinks without either of you moving an inch. The cool breeze drifts past, but it barely registers, not with him right next to you and warmth buzzing under your skin. His fingers continue their slow, absentminded movements on your knee, like he’s forgotten he’s even doing it.

The conversation flows easily from there. Soft teasing, shared memories, and those idling stares that neither of you bothers to hide. Every laugh, every small tease feels like a thread pulling you closer, wrapping you both in something that feels too easy to sink into. And neither of you seem in any hurry to pull away.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks after a moment, his voice gentle.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his gaze. “More than I expected to.”

“Good.” His eyes stare into yours for a moment longer before he finally exhales, fingers giving your leg a gentle squeeze before standing. “Come on,” he murmurs while holding a hand out and helping you to your feet. “Let’s head out.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he guides you back through the house, throwing your cups and brushing past a few familiar faces, exchanging quick goodbyes. By the time you step outside, the cool breeze feels harsher now, weaving through your clothes like a needle threading cold straight into your core. You shiver as it grips you.

Without a word, Joe notices and slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. His hands hover over you as he gently guides your arms into the sleeves.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, clutching the jacket a little closer to you.

“I wanted to,” he replies simply, the sincerity in his voice winding itself into a part of you that feels untouched by him.

The walk to his car is quiet, but it’s not awkward. Your shoulders brush every few steps, and you can feel the energy of the night still there between you. When he pulls up to your building, he turns off the engine but doesn’t move right away. Instead, he sits there for a moment, looking over at you like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

When he walks you to your door, his pace is unhurried, like he’s savoring the final seconds of the night. His hand lays itself on your arm, his thumb brushing gently against the sleeve of his jacket. For a moment, you think he might lean in. You think you might.

But neither of you moves.

Instead, his gaze stays locked on yours. “Goodnight,” he says softly.

“Goodnight,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible.

He hesitates for just a second before stepping away, and you stay there, watching him until he disappears into his car. You know he won’t leave until he’s sure you’re safely inside.

Once you step through the door, you close it softly behind you, locking it before leaning back against the cool surface. Your eyes flutter shut, and you exhale, the weight of the night settling into you in the best way. The warmth of his jacket still clings to you, and his scent wraps around you like a second skin.

You pull the fabric tighter, holding on to him just a little longer.

The Tabloids

The first message hit just after sunrise, the soft buzz of your phone pulling you from the edges of sleep. You blinked against the dim morning light, reaching for it on the nightstand. Mia’s name lit up the screen, along with a message that made your stomach twist:

Mia: Just a heads up before you see it yourself. They’re at it again.

You sat up, that familiar itch beginning to form in the back of your mind. After what had happened a couple of days ago, you already knew what this was about. Your heart pounded as you opened your browser and typed “Joe Burrow” into the search bar.

The headlines popped up immediately, one after another, each one louder than the last:

“Late-Night Deckside Romance? Burrow Seen Getting Cozy With Unnamed Woman at Private Party.”

Your breath hitched as you tapped on the first link. The article loaded too quickly, giving you no time to prepare. The first photo hit like a punch to the gut — Joe sitting beside you on the patio steps, his body pressed beside yours, his hand resting on your leg. The glow of the string lights overhead made the scene look dreamy, romantic.

The whole atmosphere conveyed how special last night had felt to you, how much it had meant. But now, the intimate moment was all on display for strangers to analyze, twist, and pick apart. The quotes from the article stung:

“Looks like Burrow isn’t spending his off nights alone anymore. Sources say the pair spent most of the evening together, sharing quiet time away from the rest.”

“The way they leaned into each other was more than telling. If this wasn’t a date, it was certainly giving off the vibe of something more than casual acquaintances.”

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled down, stopping at the next photo: Joe placing his jacket over your shoulders, helping you into it. The caption beneath the image made you shake your head and scoff a quiet laugh:

“Chivalry isn’t dead! Our quarterback is seen wrapping his mystery date in his jacket, making sure she’s cozy before they leave together.”

You closed the tab for a moment, setting the phone down like it was burning you. But you couldn’t leave it alone. The curiosity gnawed at you, and soon enough, you were back, pulling up the photos from a few days ago — the ones from the night at the bar.

This time, you noticed they’d somehow gotten a picture you hadn’t seen before. There you were at the counter, Joe standing close behind you, his chest brushing against your back. The next image showed him leaning down, his mouth near your ear as you tilted your head to hear him better. Of course, they’d taken the image at face value and run with it:

“Mystery Girl Captures Burrow’s Full Attention During Night Out.”

And then came the comments, scattered beneath the articles like debris after a storm:

“She’s cute but doesn’t really stand out. Wonder how long this will last.”

“It’s always something new with him, isn’t it?”

“Hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

You sighed, your fingers hesitating over the screen before curiosity won again. You scrolled further until an all-too-familiar headline caught your attention, stopping you cold:

“Passion or Trouble? Burrow Spotted in Heated Alleyway Argument Before Leaving with Mystery Woman.”

Your stomach flipped, the weight of recognition sinking in immediately. You didn’t need to click on it to remember the photos. You’d already seen and memorized them — Joe’s hands clenched in fits, and your own posture rigid. The dim lighting casted sharp shadows over his tense expression, and most of all, the way the people had made his confession look like some explosive argument instead of what it truly was.

“An emotional confrontation unfolded last night as Burrow and his companion were spotted in what appeared to be a tense discussion before running off together.”

“Witnesses report raised voices and what seemed to be a heated but private moment between the pair before they left the scene hand in hand.”

The memory of those photos haunted you just as much as the fabricated narrative. What should have been a vulnerable, private moment had been twisted into public consumption, turned into something unrecognizable.

You quickly closed all the tabs, swiping them away, but your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to text Joe.

"Call me?" you typed, only to delete it a second later.

He had a game tomorrow. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress. But the question wouldn’t leave you: Was he okay? Was he blaming himself for this, the way you knew he would?

You could picture him now, in the locker room, sitting on the wooden bench with his elbows on his knees, head bowed, running through every decision he’d made last night. Joe always carried things like this on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his fault. He would blame himself for all the photos and the headlines and the comments. The way your privacy was slowly being stripped away.

You could almost hear his voice, laced with quiet self-critique: I shouldn’t have let this happen to you.

But it wasn’t just you. It was the both of you. And you knew that somewhere in the middle of his self-recrimination, he was probably wondering if you regretted last night — if you thought being with him wasn’t worth all of this.

With a sigh, you set the phone aside and leaned back into the pillows, exhaling a shaky breath. Everything with Joe had always felt so personal, something special between just the two of you. Now, right as things were finally falling into place, perfectly, like something out of a dream, it was all on display for everyone else to judge.

Your gaze drifted toward Joe’s jacket lying on the edge of your bed, the fabric still holding the faint scent of him — clean, warm, familiar. You closed your eyes, letting that comfort wrap around you like a protective shield.

Let them speculate. Let them write their stories.

Because at the end of the day, they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know what it felt like to hear Joe confess everything he’d been holding back, his voice raw, his words slipping into your heart like they’d finally found the place they were always meant to be.

They didn’t know that this wasn’t just a headline for you. It wasn’t a scandal or some fleeting story.

It was real.

Let them talk.

Because when the noise faded, it would still be just you and Joe.

The Repercussions of Love

The sunlight streaming through your window had shifted, casting lazy Sunday afternoon shadows across your living room. You’d been texting Joe for most of the weekend, your usual conversations making it easy to forget — easy to pretend the world wasn’t watching.

Neither of you had brought up the new wave of photos and articles. You weren’t sure if it was an unspoken agreement to leave it alone or simply both of you not wanting to risk unsettling what had been building between you. Either way, it felt like the right choice.

But when your phone buzzed again, it wasn’t another text. It was Joe calling.

You answered on the second ring, his voice already lighting you up inside.

“Hey,” you greeted. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the zone or something right now?”

Joe’s laugh rang through, “talking to you is part of the zone.”

“Oh, so now I’m part of the pre-game ritual?” you teased, shifting to sit cross-legged on the bed.

“Obviously.”

You grinned, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Well, should I say something motivational? Or do you just want me to repeat random sports clichés until you feel inspired?”

He chuckled. “Let’s hear your best halftime speech.”

“Okay, ready?” You cleared your throat dramatically. “Gentlemen, you’ve got one chance. One opportunity. Don’t mess it up or—”

“Are you quoting Lose Yourself by Eminem right now?” Joe interrupted, his chuckle spilling like he couldn’t help himself.

"Don’t act like you’re above it. This is probably better than half the stuff on your pre-game playlist."

"Careful, that playlist is sacred."

"Yeah, sacred," you mocked. "To Bon Iver and whatever woodland creatures you’ve got singing backup. What’s next, a whale call remix?"

Joe laughed, “you’re never going to let that go, are you?"

"Absolutely not. The fact that you once tried to convince me that bird sounds help you win football games is too good."

"They do," he defended. "Bon Iver, nature, all of it — it’s part of the process."

"Sure. But if I hear even a hint of Eminem playing before today’s game, I’m calling you out."

"Fine," Joe said. "But only if you admit you’re rooting for me the whole time."

"Always," you replied, warmth settling into your chest.

"Next time I’ll swap Bon Iver for Eminem and see if that’s the secret sauce."

"Thank me when you win," you replied.

“Well, thanks, Coach. I feel unstoppable now.”

"Glad I could help," you said, resting your chin on your knee. "Anything good happen today, or was it just the usual pre-game chaos?"

Joe chuckled, the sound making you smile without even trying. "Depends on your definition of good. Marr tried stealing an extra smoothie and nearly took out an entire table in the process."

You held back a laugh, leaning into the cushions. "Let me guess, he made it look like it wasn’t his fault?"

"Of course. Said the table was unstable.”

"Did he at least get away with it?"

"Not exactly. He got caught but still managed to convince the kitchen staff into giving him another anyway."

"Smooth. You’ve got to admire the dedication."

"Or fear it," Joe joked. "One of these days, he’s going to bring down the whole cafeteria, and we’ll be the ones getting dragged for it."

"Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?" you teased.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on nothing important but feeling like it meant everything. Eventually, the inevitable moment arrived when you both started winding down, neither of you wanting to be the first to say goodbye.

“Well,” you said softly, “you’ve got a game to win, Burrow.”

“And you’ve got the best seat in the house to watch me,” he teased.

“Don’t trip running out of the tunnel,” you teased back.

“I’ll try not to.” He fell silent for a beat. “Thanks for this.”

“Always.”

You both paused for a second before your ears perked up at the sudden rowdiness on the other line.

“Okay. Bye, Joe.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

It should’ve ended there. The warmth in your chest spread faster than you could stop it, sending your thoughts into a flurry — scattering reason like leaves caught in the wind as the sound of his voice echoed, over and over, in your mind.

“Love you.”

The silence that followed was thick, pressing against your ears and drowning everything else out beneath the thunder of your pulse. Your hands trembled as you quickly ended the call, dropping your phone onto the couch like it had betrayed you.

Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling the panicked gasp as you collapsed back against the cushions. Heat flushed over you, spreading from your chest to your neck like you’d been doused in embarrassment.

What have you done?

You let out a silent scream, burying your face in a pillow.

You said it. You actually said it.

You groaned, rolling over and snatching your phone back. The screen lit up, Joe’s name still sitting at the top of your call log like a glowing reminder of your slip-up.

You couldn’t just leave it like that. You had to say something, didn’t you? Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as a dozen terrible options flashed through your head.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to—

No. Delete. That made it sound worse.

Ignore that.

Delete. Too dismissive.

You bit your lip, exhaling shakily, and rubbed your forehead. Just say something normal. Casual. Act like you didn’t just spill your soul into the phone.

You tried again:

Just wanted to clarify—

Delete.

But before you could type anything else, a message popped up.

Joe: I know.

Your breath caught in your chest. The typing bubble appeared quickly again, and then his next message came through:

Joe: Love you too.

The Confrontation

The knock at the door startled you, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the evening. You set your mug of tea down with a soft clink against the coffee table, your heart skipping a beat. You were already ready to head to bed, you weren’t expecting anyone.

If anything, just waiting for a message from Joe. But, he was probably still tangled up in post-game obligations — press, interviews, team meetings.

Then again, after everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if tonight might be a little different.

You stumbled when you opened the door.

Joe stood on your doorstep, his hair still damp from the shower, a hoodie clinging to his broad frame and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. His smile was small, soft, the kind that sent your heart into a quiet free fall.

“Hi,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. The warmth of his presence immediately filled the room, chasing away the quiet solitude that had settled there.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he teased lightly, holding out the bouquet. “Didn’t feel like sticking around for the press tonight.”

You blinked, taking the flowers and inhaling their sweet scent before setting them gently on the table next to the door. “You skipped press?”

He shrugged, a low chuckle escaping him. “Told them I had somewhere more important to be.”

The words shouldn’t have hit you as hard as they did, but they did.

“Come on,” you whispered, lacing your fingers together and pulling him toward the couch.

You both collapsed onto the cushions, Joe letting out a quiet sigh as he leaned back and stretched his legs out. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to sit down,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he opened them and found you already watching him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you this soon,” you spoke up.

“I couldn’t stay away."

“Congrats on the win,” you ignored his comment, your fingers absently toying with the edge of the throw pillow between you.

Joe smiled, that infamous, boyish grin making an appearance. “Thanks. Not exactly a nail-biter, though. It’s the Cardinals.”

You laughed. “Still, you played well.”

“Well... I had a great motivational speech before the game."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. The room fell quiet, Joe’s arm moved to rest along the back of the couch, his fingers grazing your shoulder. You shifted closer, tucking yourself against him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he admitted, resting his chin on the top of your head. “But good.”

You stayed like that for a minute longer, his arm resting over your shoulders, its weight growing heavier as his body softened beside you. His breaths deepened, each exhale brushing against the top of your head.

“Come on,” you stood up, gently taking his hand in yours. His eyelids fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion, but he followed without hesitation.

He made no move to pull his hand away as you led him down the hallway into your dimly lit bedroom, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You walked to the corner of the room, fingers brushing the lamp switch as you dimmed the light. When you turned around, Joe had already pulled his hoodie off with a lazy tug, the fabric lying in a heap on the floor. He stretched out on the bed, one arm resting behind his head, his gaze soft and steady as he watched you.

Without a word, he held his other arm open, inviting you closer. You slipped under the covers, and his arm easily found its place around your waist, pulling you into him. His warmth enveloped you instantly, your head settling on his chest, where his heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your ear.

His fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your shirt before slipping just beneath it, resting gently in place without shifting. The touch was gentle, unfamiliar in its meaning but not in its comfort. New, yet welcomed all the same.

“I missed you,” he spoke, the words barely audible.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your fingers hesitating before sliding lightly across his chest, your touch mirroring his.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the room in muted gold, shadows swaying gently across the walls as a cool breeze slipped through the slightly cracked window.

His fingers began tracing lazy, mismatched shapes across your skin. The stillness between you felt unspoken, broken only by the rhythm of his breath aligning with yours.

“How long do you think we can avoid it?” you asked suddenly.

He didn’t answer right away, his hand stilling briefly before resuming its slow patterns against your side. “Avoid what?”

"Joe," you whispered, a soft plea woven into your voice.

He sighed, his arm flexing as he pulled you even closer, your legs brushing against his under the covers. “I thought we were doing pretty well pretending.”

“You’re terrible at pretending,” you teased as your fingers reached to graze along the line of his jaw.

Joe’s gaze flickered down to you, the teasing dropping away, leaving something heavier in its place. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I know.”

The room felt smaller and the air heavier as his fingers skimmed higher across your body. His other hand moved from behind his head to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin as he studied you with a look that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You didn’t ask me why I came straight here tonight,” Joe said, as if he was pulling the thought from somewhere deep within.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “I figured I didn’t need to.”

His lips parted slightly, “I couldn’t stay away,” he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. “I thought about waiting, about giving you space, but I didn’t want to.”

The honesty in his voice cracked something open in you. “I didn’t want you to wait either,” you admitted, your hand sliding further, nails gently trailing along the side of his neck

His gaze locked on yours, “I don’t think I can anymore.”

The weight of his words hit you like heavily, pulling you toward him before his lips even touched yours. When they did, it wasn’t soft or cautious, nothing like his actions have been over the past how many weeks.

It was fierce, consuming, like he had been holding this back for too long. His hand slipped further under your shirt and along the curve of your torso.

You found it hard to not only focus on the way he was grasping for any part of you that he could hold onto, his touch igniting sparks that spread like wildfire.

Your fingers tightened along the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, deeper, like you needed more and couldn’t stop.

His lips parted against yours and the kiss turned feverish. The taste of him was intoxicating, dizzying. He pulled your body flush against his, as though even the smallest distance was unbearable.

When you finally drew your head back, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together as you struggled to find air. His breath ghosted over your lips like he wasn’t ready to fully part from you just yet.

For a moment, the both of you stayed there — his one hand still cradling your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in lazy, soft strokes. The other gently resting on your hip. It was a stark contrast to the heat still pulsing between you.

Your hand slowly trailed upward, fingers threading gently through his hair before settling back against the side of his face.

His gaze flicked down to your lips and back up, like he was memorizing the way they swelled from the kiss.

“Today felt different,” you whispered, your lips brushing softly against his with the faintest tremor, like you weren’t ready to pull away yet either.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, his lips grazing yours again, teasing and gentle, as though saying that this moment deserved to last a little longer. “It did,” he replied.

His hand slipped to the back of your head, fingers tangling gently at the base of your neck. He tilted your face toward him, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you. “And it didn’t scare me.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that held a mix of relief and something deeper. “It didn’t scare me either.”

And that was all it took.

He kissed you again, this time with a slow, unhurried intensity that left no room for doubt. His lips moved against yours, patient but firm, pulling you under like the tide. His hand slid down from your head to join the other at the curve of your waist, fingers splaying wide against your skin as though he was trying to commit the feel of you to memory.

Every touch was electric, his hands mapping over the length of your body with a measured intent. He kissed you deeper, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine.

His thumbs dropped down lower, grazing against your hip bones and making your stomach flutter. He knew exactly where to linger, exactly how to unravel you without a word.

There was something about the way he kissed you now — like the weight of everything unsaid had finally lifted, leaving only the need to be closer, to feel more.

By the time you pulled back again you were gasping for air, your lips tingling and your heart racing so fast you could feel it in your fingertips. His forehead rested against yours, and his hand traced soothing circles on your back. His breath brushed against your cheek as he smiled.

“Still not scared?” he asked, voice teasing but laced with meaning.

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tracing the slight stubble there. “Not even a little.”

And the way he kisses you after that is even better than before.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow angst

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ecstxsyy · 3 days ago

Text

SCREW YOU | E. BUCKLEY ❦

Buck overhears a conversation he wishes he hadn’t, but it sparks an idea in his head.

based on this ask.

18+ mdni !

evan buckley x fem reader

warnings: smut, porn with plot, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, breeding kink.

SORRY I MISSED DAY 1 GUYS I PROMISE I’LL DO TWO FICS IN ONE DAY TO MAKE UP FOR IT 😗

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

EVAN BUCKLEY attained some information he wasn't quite sure he was happy he’d had learned, on the rig.

Hen was oversharing how she’d heard that May walked in on Bobby and Athena roleplaying in Bobby’s turnout gear. Everyone had expected Bobby to be the sexy firefighter, but shockingly it was Athena. This painted a picture in Buck’s head that he couldn’t erase of you all dressed up in his gear with nothing else.

The thought plagued his mind for weeks, every time he put on his turnout coat he imagined your naked body hidden away under the heavy material, your skin peeking through the unzipped zipper, his name plastered across your back. The thought practically made him drool.

Buck, stupidly enough, confided with Eddie about this fantasy. He didn't know what else to do, and Eddie, as his best friend, couldn't help but confide in you with this information.

The idea alone made you blush immediately, the thought of it sending a thrill through you. It wasn't something you’d thought about before but now the ideas ran wild through your head.

Fortunately enough, Valentine’s Day was coming up, and what better gift to give Buck than his own real-life wet dream?

You and Eddie had already been planning his surprise for a few days, Eddie was going to take Buck’s turnout coat home after their shift together the night of the 13th. You and Eddie both already knew that Buck had taken off for the 14th to spend the day with you, but, he had no idea of what truly was going to unfold that day.

The morning of Valentine’s Day, you woke with a smirk. You wanted to wait until later in the night to surprise him, but, you just couldn't wait.

You hopped up out of bed, ran to the closet, and dug Buck’s coat out of the back corner of your closet where you hid it the night before. You tried to be as silent as possible, tiptoeing to the bathroom to strip and change into the coat before Buck woke up.

You slipped off all of your clothes and slid the heavy jacket over your shoulders, you weren’t exactly sure how to make it feel sexy seeing as you felt like a child playing dress up, but you could make it work.

Once the coat was on you waited until you began to hear Buck stir in his sleep to open the door and creep over to your bedroom quietly. As you looked through the crack of the door, you saw Buck stand and stretch the sleep out of his muscles.

You waited for him to finish before slowly creeping into the room, watching his face change as his eyes raked up and down your body.

“Oh fuck,” Buck sighed, the blood rushing from his head to his dick in seconds, he swore it made him slightly light-headed. A million thoughts ran through his head at once, he truly could not believe the sight in front of him.

“Eddie told me about your little wet dream,” you teased, sliding the jacket down your shoulders so it hung around you even looser.

“Yeah and I’m definitely gonna kill him at work tomorrow, but for now, I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Buck mumbled as he got closer to you, pulling you into his body heat to press his lips against yours.

He kissed you fervently, your tongues clashing against each other. Buck felt like he was floating, the whole moment felt like a dream.

“So, I guess you like your gift?” You smiled as you pulled away from him.

“Oh, I love it, and I can't wait to enjoy it all day long,” Buck smirked, scooping you up so your legs wrapped around his waist.

He walked you over to the bed slowly, setting you down as he began to kiss you again. You couldn't get enough of him, if you’d known he’d go this crazy for this you would have done it a long time ago.

Buck kissed down your jaw before standing up to look at you in awe, taking in all the details. Your smooth skin looked so pretty, the rough material of the coat made your skin look like silk. He grabbed your leg, rubbing his hands up and down your calf and your legs practically spread on their own, revealing your bare cunt to him, glistening in the light with your wetness.

“All this for me? God, I must be the luckiest man alive, he sighed, kissing down the inside of your leg until he reached your thigh.

Buck licked a long stripe up the inside of your thigh, stopping once he reached your folds. You let out a whine, you wanted his head between your legs so bad.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry but I can’t wait to fuck you,” Buck mumbled, pulling down his sweats just enough to let his cock spring free. You couldn't complain, Buck fucked you in a way nobody else ever could.

Before he slid himself inside of you, he flipped you onto all fours, he wanted to see his name plastered across your back while he made you cum until you saw stars.

As his cock slid into you, you shuddered. He was so deep inside of you, hitting every nook and cranny that you didn't even know existed. Buck made you feel so full, his cock stuffing you.

“Oh my God, Buck,” You whined, pushing your hips back to fuck yourself on him. When Buck felt this he grabbed your hips, freezing them in place as he began to pound into you from behind. His sudden thrusts made you cry out in pleasure, your legs already trembling.

“Look at you, already a little mess for me,” Buck chuckled, smacking your ass a few times before grabbing a handful of each ass cheek, using your ass to help drag you back on his cock faster.

Your pussy practically wept for him, your arousal leaking out from around his cock. The sounds coming from between the two of you were crude, they even made Buck blush a bit. Your pussy squelched around him, your grip on the sheets making your knuckles turn a bony white color.

“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you cried out, your hand moving to rub your clit rapidly.

“Damn, baby, already?” Buck teased. He knew how fast he could make you cum, in fact, it was one of his proudest achievements. He teased you about it constantly.

You ignored his comment and hid your face in the sheets, taking his quick thrusts while you tried to hold off your orgasm for as long as you could. Little did you know, Buck was in the same boat. You in his gear did sinful things to his cock and his mind, his fantasies couldn't nearly compare to the real sight in front of him.

“Can’t wait to give you my last name, fill you up with all my babies,” Buck fantasized out loud, dreaming of the life ahead of the two of you. Those words alone sent you over the edge, your orgasms tearing through your trembling body.

Instead of slowing down, your orgasm made him pick up his pace. Buck plowed into you, his tip bullying your cervix making your vision go white. Before your first orgasm was over, a second one hit you like a train.

You didn't realize a coat would make Buck go this wild, your pussy begged for a break but you greedily wanted more.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Gonna put my babies all inside of you,” Buck moaned, his hips starting to falter.

Before you could respond, Buck shot his load deep inside of you, fucking it into you to make sure it all stays inside. He fully intended to get you pregnant, he couldn't wait to watch your belly swell.

Buck pulled his cock out of you, spreading your folds to watch his cum leak out of you. He used his first two fingers to scoop up the thick fluid before pushing it back inside of you, fingering it all in.

“Look at this pretty pussy, so swollen and sensitive,” Buck teased, slapping your clit lightly to watch the way your body jolts away. You looked so fucked out, the only thing covering you while you lay on the bed being his turnout coat.

Buck grabbed the coat lightly, sliding it off of you and going to grab one of his LAFD shirts. He helped you redress into more of his clothes and laid you back down in the bed, cuddling up next to you.

“Marry me.” Buck blurted out, the words made your eyes bulge out, the saliva in your mouth getting trapped in your throat.

“What?”

“I said marry me,” Buck repeated, confirming that you aren't just crazy and hearing things. “I was gonna do this later and go all out, but, I can’t wait.”

Buck stood off the bed and reached into your bed side table, grabbing the small velvet box that sat inside the drawer. He then dropped down to get on one knee beside the bed.

“Will you marry me?” Buck asked, his smile beaming.

“Of course, Buck,” you giggled, pulling him into a kiss. Buck fully planned on consummating not only his marriage but his engagement as well, no matter how untraditional.

Maybe Buck didn't wanna kill Eddie so much after all.

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

cupid’s candy hearts masterlist

#buck so has a breeding kink #he’d make the best husband #and dad #evan buckley #smut #911 show #911 abc #evan buckley x fem!reader #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckley #nay nay writes evan buckley !#nay nay’s valentine’s day event !#nay nay writes !#18+ mdni

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anorlondo00 · 2 days ago

Note

I do not care at all about sports and the sum total of my knowledge about American football is what I remember from reading Eyeshield 21 fifteen plus years ago, BUT. I am now invested in the football AU. Ace and Luffy are the mascots of the team and everyone loves them. They can do no wrong in Oyaji's eyes and he will let them get away with murder. In return, both of them are seriously devoted to making the team The Best EverTM. The first time the Whitebeards saw Ace throw a hail mary pass they swore it was going way too wide until Luffy tore down the whole length of the field, leapt like the monkey he is higher than anyone thought possible and slammed that ball down. Now the Whitebeards know to expect anything.

Also in my head Ace is the canon 2-3 years older than Luffy, and while he only became his legal guardian upon turning 18, he has helped raised him and the Whitebeards do a double-take every time responsible Ace comes out. Before Luffy joins the team Ace has to beg early off practice to go to a parent-teacher conference. After they're both on the team Ace still makes him PB&J sandwiches after practice, unruffled by doing it in front of everyone in the locker room.

Bootleg Marineford is a game where everyone (and especially Ace, under a lot of pressure) has been physically and mentally wrung out. The Marines team keep trying to sack Ace and get closer and closer, but Marco digs in his heels and makes an impassable barrier of himself. Until there's a crack in the line... And a small opening forms where Teach, who has been fighting with everyone recently, but especially Whitebeard and Ace, stands. Offensive player Akainu, who probably weighs twice what Ace does, hits him like an avalanche. Ace goes down. When Akainu is finally dragged off him, he stays down.

Luffy and Whitebeard are sprinting across the field toward Ace, but Marco's mind has hit the blue screen of death. There's nothing but static behind his eyes as he stares at his fallen quarterback.

The game is suspended and put up for a rematch. Neither Ace nor Marco, who did his level best to murder Akainu right there on the field, play.

(Ace is eventually fine, but now knows up front and personal the effects of a long-term concussion).

Claims not to know that much about American football, proceeds to clearly and accurately describe the exact plot I was also imagining—

YES! Are you KIDDING ME? This is perfect, I’ve got more

They don’t call him ‘Fire Fist’ for nothing, the kid throws missiles. The way Ace and Luffy find each other across an entire football field drops most people’s jaws.

Luffy will track the ball wherever Aces throws it. If Luffy get’s hurt in a collision catching the ball, Ace firmly believes that’s his fault.

That being said, Luffy is notoriously indestructible.

Bootleg Marineford: (That’s a hilarious thing to call it btw)

There was a flag thrown the second Ace got hit. Yes, it was Teach’s fault for leaving an open window. And. Akainu was needlessly brutal. Whitebeard was cursing him out before they even hit the ground.

Luffy was incredibly protective over Ace while he was unconscious. There were cameras everywhere.

Marco needed three people to pull him off Akainu. Instead of apologizing, he later told the media he’d gladly do it again.

Ace is out for the rest of the season. He’s absolutely devastated. That being said, he stood on the sidelines for every game.

Physical and neurological therapy were a bitch. Lots of ‘long talks’ with Pops.

Of course, Ace comes back to the field as soon as he’s better. Now, playing with the most overprotective offensive line you’ve ever seen in your life.

Thank you for writing this, it was so much fun to read!! And there’s a lot I didn't even mention like the adjusted age gap (perfect for this) and parent teacher conferences— I love it all!

#onepiecefootballau #portgas d ace #marco the phoenix #marace #marco x ace #opfootballau #one piece au #one piece headcanons #asks

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dragqueenstarscream · 19 hours ago

Note

hey, its me again, back with more Starscream thoughts, so you just know things are about to get uncomfortably real and introspective! Again, prefacing by saying that a lot of my analysis is based on my own eerily similar experiences to Starscream, so I'm not 100% sure how much of this actually rings true and what is just me projecting.

I have entirely fallen down the StarOp rabbit hole thanks to you, at a speed I never could have expected. When I first finished TFP and started browsing the tags, I'd see the occasional StarOp post and at best be like "alright, sure" and at worst a little confused on where it was coming from, given the infrequency of interactions between the two after like, early season 1. But since I sent that first ask in it just clicked and like.

Before, I was always of the opinion that Starscream joining the autobots was something that could never really work from a character perspective, not just because of his dependency on Megatron like I talked about last time, but like, even if Megatron was completely out of the picture I never felt like the full on redemption and becoming a functioning member of post-war society that becoming an Autobot would entail would particularly be desirable to Starscream (if even possible for reasons both in and out of his control.)

I sorta felt like any good ending for Starscream would have to entail him moreso escaping the narrative than anything else, given the extent to which he's stuck in this cycle almost on a cosmic level, with how he's unable to escape it in any universe, any continuity, which of course ties into wider thoughts on how this franchise seems uninterested in letting Starscream ever escape that cycle. A sort of El Camino style ending, where leaving behind everything you know and running away to Alaska is considered a good ending, all things considered. That naturally led to me shipping him with Knockout, given their chemistry and the fact that they were this close to running away together, it just felt like the most compelling option, narratively speaking.

But now that I've caught onto the StarOp agenda, I've sorta cracked the code and realized that you can make a compelling and believable path to Starscream becoming an Autobot by having him getting together with Optimus initially be on a subconscious level an outlet to recreate the cycle he was in with Megatron purely because he's used to it and doesn't know how to live without it.

Outside of the obvious ideological and moral differences, Optimus and Megatron have a lot in common, especially from the perspective of Starscream. They're both big, strong, masculine figures, and natural-born leaders that effortlessly compel those around them to fight for their respective causes. They both radiate power in a way that I imagine you can almost feel when around them (and in a way I know it, because that's often how it felt being around my personal Megatron, it's why it was so easy to fall back into his arms over and over.)

All this to say, when Starscream gets with Optimus, he's not escaping the cycle, he's changing his target. If he became an autobot he would instantly become the most dedicated autobot, not out of any ideological reasoning or particular desire to be good, but out of an intense loyalty he effortlessly placed in Optimus. But of course, the loyalty phase is only half of this cycle.

This next part I'm heavily basing on what I've realized about my own experiences, so bear with me for a second, (I also doesn't think it exactly applies to TFP as much as it does some other continuities, G1 maybe but I haven't seen much of G1 so idk for sure) but I feel like sometimes Starscream almost tests Megatron in a way when he feels like Megatron's priorities are drifting away from him, (since remember, he needs to be the most important bot in his life, Starscream is desperate for Megatron to be as obsessed with him as he is with Megatron.) so Starscream will sort of do something stupid, maybe he comes up with some harebrained scheme that's probably not gonna work, or he makes some tactical or administrative decision entirely based on what he's feeling on an emotional level, to see "will Megatron back me on this?"

because Megatron does stuff like that all the time, he's far from being a better tactician than Starscream, (notice how the moment Starscream leaves in season 1, the decepticons stop winning like, at all until he comes back?) and he makes rash decisions out of anger all the time, and Starscream goes along with all of it, every single time, so it's only fair that Megatron lets him get away with doing something kinda stupid this once. and when Megatron inevitably doesn't, either because it would work against the Decepticons own goals, or purely because he doesn't want Starscream to think he has power over him, (and despite how good he is at hiding it, Starscream does have power over him in a lot of ways, I might talk about that some other time.) Starscream lashes out, betrays Megatron, and leaves, because once again all the loyalty he gave to Megatron got him nothing in return.

and let's be clear, Starscream doing this is toxic as fuck, but at the same time of course it is, it's almost impossible not to become toxic in an environment like this. And that really comes back to bite you when you get out of that environment, but on a base level still have these habits and base level impulses that might have helped you survive back then but are terrible for the actually decent people you've surrounded yourself with now.

With that, we cut to today, where Starscream is an autobot and he tries to pull one of these "tests" on Optimus because the honeymoon phase is over and Starscream is instinctually ready for things to start getting worse, maybe they had like, one minor argument and Starscream instantly assumed the worst. and I imagine Optimus "fails" the test, says "no, I'm not backing you on this, I'm not gonna let you do that", but unlike Megatron who does so while prioritizing his own ends and his control over Starscream, Optimus is saying no for moral reasons. And I imagine he tries to explain that to Starscream, but that answer isn't hitting him properly because again, Starscream's only thinking in loyalty.

Everything Optimus thought was progress on Starscream's part in living up to autobot ideals was really just newfound intense loyalty to Optimus, his growth was really just him doing what he thinks Optimus would want him to do and what he thinks would gain him Optimus's loyalty in return. and, from Starscream's perspective, it didn't work, so he's thinking "obviously Optimus doesn't care about me at all, fuck him, I'm out of here." so he makes this big display of betraying the autobots and running away.

and from there, it's the question of if Optimus sees through what this is really about. The other autobots are probably no help in that regard, they all probably fall into one of two groups, the "At no point in time was I not 100% sure that this inevitably was going to happen" group, and the "I mean, I had hope for him, and it seemed like he was doing good, but I'm still not that surprised" group.

But of course, Optimus isn't Megatron, he does care about Starscream and wants him to know that, so I imagine he actually tries tracking down Starscream to have an actual conversation with him to try and figure out where his mind has really been at these past few months, and if he catches on to even a little bit of the subtext of what I've been saying here, he's gonna be like "oh shit, there is a lot more we need to work on than I thought."

and yeah, Megatron fucked up Starscream in ways that its gonna take years to properly unpack, so Starscream is lucky to have found quite possibly the best person to help him through it in Optimus. It's gonna be a rocky road, but Optimus is in for the ride.

and I do think this relationship could eventually become healthy, and I like reading fics where they've managed to make it healthy, but I do think at first it really wouldn't be, and as someone with the autism that makes you obsessed with themes and motifs and subtext, the process of seeing it become better, of seeing Starscream have to unlearn these old harmful defense mechanisms, THAT is really what makes my brain vibrate, especially because I've had to go through that same process myself after finally getting away from my personal Megatron for what I'm thankfully certain now is the final time.

also kinda realizing a lot of this kinda sounds like borderline personality disorder, which. that might be something I have to look into in regards to myself, damn. anyways, yeah, thanks for letting me kill the vibe again, appreciate it! I'll probably try and keep these shorter in the future, I imagine it's kind of a lot to suddenly have 1500 words of deep character analysis with hints of traumadumping suddenly thrown in your askbox lol. If this actually was a bit too much then I'm sorry, you can tell me to dial it down a little if you want.

and this, right here, is why starop is my favorite transformers ship.

you really hit the nail on the head with this one. when done well, it's not only cute and fun to explore, but it's also a deep dive into starscream as a character and what could possibly lead to a redemption arc. sure, you don't need starscream to fall in love with optimus to redeem him, but how that would actually play out is so fascinating.

sure, i love aus where starscream is an autobot spy the whole time. yes, i love aus where they were in love in the past and got separated. but the idea of starscream replacing megatron with optimus in his mind fits him so well, because, as an abuse victim myself, it's easy to find yourself drawn to people who remind you of your abuser.

and that's where optimus' kindness sets him apart, because when starscream pushes back on him, optimus doesn't do what starscream expects. he doesn't lash out or hit him or verbally berate him. he responds with honest concern, trying to figure out what's wrong.

and that kindness, that sincerity, is something starscream doesn't even realize he's been missing the entire time.

i do believe they have the potential to be healthy, but the fight towards them actually becoming healthy and helping starscream get out of his toxic mindset is part of what makes these two so damn compelling.

always happy to have another starop fan.

(also you don't have to worry about toning it down lmao, gods know i ramble like a maniac about my favorite things. i'm not gonna be the one to judge)

#there's a reason why this ship is so damn compelling for me #it seriously doesn't get enough appreciation and that's a huge shame #transformers #starscream #optimus prime #starop #starprime #starscream x optimus prime #maccadam #cw abuse #answering things

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wordsarelife · 17 hours ago

Text

pairing: slytherin!group x fem!nott!reader (romantic interest to come…)

summary: mattheo’s sure he’s cracked the case this time, but his “genius” plan drags everyone into a mess. theo’s annoyed, blaise is convinced he'll die, enzo’s just trying to stay out of it and draco’s researching ways to dispose of evidence. what started as a small mystery spirals out of control, and now they’re all in way deeper than they ever imagined. oops.

warnings: mentions of drugs, mentions of murder, but in a funny way (you’ll see lol), swearing, teenagers being teenagers

note: chapter one is finally here!! so excited to hear your opinions in the comments. also: what do we think about the possible love interest hinted at the end? are we in favor??

mattheo riddle was sitting on a couch in the slytherin common room, body bend forward, only the the tip of his arse still on the seat. he was holding a magnifying glass, studying a piece of parchment on the table in front of him.

"huh" theo muttered when he came down the stairs and saw mattheo's weird position. "working on your divination essay? you know we have to submit it in three days, you're about five days too early"

mattheo rolled his eyes at his friends lame joke, but didn't look up from the parchment.

"he's been staring at that for the past twenty minutes" draco added, who was slumped on an armchair across from mattheo, reading the newspaper. "he's acting all mysterious"

"that was awesome" blaise' voice suddenly bounced off the walls of the common room, when he and enzo entered, highfiving each other, before peeling out of their quidditch gear. they threw themselves down on the sofa on either side of mattheo, who frowned in annoyance.

"it was pretty peaceful before you guys came along" he muttered, eyeing theo, blaise and enzo.

"well, what's ruined your day, huh?" blaise puffed out air like he was smoking a cigarette, as he leaned back on the sofa and tried to reach for mattheo's shoulder, who moved out of the way before blaise was able to touch him.

"yeah" enzo agreed. "we missed you on the pitch. blaise learned this really cool—“

"this is serious, okay?" mattheo interrupted, reaching for his parchment, that theo had been studying while mattheo was preoccupied.

"that just looks like random numbers" theo shrugged, a little surprised by mattheo's sudden maturity.

"he believes it's a code" draco exclaimed with a roll of his eyes.

mattheo, completely ignoring draco, put on a knowing look. "i believe it to be a code" he said, matter of factly.

draco pointed a lame hand in mattheo's direction, followed by a very clear facial expression that basically said: 'i told you, he's crazy.'

theo sighed, realizing that he probably wouldn't be able to spend the rest of his day in peace, if he wouldn't indulge further. "a code?" he asked. "what makes you think that?"

"well" mattheo smiled smugly, like he had just been waiting for someone to ask about his investigation. "i spyed on your sister—" he paused at theo's sharp glance and lowering gaze. "not like that, mate, come on." mattheo shook his head, like he couldn't fathom theo jumping to such a conclusion. "well, i heard her talking, to pansy. they were discussing something dangerous, i just immediately knew"

"what did they say?" enzo perked up. "are they in danger?"

"life-threatening danger" mattheo nodded ominiously.

theo crossed his arms. "are you sure?" he exchanged a glance with blaise. "last time you said that, you got us convinced pansy had a stalker. turns out her and y/n had been talking about an episode of 'unsolved mysteries', but by the time we realized that mcgonnagall didn't really care anymore, did she?"

"that was a simple mistake, could've happened to anyone"

"i still have nightmares about that day" enzo muttered.

"i had to step down from my position as a prefect!" draco argued. "i was only allowed to be one the next year for special services, which required me to be filch's little helper for a month"

"i said i was sorry" mattheo crossed his arms in annoyance. "and this time i'm sure, by the way."

"you are?" enzo asked.

"i am" mattheo confirmed. "this message isn't any regular one. i know those numbers. it's part of benny's code"

"benny?" blaise repeated. "you mean blackout benny?" he asked with a worried expression as he leaned forward to try and study theo's reaction.

theo's face had whitened, shortly getting rid of any emotion, before anger crossed his features. "i swear to god, mattheo, if i find out my sister's taking heroin or cocaine, you're gonna die a painful death"

"what?" mattheo asked stunned. "what do i have to do with that?"

"i don't know" theo shrugged sarcastically. "who was the one to buy coke from benny for that ravenclaw party last year?"

"that was one time"

"impossible" blaise shook his head. "either you suddenly have eidetic memory, —what should be impossible after all the weed you smoked— or you used that code often enough to remember it."

"i'm kinda convinced it's the second one" enzo shrugged.

"i'm gonna kill you" theo muttered between clenched teeth, but draco's arm shot forward, before he was able to throw himself at mattheo.

"maybe we should all calm down" draco send a sharp look in theo's direction, who finally nodded.

"yeah, yeah" mattheo nodded, slumping back onto the couch, from which he had risen the second he thought he might have to fight theo.

"let's not jump to conclusions without properly thinking"

"couldn't we just ask black— i mean benny, what y/n and pansy wanted?" enzo suggested.

"and get roped into this?" blaise asked in disbelief. "who knows how deep they're in. it starts with coke and quickly evolves to a cartel level of involvement."

"i think we're still pretty far from that" theo smiled sarcastically.

"you all go ahead and search for benny" draco directed.

"and what about you?" mattheo asked confused.

"i'm gonna stay back and search for legal ways to dispose of evidence." he sent a look in theo's direction, who had started frowning at the mention of evidence. "just in case of course"

"sure" theo nodded. the others were easier to convice as they got up from their position and followed mattheo outside the common room.

"so where do we find benny?" blaise asked as soon as they were out of the dungeon, he looked around suspiciously, as if someone was spying on them.

"the code is the answer" mattheo grinned, pointing at the confusing numbers. “each number stands for a different information.”

"i think i got it", enzo mumbled, studying the parchment, mattheo held in the middle of the four. "ehh, he's waiting behind the witch with the black hat? no, wait next to hagrids— does this even make any sense?" he looked at theo, who quietly shook his head.

"he's in the courtyard" mattheo shrugged. "benny had these complicated codes back when he started, but he always forgot where he was supposed to be, so he started handing out the same over and over again. he's in the courtyard, trust me."

"i'm not so sure we should" theo send mattheo a suspicious glance, before he started walking in the direction of the courtyard, enzo right behind him.

a hand slipped onto mattheo's shoulder. "i'm getting the baddest vibes from this, mattheo" blaise muttered, quiet enough for the others to not hear. "maybe we should start asking ourselves how much we love pansy and y/n"

"yeah" mattheo nodded ominiously. "come on."

the courtyard was empty when the slytherins arrived, but there was a shadow creeping behind a tree and when he heard the approaching steps, benny revealed himself.

"remember, confidence is key" mattheo reminded his friends. "we don't know what's going on, but that doesn't mean benny knows that"

"sayonara, nott!" blackout benny greeted.

"'sayonara' means goodbye, idiot" theo crossed his arms, unamused.

"wow" benny shook his head, pressing a hand against his chest as if he had been wounded by theo's words. "why so hostile?"

"yo, benny," blaise stepped in front of theo, puffing out his chest like he was auditioning for a gangster drama. "we need answers. pronto. and no funny business, alright?"

benny squinted. "funny business? i am funny business. what are you even talking about?"

mattheo stepped forward, his expression dark, dramatic, and entirely too intense for the situation. "we know you know about everything, benny."

benny blinked. "what?"

"you know what," mattheo said cryptically and benny shook his head cluelessly.

"don’t lie to us, benny," blaise jumped in, his voice shaking slightly. "we know the stakes are high, but some of us—" he paused for dramatic effect, swallowing hard, "—some of us might not make it out alive."

"okay, whoa," benny held up his hands. "what in merlin’s saggy socks are you talking about? make it out of what?"

theo sighed, glancing at blaise with an incredulous look in his eyes. "ignore him," he furrowed his brows, stepping closer. "have you talked to my sister today?"

"oh" benny smiled and a smug smirk displayed itself on his features. "depends"

"depends?" blaise repeated with a sudden panic in his voice. "oh god we know too much, right? and now we've seen your face, there's no other way" he sank to his knees in front of benny and closed his eyes, as if he was waiting for an incoming shot or hex. "i mean i always knew i would die this way, i'm sure another way would've been way too boring considering my bright personality, at least i go down like—"

"what the fuck are you doing?" mattheo interrupted, dragging blaise back onto his feet by his arm.

"i'd like to point out that we've known how benny looked for years" enzo added and hid a giggle behind his hand. "also: how long was that final monologue supposed to be?"

"you're not gonna kill us?" blaise questioned, opening one eye and then the other to glance at benny.

"the fuck? of course not, i'm selling coke, i'm not a fucking killer"

"well, matter of interpretation" theo shrugged. "but calm down, blaise"

"so, as i was saying" benny muttered, sending a sharp gaze in blaise's direction as if to try and see how many times he would throw himself down on the ground. "depe—well, how much is it worth to you?" benny smirked.

"worth to us?" enzo repeated confused.

"due to your elaborate spending habits, i know you guys are loaded, don't go stupid on me now" benny held out his hand, moving his fingers, repeatedly opening and closing a fist. "well?"

theo sighed, before he grabbed a few galleons and threw them in benny's waiting hand. the others followed quickly after.

"i do think that might be enough to get me to talk" benny nodded, putting the money away. "pansy and y/n were here this morning and bought something for their, well, let's call it an event"

"event?" enzo repeated with furrowed brows.

"wow, very specific, thank you benny" mattheo rolled his eyes. "what did they buy?"

"supplies" benny shrugged, not even trying to break it down further. "well, the usual, had to bring it to one of those giant abondended classrooms"

"how much?" theo asked between clenched teeth.

"oh" benny laughed. "a lot. the girls spend more than double of what you guys just gave me"

"oh god. this is bad." blaise muttered. "we all know what kind of event need this much of supplies—"

"a party?" enzo suggested.

"a massive smuggle" blaise quickly interrupted before enzo could continue. “drug cartel, mafia, pablo escobar level”

"my sister isn't smuggling drugs," theo shook his head, clearly annoyed at blaise's suggestion.

“how do you know pablo escobar?” enzo muttered confused.

“well, i’ve done my research”

“you mean you’ve watched narcos” mattheo rolled his eyes. “told you muggle shows were stupid. you’ve turned all paranoid.”

"well, whatever your sister is doing, i can’t discuss it further, because i have to go now" benny said, mingling himself back into the conversation. "got places to be"

"very practical, huh?" mattheo called after him. "you're probably involved in this—in this eh— drug scheme! yeah!"

"so what now?" enzo asked, staring at the door benny had just disappeared behind. "i mean we know close to nothing, right?"

"we know enough" blaise disagreed. "enough to keep out of it now"

"keep out of it?" theo repeated. "whatever my sister got herself into, i won't just leave her to deal with it on her own."

"well, she's still got pansy" blaise shrugged, unbothered. "isn't one of us going down with her enough?"

"no one's going down just now" enzo said, surprisingly calm. "what is the plan, theo?"

"well, i think we should find draco, tell him what we know and see how to go from there and maybe also search for that classroom."

"i didn't know your name was theo" theo furrowed his brows and send a look to mattheo, who shrugged like he had simply overheard that enzo hadn't been talking to him.

the slytherins walked back through the door to the castle and into the direction of the common room. before they could walk down the stairs to the dungeon, a frantic draco came running up, a thick book in hand.

"ha!" he called as soon as his eyes fell on his friends. "i got it!! the perfect loophole: we're allowed to get rid of evidence, as long as it doesn't include any illegal substances—" he lowered the book. "no! why are you all looking at me like that? took me an hour to find this"

"well, draco—" enzo muttered, but was interrupted by mattheo.

"they're in deep" he quickly said. "meth, coke, heroin and whatever else comes to mind."

"drama queen" theo muttered with a roll of his eyes. "as long as we make sure it ends now and doesn't escalate further, no one is in deep."

blaise shook his head in disbelief. “we’re already in deep. why can’t we just save ourselves and send a nice postcard to pansy and y/n in azkaban? you know, like, ‘thinking of you—hope the dementors are chill.’”

“stop whining,” theo growled, clapping him on the shoulder. “if they’re going down, we’re going down too. that’s what friends do.”

blaise shook his head, muttering, “friends don’t let friends get killed by drug smuggling”

"so far you're the only one speaking about getting killed" enzo smiled. "so you might be a tad bit paranoid. we just go and find pansy and y/n in that abandoned classroom and everything will turn out to be okay."

the rest of the group nodded, before they fell into easy step, enzo and draco following the group as the last.

"i don't enjoy saying this" draco whispered, so only enzo was able to understand. "but if it's really something to do with smuggle, then we're doomed. no one comes clean from that, not even in the wizarding world."

"i know" enzo nodded, sending a fake smile in blaise's direction, when he turned around and looked at draco and enzo suspiciously. "we just have to hope it's anything but that."

"hey, nott?" a sudden voice behind them made them perk up. hermione granger was standing at the entrance of the library, a stack of books under her arm and a piece of paper in her other hand. she was waving it around frantically.

"granger?" draco and theo said at the same time.

"your sister left this here earlier" she handed the paper to theo. "don't know if it's important, but i'd hate losing stuff i wrote down while studying, so i thought she should have it.“

"ehh, thank you" theo nodded. "i'll pass it on."

hermione send the group a tight-lipped smile, tinged with a little bit of suspicion, before she turned around and started walking in the direction of the gryffindor common room.

"well, are you gonna read it?" mattheo questioned, as the five of them stood leaning over the paper in theo's hand.

"i don't know" theo mumbled unsure. "what if it's private?"

"i think private went flying out the window about an hour ago" draco remarked, crossing his arms.

theo sighed, but nodded and unfolded the parchment. this one was a little simpler than the last, a list with names. it took them all a moment to comprehend that their own ones were written on it.

"i'm the only one talking about killing, huh?" blaise screeched at enzo, before he ripped the paper from theo's hands, holding it up and pointing at it like a madman. "this is a fucking HITLIST!"

enzo shrugged. "it could very well just be a guest—“

"AND LOOK WHO'S NAME IS RIGHT AT THE TOP!" blaise continued screaming. "WELL, YOU GUESSED IT! MINE!!!"

"woah" mattheo muttered, his eyes scanning the names. "if anything i should be worried. my name is the first one, yours is only the third."

"technically you just have to be faster than mattheo and draco," theo shrugged sarcastically.

"well, that's really comforting, theo" blaise' eye seemed to be twitching in an unusual rhythm. "especially knowing your name comes last between all of us. i bet you're just waiting to throw us under the bus and save yourself."

"don't be ridiculous, blaise" enzo shook his head, trying to reach for the list, but blaise moved his hand before he was able to.

"enzo is right" draco nodded. "theo would never do something like that, come on."

"he doesn't have to" blaise nodded as if he was seeing through everything. "i mean he's got his killer sister to take care of it, am i right?"

"wait when did we establish y/n was a killer?" mattheo asked confused, exchanging glances with theo. "thought she was just a coke whore or whatever that kind of job is called nowadays."

"you've all gone way too far with your disrespect" theo muttered between clenched teeth. "my sister is neither a killer nor a fucking coke whore, what the actual fuck mattheo?"

"i'm just the messenger" mattheo held up his hands in surrender.

"yeah! he's right!" blaise nodded frantically. "and you know what they say about the messenger? DON'T KILL HIM!!"

"let's just all calm down, eh?" enzo suggested in a soft voice, one of his hands each on blaise's and theo's shoulders. "we just have to find out what's going on. and that abandoned classroom seems to be the best way to do that, right?"

the group all collectively nodded, while mumbling a few inaudible sentences.

the slytherins continued to walk through the giant hallways of the castle, following noise around corners, until they arrived in front of a door, which was probably the one you and pansy were behind.

mattheo outstretched his hand to twist the knob, when a person quickly slid between him and the still closed door.

the group made similar noises of surprise.

blaise screamed loudly.

"you can't go in there" pansy smiled sweetly, "not yet anyway"

"what are you hiding?" mattheo narrowed his eyes, watching the girls expression closely.

pansy furrowed her brows and crossed her arms. "why are you so eager? i thought today was firewhiskey friday. shouldn't you be slurring your words by now?"

"this isn't funny, pansy" theo interrupted from behind. "we're worried."

"worried?" pansy repeated with a hint of surprise. "unusually caring for you guys, huh? and you, blaise? been through it, what?"

blaise exchanged a nervous glance with draco. "for the protocol: i know nothing, about nothing and have no idea who's involved in anything. that should do it, yeah" he nodded, quite proud about saving himself from a seemingly dangerous situation.

"involved in what?" pansy smiled as she shook her head. "is it possible y'all watched too many muggle films about cartels or something?"

"there!" blaise screeched, pointing an accusing finger at pansy, who raised her brows impossibly higher. "she said the c-word. oh god, this is it."

"relax, blaise" enzo clamped a hand around blaise's shoulder. "that was obviously a joke. where's y/n?" he asked, with a little hope to break up the situation before it could escalate.

pansy's eyes wandered to the door. "she's busy"

"pansy" theo muttered in a warning tone. "i want to see my sister. now"

"oh god, she's probably already dead" blaise shook his head, the panic temporarily returning.

"she's not dead, idiot" pansy rolled her eyes. "she's just doing something at the moment."

"doing what? coke?" mattheo snorted, but his laughter quickly died down at the expression on pansy's face.

"you're gonna let us through the door, pansy" theo demanded.

"yeah, he's right" draco nodded with slumped down shoulders, already accepting his fate. "there's no point in hiding it any longer."

"hm" pansy nodded. "i guess you're right"

faster than any of them could react, she had thrown the door open. blaise winced, throwing his hands up in front of his face.

"surprise!" the room was filled with party decor in every possible corner. there was a huge banner that read 'happy birthday', drinks and food had been organized on a table and various guests were smiling at the clueless group of slytherins, who all seemed to sigh in relief at the sight in front of them.

"what—?" blaise let his hands sink down as his eyes flew around the room, almost passing out from the shock of well, nothing threatening ahead of him.

"hey guys" you smiled, walking through the crowd of people. "happy birthday, mattheo" you grinned, hugging the boy, who reluctantly returned the gesture.

"eh thank you" he muttered with a nod, before turning in draco's direction. "that was today?"

draco just shrugged.

mattheo had been so busy with this whole conspiracy theory, he had completely forgotten what day it was, not that he was normally very excited to remember his birthday. this was probably the first party he had gotten since he had been a kid.

that realisation made him unfreeze, as he broke into a smile. "thank you!" he repeated, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek before walking into the room and greeting the other guests.

"what's gotten into you?" you still smiled, but looked a little confused as you looked from one boy to the next. they still hadn't walked into the room, the same confusion on their faces as on yours.

"oh god" theo finally mumbled, walking through the group until he reached you, pressing you close to his chest and hugging you. "i'm so glad you're not a coke-whore"

"huh?" you mumbled against your brother's chest.

"long story" draco shrugged, when you found his eyes.

"oh" you suddenly remembered. "so i guess you guys found the clue pansy and i left behind?"

"clue?" enzo repeated.

"well, we thought the best way to keep mattheo from finding everything out was to keep him busy with thinking he's finding everything out." you smiled. "seems like it worked better than we thought" you chuckled nervously.

"benny said you bought a lot of supplies" theo added.

"yeah, party supplies" you nodded. "benny has a side hustle, he's pretty good with the decor and stuff"

"fuck" blaise suddenly said, breaking out in obnoxious laughter.

"oh yeah" enzo said at that. "blaise was sure he was going to die."

"—die for you, y/n" blaise interrupted. "i was ready to sacrifice my own life, so that the bad guys would spare yours"

"aww blaise" you smiled after him as he walked around you and into the party.

"ladies, who's ready for some blaise?"

"don't believe a word of that" draco chuckled, clasping a hand around your shoulder and squeezing it, before he followed after blaise.

"well, now that we've discussed that, are you gonna come inside or what?" you asked, pointing behind you.

enzo and theo answered at the same time: "yeah."

sometime later, you were standing near the table with the drinks, watching mattheo cut the huge birthday cake in the middle of the crowd, when enzo stepped next to you, holding a cup filled with your favorite drink in your direction.

"oh, thanks" you smiled surprised, taking the cup from his hand.

"that was a crazy afternoon" enzo giggled. "but i have to pay pansy and you my respect, you guys got us pretty good. mattheo was busy the whole time, so i guess it was pretty successful. i think the code for benny was enough for all of us to start panicking."

"you really did?"

"well, mostly blaise, but yeah" he nodded, taking a sip from his cup. "i had a feeling it was something like this in reality, although i have to admit i was unsure from time to time too."

"you knew?"

enzo shrugged. "you have a lot of qualities but dealing or smuggling drugs isn't one of them, no offense"

you laughed at that and enzo felt a sudden warmth spread in his chest at the sound.

you opened your mouth to say something else, when enzo and you both saw pansy standing across the room, eagerly waving you over. "oh, seems like i'm needed."

"yeah" enzo nodded with a sigh of disappointment. "it's probably important."

"probably" you nodded, before you glanced back at him. "well, thanks for the drink and everything else" you smiled, before you went off, helping pansy to reorganize a few rogue balloons.

enzo wasn't able to take his eyes off of you.

your smile was enchanting and he was sure he had been under the influence of your special magic longer than he realized.