#sometimes i can just ignore it for a while

[yogsandchaos]

The hermit community is pretty old so I probably don’t have to say this, but I know a lot of people in the fandom are young; but here’s a few tips from an old school yog fan

1. just because someone has left or did a bad thing, doesn’t mean you’re a bad person for enjoying the content, along with still wanting to watch that old content they did or were a part of

2. Just because someone has left or did a bad thing does not mean you cannot continue to make fan content. While it’s understandable if you don’t make more or remove art you have made, you are also not bad if you don’t. YouTube is all about collaboration and transformation. Fanart? Fanfic? Cosplay? That’s all transformative, you don’t have to stop making a new thing from the old thing. It’s fully in your right to do so, but it’s not required.

3. Do not harass people about whether they do or don’t make art or delete art, it’s transformative works and personal choice, the most you should do is ask for it to be tagged so it can be filtered.

4. Don’t harass the creators either, it’s clearly been handled and handled well. If this was a case of it being ignored for years by the company or group (COUGH SJIN YOGSCAST COUGH) then it would be more complicated, but it’s a solved issue. Don’t harass iskall or stress either

5. You are allowed to hold off on making a value judgment until you have more information. We don’t have a lot of information and things around kids media tend to be a lot more stricter then adults for what’s appropriate. so it could be a lot of different things of highly varying morality ranging from assault to a bad case of public intoxication that didn’t fit the child friendly brand of the Hermits. We don’t know. Especially about Stress her resignation and how it relates is a near total mystery right now.

6. Be kind to each other, and remember the people you watch are people, and people do dumb or fucked shit sometimes, it sucks, but these are just people, hopefully it’s something to be grown from by Iskall and not something life ruining, but let this remind everyone to not put people on pedestals as unproblematic. Every hermit has probably held an opinion or been a part of something you’d find distasteful, that’s just what it means to be human. It’s up to you to decide where your personal line is and your comfort levels on that stuff, and no one can make that choice for you.

[goingmerryfics]

How would Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and even Ace feel when they see their S/O wearing their clothes for the first time in the beginning of their relationship, like a shirt or a hat (if Luffy and Ace allow their s/o to wear it?)

S/O wearing their clothes for the first time - Luffy, Sanji, & Ace

Content: fluffy established relationship moments, they love you! Sanji is a perv but lovingly <3

Notes* hiiii so I can only do up to 3 characters in a request, and after thought I decided to go with these three :) I love Zoro but I couldn’t figure out what article of clothing to write about, so maybe part 2??

Luffy

If it were someone he didn’t know or wasn’t close to, Luffy would immediately feel like they were invading his personal space and demand that hat right back

Even with other crewmates, he only really lets Nami touch his hat and that’s only if need be

But when it comes to you, it’s different

He knows you’ll respect and keep it safe, but it’s a hard feeling to explain. He would trust his whole crew with his hat if need be, but he only wants you to have it

He doesn’t really understand the feeling, he just likes seeing you in it sometimes

Since his hat is so important to him, seeing his partner wear it would make him feel extremely happy that they recognize its meaning

It also solidifies the idea in his head that you’ll be at his side when he becomes the pirate king

For Luffy, love is about sharing his adventures and dreams. Seeing that hat on your head is the loudest declaration of love that he could ever know

Sanji

Sanji doesn’t have very many comfy clothes and he doesn’t have a hat you can wear, but there’s something about wearing his dress shirts to bed that’s extremely comfortable

Maybe it’s because they smell like his cologne, or because they’re baggy on you, but you always steal a clean one to shirt in

He loves it. 

He always ends up with a nosebleed when he sees your sleepy face in nothing but his shirt, draping past your thighs with just a small pair of shorts on under them

That view of your legs, how his shirt swallows you up

You could practically see the steam coming out of his nose while his face turns bright red, heated by the blush in his cheeks

He will definitely say a few pervy things without shame and Nami would probably have to shut him up

Ace

Ace is the one who puts the hat on your head more than you taking it to do so

He likes seeing you in something of his, and his hat is the one thing that he doesn’t mind sharing at all

If you can ignore the sweaty smell, you’re good. His Devil Fruit doesn’t help with that, being hot all the time and all

He makes a show out of it whenever he needs to protect you from anyone by taking off his hat and placing it on your head before diving into a fight

He’s had that hat ever since he set off, and he intends to wear it until the end of his journey. Seeing you in it as well just adds to his growing memories that he’s going to make along his journey

He doesn’t like it when you wear your own hats or hair pieces because he wants your head to be free just in case he feels the need to see you in his hat

It’s a symbol of their strong connection, and that you are truly part of his life, not just a passing moment

[whokilledsamara]

I love your Homicipher hc, they are so good! Would you be willing to do some N/ SFW for Mr. Chopped too? Like you did for some of the others? I understand if you don't want to or if it makes you uncomfortable, thank you anyway!

MR. CHOPPED N/SFW HCS

a hc list of Mr. Chopped x reader {an: SORRY GUYS IM POSTING MAINLY HCS RN,,, fics for me take a lot longer than usual so im just posting hcs to atleast get some reach.}

warnings! : smut, cunnilingus/blowjob, idk,,, cuckhold

{an: freaky shit,,,, like hes just a head so its kinda hard to fuck. did give him a section for IF he had a body.. MAINLY HIM GIVING HEAD,, i didnt rly know how to write this im sorry!! def will write more tho,,, im into him ngl}

SFW

what it would be like to be in a relationship with Mr. Chopped.

it would be relatively hard to be in a relationship with him for obvious reasons, though not impossible!

the thought of you makes him happy, and especially when you hold him.

he would have Mr. Silvair help most of the time. usually for the romantic aspects of things though.

while Mr. Silvair doesnt quite understand the relationship, he is glad to help.

being a talking head will obviously raise a few insecurities, so just reassure him that you indeed do love him! he gets his feelings hurt easily.

he absolutely loves when you play with his hair. if you put bows in it or decorate it, that will make it all the more special for him.

the first time he bit you when he was sleeping, had him crying for hours. he felt so bad that he harmed you in any way, and it took a while for him to "recover"

he loves kisses! he always shouts things like "Up, Up" or "Desire, Carry!" just so he can kiss you.

if you manage to get a hold of make up or something, he would absolutely love for you to do his makeup. {he likes to feel pretty}

he is a very sensitive boy, also a crybaby. how cuuuttteee...

if Mr. Silvair gives him a body, {ignore that one ending... we dont talk about it} then he wpuld be even more excited to see you.

the moment he gets a body would mean so many hugs and affection as a thank you for saving him.

he gets picked on a lot by the others so he usually tries his best to come to you.

NSFW

sex...?

sex is definitely a hard concept with him.

while yes, it is possible, just not in the way intended.

you could see him more as a pure object for your pleasure honestly, and he wants that.

whether you are amab or afab, he is perfect for the situation.

ive seen this referenced by another writer, but he would be like a "rose toy" or a "fleshlight" as people call it.

its a secret pleasure to watch you go at it with someone else. {ex: Mr. Silvair or someone.}

if he is gifted a body though, he definitely will pay you back for saving him in the first place.

personally he would be a soft and sensual lover with his new body, rarely going rough unless specifically asked to.

he is more of a giving top. definitely not dominant but is a top. he cares more about your pleasure than his. though, he does get all giddy when you wish to go down on his or something.

he is open to literally anything you want, he would have very few limitations on what he would do, but everything is open for discussion.

again, definitely either wants to watch you have sex with someone else, OR wants someone else to watch you and him go at it. {he would prefer Silvair.}

he definitely likes when you pull his hair or use him. will be submissive sometimes.

he is the type to cry during sex...

omfmg i love him sm

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Mr. Crawling

Content: SFW hcs + Established relationship + Overprotection + Manipulation + Baby trapping + clingy! Mr. Crawling + Gaslighting + Somnophilia + Stalking + Death + Breeding kink + Slight size difference.

Summary: Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to keep his deep love secret from you

Note: I hope all of you are having a good day!! I'm trying to do my essays but they're so boring... Let me know if you have any suggestions/things you want to say to me, I love answering to people!!

SFW:

Human! Mr. Crawling who falls in love as soon as he sees your face.

Human! Mr. Crawling who decides to try and keep you safe and protect you from all possible dangers. This ranges from leaving small gifts for you, buying you something to eat when he hears a rumble close to him, or buying you a drink if he has seen you working so hard on keeping up with all the classes, to sometimes intimidating the other guys that kept trying to get closer to you.

Human! Mr. Crawling who tries his hardest to speak to you, even if it's just a few words to make sure you know he's listening to you. Nodding his head and keeping his eyes completely focused on your face.

Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to make himself look smaller, crunching a bit and walking with his back a bit arched, not something that can be easily noticeable for others, but just enough to reduce the height difference between the two of you.

Human! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to make you feel safe with him, allowing him to get into your bedroom, even to the point of making a sleepover. He just had to try his hardest not to act in any weird manner.

Human! Mr. Crawling who keeps following you like a lost puppy. You can almost see two ears and a tail appear when he acts like a small puppy, being easily excited when you compliment him, even if it's for the smallest things.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who begins to feel how his pure love becomes something more twisted the moment he realises more people keep getitng interested in you. He looks so kind when you look at him, but as soon as you turn your head, his gaze becomes much darker, his expression is always serious, his brows slightly furrowed as he tries to keep himself restrained.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of you great "friendship" and starts to try and get rid of your friends. He keeps on interrupting when you meet with your other friends, creating different reasons why he just couldn't wait to meet you, as he truly needed you.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of his sickly aspect to make you worry about him, calling you to ask you for small gestures, making sure that they are small enough to avoid you from refusing him.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to ask you out. He made sure to get rid of each and all your friends who could get in the way of your relationships, after all, he is everything you need, right?

NSFW:

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who had already seen you way before both of you met each other in class, his phone filled to the brim with pictures of you. The fact that most of them involve you in embarrasing positions while the rest are of your sleeping face. They definitely have no effect on him, hell no (just ignore the raging bulge he gets from seeing your lips slightly parted, totally normal reaction).

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who put a small chip on your phone while you were sleeping. How was he supposed to keep you safe if he didn't know where you were the whole day? Don't be so dramatic, he was just doing it for your sake :((

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who killed someone in front of you. He was stalking you around town when he saw that strange man grabbing you by your wrist and taking you to the closest dark alley. Before he could think, his hands were already gripping his throat, his face turning blue as his grasp got even stronger. When he finally was sure that man was no longer alive, he turned around, a happy smile on his lips as he waited for your compliments. He was now on his real height, allowing you to notice how he was over one head and a half taller than you, despite that, he made you pet his hair, forcing you to smile as the body of the strange man got colder.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling whose obsession only increases the moment the two of you decide to date. His arms are now always around your waist, his hands always touching you, no matter if you are alone or in front of other people. He just loves hugging you from behind, his dick rubbing against your ass, grinding against you as soon as he saw you do something he didn't like.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who forces his cock inside you, filling you load after load just to prove that you're truly his one and only. He doesn't stop until he sees his seed dripping from your hole, your eyes rolling to your skull with fat tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who keeps blabbering about impregnating you during sex, he doesn't even care about your gender, he WILL impregnate you. He will defy Mother Nature for you, filling you one after the other and not pulling out until the next morning.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates with your clothes the moment he misses you, he doesn't care if you have been away for barely a few hours, he just misses his sweet darling so much :(( Not his fault that your clothes are filled with your sweet scent...

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates to your sleeping face while the both of you sleep together. He loves feeling you close to him, all relaxed as your expressions sometimes change to one of pure bliss... He hugs you from behind, beginning to grind against your ass as an attempt to keep himself in check. This of course doesn't work, which forces him to use his own hand to masturbate, slowly getting on top of you so he can get an extremely detailed view of your sleeping face.

[goldfades]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just don’t know it yet.

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

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

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

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

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

Oh, hell no.

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

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

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

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

Oh, he’s done it now.

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

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

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

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

Or so you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t look back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

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

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

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up warily. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRIDAY NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

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

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

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

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

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

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

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group went silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, of course, it was Joe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That look.

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

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

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

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

Straight toward you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Joe shifted his focus.

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

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t move. Neither does he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe. And he’s not alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, of course, you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe, however, is a different story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t resist. You can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

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

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

[revelboo]

Idk if you have seen this starscream or not but do you think can do transformers armada starscream x reader? I have a real soft spot for him. He deserves some love ❤️

I can try- my knowledge of Armada is a bit thin

Even If It Kills Me

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Helm tipping back as the sun drips through the leaves and dapples him in spots of warmth, he can almost relax out here, far from home. Nearby, he can hear Jetstorm, Runway, and Sonar splashing in the lake as they dart along the rocky shore. Knows the Autobots would probably not like it if they knew he was out alone with the Mini-Cons, but also that the three of them deserve some peace from the fighting. It’s Sonar tapping his ped that makes him look down and it doesn’t take the mini-con’s frantic hand gestures to realize that there’s only two of them. Runway is gone. Primus, it’s like having sparklings sometimes. “Show me,” he growls tiredly as Sonar and Jetstorm both point into the woods framing the clearing and the lake.

• Leaning across the engine to get at the intake manifold while trying to not drop anything inside the engine, the little beeping chirp from behind you almost makes you brain yourself on the hood. Like you need any more injuries, your face is still swollen and your split lip burns as you turn to look and do drop a tool into the engine, hearing it clanging. Because there’s a little robot just taller than you standing behind you, red visor glowing as it startles at the noise of the dropped tool. A kid in a costume? It looks real as you push yourself back and your feet hit the gravel. “Where’d you come from, buddy?” Because your house is well off the road. It’s not moving closer, but not retreating either, so you approach it. It’s not a costume, it can’t be. It’s too cannily made for that. You’d known robots were getting advanced, but why is it out here wandering around? It shies away when you try to touch it and you hold up your hands, palms out. “Okay. We’re good.”

• Not expecting it to cautiously reach out and press its palm to yours, head tipping as it chirps at you. “Hope you’re not a first gen terminator, buddy.” And then it’s carefully gripping your hand to play with your fingers and thumb, seeing how they move and you inhale, but its touch is shockingly gentle as it makes little beeping sounds to itself. It’s inquisitive as it plucks at your flannel shirt and then touches your hair. “Not a fan of personal space, huh?” Its head tips, visor flickering like it’s uncertain.

• Branches clawing at him as he moves through the woods, forcefully making a path, when he breaks free of the tree line, he freezes because he hasn’t realized he was so close to a human dwelling. And there’s a human in the yard right there standing in front of Runway as the mini-con chirps. And you and Runway both freeze as he crashes out of the tree line, Sonar and Jetstorm running toward their brother before stopping short when they notice the human. You’re just staring up at him and he knows he’s supposed to be hidden on this world and not be seen.

• There’s two more you sized robots, but you can’t tear your eyes from the giant red one scowling down at you. The little guys are cute, but this one? Are these his babies? Is he about to stomp you for messing with one of them? “Human,” he growls, taking a thunderous step forward and that’s it for your ability to deal with this nonsense. You throw up a hand at him and start speed walking for the house. Cause nope. No, thank you. You have enough problems without this too.

• You’re ignoring him? Venting raggedly, he strides after you and insinuates his ped between you and the door to your house. And you stare up at him, one eye squinting, the skin around it discolored. “If you let me go, I’ll pretend none of this ever happened, okay?” You say, little arms crossing. “You go do your giant robot, kaiju thing and I’ll go get drunk until I forget this. Everyone wins.” And you grin at him, wincing and darting your tongue out to touch your split lip. Those little injuries shouldn’t mean a thing to him. Except, they strike a chord and he hates it. Because he knows what it’s like to be someone else’s punching bag. You’re just a human, you mean nothing to him, but as Runway chirps up at him almost pleadingly, he bends to curl his servos around you. Or tries to, because reaching for you shatters your odd calm and there’s the fear he expected. And you bolt.

Next

Added a bitty Soundwave plush to my Soundwave Jeep. There’s a lot to do to get ready for Jeep Jam in May

[chrismerle]

on the whole, I'm willing to let a lot slide under the umbrella of 'the blight is now effectively its own living entity, as it's being altered in real time by Ghilan'nain,' and some of it I'm willing to just go 'that's clearly a loose thread for later' since it's clear that another sequel in probably another fifteen years is intended (mostly with regards to 'something even weirder is in the blight now'). generally speaking, though, I do agree that the blight needed to be handled with a little more consistency than it was (and lbr, 'sometimes red lyrium just means it's angry' was a cop out because they wanted the lyrium to look like blood and ignored the fact that keeping it unnaturally blue would have been plenty spooky) and SOME explanation for how the Neve/Bellara got healed at the end would have been nice. but a lot of this seems ... I don't know if nitpicky is the right word. it just seems really convenient to only bring some of this up solely with regards to veilguard

like, 'oh, the blight is suuuuuper contagious and deadly, except for Rook and Co.! booo!' okay but then tell that to Morrigan, Leliana, Zevran, pre-Awakening Oghren, and Sten, who were all not Wardens and who were all getting wounded by supposedly highly infectious darkspawn. plus your literally blighted dog, which you cured incredibly easily with one(1) flower that is then never mentioned ever again. if that's an inconsistency now, it was an inconsistency then, too. when in reality allowances just have to be made for the fact it's a video game. in-universe, it's super easy to get infected with the blight, but as a player, if you keeled over and died every time a darkspawn touched you then the games would have been unplayable from the beginning. or i guess they would just be another series of souls-likes.

or the talking darkspawn or the heavily blighted Wardens. the blight doesn't just make you drop dead, it turns you into a darkspawn. the calling isn't the point at which wardens drop dead. it's the point at which the blight catches up with them and turns them into a darkspawn finally. that's why a lot of them go off into the deep roads when they start hearing it; they want to go get killed so they can't turn into a darkspawn, while taking as many already-existing darkspawn down with them as they can. it's a zombie plague, but it's set in a medieval fantasy so no one wants to call it a zombie plague. some of the zombies are just smart zombies; this is not a new trope. the heavily blighted wardens helping isseya are talking darkspawn, which have been around in every game, if you include the DLC. the Architect and the Mother in Awakening? they're talking darkspawn. Corypheus, the big bad of the entirety of Inquisition? he's a talking darkspawn. Isseya is the same thing; she even kinda looks like the Architect. if intelligent, talking darkspawn are an inconsistency now, they were an inconsistency then, too.

(and this isn't even getting into the fact that the Architect baldly states 'darkspawn can be returned to full rationality by drinking the blood of a Grey Warden' and it is then never addressed again)

was veilguard messy in places? yes, but that's not unique to veilguard. dragon age as a whole, as much as I love it (and I do love it, so much), has just always been a goddamn mess. there's a random event in Origins where totally-not-kal-el falls from space and is then found by totally-not-john-and-martha-kent and it is never addressed again. the qunari basically turned into a different species between origins and DA2, and the entire thing was just hand-waved away with 'sometimes they're just born with no horns.' in Origins mabari are said to be super intelligent by dog standards, to the extent of being able to understand spoken orders, they imprint on a single owner, and they're relatively rare, but by the time Inquisition happens basically every dog in Thedas is a mabari and they've just become really big pit bulls, and Cullen just finds and adopts a random one. only mages can do magic, but it's apparently not magic when the rogues turn invisible, teleport, back flip 16 feet into the air and still shoot with unerring accuracy, drop a respawn point in the middle of battle, or make spectral clones of themselves, and it's also not magic when the warriors spontaneously become invincible.

I dunno, I don't expect anyone's opinion to change from my tirade. it just feels disingenuous to see so many people go 'can you believe how messy Veilguard is for these things that have been there since Origins but that I'm only conveniently taking issue with now?'

the lore inconsistencies with the blight in this game are actually exhausting. 'the rules have changed the blight has changed' okay but make it make sense within the changes please like

the blight is the titans dreams gone mad with rage okay. red lyrium is lyrium infected with the blight. except that section of red lyrium in harding's quest which is... angry... but somehow not infected with the blight... even though we know what red lyrium is from inquisition

the calling eventually kills you but there's a bunch of super blighted wardens who've been alive for ages underground. isseya has been alive since the 4th blight. these wardens aren't even proper darkspawn they're just Really Corrupted

there's that ominous 'theres something in the blight' quest you do in the wetlands that just turns out to be a giant blight growth. darkspawn appear from blight pools now. also apparently in the wetlands there's just a bunch of flowers happily thriving beneath the blight that are fine once the blight is removed. did we forget the western approach. that the land is barren after it's infected with the blight.

it's super easy to become infected with the blight, except if you're rook and co apparently because that blighted status sure doesn't really have any consequences. spEAKING OF which neve/bellara become super duper infected by the blight to the point they can control it and yet afterwards... they're fine?? they're fine!! there's no cure for the blight except apparently you can just shake it off. the hero of fereldan has been searching for a cure for decades but could've just shrugged it off apparently!

[hazbinshusk]

huskerdust x gn!reader. after a particularly rough day recruiting for the hotel, you limp back to your room to find your two favourite boys waiting for you. anon request. 1.7k

featuring: some blood, physical hurt/comfort, cuddles. really, it's just pure fluff.

Hell can seriously suck a dick sometimes.

You shove the door to the Hotel open with tired arms, for once actually finding yourself wishing that the wall had once again been blown up, if it meant less effort getting home. Charlie had had you pounding pavement all day, trying and failing to enlist new guests to the hotel. Even after the failed extermination, most of the sinners in Pride were less than welcoming to the idea of improving themselves. You spent half the day being told to fuck off and having doors slammed in your face, and the other half actively avoiding being the victim of some asshole’s wrath or lust.

You wipe sweat and ash from your brow with the brow with a sleeve, pausing by the bar to take the weight of your knee. You’d managed to trip while trying to escape a sudden firefight in the Doomsday District, and every step back to the hotel had sent pain shooting up your leg. Your pants were torn and blood has dried in itchy streaks down your calf.

The bartender is nowhere in sight, and you fish your phone out of your pocket to text Angel, sighing when you notice the screen now has a crack spiderwebbing up from the corner of it. Still, a small smile twitches at your lips briefly when you notice he texted you an hour earlier. It’s short and sweet, and your smile widens tiredly.

It was a habit the two of you had picked up since you’d fallen into this relationship with him and Husk; when two of you had turned in for the night, one of you would text to let their other partner know which room they had ended up in. Usually, it was you texting Angel when a shoot ran long, but it had been a rare day off for the porn star and apparently the lack of clientele had meant Husk had been able to clock off early, too.

The lack of a cat emoji said they were spending quality time with Fat Nuggets in Angel’s room, and you thanked Lucifer silently that he’d installed an elevator during the remodel.

You sigh at the idea of having to keep moving rather than just collapsing onto the nearest horizontal surface, limping around the bar to wrap a handful of ice in a towel before making your way to the elevator.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Hey, gorgeous, ‘bout time you got—” Angel sits up from where he was lounging across his bed, concern creasing his brow as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. The sudden movement unsettles the two curled up on top of him – while Fat Nuggets snuffles in a mix of both protest and greeting as he waddles across the comforter, Husk looks up with a quiet ‘mrrp?’. He had been stretched out alongside Angel, his arms wrapped around the spider’s midsection and his chin resting against his chest. Angel’s hand still lingers where it had been stroking through the fur between the bartender’s ears, and you feel a small pang of regret for interrupting the tableau. “What in the fuck happened to you?”

“Hell happened,” you reply dryly, wincing as you put a little too much pressure on your knee. Husk blinks sleep out of his eyes and his expression immediately becomes marred with worry. He pushes himself up of Angel just as you move to collapse onto the stool in front of Angel’s vanity, ignoring the ache that protests in the small of his back as he comes to your side. You grimace as you stretch out your leg in front of you, and Angel rolls over to fish the first aid kit out from under his bed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Husk points out gruffly, kneeling beside you. He carefully hooks a claw in the tear in your pants and tears it wider, his brow furrowing further as he reveals the dried blood staining your calf.

“Am I?” you say, sarcasm weak. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Husk fixes you with a dry, exasperated look from under his feather brows as Angel joins the two of you. “Who did it?”

“No one.” You hiss as Angel begins to clean you up, the saline stinging at the abrasion on your knee.

A low growl rumbles warningly through Husk. “Doll…”

You reach out, cupping his face in your hand. You stroke your thumb through the fur of his cheek soothingly. His frown doesn’t ease, but his eyes close for a moment at the touch. “I’m serious. I fell, that’s all.”

“Jesus, toots.” Angel says through an exhale, carefully scrubbing away the blood streaked over your calf. His other hands rummage through the kit for disinfectant and a bandage. “Was it down a flight of stairs by any chance?”

You shake your head, smirking lightly. “Doomsday District; the ground there is like, ninety percent broken glass. Pretty sure I got it all out.”

“The Princess shouldn’t be sendin’ you out there alone,” Husk grumbles, using a piece of saline-soaked gauze to wipe away the remaining ash on your face. You wrinkle your nose as the material tickles at your nose. “It ain’t your job to—”

“Husk, I’m fine.” you assure him. You lean forward to press a kiss to his nose, and Husk’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “I’m home.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Better?”

You smile, running your fingers rhythmically through Angel’s hair. “Much.”

The three of you are curled up on Angel’s bed, ice melting against your knee and all three of you cradled amongst his many, many pillows and blankets. Husk is propped up against the pillows by the headboard, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. You’re tucked up against him, your shoulder against his chest, and your face tilted up to tuck up against his jaw. His purring vibrates through his back, but some of his earlier frustration still lingers in the twitching of his tail. His lips brush against your forehead gently.

Angel is curled up against your side, his head on your chest and two arms wrapped around you. Another reaches up to stroke through the fur of Husk’s side, the fourth resting on the back of the little hell-piglet curled in a ball on Husk’s thigh beside your hip. His legs are bent to tuck up under yours, hooking your knees over his thighs to keep your injury elevated. Every part of you seems to be pressed against soft, soft fur, and you arch your neck further to press your lips to the underside of Husk’s jaw. His purring grows louder.

“Plus side?” Angel comments, looking up at the two of you without raising his cheek from your chest. “Charlie is gonna feel so bad ‘bout sendin’ ya out there—”

“She fuckin’ should,” Husk interjects in a grumble. You sooth him by reaching down to card fingers through his fur, and when your fingers find Angel’s hand, the spider entangles them with his and squeezes. He might be talking more lightly about your current state than Husk, but you knew he was worried, too. You squeeze it back.

“—that there is no way ya gonna be on recruitment duty for, like, a month.” Angel continues. “Ya can jus’ live the high life here. Ya milk that knee jus’ right an’ she probably won’t even make ya go to group. Lucky bitch.”

You hum a laugh, shivering at the way Husk’s claws skim pleasantly against the bare skin of your arm. “And does this ‘high life’ by any chance involve some serious naked time?”

Angel giggles, reaching releasing your waist to reach down and run teasing fingers over the front of Husk’s pants. “Depends. Think the old man here can keep up?”

Husk swats his hand away, and you catch the amused smile that touches his lips for a moment before he remembers to scowl. “Never heard you complain.”

“Maybe you should turn your hearing aid up,” Angel suggests tauntingly, and you choke on a laugh when Husk reaches over you and shoves him off the bed. “Hey! Ow!”

Husk grins, winking at you as Angel stands, all four hands on his hips and a pout on his face. Careful not to jostle you, Husk leans over and grabs a hold of the front of the spider’s shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. Angel wraps two arms around his neck, the other two smoothing over the bartender’s chest. He finds a nipple and pinches, hard, and Husk breaks away with a surprised growl.

“Fuck!”

“Hey!” you object as the movement jostles you further. You rescue Nuggets from the fray, setting him down on the end of the bed. “Watch the invalid, would you? Some of us are injured here!”

Husk immediately stops, his expression apologetic. He catches your cheek, dusting kisses over your face before he presses his lips to yours. You hum happily, feel Angel climb into the bed beside you. He curls up behind you, pressing himself up against your back. Husk kisses you for a few moments more before he pulls away, touching his lips to the skin between your brows. “Sorry, doll.”

“He’s a goddamn brute,” Angel says, tucking his head over your shoulder. “You should totally kick his ass.”

You giggle, and Husk silences him by kissing him again. When they break apart, Husk pulls you into his chest, wrapping an arm around you. His wing curves to cover the three of you, and you bury your face contentedly in the soft fur of his chest.

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (4)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.3k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: forced proximity, jungkook is emotionally constipated, OC is clueless.

A/N: I really hope that fans of "Gilmore Girls" come across this story, because the town hall meeting scene is entirely inspired by the show. I’ve tried to capture the same essence and energy, so I hope you can envision it just like it's depicted in the series, with all the quirky charm and fast-paced dialogues etc etc. that said, I feel like things are about to take a dramatic turn. what do we think? ;)

part 4: mixing the grease with the soil

As the days slip by, the tension between you and Jungkook has become an unspoken constant, like the hum of a distant engine, always there, always humming beneath the surface. It’s an unyielding stalemate neither of you seems willing to break, as if maintaining the distance is safer, easier, less likely to damage the delicate balance of your lives.

But then, without warning, subtle shifts begin to take place. Jungkook’s friends, once notorious for crowding your shop’s entrance with their gleaming motorcycles, now park further down the street. The loud laughter, the sharp revving of engines that used to echo through your workspace, disrupting your day, have faded into memory. The newfound peace feels like a long-overdue truce, and while it doesn’t erase the tension, it’s a welcome relief.

Your encounters with his friends Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi have settled into something almost cordial. A nod here, a wave there, brief exchanges that are polite but still distant. It’s enough to keep things civil, but when it comes to Jungkook, there’s no such middle ground. You don’t greet him, and he doesn’t acknowledge you. It’s a silent agreement to maintain the distance between you two.

Yet, for Jungkook, the distance isn’t as simple as it once was. The quiet animosity, the unresolved arguments, the invisible barrier between you guys—they all weigh heavier on him now. He can’t put his finger on it, but your presence has started to linger in his mind in ways that unsettle him. It gnaws at him, a persistent whisper he can’t ignore.

He finds himself noticing things he shouldn’t. The way your hair falls into your face while you’re tending to flowers. The way your laugh rings out when your friends visit, lighting up your features in a way he can't help but admire. His eyes find you before he even realizes he’s looking, and it infuriates him how easily you captivate him, how effortlessly you draw his attention without even trying.

It started small. A passing glance as he worked on a bike outside his shop. Then, the details began to add up. Like last week, when he saw you laughing with your friends outside. He’s pieced together their names now, after observing from a distance.

The man who visited your shop that day, the one who elicited the first genuine smile he ever saw on your face, is Taehyung. An artist, Jungkook suspects, given the occasional specks of paint adorning his clothes, arms, or sometimes even his cheek.

Then there was Namjoon and Seokjin or at least that's what he thinks their names are. Their exact roles in your life are a mystery to him, but they tower over most people with their astonishing heights and they mostly show up late, long after your closing hours, often bringing you food or whisking you away in their cars for reasons he can only imagine.

And then there’s a girl, Juwon, who seems to frequent your shop the most. Sometimes she buys flowers; other times, she simply lounges inside, waiting for you to finish your work.

Jungkook feels ridiculous for how much he’s noticed. He shouldn’t care about the details of your life or the people in it, yet he finds himself drawn to them, piecing together bits of your world from snippets of conversation and stolen glances. Even the sound of your laugh, carefree and genuine, has a way of pulling his focus no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.

It hits him in unexpected moments—how beautiful you look when you laugh, how your smile seems to brighten everything around you. And in those moments, he feels the tension between you two fade away, replaced by something softer, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. You look happy, and it stirs something deep within him, something he wishes he could suppress.

He doesn’t know why it matters so much. Why does it bother him that he’s not the one making you smile? Why does it sting to see you so effortlessly connect with others when he feels so distant from you?

He always tears his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the bike in front of him, but it’s futile. The image of your smile lingers, a persistent flicker in the back of his mind.

The ease with which you interact with the people around you only serves to highlight the chasm between you. You’re kind, approachable, a natural at making others feel at ease. And Jungkook? He feels like an outsider, watching from the shadows, wrestling with feelings he doesn’t understand and can’t seem to shake.

Why is it so difficult to be around you? Why does everything feel so impossibly complicated? The questions haunt him, their answers elusive, leaving him restless and frustrated with a distance he doesn’t know how to bridge.

But what you don’t notice is the quiet way Jungkook has begun to weave himself into your life, his actions subtle, small gestures that he hopes will somehow make up for the things left unsaid between you two.

Like that one time you were struggling to move a heavy bag of soil into your shop and he pretended not to notice, yet somehow, when you turned around to get something else, it was already sitting inside, untouched by your hands. Or the way he’s started parking his bike just far enough away so that it doesn’t block your view of the flowers from the shop window, as though he’s silently trying to make your space feel a little more yours, and a little less his.

He never says a word, never acknowledges the thought behind it. He simply continues working, silently apologizing in a way that only he understands.

And then there’s the smallest, most hidden gesture of all: the way he wipes his hands clean on a rag before leaving the garage to walk past your shop at the exact moment you’re working outside. His steps slow just enough for you to think he’s passing through casually, but if you weren't so oblivious, you’d see the way his gaze lingers just a second too long on you, a silent question hanging in the air that neither of you have the courage to ask.

It’s as if, in every small action, he’s trying to show you something... something you can’t quite see, something he can’t quite say.

//

It’s a quiet morning when Mr. Kwon, a man in his early 60s and also the town head, steps into your shop, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor as he heads towards the counter.

You’ve just finished arranging a fresh batch of daisies, their bright white petals catching the light. He adjusts his glasses, eyeing you with that steady, slightly intimidating gaze.

“Y/N-ah...” he begins, his voice as measured as ever. “I wanted to remind you about the town hall meeting later this week, on Thursday. It’s about the annual fair. Please be there.” he says calmly.

You raise an eyebrow, wiping your hands on a towel. “That’s it? No more details?” you question, amused.

He gives a small smile, one that barely softens his usual stern demeanor. “There’s more to discuss at the meeting, so just be there.” And with that, he turns and leaves as quickly as he came, leaving you wondering what exactly he’s got planned. You watch him walk towards the shop next to yours and you're quickly distracted when a customer walks in.

Right next door, Jungkook is having his own first encounter with Mr. Kwon’s business-like approach. He’s just finished cleaning his motorcycle when the town head arrives in front of his shop, looking like he’s stepped out of a corporate boardroom.

“Jungkook...” Mr. Kwon begins “I’m here to remind you about the town meeting this week, on Thursday. It’s a big one—planning for the annual fair. Since you’re part of the community now, I strongly encourage you and your friends to attend. We need fresh perspectives.” he states, eyeing the rest of the boys behind him.

Jungkook blinks, taken aback. “Wait, I don’t even know what this fair thing is—”

“You’ll figure it out. Just be there.” Mr. Kwon’s tone is firm, his back already turned as he walks away, but he suddenly stops in his tracks, turning his head over his shoulder. “And wear something presentable. It’s not a garage.” he says.

Jungkook chuckles faintly as Mr. Kwon left, his friends stifling laughter behind him. “Presentable.” Yoongi drawls. “You gonna show up in a tux, boss?” he jokes, causing everyone to snicker.

As Jungkook continues with his work, his thoughts linger about this so called town meeting. It was his first time being summoned to one, and while he wasn’t particularly eager to attend, Mr. Kwon’s authoritative tone made it clear it wasn’t really optional.

//

The evening of the meeting arrives, and you walk towards the town hall with Juwon’s arm tightly clinging to yours. “If we’re late because you had to rearrange just one more daisy, I’m blaming you.” you hear her say and you laugh. “Relax Juwon-ah." you reply, rubbing her hands that held your arm.“Namjoon said he’d save us seats.” you inform.

As you approach the town hall, the streets hum with excited chatter, the townspeople preparing for what’s sure to be an eventful fair. Suddenly, the low rumble of motorcycles grew louder. Heads turned as Jungkook and his gang rode in, their bikes gleaming under the evening sun. They parked with an air of nonchalance, right outside the town hall, drawing curious glances and a few whispers.

“First time seeing the townies up close?” Yoongi teases Jungkook as they get off their bikes. “I guess." Jungkook mutters, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he waits for Jimin and Hoseok to take off their helmets so that they can head inside.

While the bikers still seemed to be parking their bikes, you and Juwon were already inside the hall. You instantly spot Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung, eagerly saving two seats for you and Juwon. They wave you over once they see you, their faces a mix of impatience and playful annoyance.

“We got prime real estate!” Seokjin declares, gesturing to the front row. “More like you just wanted to be close enough to whisper critiques about Mr. Kwon’s tie.” Namjoon says dryly. "Someone has to keep the man humble.” Seokjin quips, shrugging.

You and Juwon take your seats and just as you’re getting comfortable, Taehyung grins. “Speaking of critiques, how long do we think it’ll take Mrs. Han to bring up her pie-eating contest again?” he asks, stifling a laugh. “I’m giving it five minutes. Namjoon replies as he holds up his phone. “Starting the timer now.” he chuckles.

Once Jungkook steps into the hall, he finds himself slightly out of place among the vibrant crowd of familiar faces and lively chatter. His eyes instinctively scan the room, landing on you and your friends seated in the front row. You laugh at something Juwon says, your eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, while Taehyung playfully argues with Namjoon about something he can't quite hear.

Jungkook feels a strange pull—your energy, so warm and lighthearted, stands in stark contrast to his own awkwardness in this unfamiliar setting. His gaze lingers for a moment too long, enough for Yoongi to notice and nudge him. “Spot something interesting?” he teases, smirking.

Jungkook shakes his head quickly, looking away. “Just taking it all in.” he mutters, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrays him. He follows his friends, as they all take their seats somewhere in the middle of the hall.

The room fills with excited chatter, the buzz of anticipation thick in the air. People whisper eagerly about the fair and what it will bring this year. As Mr. Kwon takes the stage, he adjusts the microphone and clears his throat and everyone falls silent, waiting for him to start.

“Good evening, everyone.” he formally begins, his voice commanding. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, the annual town fair is upon us, and tonight’s meeting is about planning and assigning tasks. This year, we’re aiming to make the fair even better—more organized, more collaborative, and, hopefully, more memorable.” He pauses to scan the crowd.

“Now, I know some of you have suggestions...” His gaze lingers pointedly on Mrs. Han, who immediately raises her hand. “Mr. Kwon.” she begins, her voice carrying. “I really think it’s time we bring back the pie-eating contest.” she says, standing up.

Mr. Jung groans from the other side of the room. “For the last time, Mrs. Han, the clinic is not sponsoring antacid tablets for everyone!” he says, his nose twitching. “Maybe if you baked better pies, fewer people would need them.” Mrs. Han shoots back, earning a ripple of laughter from the crowd.

“Okay, okay!” Mr. Kwon interjects as he holds up his hands. “Let’s keep this civil... or as civil as possible.”

Namjoon leans over to Taehyung. “Three minutes. She’s getting faster.” he whispers as they both cover their mouths, not wanting Mr. Kwon to catch them giggling like children.

Mr. Kwon clears his throat, signaling for everyone to settle down. “We need to make this fair something special. This year’s theme, ‘A Night in Stardust,’ is all about wonder and magic. We want the fair to be an experience that stays with people long after it’s over." he announces.

"‘A Night in Stardust’, huh?” Taehyung whispers. “Sounds like something out of a sci-fi romance.” he says while Namjoon smirks. “Or Seokjin’s poetry journal.” he jokes. Seokjin feigns offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Excuse me, my poems are classic.”

As Mr. Kwon continues, he outlines more exciting events, including a fortune-teller’s tent, carnival games like ring toss and a scavenger hunt, handmade jewelry booths and various other things along with a stargazing dome to tie in with the theme.

At the mention of the fortune-teller’s tent, Seokjin laughs. “Last year, she told me I’d meet someone tall and handsome and that they would save me from a storm that was supposed to ruin my life.” you hear him say. “Turns out it was just Namjoon holding an umbrella when it rained heavily that one night in September.” The room erupts into laughter, Namjoon included.

“And we’ll also have the hammer strength game. Let’s see if anyone can beat Taehyung’s record.” Mr. Kwon adds as Taehyung grins smugly, while Namjoon mutters something about “unfair leverage.”

“Let’s not forget the stargazing dome.” Mr. Kwon continues. “Where we’ll have a real view of the stars... no glitter, no tricks, just pure, unfiltered stardust.” The crowd applauds, everyone eagerly imagining the magical experience the dome will bring.

As the meeting continues, Jungkook watches the people around him with quiet fascination. He notices how easily they laugh and joke with each other, their voices filled with warmth and comfort. Everyone seems so relaxed, as if they’ve known each other for years. His attention shifts to you and your friends.

He’s especially taken aback by how involved all of you are in the conversation. You and your friends aren’t just listening; you're actively participating, cracking jokes, teasing one another, and sharing in the laughter. Each one of you adds something to the mix, whether it's a funny remark or a playful comeback.

The easy way everyone interacts with one another catches Jungkook’s eye. It’s not just about the words being said, but the bond they share. There's a warmth in the room that’s impossible to miss. The sense of unity is so strong that it’s almost like a shared heartbeat among the townspeople. He can’t help but smile at how effortless and natural it all seems.

As he watches, it finally clicks for him... this is why the town fair is such a big deal. It’s not just about the rides or the food stands or the games. It’s about the connection between people. The fair is their time to come together, to celebrate their friendships and shared history.

Jungkook realizes that the fair is more than just a tradition—it’s a celebration of the town’s unity. It’s a chance for everyone to bond, strengthen their ties, and create memories together. In that moment, he understands the deeper meaning of the fair, and he feels a sense of appreciation for the way this community truly values each other.

As the laughter fades, Mr. Kwon clears his throat, signaling the shift in the meeting's tone. "Alright, time to assign tasks for the fair." he announces, looking around the room. His gaze moves around as he begins assigning tasks to various townspeople.

Your friends Taehyung and Namjoon are responsible for setting up all the games, while Seokjin is responsible for the food stalls and making sure all the stalls have everything they require. Juwon is in charge of the performances as she's needed to choreograph a dance for the little kids.

Mr. Kwon continues his rounds of assigning tasks here and there. As he goes down the list, you shift in your seat, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation. When he finally comes to you, the room quiets, all eyes turning in your direction.

"Y/N-ah." Mr. Kwon starts with a smile. "Your shop will be in charge of the decorations... think glowing flowers, twinkling vines, anything that will transform this fair into something magical." he says.

You nod, a little taken aback by the responsibility, but you’re ready. The pressure is real, but you can’t let it show. "I won’t let you down." you smile, even though the weight of the task settles in your chest.

"And..." Mr. Kwon continues, his eyes now flicking to Jungkook. "Since your shop is right next to Y/N’s, I’m assigning you both to work together. Jungkook, you and your friends will handle all the logistics—setting up tents, building stages, and making sure everything’s in place and all that. You two will be coordinating directly."

A hush falls over the room. Whispers ripple through the crowd as the news sinks in. You glance at Jungkook, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His expression is unreadable, but you can feel the tension in the air. It’s clear he’s not thrilled about the arrangement, but there’s no backing out now.

Seokjin leans towards Juwon, his voice low but just loud enough for you to hear. "Oh, this is going to be fun." he whispers, and Juwon chuckles, eyeing you.

You catch Jungkook’s gaze for a moment, his eyes lingering on you a bit longer than expected before he quickly looks away. It’s clear neither of you are particularly excited about working together, but the task ahead is unavoidable. Though there's an invisible wall between the two of you, you both know you can't avoid each other forever.

"Is everyone okay with this?" Mr. Kwon finally asks, scanning the room with a hopeful smile. "Remember, we’re all in this together to make this fair a grand success. Let’s show these other towns how we do things here !!" he laughs as everyone else in the room, nod in agreement, their energy buzzing with excitement.

For most, it’s just another fair, but for some, it’s an opportunity to come together and create something truly special. Jungkook’s eyes briefly meet yours again, and for a moment, the weight of the responsibility settles in. Neither of you speak a word, but there’s a quiet understanding that the next few days are going to be full of surprises and challenges.

As the meeting wraps up, the lively chatter and laughter return to the room. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, you can’t help but feel the tiniest flicker of annoyance, nervousness and excitement. The fair will bring more than just stardust—it will bring a new chapter for you and Jungkook, whether either of you are prepared for it or not.

<- part 3 // part 5 ->

series masterlist

[sad-girl-hours23]

Just some musings on domestic bucktommy (from when I was writing my drabble series)

Dating a fellow first responder means their schedules often don’t align for weeks. Sometimes this requires ignoring other responsibilities so they can steal some time together. More often, it takes meticulous planning (Buck’s specialty) and inviting each other into the mundanity of their lives.

They’ve only got about twenty-four hours together, and they’ll be sleeping through most of them, so Buck lets himself into Tommy’s with the key he gave him six months into their relationship. He puts a load of dirty clothes in the washer; smiles when he finds an LAFD shirt with Buckley on the back, looking more stretched out than the last time he’d worn it. Laundry started, Buck starts on dinner, Bobby’s lasagna.

Buck’s mentally checking items off his list, these domestic moments becoming a welcome routine.

Tommy gets home; they eat, talk about their days, then go to bed.

Buck has taken over as big spoon tonight, his arm wrapped around Tommy’s middle. Tommy’s breathing evens out as Buck goes over the plan for the next day: Buck will let Tommy sleep in while he goes for his morning run (his heart stutters when he thinks of how something as simple as having a favorite route at Tommy’s place makes him feel so settled); then he’ll start brewing coffee before his shower, Tommy will be waking up then (sometimes he’ll join Buck, Buck calculates for this now so it doesn’t push back their schedule); they’ll eat at their favorite breakfast place around the corner so they don’t have to worry about dishes and Tommy’s fridge is looking a little bare as it is, and Buck will probably never be over showing off his boyfriend; then they’ll stop at one of their favorite bookstores, The Ripped Bodice. It’s always best for Buck to be a) chaperoned and b) on a time limit, when it comes to bookstores. Tommy will adhere to the one book limit, but Buck will walk out with at least three (he hasn’t been there in months, okay?); then they’ll stop at the hardware store, get the supplies they need for the little garden Tommy’s been planning for months. Next is the main event, the grocery store. They’ll argue over the semantics of necessities, and Tommy will still buy Buck’s top three favorite cereals anyway, and all of Jee’s favorite snacks are necessary actually, Evan. Buck will feel incredibly fond and a little like he’s getting away with something, because how is he allowed to have this? Then, they’ll make a quick-ish stop at Tommy’s favorite plant nursery, the reminder that they have groceries waiting for them in the truck, the only thing stopping Tommy from spending the rest of daylight there.

They’ll get home, put away their groceries, and Tommy will make them lunch, and they’ll eat on the backyard patio. Then Buck will start on his pile of books as Tommy changes the oil in his truck, then Buck’s jeep. Buck has no problem doing it himself, but Tommy loves doing things for him (especially when it’s something Buck could easily do himself and who is Buck to deny him that?)

Buck’s half asleep, half awake now as he cuddles impossibly closer to Tommy, savoring this moment while eager for tomorrow and all the domestic Saturdays he can get.

[milliesfishes]

hi can i have a little order of billy fluff pls ☹️

YES YES YES YES YES FLUFF FLUFF based on this which I have been thinking about for one hundred hours

billy fluff౨ৎ꣑ৎ

His girl.

The words melted on your tongue, sweeter there than your favorite hard candy and able to be savored for a million times as long. And the way Billy said it seeped into your bloodstream; in that special tone you'd only ever heard used with you. He always said it with a hint of a smile upturning his lips, thumb maybe on your cheek, palm cradling your face, eyes always on you. Blue and bonny, play on words unintended.

"My girl," he'd murmur under the stars, adjusting the jacket of his you swore he'd brought only to wrap around you. Kisses to your forehead would be admonished, then your cheeks, or your nose. Billy kissed for every occasion. To comfort. To apologize. To love. Rarely did you have troubles that couldn't be soothed that way.

It was something you needed after a day like today. The end of a very long week under the brunt of words spoken by others that you'd rather not repeat. And to top it off, the one you'd been yearning for all day was hours late, likely caught up with his men, maybe settling a dispute. Anything was possible. The reason didn't matter so much to you, only the fact that Billy wasn't here to kiss anything better.

Curled up in bed, you pulled your blanket tighter, a poor substitute for Billy's warm body curled around you. Fish was already in position for nighttime, curled above your head and purring away, content on your pillow. You clutched at your stuffed rabbit- one of the only non-necessities you'd taken from your old life when you came with Billy. Slipping your fingers under the pink bow around its neck, you dug your fingers into the soft fur, trying to beckon sleep to you.

The front door opened, and you listened to the familiar sounds of Billy arriving home for the night: kicking his boots off, setting his hat down. He wouldn't take off his gun belt until he reached the bedroom. It was a habit he adapted in life on the run, and for your own safety, you didn't protest.

His footsteps were quiet, but you still heard every move he made as he undressed and climbed in behind you. Adjusting the blanket, Billy dug his nose into your hair, ignoring as Fish swiped at his head, and lifted his arm so it covered you, hand over your rabbit. He let a few moments pass before murmuring, "I'm sorry."

You shifted under his arm, your further hand remaining on your rabbit, the other coming up to clutch his bicep. "I needed you."

"I know." Billy's lips found your crown. "I shoulda been home, sweetheart. I'm sorry." He offered no excuse, no explanation, and you were fine with it. All you wanted was his comfort, and it was something he happily gave in high quantities.

Sliding his other arm under you, Billy gently rolled you over so your chest was pressed against his side. His hand slid up to cover your head, the other still over your rabbit as he laid on his back. Sometimes you thought he found more comfort it than you. A sign you were taken care of, past and present. You slumped against him, finally safe. Finally his again.

“I love you,” he murmured, hand over your head stroking your hair. Gathering it under the pads of his fingers, he dragged it to rest behind your ear, humming when you nuzzled into him. "So, so much. Never want you to forget it, sweetheart."

"I couldn't," you whispered, meaning it with everything in you. Billy bent his head to kiss yours, fingers spread over your forehead. "I love you too much to." His heart beat its soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and you felt yourself begin to slip into sleep, the call finally sounding and beckoning to you. Fish purred away, hardly disturbed by your movement.

Billy's hand over your head was just heavy enough for you to feel protected, and you managed to close your eyes. He pressed one final kiss to your hair before you fell into dreamland, all the while encased in him.

[sukuna-ryo]

The Bestfriend

(Preview)

Geto × Reader × Gojo pairing

Trigger warnings: NSFW content, including sexually explicit scenes (maybe). Poly Relationship (eventually). Emotional manipulation and power dynamics. Private relationship between counsellor and counselee is unethical so please don't date your therapist. MINORS DNI

You’ve been working at the corporate counseling department for a few months now, and one thing’s been constant: Gojo Satoru. The man, somehow, is always in your office. He’s the CEO of the company, but it seems like he’s always got some reason to book a session. At first, it felt like a weird formality, but now, you’ve gotten used to it. And honestly, you’re starting to understand why he needs so many counseling sessions. Gojo’s got this playful, carefree vibe that makes it hard to take him seriously. He’s the type of guy who seems like he’d rather make jokes than have a real conversation, but when he does talk about something deeper, you can see there’s more to him than just the annoying, charming guy who skips into your office like he owns the place.

One thing that keeps popping up, though, is his best friend. Gojo won’t stop talking about him, but he’s super vague. “Ah, my best friend? He’s too popular with girls. You really don’t want to know about him,” Gojo says, flashing that trademark grin. It’s almost like he’s trying to protect you from the guy, or maybe just doesn’t want you to meet him for reasons you can’t quite figure out—even though you’re only asking for counseling reasons.

As if that wasn’t enough, your best friend, Kugisaki Nobara, decided you were “ready” to get back out there, and set you up on a blind date. Of course, you tried to protest—you're not exactly looking for anything serious, especially not right now—but Nobara wouldn’t have it. She pushed you out of your comfort zone, and before you could say “philosophy,” you were sitting across from Geto Suguru, a calm, collected philosophy professor with a steady gaze and a soft smile.

Geto was, well... the opposite of Gojo. He’s polite, well-mannered, and you could tell he’s a genuinely kind person. His quiet intelligence made for interesting conversation, and unlike Gojo, Geto’s not the type to fill every second with jokes and antics. He seems to enjoy deep, thoughtful talks, which you find yourself looking forward to more with each date. Yet, there's one thing Geto mentions way too often. His best friend.

“Oh, him? Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Geto sighs, rubbing his temples. “He’s just... too annoying. I can’t even deal with him half the time. You don’t need that stress.”

You’re getting the sense that both of these guys have a mysterious best friend that’s somehow never worthy of a proper introduction. It’s all starting to feel a little too convenient. But hey, you’re just the counsellor for one, and there for good conversation and some nice dates with the other, right?

And while you’ve been getting to know them both separately, you can’t ignore the fact that you’re kind of enjoying their company. Gojo’s the kind of guy who can’t help but be annoying but somehow keeps you laughing even when he’s totally out of line. You can’t deny his charm, even if he drives you nuts sometimes. And Geto? Well, he’s just... easy to be around. Calm, collected, and honestly, you could spend hours talking to him about anything.

Sometimes, though, the way Geto talks about the world makes you pause—just for a second. It’s nothing obvious, just a word here or there, a tone that lingers too long. You brush it off, but it leaves you with an odd feeling you can’t quite shake.

You’re not exactly ready to call it anything serious, but as the weeks go by, you start realizing that you’re developing a little soft spot for both of them. They’re nothing alike, but that’s exactly what makes them so interesting.

What you don’t know, though, is that while you’re out here juggling dates and sessions with Gojo and Geto, something seems to be shifting in each of them. They both find themselves thinking about you more than they’d planned, though neither of them would admit it.

[yourabsolutemother]

At Sundown Chapter 2

!!MDNI!!

Chapter 1 here

===

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, I got sick 😭 We’re going to ignore how I gave Ghost blue eyes last time. IT’S FINE. I hate this chapter, I'm so sorry pfft. Also sorry if it feels unnatural if I call Johnny ‘Soap’, I’m dyslexic and having John and Johnny makes it hard for me to follow. 

CW: Military inaccuracy, accent inaccuracy, possible lore inaccuracy, typical a/b/o sexism and classism, cursing, slightly suggestive, reader is referred to as they/them but is afab, but reader is referred to as a woman sometimes (I try my best to make it gender neutral but I’m not the brightest), everyone is kinda being unfaithful, ‘fat’ and ‘whore’ are used as insults at two separate points, slight mention of verbal and physical bullying, mention of current political events, tiny bit of angst, mention of drug use, mention of taking medicine for anxiety

Chapter overview: Jasmine makes it up to reader, and John makes it up to Soap. Soap becomes interested in reader and it makes John a little uncomfortable

WC: 10k

===

You are woken up the next morning by Jasmine jumping on your bed, making your bed rebound as she settles next to you with her hands reaching for you. You groan out and yank the blankets over your face, tightening your grip when you feel Jasmine trying to tug it down and away from your face. “Go ‘way..” You croak out, dragging out the sound on your words. You aren’t too keen on getting up so early when it is your only day off for the next few months. You start to relax back into the bed, the overwhelming urge to fall back asleep becoming too much for your tired and overworked body, when you feel Jasmine start to poke your temple. She’s being very persistent in waking you up and it only makes you want to scream in her face to get out. You might be a little dramatic in the mornings, just a little obviously. “Pup…” She whispers, waiting for you to answer while she traces shapes on your exposed shoulder. She watches as goosebumps cover your skin and you shiver at the feeling. She knows it’s your weakness, and it honestly isn’t helping to keep you awake. The repetitive motion of her finger is starting to lull you back to sleep. When you don’t stir, she starts to chant the nickname annoyingly.

“Pup. Pup… Pup… Hey Pup. Hey Pup, guess what? Pup.”

“Puuuuuuuup.” She groans loudly, flopping down practically on top of you.You shove her to the side before she makes contact with you, making her grunt as her face hits the bed unexpectedly. You sit up, groaning loudly and glaring at her through your sleepy annoyedness. Your blanket pools around your waist, fluffing as it catches air on its way down. “What do you want, Jasmine?” The sound of her full name on your lips made her wince on the inside, you only do that when you’re mad. She feels like she deserves it though, after how she treated you. You deserve to treat her in such a salty way. She reaches out and holds your hand, noticing how you don’t grip her hand like you normally do. It’s like she’s just holding your hand, instead of the two of you holding each other's. Because it is like that.  “I wanted to make it up to you for last night.” Her tone is very to the point, like she isn’t afraid to admit that she is in the wrong. That’s what you like about her, she isn’t stubborn and set in her way like you are. You thank her often for putting up with the things you put her through sometimes. She always reminds you that you treat her like that because you trust her and feel safe around her, so she’s glad to put up with it as long as you aren’t always acting that way.

You give her a curious look as she continues to speak, explaining her reasoning for waking you up so early on your day off. “It wasn’t fair that I made fun of you like that when you were upset.” She tells you, reaching to gently pull the blanket fully from your body, urging you to get out of bed so she can take you out. “I should’ve realized it wasn’t the right time.” She continues to tell you, her thumb brushing over your cheek in a maternal gesture. “I’m sorry, Pup,” She finishes, her voice carrying unwavering remorse. You can tell that she feels bad for the way that she treated you when you came home so stressed out last night. You needed someone to lean on and to comfort you, and she as a beta should’ve done a better job of doing so. She shouldn't have overlooked such an obvious cry for help.

You smile and sit up taller in bed, the blanket tangling around your feet leaving you arrayed in only your sports bra and shorts. Jasmine's eyes never falter from your face, her face lighting up when she notices your heightened happiness, seeing that her apologizing made you feel much better. To her, it feels like a small gesture, but to you it means the world. “I have a reservation at your favorite breakfast place. Let's go.” She explains to you, her eyes soft and appreciative. Your eyes light up at her words and you scoot to the edge of the bed, ready to partake in some free food.

You are quick to scurry out of bed at the sound of her words and quickly start to get dressed. “How did you even manage to do that?” You ask happily, your excited voice becoming muffled when you pull your shirt over your head. “It's so hard to get a reservation.” Your favorite breakfast place in your city also happened to be everyone else’s favorite too. It is constantly packed and they’re only open until 11. They only serve breakfast too which makes things so much worse. The food there is just so homely, tastes like something your mother used to make when you were stuck home, sick out of your mind. You miss your mom, but you try to stop thinking about her as you finish pulling on your clothes, now dressed in a white tank top and loose jeans.

Jasmine sits on the edge of your bed as you get dressed, her gaze staying upwards towards your face. She’s leaning back on her hands and her ankles are crossed lazily. “I have my ways.” She responds vaguely, and you know not to push any further. Sometimes she’s a very mysterious person, you learned very early on that if she doesn’t want to open up about something, she isn’t going to. It used to bother you, being used to people that you are close with talking about anything that is bothering them or talking about their day. But Jasmine hardly does. Since her job is centered around using her abilities as a beta to calm people down when the pressure is high, it seems silly to her to worry other people with her problems when she needs to be worrying about others.

You are giddy as you come out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth and deodorant. You grab your bag and throw it on, facing her with an excited energy practically bouncing off of you. Your orange scent is heavy and thick in your room. It makes breathing feel like it’s harder, almost like the air is concentrated. Jasmine smiles and stands up despite this, reaching her hand out for you to take which you excitedly do and follow her out of your room and downstairs. She is slightly taller than you, so you have to walk a bit faster when you are walking with her. She’s even walking at a slower pace as you are trying to keep up. It's happened one too many times that she gets distracted when in a crowded place and starts booking it, leaving you in the dust. You are used to seeing her worried face as she weaves back through the crowd to find you, cursing herself for leaving you vulnerable to nasty alphas and betas. Omegas can be awful sometimes too. She worries about you too much sometimes.

Your other beta roommate, whom you still don’t know the name of, is sitting at the island working on whatever he works on. He has his back to the two of you and doesn’t even acknowledge your presence, even as you get closer to the door. “We’re going out.” Jasmine speaks, her eyes scanning his figure. He just waves his hand dismissively and grunts, hunching over his work more intensely than before as if to say ‘go away, im busy’

You feel your heart drop the tiniest bit, hating it when people don’t seem to like you. You have gotten used to it at work, but you have a very solid wall between your work life and your everyday life, even if you hardly have days off. And with you and the beta being in such close quarters, you know this dreadful feeling will never go away unless he suddenly decides he likes you. “Come on, let's go.” You hear Jasmine say into your ear, her tone all-knowing.

You’ve known Jasmine for years, for as long as you can really remember, life with and without her blending together as the years pass. From what you can remember, you met her in kindergarten, you two didn’t share a class but you shared a recess and the occasional computer lab. Your mothers got tired of hearing the two of you begging for a playdate because you never got to spend any real time with each other, and set up weekly playdates until middle school when you had more classes together. From there your relationship flourished and you were friends all throughout school. The two of you went to different colleges and fell out of touch. Recently, you found out that she was looking for roommates and she let you stay with her for a lower rate than what she was originally asking. She had to give up her office and put her desk in her room so she could get another roommate to afford it, just so you could have less on your shoulders.

She did a lot of recreational drug use when she was in highschool, which you dabbled in but was never really fully into. She stopped smoking when she had to get a real job, since they do drug tests on her regularly. Her memory is a bit more foggy than yours because of how much time she spent high in school. burning her brain cells in the process you assume. She remembers it as, the two of you met in the third grade in the computer lab and she only asked her mom once before they allowed us to meet outside of school. The rest of the story matched up pretty well, surprisingly. There are a few things that she doesn’t remember. Like the six months in highschool when you two didn’t talk because she went through this whole ‘mean girl’ phase and decided you weren't good enough to be in her friend group. She quickly realized that the new ‘friends’ she made weren’t in it for the long haul and didn’t care a thing for her feelings. She came crawling back begging for forgiveness, which of course, you were happy to give. You had missed her the entire time.

She ushers you out of the house, shooting a glare back at your roommate, who doesn’t even notice the passive aggressive gesture, his face still buried in what you always assume to be paperwork. You take a deep breath of the fresh morning air and a small smile comes to your face. You haven’t been able to do much of anything recently because of how much you are working, it’s nice to be able to not think about anything work related. You don’t have to put in any tickets, you don’t have to deal with any angry alphas, or even any alphas that want something more from you. You don’t have to deal with the staff of the restaurant that despises you based on nothing but the fact that you are an omega. You are also excited to go out because you know going out with Jasmine means she is paying for everything that you are going to do today. You gave up a while ago trying to argue with her, she says her love language is acts of service. So buying your stuff makes her feel like she is showing her appreciation for you. You can’t complain too much, it makes you feel special.

Jasmine opens the passenger side door to her car and waits for you to fully get in before she closes it behind you, making her way to the other side of the car by going around the front. You put on your sunglasses as she circles around the car to the driver side, the dark tint eases the strain on your eyes from the harsh light coming from the morning sun. It’s just coming up above the horizon behind you. It’s glaring off the mirrors and anything around that is chrome. She gets in and starts the car, you are quick to connect the bluetooth to her car. Only after connecting do you take off your bag and buckle your seatbelt. Jasmine has been expanding her music taste recently and it's less than impressive. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just not the vibe that you’re ever really looking for. You turn on the playlist title ‘Road trip/sing along’

Jasmine starts driving, with one hand on the steering wheel and her other arm resting on the center console. She once told you she always keeps her arm on the console so that she can reach over and ‘save you’ from getting hurt if something is going wrong. Like she can save you with an arm if the car starts flipping. Her fingers tap against the leather of her steering wheel as she drives towards the diner she’s taking you to. You can hardly sit still in your seat, happy to go after not going for so long.

The drive is around 45 minutes, since the diner is on the other side of the city and there is Saturday traffic. You sit with your legs crossed in the seat, watching things pass by the window. You get lost in thought as Jasmine drives, your mind wandering through memories and anxiously thinking about the bills you have to pay with your next paycheck. You are prescribed anxiety medicine by your doctor, a pretty high dose, but it still hardly helps. You’re just glad you don’t spend all night staying up worrying about literally everything. The medicine helps the insonia the most.

You are ripped out of your thoughts by a particularly hard break from Jasmine, Her fingers brushing against your arm for a moment. Your eyes snap to the road and see someone that had not seen a mail truck that is putting mail in a mailbox, due to a curve that hides it from our view as we come up. The car is able to change lanes and go around the mail truck, but there isn’t enough room for us as well so Jasmine presses on the brakes harder. Her hand presses against your shoulder, holding you back from going forward too far as she presses the brake pedal. Which is unnecessary since you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself. Sometimes she acts as though you are incompetent, but it makes it so you don’t have to do as much when you are around her, so you allow her to do it.

“I’m sorry, hun. That’s a really bad spot for a mailbox.” Jasmine apologizes with a slight laugh, glancing over at you with a slight grin on her face. You feel when she lets off of the brake and presses the gas, continuing down the road and getting in the other lane to overtake the mail truck. She only lets go of your shoulder once she is safely around the mail truck. “Did you know that if you hit a mail truck, unless they’re being really stupid, it's your fault?” You blurt out, watching the mail truck as you pass it. “It doesn’t help that mail truck drivers are like the worst drivers in existence.” You can’t remember where you learned the information, but you find it odd that they don’t teach it to new drivers. You turn your head and look at Jasmine, who is glancing at you with her eyebrows furrowed in faux judgment. “No wonder you’re unmated.” She mumbles, looking back at the road with a smirk and giggle.

You gasp and slap her arm, turning in your seat as your mouth falls open in shock. “Excuse me, ma’am!” You gasp, fighting back a laugh erupting from your throat. “That is so uncalled for!” You shriek, placing a hand over your heart, pretending as though she had hurt you. “And you’re one to talk. The last time you were even remotely close to finding one was in highschool.” You tell her, pointing a finger at her. She can’t stop giggling as she drives, trying to keep her eyes open so she can see the road. She is the only person you trust to make jokes like that about you. She’s helped you through countless breakdowns about the fact that you are unmated and too afraid alphas to mate with one, no matter how much your instincts crave it. You know that when she jokes about it, she doesn’t mean what she says because she's had to convince you of the opposite too many times for you to count.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When John wakes up and he’s in his room, cuddling with his pack while they sleep peacefully. His room is the master bedroom, it has two king size beds on the ground inside, pushed together so that they could all sleep in a cuddle pile comfortably. He’s laying closest to the right side of the bed with Gaz’s back pressed against his chest, their legs are tangled together. Soap is facing Gaz, his chin resting on Gaz’s head. Ghost is behind soap, closest to the left side with his face buried in the space between Soap's shoulder blades, snoring loudly. He lifts his hand from Gaz’s waist and brushes a stray hair from Soap’s mohawk away from his forehead, his thumb ghosting over the younger’s cheekbone softly. He places a kiss on the top of Gaz’s head, getting up and sitting just on the edge of the bed for a moment. He lets the memories of last night run through his head, how poorly he treated Soap when all he was trying to do was help. John sighed and stood up from the bed, pushing off of his knees with his hands.

He gets ready for the day as quietly as he can, trying to think of ways he could make it up to his beta. He could just wait for him to wake up and give him a verbal apology, but it doesn’t feel like enough for a beta that has to deal with two hormonal alphas. He pulled a shirt over his head and left the room, closing the door quietly behind himself before making his way downstairs. He walks to the kitchen and starts to make tea, planning on starting breakfast once it’s brewing. But a lightbulb goes off in his brain, finally knowing what else to do other than tell him how utterly sorry he is for being so rude. He quickly dumps the water from the kettle and books it back up the stairs, skipping every other step with quiet and practiced ease. The primal part of his brain loves the idea of taking care of his beta, pampering what’s his, showing him off. He slips back into his bedroom and hones in on Soap, who has now turned to face simon. Simon is on his back, one arm over his eyes while his other arm lays out beside him, Soap is using it as a pillow. Gaz has his front pressed against soaps back, his arms tucked into his chest as he curled around his bonded pack mate.

John kneels on the edge of the bed, just below Soap, and runs his hands up and down Soap’s calves. He does this for a little bit, paying special attention to spots where he feels knots in the muscles. The beta lets out breathy grunts in his sleep every time a knot slips from underneath John’s fingers, but still doesn’t seem to want to wake up, he just licks his lips and turns his head, continuing to let out pleased sounds from John’s massage. John huffs in annoyance at the shorter man's deep sleeping. He carefully places his hands next to Soap’s head, slotting between him and the two men either side of him. He leans over and brushes his lips over the shell of Soap’s ear. “Johnny..” He whispers out gently, placing kisses to the side of Soap’s face a bit firmly to wake him up. The larger man’s mustache tickles Soap’s face, making his lips twitch in his sleep.

Finally, Soap starts to wake up, his eyes fluttering open, being met with Simon's shoulder and John's arm. He lets out a hum and closes his eyes again, not wanting to get up quite yet. This makes John laugh quietly in his ear, leaning his weight onto the arm next to Simon and using his other hand to sort of lift Soaps head by his neck, supporting his mate's head with his fingers. “Ge' up, i’m taking you ou'.” John speaks, his voice hushed so the other two pack members won't hear him and wake up. Soap’s eyes immediately snap open at the mention of going out. He knows what that means. Food. He sits up in bed slowly, allowing John time to slide off and stand from the mattress. They both move carefully so as to not wake the alpha and the beta that are still asleep, watching as they squirm to find each other's warmth, making sure they find each other. Soap slides off the bed the rest of the way once Simon has Gaz in his arms and shoots a charming smile at Price. “Whit's the occasion?” He asks John, his head tilted to the side a bit in curiosity.

John takes a hold of his arm gently and guides him out of the room, leaving the sleeping pair to a peaceful and quiet bedroom. He slides his hand from the back of Soap's arm to interlace his fingers with the other man’s. “I wonted to make i' up to you for being such a cunt yesterday.” John explains, his voice now louder since they aren’t around sleeping people anymore. His voice is gruff and a bit crackly from sleep, it makes Soap shiver unnoticeably. “You’re a very good beta, don’' le' my behavior go to your head.” John continues, his voice now holding a hint of vulnerability, Soap knows he means what he says.

Soap leans against his side and smiles warmly up at him. “t’s ma job tae tak care o ye, e'en whan you’re havin an aff day.” Soap reminds his alpha, his thumb brushing over the back of John’s hand. John takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m glad you think so..” He admits, the breath he just took coming out, making his words sound all breathy. “It’s jus' tha' i feel like a good alpha, a real alpha, wouldn’' le' their emotions ge' in the woy of making sure their pack is happy..” He continues, his grip tightening on Soap's hand as they come up to Soap’s room, turning his head to fully look at Soap. The beta smiles reassuringly at John and places a gentle kiss to his lips briefly. “Ye are a guid alpha, John, don’t ye iver forget tha’.” His voice carries a very hard resolve, his eyes burning with a determination for John to really understand what he is saying. “youre allowit tae let gae sometimes, keepin things inside isnae guid. We're yer pack, we're here for ye na matter whit.” Soap tells him, poking the alpha in the ribs.

John can’t help but believe Soap, the look he is giving can convince John of anything. He can murder his entire family and pull this face and he will be an innocent man in John’s eyes. John's free hand comes up and cups Soap’s cheek, cradling his face in his hand as he leans in and kisses him lovingly. The taller man puts his heart and soul into the kiss, making sure Soap knows he loves him, and the rest of the pack, more than anything else in the world. He would give a limb for any one of them, easily. Soap lets go of John’s hand and rests his hands on John's ribs at his side, having to look up slightly to kiss him back with overwhelming emotion. John’s now free hand moves to grasp onto Soap’s hips while they share the intimate kiss. The rest of the world fades out as they kiss, holding each other close like they are afraid they’d be forced apart. Their lips clash and their teeth hit each other a few times, the pair not worrying about being polite about it.

Soap is the first to pull away, taking a deep breath through his nose as he rests his forehead against John’s. “Come in, I need clothes.” He mutters, sliding his hand down the alpha’s side before slipping off his body. John leans down and buries his face into Soap’s neck, taking a deep breath of Soap’s freshly cut grass scent. He lets out a little huff and sighs softly. Soap stands there, his hands once again finding his mate’s ribs. He holds on as John really takes his time to smell him, effectively scenting himself with Soap’s scent. “You smell so good. 'll never be able to ge' over it, I swear.” He mumbles, pulling away to look at Soap’s face. “Let’s go..” He continues, smiling as he reaches for the door handle.

Soap can feel his heart drop to his stomach and his throat starts to tighten up. He doesn’t know how John will react to the smell of an omega in his room. He prays that the omega next door, who is slowly catching his attention, isn’t in their room and their scent isn’t wafting through his room like it normally is when the omega is home. He doesn’t even notice the way he holds his breath as John opens the door and steps in. He tries to conceal his anxiety and steps in behind John, his hands going to hold onto the shirt he has on, tugging a bit on the fabric. Soap seems a little surprised when John doesn’t react to any smell, stepping in further so that he can smell better for himself. As Soap breathes in, he is relieved to smell that the omega is not in their room and his room was free of any smells as far as he could tell.

“Kinda smells like oranges in here.” John points out as he makes his way over to the bed that Soap hardly uses and sits down, leaning back on his hands while he looks at Soap. He wasn't looking at him like he wanta a reason as to why it smells so much like oranges, which makes Soap release the breath he forgot he was been holding. John continues to look at Soap while he racks his brain for things to tell his alpha. “Thare wis an omega at trainin last nicht thon wasn’t wearin scent blocker. Got aw ower me” Soap explains, remembering the lie that he told Simon last night. “Si haed tae scent me whan A came home last nicht” He tells John, connecting the lies to make it seem more believable if the two alphas are to ever talk about Soap smelling like oranges.

He feels bad having to lie to his alphas, but he doesn’t want them thinking that he is doing unfaithful things behind everyone’s back. The omega is infatuating, but that doesn't stop Soap from knowing that his place is with his pack. He isn’t so unhappy in the relationship that he needs to cheat to feel better about himself. He’s secure. The omega is just so interesting and engaging, that he can’t keep his mind off of them for more than a few hours. And knowing that they are only a few feet away at any moment when they’re both home makes his brain swim with intrigue

John just nods, completely unaware of the dishonesty coming from his beta mate. John shakes his head and scoffs a little bit. “Those new omegas need to have a talking to, they never follow the rules. There's a reason we wear scen' blockers.” John rants on about how disrespectful the new omega recruits are, a new wave of omegas that think they can change the societal rules that have been around for millenia. It is just safer the way they have it set up. Plus, if anything were to happen to them, not revealing they are an omega right off gives them a better chance of survival. The enemies they fought do appalling things to the omegas that are trapped in their claws.

Soap goes to his dresser and pulls out new underwear, socks, and two pairs of pants. He throws one pair of pants at John as he walks by to go to the closet. “Ye forgot pants, mate.” He laughs, opening the closet door to look for a shirt. Soap’s back is towards John as he fishes around in the hangers for a shirt he deems good enough. John stands up, Soap paying no mind to him since John still has to put the pants he gave him on. He jumps when John grabs his hips. “Wha' if I don'' won' to pu' pants on?” He asks, pulling Soap’s hips against his own. “Fuckin’ love yer scent, pup..” John grumbles against his neck. He pushes his nose right up against the scent gland in Soap’s neck, chuffing softly against the skin as his dick grows harder in the confines of his boxers. Soap chuckles and reaches behind him to swat John away from him. “Ye promisit me breakfast. Yer dick, unfortunately, will no be enough.” Soap tells John, finally pulling a shirt out of the closet. It is one of Simon’s old shirts that Soap stole from him, Soap doesn’t know that Simon knows he stole it, but lets him keep it.

John groans and immediately backs off when Soap tells him off, sliding Soap’s pants on. He has to suck in his stomach a little bit to button the pants, since John is bigger than Soap. Soap is tall for a beta, and so is Gaz, but John is still bigger. He doesn’t bother putting on a belt since the pants are sure to stay on his hips. He pulls his shirt over where his muscular hips muffin top out of the pants, much to Soap’s displeasure. “Givn’ me blue balls over ‘ere.” John mumbles as he sits back down on the bed, watching as Soap pulls his (Simon’s) shirt over his head. “Ye don' even care, do you?” John jokes, grabbing Soap once he’s done getting dressed. He pulls the beta to stand between his spread legs, resting his chin on Soap's muscular stomach and looking up at him with affected sadness. Soap laughs and threads his fingers through John's hair, looking down at him as he pulls a faux pity face. “Of course I do.” He says in a fake tone, pursing his lips slightly. “Poor poor alpha.” He continues to joke, cradling John's head in his arms. “Left high and dry.”

John huffs in amusement and pushes Soap away gently, glaring halfheartedly at him. “You suck.” He grumbles, standing up and shuffling to get past Soap. “Still smells like oranges in here. Did you ge' a candle or something? when are you even in here to burn it?” John questions, his head turning up slightly as he sniffs the air. He just stands there for a second, his eyes cast off to the side as he tries to figure out what the smell is. Luckily, you have been out of the room for long enough that while they could smell you, they couldn’t smell you. He shrugs and turns back to Soap, who is mentally panicking while he watches John. “Let's go, we gotta go. This place is apparently really popular.” John explains as he grabs his betas hand and leads him out of his room, down the stairs and to the car.

He keeps a protective hand on Soap's lower back as soon as they step outside, as if the two claim marks on either side of Soap's neck aren’t enough to show who he belongs to, who his alphas are. Soap is a large beta, a rare phenomenon that paired well with female alphas who might be a bit smaller, being mistaken constantly as a beta and taken advantage of. Soap finds it endearing how protective his two alphas are, but just a little bit unnecessary. He is perfectly capable of protecting himself and he would never leave his pack for some measly alpha. But that doesn’t stop John and Simon from protecting their two omegas like they are some tiny, helpless omegas. Not really, but that’s how Soap’s stubborn brain sees it. Soap sees it as them thinking that their beta’s can’t protect themselves or the pack, unlike the alphas who just see it as protecting their pack and making sure the strongest put up the most fight. Soap thinks it's better to make the load even between the roles, so the alphas don’t wear themselves out . Gaz is always the one who constantly hears the rants about how Simon and John treat them, having to calm Soap down and remind him about all the times that their alphas believed in his abilities on and off the field.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jasmine finally make it to the restaurant, you clinging to her arm as the smell of alpha fills your nose. You try not to let the overwhelming fear of alphas get in the way of your day to day life, but sometimes it isn’t as easy as ignoring them. You keep your head tilted down so you don’t accidentally make eye contact with an alpha that might be in a bad mood. Jasmine leads you through the parking lot and towards the entrance of the restaurant, looping her arm with yours. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.” She mutters to you, reaching over with her other hand to caress the back of your hand. You are practically clawing the skin of her bicep, your nails leaving crescent indents in her skin. She winces slightly, but doesn’t move to stop you from doing it. She understands your fear of alphas, why you are always so uncomfortable around them. Luckily for you, she knows how to handle alphas that are angry, because of her line of work.

You don’t know what you’d do without her, she’s like your lifeline when you really need her. Well, except for last night. She’s usually really good about comforting you, it helps a lot that she’s a beta and she’s naturally good at it. You think back on all the times that Jasmine has helped you and used her skills as a beta to make sure you know your worth. You are the person you are today because of her and her comforting words. Your thoughts are cut short as you walk into the restaurant, your nose scrunching as you smell all the old people who don’t bother putting on scent blockers after so many years. You can’t really blame them, it’s hard to care about what other people think when you reach that age. Jasmine handles talking to the host and guides you through the busy restaurant, pulling you along as you keep your head down. You always find it really annoying when hosts walk too fast, having to keep up and hope you don’t lose them is not fun. You like to go extra slow when it's an older couple at your job. It’s so sad watching them fight through the crowd while they try to catch up to the host that's walking too fast.

This host places down your menus on the table and bids farewell to Jasmine, not bothering to glance at you as he walks away back to the host stand. Jasmine doesn’t respond, she knows the type of person he is, it’s not hard to catch once you really know what to look for. You can really tell their classist when they pretend an omega isn’t even there like what just happened, often referring to the beta or alpha nearest to them when they are taking orders to order for them. It really sucks when you don’t even know the person they ask, it sucks even more when the person they ask is classist too, ‘Oh yeah they’ll have a salad. No one wants a fat omega.’ is usually the bullshit that spews out of the mouth of a person like that.

You and Jasmine sit down, she is facing the door so she can keep an eye on it. You just sit in whatever seat feels right. It’s one of those square tables that never have enough room for two people, let alone four. You despise tables like this, sitting in these with two people when you want to sit next to each other is really something designers should think about, and what interior designers should think about when using them. The feeling of your stomach dropping when you see these is all too familiar. It makes it so much harder for you to feel safe when Jasmine can’t protect you well, not because she’s lacking, but because of the fucking table. Not desirable in the slightest.

The restaurant is busy, so it takes a really long time for your waitress to even get your drink order. You're still waiting for her to bring it back and it's been ten minutes since she left. Her name tag had a ‘new employee’ sticker on it, so you give her a slack, as if you don’t give every waiter slack. This job sucks. You know how hard it is to be on your own for your first few rushes, especially when it's this busy. Her entire section is full and it looks like she has at least two eight parties. They really need to get a manager to step in, it's simply too much for a new hire to handle. You see her whisk by with a tray full of drinks, that don’t seem to be yours, and it looks like she just spent five minutes in the freezer crying. You can feel your heart clench in your chest. “Jas, can we tip really big..?” You ask your friend, turning your head slightly to the side to look at Jasmine. She has her thumb partially in her mouth, nibbling at the skin around her cuticle while she scrolls through her phone. “Hmm?” Jasmine asks,  tilting her head up to look at you, but her eyes stay on her phone.

You kinda scoff and push her phone so it falls towards her. “You’re supposed to be making it up to me for being mean last night.” You tell her pointedly, pursing your lips while crossing your arms over your chest. “Not ignoring me.” You continue, the cheeky look still on your face. Jasmine’s face kinda falls as she catches her phone before she sits up straight and tosses her hair behind her shoulder, interlacing her fingers on the table in front of her. Her phone now sat face down on the table. “Well, I’m sorry, Madame. How may I make it up to such a noble omega such as yourself?” She asks, purposely over exaggerating her words. This makes you scoff, kicking her slightly under the table. “Oh shut it.” You scold, furrowing your eyebrows at her. She smiles and reaches down to rub the sharp stinging in her shin. “Okay, okay, I’ll pay attention.” She gives in, holding her hands up in surrender.

You spend the next five minutes talking about life and how things are going in your respective workplaces, you end up talking about your new roommate. And while you’re talking about him, you realize how little you’ve actually talked to him. Actually thinking about it, you come to find that you have only said ‘hello’. It kinda rubbed you in the wrong way, maybe you had done something wrong. Were you too loud one night while you were crying? Or while you were… entertaining yourself? You hope not, the last thing you want is a roommate who doesn’t like you, it sounds like a life of misery. The waitress sets down your drinks in front of you, her hands slightly flailing in front of her while she rants on about why she took so long getting your drinks. Jasmine politely interrupts her by placing a hand on her forearm and smiling softly. “You don’t have to worry about rushing to get our stuff, we totally understand.” She tells the waitress, pulling her hand back to rest it on the table.

You can see the panic slide off her face for a moment while she rushes out a meek ‘thank you’ before rushing off to serve her more needy customers, her face contorting back to a look of dread. Jasmine sighs as she watches the girl weave through the crowd, getting lost in the sea of customers and waitresses alike. “Yeah.., we can tip extra.” Jasmine mutters, answering your question from before that you swore she hadn’t heard. Jasmine’s eyes linger a bit longer than they should as she watches the waitress rush through the crowd and disappear. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you put it in a folder in your brain to poke at her with later.

A smile bursts across your face as you hear the beta’s words, feeling the warmth of doing something good spread through you. This feeling makes all the bad feelings of being out and about disappear, it’s like you were never scared in the first place. You know that will all change as soon as you look up and see an alpha sitting not even ten feet from you, so you’ll save yourself the trouble and not look up. You always try to make people feel as though there's at least one person out there that understands what they’re going through or at least sympathizes with them. You know what it’s like to walk a road where no one is there to walk with you. How it feels to think that no one thinks that you can do things right. Jasmine is your person, you hope you are someone's person. You and Jasmine are the waitresses at this moment.

You ramble on to Jasmine for a few minutes while drinking your Shirley temple, talking about weirdly deep things that you probably shouldn’t be talking about in the middle of the busy restaurant. But who cares, it's very unlikely you’ll see any of these people ever again. And if you did, they won't remember you or how you talked about your childhood trauma in the middle of a breakfast rush. You feel that familiar tug in your bladder and you wince, knowing you’ll have to get up and make it to the bathroom by yourself. Usually, you are able to ask Jasmine to come with you. But, with how busy the restaurant is, you don’t trust to leave your stuff here unattended and come back to it untouched. So, you are forced to grow a pair and do it yourself.

You take a deep breath and mumble to Jasmine where you are going, a simple nod as she puts her phone down, that she had picked back up at one point, to give her attention to you. She wants to make sure that you make it at least to the hallway where the bathrooms were safely. She watches as you stand up and walk towards the bathroom, your hands clenched into fists and a determined look on your face as you glide through the crowd like it’s water. Thanks to being a waitress, you are able to get through crowds like it was no problem. You know when to take your chances and when taking your chance will lead to failure. It’s a pretty easy pattern to recognize once you’ve seen it a million times. You’re good at reading people, watching their mannerism like a hawk to spot hints as to what their next move is going to be. It’s necessary for your safety back in your original pack, where you were constantly teased and bullied. Turns out, it doesn’t matter if your father was a high ranking alpha in a multi-family pack, they still bully and beat the omegas. 

You're so busy swimming through the crowd that you don’t even notice another pair of eyes on you. Soap is watching you through the crowd as the host leads him and John to their table, which was in a corner. Your table is positioned in the middle, a little further away from theirs. The host smiles and pulls their chairs out before rushing back to the host stand, where there is a line of people starting to refill the lobby. It’s one of many, and definitely not the last wave. Soap lets out a little huff of air when he looks back towards where you just were after getting in his seat. He had almost gotten a good look at you. He noticed Jasmine’s car in the parking lot, when they coincidentally parked next to it. He’d recognized the parking tag that was required to be put on the rearview mirrors of residents of your neighborhood, since it was a gated community. 

John watches Soap as he scans the area near the bathroom, completely unaware he saw you, or that you are even here. John doesn’t really know who you are. He's aware of your existence, nothing more than that. He also isn’t aware of Soap’s interest in this new omega, how he craves to get to know her. It’s not like Soap is dying to get his hands on you, or that he wanted to hold you like he holds his mate. It’s just that you seem so elusive and mysterious he couldn’t help but be interested in you. He wants to know what your face looks like, he wants to know what your strong scent smells like up close. He just wants to know everything about you, learn how you work, what makes you tick. He wants to make sure that your packmates are treating you right.

 “Are you okay? Did you see something?” John asks, one hand reaching for the menu while his other reaches to hold Soap’s hand after a long period of silence. Soap just nods slowly and looks at John, blinking before he flashes his charming smile and saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Aye, some prick wis wearin a maga hat.” It is unfortunately completely believable, and John even buys it. He rolls his eyes and takes his hat off his head, placing it on the table furthest away from them. “Welcome to America.” He states with a grimace behind his tone, shaking his head as he reads the menu.

“Why i the hell did command send us here o aw places? they coud've pickit london an A'd be happier.” Soap complains, leaning back in his chair as his eyes go back to the hallway you disappeared into. If a Scot would rather be in Britain then somewhere else, it's a very heavy insult “If I knew, I would be having some very strong words with whoever made the decision. I mean, who sends three brits and a sco' to america for leave?” John complains back, not taking his eyes of the menu as he scans for something that sounds decent. Soap doesn’t hear John's response and John knows that “Can ye no like put i a request? A mean, canae ye use yer rank tae make someone move us ower the pond?” Soap questions mindlessly, knowing full well that there is absolutely nothing that John can do to make their situation any better. They are lucky they get a place as nice as they did.

“fuckers don'' even have a nice english breakfas'.” John groans, closing the menu quickly. He gives up on trying to find something to eat for right now, it’s clear from the line out the door that they wouldn’t get their order taken in a while. He scans the room for a moment before his eyes land on Soap, whose face has dropped slightly and a slightly shocked look crosses his face. John’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he follows Soap’s gaze to the hallway, where he sees you, a younger looking woman, walking out, your eyes making a path to what he can only assume is your table, standing in the entrance of the hallway. He notices the way your chest heaves slightly before you step out and book it to your table. The both of them lose you in the crowd, Soap is left with his gaze wandering, trying to scope you out in the crowded restaurant. “Who was tha’?” John asks, his eyes returning to Soap’s shocked face. He doesn’t answer, too caught up thinking about the way your hair frames your face, how your eyes seem so soft despite how panicked you seem. His beta instincts are reeling at the thought of someone he knows is an omega being in distress. But, it is a saturday morning and he knows you have a pack, the two betas. He knows someone has your back, hopes someone does.

“Earth to Soap.” John calls out gently, waving his hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Who was tha’?” He asks again, watching as Soap blinks and looks over to him. “Ah it's nothing, cap'n. Juist people watchin. Thoucht A saw someone A knew.” Soap told John, starting to feel horrible about all the lies he has been telling his alphas recently. He knows when they find out about it, because they will, he’s gonna be neck deep in trouble. He sees the way John’s eyes squint in disbelief, scanning the beta’s face for a sign that he is lying. After not seeing one, he nods and reopens the menu, continuing to search for something to eat in this hellhole with no traditional english. “Something is on your mind, beta. What's wrong?” John questions after a moment of silence, picking his breakfast choice before he closes the menu. “Is it because of last night?” He asks, his eyes holding a look of vulnerability as he looks at his mate.

Soap seems confused for a second before he breaks out in a laugh, that’s probably too loud for the space they are in. John sees a few people turn their heads and glare at the smaller man. “Why would I be thinking so hard about last night?” Soap asks, rubbing his thumb on the back of John’s hand comfortingly. It’s obviously bothering him since he’s brought it up twice already this morning already. “Ye didn’t dae anythin wrong. Ye have been a little snippy, but it's nothin we can’t handle.” Soap reassures him, smiling at John while he watches the battle behind his eyes. John lets out a sigh and his head dips slightly. “It’s jus' that, i stood up so quickly las' nigh' in my office, though' i knocked you over..” John breathes out, his tone remorseful. “And then i didn' even stop to make sure you were okay..” John continues, his grip tightening on Soap’s hand like he’ll suddenly get mad and pull it away. “juist stop thinkin aboot it, John. A'm okay. Ye're makin it up tae me now, thon's whit matters richt now. Aye?” It helps to calm John’s nerves for now, replaying Soap’s words in his mind whenever he feels insecure about it again.

The whole meal, John catches Soap looking past him and at you. He’s confused and a little offended. He took time out of his day to take out his beta, who he treated wrongly the night before. And here he is, distracted from the conversation, from his alpha, to look at some random woman in the diner that John had to fight for a table at. He doesn’t want to say anything to Soap, not wanting to point fingers and accuse him of something that might be purely innocent. Maybe they reminded Soap of his childhood friend, or maybe it actually was his childhood friend. But it doesn’t stop John from getting grumpy. By the time they are both completely finished, John’s face is hardened, trying to hold back from twisting his face in annoyance. He slaps a forty dollar bill on the table and motions for Soap to go first through the crowd.

Soap notices the difference in John’s behavior as they get up and make their way to the exit, noticing how John doesn’t grip the back of his neck when they go through a particularly thick portion of a crowd. He doesn’t hear the quiet growl that comes from John when he turns to search for that woman one last time through the crowd before they walk out the door. The beta frowns a bit at the lack of John’s closeness, but chooses not to say anything. John’s job is very stressful as their captain, and even when they are on partial leave, his desk is covered in paperwork, all the ones that didn’t really have deadlines, but still needed to be signed. He practically lives in his office all year around.

When they get back into John’s car, Soap immediately starts to project his calming scent for John, trying to ease the off putting emotions that whatever is bothering him is causing. He can hear John taking deep breaths of this scent as he pulls out of the parking lot, obviously not wanting to feel the way he is. Once he is safely on the road, he reaches over and places a hand on Soap’s mid thigh, kneading the muscles as he tries to calm himself. “Thank you, beta.” John’s voice speaks, sounding deeper and strained, like he is trying not to snap. 

And John is doing just that. He doesn’t like the way Soap hardly looked at him the whole time, giving his attention to someone other than his mate. It makes his blood boil knowing that someone else has caught the attention of his beta. His beta. John doesn’t want to be so possessively mad, but it is his nature. Protection and control has been drilled into his brain from a young age. But he doesn’t want to be one of those alphas that doesn’t allow their pack members to be free and do what they please. So he chokes back his ego and gives his pack mates the support they need. But he can’t help but feel like he isn’t giving them the support they deserve, no matter how many times they reassure him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jasmine finally make it home after a long morning and afternoon out, carrying bags of leftover food from lunch and from all the stores the two of you visited while out. You love it when Jasmine treats you to a day like this. They aren’t too often because you always feel a little bad that she spends so much money on you during the course of only a few hours. You almost always end up with a new wardrobe worth of new clothing, mostly ‘new’ from the thrift stores. The thrift stores are the only ones you shop at because you always find good things and it's cheap enough that you can afford a few new items every few months.

You giggle at the joke Jasmine cracks as you set the bags down on the kitchen island, having to push a few random objects out of the way with the bottoms of the bags before you set them down. “You know you didn’t have to buy me all this.” You point out, which makes Jasmine groan and throw her head back in faux annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you? I make enough money that I don’t have to worry about having a spending spree every once and a while.” She reminds you, her hand covering your mouth when you start to argue with her. “And I do not mind at all if sometimes I spend it on you. I can survive for a few more months without something new.” She tells you firmly, her eyes looking into yours like she is trying to drill her words into your thick skull.

You roll your eyes but nod anyway, simply wanting her to let go of your mouth. You’d get the last word somehow. She finally lets go of your mouth and opens the two bags of leftovers on the island. “Go on upstairs and I’ll come look at your new clothes and help you put them away, yeah?” Jasmine instructs gently while she takes one of many boxes from the bag and transfers it to the fridge. You waste no time picking up the rest of the bags and going upstairs to get all of them out.

You’re putting the last few items on your bed, laid out so Jasmine could pick which one she wants to see first when she finally comes in. This is your routine when you get new clothes. You lay them all out and she picks which ones she wants to see. She always wants to see all of them, liking the way your face lights up when you show her your new favorite shirt or socks. It doesn’t matter how little you get either, she wants to see it on you before you put it through the wash. It’s purely because you love the attention you get from doing it, basking in being someone's main focus.

The whole time that the two of you are doing this, you never hear your roommate. He is such a quiet person that the two of you have both thought you are alone in the house at one point, just to come downstairs in nothing but a t-shirt to see him sitting at the island doing god knows what. It’s lucky that he doesn’t ever give the two of you the time of day, so he never sees when you come prancing down the stairs half naked.

You spend the rest of the night giggling and talking about random things with Jasmine, slapping her arm and gasping in shock when she asks risque questions like ‘If you liked alphas, would you be a breeder?’ leaving you reeling in laughter, cause it just sounds so out of character for you. She has a tendency to forget about filtering her words, sometimes throwing out the most insane thoughts and phrases as soon as they pop into her mind. It has resulted in a few arguments in your years being friends with her, but other time you realized she doesn’t really mean any harm by her words.

You end the night with cuddles in your bed with your large stuffed animal. It is the last thing that your mother gave you before your pack kicked you out. It is the only thing that you have that reminds you of the once loving relationship you had with the woman that birthed you. You miss her. You miss your family. But you don’t miss the rest of your multi-family pack. The boys there used to tease you so much when you were growing up, and when you got older it turned into fighting over you. One gruesome fight was all it took for the pack leader to kick you out ‘in favor of peace and balance’. You thought your father and mother would’ve fought for you to stay, but they saw you as promiscuous and didn’t want a whore omega for a daughter to ruin their public image within the pack. They were the ones that really pushed for the pack leader to kick you out.

You fall asleep that night thinking about them, about your old life. Wondering how different your life would’ve been in the universe hadn’t been so cruel to you. You wonder if it will always be so cruel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list:

@horny-bish

@wizzdot

@ella-rose45

Let me know if you would like to be added :)

[rin-hanarin]

I realized that I've never addressed the elephant in Lucanis's room, also known as his romance plot, as a "Had been delusional about him for months before release" individual, so here's a surprisingly long rant/summary of how I felt about it in the process of playing the game.

As a Rook de Riva player, I obviously loved "Coffee with the Crows": we met Illario, joked about haha three Crows talking about nothing, talked business, Rook and Lucanis had a nice moment getting to know each other better outside of being teammates, Rook de Riva's background was acknowledged again, it really felt like a nice bonding moment, right?

Thennn a whole lot of nothing happens during any of the conversations between them, huh. Lucanis doesn't acknowledge flirting, which is fine, take your time bud, you'll get there; you keep pushing being supportive, he ignores you, you deal with his personal stuff for him one (1) time, and in my case he then proceeds to ignore Rook for 10+ hours of pure game time while busy talking to Neve at every opportunity until I finally get one (1) dialogue option to "express romantic interest in Lucanis".

And let me express my honest innermost feelings on the matter:

Not only did it feel like Lucanis genuinely couldn't care less about Rook even as a friend, it also felt like Rook was forcing Lucanis into something he simply wasn't interested in and that we were just getting in the way of his relationship with Neve. It was genuinely unpleasant to experience in a videogame that is supposed to be wish fulfillment and whatnot, and let me tell you, it was especially jarring because Dragon Age games also have a tendency of occasionally making you feel like the most special little protagonist known to Thedas, at the very least to your companions who you're supposedly building bonds with.

I loved hangout events in this game, too, I was so happy to just have these conversations about whatever with companions, have these little one-on-one moments with them that genuinely felt like walks with friends (especially with my bro my bestie my homie Davrin), and with Lucanis it started and ended with the coffee date. His fears and doubts about Rook later are never addressed, and lol lmao even, yeah, why would they be, when it feels like he barely acknowledges Rook exists outside of accompanying him to deal with his problems, none of which need Rook there? There's no reason outside of gameplay for him to ask Rook and not, say, his favorite Neve he talks about everything to? Somehow a lot of times when I hoped for any sort of dialogue with him, I was met with him talking about something very personal like his current feelings about Illario to Neve, like, isn't Rook supposed to know anything about anything, or are we just his convenient weird coworker he sometimes asks favours from?

We persevere though and keep supporting Lucanis, and can you take a wild guess what was waiting for me after like 40 hours of the game and after the infamous "kabedon assassin style" scene? Yeah bro, Lucanis just happened to talk to Neve. I wish I was making this shit up. My coping strategy was to come up with an entire jealousy subplot for my Rook because if I have to feel like I'm in the shittiest unrequited situationship of a triangular shape, I might as well do it on my own terms, right? It feels petty and stupid because as a player I like Neve, too, she's one of the coolest (no pun intended) characters, but as Rook, and Rook de Riva making an obvious choice especially? Yeah, let's just say this relationship fucking sucked for a while.

So after many trials and tribulations we're finally back with Inner Demons, and yeah, Neve is there again, I couldn't even give a shit at that point, and I'll be real here, the locking in didn't feel like we went through angsty slowburn or that we earned Lucanis' trust. Remember DA2's Fenris situation? Because I suddenly did, and surely one of many, many Neve banters I had to eavesdrop on could be sacrificed to have one or two banters that acknowledged Lucanis's anything towards Rook at all?

Also, Spite? Spite seemingly likes Rook more than Lucanis does. In between "It's so over" and "We're so back" in the Fade Ossuary it feels like somehow Rook gets more bonding time with Spite, which is kinda crazy to me.

We are so back though! As I mentioned, I was a "delusional before release" individual, I am perfectly capable of filling the gaps and extrapolating meaning from implications, and here's where one of the most infuriating things is: the rest of the romance is good, too! I can write whatever the hell I want between the beginning and the end of it, but like, why should I? How should I go about it, when in my game I was under the impression that Lucanis would rather just spend time with anyone other than Rook for seemingly no reason in particular, because there's simply nothing there? The fact that none of my pre-release ideas or comics even necessarily contradict anything about Lucanis or his romance as it is now is more telling than impressive honestly.

So where do I land with this exactly? Well, mostly in the glorious Fanon Land where I've been making my silly comics the whole time anyway. The highs are high, I love what they did at the end and how stable, protective and devoted Lucanis is, but the lows made me salty as shit and I wish I didn't have to feel that way to begin with. I wish I didn't have to connect the dots and joke about how badly Lucanis sucks at this and "Let's go girl give us nothing." And yes, I know about writer lay-offs, rewrites, restarts, etc etc, and it's a miracle that this game came out at all, but it hardly matters when you're just trying to do the good old datesim part of a Dragon Age game and end up feeling like a third wheel while trying very hard to get anything out of the character you're interested in.

[heartstringsduet]

(ignore me accidentally unfollowing you while trying to send an ask)

for your prompts:

"Why are you following me?"

Hi Jen <3 Don't worry, I accidentally unfollow peeps too sometimes haha. We all do I think. Thanks for your prompt. I tried not to overthink it and it might be half-baked (not Ben&Jerry's ;)) but I hope you still like it. "Why are you following me"

His father might have been the one to tell him to trust his gut, but it was Tía Lucy who taught Carlos about the sixth sense. Her sixth sense told him when he had pulled out some of her herbs to chew on them when he was a toddler, his father’s seemed to be when Carlos got reprimanded at school and even later at work, his mother’s seemed to be knowing when he needed a hug even when he tried everything to appear like he didn’t.

Carlos’ sixth sense tingles as he rounds the corner of the candy aisle — and stops.

As expected, someone crashes right into his back. So he had been right about being followed. Sixth sense, gut, intuition. Whatever it was, it didn’t disappoint.

“Sorry!”

He’d only seen the stalker from the corner of his eyes, so to turn around and be faced with someone that walked right out of his dreams congeals Carlos momentarily.

What he didn’t expect to blurt out when he reinhabits his frozen body is, "Why are you following me?" 

It is true. This is the third aisle he’s felt the eyes on his back, the third aisle the stranger had stayed the exact same distance, the third aisle Carlos had had enough and tested his theory.

It’s one thing to think it, another to ask it straight out but Carlos stays cool. Even when he sees the slight flush of the man’s cheeks and the way he licks his lips and leaves a sheen. He stays totally cool. Unaffected and not lost in the slope of high cheekbones. 

“Uhm…I’m not?” the stalker says.

“I’m a cop, I know when I’m being followed.”

The stalker’s eyes widen — light green irises in full glory — before he quickly schools his face. “No you’re not.”

Carlos tilts his chin up. “Wanna see my badge?”

He gets a raised eyebrow and a smirk as a response that makes his stomach do a full loop. It hadn’t been an innuendo but the reaction makes his face feel hot.

The stalker’s tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth as he seems to think on what to say. “Okay.” He blows out a breath. “Okay. I followed you because you got the last Mexican Hot Chocolate ice cream and, frankly, I need it more. So if you don’t mind, could I buy it from you?”

Carlos frowns into his basket where he picked up both a tub of Cookies & Cream and apparently the reason someone followed him through the store for the past ten minutes.

A part of him doesn’t really care about the flavors, knowing the nephew he was planning to buy it for isn’t picky, but a bigger part prompts him to ask, “Who says I don’t need it the most?”

It seems to stump the other guy just like it stumped Carlos before. “Believe me, there is no way you do.”

“Unless I see concrete evidence for that need, I’m afraid I can’t give my tub up.”

It’s impressive how lowering his eyebrows makes the guy’s eyes look like a stormy sea, glistening as he blinks and suddenly Carlos gets washed into sadness with him. It’s there and it’s gone as the guy pushes past him.

“Nevermind.”

Carlos watches the rigid back retreating, the hands turn into fists and release. Before the man can forever stay a stranger, Carlos calls, ���Wait!”

The guy turns.

Carlos jogs the few steps toward him, compelled to bridge the distance quicker. “It’s already pretty melty. Do you want to share it in the parking lot? I promise not to ask about your awful day again.”

He holds the guy’s stare again, like he will all night on the curb of the H-E-B, half a tub of ice cream long melted against he bamboo forks. A few years down the road, Carlos will think of that moment and realize his sixth sense hadn’t been about being followed. It had been a sign of his soulmate being close, giving his heart no chance to miss him.

[nightlyrequiem]

What if Valeria's s/o was one of those professional cheerleaders, like the ones that not only dance at games but also compete in competitions and does those Olympic level stunts.

ahhhh love this, one of my favourite movies is actually But I'm a Cheerleader. Not very relevant, I don't think. But it has a cheerleader. I also just imagined Reader in a little cheer uniform doing a whole routine for her while she tortures someone.

Valeria's Cheerleader

Valeria adores her cheerleader partner. It doesn’t matter if she met them at a game, or saw one of their competitions. She was impressed with them. She was honestly mesmerized when watching them do all those impossible flips. Getting thrown into the air and landing on their feet like a cat.

Im going to be honest here, I feel like Valeria is the type to not consider cheerleading a sport. That does change after she watched some of her partner’s more extensive, challenging routines. The flexibility shocked her too.

She brags about them. Not a whole lot and very subtly but she does slip it in some conversations. If for whatever reason a conversations about partners comes up she won’t hesitate to drop the fact that hers is a literal cheerleader. Not everyone can date a cheerleader but she can.

She loves the cheer uniform too. Valeria actually has a cheer skin in game. So I like to think she sometimes dresses up in it if her and her partner are similar sizes. It’s not even necessarily a sexual thing either, she just really likes the way it looks.

Valeria will also try to help her partner in some of her practice routines. She’s not that good at it. She’s strong enough to help lift them but she’s clumsy and a little uncoordinated. She also dropped her partner one time and dislocated a toe. She felt stupid and didn’t want to participate for months after that.

Valeria is a busy woman, I can’t tell how many times I’ve typed out that sentence but it’s true. She’s busy. She tries to make it to all of her partner’s competitions but sometimes she just can’t. She does take them out for dinner after though.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I pictured her partner cheering her on as she interrogates someone. If her partner is a little more deranged and doesn’t mind the violence, I can picture her asking them to put on the cheer uniform and doing their whole dance and song. Every time the hostage gives her what she wants, her partner will cheer. It’s a fun little bonding activity for them. Totally wholesome if you ignore the dead guy in the corner.