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goldfades · 20 hours ago

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★ '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 ♡

#jb5 #nfl fic #nfl football #nfl lb #nfl imagine #joe burrow bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months ago

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Well, it's been a good run, but they've finally done it to me. My home province has, at long last, and after many years of threats, made truck-owning a mandatory part of citizenship. All those impoverished small-car freaks can't vote anymore. Which is good, since they were just voting for things like "bike lanes" and "turns" that were hampering the economic productivity of the right-thinking, truck-owning majority.

At first, I was very upset. After a traumatic formative experience around the Ford Courier, I had sworn off truck ownership forever. When I was searching my backyard, though, I found that I apparently own an old '76 International 150. Don't know where it came from: I'm operating on the assumption that someone was driving by, saw a whole bunch of cars in my yard, and decided I wouldn't get upset if they dumped one in there. Was it used in the commission of a crime? Not with that asthmatic rattletrap V8 under the hood, that's for sure. Or at least not successfully.

Back to it, though: now, with proof of ownership, I could regain my lost citizenship. I could access health care and have running water, again, and even visit the Home Depot, which now has so many trucks in the parking lot that the depreciation curve on their leases can be seen from the International Space Station. Despite the fact that my truck is "small," it still counted as a way to hobnob with the hoi polloi and not be sent directly to a re-education camp, as they had done to all the undesirable "van people." Turns my stomach, the idea that vans are often built on a truck chassis. Disgusting propaganda.

Anyway, as we've learned from so many other economic and political crises, the only solution is to vote our way out of it. When it comes time for the next election, I'll come pick a few of you "regular people" up at a time and drive you to the polling place. That ought to fool the guards. It's going to cost you, sure: hope you have some old Plymouth parts in your garage. All worth it, though, to wrest control of the apparatus from those who would do us harm, and return our country to the way it used to be, where kids could go to school even if their parents only owned a luxury crossover.

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satellitespinner · 10 months ago

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dogtooth ; roommate!ellabs

˗ˏˋcollab with my beautiful angel @williamssgirl ´ˎ˗

- inspired by @beforeimdeceased “chaotic roomates” series ! please go support theirs!

reminder !! do not support neil or any of his work !

wc: 2.1k | her ver

⁃ roomate!ellabs who were bsfs w u before and when you needed a place to stay they happily invited you to join them on their lease !

⁃ cooking with them is... chaotic. but some days it was good!

⁃ bumping ur hip with ellie because she sucks and she gets all blushy and flustered

⁃ abby gently grabbing ur hips to get around you

⁃ taking .5s of them ALL THE TIME!! they hate it but you love it

⁃ they have no idea how to use the ring camera you installed, one day they've locked themselves out and are begging you to let them in

⁃ "open the door it's cold out ©" "let us in.... babeeee

⁃ falling asleep while watching a movie like a literal dogpile

⁃ while beforehand yall were arguing for twenty minutes on what movie to watch because you and abby wanted to watch scream and ellie can't handle horror for the LIFE of her

⁃ (so you eventually settle on a romcom)

⁃ abby and ellie playing video games and ur sorta just sitting there staring at their hands watching them play

⁃ "did u win?" "no i died."

⁃ when you do end up playing a game with them it's usually fortnite

⁃ abby is so gentle with you and helping you through the game

⁃ "good job babe!" "show me those bike skills" "want the sniper? i know you said you like those"

⁃ however with ellie....

⁃ "BABE BABE BABE KILL HIM SHOOT HIM SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT" "FUCK HE HAS TO BE A FUCKING BOT THERES NO WAY" "FUCK YEAH I GOT HIM TAKE THAT"

⁃ ellie putting her hands on urs on the controller when their first teaching you how to play and whenever she gets touchy <3

⁃ sitting on their laps while they play...

⁃ sleepover with them go NUTS

⁃ ellie buys SO MUCH SOUR CANDY

⁃ abby fucking HATES sour candy and you and ellie are trying to trick her into having a warhead

⁃ "no im not putting that vile shit in my mouth" "abby it's literally so sweet trust me" "no eat it it's just candy" "just try!

⁃ pouting to get ur way and she gives in (and immediately spits it out)

⁃ pouting to get ur way works with her no matter what

⁃ abby would be a personal trainer and also work somewhere in analytics

⁃ ellie would be a mechanic and livestream for a living (she acts like it's no big deal but she's gained a surprisingly large following)

⁃ reader owns a bakery that's also a flower shop and always brings in spare treats for them to have!

⁃ "guys i got doughnuts for you!"

⁃ you buy them flowers all !! the !! time !! and you assign really specific meanings to them

⁃ "so the poppy means... and the tulip with the poppy means..."

⁃ they're pretending to listen... (they are listening so intently)

⁃ them ganging up to tickle u at least once a day (you act like you despise it but in reality your devouring it)

⁃ FORCING THEM TO MAKE TIKTOKS WITH YOU

⁃ abby's texting you "Babe wdym I have to take a quiz on what aura I have." "can u just do it?"

⁃ omfg and forcing abby to get tiktok because she refused to get it for so long only for her to be on it more than you

⁃ getting into an argument with one of them is certainly something!

⁃ ur refusing to talk to ellie and ur communicating to her through abby (ellie is speaking to you directly and you are staring at abby "abby tell ellie im not speaking to her rn" and ur being DEAD serious... they're laughing their asses off

⁃ kissing abby in front of ellie to make her jealous when ur fighting

⁃ and whenever ellie and abby are fighting you straight up ignore them until they come to their senses and apologise

⁃ matching tattoos! you have a sun, abby has a moon and ellie has the stars V

⁃ uno and they both have extra cards under the table

⁃ "are you guys cheating" "OH MY GOD NO OF COURSE NOT-" "HOW COULD YOU EVEN SUGGEST THAT?!" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" "WE WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO YOU A GAMES A GAME"

⁃ ellie standing up to get water and you yell at her

⁃ abby and ellie pull pranks on eachother all the time!

⁃ and you are constantly getting caught in the middle of it

⁃ and one time you contribute and both of them are arguing on who did what prank having zero clue it was you

⁃ and ur just giggling off to the side

⁃ the two would have such bad jealousy issues

⁃ like they see u GLANCE at another girl and they're dragging you home

⁃ and then they go "we aren't even jealous people! she was practically eye fucking you. that's why we left!"

⁃ like girl she had a whole bf

⁃ imagine covering them in lipstick kissed and taking a picture...

⁃ making them do the lipstick trend

⁃ OR the nail polish eye colour trend!

⁃ u having a hard day and they're RUSHING to comfort you

⁃ girls were STRESSEDDDD like ellie's holding you while abby's rushing to get the bath filled up

⁃ "stupid fucking bathtub isn't filling up!!! hurry up!!!!!" and now they're more stressed than you fo

⁃ the nicknames.

⁃ ellie's pretty basic with it. calling you babe, baby, honey, pretty girl, etc.

⁃ but with abby she likes to be unique with it. calling you princess, darling, etc.

⁃ and u reversing the nicknames on them...

⁃ talking to abby and she's helping u w something and u go "thanks princess!" then kiss her on the cheek like nothing happened

⁃ "she's like "tf??"

⁃ but with ellie she's chasing you around the house and pinning you down till you say she's daddy

⁃ how rewardina it is for them when ther see u aet allblushy and stuff

⁃ they would feel so cocky and proud of the themselves

⁃ abby sending you playlists and ellie showing you drawings

⁃ and the gifts they would get u ! like gift giving isn't their love language but they wanna spoil you

⁃ "oo i like that shirt" abby's already ordered it. in every colour.

⁃ like you sneak a peek at a bracelet and now it's ellie's job to keep you distracted while abby runs in and buys it

⁃ sleeping w a stuffy and being so tired and giving it a kiss on the cheek and bestfriend!ellie is all like

⁃ "where's mine"

⁃ she gets jealous with the amount of plushies u sleep with "she's the typa girl to joke "hey mamas where's my kiss" after u get home from work and ur just staring at her like with flour all over you from a failed recipe

⁃ "no? okay sorry babe"

⁃ goodcop!abby badcop!ellie when u do something bad!

⁃ "babe.... just tell me where u hid my keys and all will be good" "ALL RIGHT LISTEN UP WOMAN..."

⁃ then they end up finding the keys under the couch

⁃ but u lowk hid them there cause you didn't want them to leave..

⁃ abby had a snapchat hey mamas phase and ellie was there to see it

⁃ AND ellie uses it as blackmail in the go

⁃ abby: "Ellie you're so dumb how could you get the directions wrong." "wanna see a magic trick."

⁃ abby backtracks so fast in hopes it'll save her from her fate (it doesn't).

⁃ "and that's the end of my magic show! thank u and goodnight "then ellie disappears because she knows abby will beat her ass

⁃ they have pictures of you in a gallery and you don't know about it

⁃ "is this me sleeping?" "gimme my fuckin phone back-" "you ain't seen NOTHING"

⁃ you would take so many pics of urself on their phones!

⁃ like at dinner and you've managed to sneak one of their phone's under the table and are taking silly selfies

⁃ and you take videos of them snatching their phones back

⁃ the screen is all black and all you can hear is rustling and the faint sound of ellie whining "babe my storageeee" and abby's just laughing

⁃ flipping them off by accident in a photo (both me and aria are victims to this)

⁃ you mean to do 🤘 or 👍 but instead do 🖕

⁃ ellie's feigning hurt and abby's laughing so hard

⁃ abby uses "🤣" and "LOL" but then ellie uses "😭" and "LMAO"

⁃ abby is so literal with her texting

⁃ She types like this. Always uses proper grammar no matter what.

⁃ and ellie... ELLEI TWXTS LIKE THIS

⁃ "babky were is tje Irnon" "ALL CAPS NO PUNCTUSLYIK PJNCTISNTILN"

⁃ ur the only person who can translate ellie's awful texting so you'll occasionally get texts from joel saying stuff like "Kiddo do you know what she was tryna say here?"

⁃ ellie is dyslexic

⁃ and a professional yapper which is why she likes streaming so much

⁃ abby fights the urge to tell her to shut the fuck up

⁃ and sometimes after like a really hard day at work all you wanna do is relax and they just let you

⁃ sending them paragraphs about how much you love them just out of the blue

⁃ ellie's like "??? ru gonna kys"

⁃ abby leaves you on read and smothers you when she's home

⁃ abby chronically leaves people on read

⁃ ellie greets you by slapping or pinching ur ass and abby greets you by giving you a kiss on the side of your face ellie also pretends to fuck you from the back whenever you bend down to pick something up

⁃ the amount of facetimes when you didn't live with them! and the amount you get when your on some sort of work trip

⁃ falling asleep on call and them taking secret screenshots and texting eachother in fear of waking you up

⁃ facetiming you on abby's macbook

⁃ abby uses apple and ellie uses a microsoft laptop

⁃ when ur on a work trip and they're harassing you to call

⁃ "i'm in a meeting" "answer facetime"

⁃ "gimme 5" "5...4...3.2.."

⁃ nobody's home except you and you burn yourself cooking

⁃ they are be RUSHINGGG home

⁃ "guys it's fine i literally barley did anything" "YOUR GONNA DIE"

⁃ "ARE TOU OKAY?!?" "i am literally fine"

⁃ omg the day they actually pay attention to work and your at home and they don’t have a lot of time for you is the day you die

⁃ "i'm in a meeting what's up" "im dynggg.... come back......... zhellipppppp....

⁃ and then you get all bratty and needy

⁃ "come home or i'm gonna fall ill' "YOURE GONNS

⁃ FALL ILL??"

⁃ sitting in abby's lap while she's working from home

⁃ <3

⁃ she's sitting on her chair and ur straddling her with ur face in her shoulder

⁃ biting her arm randomly and she's like "ow wtf?!"

⁃ " biting her for the first time and she's like "?!" girl was alarmed... "are you going feral what is up with you"

⁃ eventually she just gets used to it at some point

⁃ zero reaction to you biting her now

⁃ they go to the gym without you and send gym selfies

⁃ abby LOVESSS to flex

⁃ she'll never admit it but this girl is trying so hard to excentuate her muscles around u

⁃ throws you over her shoulder effortlessly

⁃ annoying her and going "watcha gonna do abby? kidnap me?" and she, in fact, does.

⁃ "let me go!" and she just pats ur ass

⁃ and ellie's always wearing shirts that show her arms off

⁃ making them kiss LOOOLLL

⁃ "awh i think we need a ship name now!" "SHUT UP"

⁃ forcing them to talk to eachother by ignoring them and then they have to talk to eachother on wether or not ur pissed at them or if ur just not in the mood to talk

⁃ them fighting over everything including you

⁃ but or not official with either of them and could go flirt around if u wanted

⁃ them showing up at whatever place u have a date at or something and trolling the poor girl ur out with and then angry dragging u home

⁃ they get SO possessive

⁃ ellie listens to boygenius and you had to beg abby to listen to them and now she loves them

⁃ ellie's got 21 savage, the weeknd, drake, tyler the creator, the neighborhood, chase atlantic, etc on her playlists

⁃ her and abby have similar music tastes with distinct differences

⁃ like abby listens to tyler the creator as well, chase atlantic, HOZIER, frank sinantra, frank ocean.

⁃ all of you love phoebe, mac miller, lorde and childish gambino!

⁃ and you LOVE kali uchis. ur the lalalala to their okokok

⁃ you discovered her when she released telapatia and have been obsessed ever since

⁃ both abby and ellie had a girl in red phase...

⁃ sleeping together in abby's bed bc hers is the biggest

⁃ ur favourite mornings are ones when you can't even get up and out of bed because abby's spooning you and ellie's arm is hung loosely over ur waist

⁃ your situated in the middle with abby on ur right and ellie on ur left

⁃ waking them up with breakfast! "abby waking up to smelling some delicious food and hugging you from behind with her eyes closed and neck shoved into ur shoulder "smells s' good baby... wanted to spoil us even more after last night huh?" in their raspy morning voice

⁃ all ur in is an oversized tee and some white bow cotton panties (it's one of abby's post workout shirts)

⁃ the only dirt abby has on ellie is the amount of foul photos she has of her sleeping

⁃ ellie drools AND snores

⁃ latching on to you for dear life

⁃ ur shoving the pillow over ur ears in hopes she'll stfu

⁃ and she NEVER does

⁃ sleeping skin to skin with them :)

⁃ "take of your clothes" "why? you wanna..?" "no i just wanna feel u... is that okay?"

⁃ abby has soft skin and ellie has a bunch of random bruises and scars

⁃ abby and ellie are genuinely head over heels for u in all seriousness

⁃ even if they don't like eachother they cope with it for you!

⁃ smooching one of them really hard and like forcing the "MMMMWAH" sound

⁃ ellie has a main insta with zero posts and a spam with 827

⁃ abby has three accounts, one for gains, her main & her stalker (for ur safety obviously)

⁃ meanwhile u just have a main which u post on all the time and a private that nobody knows about for stalking

⁃ ellie shit posts "lol" and it's a photo of a rat smoking a cigarette

⁃ and those stupid memes

⁃ (image)

⁃ sent to abby cause you made a joke about her being breedable in bed 😭

⁃ nsfw!

⁃ ANGRY MAKEUP SEX.

⁃ ellie kisses ur tummy before she eats it

⁃ and abby puts her forearm on ur lower stomach and applies pressure

⁃ abby calls u good girl

⁃ abby comforting you when ellie's going just a little bit too aggressively and manhandling you

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motocorsas · 6 months ago

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okay i actually do have a hottake re: marc hater in unhinged confessions. as a marc disliker i think i see where they're coming from but disagree with the delivery. this is gonna be a long one.

they're correct about everything, like from a factual standpoint. marc did win an absurd amount of races in the 2010s, he did push honda to build a bike that favored his style, he did leave for ducati and he does still get tows.

but i think they're overinflating how much those facts affected his career. like, 2013 still happened; that wasn't a bike that favored him and he was riding on tracks he'd never even seen before. he's naturally talented, there's no way around it. and i see how that can be frustrating too -- i started watching motogp in about 2017 and i didn't like marc from the get-go. frankly, no matter how many exciting overtakes or impressive saves there are, if you can predict the outcome of a race before it starts, it's not a very entertaining one, or at least it adds up to a pretty boring season. that's how i felt.

as far as the concept of "overcommitment": this is a very niche term, also called overconformity, used in sports sociology. the idea proposed by some sociologists is that sportsmen subscribe to the ethic of the sport -- the pervasive ideas on what the sport should be, and what it means to be participating in it -- but some take it too far, and it becomes self-sabotage. sociologists jay coakley and robert hughes describe the core tenets of the theory:

overconformity is not just about wanting to win or be superior to other competitors, it's an uncritical belief in the mythology of a given sport.

coakley and hughes' framework was developed to explain deviance, or a deliberate action that breaks the rules or norms of a sport. they use multiple examples, but focus on the use of PEDS.

here's the problem: is marquez deviant?

he's certainly sacrificed his own wellbeing to get ahead. i think this is a functional analysis when looking at marc's injuries, multiple of which have temporarily or permanently disabled him. he internalized the messages of the sport, that winning is the only option and injuries can or even should be sustained to achieve it. but he's not breaking any rules by riding injured, he's doing something glorified as heroic. same thing with hitching tows, which is perhaps closer true deviance; a tactic disliked by many other riders that benefits one participant at the cost of another. a ban on towing would be difficult to enforce, so the practice goes unchecked, even if it is typically outside the boundary of acceptable behaviors. where anon's analysis really falls apart is in his off-track decisions, like choosing to switch from honda to ducati. he made an informed decision to switch manufacturers to improve his performance. that's just the way the game works.

when speaking about the ways he contributed to the development of the modern honda project, my opinions start to get a little messier. because i do think that bike was made with his specific style in mind, and i think that's selfish. but i also think just about every rider is selfish, because that's how the sport works.

there have been outliers, teammates dedicated to the craft, the altruists ready to defend their garage-mate's championship hopes at the price of their own. consider jack miller's defense of pecco bagnaia when they were teammates. but even his opinions changed:

the above quote was published in 2021, just before the misano grand prix, which pecco did end up winning while miller finished fifth. the next year, he had this to say:

not all riders are going to sacrifice their career for another's. that's just not the way it works, especially if, as i discussed above, said rider has fully internalized the sport's ethic. though marc's prowess on the honda did come at the cost of more riders' success than just one teammate -- the independent teams leasing hondas also have to contend with the bike and its quirks, leading to plenty of nasty crashes. marquez himself acknowledges it.

the honda of the mid to late 2010s was the sharpest of the v4s, took a very angular line that required absolutely godlike reflexes in order to turn correctly. you had to know exactly when and where to shift, brake, release the brake, and open the throttle again, and you had to do all of this with milisecond-perfect accuracy. just about only marc was able to make it work. if you disagree, don't listen to me. listen to jorge lorenzo, who said this in an interview with Motorsprint earlier this year:

the exception to this rule was pedrosa, who was able to adapt to the honda build, but still didn't win a championship.

i've spent enough time building my argument. what all of this amounts to is that yes, your honor, marc marquez is guilty of being too good at motorcycle racing. he has sacrificed his body and plenty of other riders' in the name of creating the perfect team, the perfect bike, the perfect career.

it's up to you to choose how to feel about all of this. personally, i don't care for him, but more than that i worry about his safety and his mental state. i think if he sustains another head injury, it may be time to make the executive decision to retire. brain damage is serious, and though he recovered from the vision problems that plagued him in 2021, they have the potential to return if re-injured. i may buy into the villain narrative from time to time, but i recognize that it is just that, a narrative. a story i tell myself to make sense of the sport. we are all in charge of our own interpretations. in summation: marc fans are not "brainless". let's make sure marc doesn't end up that way either.

#i see a 3 paragraph anon hate message and think hah. i could write more than that #motogp #marc marquez

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drewstcrkey · 2 years ago

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Request: Hii! Could you do one where Rafe and Reader are sort of enemies (only because her friends hate him), and one day she's alone and he bumps into her. Then they end up liking each other. Thank you! Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader Word Count: 1.9k Author Note: so this is my first bit of writing in a while so bare with it lol :) but happy to be back a get back to how i was writing again <333

your life had always been pretty normal and then you met the pogues. at first you questioned kiara’s judgment, your own parents' biases had started to take root in your head but as the years went on, you realized it didn’t matter what side of the island you called home: the cut or figure eight, none of that matter. what mattered was who made you feel at home when you were with them. who were the good people in your life? for you that had always been the pogues.

so when they returned from the deserted island, when you found out they were all still alive and well. it felt as if you regained your lease on life.

“ wait, stop, “ you finally called out as the four of them frantically tried to figure out whether to keep waiting for jj and kiara or leave without them. they were once again planning on leaving to go find big john and although you understood the need for them to go save john b’s dad this was your chance to try and get them to stay. stay in the safety of kildare. you had to atleast try.

“ maybe this is, i don’t know, like a sign you guys should stay, “ you shrug, once they’ve all gone silent. each one vigorously shaking their heads.

“ no shot, “ john b says almost immediately.

“ yeah, no we have to go, “ sarah, pope, and cleo all say nearly in sync. immediately your chest deflates. you don’t get another chance to speak before the revving of a bike catches all of your attention.

“ you got to be kidding me, “ pope exclaims. “ i thought he wasn’t apart of this, ” john b turns to sarah who shakes her head, a clear look of confusion etched onto her face once it becomes clear the riders are rafe and ward. you keep your mouth shut, a bit shocked to actually see ward after all this time. after all you had believed everyone you were currently on the landing strip with were dead just a week or so ago. it was still all too much to take in sometimes. Only pulling yourself out of your state of shock when rafe gets into john b’s face.

“ get away from him, “ you yell, pushing rafe away from him. “ go john b, “ you call out to him a nod to silently ask him to stay safe, “ go “. he returns the nod before disappearing into the plane.

“ you getting sick of them leaving you behind all the time, or what ? “ rafe’s voice pierces your ears and you turn to look at him. the things you would do to smack that nauseating smirk from his face. “ the only thing i’m sick of is you, “ you snap back at him, rolling your eyes as you start in the opposite direction.

“ what’re you just gonna walk home from here? “ he calls out, a chuckle coming from him. you ready yourself to simply ignore him, when you spot police lights heading in the direction of the strip. “ can’t imagine mrs. and mr. y/l/n will be too happy about you getting dropped off by the police , “ he continues to prod at you, even with the engine of his bike revving. the mention of your parents is the only thing that makes your steps come to a halt. as annoying as it might have been to admit, he was right.

“ fine, “ you huff, staring back toward him. “ c’mon , “ a usual impatience lingering in his voice as he hands you over a helmet. hopping on you reluctantly wrap your arms around his torso as he pulls off, getting the two of you out of there much quicker than your legs ever could have. “ hold tight, y/n “ a glance from him shoots back at you for a second. just long enough for you to catch that horrendous smirk of his once again. “ just bring me home, “ you groan, eyes fluttering closed as you continue to hold onto him. feeling his muscles flexing under his shirt with every turn he took. it was hard not to notice but you didn’t let your mind harp on it for too long, he was rafe cameron after all. he’s done so many terrible things to your friends, to his own sister, that one ride home could never make up for.

next morning

you were set to meet a few friends at the country club, opting out of taking your jeep and taking the walk there instead. clearing your head from everything that had happened in the last week. life was never boring when the pogues were around but when they were gone, you felt as if you fell right back into the way things were meant to be, according to your parents. all the life on the island seemingly felt as if it was sucked out and now the countdown until they returned would start for you, all over again.

“ y/n/n! “ is called out by a regrettably familiar voice. heavy sigh falling from you as you turn to face him.

“ what do you want rafe? “ arms falling by your side.

“ i-i just wanted to talk you real quick, you know…” he shrugs, sending a smile your way. “ yeah, no, not really in the mood right now, “ you roll your eyes, turning around to head into the country club.

“ hey, “ his hand taking a hold of your shoulder. you quickly pull yourself from his touch, “ don’t touch me, “ your voice raising a few octaves making him look around to assure you hadn’t brought too much attention to the two of you.

“ i know you hate me, you have every right to, “ he starts, rubbing his hand on his cheek. “ understatement of the century, “ you interject. “ yeah, sure, “ he nods, the annoyance growing in his face. “ you won’t even give me a chance to tell my side though, “ his words pull a shocked look from you. why on earth would you owe him a chance to explain himself, you knew what he did, no explanation needed.

“ from what i can see, y/n , your precious pogues and my sister aren’t here , so would it kill you to just talk to me for a second ? “ he quizzes , motioning for the two of you to head up to the bar. a twist of your lips as you glance up at the balcony then back over toward rafe.

“ you have ten minutes, then you leave me alone for good, okay? “ you groan, giving in to that sad puppy dog face he likes to put on. “ okay, okay “ he nods, hands rubbing together as the two of you make your way up. you spot your group of friends off in the corner, both you and rafe giving them a wave and the looks of confusion on their faces become apparent. everyone on the island knew how much you hated rafe, you never shied away from hiding that fact. so seeing you with him at any point was enough to strike a bit of confusion in anyone, even fellow kooks.

the two of you take a seat, quickly greeted by one of the bartenders, “ ms. y/l/n, mr. cameron, “. you both put in your orders and you shift on your barstool, “ okay time starts now , “ you tell him with a raised brow.

“ i’m a victim too in all of this, “ his voice low as he starts. you can’t help but to let out a laugh. “ you have to be kidding me right ? “ you scoff, you’d actually given him a chance to speak whatever piece he thought he had to say and this is how he chooses to go about things. it was a joke. “ just listen, please, “ he huffs, holding his hands out to tell you to stop.

you decide to listen.

he goes on about his dad, the pressure he feels everyday, and how each and everytime he tries to do the right thing it seemingly gets thrown in his face. before you know it you’re ignoring the timer on your phone reminding you his ten minutes is up. for once you were actually listening to him, not judging him or wondering how anyone would look at you for so much as giving him a second thought and you could feel your heart strings tug for him. the two of you were the same age and he’d been through so much in the last couple of years, albeit he’d also gotten away with literal murder.

“ you can’t just lash out whenever you feel like someone isn’t treating you the way you deserve, “ you finally tell him, coming to the end of your second drink. rafe’s hand raising to get the bartender’s attention to bring over another round for the two of you. you give him a smile and he smiles back, you can almost see the sense of relief in his face as he realizes you heard him, genuinely heard him.

” can i ask you something ? “ you say breaking the silence that comes over the two of you, hand fiddling with the glass in front of you. “ a-anything, “ rafe nods .

“ why me ? like, why do you care so much about me hearing you out ? “ it was a genuine question, your eyes searching his for any inkling that he was readying himself to make up some stupid lie. “ i don’t know, “ he shrugs, looking down at his glass before bringing it to his lips. gulping down the liquid before his gaze rises back up to you.

“ i don’t care what those pogues think of me or my sister, “ he starts, your head tilting from side to side to silently say he’d made that rather clear. “ but i can’t stand you hating me, y/n, i just… “ rafe’s voice becomes more breathy as he closes his eyes to hold his composure for a second, “ i just need you to understand. “ rafe’s voice cracked with his last words and for once you didn’t feel the need to roll your eyes at him or question the motives behind his emotions.

reaching your hand over the table to take his, smile surfacing on your features. “ hey, look at me, rafe, “ a whispered tone falling from your lips. once he’s fixed his gaze on yours you give his hand a small squeeze. “ i understand, “ you assure him , “ you just want to do right by your dad, that doesn’t make you a bad person, okay? “ you continue, you can’t pinpoint what you’re more shocked by - the words coming out of your mouth or the fact that you meant every word.

standing up from your spot across from him, you make your way around the table, wrapping your arms around him. “ you’re not a bad person rafe, “ you sigh, his head leaning into your chest , “ you hear me ? “

he nods before rising from his seat and wrapping strong arms around you, “ promise me, “ rafe starts, but then pulls away to look you in your eyes. his blue eyes were piercing and you wonder how you never noticed how beautiful they were before today. it feels as if waves are crazy over you as he does, washing away all of the hatred you’d talked yourself into feeling towards him. “ promise me, you won’t just go back to hating me, “ his eyes now searching yours as he awaits, notably impatient for your response.

your head falling as you let out a small laugh , “ i don’t think i could if i wanted to, rafe, “ you admit, a spark of fear flares inside of you when it hits you then when your friends return you could very well have alot of explaining to do.

it’s crazy the difference one conversation can do.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine

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lexleif · 6 months ago

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rant about my life and how it’s going rn (not good and super long)

so I do have a job but since I’m an esthetician it’s commission based which means I only get paid when I have a client. since its summer it’s been dead I’ve been working here for about 3 weeks now and I could probably count how many clients I’ve had on my 1 hand😭 yeah so really bad. so that also means I’m not getting paid even when I am at work just sitting waiting for someone to book or doing promotion things. my industry is REALLY hard so I did expect it to be slow at first but not this bad! another thing is while wasting gas at my current job I have been actively looking for hourly paying jobs and I’ve had like 2 otp interviews and 1 actual in person interview. I’ve basically applied everywhere I can even jobs I don’t necessarily qualify for. all that with nothing to come of it and I do like everybody else have bills to pay like rent and such. I’ve really just been surving off my dead mom’s life insurance policy money and that’s also hard bc my family doesn’t trust me to have access to it on my own. (There’s a whole story behind this but the distrust really comes from them bc they still think of me as a child and had an issue with me using mary jane until i had to tell them my dead MOM was absolutely fine with it and knew about it!) anyway so every time I need money even just for food I have to ask one of my family members to write me a check and it’s embarrassing bc the literal checks have my OWN NAME on them and she still writes that’s it’s for me on them😭! that’s also an added stress to my life bc I already have a hard time asking for help bc most of the time it comes with some sort of judgement (about my career or anything). so I’m super stressed out now bc my family member just lmk that the funds for my mom life insurance policy are frozen and that’s scary asf! I’m grinding for clients but that doesn’t have a guarantee and it also doesn’t help that my bf lost his job a month ago as well. his car being totaled by a tree in January and his family being of no help or support for that at all😭 (mostly his dad bc he had the title to his car and couldn’t find it for months and chose to get it fucking mailed which takes forever) bc we need to try to sell it. of course my bf has been doing his best with trying to find a job that’s close bc he’ll need a bike at the least to get to and from. also our lease on our apartment that we live in (my bf moved in with me a little before my mom died). it’s just the lease is up in July and we’re both pretty much freaking the fuck out about how we’re going to make it. It’s also very hard for me to even try to explain this to my family (older millennials/boomers) about just how hard it’s been to just try to make it and have enough money for food, gas, rent, etc. so if we can’t make rent for next month we’re both pretty much fucked I’ll have to live with my grandparents and my bf will need to move back in with his dad probably but I know he hates even the thought of that bc they’ve always had a bad relationship and he’s just not a good father in general.

I just needed to rant bc I have no one else of than my bf who I can talk about this with so if anyone can relate in the slightest or just understand what I’m talking about please feel free to message me we all need support :)

#lex.txt #death mention tw #if u give time out of ur day to read this ily🥹

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sixlane · 2 months ago

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fic authors self rec

when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at lease five other writers. spread the self-love

thank you @velanavis @ecstarry @carniferous for the tags <3

january finds us here - bartylily | M

She’s been carpooling with Barty to work for a month now. He’d offered to start giving her rides if she didn’t want to keep biking through the sub-zero temperatures in their Upstate New York hometown. He says her house is on the way. She’s not sure how true that is, but she figured she’d take the wins where she could get them. Or, Barty and Lily work a shift at the bowling alley together and Lily can't catch a break.

2. and we keep going - bartylily | E

Now Barty is 19 and he likes to measure his life in stupid decisions. Likes to chase the metallic tang of blood running into his mouth when a fist fits itself perfectly against his nose. Likes to dull the pain with a joint and the heat of another body sliding against his. And that, he tries to convince himself, is what’s going on with him and Lily Evans.

3. you live in me - rosier twins | T

For as long as Pandora can remember, she and Evan have shared all the same clothes. Cut their hair the same length. Slept in the same bed. They would not have it any other way. Sometimes, late at night, if Pandora focuses, she thinks she can feel her brother’s heart beating in her own chest, right where hers should be, but sometimes when she wakes she feels nothing at all.

4. get him back - jegulus | E

Regulus only has eyes for James. He can’t stop staring at him across the room, like maybe James will feel the heat of his gaze across the back of his neck and finally pay attention. He wants James to feel jealous, wants him to finish what he started. Or at least try to. Regulus would love nothing more than to turn him down when he’s begging.

5. i know heaven's a thing (i go there when you touch me) - jegulus | E

Regulus huffs a laugh. “Oh so you do listen when I speak. Could’ve fooled me.” He has no idea that James has been hanging off his every word since the first time they met. Not that James can let him know. This game is how he keeps things fun. Fucking the artistic director of the dance company you’re in becomes much more complicated when things like that are spoken out loud. Or, Regulus gives James a chance to make up for his bad behavior.

open tag because i'm kinda late and i feel like everyone has done this!

#how fun i have enough fics to do this properly lol #this was really hard because i do love all my fics #but january will always be my fav i really don't think i'll ever write anything i love more #lane writes

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womensworldtour · 7 months ago

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O Canada!

In a crash-marred finish that saw several top-tier riders brought down in multiple wet roundabouts inside the last 5km, Canadian national champ Alison Jackson stayed upright and in position to win a reduced sprint. Her American teammate Kristen Faulkner did an impressively long lead-out, allowing Jackson to out-sprint Blanca Vas (SD Worx-Protime) and Karlijn Swinkels (UAE Team ADQ). Vas will at least have the consolation of taking the GC leader's jersey for tomorrow, thanks to bonus seconds at the finish and sprint points earlier in the stage.

One of Jackson's own teammates was one of the riders that went down, as were Anna Henderson (Visma Lease-a-Bike), Liane Lippert (Movistar), Lizzie Deignan (Lidl-Trek), and many others. Hopefully there weren't severe injuries, and the the 5km rule should bring them back to the same finishing time.

And no one celebrates like Alison Jackson!

#wwt #womensworldtour #bikegirls #girlsonbikes #EF Education-Cannondale #Alison Jackson #Vuelta Feminina #VueltaFeminina

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whatcha-thinkin · 1 month ago

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#polls #poll #daily polls #i love polls #polladay #transit #mass transit #public transportation #transportation #cars

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remcocoa · 6 months ago

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lining’s silver, grass is greener (i’m on my way)

@cycleprompttuesday: “illness”

also on ao3.

“it’s fucked, is what it is.”

christophe is joking, mostly. wout can tell, by the laugh that follows and the way christophe lounges so easily on the chair next to him, face thrown up to catch the sun and one foot resting on his knee.

still, there’s an undercurrent of frustration there, of a sort wout understands all too well. it’s no one’s fault - never is, really, but especially not for christophe, who’d been the first to admit that crashing into the manhole cover was on him and him alone. he’d joked about it on the phone with wout that night and had sent the group chat a stupid meme he’d found. still, it’s frustrating.

“at least you got out before you caught the plague.” wout takes a sip of his coffee, knocking his foot against christophe’s. it’s nice, to sit here in the sun together. there’s been too little of that, this year.

“a fucking miracle that i didn’t, with our luck. the internet thinks we’re all making out with each other on the rest days, did you know that?” christophe breaks off a piece of his pastry and offers it to wout. he can feel the powdered sugar stick to his lip, can see the way christophe’s eyes fix on it and the way his fingers twitch as wout runs his tongue over his lips.

if they weren’t in a very public café on a very public stretch of a very sleepy spanish country road - well.

“i certainly hope you weren’t making out with any of the other guys while you were in italy,” wout tries to keep his voice carefully neutral, but all it takes is one unimpressed look from christophe to have him laughing so hard he can feel tears at the corner of his eye. it feels good to laugh like that, feels even better without the corresponding twinge of pain he’d had for weeks.

christophe smiles at him, and beneath the table he links his foot with wout’s.

“not me,” christophe says, innocent as anything. “although if the opportunity presents itself in france…” he trails off, and when wout doesn’t comment, christophe lets it go. “but for the other guys? well. they may not be half wrong.”

wout thinks of a facetime call with an exasperated, long-suffering robert, stuck on a volcano with what should have been wout’s team and dealing with cian’s increasingly obvious crush on visma lease-a-bike’s star sprinter. oh, to be that young again.

“you think he’ll be there? in france?” christophe doesn’t mention a name, but he doesn’t really have to. when wout looks up from his coffee, christophe is staring out over the valley as though he can see all the way to denmark from here.

they haven’t talked about the tour, really, haven’t talked much about racing at all since christophe turned up at wout’s rental in girona. he uses his own foot to tug on christophe’s under the table, just enough to draw his attention back.

“i don’t know,” he says, honestly. jonas is private and reserved at the best of times, and when he’s hurting he has a tendency to retreat even more. they’ve spoken, over text and phone and even once on video call, the same way wout knows jonas has spoken with christophe, but not about anything more substantial than their shared aches and pains. it’s both too much and not enough, but that’s how it always is during the season.

“if anyone can do it,” christophe says, before trailing off. on the table, his pinky finger brushes the side of wout’s hand absentmindedly. too much, and not enough.

wout thinks of a hotel room in cahors, the startled look in jonas’s eyes when he’d walked in on the two of them and the desire and determination that replaced it. jonas has never been one to back down from a fight, not as long as wout’s known him. it's a different sort of battle, this one, the kind jonas has to fight on his own. there is no wind for wout to take this time, no climb to pace him up - just jonas and his body, and wout knows only too well how lonely of a fight that is.

on the table, two cell phones buzz in unison. wout lets christophe check the message, sees the way his face relaxes into a smile.

"speak of the devil," christophe says, before downing the last of his coffee and standing up to stretch. "ready to head back? i promised marion i'd call this afternoon, while the boys are napping." he reaches out a hand to help wout up.

they clean up their plates and coffee cups and strap on helmets again and then they're off, back down the descent with the sun in their faces and the wind at their backs. later, when christophe has disappeared to call marion and wout has settled into the couch, he finally checks his messages: a photo of his own boys, georges running across the backyard and jerome watching him from a picnic blanket; a series of heart emojis and a we miss you from sarah; some photos from the tour team at altitude camp in the sierra.

and then, the most recent notification:

jonas vingegaard

feeling good today

weather here is shit

want some company in spain?

#user etapereine: 1 user etapereine’s perfectionist demons: 0 #not 1000% happy with this but i really wanted to post something #what if i wrote something

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 2 years ago

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Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago

The epilogue of A Gentle Kind of Love

Contains: Fluff, smut (oral sex F receiving, fingering, P in V,) discussions of pregnancy.

5.8K words

Comment if you want to be tagged/removed or follow #a gentle kind of love.

“Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy,” Wren said. “It’s the noblest, like, the most courageous thing two people can shoot for.” ― Rainbow Rowell.

Manny's hands were too bruised and swollen to take his bike home so you waved him into the passenger seat of your car and drove off, "you really didn't need to do that, I've heard far worse before."

Manny huffed, "yes, I did. Canche doesn't get to say what he wants because of his hook ups. I didn't mean to scare you."

You shook your head, "I wasn't scared, I just don't want you to get hurt."

Manny smiled and reached over to place his hand on your thigh, "I'm not going to get hurt."

You smiled, "I love you Manny, so much and I think it's very sweet that you want to defend my honour."

Manny chuckled, "you're my girl, I got to make sure everyone knows that."

You thought for a moment before responding, "move in with me. Your lease is up in two months and I own my place outright. The cats won't ever feel like you've abandoned them and we don't have to go back and forth.."

Manny squeezed your leg to quiet you, "there's no need to sell it, I'll call the guys to help me pack my stuff tomorrow."

You snorted, "that's if you're not on probation in the morning."

Manny sucked on his tongue, "nah, old ladies are off limits, anyone would have done the same thing."

You nodded, relaxing as you pulled into your driveway "are you sure? I would never forgive myself if you got into trouble over me."

He leaned across the car and kissed your soft, "I'm sure."

You brushed your hand over his cheek and bumped his nose with yours, "we better go inside, I really need to look at your hands."

Manny chuckled, "lead the way gorgeous."

You got him inside and went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit before stopping by the freezer and grabbing some ice packs. Manny sat down with a sigh as you started to clean his hands, "I don't think anything is broken but you're going to need to give your hands a rest for a few days. I'll take you to and from work until the swelling goes down."

Manny smiled, "I am one lucky man, you know that."

You felt your chest get warm, "I'm the one who's lucky, I never thought I'd find someone as wonderful as you."

Manny pulled his hand from yours and reached up to cup your cheek, "then I guess we're both lucky and I know moving in so soon might seem really fast but I don't think there's anyone else I'd rather be with."

It hit you that it was a bit fast, "maybe we should talk about things before we take that step, what if we have fundamental differences. I mean, do you want kids? Are you an organ donor? How do you feel about…"

Manny cut you off with a kiss, "yes to both. Is that alright with you?"

You smiled, "yes, yes, that's alright with me. I'm sorry."

He chuckled, "it's alright, this is new to me too but we'll work it out."

You pulled back and returned to cleaning his hands, "I love you so much."

The smile on Manny's face was gentle and filled with affection, "I love you too."

You finished his hands and Manny regarded you, "what?"

You smiled and he pulled you into his arms, pressing his face into your hair, "do you want to get married?"

You blinked, you thought you had heard him right, "pardon?"

You felt him inhale, "do you want to get married. There's no one else I can see myself spending my life you, you are the cats and however many children you want to give me feels about as close to a happy ever after a man can ask for. I know it's really sudden and you can take some time…"

You cut him off with a kiss, "yes, yes I'll marry you. But I want a proper wedding, the big white dress, the stupid cake that doesn't taste like anything, the whole nine."

Manny chuckled, "you can have whatever you want, what about a ring?"

You thought for a moment, "I've done enough aid work to know the damage that gemstones can do, I am however, very partial to lab grown sapphires, the bonus is that if you get the gem and design the ring yourself, it's like a third of the price of buy it at the jeweller."

Manny chuckled, "alright, I'm sure someone knows a guy. Hell, Angel's probably going to shove a catalogue in my face when I get there in the morning."

You sighed, "do you want to tell them tomorrow?"

Manny smiled, "I mean, why not. We wouldn't be the first spur of the moment wedding."

You kissed him softly, "no, we wouldn't. I can't believe we're getting married. I have to go dress shopping."

Manny smiled, "take Hope and Lettie, hell Coco and Angel will go along too."

You giggled, "why don't we invite the whole crew and have a say yes to the dress SP addition. I'm sure Marcus will tag along."

Manny grinned, "I love you."

You smiled back, "I love you too."

You dropped Manny off the next day, Manny taking your hand and walking you inside. Angel greeted you with a smile but Bishop was more serious, "what's going on?"

Bishop managed a smile, "it looks like we'll be heading to Arizona, last night a brick went through the window of the Yuma Clubhouse with a note attached. I was hoping Manny would bring you by so you could tell me your professional opinion."

He pulled out his phone and showed you the photo, the note was pretty clear.

"Poison begets poison."

"Thoughts?" Bishop didn't sound worried, he sounded pissed.

"My guess is that it is what it says. Someone is planning to poison Yuma, I imagine with Fentanyl. The use of language is telling, the person is either well read or trying to be dramatic. The handwriting reflects that, it's simple but cursive so you're looking at someone who learned it in school and the brick through the window is pretty old fashioned. If I was the one doing it, I'd booby trap a car, create a contraption that slips the power everywhere when someone opens the car hood."

Bishop nodded, "thank you y/n, now I know you have things to do so why are you stopping by?"

You smiled, "Manny and I are getting married."

Angel hopped up from the chair and raced over, "did I hear that right, you're getting married?"

Manny grinned, "yep, we talked about it last night. We're having a proper wedding so it will be next year but when you know you know."

Angel all but jumped up and down, "fuck yeah. I am the best match maker ever. I stand by what I said, you better name your first kid after me."

You rolled your eyes, "if you shut up I'll think about it."

Coco walked in from outside and looked at the scene, "what?"

Before you could answer, Angel did it for you, "these two are getting married, just like that." He turned back to you, "when are you getting the dress?"

You shook your head, "I'm going to get an appointment which brings me to my next point. I'd really like it if you guys could come along."

Coco smiled and wrapped his arms around you, "hell fucking yeah, you want Hope and Lettie there?"

You nodded, "of course. And I need someone to walk me down the aisle, so do you want to?"

Coco hugged you again, "fuck yeah. Come on, we have planning to do, I'll get Chucky to help."

You sighed as he pulled you away, "there goes my plans for the day."

Manny pecked you before Coco dragged you to the office, "have fun."

Knock Knock

You, Coco and Chucky were looking over invite templates when Riz knocked on the door, "come in."

He opened the door with a smile, "Angel told me the good news, congratulations."

You smiled and got up to hug him, "how many people has Angel told?"

Riz smiled, "the moment he told me and Creep, he left to call Marcus, he also told Taza to start looking for a venue, I'm pretty sure he's appointed himself as the wedding planner. I was coming to ask you about your dress."

You sighed, "of course he has. I've got an appointment at the dress shop next month why?"

Riz shrugged, "I was hoping I could come, I've really love all those sappy shows."

You nodded, "of course you can come. I need as much help as I'm going to get."

The week had been a rush, turns out bikers were far more into weddings than you had thought. Between the guys helping Manny move and Manny looking for a place to make a ring and work, you felt like you didn't get a second to stop.

When the weekend rolled along and it was time to leave for Yuma you could sense something was coming. Manny came up behind you while you were feeding the cats and wrapped his arms around your body before resting his head on your shoulder, "you don't have to say yes but can you come with us this weekend? It would be good to have you there."

You sighed, "sure, I think I should be there to stop you from killing Canche anyway. Did anything come of that?"

Manny shook his head, "nah, he would have had to explain why I hit him in the first place."

You spun and kissed him, "I bet it will be strange to be back there?"

Manny nodded, "yeah, it ain't the most enjoyable place to be, but I have you and that's good enough for me."

You smiled and kissed him again, "you are such a dreamboat. What's next, you're going to show up on a white horse and whisp me away?"

Manny smiled, "if that's what you want, I'll have to learn to ride a horse but I'll do it."

You understood what Manny meant when you arrived at the Yuma compound, it just felt gross. Marcus was there, smiling from ear to ear when he saw you had accompanied Santo Padre. He gave you a hug, crushing your ribs with an embrace, "Angel told me the good news, when's the wedding?"

You smiled, "ten months, we're still planning the big bits but we're getting there."

Manny walked up to you and threw his arm over your shoulder, accepting Marcus' congratulations with a warm smile before walking off to deal with Canche, "you doing good?"

He nodded, "yeah, I want to head somewhere later today, Coco said he's keep you company."

You smiled, "of course, is everything ok?"

He nodded, "yeah, I wanted to stop by and see my sister." He sounded so sad.

"That's fine with me, please take as long as you need. I'll be here waiting for you."

He dropped his forehead onto yours and kissed you softly, "thank you."

Manny detached for you with a kiss, and you waved goodbye as he left and you went to sit with Coco, "you good?"

You nodded, "I'm great, everything is great. How did Templo go?"

Coco shrugged, "if there's one more bad cut Yuma is done, the vote went through without much protest, if we're lucky, this is the end of it."

You sighed, "and this threat?"

He gave you an unreadable look, "we'll see."

Manny brought the flower to his face, the little white Heliotrope filling his nose with a gentle scent. He walked up to Clara's gravestone and brushed away the dirt before placing the flowers in the little holder and kneeling down, resting his hand on the cold rock.

"I've meant someone CC and she's so wonderful, you would have loved her. I think, I know, she would have loved you too. We're getting married soon." He stopped, his emotions clogging his throat, "I just wanted to tell you the good news, because I know you would you'd want to be there if you could."

A gentle breeze blew in his face and he swore he could smell her bubblegum shampoo, he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him but he couldn't help but feel it was his sitter letting him know she was happy for him. He left feeling lighter, the breeze brushing by him one last time as he walked through the gate.

There was something different about Manny when he returned, he sat next to you, Coco Angel and grabbed your hand, "how was your trip?"

He smiled, "it was good, I know she's not really there but it felt good to talk to her again."

The others were lost in their own conversation as you spoke, "I don't know much about that kind of thing but I think she was listening , even it it was just the part of her that you carry."

Manny reached up and brushed your cheek, "I love you so much."

You smiled, "I love you too."

Marcus watched from afar, knowing that something was happening, he allowed a few moments for calm to come over to walk over to you, "I never got the chance to talk about your wedding before I was called away, it's very exciting."

You smiled, "it is, I know is really soon but.."

Marcus waved his hand, "when you know you know. I would have married Izzy the second she said hello to me but I think she would have called me an idiot."

You giggled, "well, you're both invited so I hope you can come."

Marcus smiled, "of course, we wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm very happy for you both."

He offered Manny a hug, "thank you Pardrino."

The conversation between Angel and Coco must have wound down because Angel was butting in, "are we talking weddings? I'm trying to convince them to have it in the national park but y/n is worried about bothering people on public land. I think it would be nice, with all the trees and all."

You sighed, "you know Taza is taking care of it, there's a lovely portion of tribal land that he thinks we'll be able to book."

Angel nodded, "you got an officiant?"

Marcus smiled, "why don't you do it Angel, you can get the licence online, it's the least they can do after everything you've done to get them here."

You blinked and Manny laughed, "I like it, I mean, why not."

You sighed, "alright, but nothing dirty, there'll be kid there."

Angel smiled, "I wouldn't dream of it, it's going to be the best wedding ever."

The night wore on and you felt yourself grow tried, Manny hadn't left your side and you tapped him to bring his attention away from the story Hank was telling about the time he found a snake in his bedroll, "yes Mi Amor?"

You smiled, "I'm going to take a few minutes outside, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed."

Manny nodded, "you want me to come?"

You shook your head, "nah, I'm not going to leave the compound."

You headed out and made a beeline for a quiet section of the lot, sitting down on a mild crate and taking a deep breath. Your peace was interrupted when Canche approached you, "what the fuck do you want?"

He raised his hands, his face still bruised, "Marcus has brought to my attention that I've treated you unfairly and I just wanted to apologise."

You snorted, "you want me to thank you, expect an apology for a man that crawled up the ass of a baby raper?" You shook your head, "fuck off man, I have nothing to say to you."

He inhaled, "I'm not expecting you to forgive me, but you're an old lady now and you have to do things for the greater good."

You were ready to rip his intestines out but a figure in a hoody walking towards you at speed pull your attention away, "you know that guy?"

Canche turned around and you saw the shotgun, you moved without thinking and threw Canche to the ground as the shot rang out. Everything moved in slow motion as you stood up, the world coming back into focus with a rush of sound and violence as people came running and a shotgun was levelled at your chest, "move, I don't want to you hurt."

You stayed stuck to the spot, "no, if you want to kill this man you'll have to shoot me too."

There was pain, not anger on the man's face and you shook your head violently as the others arrived with their guns drawn, a look to your side revealed a terrified Manny, his face a mix of rage and fear, "are you here because of the drugs?"

The shotgun lowered slightly, "he's the reason my baby boy is dead, him and his dirty drugs. He deserves to die."

You nodded, "I know, had I had the time to think I would have let you shoot him. But we're here now and it's not that I don't agree with you, it's that I can tell you are suffering and this, what you're about to do won't bring your child back. He has a little boy of his own, we might think he deserves everything he gets but I'm sure you know this, a little boy's first hero is his father. You don't want his son to lose that."

The man looked around, "I came here to end things."

You lowered your hands slowly, "I know, but then these men will kill you and then what happens to the people you leave behind?"

He huffed, "I don't have anyone, Shaun was all I had and now he's gone."

You stepped closer and the gun went up a fraction, "if you die, your son, Shuan, dies with you. There will be no one to keep his memory alive. If you leave here now, I swear nothing will happen to you. No one is going to come after you and Shaun's memory won't be sullied by more pain."

He took in a shaky breath and dropped the shotgun, falling to his knees with his face in his hands, "I miss him so much."

You knelt by him and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I can't even imagine what you're going through." You pointed towards Coco, "my friend is going to make sure you leave here safe. Don't come back, I won't be able to save your life a second time."

The moment there was calm, Manny ran up to you and pulled you into his arms, looking over your face with worry, "don't you ever do anything like that again, do you understand me?"

You nodded, "I understand, can we go back inside?" Manny took your hand and you walked back into the Clubhouse, accepting the water that Angel handed you.

"You good?" He kept looking behind you.

"I'm fine, I just want to go back home."

Angel gave you a soft smile, "yeah, we all do."

Someone clearing their throat behind you had you turning around, it was Canche, "what the fuck do you want?"

He swallowed, "you saved my life."

You let out a cynical laugh, "yeah well, it's not like I did it for you. I saw that man's face before he pulled the trigger, he would have regretted it. You are a stain, a pathetic waste of air and if you don't get out of my face, I'm going to shoot you myself."

He walked away, shaking his head and Manny's hand on your back brought your racing heart back down, "you wanna go back to the hotel?"

You nodded, "please."

You could tell that something was wrong the moment to hotel door closed, Manny's eyes filled with emotion as he stared at you, "what the fuck were you thinking, stepping in front of a gun for that piece of shit, if anything had happened…"

His breath caught and you stepped closer to him, cupping his cheek while you ran your thumb over his skin, "nothing was going to happen to me Manny, he wasn't going to be able to pull that trigger and before you say that there's no way I could have known that, this isn't the first time I've had to deal with a parent in that kind of pain."

He blinked away a tear and leaned down to kiss you, "I can't lose you."

In a flash, his fear turned to desperation he and was ripping your clothes off and all but tossing you in the bed. You reached out and pushed his kutte off his shoulders, Manny's lips never leaving yours as you both got naked as fast as you could. You shuffled up and bed and Manny hovered over you, his face filled with love as he rolled you onto your side and threw your leg over his hip.

His hand moved between your legs in a flurry and his fingers slid inside you as his thumb landed on your clit. You moaned into his mouth and Manny's teeth sunk into your lower lip. He pressed his fingertips into your G-spot, his thumb moving faster on your clit, when you were ready enough to take him, he yanked his hand away and used your wetness to slick up his cock, then with a soft please from you, he repositioned his hips and slid inside you slowly.

He let out a grunt and rocked his hips, his hand on your thigh holding you close as you matched his pace. "I love you so much." His tone was almost pained as his hips picked up speed.

He brushed your G-spot as you returned his affection, "I love you too."

He kissed you softly, pulling back just enough to breathe, "tell me you're mine."

His hand moved down to stroke your clit and you gasped, "I'm yours, please I'm yours."

He kissed you again, his lips firmed, "tell me again and I'll let you cum."

His fingers sped up in time with his hips and he brushed your G-spot with each thrust, "I'm yours."

In a flash, he was rolling on top of you and ramming himself inside you with a grunt. You wrapped your legs around his body and pulled him close, burying your face in his neck as he rolled his hip, placing his finger back on your clit while pressing soft kisses to any body part he could reach.

The peak came hard and fast, Manny moaning as you clenched around him, he followed you into bliss soon after, his lips pressing to yours as his hips slowed.

He rolled off you with one last kiss and caught his breath, "you good?"

You sighed, "I'm great. I love you."

Manny grinned, "I love you too, let me clean you up yeah, then we'll order room service."

You looked over the menu while we waited for Manny to return, a smile on his face as he cleaned you up and threw the damp towel in a pile, "anything look good?"

You nodded, "yep Tostones, I could eat my weight in them."

Manny shook his head, "Tostones is it then." You ordered while Manny held you, a soft smile on his face as he ran his hands over your body.

His hand slowly made it's way to your lower stomach, his fingers moving in a gentle brush, "how many kids do you want?"

You shrugged, "more than one, less than four. How many do you want?"

Manny kissed your temple, "however many you'll give me."

You sighed, "marriage first, then a baby."

He smiled softly, "I'm going to buy the lot behind you house."

You blinked, "why?"

His hand moved to squeeze your hip, "because we need a nice place to live so I was thinking we expand the home we already have and that way, you don't need to move and you can have a huge garden. I was even thinking the cats could have a little outside catio so they can spend time outside without risking them getting away and hurting birds."

You smiled, "I think that's great."

Manny kissed your temple, "so that's settled, I buy the lot, we get married and then I give you a baby or two."

You pecked his cheek, "that sounds great."

Ten Months Later

"You ready?" Coco came up behind you and did the last button of your dress, a simple flowy, lace dress, the skirt with only a little fullness and the sleeves sheer and coming to your mid upper arm, Riz had called it bohemian and went on about how it was the best style on the market right now.

You spun and gave him a smile, "yes, yes I'm so ready."

Coco stuck out his arm and Penelope ran outside to signal the music to start, the soft sound of the piano coming through the small white tent you were getting ready in. You began to walk, catching sight of Manny as you got closer to the top of the aisle. When he saw you, his eyes filled with tears, a huge smile coming over his face as you stood next to him.

"Hi." You reached up a wiped a tear from his cheek.

"Hey Mi Amor, you look really pretty."

You giggled, "everyone helped."

Beside you, Angel cleared his troat, "can we get to this? Al this mush is going to make me cry and I don't think that's professional."

You snorted, "you got your licence online, I'm pretty sure we might not even be legally married after this."

Angel ignored you, "dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining of two people, y/n and Emmanuel Ramírez. Are you here of your own free will, with no influence for other?"

You couldn't say yes fast enough, "I'm told you have your own vows?"

You took a deep breath and started first, "I'm normally really good with words but I sat down to write this and had no idea how to put my feelings onto the page. I love you and I have from the moment I laid my eyes on you and while it took a little while for me to say it," the crowd gave a laugh, "I promise that you will always now I love you and cherish you, support and encourage you, I will be there through every storm and every day of sunshine."

Manny had tears running down his face and a quick glance at the crowd showed you that others were in a similar state, Angel wiped his face and sniffed, "holy shit dude, that was deep."

You giggled and Manny started, "you are the best thing that's ever happened to me and I wake up every day grateful that you are the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed. I will spend every day of the rest of our lives telling you how much and in all the ways that I love you. I will make sure you always feel safe, and warm and loved."

You both turned to Angel how took a deep breath, "if anyone has any objections speak now or forever hold your peace. If any one says anything I will shoot you myself." He looked around, "no? Alright, do you y/n take Emmanuel Ramírez be your."

You cut him off, "yes."

Angel huffed "and do you."

Manny didn't even let him get that far, "yes."

Angel sighed and shook his head, "by the power invested in me by the state of Califonia and a shady internet website, I now pronounce you husband and wife you may now.."

You wrapped your arms around Manny and he kissed you before Angel could finish, and he threw his hands up in the air, "I give up." The crowd erupted in cheers as Manny deepened the kiss, dipping you like a prince in a fairy tale.

You pulled away and Manny smiled at you, pecking you one last time before letting you up, "I love you."

You smiled back, "I love you too."

Angel gave a loud clap, "time to party."

Manny had his hand in yours as the speeches started. Angel went first, stepping up to the platform with a smile, he had a pile of papers with him that had you worried and he banged them on the wood before tapping the mic, "all I wanted to say was that I was right." Everyone burst out in laughter and Coco slapped his arm as they swapped places.

Coco took a deep breath before he started, "when y/n and Manny met, I knew something was there, I had never seen y/n smile so wide and I had never heard Manny stutter when he was talking about a woman until her. I can go on and on about how happy I am for them and that I know that they have a long and happy life ahead of them but we all already know that. So all I'm going to say is that I love you both and I'm happy you found each other because you both deserve happiness."

Bishop went next, his face a mix of joy and satisfaction, "getting here has aged in twenty years, if I had a dollar for every time I had to tell one of my brothers to shut up about these two getting together, I would be rich. But we're here now and there's nothing better than being with someone you love. Let's hope it's doesn't take them as long to have a baby because I want a niece or nephew and I can't take the fuckers I'm in charge of bitching about how they haven't made any cute babies yet."

Marcus went last, his speech full of kind sentiments, love for his wife and affection for you and Manny. After he stepped down, Angel clinked his glass and gained everyone's attention, "alright everyone, now to the main reason we're all here. Let's eat."

You walked into your newly renovated home and said hello to the cats before walking to the bedroom hand in hand with Manny. You stood in the middle of the room and Manny took your hands, looking you up and down with a soft smile on his face, "hello wife."

You smiled back, "hello husband, will you help me out of my dress?"

His smile turned into a grin, "hell yeah."

You spun and he unbuttoned the dress, letting it fall to the floor and pool at your feet. You spun back around and Manny looked you over again before leaning down and kissing you softly, "shall we ring in the rest of our lives?"

He bit his lower lip, "hell yeah." He took your face in his hands, bumping your nose with his then kissed you as you sat back on the end of the bed. He raised a single finger to brush the strap of your bra off your shoulders, "I love this set, the white suits you."

You shook your head, "thank you, I picked something I knew you would like."

He smirked, "you picked well." He ran his fingers over the delicate lace flowers, "fuck, I am a lucky man."

You reached up and removed his kutte, Manny's hands going to the buttons of his shirt while his eyes raked over your skin, you went to reach back to unlatch your bra but he stopped you, "let me do that Mi Amor." He knelt on the bed and reached behind you, pressing his lips to your shoulder as the item came free.

You pushed yourself up the bed and Manny caught your panties on the way up, pulling them down your legs and pressing his lips to your claves as he made his way up your body. He kissed your knee, one then swapping to the other before repeating the pattern all the way up to your core.

He kissed the crease of your thigh then lifted your legs over his shoulders, he looked up at you, smiling softy before diving in like a man starved. You placed your hands on his head and stroked his scalp, Manny moaning as your nails gently scratched his skin.

He removed one hand from your leg and used two fingers to circle your entrance before sliding them inside you and pressing his fingertips to your G-spot. He pulled you closer, his lips wrapping around your clit as he moaned against your skin.

You bucked your hips as you got closer and Manny made no move to stop you, his fingers picking up speed and he doubled his efforts with his tongue. You didn't have the chance to warn him before you were arching off the bed and squeezing his fingers for dear life. He chuckled and pulled away, wiping his face with the back of his hand, "that was easy."

You rolled your eyes and tapped him with your foot, "you're smug." You sat up and ran your hands down his body to his cock, wrapping your hand around him and stroking him slowly, "you turn?"

He shook his head, "nah, we have all out lives for you to suck my dick." You laid back down and Manny went with you, holding himself up on his elbows as you reached up and pulled him closer, Manny's lips finding yours as you wrapped your legs around his body.

He kissed the tip of your nose and you giggled then he was reaching down and taking his cock in his hands before rubbing it up and down your slit. You gasped as he pushed inside you, your nails biting into his shoulders as he bottomed out. He rocked his hips slowly while he buried his face in your neck, the hand that was on his cock moving to rub your clit as his hips picked up speed.

He kissed his way from your neck to your face, his lips landing on yours. You pulled him closer and rocked your hips, matching his speed as he pushed your closer to the edge, "Manny please."

He kissed you, his nose brushing yours as he hit his stride, "you don't need to beg me for anything Tesoro." His fingers sped up and he pushed you over the edge as you whimpered into his mouth. He smiled against your lips as he followed you, grunting like an animal while his hand moved from your clit to grip your hip.

His hips slowed and he pulled away, rolling over and taking you with him. You rested your head on his chest and Manny reached up to stroke your cheek, "I love you."

You turned your head and kissed his palm, "I love you too. When do you want to open all out wedding presents?"

Manny chuckled, "why don't we open them tomorrow before we head off on our honeymoon?"

You sighed, "that sounds great."

He placed his hand on your cheek and turned your face towards his, "I love you, more than anything."

You kissed him softly, "I love you too."

The End

Song inspo for the title is Hozier - Would That I

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dkaufmandevelopment · 4 months ago

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“America’s First Car-Free Community”: A Blueprint for Urban Living

In the heart of the Arizona desert, a groundbreaking experiment in urban living is unfolding. Culdesac, just 15 miles from downtown Phoenix, bills itself as “America’s First Car-Free Community.” Built “from scratch,” this innovative development challenges the status quo and offers a glimpse into a future where cars take a back seat.

The Vision

In 2023, nearly 140 residents made their homes in Culdesac, and ambitious plans are underway to expand to accommodate 1,000 residents across 760 apartments on 17 acres by 2025. But what sets this community apart?

Car-Free Living: A Paradigm Shift

No Car, No Problem

At Culdesac, car ownership is optional. Rentals range from $1,500 to $2,280 per month for one- or two-bedroom apartments, with renter incentives that can bring costs down to approximately $1,200 a month. Short-term, fully furnished rentals are also available. Residents enjoy multiple auto-free travel options, including:

Light Rail: A convenient stop right at the neighborhood corner.

E-Bikes: Pedal power for short trips.

Car-Share Station: Stocked with brand-new Chevy Bolt EVs.

Fitness and Freedom

Living without a car has unexpected benefits. No gas or insurance expenses, and it encourages physical activity. Culdesac’s well-designed layout features courtyards, gardens, and an exceptional on-site gym—an amenity that rivals any apartment complex.

Community Connection

Culdesac embodies a people-first philosophy. Social interactions are “built in,” fostering neighborly connections. Movie nights, farmers markets, and friendly bump-ins create a vibrant community spirit. Nate Dicochea, the leasing manager, sums it up: “There’s always something to do and some place to go.”

College Student Appeal

Culdesac resonates with college students who often don’t own cars. The convenience of nearby amenities and the absence of parking hassles make it an ideal choice.

The Road Ahead

Culdesac’s success prompts questions: Could car-free living catch on? The community eyes expansion into Mesa, AZ, and Atlanta. Realtor.com economist Ralph McLaughlin observes, “The emergence of car-free built environments will be an interesting trend to follow.” As America rethinks its car-centric culture, Culdesac leads the way toward a more connected, sustainable future.

Note: Culdesac’s innovative approach challenges traditional norms, but whether it becomes a widespread trend remains to be seen. Stay tuned. 🚶‍♂️🏢🌿

#real estate #investment #danielkaufmanrealestate #economy #housing #daniel kaufman #construction #real estate investing #homes #innovation #technology #architecture #design #planning

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alpinelogy · 4 months ago

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halloooo,,, it's me againnn

would you mind explaining what a time trial is? from what I understand it's similar to quali in motorsport where u try to set the fastest time??? correct me if I'm wrong pls

alsoooooo aren't these races really grueling on the body, like how can pogacar go from giro d Italia straight to the tour aren't you supposed to rest or whtv?

Nonnie... nonnie you have no idea what you just unleashed (op considers time trials the best type of stages in stage races). This is probably a bit more rambly than my earlier answers just cause there are so many thoughts and I am genuinely not sure how much you know adsfgh

Anyway yes you're mostly right with what time trials are, they are usually much shorter stages where instead of all the competing riders starting in one big group (the peloton) they go individually on their own (individual time trial -> ITT) or in their teams (team time trial -> TTT) and they try to set the fastest time possible.

I will skip over TTTs in this since they are rare and I don't know that much about them. For reference the most recent one at Tour de France seems to be in 2019, at any Grand Tour there was actually one last year at Vuelta (Vuelta actually seems to be partial to TTTs anyway from the looks of it lol). Meanwhile there is at least one ITT in each Grand Tour and it is not rare to have multiple of them. This year we have two at Tour de France.

In ITTs, each riders rides for themselves and tries to set the best time possible, just like in quali, except they do not have the help from their teammates. They ride in predetermined order, usually a descending order from the rider with the highest total time to the lowest total time and have only one shot at setting a time.

Re the teammate thing: you see the thing with cycling is that we have made it into a team sport. Somehow. The way most teams act is that the riders ride one after another, with the riders behind catching slipstream from the ones in front so that they use less energy, with the leader in the back so he can use his spare energy at the very end (this behavior of conserving energy through a slipstream is not exclusive to teams and if there is a group of riders in front if the main group (a breakaway) they will most likely do this and it is slightly more complicated because of terrain, stage types, etc but essentially this is the barebones idea).

ITTs essentially neutralize that, and the time each rider set is purely from their own efforts, no slipstreams, no help, no nothing. Which means that if they have an off day it can have catastrophic results (see Tour de France 2020 stage 20. Roglič is not a bad time trialist but he had an off day and it cost him the entire race) and if they have a good day it can be wonderful for the entire race.

Also while it does not directly relate to your question, I need to mention it for the laughs. There are actually specific bikes and helmets for time trials and they... they tend to look rather silly

The infamous Visma Lease a Bike time trial helmet... aerodynamics I suppose

So yes, they are sort of like quali. However the riders get only one shot at setting the time and the conditions on the course can also change, so doing your best is really important.

And yeah. These races are hard. There is about a month between end of Giro and beginning of Tour. No, no one knows how Pogačar manages. Also hes doing the Olympics this year as well.

#ask #anonymous #cycling anon #you get a name now :3c #fellow cycling enthusiasts feel free to add your own thoughts and knowledge <3. i appreciate it very much

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cryoculus · 2 years ago

Text

— reparations 01 ⟢

a man walks into a bar— no, smashes his bike into your shop: what do you do?

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 5.3k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, kuki shinobu, thoma, kaedehara kazuha

★ WARNINGS; motorcycle accidents, blood imagery, hospital visits, but nothing too gory or violent

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

“Thank you for your patronage!”

The elderly woman, who’s also your first customer for the day, grins as she receives the bouquet from your grasp. “No, thank you, dear. Your arrangements are always so lovely.”

You managed a soft laugh, the ping of the cash register resounding in the air. “You flatter me too much, Amane-san! I’m just like any other florist out there.”

“Any other florist wouldn’t dare put up shop in this part of town, though,” she chuckles, gentle fingers caressing a patch of baby’s breath rather fondly. “Though you make it much easier to bring flowers to my husband, aren’t you afraid? You know who runs this district, don’t you?”

“Sure do,” you say, tearing off the receipt printed out by the register before handing it to her. “They’re the ones who own this complex after all.”

Amane nods, smile not faltering. “Then you’ll be just fine. Most folks from the city are quick to judge little Arataki’s gang. Bunch of troublemakers, they said, but what they don’t know is that they’re the ones who keep Hanamizaka the way it is… Oh, never mind me! This is just an old lady’s rambling.”

“Not at all.” You shook your head. “I don’t think the, uh, Arataki Gang’s all that bad. At least their secretary isn’t. Oh, here she comes now.”

The chimes on the front door tinkle softly at the entrance of a new customer that you receive with a kind smile. Kuki Shinobu is not your everyday right-hand woman to Hanamizaka’s band of thugs. For someone managing a rather…unorthodox organization, she seems a bit more put-together than you would otherwise assume gangsters should be. When Shinobu walks into your flower shop, she looks like any other straight-laced college student you’ve come across in the city—looking around as if she didn’t drop by every morning.

“Oh, Shi-chan!” Amane gushes. “I didn’t know you were looking after our newcomer here. The boys didn’t cause any trouble, I hope?”

Shinobu sighs. “The last tenant packed his bags and left because they scared away all his customers. I explicitly told them not to bother the next one that tenders a lease with us.” Turning to you, she spares a small smile. “Speaking of which, good morning.”

“Good morning to you, too, Shinobu,” you chirp. “Is it gonna be the usual for today?”

“Yeah. Oh, wait, no. Do you have anything more fragrant? Specifically something that calms the nerves?” she asks, reaching into her backpack to hand you an ornate vase that seems more expensive than it looks. “Our boss has been feeling off-kilter for the past two days, and his mood swings aren’t doing anyone favors.”

“How about you fix her up with some silk flowers, dear?” Amane suggests, gesturing to the bouquet in her hands. “My husband adored them, and we always ordered some seeds from the old flower shop in the city back in the day. I’m sure little Arataki will snap out of it once he gets a whiff of them in that cramped office of his.”

“Does that work for you?” you ask Shinobu, and she nods. “Alright, give me…fifteen minutes to prep, and we’ll be all set!”

This is how your mornings usually turn out.

For a quick backstory: after living in the capital of Inazuma City for the past twenty-four years, you decided to move out of your old childhood home and live independently. It was a decision that neither of your parents were happy to agree with at first, but you managed to meet the conditions they’d set once you graduated from college. Those being: 1.) Have a stable source of income; and 2.) Don’t move too far away.

It took you a couple of months to survey whether a flower shop would flourish in the neighboring district of Hanamizaka. But once you’ve confirmed that the business opportunity was too good to pass up—the elderly living in this area seriously had a green thumb or two—you decided to hunt for a good apartment and commercial space as soon as you could. That’s how you ended up meeting Shinobu, the secretary (or was it deputy?) of the so-called Arataki Gang. Apart from their supposed claim over this district, they also owned a two-floor building that they rented out for extra revenue.

You’ve only heard about the gang in passing during your college days, when one of your friends accidentally waltzed into their territory once. They took his presence as a threat, apparently, and the boss was quick to issue a challenge in the streets of Hanamizaka. Needless to say, the tall tale only made you more curious with the things that go on outside the city. Now here you are, about three weeks into your new lease in a place legally owned by the Arataki Gang.

But…despite all the stories told by Amane and some of your other customers, you haven’t seen any members lingering around. It’s mostly just Shinobu that gives your shop the time of day, and if you did happen to spot anyone that resembles a gangster, they were quick to scat. As if they’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

And with all the countless complaints you’ve heard about the boss from Shinobu (“Little Arataki”, as Amane liked to address him), you’re yet to meet the man in the flesh.

It’s not like you want to be introduced to someone who can potentially be a yakuza, but…

“Meow.”

As you clean up the leftover stems on your work table, your tabby, Mikan, hops onto the counter behind you, tail swishing with imminent curiosity. You toss the plastic bag containing the disposed remains of Shinobu’s most recent purchase into the bin, clapping the residue off your hands. When you reach out to scratch under her ears, Mikan purrs out a delightful little sound.

“It’s about time we ate some brunch, yeah?”

The next morning, you open up shop like usual. Checking up on plants that need supplementing, calling in for another order of clay pots (your stock is rapidly depleting), and entertaining orders from customers that step inside the store. The clear glass of the display windows makes it fairly easy to spot anyone that might harbor an interest in all things botanical, so you always manage to greet everyone with a sunny disposition.

Well, almost everyone.

“So when do you plan on telling her again?” Your eye twitches as you put together a very extravagant sweet flower bouquet. “We’ve been friends since freshman year, and you’ve liked her since freshman year. That was, what? Six years ago? And you still haven’t told her?”

Thoma pouts at you. “Hey, you talk like admitting your feelings for someone is a walk in the park.”

“It’s not, but keeping quiet for six years is so uncool, Thoma!”

“Not like I’m trying to be cool,” he mumbles. “Oh, do you have any of those cherry blossom designs, by the way? Do you think they’ll look nice with the bouquet?”

You shoot him one last condescending look before rummaging through the cabinets near the windows. Each level contains different flower-arranging paraphernalia. From scented wrapping paper to customized wicker baskets—everything you need to fashion one creative bouquet to another is readily available; artificial embellishments like the one Thoma wants included.

… if they’re in stock, that is.

“Hate to break it to you, but I forgot someone placed an order that used up all my cherry blossom stems last week,” you sigh. “I think I can get my hands on some new stock later in the day, though. I’ll just have someone deliver it to your place or something… Unless you’re finally going to confess to Ayaka for real. I can definitely improvise if that’s the case.”

Thoma laughs, but the sound is a bit dry. “It’s just a little congratulations for securing a partnership with Watatsumi University. You know how serious she is about her job, right?”

Kamisato Ayaka is, indeed, the overachiever in your old college friend group. After graduation, she was offered a distinguished position in the Faculty of International Relations & Culture—something everyone agreed she deserved and more. You haven’t been able to keep in touch with Ayaka since you moved out of your parents’ house, but Thoma is thankfully here to update you about their goings-on.

“Fine, fine. Just have it delivered,” Thoma tells you, pulling out his wallet only to inevitably frown at it. You heave another sigh. “Uh, put it on my tab for next time?”

“This is a flower shop, not a bar, asshole,” you mumble, and when you return back to the counter, Mikan chooses that exact same moment to pop her head out—mewling in delight when she sees Thoma.

“Oh, Mikan, if only your owner is as kind to me as you are,” he fake-sobs, carrying your cat in his arms as she snuggles into his grasp. Damn traitor. “I promise I’ll pay you once I get this week’s payroll. But I’ll be taking my leave now because you know that being here gives me the jitters.”

Right. The friend that got challenged into a duel by the Arataki Gang? That was Thoma.

Once he steps out of the shop, you sink into your little swiveling chair behind the counter—head tilted listlessly towards the ceiling. The greens growing on your plant hangers are looking a little dull, and you wonder if you should move the rack closer to the windows. But despite your attempt at distracting yourself, the exasperation from Thoma’s inability to be honest eventually catches up to you. Mikan hops onto your lap in the next second, as if sensing your distress, and you run a hand across her orange fur with a sigh.

“When I get a boyfriend, I want him to be as straightforward as a man can get.”

“Mrow.”

“If he ever skirts around his true feelings, I’m never going to accept him.”

“Mrow.”

You let out a soft chuckle, lifting her by the waist as she flashes you a disgruntled look. But before she can let out any mewls in complaint, you pull her closer to your chest with a long breath.

“You’re the only one who gets me, Mikan. Even if you like Thoma more than me sometimes.”

“Meow.”

“...Did you just agree with me?”

“Mrow~”

Half an hour before closing time, your usual delivery boy arrives on the dot to receive the order. Kazuha greets you warmly when he walks into the shop, and of course, Mikan bounds into his arms just like she does with everyone but you, it seems.

“Someone’s looking quite chipper today,” he comments before setting your tabby back onto the floor. “Where am I delivering your package again?”

You hand Kazuha the neatly wrapped bouquet—complete with Thoma’s requested specifications—and check the virtual map of the city from your phone at the same time. “Um, the apartment complex right next to Uyuu Restaurant. I texted you the exact floor and unit.”

“Got it.”

Forgetting that you’re supposed to pay him for his services, you hobble back to the counter to retrieve enough mora to cover the delivery costs. Kazuha thanks you kindly when you hand over the payment, and he drops the money into the cute little fanny pack he wears all the time.

“The app is going to let you know once the delivery is complete as usual,” he tells you, already halfway out of the shop. “Thank you again for trusting our services.”

“I wouldn’t dream of switching couriers at all,” you chuckle.

Kazuha humors you with a soft laugh, but just when you thought he’s going to end the exchange right there—

“Oh, you best be careful, by the way.”

Your brow quirks. “Pardon?”

He sighs, casting a worried look your way. “I heard that the tensions have been a bit high between the Arataki Gang and another organization I’m not familiar with. It seems that the dispute has been stirring things up not just in Hanamizaka, but the capital as well.”

It takes you a moment to fully absorb Kazuha’s words, but when you do, your curiosity only festers. Is that why Shinobu’s boss has been on edge lately? Because of the dispute?

“You don’t need to worry about me,” you reassure him with a smile—picking Mikan off the floor as you set her down on the counter. “I live on the second floor anyways, so there’s no reason to go out unless I need to get some groceries. Or visit my parents.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to be more cautious, right?” Kazuha laughs. “Well, see you soon.”

Closing time isn’t as really as lonely as you thought it would be. Despite Mikan’s indecipherable habits, she often helps clean up because the faster you can take care of things in the shop, the faster she can eat dinner. You don’t blame her for the strange source of motivation, though. If anything, you’re feeling a bit famished yourself, too.

“Hmm… I wonder what I should cook for dinner,” you wonder aloud, resting your chin on top of your broom. “Tonkatsu sounds really neat right now, but it’s kind of a pain to make the batter and everything. Ugh…”

Eventually, you continue sweeping the floor just to get your hands moving. You make sure to check your phone every now and again for some texts from your parents, as well. They did like asking if you’ve already eaten dinner at this hour. But ten minutes into your final clean-up, you notice that Mikan has gone stock-still on the counter—green eyes wide and staring out like she saw a mouse scuttling across the windowsill. You make a puzzled face before glancing over your shoulder, but the only thing that greets your sight is the early evening traffic of Hanamizaka.

“Anything the matter?” you ask, but Mikan doesn’t even mewl in response. Your usually hyperactive tabby is just transfixed on the bustling nightlife in a way you haven’t seen before. But you read somewhere that animals often have bouts of odd silence every now and again, so you decide to brush it off.

Just when you're climbing up the stairwell that leads to your actual apartment, Mikan doesn't follow you even if you’re about to switch off the lights. She remains seated on the counter, tail swaying rhythmically like she’s waiting for something to happen.

“Mikan, come on.” You cross your arms. “Don’t you want dinner?”

What is up with this cat today?

However, the next second, an ear-splitting roar shatters the silence of the evening—cleaving through you like an axe through sturdy bark. The sound rattles you enough that you nearly fall off the stairwell, but when you spot a speck of blinding light in the distance, speeding closer and closer in a way that seems like they have no intention of stopping—

“Mikan!”

You know very well that cats have the most graceful reflexes out there; that Mikan can jump out of the way of imminent danger the moment it strikes. But she’s been by your side for a good few years now, so you guess it’s natural for you to develop a strange maternal instinct, of sorts.

Without putting another thought into it, you sprint off the stairwell and leap in front of the counter. An unknown vehicle smashes through the windows a split second later—sending shrapnels of glass flying everywhere. The screech of an engine makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shielding Mikan as you turn your back towards the commotion. In the back of your mind, it clicks to you that whatever dickhead ran their ride into your shop, they probably ended up destroying the Sumerian dracaenas you put up on display. But you’ll give them an earful for that later.

You only realize your heart is threatening to break out of your ribcage once Mikan starts mewling in your arms—pawing at your shirt. A shuddering sigh flees your lips as you hug her closer to your chest.

“Thank gods you’re alright,” you murmur, patting down her fur.

But the next thing you take notice of is the feel of the warm, evening breeze drifting into the shop. When you turn around to survey the situation, you take note of several things at once: the gaping hole in your shop, the passers-by stopping to take a look, the huge, extensively modified motorcycle lying on its side next to a ruined shelf, and—

“Shit.” You immediately let Mikan hop out of your arms as you shakily stand up—mortified at the crimson liquid pooling beneath the head of an unfamiliar man. Under the fluorescent lighting of your shop, you can safely assume that this is definitely blood.

For a moment, you panic—unsure of the protocol for when a reckless driver crashes his bike into your shop. You can’t exactly yell at him for doing that, since he was obviously out cold. So, the next thing you try to take into account is the state of his motorcycle.

It’s one of those variants with lowered seats and longer handles. The kind that you imagine the local thugs use to show off in groups. And just beneath the single, jewel-encrusted headlight is a golden sigil that slightly resembles a…dragon? A demon? You’re not entirely sure, but you’ve watched enough action movies with Thoma back in the day to know that you should switch off the engine to avoid further casualties.

As you step over the large man lying unconscious on the floor of your shop, you twist the key in the ignition slot, taking it out with a bated breath. You notice that it’s attached to a crocheted plush of a tanuki, and that makes you stare at the man in disbelief.

This time, you’re able to get a better look at him.

It occurs to you a bit too late that the huge motorcycle is just appropriate for a guy that’s both ridiculously tall and has the broadest shoulder-span you’ve ever seen. His shaggy, ivory hair is sprawled all over the place, and some of it’s getting dyed in the bright red of his own blood. Grotesque details aside, he’s wearing nothing but a purple patterned haori— giving you an eyeful of the strange red tattoos inked into his impressive chest. But you have enough decency not to ogle someone who’s passed out, so once you pocketed his keys, you crouch down to lightly pat his face.

“Sir?” you call out. “Are you conscious? I’m going to call an ambulance, okay?”

That seems to make him stir.

He opens his eyes—squinting at the bright lights of the shop. From the way his blood red irises keep drifting in and out of focus, you assume that he definitely has a concussion. But before you can even get up to look for your phone, the reckless driver tugs you back down by the wrist. You cry out in surprise but you’re reflexive enough to plant your palms on the ground before you fall into the man’s chest.

Your breath hitches when you find yourself staring deep into the red of his eyes, and you can’t even flinch away when he raises a large, calloused hand to cup the side of your face.

“You’re so pretty.”

And that's the last thing he says before slumping back to the floor.

You don’t really remember the last time you stepped inside Inazuma General Hospital, but each one only left a bitter taste in your mouth. Today’s visit to the emergency room is no different.

You fidget with your phone—chewing the inside of your cheek as you try not to let the scent of disinfectant get to your nerves. There aren’t a lot of people inside the waiting lounge with you, and you aren’t really in the mood to strike up conversation with anyone at the moment. So it’s just you and the messy haywire of thoughts currently fogging up your brain. You can’t even bring yourself to give Kazuha’s usual 5-star rating once he completed your delivery earlier because you feel that antsy.

To be fair, you’re not really bothered by the prospect of bringing an injured man to receive the medical care he direly needs. Even if he destroyed plants and display cases worth over a hundred thousand mora, you’re not so heartless that you’ll leave him to bleed to death in your shop out of spite. You even left Mikan and your shop in the care of your next-door neighbor out of the urgency to bring that guy to the hospital.

But the thing that’s unnerving you the most right now is…the man’s identity.

On the ambulance ride here, the paramedics managed to procure some ID from a wallet he kept in the trunk of the motorcycle. Lo and behold, you’re finally given a name to the careless prick who gave you a hassle and a half as a present for your first meeting.

Arataki Itto.

You tried not to jump to conclusions at first (maybe this is a different Arataki). But the paramedics seemed familiar enough with the guy that when they loaded him inside the ambulance, you could tell that this might not be the first time they brought this specific person to the hospital under the same degree of injury.

The sound of your name being called from the entrance snaps you out of your musing.

“It’s good that you brought him in as soon as you could,” says one of the doctors that oversaw Arataki’s first aid and treatment. “He seems to have suffered blunt head trauma, and I’m assuming it occurred before Arataki-san crashed into your shop. Is that right? The nurses get the stories mixed up sometimes.”

Blunt head trauma? So he ran your shop over because he was already injured beforehand?

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “Um, is he going to be okay?”

He nods. “We’ve administered the medication he requires right now, and he should be out cold for the next few hours. I also had the folks from the front desk reach out to his emergency contact. You’ve done enough, so we’ll be taking Arataki-san’s situation out of your hands now.”

Unable to contain your own curiosity, you decide to ask, “...Does this happen often? You guys seem awfully relaxed about having to deal with a gangster.”

“Oh, once you’ve spent enough time tending to those boys, you’ll come to realize they aren’t as bad as people make them out to be,” the doctor laughs as he goes over the clipboard in his hands. You wonder if he’s talking about the rest of the Arataki Gang. “Arataki-san frequents this hospital a lot—not as a patient, but as a companion. When one of his gang members gets into a violent squabble, he patiently sits in this same waiting room until they’re all patched up.”

The information makes your lips part in equal parts disbelief and admiration. You never would’ve imagined a big, hulking man like him showing an ounce of compassion for the men he’s in charge of. But when you recall how gently he caressed your face earlier—red eyes shining with honest sincerity as he says, You’re so pretty—

“Shinya-sensei,” a nurse calls out from the hall, effectively yanking you back to reality. “Kuki-san just arrived. She wishes to talk to the one who brought Arataki-san in.”

Oh, right. It would make sense for Shinobu to be Arataki’s emergency contact. When Doctor Shinya glances at you for your confirmation, you nod at him and follow the nurse out of the room.

You find Shinobu with a chair pulled up next to an unconscious Arataki’s bed in the emergency wards—staring resentfully into space until she catches wind of your arrival. Her eyes widen with disbelief as she gets back to her feet.

“It’s you,” Shinobu murmurs before groaning into her hands. “Why did it have to be you…?”

You feel a prick of offense at that. “I’m sorry?”

She sighs, and you realize that Shinobu’s backpack is lying at the foot of her chair. Did she rush from school to the hospital immediately after hearing the news?

“No, no. I’m grateful that you brought in our boss,” she explains, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s just that… Gods, Master is going to kill us.”

“Master?”

“It’s nothing!” Shinobu insists, and you startle a little because she’s always been a bit soft-spoken. Right now, she’s the epitome of a stressed college student that has more pressing problems outside of her bachelor’s degree. “Forgive me, my thoughts are just…all over the place. I was consulting some revisions for my thesis when I got the call and—ugh! Why does Itto have to go overboard every. Single. Time?!”

You can see the nurse that came with you scuttling out of the scene when Shinobu starts to complain aloud, and you understand the sentiment. You aren’t sure what to make of the outburst she’s laying off on you at the moment, but you decide not to comment on it. Being a college senior and the deputy for a gang are two very different things. It’s amazing that Shinobu can even handle them both at the same time.

“Hey,” you call out, rubbing a hand on her shoulder. “If you need to sort out your stuff with that thesis of yours, I could always just watch over him for the night.”

Shinobu’s face falls. “What? But your shop got trashed by this guy, right? The nurse told me so.”

“Well, yeah, but Shinobu, you look like you’re about to short-circuit any second,” you point out. “I had my neighbor watch over the shop and my cat earlier, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Even though someone could rob the cash register and I might end up bankrupt.”

You punctuate the words with an uneasy laugh that makes you realize that you really did just leave your incredibly vulnerable shop in the hands of a neighbor that you haven’t known all that long. Shinobu is quick to pick up on your split-second epiphany though, and fishes out her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll have some of the boys watch over your place in the meantime,” she sighs, tapping away at the screen. “If someone tries to rob you, they’ll have to answer to the Arataki Gang— What’s so funny?”

You hide your soft chuckles with the back of your hand. “Nothing. It’s just that you’re so quick to do a complete one-eighty degrees. Earlier you’re a lamenting college senior and now you’re back to deputy-of-the-Arataki-Gang mode.”

“It’s important to keep these aspects of my life separate from the other,” Shinobu sighs before bowing in front of you. This shocks you a little, because no one in modern day Inazuma still does that right? “I’m terribly sorry for the inconveniences our boss has caused, and for calling in a favor from you at such short notice. Rest assured, the Arataki Gang will make up for it however we can.”

“Uh…” you draw out dryly, unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. “It’s really not an inconvenience, Shinobu. I’ll be more worried about you if you end up missing deadlines because you had to look after your boss.”

Shinobu rises back to her full height, tears glistening in her eyes. Um…

“Thank you so much,” she nearly sobs, throwing her arms around you in a hug. “I promise I’ll rush back here first thing tomorrow and discuss the reparations with you and our idiot boss.”

You relax into her arms, patting her head affectionately. “Take your time. I won’t go anywhere.”

When Shinobu takes her tearful leave, you end up staring at your impromptu patient with a desolate sigh. True to Doctor Shinya’s words, Arataki is out cold—the only indication that he’s alive being the steady rise and fall of his broad chest. They managed to change him into a loose hospital gown, but you can still see the heavy outline of his tattoos under the thin fabric.

You decide to take a seat in the same chair Shinobu was just having a midlife crisis in earlier, checking your back pocket for your wallet. Thankfully, it was still there, and you can at least afford to buy yourself some convenience store sandwiches and a coffee. Archons know you can’t exactly stomach a full meal after everything that transpired tonight. But you decide to linger for a while longer before heading out to grab something to eat.

The circumference of Arataki’s head is wrapped in a sterile white gauze that makes his hair look more cream-colored than ivory, and you notice that his arm is hooked up to an IV at the other side of his bed. Your forehead creases with how hard you’re thinking about what must’ve happened for him to end up in this state. If Kazuha’s earlier warnings had any real weight to them, you’re willing to wager that it has something to do with his gang’s current disputes. But Doctor Shinya also mentioned that Arataki rarely comes into the hospital as a patient, so why…?

Your phone buzzes in your lap, startling you out of your reverie.

Thoma [21:15]: Got the flowers! Heading over to Ayaka’s rn

You roll your eyes, the dread from your earlier musing immediately dissipating from a single text from Thoma.

Me [21:15]: Confess or ten years bad luck.

Thoma [21:16]:

Me [21:18]: I’m not even trying to make you reblog shit! Just confess!!!!!!!

Thoma [21:19]: Maybe next time 😌

“Ow, fuck.”

Once again, you jolt in surprise when another distraction greets your vision in the form of a very conscious Arataki trying to pull the needle out of his arm. Your eyes widen and you immediately shoot back to your feet, pinning his meaty arms to his sides with your hands. You try not to pay attrention to how the girth of his muscle dwarves your fingers. When the hell did he even wake up?!

“Hm?” Arataki stares at you, just as baffled. “As much as I like a lady that can hold me down, I gotta get outta here, nee-chan. Can’t you help me out or something?”

“Shinobu asked me to watch over you for the night,” you tell him through gritted teeth—not liking how he’s not even struggling to shake off your grip. “So please don’t cause her any more trouble than you already have. Just stay here and let yourself recover like a good little gang boss.”

Arataki’s eyes widen slightly. “Whoa, I’m totally not discovering inappropriate things about myself in the most inappropriate times.”

“Just go back to sleep!” you groan. “If you rip out that IV, I’m calling the nurses.”

“Jeez, alright, alright,” he surrenders, even making a show of lying back down on his pillows. “Who are you anyway? The last time I had a lady fuss over me this much was when I…”

You don’t know why, but the fact that he just forgot who you are kind of stings a little. The realization makes you want to slap yourself. This is the man who ran his bike into your shop. He deserves no form of sulking on your end! Who cares if he forgot that he called you pretty in a post-concussion delirium?!

“Whatever,” you tell him, bringing your hands back to your sides with a huff. “I’m going to grab something to eat. You better not pull an escape act while I’m gone.”

“Nee-chan, the more you discourage me, the more I’m inclined to do it,” Arataki points out as he rests his chin on his free hand. You then notice that he painted his nails stark black. “But fine. Can you bring me some yakisoba bread when you come back though? Oh, and a Pocari, too? Hospital food tastes like ass.”

You gape at him. Is he serious? Is he really this shameless?

“Whatever!” you repeat more firmly before stepping out of the ward—not caring how many times Arataki calls out for you.

It wasn’t obvious at the time, but if you intended to lead a quiet, independent life, the last thing you should’ve done is to get involved with the Oni King of Hanamizaka.

★ UPDATE SCHED; every thurs & sat (12 nn gmt+8)

#genshin impact #genshin #arataki itto #arataki itto x reader #arataki itto fluff #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #arataki itto genshin #cryoculus #reparations

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