#jessie navigation

[mead-iocre]

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Masterlist ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Leah Williamson

Our New Normal Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

you transfer to arsenal and leah doesn't know.

Football Scarves and Football Kits

you attend your first football match. and you were also dating one of the players. 

Call Me "Love"

there’s a new viral trend on TikTok.

Lip Plumper

leah doesn't like your new (expensive) lip plumper

A Girl Just Wants To Be Spoilt

just leah handing over her gold amex card. yep.

Pay Attention To Me

do you know what's worse than dating a football player? dating a football fan.

Furnace Girlfriend

it's too bloody hot for a cuddle

Wife?

"accidentally" calling Leah "wife"

Alexia Putellas

Free Kick

you help alexia practice her free kicks

Marshmallow Keychains

want that cute (overly expensive) jellycat? lucky for you you've got a very generous girlfriend.

Vivianne Miedema

Ducky Turn!

your daughter wants her mama.

Squeak!

viv signs a new contract with arsenal and your daughter is up to her usual shenanigans.

Not Like My Mama!

a glimpse of ducky at her football practice.

Jessie Fleming

Brown Eyes

you meet a girl with pretty brown eyes.

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁!readers . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

spoiled!reader x leah williamson

brat!reader x alexia putellas

[beesandfigs-abandoned]

I mean, I’m not complaining.

Ozzy’s no Andy, but I just know he’s got the motion of the ocean and that’s enough for me 😌

Love Flo as a bestie tho.

finally got around to making this! feel free to screenshot and share what you had for a bit of fun :)

this is what i got (the 24th time) the first time i tried omg! so lucky. i plan to just ghost my bestie as much as humanly possible because everything else was good soooo (this one turned out to be really hard to get what you want)

[intercaeptor]

[ * 𝗗𝗔𝗦𝗛 : 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙲 𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 ?? ]

𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗨𝗟𝗧 - 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗩𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗜𝗥𝗘 : it is the loneliest day of a vampire's life, the first time they look into a mirror and see their reflection missing. drinking blood sucks too, don't get me wrong - but as a vampire you had to learn to h i d e from the sunlight, from your family, all your friends, because you were 𝚄𝙽𝙰𝚅𝙾𝙸𝙳𝙰𝙱𝙻𝚈 𝙳𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 now and you didn't know how to explain that to them in a way they would understand. you could get stranger's blood in bursts, but what is life when you can't know someone for longer than the night lasts ? 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗘𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 ��𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗧𝗥𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠. i just hope you know you're not the only vampire out there, and that there exist people who will understand your situation without a word. they'll sit with you in the dark for as long as you'll need them to.

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 : @lickbatteries i fuckin' hate you for this one 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 : anyone who hasn't already

[goldfades]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just don’t know it yet.

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

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

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

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

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

Oh, hell no.

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

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

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

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

Oh, he’s done it now.

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

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

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

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

Or so you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t look back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

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

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

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up warily. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRIDAY NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

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

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

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

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

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

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

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group went silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, of course, it was Joe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That look.

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

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

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

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

Straight toward you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Joe shifted his focus.

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

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t move. Neither does he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe. And he’s not alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, of course, you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe, however, is a different story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t resist. You can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

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

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

[hgfictionwriter]

Midnight Satisfaction

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie wakes up flustered and needy one night and you catch her relieving her frustrations alone. You tell her there’s no need. You’re there for the taking - whether you’re awake or not.

Warnings: G!P content. Free-use reader. Consensual borderline somnophilia. Masturbation (J). Language.

A/N: This combines two requests I received. Thank you to those anons. This is not connected to Control or Discovery.

Jessie stirred from her sleep, fidgeting in bed slightly until the tightness in her boxers warded off all residual drowsiness. She glanced down and even in the darkness of the room could see evidence of the arousal that had woken her from her sleep.

She exhaled a bit roughly in frustration. Not only at this nocturnal need she'd awoken with, but at the loss of sleep. She had an early practice and needed all the sleep she could get.

She huffed again and turned onto her side, closing her eyes as she tried to find sleep once more. Instead, she was sorely distracted by the throbbing between her legs, any movement doing nothing more than making the need more unbearable. Normally, it would pass on its own, but this particular instance persisted and she felt impatient.

She peeked over her shoulder to look at you. She could hear your breathing, so she should've known you weren't awake; still, when she saw you cuddled up in the blankets fast asleep, it disappointed her anyway. Sure, there was no guarantee you'd be interested in helping her with this particular hardship, but with you asleep there wasn't even a chance. Now, frankly, the erection straining in her boxers was merely a nuisance.

She released a muffled growl of complaint as she quietly tossed the covers off, careful not to wake you, before she padded over to your ensuite bathroom. She closed the door behind her and turned on the light, wincing and screwing her eyes shut for several seconds until ready to brave the bright lights again. She opened one eye, then two, still frowning heavily as her vision adjusted.

As she approached the toilet, she glanced down and was met with the sight of the blatant tent in her boxers from her arousal. She sighed once more.

Lifting her phone in one hand, she unlocked it and began to navigate to her hidden photos. A lazy smirk crossed her face as she accessed them and saw thumbnails of various photos of you in lingerie or fully naked posing for her. Her favourite of all were the ones of you touching yourself, positioned on your back, legs spread.

Her mouth opened in appreciation of the photos and she slipped her other hand into her boxers to pull out her hard cock, it standing stiff and erect now unencumbered by the fabric. She reached out to grab some lotion and returned her hand to her cock, wrapping her fingers around it and massaging the lotion along her length. She lingered at the tip, circling it with her thumb and couldn't help but picture your skillful tongue doing the work instead.

She moaned softly at the vision in her head.

Returning her attention to her phone, she opened up one of the photos. She'd caught several glorious shots of you masturbating. In this one, your hand was between your legs with two of your fingers spreading your lips while a third pushed inside you.

"Fuck," Jessie whispered as she began to stroke herself more fully.

The next image was you rubbing your clit, your head tossed back, sprawled on the bed you two shared. She began to slowly rock her hips into her waiting hand as her mind delightfully reminded her of how good it felt to be inside of you. God, she loved how tightly you hugged her, the sounds you made - the ones that came from your mouth, and the ones that came from between your legs - the way you scratched up her back. It was incredible.

Her shoulders rounded as she ran her fist up and down her length, focusing on pumping just the tip for several seconds before thrusting all the way down and back up.

She wanted more.

She flicked over to a short video you let her take. A loud moan briefly echoed off the bathroom walls before she quickly lowered the volume so it was barely audible.

Her chest rose and fell as she took in the sights and sounds of you pleasuring yourself.

"Jess."

"Oh my God."

"Baby, I need you."

You chanted over and over for her to hear.

Her breath started to hitch as her hand pumped hard and fast around her cock, her hips jacking into her fist as the telltale tightening between her legs began to culminate.

A series of muffled grunts emanated from her throat as her jaw grew slack and her climax hit. Her whole body tensed as ropes of cum shot forcefully from her aching member.

"Shit," she grunted, lost in and distracted by the video of you she wasn't paying attention when she started to cum and the first few spurts hit the lifted lid before she redirected.

A couple more soft grunts fell from her open mouth as her fist travelled up and down her length a few final times, coaxing out the last drops of cum from the tip.

She sighed heavily as she shook herself out and took a moment to rest. She let go of her cock and it slowly began to relax, the tension it previously held now relieved. Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled once more before cleaning herself up. She flushed the toilet, tucking her now dormant member away into her boxers and washed her hands before quietly returning to bed.

She got under the covers and settled in, her eyelids now heavy in the wake of her orgasm. It wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep.

-----------

The next morning, Jessie quietly got changed, no need to pack her bag as she'd prepped it the night before and it sat ready by the door. You were still asleep and she was about to leave when you spoke, startling her.

"Did you have a good sleep, baby?"

She jolted, nearly dropping her phone.

"Shit. I didn't know you were awake," she breathed as she turned to you. A hint of a playful grin pulled at your lips.

"I don't think you knew last night either," you said, your smile now full-blown.

"Huh?" Jessie asked innocently, though she suddenly stood pin-straight and her face began to feel hot.

You rolled more fully towards her, now planting your elbow on the bed and propping your chin in your open hand.

"Was someone a little frustrated last night?" You asked cheekily. Jessie's face burned hotter and she deflected with a frown though she couldn't hold your gaze.

"No. I don't know what you mean," she mumbled before forcing herself to look back at you and doing her best to appear nonchalant.

Your eyes drifted meaningfully towards her pants and back up.

"Okay," you said lightly. "Well, I'll just say that if you ever find yourself in a," you looked up at the ceiling in contemplation, "compromising, position again, I would be very happy to help."

Jessie pouted, nearly scowling at you even though everything you said was welcoming and encouraging. She huffed and folded her arms, finding herself suddenly very intrigued by everything around the room other than you.

"You don't need to hide it from me," you went on gently. This drew her gaze back to you. Still, she set her shoulders.

"Well, you were asleep. I wasn't about to wake you," she said, her tone borderline complaining.

"You can wake me, you know," you said before you cocked your head, contemplative once more. "And honestly? I'd welcome you waking me up with your," you glanced at her crotch again, "midnight or morning frustration."

Jessie flushed deeply all over again.

"No," she said adamantly with a stern frown.

"Why not?" You countered. You sat up, your eyes bright now. "It would actually be really hot."

She found herself getting flustered; conflicted between what she felt was right and what her mind was conjuring up along with how her body was starting to react. She shook her head in dismissal.

"No, I can't," she said.

You sighed in disappointment. "Fine. But, for the record, I would find it really hot to wake up to you filling me, pumping in and out of me."

"Fuck. Babe," Jessie complained as she shoved her phone in her back pocket and retreated to the bedroom doorway. She pushed away the vague realization that blood was starting to fill her cock and she could feel a partial erection forming. "I'm going to practice," she said tersely.

"Okay, baby," you said, a hint of apology in your tone. "Have a good practice. I'll see you later."

---------

Jessie was less than focused at practice that day. She'd be in the moment on second, following along, keenly alert and aware, then all of a sudden she'd fallen behind or lost track of discussion because her mind was drawn back to your earlier comments.

Her imagination was having a field day.

When she got home, she still felt a bit frazzled and unsettled. You, on the other hand, acted like everything was normal and fine. She half expected you to bring up the conversation from this morning, but you didn't. In fact, she was hoping you'd bring it up again, but sure enough, you didn't say a thing about it and the evening carried on.

She'd debated all night whether or not she should just get up the courage to mention it herself, but the right opportunity never seemed to come around and she didn't know how to broach it otherwise.

Before she knew it, you were both getting ready for bed. You each followed your routines, closing out with Jessie filling your water bottle and setting it on your nightstand before she navigated to her side of the bed and got in.

"Thanks babe," you said, as you plugged in your phone, leaning out of the bed to do so and the blankets slipping off slightly as you moved. Jessie wouldn't have though much of it except her eye caught a glimpse of your body naked from the waist down. She did a double take.

You never wore shorts or pants to bed unless if you were staying with her family or friends or you were out camping. However, that didn't mean you went to bed without underwear. That is, until tonight.

You talked idly to her as you checked your alarm and you had to repeat yourself because she was so distracted.

Yet, despite going to sleep with no panties on, you wished her a good night and just rolled over and went to sleep.

"Y/N?" She whispered after several minutes; sure enough, you were out.

She sighed wearily and reached over to turn off the lamp. It was going to be a restless night.

------

After struggling to initially fall asleep, it came as no surprise to Jessie when she woke up a few hours later, fresh from a vivid, luscious dream, to find herself straining in her boxers yet again.

She grit her teeth and pushed the back of her head into the pillow, burrowing in as she worked to distract herself so she could find some relief, and hopefully, sleep.

The minutes passed and she blew out a huff as the dull throbbing in between her legs persisted and gnawed at her. She cursed herself as she allowed one hand to snake down and begin caressing herself through the fabric.

Instead of finding relief, it just made her hungrier for more. She should’ve known better.

She opened her eyes to stare blankly up at the darkened ceiling. Her eyes shifted to look over at you to see your silhouette. She could hear your slow, steady breaths, but her eyes remained trained on you as your comments from the morning ricocheted back and forth in her mind.

You were direct and explicit with the consent. You repeated yourself, even. But did you really mean it? Just because you said it in that moment didn't necessarily mean anything.

She thought back to the flash of skin she saw as you leant out of bed.

It had to be an invitation.

You knew her too well.

She reached through the slit of her boxers to free her cock from the confines of the garment. She exhaled silently through her lips as her fingers traced along her length, her thumb settling on the head and finding a bead of precum.

She contemplated a moment longer before she committed, rolling gently onto her side and shifting closer to you. You were on your stomach facing away, your far leg up and bent at the knee and your arms tucked under the pillow. Jessie's heart raced as she tentatively reached out and very gingerly rest a hand on your hip. You didn't stir, and it also confirmed for her that you were most definitely not wearing underwear.

Feeling a touch more bold, Jessie very gently began to run her hand down your bare thigh, her fingers barely touching your skin. You still didn't react as she drew her hand back up to your ass, her thumb idly grazing your skin.

She examined your sleeping form once more and between the feel of your curves and skin under her hand and the prospect of being inside your warm, inviting pussy, her cock was now painfully hard.

She moved carefully once more as she allowed her hand to wander downward and soon her hand could feel the heat radiating from your core. She swallowed and slowly brought four fingers to very gently cup your heat. A pulse of arousal went through her at the initial contact.

She watched you closely, your breathing changed, but you didn't stir. She remained entirely still for several seconds as she debated whether or not to continue or retreat. When your breathing grew audible once more, she slowly drew her fingers back towards your entrance.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes fell shut as her fingers were met with your slick juices that pooled there. The pulse that went through her just moments before repeated ten fold at the sensation and she couldn't resist the urge to circle your entrance with her thumb, your tunnel so wet with arousal that her digit easily breached it and slipped in to her first knuckle.

Her eyes flew open as something akin to a subtle moan escaped you and you shifted against her. She froze, but your reaction - subconscious or not - had stoked something inside of her and after a moment she withdrew her thumb, before pushing in slowly again, this time coupled with two fingers very gently circling your clit.

She watched as you very subtly stirred, a faint moan leaving your lips and your body pressing itself further into the bed just so.

Minutes prior, Jessie had been concerned about getting lube without waking you, but based on how absolutely soaked you were, that wasn't going to be a need for worry.

She flexed her muscles and very delicately lifted herself off of the mattress to position herself better and gingerly lowered herself so she was lined up with your entrance. She grasped her length and softly ran it along your slick lips, allowing your juices to coat her. She felt your folds part for her as she gently pushed the head of her cock through them and across your clit with her hand as a guide. She drew back and pushed through again.

A slow smile formed on her face and she did it again with greater confidence. She did it a few more times, each time drawing further back until each time her tip nestled against your dripping entrance. She resisted the urge to slip inside and instead kept stroking your lips and clit.

She saw your shoulders flex and your head lolled into the pillow. Your breathing changed once more and you shifted further. Her pulse quickened once more as she realized you were waking and she paused mid-stroke.

She saw you blink in the dark of the room before your eyes fell closed once more, not even bothering to look back at her, and you simply rolled your hips against her hardness.

Jessie took a sharp breath at the gesture and she drew her hips back, her hand still guiding her cock, but this time when her head slotted into the inviting dip of your entrance, she gently pushed the tip inside.

You moaned quietly and she smiled as your head rolled against the pillow further.

Encouraged, she pushed in slightly before drawing back so her tip was stretching out your entrance, threatening to slip out, before pushing fully inside.

This time you moaned fully and deeply, your back arching as she slotted home. No longer needing to guide herself, she wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer to her.

She rotated her hips back, her cock withdrawing partially before rotating forward and massaging your walls as she filled you up once more. A moan muffled by your pillow reached her ears.

Not worried about waking you any longer, Jessie began to thrust into you with increasing pace and intensity. She held your body in place as her firm cock hit that pillowy sweet spot inside of you again and again.

Your whimpers and moans grew louder and she heard the twisting of fabric as you clutched the sheets into your palms. You shifted your far leg higher up the bed, inviting her in further and she wasted no time.

“Mm, Jess.”

You opening yourself up and moaning her name dismissed any and all lingering reservations she had.

She lifted herself up more, consequently pushing you flatter onto your stomach, her hands braced on the small of your back. She began to lift her hips high, her tip nearly slipping out before driving quickly into you, her hips bouncing off of your ass, the clapping of skin now echoing off the walls.

“Oh fuck,” you whimpered as you white knuckled the sheets further and buried your face into the pillow.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jessie said, voice shaking in time with her quick, skillful thrusts. “God. It’s like you were made for me,” she praised, digging her fingers into your skin over the thought.

You let out a small cry and spread your legs further apart, pulling an appreciative growl out of her. She slowed her pace slightly and dug her hips into you even deeper, and angling to hit your g-spot more firmly. You clutched the pillow now, holding onto it with a desperation that fuelled her.

“You’re such a tease. Climbing into bed, pussy on display for me, knowing what that’d do to me,” Jessie voiced as she pumped you into the mattress.

You let out a wanton moan, but flashed an impish look over your shoulder at her.

“Waking up to your cock teasing me is as good as I thought it’d be,” you relayed with a breathy laugh. You moaned again as Jessie sent another jolt of pleasure through you. You arched your back further into the bed. “Next time I want to wake up to you fucking me. I want to wake up with your cock stretching me out.”

“Oh Jesus,” Jessie groaned as she fucked you harder, drawing a gasp from you. “Oh shit,” she hissed as her orgasm rapidly approached and her strokes grew fervent.

Soon the pace was relentless and you let out a cry into the pillow, gripping it tightly to your face. You writhed beneath her and a rush of liquid poured out of you and onto the sheets. You began to spasm around her and continued to muffle your cries with the pillow.

“Oh fuck,” she panted, letting the sensations overwhelm her as she slammed into you one more time, releasing her seed as deep inside of you as possible. She grunted through her orgasm as she felt jet after jet of cum rush up her length and out the tip into your waiting heat.

“Oh my God,” she said breathlessly several moments later as she finally drew her hips back unsteadily, stuttering forward as her orgasm tapered off.

She collapsed on top of you, cock still buried in you, fully warmed and embraced by your walls. Her chest expanded and contracted as she tried to catch her breath. She laid a kiss on the back of your shoulder.

The primal haze of your fucking still lingered and she spoke as she gently stroked your arm.

“Forget safe words, if you don’t want to wake up with my cock inside of you going forward, wear your underwear to bed. Otherwise, if I wake up wanting you, I may just have to take you.”

You shifted beneath her restlessly, your tunnel tightening and gripping her as you moved - whether intentionally or not. “Mm, Jess. You’re going to work me up again. And I made a mess of the sheets already.”

She smirked. “Exactly. So what does it matter if you do it again? I’ll gladly do the laundry if it means I get to make you squirt all over this bed with how good I make you feel.”

“Oh Jesus,” you breathed, rolling your hips once more. Jessie was already growing hard inside of you again.

“And,” she kissed your other shoulder, “when I’m done. I might just fall asleep inside of you. Might as well if I’m going to fuck you as soon as I wake up.”

[queer-ragnelle]

Beginner’s Guide to Medieval Arthuriana

Just starting out at a loss for where to begin?

Here’s a guide for introductory Medieval texts and informational resources ordered from most newbie friendly to complex. Guidebooks and encyclopedias are listed last.

All PDFs link to my Google drive and can be found on my blog. This post will be updated as needed.

Pre-Existing Resources

Hi-Lo Arthuriana

♡ Loathly Lady Master Post ♡

Medieval Literature by Language

Retellings by Date

Films by Date

TV Shows by Date

Documentaries by Date

Arthurian Preservation Project

The Camelot Project

If this guide was helpful for you, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi!

Medieval Literature

Page (No Knowledge Required)

The Vulgate Cycle | Navigation Guide | Vulgate Reader

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle

The Marriage of Sir Gawain

Sir Gawain and The Green Knight

The Welsh Triads

Le Morte d'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory

Squire (Base Knowledge Recommended)

The Mabinogion

Four Arthurian Romances by Chrétien de Troyes

King Artus | scan by @jewishlancelot

Morien

Knight (Extensive Knowledge Recommended)

The History of The King's of Britain by Geoffrey of Monmouth

Alliterative Morte

Here Be Dragons (Weird or Arthurian Adjacent)

The Crop-Eared Dog

Perceforest | A Perceforest Reader | PDF courtesy of @sickfreaksirkay

Wigalois | Vidvilt

Guingamor, Lanval, Tyolet, & Bisclarevet by Marie of France

The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer

Grail Quest

Peredur (The Mabinogion)

The Story of the Grail + 4 Continuations by Chrétien de Troyes

Parzival by Wolfram von Eschenbach

The Crown by Heinrich von dem Türlin (Diu Crône)

The High Book of The Grail (Perlesvaus)

The History of The Holy Grail (Vulgate)

The Quest for The Holy Grail Part I (Post-Vulgate)

The Quest for The Holy Grail Part II (Post-Vulgate)

Merlin and The Grail by Robert de Boron

The Legend of The Grail | PDF courtesy of @sickfreaksirkay

Lancelot Texts

Knight of The Cart by Chretien de Troyes

Lanzelet by Ulrich von Zatzikhoven

Spanish Lancelot Ballads

Gawain Texts

Sir Gawain and The Green Knight

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle

The Marriage of Sir Gawain

Sir Gawain and The Lady of Lys

The Knight of The Two Swords

The Turk and Sir Gawain

Perilous Graveyard | scan by @jewishlancelot

Tristan/Isolde Texts

Béroul & Les Folies

Prose Tristan (The Camelot Project)

Tristan and The Round Table (La Tavola Ritonda) | Italian Name Guide

The Romance of Tristan

Tristan and Iseult by Gottfried von Strassburg

Byelorussian Tristan

Educational/Informational Resources

Encyclopedias & Handbooks

Warriors of Arthur by John Matthews, Bob Stewart, & Richard Hook

The Arthurian Companion by Phyllis Ann Karr

The New Arthurian Encyclopedia by Norris J. Lacy

The Arthurian Handbook by Norris J. Lacy & Geoffrey Ashe

The Arthurian Name Dictionary by Christopher W. Bruce

Essays & Guides

A Companion to Chrétien de Troyes edited by Joan Tasker & Norris J. Lacy

A Companion to Malory edited by Elizabeth Archibald

A Companion to The Lancelot-Grail Cycle edited by Carol Dover

Arthur in Welsh Medieval Literature by O. J. Padel

Diu Crône and The Medieval Arthurian Cycle by Neil Thomas

Wirnt von Gravenberg's Wigalois: Intertextuality & Interpretation by Neil Thomas

The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac by Jessie Weston

The Legend of Sir Gawain by Jessie Weston

[drabblesandimagines]

Hi there, I would like to request Cloud, if thats okay. A sparring session that leads into an unexpected kiss?

Just read you are feeling under the weather, hope you feel better soon!

Sweet anon, I'm sorry this took me literally months! Please lemme know what you think x

It’s late as you leave your room at Stargazer Heights, pulling the door closed behind you with a gentle click. The weight of your new sword still feels unnervingly foreign on your back as you head down the stairs carefully, not wanting to disturb any of your neighbours’ sleep with your heavy footfalls.

Just because you couldn’t sleep didn’t mean theirs should suffer in return.

Your beloved, trusty sword, after many years of faithful service in the Watch, had snapped clean in two after a particularly good thwack against a hard-shelled creature whilst on a job in the scrapyard earlier that day. If that wasn’t enough, it just had to happen in front of Cloud Strife, the blonde ex-Soldier who had joined the Avalanche ranks - temporarily, at least – and who you were somewhat hoping to impress with your mastery of the blade as common ground over the past few weeks.

“You’d be good for him, you know?” Tifa had teased over the bar one night, catching you staring a little too long as he sat down the opposite end, nursing a drink. You’d have told her to hush if Barret’s voice wasn’t booming around the establishment, meaning you were lucky to have even heard her comment in the first place.

Instead, you answer flustered. “What? I… He’s your… No!”

“I don’t like him like that, sweetie.” She’d reassured, patting your hand with a smile. “Plus, I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

“Me?” You scoff, shaking your head. “I don’t think he’s aware I exist, not with how Jessie has been all over him.”

“Mm.” Tifa purses her lips in thought before they pulled back into a knowing smile – she’d caught the merc’s gaze flickering in your direction before it settled back on the drink before him. “No, I think Cloud’s warming up to you. Let me see what I can do.”

“Tifa-“

Biggs’ warm hand wrapped around your arm and tugged you up from the bar and away from your protest in an instant. “Come on, you owe me a rematch and I’ve finally convinced Wedge to let us have a round.”

You concede, destroying Biggs at darts once again would be a good distraction from the blonde at the bar. Besides, what could Tifa do anyway?

--

What Tifa could do, apparently, was make it so whenever Cloud took on a job, Biggs or Wedge would insist you tag along to help him navigate the area – sometimes with Tifa, sometimes without – and that’s what had led you to today, stuck deep within the scrapyard with a broken blade.

You’d never been any good with your fists, nor could aim a gun straight – despite tips from Tifa and Biggs over the years – so, reluctantly, you’d been relegated to the back line for the rest of the outing. At the most, you could fling a spell or two from the materia still equipped in the broken hilt when you could.

Unfortunately, it meant you didn’t have anything really to defend yourself with whilst the materia recharged. A nasty hit from a retreating drake had sent you tumbling backwards, head literally over heels. It dived back down at you, realizing you were now easy prey, ready to go for a nasty bite when a certain blonde merc’s sword dug into its side, sending it flying over in Tifa’s direction who finished it off with a perfectly executed roundhouse kick – all before your life could flash before your eyes.

“Are you okay?” Cloud crouches in front of you, his sword already sheathed, and places a hand on your arm as he awaits your answer. His expression, usually stoic and unreadable, is marred by a slight furrow in his brow as he looks you over with concerned Mako-blue eyes.

He must find you at least tolerable, you’d decided, as he didn’t seem to protest as much when you joined them on jobs like this around the slums.

Though maybe not ever again after today’s pathetic display.

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling foolish. “Still in one piece. Thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugs and gets to his feet, offering you his hand in assistance.

You take it, relishing the feeling as his gloved fingers wrap around your palm. He pulls you up with a little too much gusto – or maybe underestimates his own strength - sending you stumbling forward. You try and catch your balance, only to find your hand placed firmly against his chest, his other hand now on the small of your back in alarm.

“Uh…”

“S-sorry,” you stutter out and retreat back, bowing your head as your face feels horrendously warm. Somewhere behind you, Tifa poorly attempts to hide a giggle.

“It’s fine.” His tone is back to his usual curt manner. “Come on - we should head back.” And without another word, Cloud spins on his heels and storms off ahead.

“Cloud, wait up!” Tifa calls, threading her arm through yours to pull you along with her. “He’ll get there – don’t worry.”

--

You’d taken the blade in to the weapons store below the Watch’s HQ after reporting in, Cloud and Tifa following behind. The proprietor dutifully inspected it for a few moments before deeming it beyond reasonable repair - said he could re-forge it, but it would only last a hit or two before it snapped in two again and he didn’t want the bad advertisement. He’d offered some gil for the scrap metal value and waved to the selection of his ready-made wares. Even with the gil he’d proposed and from your own pocket, the prices made your eyes water.

“Can I pay in instalments?”

He scoffs.

“You know I’m good for it.”

“This ain’t a charity, kid.”

“Here.” Cloud had stepped forward then, placing a pouch of gil on the counter. “That should cover it.”

“What?” Your eyes widened in disbelief. Cloud had been hounding Tifa and Barret for his pay for days and you knew he still hadn’t received all of it yet. “No, I couldn’t – that’s yours.”

“You need a weapon.” He shrugs, Tifa bouncing on her heels behind him at his act of generosity, a told you so smile plastered across her face. “Pay me back in instalments, if you want. I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, crossing his arms. “You’re good with a blade, it would be a waste for you not to have one.”

Your scalp tingles at the compliment.

The blades all felt lighter - maybe you’d grown stronger over time? - though they were thinner in width in comparison to your old blade. You’d performed a cautionary test swing of each towards the back of the shop but they all felt off, unbalanced. Begrudgingly, one felt a little less odd to wield so you’d settled with that, thankful it was a mid-range price of the selection so you hadn’t needed the entirety of Cloud’s gil pouch.

“I’ll pay you back as soon as I can – I promise.”

Cloud shrugs, as usual.

--

You swing at the tower of boxes you’d assembled in the middle of the wasteland, trying to be precise and knock out the one in the middle, but as soon as you release the momentum you nearly lose your balance, missing entirely. If you were in combat, it would’ve been a pathetic sight to behold. Thankfully, you were the only one to wit-

“Hi.”

You jump, spinning on your heels to face the blonde mercenary, holding your blade aloft in a defensive stance to an unimpressed face.

“Cloud! Hi.” Your heart is pounding at his sudden arrival – how could you not have heard him approaching? You lower your blade to rest on the floor. “Sorry, did I wake you when I left?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep so I heard you leave.” He folds his arms, looking a little displeased. “You shouldn’t be out here on your own, you know? It’s not safe.”

“I wanted to get some practice in, that’s all.” You look down at the sword in your hand in demonstration. “There’s been no more wererats here since you cleaned out the nest either, so it’s safe enough.”

“It’s not just fiends I’m talking about.”

That’s true – unfortunately, you weren’t a complete stranger to the troopers that often patrolled the slums. All it took was one to recognize your face and you’d be dragged to Shinra HQ faster than you could blink.

“I really need to get used to the weight, though. Barret wants to strike any day and-“

“Fine. I’ll spar with you.”

You weren’t expecting that. “Really?”

“Why not?” He reaches back for his sword, before swinging it out in front of him playfully. “Unless you’re scared.”

You bite your lip in a smile. “Bring it on, Strife.”

Cloud holds back at first, acting more as a training dummy for you to swing at. He doesn’t even need to deflect any of your blows at the beginning, but as you become familiar with the weight and how the new blade swings, finally he starts to raise his sword in return, the sound of metal clashing echoing through the air before one firm blow sends you toppling back, the Buster Sword now inches above your neck.

“Better.” He pulls back his sword and offers you his hand, which you gratefully accept, bracing yourself for his strength this time to avoid what had happened that afternoon. “Try again.”

You’re not sure how much time passes like that, but steadily your confidence in your weapon grows and it turns into a proper sparring bout, both giving it your absolute all. As your blades clash, crossed in front of each other’s faces, you risk a smile at the blonde merc. Suddenly, Cloud’s forearms lose their tension, meaning you get an upperhand you were not expecting. You swing your sword out to the right and fall forward, Cloud toppling backwards, his sword to his right, and his head smacking into the ground as you fall on top of him.

“Oh… Shiva,” you gasp, heart pounding, your thighs somehow straddling around his. “Are you hurt?”

Cloud doesn’t reply, staring up at you in bemusement as he tries to catch his breath.

“Cloud?” You lean down, planting your hands either side of his head for balance.

He lifts his head, suddenly, and presses a kiss to your lips.

Your arms go limp and you drop into his embrace, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close as you return the kiss, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, fingers curling into his blonde hair, blissfully lost in the moment until there is an odd, inhuman sound from behind you.

Cloud sits bolt upright, twisting you as he does so you’re sat in his lap, one arm still wrapped tightly around your waist and, somehow, the Buster Sword back in his other hand as he holds it out in defense.

A cat sits a few meters in front of the two of you, flicking its tail back and forth curiously. You feel his muscles relax beneath your touch at the realization. You get to your feet then, grabbing your blade as you do so and securing it against your back. Though you feel flustered, you can’t turn down the opportunity to offer Cloud an assisting hand this time.

To your delight, he accepts, somehow twisting it as he stands in order to intertwine your fingers within his.

“We… We, er, should get back.” He mumbles.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He leads you back through the tunnel, silently, fingers still laced, and back towards Stargazer Heights. You climb the stairs together before he brings you to a stop outside your door, hesitating. Your stomach twists – does he regret what happened? Are you just to wake up tomorrow morning and it will feel like nothing but a dream?

A firm squeeze of your hand brings you back to the present, as if he could read your thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about that for a while.” Cloud whispers, cautious of his voice carrying through the neighbours’ door. “It’s… unfortunate that we were interrupted.”

You place a hand on your door handle and smile, coyly. “Would you like to come in?”

Cloud smirks. “Do you have any pets?”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[flemingology]

sparks and spokes ─ jessie fleming x reader

in which: jessie's unlucky flat tire leads to an unexpected connection

warnings: none

wc: 1.9K

a/n: this might be a bit unrealistic, considering the timeline of events in this. but let's ignore it. based on this request! hope you enjoy it.

Ever since making her big move to Portland, Jessie had found her love for biking again. She hadn't particularly lost it while playing in London, but it's safe to say that it wasn't the easiest city to navigate, especially not during rush hour. In Oregon, Jessie felt a bit more comfortable on her bike so once she got the all-clear from her coach and was allowed to ride her bike to home games and training sessions, she'd never arrived by car again.

After a first few weeks of settling into her new place, she ventured out to the bike store a couple minutes from her apartment. After a couple minutes of looking around without purpose, she spoke to an employee who picked out the perfect bike for her. A black, slightly more sporty type of bike is what she went for in the end. She also got a helmet, a lock and a pair of spare bike lights, all set to explore Portland on two wheels.

It was gameday today, lunch time kick-off, so Jessie went through her usual morning routine. Waking up at 8, doing some light stretching before jumping in the shower. She made herself breakfast – eggs on toast, as usual – and a coffee, which she kept in her travel mug to keep with her throughout the day. By 10 she was out the door, double, triple checking she had everything with her in her bag. She was a forgetful person, but couldn't afford to miss out on anything today. Especially seen as she rode her bikes to games these days, she couldn't just quickly drive back to her apartment in case she had forgotten something.

Jessie unlocked her bike that she parked in the bike shed last night. She had gone out for an evening ride after the 5pm rush had relented, enjoying the slight breeze that was blowing through her curls. Autumn was around the corner in Portland, framing the city in a hue of yellow, red and orange. Jessie biked around aimlessly for a little hour before going home and getting in bed early, making sure she got her 9 hours of sleep.

She wasn't this lucky this morning, even though the initial morning rush had passed, 10am wasn't particularly forgiving either on the roads. She rode her bike out of her apartment complex and hit the streets, expertly manoeuvring herself through the busy roads of Portland, trying to make it to her game in time.

She didn't notice it at first, but the moment Jessie felt like she was riding on metal rather than on rubber gave away that something was wrong. The Canadian silently cursed and made her way onto the pavement, getting off her bike and quickly checking the deflating front tire. "Shit", she mumbled. She must have biked over something sharp that was laying around on the bike line, without noticing. The tire had fallen completely flat, Jessie's attempt at feeling whether there was any air left only aiding in letting it run empty.

She tried not to panic while mentally assessing what her options were. She could lock her bike up here and walk the rest of the way, but she would certainly be late. She contemplated calling an Uber, but by the time the driver would've navigated his way through Portland traffic, there's no way she would make it in time. Jessie ran her hands across her face and sighed deeply. After a couple moments she grabbed her phone, which she had neatly tucked away in her backpack, and started dialing coach's number to let him that she would most likely be late for warm-ups.

Her finger hovered over the call button when she felt someone tap on her shoulder, slightly jumping up at the surprising touch. Jessie's head twisted to the side and noticed someone standing behind her, cheeks equally flushed and hair just as disheveled as hers – Jessie assumed you were out for a run, considering the sporty attire. She turned her body towards you and cocked her head to the side, expecting you to speak up.

You were still catching your breath as you tried to form a sentence. "Hi," you started. "I noticed that you were struggling with your bike," you took a deep breath and tried to control your heartbeat, having abruptly stopped your run to help out the stranger that seemed to be in a bit of trouble. Jessie's cheeks flushed again, not due to the breeze this time. "I don't know how much time you have but I live two minutes down the road and I'm pretty sure I've got a spare laying around in the garage."

You had to catch your breath again, creating an awkward silence between the two of you as neither spoke. You cocked your head at the freckled girl in front of you, expecting a reply. Seemingly she noticed, because she cleared her throat and spoke up. "Uhm, yeah," she rubbed her hands off on her sweatpants. "I'm in a bit of a rush, though," Jessie said nervously. Her heartbeat was still racing, unsure whether it was caused by the biking or by the girl that was standing in front of her.

"You stay here, I'll get a run on it and get you that tire. I'll be back in max 5," before Jessie could quip anything back you'd already set off towards your apartment.

True to your word, you made it back to Jessie and her bike in 4 minutes. If you were out of breath when you first spoke to her, you surely were now. You didn't say much, instead getting to work on her bike immediately. You'd have a bit more decency on another day, but knowing the girl was in a rush you thought this was the better approach. Jessie felt a bit helpless, chiming in every now and then to see if she could help but ultimately she took a step back and let you do your thing, her interrupting probably only prolonging the process.

A couple moments later you stood back up from your kneeling position, dusted off your hands on your top and took a step back, sparing another look at the new front tire you had just put on the bike. "That'll do, I think. Should get you where you want to be."

Jessie clasped her hands in front of her and braved a look at you, locking eyes. "Thank you so much, honestly," she felt warmth creeping up her cheeks when you shot her a wide smile.

"Not a bother. Honestly. I needed to get rid of that tire anyway. I hope it doesn't give out too soon, seen as it's been lying around my garage for a good couple months."

Jessie nodded, clearly unsure of what her next step should be. She rocked back and forth from her heels to her tippy-toes before clearing her throat and finding eye contact with you once again. "Jessie," she started, but frowned. "My name. My name is Jessie", she said, cursing herself about how awkward she was being. You didn't seem to mind, though, sporting a toothy grin when she finished her sentence.

"Well, nice to meet you Jessie. I'm Y/N."

She stuck out a hand which you eagerly shook, as you allowed yourself to take in her features, not having had a chance to properly look at her before. She was slightly shorter than you, curly hair framing a freckled and defined face. She was wearing a matching tracksuit, telling you she was probably on her way to a sporting event. Her lips were slightly chapped, the first autumn breeze clearly already leaving it's traces behind on the Portland residents.

Unbeknownst to you Jessie was doing the same, her eyes taking you in and maybe even losing track of time a little, forgetting that she should've been on her way to the stadium already.

She let go of your hand that she kept in a handshake for embarrassingly long, clearing her throat before speaking. "Okay, I should go. I'm running late already," she put her helmet back on and threw one of her legs over the bike saddle. "I owe you one. Big time."

You waved away Jessie's words and bid her a final goodbye, smiling to yourself at the heartfelt interaction you just shared with the stranger. You walked the rest of your way back home with an extra spring in your step, fueled by the brown-haired Canadian you had no idea was now on her way to play football in America's highest league.

Later that night, you catch yourself thinking back on what happened earlier that day. The handshake that lingered, her eyes scanning your face and her flushed cheeks whenever your eyes locked – you couldn't get your mind off the girl.

You knew her name was Jessie, but that didn't get you far. A bit of mindless scrolling through profiles of Jessie's near you didn't give you any clues. Suddenly, you thought back at the clothes she was wearing. You'd noticed the red badge adorning both the pants and the hoodie. You started a google search of Portland sports teams until you came across a badge that looked exactly like the one Jessie was sporting, and your jaw fell slack.

As much as you liked your running, you knew nothing about other sports. Especially not football. You'd never really understood the appeal to it, not finding it entertaining enough to sit down for 90+ minutes and watch 22 people run after a ball. You quickly made your way over to the social media of the Portland Thorns, still not really believing that you'd encountered a famous footballer a couple hours ago and neither you or her spoke a word about that.

A bit of clueless scrolling later you found yourself checking the score of the game that had been played a couple hours earlier, surprised at a certain 'Jessie Fleming' being on the scoresheet. You figured as much, but you were still taken aback when you looked her name up and saw the person you gave your spare tire to merely hours ago.

Your hands felt clammy all of a sudden, nerves spiking up about how you could approach this. You certainly wanted to hear of her again. Even though she said she owed you one, you figured that with a busy schedule, repaying you might not be on the top of her list.

A couple nervous minutes later, you had found Jessie's instagram. You scrolled through her posts, mindful not to like any posts or do anything that would give away that you were stalking her socials. As little as there was on the account, you could see a bit of personality seeping through. She clearly loved taking pictures, liked nature, seemingly had a dog and just seemed fun to be around. You rubbed one of your hands across your face, contemplating your options.

Jessie arrived home late that night, having stayed at Sinc's for dinner after the game. She parked her bike in the bike shed and quickly made her way upstairs, desperate to be enveloped in the warmth of her own home again. She unlocked the door and threw her keys in the basket on the counter. She took off her shoes and neatly put them in their place on the shoe rack, her slight clean-freak personality shining through once again.

She slumped down on the couch and turned on Netflix for her umpteenth rewatch of a brainless show, before grabbing her phone from her pocket. Her eyes grew wide at the top notifications.

Y/I/N started following you.

Y/I/N: So, a footballer huh? Nice one, Fleming ;)

A/N: I hate the use of Y/N but I couldn't really get around it this time lol

[hoe4sports]

Intuition

Jessie Fleming x reader

Note from the author: the train to angstytown is leaving. This is a fic to highlight women in abusive relationships.

If you experience domestic violence, please seek help at your closest emergency line.

Summary: After growing up with Jessie and dating your way through college; you split up. Years later you play for the same team, but Jessie has a bad feeling about your newly acquired fiancé. You need help, but you don’t know how to ask for help.

Warnings: Mentions of domesticated violence.

-

You sat in front of the mirror wondering if this is it. This situation that you have gotten yourself in is turning into a living hell. But you can’t help it. It’s addictive.You realise that can’t navigate the situation anymore, the reigns are beyond your control. The eggshells are becoming too many and the scares are taking a toll on your health.

On the table infront of you, is your bright pink hairbrush and your makeup. You grab your hairbrush, brushing your hair slowly. It hurts when you brush it, as your scalp has become sensitive due to all the impact it has taken. But, it’s okay, you think. She dosent mean it. You used to love your hair. It was your greatest asset. When you were a teenager, a young girl, all you wanted was to have long beautiful hair. But now, all you want to do is to cut it off. You feel like it holds you down. It’s like chains covering your arms and feet. Like if you were to go for a swim, you would drown in the lake from the weight of the chains. Gosh, you think to yourself. You don’t even recognise yourself anymore. The shadow of the person you used to be is slowly becoming too heavy to carry by yourself, but the thought of having to admit the truth feels even heavier. However, if you are gonna make it out of there, you are gonna have to share the backpack filled with rocks with someone else.

You have been weighing out the options you have for a few weeks. There is a short window of time coming up. It’s less than a weekend, but if you can get someone to help you then you’ll manage to get done in time. But you have a doubt in your mind, then again, she probably dosent mean it.

Every time your work up the courage to tell someone, you freeze. Gosh, why is this so hard you think. This isn’t love, but your fiance just happens to be stressed. She doesn’t mean it, you think. There is a lot of stress at work. And you haven’t really been the best partner. You had left your toothbrush on the sink the other day and she had flipped like a switch. Telling at you about anything from her pants not being washed to the glass you left on the counter. Whenever this happens, you do your best to stay silent and calm. It’s okay, you think. She always apologises afterwards when she calms down, and she says that she is gonna change for the better. But, change takes time, you think. Maybe all your fiance needs is more time. For you to be more flexible. More empathetic. More understanding. More helpful. Less annoying. Less frustrating to deal with. Maybe you just needs to find a way to be good enough for her, perfect for her. But you don’t know what to do to become perfect because your fiancé has told you that you are the furthest thing from perfect. You don’t blame her, she’s just telling the truth you think. She doesn’t mean it as a negative thing, it’s all said with good intentions you decide.

A few hours later, you arrive at practice. Jessie instantly sees you and her cheery self comes over. She knows that you have been pulling away, but her mind is fighting over whenever to say something or not. At the end of the day, it isn’t really her business. But really, it is. You used to be close. Not just the kind of close where you had sleepovers at each others dorms or the kind of close where you know the other’s favourite foods or colors. It is the kind of close where she knows what you are thinking before you do, they call it intuition. It had started back when you were neighbours in Canada as kids. You went to kindergarten together, middle school, high school and somehow ended up in the same dorm at university. 20 years together with someone does something about you. She knew you like the back of her hand, and you knew her. It had been a few slip ups with you two in high school, but only when partying. You had kissed her, but she had forgotten. She had admitted her feelings to you, but you had forgotten. It was the circle that neither of you knew how to get out off until Jessie admitted to liking you in College while laying together to watch a movie. You couldn’t really remember why you broke up, but it was civil. Jessie knew you better than anyone else. And that was why she was worried. Her nights would be filled with what if’s and questions about how you were feeling and what she could do to help.

Jessie’s intuition started ruffling her mind when she met your fiance just shy of a year ago. You and Jessie had been dating in college, but when Jessie left to play overseas; one of you had called it off without really knowing why. It was heartbreaking. Soulshredding. Decapitating. Jessie was the kind of woman that was too good for this world. She would always bring you coffee. Or let you borrow her half zip. Or drive you home and wait until you had gone inside until she drove away. Jessie never wanted you to be perfect. She actually never wanted you to be anything that you didn’t want to be. A part of you still wishes that you stuck together after college. But Jessie deserved better. Jessie was perfect. She was just so perfect that it hurt seeing her with the last woman she dated.

Jessie shortened s the distance between you and greeted you with her typical bright Jessie smile. You had been playing together for a a year now, but Jessie knew you. She knew that something was off. She knew that you were engaged, but she never sees your fiance at your games. She noticed that your fiance never posted anything of you online. You always excuses her with that she was busy or that she really dosent care for football. It’s was lie. Your fiance told you that until you started playing better, you didn’t deserve to have someone watching you. She said it was waiting her time. It felt embarrassing to her when she had to watch you make mistakes on the field.

“Hiya Y/N, excited for today?”

You look at Jessie confused. A part of you freezes. If you have forgotten something important, your fiance will punish you for it. Taking your phone away. Making you run laps until you throw up from exhaustion in the pouring rain. Have you sleep outside in the dog’s house. Jessie notices you scared look, and you reaction dosent help her fears.

“Hey Jess, what’s today exactly?” You say with a treble in your voice.

“Media day! You and me have a few hours of media duty together, just like the old days”

You smile softly. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. That means that you will be late. You won’t have dinner ready for when your fiance comes home. Your fiance will be furious. Enraged. Disappointed. God, you think. You promised her that you would be better, but here you were again. Not getting better. The worry creeps up on you while you sit down next to Jessie’s cubby. You rub your knees anxiously. The beauty of worrying about a lot of things is that many things can be done on autopilot. Like tying your cleats. Like putting on your shin pads. At one point you went from being excited to put them on to feeling worried and anxious. Like you wanted to throw up. Not over if you could score a goal or not, but over what your fiance would think of you. Pathetic. Fiasco. Disappointed. All words that she had used to describe you. You decided to try to push it to the back of your head. To a spot where you don’t have to think about it. You figured you would just dissociate until practice wqs over.

-

The media woman brings you and Jessie into a room of “who’s most likely to”. You feel your heart become lighter. It’s something that won’t cause issues between you and your fiance. She won’t have to worry. And you won’t have to feel scared. The woman is going through how the game works. Your head won’t allow you to focus. Instead you straighten your shorts and make sure that your sweater is zipped up. If it isn’t zipped, your fiance might think that you are trying to get attention from other women or that you have cheated on her. If your shorts is too short, she’ll think you are a whore. All her rules are taking a toll at you. But you try to suppress it, and it seems like you are doing a mighty fine job. But only for the moment.

“Who is most like to get a yellow card?” Jessie reads. You both point to you. Phew, you think. No argument. But your fiance is going to be pissed about you being known to getting yellow cards.

“Who is most likely to score a goal?” You read. You feel stressed for a second. You are a forward, but you suck. You are terrible. Not even sure why you are allowed to play football for a living. You point towards Jessie, who points towards you. Shit, you think. Jessie disagrees. You pray that she won’t be mad. Jessie raises her brow at you, but you ignore it.

“Who is most likely to control the music in the lockerroom?” Jessie reads and she instantly points towards you. “Just this afternoon, she infiltrated my ears with Sabrina Carpenter.” She said as she shoves her shoulders in yours. It makes you smile, and you nod into the camera. You feel slightly more comfortable.

“Who is most likely to forget something?” You read. You let out a small giggle before pointing to Jessie. She raises her hands. And you smile. “Jessie used to forget everything in college, it was so bad that I started carrying an extra of everything in case she needed it”. You say before looking down. You could feel your protective wall lowering. Jessie smiled at you before playfully rolling her eyes. “I can’t even deny it! I’m sure you can find tons of pictures of me running around with her number on it” Jessie finishes before slapping your knee playfully.

“Who is most likely to try to argue with the referee?” Jessie reads before giggling. “Y/N here, would always defend me when we played back in college. She would practically fly across the field to argue with the ref or the opponents if needed.” Jessie finishes leaving you blushing. Shit, you think. If you blush, your fiance might think that you like Jessie. Well, you do like Jessie. But you won’t admit it. That was probably how everyone felt about someone they dated in college, right? You look at Jessie who points to you, and you give a shy smile before pointing to yourself.

-

“My name is Jessie Fleming, and this was who is most likely to with Y/N. Thanks for watching!” Jessie finished and the crew stopped recording pleased with today’s footage. You looked over at Jessie who hopped out of her seat while taking the time to thank the crew for spending time creating content, you nodded in agreement.

-

As you were entering the locker room, you both headed to your own cubbies. You were busy trying to find a new pair of socks and slippers that had somehow gotten lost in the cubby. Your brain was trying to figure out how to tell Jessie that you needed help. That you needed her. But you were scared to step on Jessie’s new girlfriend’s toes. You were terrified to overstep your boundaries.

Jessie decided to break the awkward silence that was building up.

“So, how’s Hannah?”

You froze at the sound of her name. Scared of what you were allowed to say and what you weren’t allowed to say. The situation was turning into what you needed it to be, but also what you dreaded. You wanted to fall apart infront of Jessie. To have her scoop you up and hold you, like in college. Have her take you home and get your things before letting you stay at her place until you had yourself sorted.

Your eyes turned towards Jessie who were still awaiting a response. You fiddled with your engagement ring. A ridiculously big rock. Nothing like you wanted. You wanted simple. She gave you big and flashy. Jessie knew this. She knew that you despised the ring, but that you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Jessie knew because she had wanted to purpose to you after college. She knew everything from how you wanted to be purposes to, what you wanted to wear, how you wanted your nails done, the size of the ring and even the type of ring. Jessie had gotten so far that her grandmother had handed down her engagement ring to Jessie, so she could purpose with something extremely meaningful. You longed for Jessie, and Jessie longed for you.

“H-Hannah? Uh, she’s working.. uh, a lot” you stuttered while feeling your eyelids burning. Your head was pounding. Your heart was beating so hard in you chest that you felt sick. The blood was rushing in your ears. It felt like all the nerves and receptors in your brain was twisting making the room spin.

“Oh really” Jessie said very much unimpressed as she huffed. You turned to look at her and she was busy fighting with her curls. She never liked Hannah. She felt as if Hannah rushed you into a relationship and an engagement. The proposal was nothing like Jessie knew you wanted, perhaps that made Jessie hate her even more. Hannah had purposed just shy of a year of being together. She had guilt tripped you into saying yes, telling you that if you’d say no that you would be a brat, ungrateful and a terrible partner.

“Is she still busy being the equivalent to a walking asshole?” Jessie spat out before closing her cubby hard and turning around to look at you. You didn’t know what to say. You felt like all the air was sucked out of your lungs. A single tear fell from your cheek. It was quickly wiped away in an attempt to cover up the damage that your fiancé had done.

Jessie was now getting suspicious that her intuition was right. She had felt weird about the relationship since day one. Her hate from Hannah had increased every match day when she saw how heartbroken you were when she wasn’t there to watch. She’d watch you turn into someone you never were. A complete stranger to whom you really were.

“Is she treating you good? Like really properly good?”

Jessie sat down next to you, both of your faces turned forwards. Her hand slowly laid itself on to of yours covering your engagement ring. She couldn’t help but wish that it was her ring on your hand. Her hand gently stroke yours and she scooted closer to you. You felt her side touch your side. Tears were now forming rapidly in your eyes.

“Sunny? What happened to you? You were always so happy, smiley and always laughing. My mom always called you sunshine”

Jessie asked. Her hand reached for you cheek as she wiped away some of the tears you had flowing. They didn’t seem to stop. But you didn’t make a sound. It made Jessie’s heart hurt even more. She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make her seem biased.

“Do you remember the family bbq? That was when my mom called you sunshine for the first time. I asked my mom about why she was calling you that, and when she told my why I insisted on calling you Sunny. “ Jessie continued.

She was right. Her mom would always call you sunshine. You were always a happy kid. Always smiling, laughing and talking away. The joy of being alive was radiating through your eyes, as a child. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to answer Jessie, but you didn’t know how. You needed help to get away, but the words felt so big. So strange in your mouth. Like they were a foreign language you had yet to learn.

“You really were my sunshine, you know? My sunny.You are still my sunny.” She said as she laid a hand on your back. By now, the tears were constantly streaming down your face. You cried silently, not letting a sound out. The sight broke Jessie. This side of you was a stranger to her. You threw your arms around Jessie. She held onto you while your tears streamed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red from crying. Your mind exhausted from trying to be someone you weren’t. You looked up at Jessie who smiled sadly back at you.

“Help me, Jess” you whispered as you cried your brave tears. Jessie pulled you in tighter and kissed the top of your head, like when you were kids and your great grandmother passed. You felt strangely safe. Like you were transported back to college. To your good days. To your best days.

Jessie looked down at you while holding you. She whispered into your ears. “I’m gonna get you out of there, Sunny.” Her voice broke when she saw your sad face.

“Because you were my sunshine”

[jflemings]

— english love affair

pairing: jessie fleming x reader

synopsis: jessie moves to portland but the months leading up to her departure plague her mind

warnings: smut & angst. she’s loooooong. and probably got a few mistakes so just ignore that for my sake xx

a/n: flashbacks are in italics

୧ ‧₊˚ 💋 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about / The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain / I can't forget, my English love affair / Today, I'm seven thousand miles away / The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget / My English love affair

you lay your head on jessie’s pelvis as she catches her breath. her face is flushed and sweat is gathering at her hairline, her legs have now gone limp over your shoulders but the faint imprint of your ears on her inner thighs, as well as the bruises forming, is enough evidence that you were there.

she runs her fingers through your scalp, a stark difference to how tightly she was pulling at the roots of your hair just moments before.

your own hands travel up her sides and you slowly push yourself onto your hands and knees, practically folding jessie in half in the process. you lean down and capture her lips in a slow kiss, smiling when she jumps as your nipple grazes her clit.

“still sensitive?” you mumble against her. your slow kiss turns to opened mouth kisses along her cheek and down her neck as she wraps one arm around your shoulders.

she releases a breath “well, you kinda just rocked my world so i’d say so”

you smirk and tuck your head into the crook of her neck “just doing what i do best” you say cockily as your hand cradles her jaw “unless… that wasn’t good enough for you?”

your mocking tone and hand firmly grasping jessie’s jaw makes her wet all over again, even though you just made her cum not even seven minutes ago. you lean further into her allow your body to graze her heat, making her twitch and grind against you. a low whine comes from the back of her throat.

a hand slyly travels down between the two of you and you place your fingers firmly over jessie’s clit. the pressure makes her begin to arch off the plush white comforter of your bed. your smirk slowly slides into something more wicked, more teasing, as you continue to apply pressure where she’s sensitive.

jessie releases a shuddering breath “oh my god”

you test the waters and begin to circle her clit slowly “c’mon jess” you tease, sitting back on your haunches. jessie’s hands hook under the back of her knees, keeping her spread open for you to do as you please. “give me another”

jessie scrubs her hand over her face and groans. she sits up and peers out the window of her bedroom, squinting slightly as her eyes adjust to the dark.

she shifts uncomfortably and takes note of the dampness of her underwear. this wasn’t the first time she’s woken up in the middle of a dream where you were on top of her. or under her. or between her legs. in fact, it was the fourth time in the past two weeks.

the move to portland had gone fairly smooth, all things considered, but one thing that continued to bother her was the way the two of you left things. it was a weird gray area, one that she didn’t know how to navigate yet. there was no conversation or formal ending of whatever the two of you had but it made sense that you weren’t going to continue. there was now miles of land and ocean separating the two of you, and jessie didn’t think it would be fair to keep going back and forth when there was so much distance.

only, now she was starting to regret it.

what had started as drunk sex after a team night out lead to unmistakeable and unmaskable feelings. intense ones that had followed jessie across the pond.

the canadian looks at her phone on her bedside table and sighs. she could text you, or call in the morning. but what would she say? ‘hey i keep having wet dreams about us having sex because i’m actually in love with you’ or, what about ‘sorry for texting you at two in the morning after i’ve been gone for almost a month but i’m actually really missing you and what we had’

before she can even think about it, she pulls herself out of bed and goes into the bathroom, grabbing a clean pair of underwear out of her drawer as she passes. jessie looks at herself in the mirror and rolls her eyes. she wants nothing more than to tell herself that she’s being stupid, or ridiculous, or obsessive, but she can’t. she knew what she was getting herself into when the two of you didn’t have a conversation about what you were as a pair or to eachother, and it didn’t seem fair to berate herself over something that, really, was as much your fault as it was hers.

it was kind of funny if she thought about it for a second. you had gotten yourselves into this arrangement accidentally and didn’t talk about what it was, even after jessie had bought you a toothbrush to keep at hers and made room in her closet for you to put a few things. it snowballed into something more than just sex and she felt like a coward for not talking to you about it sooner.

you and jessie walk hand in hand down street on the way back to your apartment. your heeled boots click clack against the cement of the sidewalk and jessie’s keys cling and clatter together in the pocket. the sky above you grumbles low and with warning, like it’s doing a last call for everyone to get inside.

jessie looks at the sky with squinted eyes “we’ve probably got less than five minutes until it starts pouring” she says with a huff.

you knock your shoulders together “it’s been threatening to rain all night and it hasn’t yet. i think we’ll be fine”

the canadian rolls her eyes at you just as you put your hand around her shoulder, your hands still interlocked, and pull her into you. she ducks her head into the crook of your neck and sighs “i’m serious”

“so am i” you giggle “and if the rain catches us we’ll almost be in my apartment anyway”

the sky grumbles mercilessly again, and soon the sound of rain encapsulates the two of you. jessie groans into your neck and wraps her arm around your waist to pull you in further.

“we’ll be in my apartment anyway” she mocks

“i said almost”

“whatever”

with a belief that the two of you will still manage to get out of the rain not completely soaked to the bone, you begin to pick up the pace. jessie’s pulled her head out of your neck but still holds you close, craning her neck to look at the sky every so often. her obsessive checking doesn’t do either of you any favours as the rain starts to pelt, however.

she pulls you under a bus stop quickly “we should’ve just taken millie up on her offer to drop us home”

you nod in agreement before laying your head on her shoulder, listening to the rain hit the roof of the enclosed bus stop. jessie pulls out her phone and opens up the uber app, sighing in annoyance when she sees the outrageous prices “a taxi won’t be much better than these prices” she mumbles

“we could just walk the rest of the way, it’s only a block and a half”

she peers out from under the roof “yeah, okay” she says.

you interlock arms and begin to speed walk down the block, the sound of infectious giggling following you all the way to your street. you pull jessie impossibly closer before interlocking your cold hands, grinning like a child when you, again, pick up your pace.

jessie looks at you confused before you break out into a run, pulling her along with you and forcing her to keep up. the sound of your footsteps hitting the wet pavement can hardly be heard over jessie’s giggling and gasping.

“emma would kill us” she says as she finally pulls on your hand to get you to slow down “you’re already coming back from a calf injury”

you roll your eyes at her “what emma doesn’t know won’t hurt her”

your mascara is running down your face and the street lamp behind you creates a glow around your head, catching the rain in the light. if you were to look into a mirror you’d probably say that you look like a wreck, but jessie thinks you look like an angel.

the canadian smiles and grabs your face with both hands, pulling your lips to hers in a soft kiss. your hands fall to her hips just as she pulls you closer, throwing one arm loosely around your neck. she can taste rain water and red wine on your lips as she kisses you with more intent, licking into your mouth and savouring the taste.

she can feel her hair sticking to her head and she knows that there’s every chance she’s going to catch a cold if she doesn’t get the two of you inside the warm sanctuary of your home soon, but she can’t quite bring herself to care as she gets drunk off you.

she shakes her head and rids herself of her damp underwear, throwing it into a corner of her bathroom before she pulls the clean pair on. she splashes cold water on her face and huffs, bracing herself in her sink to just take a breath. the regret continues to plague her even as she retreats back to her room and tucks herself back into bed.

— —

jessie throws her head back as she fails to get on the end of another pass from hina. she sends her an apologetic wave and a tight lipped smile, sighing in relief when rob says to take a hydration break.

she stands towards the back of the circle of players surrounding the water bottles. after she went back to bed last night it still took an extra forty five minutes for her to fall back asleep, her inability to get comfortable and the images of you stopping her from getting the rest she needed.

janine slides up next to her “are you okay?” she asks lowly “you look out of it”

“didn’t get much sleep last night” jessie answers without missing a beat.

janine stays quiet for a moment, studying jessie and her demeanour. she furrows her brows and tilts her head, her eyes narrowing “you should go home”

jessie raises her brows and throws her a sideways look “i don’t need to go home. i’ll be fine”

“jess—”

“seriously janine” jessie’s face pinches and she lowers her voice, an authoritative lint to her voice “i’m fine”

janine holds up her hands in a defensive manner and puts the waterbottle back in the cooler, stepping away to give jessie the space she wants. the canadian captain sighs outwardly when she sees sinc standing off to the side in her peripheral.

morgan and hina stand either side of her caught up in what obviously was a three way conversation before janine and jessie’s conversation caught her attention. there’s a look of indifference on her face but the slightest curl of her lip tells jessie that she’s got something to say. whether that something is going to end in jessie being sat down for a talk, she doesn’t know.

the rest of training continues almost the way it started: missed passes, badly timed runs and crossbar shots galore.

it’s when jessie’s huffing about whilst packing her things does sinc attack. she places her bag on the floor, slots herself into kelli’s empty cubby and leans her elbows on her knees.

“jess” she says

“hmm” jessie hums back as she grabs her bike helmet.

“you got a minute?”

the london native pauses and looks down to where janine and sam are talking eachother’s ear’s off animatedly. the words flower arrangements and centre pieces can be heard all across the change room, so jessie knows that her best friend hasn’t put their old captain up to this.

she sits silently and gestures sinc to talk.

“today, what was that? i’ve never seen you so out of it, even when you were just starting out on the national team” she asks softly, ducking her head

jessie rubs a hand over her face “i didn’t get enough sleep. i kept waking up through the night”

“i’ve seen you run circles on less energy” she pointedly says “is that really it?”

jessie chews the inside of her cheek in contemplation. “there’s just this girl” she mutters “her and i aren’t really speaking anymore”

sinc doesn’t do very well in masking the surprise on her face “a girl?” her voice jumps an octave before she clears her throat subtly “is she— were you…?”

“we never… it was never spoken about”

“never spoken about?”

jessie’s face flushes “yeah”

“okay” sinc purses her lips “well what’s stopping you from talking about it now?”

“did you not hear me? we don’t talk anymore. i can’t just call her”

“so you’re stopping yourself?”

she groans and flops down into her own cubby “we haven’t spoken since i left and now it just feels like i’ve left it too late. i don’t want to crash in on her life if she’s not missing my presence”

sinc sighs briefly looks in janine’s direction before turning her attention back to jessie. “look, jess, you’ve only been in portland for a month and a half so i’m willing to bet that she’s losing just as much sleep as you are over this.” she says with intent, her unblinking stare commanding jessie’s attention “and i think you’ll regret it in the long run — not reaching out to her.”

“thats what i’m afraid of” jessie mutters, leaning further back into her cubby. she closes her eyes and lets a heavy sigh pass her lips.

sinc gently placed her hand over jessie’s knee, patting it once “put yourself at ease and call her. maybe you’ll get a full night’s sleep.”

——

jessie braces herself on her forearms and tucks her head into your neck. you can hear her ragged breaths, and feel her hot skin on yours as she rolls her hips. your hand falls to the back of her head and your fingers thread through her hair, tugging at her roots.

“oh my god” you moan into the air, gasping when she pulls her hips back and thrusts into you hard “jess” you say breathlessly.

“i know” her hand snakes down between your bodies and her fingers circle your clit tightly “just one more f’me, c’mon pretty girl”

she ruts into you, matching the own pace of her fingers, and moans when the harness provides her with her own satisfaction. she feels your nails claw at her back as you arch further into her and wrap your legs around her waist, drawing her into you impossibly further.

the combined sound of your breathy moans and her grunts fill her bedroom, the tension thickening around you. the sound of you is music to her ears as she pushes you to the edge. every groan, moan, breath and whine only spurs her on further, pushing her to get you there.

jessie curls one arm underneath you and pushes herself up, pulling you along with her. she sits back on her legs and you wrap yourself around her, rolling your hips feverishly. she watches you as you throw your head back and release a guttural moan.

“i’m so close— oh fuck! don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop”

your legs shake around jessie as you jump off the ledge, the pressure on your clit slowly subsiding as she removes her hand. her hands loop under your arms as she lays you flat on your back, drawing her hips back and bottoming out again.

jessie pumps into you with intent, the small, quick strokes doing more to get her off than bring you to another orgasm. the coil in her belly curls even tighter around itself and she feels herself begin to tip over, diving headfirst into an overwhelming orgasm.

with a long, drawn out moan she relaxes on top of you. your arms stay wrapped securely around her but your legs unhook themselves and slide off her slick skin. you hiss as she sits up and pulls out, throwing the strap onto the ground beside her bed before flopping back down on top of you.

“oh my god” she breathily says

you scratch at her scalp soothingly “rough day?”

“can you tell” she laughs, laying her head on your collarbones “i know that wasn’t really what you were expecting when you came over. i’m sorry”

you kiss your teeth “if that’s what you choose to do after a bad day then i’m all for it” laughing, you kiss her forehead “but only if i’m on the receiving end of it”

“no one else would be”

“no one else at all?”

jessie shakes her head and tries to fight off a yawn “nope”

the two of you lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes before jessie rolls off you and sits up on the edge of the bed “do you want anything? some food, drink, a shower?” she questions

“i’m gonna have a shower, if that’s okay with you”

she waves her hand in the direction of her bathroom “go for it. take as long as you need, i’ll start dinner”

the canadian stands and begins to put her clothes back on, picking yours up as she goes. she folds them neatly before placing them on the edge of her bed and leaning over to give you a sweet kiss.

“you don’t want to get in with me?” you ask curiously. normally jessie would be jumping straight into the shower with you and then you’d either eat together or stay up late watching whatever trashy reality tv was on. not getting dressed and offering to cook without you.

she tilts her head “i can but i just had something special for dinner planned so i figured i’d get started on that and then just jump in when you’re finished”

you pour but relent, kissing her again “okay. i won’t be long”

jessie turns and grabs you some clothes out of her closet. she also places her fluffiest pair of bed socks on top of the small pile, smiling at you cheekily when you cock a brow.

“dinner and fluffy socks? have i missed an important date?” you smile.

jessie’s heart stutters in her chest at the sight of you sitting on her bed still naked and smiling. a blush blooms across her freckled cheeks as you coo over her “no, i just wanted to do something special”

“you’re special enough”

if she had guts or metaphorical balls of steel she’d call you. but she doesn’t. instead, she makes herself your favourite meal and sulks while eating it all by herself. she ignores janine’s text asking you to come over and morgan and soph spamming the groupchat with close up unflattering close up game day photos.

she stalks your social media and then scrolls through her camera roll looking at photos she’d taken of you and everything you did together. candids of you in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear in her kitchen, ones of you smiling at her across the table at breakfast, you in your coat during cold champions league nights, funny ones from unflattering angles.

she looks at all of it.

she throws a pity party for herself and wears the fluffy bed socks. she runs every memory through her head like an old film strip burning up. she can see every inch and curve of your body like you’re right in front of her, like she’s able to just reach out and touch you.

it’s something that she knows can never be taken from her. from that first night when you dragged her up the stairs of your apartment building to the last night you spent in eachother’s arms before she left. she knows that no one else gets to have those experiences with you, that they were all uniquely hers to have and hold.

it didn’t matter if you’d already moved on and had somebody else to whisper sweet nothings to, those memories were always yours and hers. every feeling, every sound, every emotion, was real and true and hers.

the realisation brings a sense of peace to her and as she sinks back into her couch. her head rolls back against the top of her couch and she shuts her eyes, the tv fading into the background and serving as nothing more than white noise as sleep begins to fogs her mind.

jessie’s body goes completely slack, the open arms of sleep finally embracing her, when her phone buzzes from the table. she blinks herself awake and reaches for her phone, jaw dropping in disbelief.

y/n

hey, how are you doing? i’ve been thinking about you.

[yamujiburo]

The longer ideas (which I may or may not do):

Prof Oak reassures Delia that Seviper is a tame submissive snek and then immediately provokes it into attacking him (actually that would make a cute comic, you can have it if you like)

(Early relationship) Delia finds out Jessie made James trade Victreebel away and it causes a fight between the two girlfriends

Ash needs to learn how to shave but Jessie can't teach him, cue her searching for someone who can while also worrying about parenthood in general (working on this between other projects)

Prof Oak's Charizard, who he's had since boyhood (see Celebi Voice of the Forest) is dying and Jessie has to navigate that situation (end of life care, funeral/disposal arrangements) as a Pokémon nurse

The others are shippy/nsfw/drifting further from the established canon of your AU so I'm leaving them out haha. I'm working on three things at once right now. But this really is a rich little AU and very inspiring.

I may just do that, that's hilarious

Ooooh you've mentioned that one to me before! Love that idea. I feel like I never really shown the two of them fighting. I feel like I'm so bad at writing a good argument

AWWWWW. "Stressed out, doing her best" Jessie is my favorite Jessie

OH NOOOOO SADDDDD BUT I LOVEEEEE

I'll poke you about the other ideas too bc I'm curious hehehe. And right?? This ship has so much potential!!!!

[mead-iocre]

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➳ Alessia Russo ➳ Katie McCabe ➳ Leah Williamson ➳ Kyra Cooney-Cross

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➳ Mary Earps ➳ Ella Toone

Barçelona Femení

➳ Alexia Putellas

➳ Sleepy - The reader suffers from anxiety and has to go on meds again - barca girls see her struggling with tiredness.

➳ Family away from Home - Ingrid's little sister spends the Summer holidays with her and gets into trouble, leaving the whole team worried

➳ Changes - With Mapi injured, your usual plan gets changed

➳ On the Road - Chaos on the Bus with Claudia, Patri, and Ona, trying to keep you distracted

➳ A Lesson in Accepting - Despite reader's best efforts to hide her illness and join in training, a she learns the importance of listening to her body and her teammates

Others

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A List of players with just one or two fics written for them - should they get more, they will get their own!

Currently on the List: ➳ Aitana Bonmatí ➳ Millie Bright ➳ Niamh Charles ➳ Mackenzie Arnold ➳ Georgia Stanway ➳ Lia Wälti ➳ Jessie Fleming

[raythekiller]

Can you do the creeps reacting to their s/o happy stimming? (the main ones I want to see are Ticci Toby, Ej, Jane, and Clockwork)

🗒 ❛ Reader Happy Stimming ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Clockwork, Jane The Killer

#Notes: this one goes to all my autistic bitches out there

pronouns used: none, gn! reader

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

He's autistic, so he happy stims as well. In fact, he might stim just by seeing you do it, your happiness contaminating him as well. Definitely the type to do flappy hands the most, but has a tendency to copy your movements. If you're chewing on something or swinging back and forth, he'll do the same. Just generally happy to see you happy.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

Finds it a little distracting, but also cute so he can't bring himself to complain. Will just smile silently whenever he sees you doing it, content that you're enjoying yourself for whatever reason. I think he's already familiar from being around Toby and other neurodivergent creeps like Ben, so he's not going to question on you it. It brightens his day to see you so excited.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Clockwork

A little confused at first. You'd think she's familiar from being around Toby quite often when he had a thing for her, but that's how little attention she pays him. Will question you on why you're doing it and once you just say "Cause I'm happy!" she'll try to copy it to see if she feels the same way you do. Doesn't work, but she's still happy to see you happy, even if she doesn't understand it completely.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jane The Killer

Gives you the brightest smile ever. Her little sister, Jessie, has ADHD, so she's used to the stims and actually finds it comforting to see you do it, reminding her of her family. Will pat your head gently without saying anything, just glad that you're so happy. Probably the type to get you stim toys, specially chew ones, and will get super soft whenever she sees you using them.

[wyrmarchives]

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COMING SOONISH!

On the Side Masterlist

John Price x Reader (angst)

MDNI

Triggers: Age Gap (Price: 37, reader in early 20s), Cheating, lying, fighting (verbal, and shoving)

May add more triggers later

Summary: Reader is the side piece, and John?… God he’s a dick. A real piece of work. A liar, a cheater, and god dammit… a good man lover.

Snippet:

I really fucking hate her… She’s ditzy, loud, chatty, platinum blonde. She’s got those baby blue eyes. She’s thin, she doesn’t fit your sweater- swims in it like a teenage love story. I wanna gag… why does she smile at me?

Did you not tell her what we do?

Part:

Prelude: Celebrations

God, I hate her (She’s all I wanna be, Tate McRae)

I see you (If you think I’m pretty, Artemas)

I know what I am (Bad Idea, Girl In Red)

When the bend breaks (Dark Red, Steve Lacy)

Is that it? (Alien Blues, Vundabar)

You wanted it (All Time Low, Jon Bellion)

Whatever you feel (Back To Friends, Lauren Spencer Smith)

It cuts deep (I always kinda knew you’d be the death of me, Artemas)

Don’t worry about me (Son of a bitch, Jessie Murph)

We spiral (Chemical Love, Magic Whatever)

Borders: @cafekitsune | Star Divider | Series Divider

[hgfictionwriter]

Discovery

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie hides a personal secret while navigating a new relationship. Her past experiences with rejection bring about complications and concern, but her burgeoning relationship with you offers a chance for connection.

Warnings: G!P content. Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts; themes of self-acceptance; mention of past rejections.

A/N: This is some heavier stuff. Heavy on the angst, but, I promise comfort and a happy ending. Based on this request (thank you the prompt!!).

A/N x2: This is separate from the Control series. While in the Control series, G!Ps are totally normal or accepted, in this 'universe', G!Ps are not commonplace.

"Tell me a secret."

A cold rush of panic went through Jessie at your question. Had you heard something? Did you notice something? Her heart raced and she felt herself growing numb at the prospect.

"Huh?" Was all she could manage. Thankfully, you laughed.

"Tell me something I don't know about you."

"Oh," she said as she relaxed somewhat.

For a second, she thought you knew about her secret. About her. She'd always felt different, and as she grew up, she discovered why she felt that way.

In changerooms in early gym classes and sports, she learned quickly how she was different from many other girls. While most had a vagina, labia, clit - the usual - she had a cock instead. It wasn't entirely rare, but it wasn't the norm - that's for sure.

Those close to her knew and of course her teammates knew - it was impossible for them not to know - and thankfully as time went on, her…condition…became more and more accepted. Still, she didn't advertise it. It drew unnecessary attention and she didn't want it to be the focus of any burgeoning friendship, or in this case, relationship.

Dating was hard. Not only was she shy and a bit awkward to begin with, but this aspect of her was something she never quite learned how to navigate outside of the sporting world. When should she bring it up? How much should it matter?

It had mattered to other girls. The first girl she liked, really liked, had called her a freak and that had been the end of that. To this day, if she sat with it long enough, faint shadows of the shame and rejection she’d felt at the time hovered in the back of her mind.

In university, she learned the hard way that some girls just wanted to experiment and she was just an object in that experiment. So though they’d met her secret with bright-eyed curiosity and enthusiasm, when they stopped returning her texts and calls, she realized what it all really was.

It hurt. It was complicated. Delicate. And it weighed on her more than she’d like to admit.

So now, she didn't date much. She only wanted to pursue something if it really, really felt right.

Like it did with you.

You'd started as friends, but in time it evolved into more. It would’ve happened far sooner if Jessie hadn’t been so in her head about it.

You'd been on a couple of dates together, but despite your friendship leading into this, as far as she knew, you didn't know this fact about her.

In general, Jessie had worked really hard to be proud of herself and fully embrace this aspect of herself, but in scenarios like this - in this context - that old insecurity crept back in whether it was logical or not.

"I, um." Jessie bought time as she wracked her brain for a secret other than the one between her legs. "I've never seen an episode of Friends."

"Wow," you said slowly, dragging the word out as you rest your chin in your open palm. "We're getting really deep now," you said facetiously with a chuckle. "Come on," you said encouragingly, "something else."

"I-I don't know," Jessie said, feeling her face heating up tremendously. You rolled your eyes, but affectionately so.

"Don't tell me you're an open book, because you're the furthest thing from it," you said.

A wave of guilt went through her. She wasn't trying to be cagey - especially with you, but that's just how it was now. Unless if you were her teammate and she was forced to be 100% open with you, she wasn't.

Janine had warned her about this. She'd made fun of her for her crush on you, but also cautioned about not waiting too long to tell you that she may not be exactly what she presented as. She knew her friend was right; that if you weren't going to accept her, better to break things off now than get more invested and open herself up to more hurt.

“Well,” Jessie replied slowly as she sat back in the booth across the table from you. She took a sip of her nearly empty drink. “What would you like to know?”

You crossed her arms and gave her a chiding look, but smiled nonetheless.

“Remember. You asked me,” you warned, before growing serious. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But, I am curious.”

You shuffled a bit in your seat, your nerves setting in a bit, gaze diverted. Jessie waited patiently despite her own nerves and you finally looked back up.

“I feel like this is an offensive question, but I really am kind of baffled,” you went on. “Not sure how else to say this, but, why are you single?”

A frown slowly settled on Jessie’s face and you went on hurriedly.

“I just mean, you’re sweet, you’re smart, funny, and, you know, gorgeous. You’re the whole package, and yet,” you slowed, gaze shifting away again, “you’re single. And everything I heard is that you’ve barely dated. I just find it…surprising.”

Before it was even her turn to speak, Jessie could feel her face heating up. She scratched at the back of her neck as she conjured up a response.

“Um. I’m picky? I guess,” she said with a faint laugh. “And I’m single? I thought we…,” she trailed off. Her face began to radiate as you narrowed your eyes at her.

“Are you saying you want me to be your girlfriend?” You asked, a smile in your voice and the faintest hint of it on your lips.

“I-I thought I asked,” Jessie replied, her voice nearly a mumble as she sunk slightly into her seat.

“You asked me on dates,” you teased, leaning forward. “Not to be your girlfriend. There’s a difference.” You smiled warmly at Jessie who rubbed the side of her face in embarrassment. “And you are so adorable. So if you’re asking - yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

She looked up at you. And you gave her an apologetic look.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased. I wish we weren’t at a restaurant right now. I’d come over there and kiss you right now.”

Jessie grumbled slightly, but couldn’t help but offer you a small smile. “Rain check?”

“Of course,” you said as you sat back. “Now. You didn’t really finish answering my earlier question.”

Whatever amount her heart had relaxed in the past few moments, it picked right back up again.

“I just…I don’t see the point in dating if it’s not serious. I don’t have a lot of free time, so if I’m going to dedicate that time to someone, I want it to mean something.”

That wasn’t a lie.

“Well, I consider myself very lucky,” you relayed with a sweet smile. “And that also explains why it took you so long to ask me out.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Am I ever going to live that down?”

“As soon as I find something else to tease you for - sure,” you replied cheekily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jessie dismissed with a lingering blush.

You nodded at her empty plate and glass. “Wanna go?”

You’d been at the restaurant for a few hours already, the server giving you dark stares as they waited to turn over the table. Jessie sighed inwardly. You’d have to leave at some point.

She held out her arm. “After you.”

The drive back to your place was light and fun, but despite that, she couldn’t help but be preoccupied by what to do next. Before she knew it, she was pulling up in front of your building. She put the car in park.

“Um, it’s not that late. Do you want to come up?” You asked. “You can just park in Visitor.”

Jessie hated this.

“Oh, I have an early practice tomorrow, so I should probably get going. I’ll walk you to your door though.” She finished eagerly, getting out of the car before you could reject her offer.

She wanted to come up. Even if only to spend more time with you. She always did when you were friends. You’d talk late into the night until she forced herself to leave. Now that you were dating, she hadn’t come up once. The new context made everything so much more complicated.

She knew she could only put things on hold for so long until things would implode. She’d deal with it in due time. Until then, she supposed she’d be a coward.

You both stopped and turned to face one another as you reached your front door. You clasped your hands in front of you, rocking onto the balls of your feet before settling back again.

“Sure you don’t want to come up?”

“Yeah, I want to, but I just can’t tonight. Thank you though,” Jessie said as emphatically as she could. She hoped how much she liked you was really what shon through.

“Mmmkay,” you said dryly with a faint smirk as you wrapped your arms around her. Jessie’s worries melted away as she was pulled into your embrace. She tucked her chin into the crook of your neck and squeezed you tight.

When you pulled back you gave her another teasing look. “Guess this is what I get for having an elite athlete as a girlfriend.” Jessie laughed.

“Thanks for being patient.”

“Of course,” you said. A beat passed as you rose up on your toes again briefly. “Well. Goodnight, then. Drive safe, okay? Text me when you’re home.”

“Will do,” Jessie said. She paused before giving you a nervous smile. “I had a good time tonight. And, I, um, I like being called your girlfriend.”

“Yeah?” You said, a hint of flirtation in your tone as you cocked your head at her.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded.

“Good to know,” you said softly before you lifted a hand to her cheek and kissed her gently.

Just as the couple of times before, Jessie felt her knees go weak at the contact. She wrapped her arms loosely around your waist and you kissed her again.

The kisses between you two had been chaste thus far. And perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was still caught off guard when this time you deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around the back of her neck and leaned into her, all the while kissing her with greater fervour.

Jessie went from feeling weak in the knees to feeling something entirely different. That tightening sensation started between her legs and she pulled back urgently on instinct.

As soon as she did it she felt panic and guilt rush through her, the look she spotted on your face right away adding to her guilt ten fold.

“Sorry. I, um,” one hand went to the back of her head and the other strategically in front of her though nothing should’ve been overly visible just yet and in this lighting. Her gaze was set on the cold concrete before finding the resolve to look at you once more, “I just have had a tickle in my throat all night. If I’m getting sick, I don’t want to give it to you.”

She felt confident that her voice was steady and it was actually a decent excuse. But she felt like a piece of shit regardless.

“Oh. Okay,” you said, your fingers - subconsciously or not - grazing your lips before you clasped your hands in front of you again. “Thanks. That’s sweet. But for the record, I don’t mind.”

“I’d hate to get you sick,” Jessie reiterated. “But. Noted.” She sighed inaudibly and forced a smile. “Good night. Sweet dreams. I’ll text you when I’m home, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks for tonight,” you told her. If you were still offended or hurt, you were hiding it well. Jessie leaned in for a quick peck on your cheek.

“Night, babe.”

When Jessie got home she was still in a foul mood. Worse, in fact. She got changed and laid in bed staring up at the darkened ceiling as her mind swirled with thoughts.

It was a matter of moments before her eyes began to sting with tears. It had been a long time since she’d felt this resentful about her body. If it wasn’t for this physical aspect, things would be so much simpler.

Now, instead of being giddy and joyful. She - officially - had a girlfriend. An incredible girlfriend. One she really, truly could see a future with. If she could be honest. And if you accepted her.

Instead of enjoying this moment, she was scared, and anxious, and angry. She liked you so much. She could feel herself falling for you already. But it was all so precarious.

What if she was wrong about you? What if this discovery would reveal that you were secretly close minded? What if it just wasn’t something you wanted or found attractive. What if…what if…the questions kept coming.

But none of that mattered. If you didn’t know this about her, know who she truly was, you could never truly love her. Through no fault of your own, you’d be loving a portion of her or worse, a mask. Until Jessie was fully honest with you, your connection could never be entirely authentic or complete.

She wiped angrily at the tears that fell down the sides of her cheeks. She felt like she was losing something before it had the chance to flourish or evolve.

It wasn’t fair. This is why she didn’t date. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. When it was just her, things were fine. She had her friends, her team, her family. She shouldn’t need more.

But she needed you. Wanted you. She’d tried to block out her feelings for you, but you found your way past her intricately built walls anyway. And now here she was.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her downward spiral. She looked and a such a bittersweet feeling filled her chest when she saw your name. She sniffled as she unlocked her phone. You’d shared a post with a message.

“I saw this post and thought of you. Thank you again for tonight. I had a good time. Text me in the morning. And for the 20th time, I don’t care if it’s before I’m up. It won’t wake me up and besides, I like waking up to texts from you. I miss you already xoxo”

She smiled. This was complicated. And it was messy. But for you, she was going to figure it out.

A/N: So, this is something I didn't want to try and wrap up in a pretty bow within one part. I think there's a lot to explore here, so I'm picturing a short series. Like less than 4 chapters probably?? Let me know in the comments/asks what your thoughts are.