softieteez

[softieteez]

????

[softieteez]

hey so i fucked up (a year ago) and now im addicted to vaping. tips for quitting are welcome

[softieteez]

and fuck casey anthony.

[softieteez]

my boredom's bone deep / this cage was once just fine / am i allowed to cry? / crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox / i'm seeing visions, am i bad? / or mad? or wise? | joe burrow⁹ (part 1/4)

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.1k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | trapped in a relationship that feels more like a losing game, you find yourself drawn to the one person you shouldn’t want—the one who sees you, the one who listens, the one who makes you feel alive. but temptation is a dangerous thing, and once you’ve had a taste of something real, there’s no going back.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and LOTS of angst, switching between second and third person (it'll make sense and it's only for a couple of scenes where it's needed) slow-burn tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional turmoil, guilt and desire intertwining in the worst ways, heavy themes of self-discovery and repression, morally gray decisions

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | okay guys, i couldn't resist... here is another long ass joe burrow mini-series because taylor swift has struck me with creativity... AGAIN. this will be a 4 parter and it will have a happy ending, but for now... just enjoy the slow burning of it and hate my made-up bengals player -- miles !

You used to think love was supposed to feel like this—steady, predictable, something you could fold into like freshly washed sheets. You and Miles had been together so long that your names practically rhymed in people’s mouths, like you were one of those inseparable, inevitable couples that just made sense.

And for a while, it did make sense. You were the girl on his arm at every event, the perfectly curated extension of his success. The engagement ring—a little too big, a little too heavy—sat on your finger like a trophy of its own. A prize.

But lately, it felt like Miles had stopped seeing you as anything more than that. A fixture in his life, expected and unremarkable. Like the luxury watch he only wore on game days or the expensive car he barely drove. You were always there, always waiting, always his. And he loved that, in the way someone loves knowing their favorite shirt will still be in the closet when they reach for it.

You just weren’t sure you loved it anymore.

The thought made your stomach twist. Because if you weren’t his, then who were you?

And then—Joe Burrow happened.

But, Joe Burrow was not supposed to happen.

Not to you, not to the carefully constructed life you had built around Miles, not to the girl who had spent years perfecting the role of the unwavering, effortlessly beautiful fiancée of an NFL star. But Joe moved through your world like a dropped match in a dry field—quiet, unassuming at first, and then suddenly, everything was on fire.

It wasn’t instant, not in the way stories like this usually go. There was no slow-motion moment, no breath-stealing epiphany. It started subtly, like the shift in seasons, like the way you don’t notice the days getting shorter until you’re standing outside at five o’clock and it’s already dark.

At first, he was just there—new to the team, new to the city, new in a way that made him sharp against the dullness you had started to sink into. You watched as he learned his place in the locker room, the way veterans sized him up, the way he answered with quiet confidence instead of arrogance. He was young but didn’t feel young. Polished, but not in the way Miles was. Miles was effortless charm, all grins and easy words, the kind of man who could shake a hand and win a deal in the same breath.

Joe was something else entirely. He didn’t just talk—he listened.

And that, you realized too late, was dangerous.

Because one night, at some event you barely wanted to be at, standing next to a fiancé who had long since stopped noticing the way your fingers curled anxiously around your champagne glass, Joe looked at you like he saw you. Like he had been watching, waiting, wondering.

And for the first time in years, you felt something shift.

--

Miles had always been the guy. The Bengals’ golden boy, the name fans chanted, the one reporters turned to after every game. When you first met him, he carried himself like a man who had already won. Six years older, already established, already adored—he had that presence, the kind that made people lean in when he spoke, the kind that made you, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, feel lucky just to stand beside him.

But now, there was Joe.

And whether Miles would admit it or not, it was getting to him.

It started small. A lingering glance at the TV when Joe’s highlights played instead of his. A clipped response when someone mentioned Joe’s name at dinner. But then, it became you.

"Do you still think I’m the star?"

The first time he asked, you laughed, thinking he was joking.

But he wasn’t.

You saw it in the way his fingers tightened around his glass, the way his shoulders tensed like he was bracing for impact.

"Of course you are," you had said, reaching for his arm, pressing your nails lightly against his sleeve.

And that was all he needed. A little reassurance. A little something to smooth over the edges of his pride. But then he asked again. And again.

"I mean, you don’t think people are, you know… forgetting?"

"You don’t think he’s—" a pause, a swallow, a carefully constructed smirk—"overshadowing me?"

And every time, you lied.

Because what were you supposed to say? That the shift was undeniable? That Joe walked into the locker room and the energy changed? That when people talked about the future of the team, they weren’t saying Miles’ name anymore? That you had started noticing it, too—the way Joe was young, sharp, hungry, while Miles had begun to settle into his success like a man reclining in a chair that used to be upright?

So you told him what he needed to hear.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still everything."

But even as you said it, the words tasted false. Because when Miles spoke about himself, it was always in the past tense—I was the first star, I was the franchise guy, I was the one they built around.

And when people spoke about Joe, it was all about the future.

That was the difference.

And maybe��just maybe—that was what made you start looking at him, too.

You watched it happen in slow motion—the way Miles and Joe orbited each other, circling like two planets on a collision course, neither willing to acknowledge the gravity of the other.

At first, Miles played it cool. He was the veteran, after all. He had been here first. He had built his career brick by brick, through losing seasons and empty stadiums, back when the Bengals were a team people barely bothered to watch. When you met him, that was what he always talked about—the work he had put in, the years of carrying this franchise on his back.

"I made this team what it is," he would say sometimes, stretching out on the couch after a game, watching highlights on TV with a half-smirk, as if waiting for you to agree.

And back then, you did.

Because you had watched him grind, had seen the early mornings, the bruises, the exhaustion that clung to him after every brutal season. You had been his—the girl in the stands, the hand on his chest when he got home, the soft place he could land.

But now, the team didn’t belong to just Miles anymore.

Now, there was Joe. And Miles hated that.

At practice, you saw the way he measured himself against Joe, the way his jokes about the rookie’s "new car smell" had just a little too much bite. How he watched when Joe got called for post-game interviews, jaw clenched just a little too tight.

"They should be talking to me," he muttered one night after a game, dropping his phone on the table like it had personally offended him.

"Miles, they still talk to you," you had tried, voice gentle.

"Not like they used to."

And it was true.

At first, Miles had treated Joe like a little brother, ruffling his hair, giving him shit for his outfits, cracking jokes at team dinners. But then Joe started winning. Started throwing passes that made the crowd gasp, started playing with that quiet confidence that made people lean forward in their seats.

And suddenly, Miles’ jokes didn’t land the same way.

He started pushing harder in practice. If Joe made a good throw, Miles made sure his next one was better. If Joe got interviewed, Miles found a way to insert himself into the conversation. He started pointing out things—"He’s good, but let’s see how he handles the pressure. He’s young. He hasn’t been hit the way I have."

Like he was trying to convince himself of it more than anyone else.

And you—God, you noticed.

You noticed the way Miles had started looking at Joe like a threat instead of a teammate. You noticed the way his hand tightened on your hip when Joe walked into a room. You noticed the way he suddenly started talking about his legacy, about what he meant to this team.

And worst of all—you noticed the way Joe looked at you.

Because unlike Miles, Joe wasn’t trying so hard. He wasn’t overcompensating, wasn’t clawing to prove something. He just was. And when he looked at you, it wasn’t with the expectation that you would tell him he was still the star.

It was like he already knew who he was.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, you were starting to wonder who you were, too.

--

The event was like every other one before it—too loud, too crowded, filled with people who weren’t actually listening to each other, just waiting for their turn to talk. Miles was somewhere across the room, laughing a little too hard at something an exec said, one hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon, the other resting on the shoulder of someone who mattered.

You were used to this part.

The waiting. The being-seen-but-not-heard. The polite smiles and empty small talk, the way people’s eyes would flicker over you before refocusing on Miles, because that was where the real conversation was.

You had perfected it—the art of looking engaged without actually being included. So when Joe Burrow slid into the seat beside you, you didn’t think much of it. At first.

And then he spoke.

"You always look this bored, or is it just tonight?"

You blinked, thrown off, turning your head to find him watching you. Not in the usual way—not in the quick, cursory glance men usually gave you before looking away, like you were set dressing, like you were just an extension of the man they actually wanted to talk to.

No, Joe was looking at you.

And he was smirking.

You scoffed before you could stop yourself. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. His suit fit well—not flashy, not desperate, just right. Effortless. His tie was loosened, just slightly, like he couldn’t be bothered to play by the rules all the way. "You’ve been staring at the same spot on the floor for the last ten minutes. What’s down there? Something more interesting than all this?"

"Wouldn’t take much."

"Fair." He nodded, like you’d made an excellent point, then stuck his hand out. "Joe."

"I know who you are."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head. "Funny. You don’t look like you care."

You should’ve laughed. Or brushed him off. But there was something about the way he said it—like he wasn’t trying to be charming, like he was just stating a fact.

You hesitated. Then, almost begrudgingly, shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

"‘I guess,’" he repeated, amused. "Damn. That’s all I get?"

"You want a standing ovation?"

"Wouldn’t say no."

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upward just slightly. He caught it—of course he did—and grinned like he had already won something.

"So, what’s the deal?" he asked, nodding toward where Miles was deep in conversation, gesturing animatedly. "You actually like these things, or just contractually obligated to show up?"

"Contractually obligated," you admitted, swirling the drink in your hand. "You?"

"Nah. I just like free food."

You let out an actual laugh at that, brief but real.

Joe’s smirk deepened like he had been waiting for that exact reaction.

"So how long have you been stuck in the NFL Wife-To-Be role?" he asked, tone light but gaze sharp.

"Long enough."

"And how long is that, exactly?"

"You really want to know?"

"Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t."

You eyed him for a second, waiting for the punchline. The usual "just making conversation" energy you were used to from these kinds of interactions. But there wasn’t one. He actually seemed interested.

"Since I was 19."

His brows lifted slightly. "Damn."

"What?"

"Just young, that’s all."

"And what, you weren’t young once?"

"Not that young," he said, shaking his head. "I was in college at 19. Drinking shitty beer and wearing the same hoodie five days in a row. You were—what? Coming to things like this?"

You shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. "It wasn’t that bad."

"Doesn’t sound fun, either."

"And what were you doing at 20 that was so much more fun?"

"Winning a championship," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at him, blinking.

"Oh," you said finally. "Right. LSU."

"Yeah. Ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely."

"Damn. Humbling experience."

You smirked, shaking your head slightly. "Wait, so—how old are you now?"

"Twenty-four."

Your lips parted slightly. "Shit."

Joe raised a brow. "What?"

"You’re only a year older than me."

"And you sound offended by that."

"I’m just—" You exhaled, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. "I don’t know. I feel like I should be older."

Joe gave you a look like he already knew why.

"Because of him?" he asked, flicking his gaze toward Miles.

You hesitated.

"Because of everything," you said instead.

Joe didn’t press. He just hummed slightly, tapping his fingers against his glass.

"Well," he said after a moment, smirking again, "if it makes you feel any better, you look like you’re at least twenty-five."

You narrowed your eyes. "That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten."

"I was going for honesty."

"Try harder next time."

"Noted."

And then, just like that, the conversation shifted. It wasn’t flirtation, not exactly. It was something else—something easier, something lighter.

For the first time in a long time, someone wasn’t talking to you like Miles’ fiancée.

Joe was just talking to you.

--

It started as a passing thought. A curiosity Joe couldn’t quite shake after that conversation at the event. You weren’t what he expected. And maybe that was the first problem.

Miles had been around forever. The Bengals’ golden boy before Joe got there. A veteran. Respected. The kind of guy you built a franchise around—or at least, that’s what people used to say. But now, with Joe in town, the balance had shifted. Miles wasn’t the star anymore, and everyone knew it.

Even Miles knew it.

Joe could see it in the way he carried himself, the way he lingered after practices, pushing himself harder, talking about his old stats like they were some kind of proof that he still mattered. He’d joke about it, but there was always something underneath. So, Burrow, you think you’re the guy now? Said with a grin, but the weight was there. The question lingered in the air between them.

Joe didn’t care much about that. But he did care—more than he wanted to admit—about you.

It wasn’t even in a way yet. Not in any way he could name. It was just there. That curiosity, that thing in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away.

So one day, in the middle of practice, while the guys were running drills, he decided to ask.

Casual. Offhand. Like he wasn’t actually that interested.

"Yo, what do you guys think about Miles’ girl?"

Tee was the first to react, barely hesitating before letting out a low whistle.

"Whew, man. That’s a dangerous question, 9."

"Is it?" Joe asked, tilting his head.

"I mean, you have seen her, right?"

"Obviously."

"Then you already know," Tee said, shaking his head like the answer was obvious.

"Know what?"

Ja’Marr snorted. "That he’s punching."

Joe raised a brow. "Out of his league?"

"By a long shot." Tee shook his head, gripping the football in his hands. "It’s crazy, too, ‘cause she’s just… cool. You ever actually talk to her?"

Joe hesitated for a half-second. "Yeah. Once."

That was enough for the guys to give each other looks.

"Ohhh, so that’s why you’re asking," Ja’Marr teased.

"Chill, man," Joe rolled his eyes. "I was just curious."

"Sure."

"Nah, for real, though," Tee said, tossing the ball to Ja’Marr. "She’s mad sweet. Like, actually nice. Not just in a ‘stand-there-and-smile’ way, either. She remembers shit. Like, I saw her at some event last year, and she asked me about my sister. Nobody ever asks about my sister."

"She’s solid," Tyler added, jogging past them. "Like, real solid. You don’t meet a lot of girls like that in this life."

Joe frowned slightly, rolling his shoulders. "So why’s she with him?"

That made Tee pause, gripping the football tighter.

"Man…" He let out a breath, shaking his head. "I dunno. She’s been with him forever. Since she was, like, a kid."

"How much older is he?"

"Six years."

Joe blinked. "Damn."

"Yeah. And, like—don’t get me wrong, Miles is cool and all, but…" Tee trailed off, glancing at Ja’Marr, like he was debating how much to say.

Ja’Marr finished for him. "He’s kinda—" He made a so-so motion with his hand. "You know. A little selfish. Talks about himself a lot."

"A lot," Tee agreed.

"You ever seen them together?"

Joe thought about it. Really thought about it.

Miles was always talking. And when he wasn’t, he was making himself seen. When you were with him, you were quiet. Smiling. Nodding. Like you had a script to follow. Like it was second nature.

Joe remembered the way you’d looked at that event, absentmindedly twisting your ring around your finger. The way your face had shifted, just slightly, when you realized you and Joe were almost the same age. Like you’d never really thought about it before.

"Yeah," Joe said finally. "I’ve seen them."

Tee nodded like that told him everything he needed to know.

"Miles is a lucky dude," Ja’Marr said after a moment, stretching his arms above his head. "Just don’t think he knows it."

That part stuck with Joe the longest.

--

You had always wanted a quiet life. Not small, necessarily, but yours. Intimate. A life where love wasn’t measured in carats or headlines, but in moments. In the way someone reached for you without thinking, in the way they listened—really listened. But you knew, from the moment you started dating Miles, that privacy was a luxury you would never have.

Not with someone like him.

Miles was big. A presence. A personality. A man who took up space and made sure everyone knew it. And, in the beginning, maybe that had been exciting—the way he talked about you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was flattering. Addictive, even.

Until it wasn’t.

Until it became less about you and more about the idea of you.

The engagement was when you realized that fully, undeniably. When the last piece of the illusion shattered.

You had told him—so many times—how you dreamed of it happening. Something quiet. Personal. Maybe somewhere beautiful, just the two of you. No cameras, no crowd. Something real.

And instead, he did it during a game.

A packed stadium, the roar of the crowd, the flashing lights. And you—sitting in the stands, already feeling like a spectator in your own life—watching in horror as your face appeared on the jumbotron.

Miles, down on one knee in the middle of the field. Smiling like he had just won the Super Bowl. Holding out a ring so massive it caught the stadium lights like a diamond chandelier.

You felt it like a blow to the chest.

Because this wasn’t for you. It had never been for you. It was for the spectacle. The story. The legend of Miles Johnson, star receiver, locking down the perfect woman.

He had looked so proud of himself, so smug, soaking in the cheers. He didn’t even look at you, not really. Not to see you. He just waited, arm outstretched, knowing you would say yes. Because how could you say no? Not here. Not with thousands of people watching. Not with cameras broadcasting your reaction to the world.

So you said it.

"Yes."

And the crowd erupted, and Miles pulled you into a kiss like he had just won a trophy, and your hands shook as they slipped into his.

Later, when the adrenaline had worn off and the reality of it settled in, he had taken every opportunity to brag about the ring. Thirty grand. He told his teammates, his family, reporters. You see that? Got my girl the best. He would bring it up casually, waiting for people to react, for them to nod and pat him on the back like he had done something incredible. Like he had bought you.

The truth was, you hated the ring.

Not because it was expensive, but because it felt foreign on your hand. It was heavy, suffocating, too much. Too Miles.

Like everything else in your life.

Somewhere along the way, you had stopped being a person and had become a reflection of him. His fiancée. His prize.

And maybe you could have kept pretending it was enough—maybe you could have convinced yourself this was what love looked like—if Joe Burrow hadn’t looked at you that night at the event, sat beside you, and talked to you. Like a person. Like someone worth knowing.

Like you still existed.

It hit you a month after the engagement.

The NFL Honors had been a blur of flashing lights and stiff smiles, your body on autopilot as you stood beside Miles, your arm hooked around his like a delicate accessory. You had smiled for photos, laughed at the right moments, leaned into him like you belonged there. Like you wanted to be there. Like you weren’t suffocating beneath the weight of it all.

And then it was over.

The glamor, the noise, the people. Gone.

You were back in the house—Miles’ house—miles of sleek marble and vaulted ceilings, an architectural masterpiece designed to impress. To be envied. And yet, it had never felt like home.

It was too big, too curated, too cold.

It wasn’t you.

It had never been you.

The silence was deafening, pressing in around you as you sat curled up on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, searching for something to fill the emptiness. And that was when you saw it—post after post, comments, pictures.

"Miles' girl." "Mrs. Johnson-to-be." "The most beautiful trophy wife in the NFL." "He really locked that down." "She’s perfect for him."

Not one mention of you. Not one comment about who you were, what you liked, what you thought, what you dreamed of. Just a never-ending stream of praise for Miles and how lucky he was. How you were his.

His. His.

You weren’t even Y/N anymore.

Just beautiful Y/N. Miles' perfect trophy. The girl who got the ring.

A weight settled in your chest, pressing against your ribs, thick and suffocating.

You hadn’t realized you were drowning until it was too late. Until you were so deep in it, you weren’t sure how to claw your way back to the surface.

Who even were you outside of him?

Your only friends were the other WAGs—women who smiled just like you did, laughed at all the same jokes, wore the same dresses to the same events, whose lives revolved around their husbands, their fiancés, their boyfriends. And Miles’ family—people who adored you, yes, but only as an extension of him. As the woman who would carry his last name, bear his children, sit in the stands and cheer him on.

You had spent years convincing yourself this was love. That this was what it meant to love someone—to mold yourself into what they needed, to take up less space, to fit neatly into their world without ever disrupting it.

And soon, you would be Mrs. Johnson.

And you would disappear entirely.

Miles came home late that night, the door clicking shut with the kind of ease that only came with routine. He never announced his arrival, never called out for you. He just assumed you’d be there—waiting, ready, exactly where he left you.

You were in the kitchen, sitting at the marble island, fingers curled around a half-empty glass of wine. He barely looked at you as he walked in, dropping his keys onto the counter, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

“Hey.”

A beat of silence. The air felt thick, heavy. You weren’t sure why, but you knew you needed to say something, anything to fill the space before it swallowed you whole.

“I was thinking of picking up a new hobby,” you tried. “Something creative. I don’t know, maybe painting or—”

“How much do you need?” Miles cut in, still looking at his phone.

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed like you were exhausting him. “How much? I’ll transfer it now.”

Your grip tightened around the stem of the wine glass. “I don’t need money, Miles. I just—”

“Then what?” He finally looked up, brow furrowed like you were the confusing one here. Like this conversation was a waste of time. “I don’t get it.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I was just trying to tell you something. About me. About my life.”

“Your life?” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “What life, Y/N? You don’t work. You don’t have to worry about anything except looking good and showing up when you need to. What else do you need?”

It hit you square in the chest. The final nail in the coffin.

What else do you need?

Not who are you? Not what makes you happy? Not tell me more baby, I want to know.

You swallowed, a sharp bitterness curling in your throat. “I need a husband who actually listens to me.”

That made him pause. His brows pulled together, his lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Then—“Don’t start this shit, Y/N.”

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

“This shit?” you repeated, voice climbing, hands shaking. “You mean talking? You mean actually having a conversation for once?”

Miles groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jesus, you’re always so fucking dramatic.”

“I’m trying to talk to you, Miles! And you can’t even pretend to care for five seconds!”

His eyes darkened. “You have everything, Y/N. A perfect life. A perfect goddamn ring. And you’re still not happy.”

“Because none of it feels like mine!” The words came out harsher than you intended, but they were true. “It’s your house. Your money. Your world. Where do I fit into any of it?”

Miles shook his head, scoffing under his breath. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to give a shit!”

“Well, maybe I don’t have time to sit around worrying about feelings all day!” He slammed his phone onto the counter. “I have a career to focus on, Y/N. A team to lead. You think I have time to deal with your little identity crisis?”

It felt like a slap.

A sharp, cold, humiliating slap.

You stared at him, heart pounding, mouth dry, but you had nothing left to say. Nothing left to fight for.

The silence stretched, long and unforgiving.

Miles exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and left, his heavy footsteps fading down the hall.

And you—

You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where he had just been, before you finally moved. You crawled into bed alone, pulled the covers up to your chin, and let yourself cry.

--

The next morning at practice, the air was thick with late summer humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel heavier. The guys were halfway through drills when Miles started talking—loudly, for anyone who’d listen.

“She was crying when I left last night, man,” he said, shaking his head as he lined up for another rep. “Over what? Some bullshit about a hobby. A hobby, bro. Like, what even is that? She has everything.”

Joe clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the yard line ahead as he rolled out his shoulders. He wasn’t trying to listen, but Miles wasn’t exactly subtle.

Tee Higgins, standing next to Joe, let out a low whistle. “Damn. You sure you wanna be sayin’ all that out loud?”

Miles scoffed. “What, like it’s a secret? Everyone knows she’s got the perfect life. But somehow, that ain’t enough.”

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He knew why it wasn’t enough.

And before he could stop himself, the words were out—sharp, biting. “Maybe ‘cause it’s your version of perfect, not hers.”

A pause.

Miles turned his head slowly, expression hardening. “What?”

Joe shrugged, keeping his voice even. “I’m just saying. Maybe you should listen to her instead of assuming she’s just complaining for fun.”

The guys around them shifted, suddenly very invested in stretching. Ja’Marr muttered something under his breath about not getting in the middle of shit, but Tee smirked, glancing between them like this was the most entertainment he’d had all morning.

Miles let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “And what do you know about relationships, Burrow? You got a girl I don’t know about?”

Joe didn’t answer. Just stared back, unblinking.

Miles tilted his head, and his voice dropped lower. “Or are you just real interested in mine?”

The energy shifted. The air got tighter.

Joe rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to stay calm. “Nah. Just think you should be careful who you shit talk your fiancée to.”

“Fiancée, huh?” Miles’ mouth curled into something ugly. “You wanna date her instead or something?”

The words hit the ground between them like a live wire. The whole group went quiet.

Joe kept his expression blank. “That what you’re worried about?”

Miles took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Nah. I’m not worried about shit. But maybe you should be careful.”

Joe didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t give Miles the satisfaction of a reaction.

Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching as the frustration crept into Miles’ expression.

Then, finally—Joe smirked. Just a little. Just enough.

And that pissed Miles off more than anything.

Miles' jaw tensed, nostrils flaring. His hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to say more—like he wanted to do more—but there were too many eyes on them now. The tension between them was so thick, so sharp, that even the guys who usually loved a little locker room drama weren’t sure if they wanted to be part of this one.

Tee let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, y’all gonna throw hands before practice even starts?”

“Ain’t nobody throwing hands,” Ja’Marr cut in, stepping between them like he already knew where this was headed. “Miles just real defensive all of a sudden.”

Miles scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. “Nah, y’all are just real nosy all of a sudden.”

Joe just smiled again, the same easy, slow smirk that had already set Miles on edge. He could see it in the way the older man’s shoulders went rigid, in the way his fists flexed. And Joe wasn’t dumb—he knew he was playing with fire. But Miles had been running his mouth since the moment practice started, acting like his relationship was some kind of burden, and Joe wasn’t the type to sit back and pretend he didn’t hear it.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, the other guys—those who hadn’t already quietly backed away—started chuckling, shaking their heads.

The laughter died down, but the damage was already done. The idea had already been planted—Miles wasn’t the prize in this relationship. She was.

Joe could see it in his face. The way his jaw twitched, the way his eyes flickered with something insecure, something raw.

And it made sense now. Why Miles paraded her around like a trophy, why he made sure every room knew she was his, why he proposed in front of an entire stadium instead of in private where she might’ve actually wanted it.

It was never about her. It was always about him. About making sure everyone knew he was still the star—on the field, in the locker room, and in his own damn relationship.

Miles exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back like he was shaking off the conversation. Then he turned his glare back on Joe, pointing a finger at him. “You? Stay the fuck out of my business.”

Joe lifted his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “Wouldn’t have to if you stopped airing it out in the middle of practice.”

Miles stared at him for another second—long enough that Joe could see the battle happening in his head, the urge to keep pushing versus the reality that they were still standing on the damn field, still surrounded by teammates, still at work.

Eventually, Miles just muttered something under his breath and stalked off toward the sideline, shoulders tight with frustration.

Joe exhaled, shaking his head as he lined up for the next drill.

Tee clapped him on the back, grinning. “Oh yeah, you definitely got under his skin.”

Joe just smirked, eyes flickering in the direction Miles had gone.

Good.

--

You woke up feeling off.

Not sick, not exactly—but weighed down, heavy, like your body had absorbed the exhaustion of the night before and decided to make a home of it. The bed was cold next to you, a reminder that Miles had never come back from the couch. That should’ve brought some kind of relief, but instead, it just settled deeper into your bones.

You stared at the ceiling, the light creeping in through the expensive sheer curtains—ones Miles had picked out because they looked good, not because they actually blocked anything. You felt like you hadn’t slept at all. Maybe you hadn’t.

Last night was the first time in a long time that the silence had cracked, that the resentment bubbling beneath the surface had finally boiled over. And now, in the daylight, you couldn’t tell if you felt better for it—or worse.

It wasn’t like it was one fight that made you feel this way. It was years of being Miles Johnson’s fiancée, before that, his girlfriend. Years of being reduced to an extension of him, even when you hadn’t noticed it happening.

But you did now. And you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You were nineteen when you met him. Miles was twenty-five. Six years older, in the prime of his career, a star. And you? You were just a college sophomore at a school you weren’t even sure you loved, in a major you had picked because it seemed practical, not because it felt right. You had plans for your life, dreams, but they were all vague and out of focus, waiting for the right moment to take shape.

And then there was Miles.

Charming, cocky, larger than life—he had walked into the bar that night like he owned the whole damn city. You hadn’t even known who he was at first, but your friends did. They whispered about him like he was something untouchable, an idea more than a person. And then, somehow, he was standing in front of you.

“You’re the prettiest girl in here,” he had said, like it was a fact. And when you had rolled your eyes, he had laughed, delighted.

“Not gonna fall at my feet, huh?”

“Not a chance.”

That had made him try harder.

It was easy, then. Easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of being pursued by someone like him—older, successful, with the kind of confidence that made you believe he knew everything about the world. He took you to expensive restaurants, bought you things you would never have dared to pick out for yourself. He introduced you to people who lived lives you couldn’t even imagine. And when he kissed you, when he pulled you into his orbit, it felt like stepping into a life bigger than your own.

You didn’t notice the shift at first.

Didn’t notice how the little things that made you you started slipping away, how your world slowly became about his—his career, his schedule, his needs. You told yourself it was just part of the relationship, part of loving someone like Miles. That it was normal to bend, to adjust, to let go of the things that didn’t fit anymore.

You stopped talking about the things you wanted to do—because, eventually, you started forgetting what they even were.

And then, somewhere along the way, you became his.

Not just his girlfriend, but Miles Johnson’s girlfriend. A title, a role, something people recognized before they even knew you. And you had played the part well. You were the beautiful, supportive, ever-smiling woman on his arm. The one who laughed at his jokes, who cheered for him from the stands, who let him hold court in every room while you lingered in the background.

And now, you were his fiancée.

And soon, you would be Mrs. Johnson.

And you would disappear completely.

--

Joe had never been the type to dwell on things.

His whole life had been about moving forward, about the next step, the next goal, the next game. He had always known where he was going—to the NFL, to the kind of career most people could only dream about. That had been the plan since he was a kid, and he had never once let himself get distracted from it.

College had been a blur. Not in a reckless, partying-until-dawn way—he had been too focused for that—but in the sense that everything outside of football had been… secondary. Background noise.

Yeah, he always had a girl on his arm. It wasn’t hard—he was Joe Burrow, after all. But they were never the girl. They were just there. Pretty, fun, something to fill the gaps between practices and film sessions, but never something that took up space in his mind once they were gone. He never let them.

He had bigger things to worry about.

And now, he was here.

The NFL. The dream, the destination. And he had everything he had worked for—millions in the bank, a city that worshipped him, a career that was just getting started. He was playing on the biggest stage in the world, living out every goal he had ever set for himself.

And yet.

Lately, there was something he couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t unhappy, exactly. He loved football. Loved the grind, the competition, the high of a perfect game. But there were nights—when he was alone in his place, when the buzz of the locker room had faded, when he saw his friends posting about engagements, weddings, families—when he wondered if maybe he had spent so much time chasing one dream that he hadn’t realized he might want something else, too.

Not in the I need to settle down right now way. He wasn’t miles away from that thought. But he just felt… off. Like there was something missing, something just out of reach.

And that feeling had been lingering at the edges of his mind for a while now, but he hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t really felt it—until he met her.

She wasn’t supposed to be interesting.

He had seen plenty of women like her before—NFL girlfriends and fiancées, always perfect, always polished, always a step behind the star they were attached to. He didn’t have anything against them, but he had never given them much thought. They were part of the scenery, the expected.

But she was different.

He had noticed it the second he talked to her.

That night at the event, when everyone else had ignored her, when she had been sitting alone while Miles soaked up the attention like a sponge, Joe had been curious.

So he sat down next to her.

And the second she looked at him, he saw it—the sharpness behind her eyes, the way she was there but not present, the way she seemed to be existing in a world that had been built for her but not by her.

And she had challenged him. Not in a playful, flirty way, but in a real way. He had expected her to be polite, to give the kind of empty small talk he always got at these things.

But she had given him something real.

And now? Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not just because she was gorgeous—she was, maybe one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—but because she was interesting.

She didn’t fit the mold. He could tell.

And maybe it was selfish, maybe it was just because he was bored with everything else, but for the first time in a long time, Joe had found someone who made him want to know more.

And he was going to figure out why.

--

You were curled up in bed, your phone the only thing keeping you company as you aimlessly scrolled. You barely heard him come in, barely looked up when Miles greeted you, his voice low and familiar. You felt the soft kiss he pressed to your neck, but your body tensed, just slightly. He didn’t notice, or maybe he chose not to.

His lips trailed lower, his hands finding their way to your waist, his voice dropping into that coaxing tone you knew all too well. “Been thinkin’ about you all day. Missed you.”

You exhaled, a slow, tired sound slipping from your lips. “Miles.”

He lingered there, waiting for more, but you didn’t give him anything. Your eyes remained on the ceiling, your phone discarded on the nightstand. You felt him nuzzle into your hair, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of your shirt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The energy between you felt… off. He asked if you were mad at him, but that wasn’t it. Not really.

You didn’t answer at first. You just pulled away, just enough to let him know that you weren’t in the mood. That you didn’t want this.

He blinked, confused, his voice softer when he tried again. “Y/N?”

But you didn’t want to deal with this now. You were tired. Exhausted, in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “I’m just tired, Miles,” you murmured, your voice distant, but you couldn’t help it. You weren’t mad at him. You just didn’t feel like being pulled into whatever he was trying to fix tonight.

You felt him sit back, his gaze heavy on you as if he was seeing you for the first time in a while. The silence stretched between you, thick and uneasy. Then, his voice broke through it again, suggesting that maybe you should get a job, do something with yourself to feel better. It wasn’t the most thoughtful thing he’d said, and you knew that. You weren’t sure if he even meant it or if he was just trying to patch things up in the way he knew best.

You looked at him, your gaze searching, unsure if you were hearing him right. “You’d be okay with that?” you asked, needing to know if he meant what he was saying.

He shrugged, a little too casually. “Yeah. You don’t gotta, obviously. You got everything you need, but if you want somethin’ to do, I’ll support you. Whatever makes you happy, baby.”

You didn’t respond immediately. You just let his words hang in the air, feeling like he was offering something you didn’t know if you wanted. But there it was—the tiniest flicker of relief in your chest as you nodded. Maybe you were grasping at something, anything, to feel like yourself again.

He exhaled, like he’d solved something. But you knew better. There was still a gap between you, unspoken, unresolved. For now, though, you’d let it go.

--

The night is warm, thick with the scent of grilled barbecue and chlorine, laughter spilling into the air like music. The backyard is packed—players, coaches, WAGs, and staff all buzzing with the energy of a new season, of fresh starts and high expectations. The pool glows under string lights, the surface shimmering as people dip their feet in or wade lazily through the water, red Solo cups in hand.

You’re sitting at the edge of a lounge chair, your bare legs stretched out in front of you, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs as you sip from your drink. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this—light. The WAGs are in a good mood tonight, looser than usual, buzzing from the excitement of the upcoming season, from the warmth of the alcohol.

"I swear to God, if I have to listen to one more fantasy football draft strategy," one of them groans, rolling her eyes as she leans back against her chair.

"Girl, my man has a binder full of statistics. Like it’s a college thesis or some shit," another one laughs.

You giggle, shaking your head, the sound feeling foreign in your own ears. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to just be—to feel like you’re back in college, before your entire identity became wrapped around someone else’s.

And across the yard, Joe Burrow cannot stop staring at you.

He’s not even subtle about it.

His drink sits idle in his hand, elbow propped on the armrest of a patio chair, his gaze cutting across the party, locking onto you like a magnet. He watches the way your shoulders shake when you laugh, the way you tilt your head, the way your dress clings to the curves of your legs when you cross them.

"Bro, you gotta stop looking before Miles notices," Ja’Marr leans in, a lazy grin on his face.

Joe just shrugs, bringing his drink to his lips. "What’s he gonna do? Kill me?"

Ja’Marr snorts. "I mean, you are staring at his fiancée like you’re trying to solve a puzzle."

"She’s beautiful. He should know people are gonna look at her," Joe says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ja’Marr shakes his head, muttering something about how Joe’s got a death wish, but Joe just keeps watching.

And across the way, the WAGs notice.

"Okay, so I need you to tell me what you did to get Joe Burrow to look at you like that," one of them teases, nudging your shoulder.

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"Oh, come on," another one smirks. "That man has not taken his eyes off you for the last twenty minutes. I’m actually starting to feel bad for Miles."

Your stomach twists—not in discomfort, not in guilt, but in something else entirely. Something you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

You feel wanted.

Not in the way Miles wants you—like a prize to show off, like a thing to possess—but in the way you used to feel when you were younger, when boys would flirt with you at college parties, when someone’s gaze made you feel interesting, not just beautiful.

And it makes you feel alive.

You shake your head, laughing it off, even as your pulse picks up just a little. "You guys are imagining things."

"Oh, we definitely aren’t," one of them hums, taking a slow sip of her drink.

You glance back across the yard.

And Joe is still looking.

But this time, when your eyes meet, he doesn’t look away.

The night hums around you, a warm breeze sweeping through the backyard, making the string lights above sway gently. The scent of charred meat still lingers in the air, mixed with chlorine and expensive cologne. Laughter spills from the pool, from the deck, from the little clusters of people standing around, but none of it touches you.

Not now.

Not with him walking towards you.

Joe Burrow is moving through the crowd like he has nowhere to be, like he’s got all the time in the world to just be here, under these lights, on this night. And he’s heading straight for you.

The WAGs had just left, off to mingle with their husbands and boyfriends, leaving you alone in your chair with your mostly empty drink. You didn’t mind—being alone was something you were used to these days.

But apparently, Joe did mind.

"Need a refill?" His voice is smooth, the faintest trace of amusement in it, like he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it.

You glance down at your glass, condensation dripping down the sides, ice melting, barely a sip of anything left. You nod. "Yeah, actually."

He doesn’t hesitate. Just reaches out, plucks the cup from your fingers with a little smirk, and walks off toward the bar like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You watch him go, blinking in mild disbelief.

Joe Burrow, one of the biggest names in the NFL, just walked away to get you a drink.

And God, that does something to you.

A moment later, he’s back, handing you your glass, and when your fingers brush against his, there’s a flicker of something electric, something dangerous.

You swallow and bring the drink to your lips. Cold, crisp, refreshing.

Joe drops into the chair across from you, sprawling out like he belongs there, his legs spread wide, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. He watches you take a sip, his gaze half-lidded, like he’s already settled in for a conversation he doesn’t plan on cutting short.

"You looked like you needed rescuing from whatever the hell they were talking about," he says, tilting his chin toward where the WAGs had been sitting earlier.

You let out a breath of laughter. "You ever heard a thirty-minute conversation about throw pillows?"

His brows raise. "Can’t say I have."

"Yeah, well, consider yourself lucky," you tease, shaking your head. "I love them, but sometimes I swear they could write dissertations on interior decorating."

Joe smirks. "And you? You an expert on throw pillows too?"

You snort. "Not even close."

"Shame," he murmurs, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "I was really hoping you’d have some strong opinions on lumbar support."

You roll your eyes. "God, shut up."

"That’s not a no," he quips, and you groan, throwing your head back.

"Fine. If you must know, I do think most decorative pillows are pointless, because you just end up throwing them off the bed or couch anyway."

Joe grins, slow and smug. "So you do have strong opinions."

You open your mouth, then close it, glaring at him. "I hate you."

His smirk deepens. "No, you don’t."

And for some reason, that makes your stomach flip.

There’s something so easy about this, about him. The way the conversation flows, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he’s teasing you, the way he leans in just slightly, like he’s actually interested in what you have to say, like he’s not just making conversation to fill the silence.

It’s been a long time since someone talked to you like this. Since someone made you feel interesting, not just beautiful, not just Miles’ fiancée.

And God, you must be blushing, because Joe’s eyes flick over your face, and his grin turns downright wicked.

"You’re blushing," he says, voice all silk and amusement.

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "No, I’m not."

"Yeah, you are," he says, leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees. "Damn, if I knew I had this effect on you, I would’ve started teasing you way earlier."

You narrow your eyes at him, but your lips are twitching, and he knows it.

"You’re insufferable."

Joe just chuckles, sitting back again, watching you over the rim of his glass. "And yet, you’re still sitting here."

And you don’t have an answer for that.

Because the truth is, you want to be here.

You want to sit in this chair, under these lights, on this warm summer night, and feel like this—like yourself, like a person, like something more than what you’ve been reduced to.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone.

--

Miles spotted them the second Joe sat down.

At first, it was just an awareness, the way his eyes naturally gravitated toward her—like they always did in a room full of people. It was a habit, second nature, an unconscious thing. A glance, then another. But then he saw the way Joe was looking at her.

And suddenly, he wasn’t just watching. He was staring.

Something inside him, something dark and unfamiliar, curled up tight in his chest.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

Miles had never had to be jealous before. Never had to worry. She was his. And that had always been enough.

But now?

Now, he was watching another man sit in front of her, lean in, smirk at her like she was something to be won. And worse—so much worse—she was laughing.

Really laughing.

Not the polite, social laugh she gave when she was playing the role of his perfect wife. Not the strained, forced kind that meant she was bored but trying to be nice.

No, this was different.

This was easy, genuine.

This was the kind of laugh she used to give him.

His grip on his beer tightened, fingers pressing into the damp glass, jaw locking so hard it ached.

Joe fucking Burrow.

The golden boy. The franchise. The quarterback who could do no wrong.

And now, apparently, the asshole who thought he could sit across from Miles’ wife and flirt with her in plain fucking sight.

What pissed him off the most was that Joe didn’t even try to hide it. He wasn’t subtle, wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t the kind of half-assed flirting guys did when they were just testing the waters, unsure if she was off-limits. No, this was deliberate. This was the kind of thing that happened when a man already knew what he wanted.

And the way he was looking at her, the way he smirked every time she tried to argue with him, the way his gaze lingered on her mouth just a second too long—he wanted her.

And she was letting him.

Miles' stomach twisted, something sour curling in his throat.

Had she ever smiled at him like that in the last few months? Had she ever looked that light, that carefree, that… happy?

A flash of memory hit him—her voice, sharp and tired from their last fight.

"I just want to feel like more than your fucking wife, Miles."

His throat tightened.

Because fuck, he knew he hadn’t been perfect. He knew things had been off between them, knew she wanted more, needed more.

But was this it?

Was this what she needed?

Some other man’s attention? Some other man making her blush, making her tuck her hair behind her ear like she was some shy, sweet little thing who wasn’t married?

He set his beer down a little too hard on the table beside him, the sound loud in his ears.

"Man, you good?" Tee asked, glancing at him.

Miles barely heard him.

Joe was leaning forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice low, saying something that made her shake her head, biting her lip like she was trying not to laugh.

And Miles saw red.

He had never—never—felt something like this before.

He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the jealous type.

He never had to be.

She’d always been his. And no one had ever challenged that. No one had ever looked at her and thought they had a chance because they didn’t.

But here Joe was. Sitting there, flirting with her like Miles didn’t even fucking exist.

And Miles hated him for it.

"Yo," Tee said again, nudging him. "What’s up?"

Miles’ hands curled into fists.

"Burrow," he muttered, eyes still locked on the scene in front of him.

Tee followed his line of sight, then let out a low whistle. "Damn," he said, shaking his head. "He really don’t give a fuck, huh?"

No. He didn’t.

And that was the problem.

Because Joe fucking Burrow wasn’t scared of him.

He wasn’t worried about stepping on toes, wasn’t concerned about boundaries.

Because in his mind?

Miles didn’t matter.

And that?

That was fucking unacceptable.

--

You don’t notice Miles at first.

Not really.

You’re too caught up in the moment, in the way Joe makes it so easy to talk, to laugh. It’s been so long since you’ve had a conversation like this—one that isn’t about game schedules or dinner plans or how many charity events you have lined up for the season.

But then Joe’s eyes flicker up for half a second, and you know.

You know before you even turn around.

Miles is standing there, casual as anything, beer in hand, that unreadable half-smirk on his face. He’s trying to play it cool, you can tell, but you know him. You know the sharp edge of his jaw when he’s holding something back, the way his fingers tap against his bottle when he’s annoyed.

"Looks like you two are having fun," he says, voice light, teasing.

You open your mouth, but Joe beats you to it.

"Yeah," he says easily. "She’s good company."

Miles’ smirk twitches, just a little, just enough for you to notice.

"That right?"

Joe just grins. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Miles shifts his weight slightly, adjusting his grip on his beer, then turns to you. "We should get going."

You blink. "What? Why?"

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he hadn’t just interrupted your conversation. "It’s late."

You frown. "It’s not that late."

Miles looks at you for a long second, then smiles. "You wanna stay?"

"Yeah, I do."

Joe leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying every second of this. "Can’t blame her," he says with a smirk. "It’s a good party."

Miles doesn’t look at him, just keeps his eyes on you. "One of your friends was looking for you," he says, smooth and easy. "Said they needed to talk."

You hesitate. "Who?"

He just shrugs again, taking a sip of his drink. "Not sure. But they seemed like it was important."

You glance between him and Joe, feeling something heavy settle in your stomach. You know what Miles is doing. He’s giving you an out, a way to leave without making a scene.

And part of you wants to fight him on it.

But the other part?

The other part just sighs.

"Okay," you say eventually, standing up. "I’ll go find them."

Joe watches you go, and just before you’re out of earshot, you hear him chuckle.

"You really don’t like me, huh?" he says, and you don’t have to turn around to know that Miles is seething.

Miles doesn’t answer Joe right away.

He just stares.

And for the first time in his life, Joe watches a man who’s always been effortlessly self-assured hesitate. Miles Johnson, the guy who’s never questioned a damn thing in his life, the guy who walks into every room like he owns it, the guy who doesn’t lose—he’s standing there, jaw tight, grip flexing around the neck of his beer bottle, seething.

Because this isn’t just about some guy flirting with his girl.

This is about Joe Burrow flirting with his girl.

Joe, who has everything Miles does. Joe, who isn’t just some backup wide receiver on the depth chart but the quarterback, the golden boy, the face of the team. If it were some random guy, Miles wouldn’t even be thinking twice about it. But Joe? That’s different.

Joe has already been given the world, and now—now he’s looking at his girl like he has a shot at taking that, too.

Miles lets out a breath through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "You think this shit is funny?"

Joe just smiles. "Kinda, yeah."

Miles’ jaw clenches.

"You got something to say, man?"

Joe takes his time leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees, beer dangling from his fingers. "Me? Nah. I think you already know what I’m thinking."

Miles steps closer.

The tension is thick, crackling, and Joe—Joe just sits there, cool as ever, because he lives for this shit. He’s spent his whole life on a football field, has stared down 300-pound linemen trying to rip his head off, has played in stadiums so loud he couldn't even hear his own thoughts, and this?

This is just funny.

"You got a problem with me, Miles?" Joe finally asks, voice easy, relaxed.

Miles doesn’t answer. Because yeah, maybe he does have a problem with Joe.

And Joe fucking knows it.

And just when it looks like Miles might actually say something, Ja’Marr appears like he’s got some kind of internal alarm for bad ideas.

"Hey, hey, hey," Ja’Marr says, stepping between them before anything can go further. "What the hell is goin’ on over here?"

Joe leans back, grinning like nothing happened. "Nothing."

Miles scoffs. "Yeah," he mutters, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking something off. "Nothing."

Ja’Marr looks between them, clearly not believing that for a second. "Right."

Miles exhales sharply, trying to regain some control of the situation. He looks back at Joe, his voice measured. "Look, I don’t know what kinda game you think you’re playing, but let me make one thing clear—she’s mine."

Joe just tilts his head. "No one’s arguing that."

"You sure?" Miles asks, voice low.

Joe just lifts a shoulder. "One hundred percent."

Miles stares at him, trying to read between the lines, trying to see if Joe is bullshitting him, and Joe gives him nothing. Just a calm, neutral expression.

Joe finally sighs, running a hand through his hair like this whole thing is just exhausting for him. "Look, bro, you got nothing to worry about," he says, and his voice is so assured, so calm, that for a second, Miles wants to believe him. "Focus on your season, your career. You’re a lucky man. No one’s trying to step on your toes."

He even throws in a little bro-code for good measure, because that’s what guys like Miles eat up.

And just like that—Miles relaxes. Not completely, but enough that he lets it go.

"Good," he mutters after a long moment.

Joe nods, casual as anything, and then Miles finally—finally—walks away.

Ja’Marr watches him go, then turns back to Joe.

"That was some bullshit," he says.

Joe just grins. "Yeah. But he bought it, didn’t he?"

The drive home is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful, but the kind that makes your skin prickle, the kind that sits heavy in the air, thick with something unsaid.

You’re still in a good mood. You can feel it in the way your body is still buzzing slightly, the aftereffects of laughter and good conversation. For the first time in a long time, you’d felt light. Like the version of yourself that existed before all of this—before the responsibilities, before the expectations, before you became someone’s wife—had peeked through the cracks of who you’ve had to become.

And Miles hates it.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel it. The weight of his stare on the road, the way his grip on the wheel is just a little too tight. He’s never been good at masking his emotions, never been the type to hide his displeasure. You learned that early on.

When you get home, you don’t even make it to your bedroom before he speaks.

"So," Miles says, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you with an expression that isn’t outright anger, but something close to it. "You had fun tonight."

It’s not a question.

You pause, placing your purse on the counter carefully, your heartbeat just slightly picking up. "Yeah," you say slowly, hesitantly. "It was nice to be around everyone before the season starts."

He hums. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something calculating, and you don’t like it.

"You and Joe seemed to be having fun," he continues.

And there it is.

Your stomach twists—not in guilt, but in frustration.

"Don’t do that," you say, turning fully to face him now. "Don’t make it into something it wasn’t."

Miles tilts his head, his mouth twisting like he’s the one who should be annoyed. "Make it into something?" he repeats, letting out a sharp little laugh. "Baby, I was there. I saw it."

You inhale deeply through your nose. "Saw what?"

Miles scoffs, pushing off the counter, stepping closer. "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

Your jaw clenches. "Yes, actually, I do. Because from where I was sitting, all I did was have a conversation, and now you’re acting like—"

"Like what?" he cuts in. His voice isn’t raised, but there’s a sharp edge to it, a barely restrained irritation. "Like I didn’t have to sit there and watch my wife giggle at another man’s jokes? Like I didn’t have to watch him look at you like he was thinking about shit he shouldn’t be thinking about?"

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "That’s what this is about? Because someone looked at me?"

Miles exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. "No, this is about you letting him."

Your stomach drops.

There it is.

The shift. The moment where he stops being annoyed at the situation and starts being annoyed at you.

Your hands clench at your sides. "I can’t control how people look at me, Miles."

He takes another step forward, closing the distance, voice lowering. "But you can control how you react to it."

You stare at him, searching his face for the man you used to know, the one who once made you feel like you were the center of his world.

"I didn’t do anything wrong," you say, and you hate the way your voice comes out softer, like you're trying to convince him.

Miles exhales, and for a second, he just looks at you.

And then—he sighs.

It’s long and dramatic, and he runs a hand down his face, shaking his head. "You’re right," he finally says, and it’s so sudden that it almost gives you whiplash. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

Your brows knit together in confusion.

"I—I didn’t?"

He steps forward again, hands landing on your waist now, pulling you closer. "No, baby," he murmurs, his voice shifting, softening. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you did."

Your brain is scrambling to catch up.

"You—" you swallow. "You just—"

"I know, I know," he sighs again, dropping his forehead to yours. "God, I hate fighting with you."

You exhale shakily. The tension that had built up in your chest doesn’t fully leave, but it starts to shift.

Because this is the part where he fixes it.

The part where he pulls you into his arms, presses his lips to your forehead, and makes it okay.

"You know I just—I just love you so much," he murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw, your neck. "And I see someone else getting your attention, even for a second, and I just—I don’t know, baby, I just lose it."

You close your eyes. Your hands move to rest on his chest out of habit. "Miles—"

"Shh," he hums, lips brushing your ear now. "I forgive you, okay?"

Your breath catches.

"You forgive me?"

He kisses you before you can say anything else.

And that’s how he does it.

That’s how he wins.

Because somehow, you’ve gone from defending yourself to being the one who is forgiven.

And the worst part?

You let him.

[softieteez]

[softieteez]

anyone here like joe burrow ?

open to convo

[softieteez]

[softieteez]

[softieteez]

[softieteez]

beat bama . joe burrow

summary - Your newfound situationship with Joe is many things–thrilling, dramatic, refreshing. As the season snowballs in intensity, so does your relationship, and you start to wonder how much longer you’ll have to wait to call him, “Mine.” (Read the first part of this series here) pairings - TigerGirl!Reader x LSU!Joe warnings - Language, angst, fluff, alcohol use, verbal fight, Cam is a bitch, Joe Sass, SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI!), yet again THE SLOWEST OF SLOWBURNS!!!!, dom!joe and sub!reader on the lowest of keys

a/n - HAPPY NEW YEAR LUVRS! Thought we could all (kinda) ring in the new year with a new little chapter :') let me know how ya like it, cause I had to redo it like 12 times cause I kept hating it 🫠

Some songs for this chapter if that’s your vibe (in chronological order):

Delta Dawn - Tanya Tucker P power - Gunna (feat. Drake) evermore - Taylor Swift American Teenager - Ethel Cain No More Hiding - SZA Headlines - Drake Mr. Brightside - The Killers Need To Know - Doja Cat Eye of the Tiger - Survivor Planet Song - Margot Liotta

taglist - @platinumsim, @baekpop05, @flavingfrick, @burrowdarling, @definitelynotdomanique, @burrowbabe, @mggisbootiful, @camiesully, @austinswhitewolf, @why4anne, @junecats, @burrowscigar, @ijustcrypretty, @livinobx, @starsyoongi, @blu3jeanbaby, @absolutelyhugh3s, @grittysbiggestfan, drop a comment to be added!

word count - 33.8k

GLOOMY CLOUDS AND a faint breeze do little to tame the sticky sweat clinging to you like second skin, Mississippi’s unrelenting humidity still managing to make your life more difficult, even though it’s 69 degrees in late October. It’s by far the biggest disadvantage to cheering in the SEC–the heat that lasts essentially half the season. It doesn’t help that you’re currently squished in Davis Wade Stadium’s rather small entrance tunnel alongside many other overheated dancers and rowdy football players with not a care for the sweat dripping down their backs. Still, you plan on hitting your marks diligently, welcoming the outbursts of displeasure from the crowd that are bound to ensue once you take to the field. 

You try to glance around for any signal of when you’ll be released from your confinement, only to get lost in the array of jerseys and uniforms that flood the scene until you lock eyes with stormy blue ones that you usually know all too well.

Joe. 

Though right now, just before you all break towards the field in a mad rush, there’s something in those eyes that always feel unrecognizable before a game. You understand why they’re slightly blown out, the mad fury that comes with his competitive nature showing. You understand his dilated pupils, knowing the dopamine seeping into his system isn’t unlike the feeling he gets when he’s giving into his desires and pounding into your sopping cunt relentlessly, because you’ve watched those black pits grow larger and larger as you’ve trembled beneath him. You understand his furrowed brows, a result of his narrow concentration and attention to detail. You can even see the plays he’s drilling in his brain, his eyes occasionally darting as he goes through his first, second, and third read on each call. 

You can almost see him, until something is off. It’s different each time, or is it the same each time? You can never really put your finger on it. A certain eye twitch when his thought is interrupted, a specific way his blinking slows, a flash of green that never quite goes away until the clock hits zero. It’s gotta be something right?

Whatever it is, you can’t stop looking for it, and Joe doesn’t break eye contact with you. But the fire in his body reminds you of a conversation you had mere hours ago.

Each step you take off the bus feels more refreshing than the last, the breezy Fall air filling your nose a much needed change from the stale suffocation you experienced on the bus. You hang around when you get off, waiting for your teammates with Ja’marr who’s babbling about how his ditzy high school girlfriend ended up at Mississippi State. 

“She legitimately thought brown cows made chocolate milk bro. I can’t make this shit up,” Ja’marr rants with a laugh, quickly downing his third Gogo Squeez before shoving the trash in his pocket. He nods a greeting at Joe who’s the next to step off the boys’ bus. “We gotta cook these hoes, I’m tellin’ you. Wanna make it hilariously bad for them,” he points out, giving Joe a pat on the shoulder as he approaches.

“Conference opponent? Yeah, I want them embarrassed,” Joe agrees with a smirk, unwrapping a caramel apple sucker and popping it into his mouth. You roll your eyes, but can’t help but stare as his strong jaw clenches, moving the lollipop around with his tongue. 

“Oh come on, it’ll be light work. These dudes are trash,” Ja’marr defends as he gives you a teasing shove.

“I just want you to win, I don’t care how you do it,” you groan, snatching Ja’marr’s fourth Gogo Squeez out of his hands for yourself. 

“We’re gonna go off, I’d bet on it,” Joe challenges you, that competitive glint in his eye growing stronger by the moment. 

“I ain’t got no money for that,” Ja’marr shakes his head, doing a double take when he sees Raya stepping off the Tiger Girls bus, suddenly forgetting your conversation all together. “I’ll see you in the locker room bro…” He trails off, patting Joe’s shoulder again and letting his feet carry him over to the freshman. You follow his gaze, giggling when you notice who Ja’marr’s latest target is. 

“So what do I get if I do good?” Joe grins cockily, clearly focused on the late night activities you two are sure to get up to when you get back to Louisiana. Ever since you and Joe agreed to take things slow, it feels like the both of you have been insatiable when it comes to sex, partially because every time you get it on it feels like there’s some kind of time limit. There’s always a practice, class, or essay to get to. 

An idea pops into your head, as you’re well aware Joe hasn’t been able to have you for nearly as long as he’d like. Maybe the promise of more than one round would be perfect motivation to make Mississippi State pay…

“How about this,” you smirk, gripping the back of Joe’s neck and pulling his ear down to your lips. “Tonight, when we get back to Baton Rouge, you’re gonna want to have me all to yourself. And when you do…I’ll let you make me cum for each touchdown pass you throw,” you whisper seductively, lightly scratching the hair on the back of his neck.

Joe’s grip on your waist immediately tightens as he groans softly in your ear. “You don’t know what you’re in for. Deal,” he whispers back, pressing a quick kiss to your temple that causes your heart to leap and your body to heat. 

And as he walked off, you saw it. That thing in his eyes that you don’t quite know.

You’re snapped out of your daze when Joe turns to face the wall of the tunnel, taking a long breath before ramming his helmet-clad head into the wall three times. The piercing clank rings out, and a few Mississippi Bulldogs snap their heads around at the sharp sound only to be met by the disturbing sight of Joe abusing the walls of their tunnel–and his helmet. The sight only causes your anticipation to build, as if the nervous energy of your teammates and boisterous presence of the boys wasn’t doing enough to spike your heart rate. 

You breathe in, then out slowly, closing your eyes and using the opportunity to bask in the feeling. These moments are what you live for. When you come back to reality, it feels like no time has passed, but you’re being ushered onto the field with only one directive:  Go!

The team bursts from the tunnel in purple and gold, welcoming the side chatter and inevitable boos that come from the crowd on away games. Of course you still skip right to your position on the sideline and plaster a wide smile on your face for the travelling Tigers that line the away side, a good amount of LSU gear breaking up the sea of white and burgundy. 

You can immediately tell that this is going to be one of those easy games that you fly right through. Aside from the fact that you’ve been strutting through routines the best you have this entire season, 3:30pm games in significantly smaller stadiums are simply less electrifying and nerve wracking, which means you won’t be thinking too hard. 60,000 spectators may have intimidated a Wagner girl. Bowling Green, New Mexico State, maybe even a UNC Tarheel who’s too engrossed in her books to realize the weight an SEC team like M State carries. But you? An LSU Tiger Girl? You can’t help but think…It’s cute! 

As you expected, the game has started before you can even blink. Grace calls out a short cheer after the kickoff in support of the defense, then all eyes are on the boys.

The first quarter is a relentless back and forth between both defenses, that you don’t much care for at all. The Tigers get a huge stop on 4th & 1 in the middle of the field which has you hooting and hollering, until the Bulldogs get a goal line stop after a long drive and force LSU into a field goal. On offense Mississippi manages to chew up a lot of clock as well, but thankfully come out empty handed with only a minute left in the first quarter. By the start of the second, Joe is on his own 30 starting to work his way up the field.

The LSU offense makes smooth work of the Bulldogs with an explosive run and a few quick passes to the tight end Moss, until they’re forced into another short field goal by Cade York. Luckily, the ball is back in Joe’s hands quickly when the Tigers’ defense forces a fumble at the 45. Your frustration starts to bubble when Mississippi’s aggression starts to show, tackles looking very physical, nasty words being exchanged, and even a facemask penalty being called on both Joe and an O-lineman. It’s by far your least favorite part of football, the risk of injury, and it doesn’t help your anxiety any more when Joe is blown up by a DT on the very next play. Cheers of excitement fill the stadium, and you hold your breath until he jumps right back up, casually handing the ball to the referee. Unfortunately the sack pushes you far behind the sticks, so LSU settles for another field goal, making it 9-0. 

Your frustration starts to morph into anxiety as Mississippi starts barrelling down the field, big play after big play being made by the guys in maroon. Soon enough the Bulldogs are in the endzone. “Shit,” You sigh under your breath, your eyes darting around the field as M State fans go crazy all around you. When you’re unranked and you score on the #2 team in the nation, it doesn’t matter if you’re still losing. You rub it in their face. 

As each team switches personnel for the kickoff, you tilt your head towards the sideline and see Joe having a focused conversation with a coach, grabbing his helmet and preparing to take the field. That look in his eye is fiercer than ever with a hint of frustration mixed in, but mostly his calm, cool, collected demeanor. When they finish their conversation Joe meets your eye, and his brooding facade cracks for a split second, the faintest smirk flashing across his face. It’s a look so intense you have to break eye contact, willing yourself to focus on the crowd as Grace calls out another cheer. Your heart thuds against your ribcage as you recall your agreement, and the fact that LSU hasn’t scored a single touchdown–field goals only.

The kickoff return made by Clyde is impressive, and yards are tacked on for a facemask foul, putting LSU at the 40 yard line. The offense jogs onto the field afterwards, Joe now looking casual as ever as he lines up in shotgun. On the very first snap, he fakes a handoff, and throws a deep shot to Racey McMath for a 60 yarder. Touchdown. 

Your jaw drops in disbelief, and you can’t help but jump and holler with the rest of your team in the wake of a very quick turnaround. Every ounce of creeping anxiety you had is immediately diminished, the momentum swinging right back to LSU because of how badly Joe torched the M State defense. 

“That’s one,” you mutter to yourself with a smile, your heart starting to race even faster when you think of just how many touchdowns Joe could throw the rest of the game with determination like that. Your cheers are a little louder, smile a little wider, and hops a little higher as the defense takes the field, your shoulders finally relaxing now that the Tigers have very clear control over the game. 

Your point is proven when Mississippi starts playing frantically, resulting in penalties and an interception. Joe plows down the field again, this time hitting Ja’marr on a slant for a second touchdown right before the end of the first half. You feel like you’re cruising, confidently performing each cheer 

The score is 22-7 going into the back half of the game, and each team starts off strong with two defensive stops. Mississippi’s final hope doesn’t last long though, because Joe just heads right back on the field and dissects their defense, reading coverages as easy as a children’s book. The Tigers’ stomp down the field is swift, and it’s not long before Joe is slithering in the pocket, manipulating it’s structure until Derrick Dillon is open for a 40 yard bomb at the back of the endzone. Three. The three and out from Mississippi goes by in a flash, then LSU goes back to strutting down the field, a laser down the middle to Justin turning into another tuddy. Oh god, you think to yourself. That’s four… Now at 36-7, it’s obvious what was once a struggle in the first quarter now feels like a layup, the offense moving with such ease you’d think they’re playing a little league flag team. 

Entering the fourth quarter, Joe comes in for what you imagine will be his last drive of the game, considering how far ahead you are. There’s been a lull in the game ever since the last touchdown, with plenty of fans leaving due to the game being pretty much decided. This is where you really start to go on autopilot.

That is, until the flash of a very quick edge rusher catches your eye. He barrels for Joe, who attempts to dodge, but ends up getting halfway caught by the falling defender. The DE is practically on his knees, clinging to Joe’s waist as he starts to run, and ends up latching on to the waistband on the back of his shorts. As Joe runs, the rusher doesn’t let go in an attempt to get him down, but just ends up pulling down his shorts. You’re not quite sure how they’ve ended up in this position, but Joe’s ass is suddenly on display for the entire stadium. Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth in shock, and you feel an incredulous laugh bubble up your throat. After feeling a hefty waft of air on his behind, Joe hobbles down, accepting the sack and hastily trying to pull up his shorts. 

“What just happened?” Tay asks next to you, various murmurs and laughter filling the sideline and stadium. Your eyes widen when you look to the jumbo screen, where a replay of the sack is being shown in taunting slow motion. The entire stadium reacts to the play, some groans, whistles, and lots of laughs. 

“Oh no,” you laugh in disbelief, not quite sure what else to do besides be thankful his entire bottom half wasn’t exposed, though it’s not like Joe has anything to be ashamed of in that department. It might’ve actually been kind of amazing if he managed to escape the sack and throw a dot while his huge dick was swinging around. 

“That’s your man?” Tay teases with a giggle. You roll your eyes with a smile.

He’s gonna be hearing about this all night.

The guys carry on as if nothing has happened, and end up going three and out because of The Sack. Second stringers start warming up, so you start to dig down deep and gather all of your energy to push through these final nine minutes. You could cheer through close game fourth quarters for days, but when it’s a blowout, all you want to do is get back on the bus and to the Bayou. Luckily there’s not much to cheer for once Joe and the rest of the starters are out of the game, only some back and forth possessions and a Mississippi touchdown that means nothing to you. You let out a deep sigh when Myles gets in victory formation, your now sweat-filled uniform getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute. The team sticks around for a few final goodbyes to the crowd before packing up all of your things, and heading straight for the locker room. 

The smooth, cool granite countertop digs into your lower back, Joe’s warm hands holding you in place by your hips. His hot mouth is on yours with such force that you find yourself having to lean back, placing both hands on either side of his flushed face. The adrenaline from the game still flows through both of you, Joe’s breath scorching your skin while your chest heaves with every gasp of air you manage to take. His hands are typically controlling with a sense of rhythm, almost like a choreographed dance he always shows you to follow. But now, in the wake of your surrender to him only a few nights ago, and the fiery dominance that only comes from victory? They lose their collected nature, and toss you around with nothing but pure, gripping assertion of his inevitable power over you.

Joe’s grip is on your waist, traveling to your ass before fisting the flesh in his large palms and forcing your clothed center onto his. A groan tumbles out of your mouth at the friction, the heat between your legs pooling so suddenly that you’re caught off guard. Joe just continues to take what he wants, reaching for your jaw and shoving your head to the side for easy access to your neck. He consumes you, every caress of his tongue and drag of his mouth dropping you further into desperation, while he tugs you around like a helpless ragdoll. 

“How many?” Joe rumbles sharply from his spot on your neck, blowing cool air onto the spot before grinding his hips into yours again. The sensations make your jaw drop, and you’re left speechless for a few seconds until you remember the agreement you made before the game. “Tell me,” Joe commands.

“Four,” you let out a high pitched gasp as Joe slots his taut thigh between your legs, his punishing grip falling back to your hips. He tugs you down onto him, dragging your hips in slow, delicious circles over the bulged muscles to force friction onto your center. The pleasure shoots through you, unyielding. 

“Four touchdowns, good girl,” Joe praises, pressing a short kiss to your panting mouth before looking you in the eye with a heated stare. His pupils are blown, and a dark shadow crosses his features that you can only describe as predatory.  “How many times are you gonna cum for me tonight?” he growls and pushes you harder onto his thigh, switching his teasing circles out for an intense back and forth grind that has you rutting onto him in desperation. 

“F-four,” you falter, the heat of the new movement causing your eyes to flutter shut and soft moans to fall from your lips. The arousal starts to pulse through you, firing shock after shock of pleasure, and you’re suddenly gripping onto Joe’s shirt for dear life. 

“Mhm,” Joe groans, forcing your hips to slow to a pace of his liking when you get too carried away. The prominent bulge in his sweatpants reveals how much he’s enjoying watching you falter, and you’re tempted to touch him, but you know as soon as you drop your hand from his shoulders it’ll be snatched away. Desperation starts to boil low in your belly as Joe continues to keep you at a moderate pace, building you up much slower than you’d like. Eventually he guides the both of you to his room, sitting on the edge of the bed and plopping you right back down on his thigh. You’re in motion immediately after, back to building yourself up slowly. 

Joe’s lips slip to your neck as he starts grinding you harder, faster against him, the heat of his mouth on your neck doing little to calm your rapid heartbeat. You ache for more, but the friction is just enough for you to be teetering on the edge, not entirely sure how Joe’s already managed to consume you without taking your clothes off. 

“Joe,” you gasp in his ear, and he just growls in response, yanking you faster against him. Your first orgasm of the night washes over you soothingly, almost like the calm before the storm. A little something to take the edge off before the real fun begins. You still pant against Joe’s neck, wondering how much of your voice will be left after this. 

“Count,” Joe demands gruffly, his warm breath fanning against your neck. “I wanna hear you.”

“One,” you sigh, still recovering from your high as Joe pulls off his T-shirt and yours. He’s not afraid to toss you around, grabbing your waist and throwing you on your back so your head is on his pillows. Your sweats and panties, that are now soaked with your release, are removed from you slowly, Joe taking the time to admire the way your gorgeous curves are revealed to him. Once all your clothes are gone, he just can’t stop touching, kneading, caressing.

“Gonna let me taste you?” Joe murmurs darkly, his large hands feeling everywhere on your body before he separates your legs. Your previous release is still glistening on your folds, the cool air hitting it causing you to shiver. The look in Joe’s eyes is purely primal as he makes eye contact with you, leaning down to be face to face with your cunt. 

“Always,” you whisper in response, entranced by the way Joe’s hands glide on your thighs, the feather light touches managing to spark more arousal in you. He blows on your center, the coolness making you shiver again, before it’s immediately replaced by Joe’s scorching tongue. The intense contrast makes you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as Joe starts to circle your entrance with his tongue. He glides back up to your clit, pressing his tongue flat against it and licking a stripe, then heading back down to your entrance to repeat the process. The rhythm is intoxicating, mounting your pleasure up again with each flick of his smooth tongue against your aching core. Soft moans leave your mouth freely, and your chest starts to heave when Joe starts dipping into your entrance, letting the friction of his nose against your clit give you stimulation there. You can feel yourself start to throb against his mouth, and you instinctively start to squirm before his hands against your thighs stop you. Joe drags you to the edge again, this time far more intense than the last. He doesn’t remove his mouth from your cunt once, humming in satisfaction when he feels you start to frantically clench. 

“Fuck- two!” You whine, grinding yourself into Joe’s face as you climax. This one feels like fire, scorching your body and leaving you breathless, where the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the sheets between your fists. Joe continues to groan as you ride it out, feeling like he’s in heaven watching you come undone above him. It only spurs him on further to get you going again, and again. 

Joe pulls away and you look down at him, bringing up a hand to trace his strong, glistening jaw. You start to feel like you're floating, your high not exactly leaving you as Joe rises to his knees and frees himself of his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his hard cock. Your libido has never been this high before, but the sight of Joe giving himself a few quick strokes, his head thrown back and right bicep protruding as he works over his huge cock over and over, awakens another beast inside of you. You just know you need him inside you, pounding relentlessly until you can’t fucking stand anymore. There’s not much else to think of besides your wanting, your needing, and you need him. 

It’s written all over your face the way you’re gawking over Joe, your doe eyes transfixed by his lazy rhythm. He notices, and a cocky, open mouthed smirk stretches across his face as he continues pumping slowly, making the image that much more intoxicating. “Needin’ somethin’?” he asks you in a pants, raising a brow to hear your response. 

“Your cock,” you respond automatically, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. Your dirty words cause Joe to stop stroking, his eyes narrowing possessively at you before pouncing. He grips the back of one of your knees, throwing it over his shoulder before sliding into you in one swift motion. He fills you to the brim, the feeling making your eyes flutter shut and a shocked, high pitched moan to leave your mouth. Joe shoves himself deep, leaning into you on each snap of his hips so your noses almost touch. Sparks shoot up your body, every angle he’s hitting makes you more delirious as your climax already starts to build much quicker than the previous. 

“I’ll give you what you need, baby. Every time,” Joe pants against your mouth, grunting on a particularly hard thrust. “All you have to do is ask.” He’s everywhere, and you can feel yourself squeezing him tight, your vision getting blurry when he hits that one spot. Once he’s found it he never lets up, and your third orgasm is suddenly knocking the wind out of you.

“Three,” you practically yell, your body shaking as you get overwhelmed, every part of you feeling like fire. You don’t even know how to think because your mind turns to goo, the fervent pleasure never ending and burning into your brain. The daze you’re in could be heaven, but you’re not sure. You don’t need to be. 

Joe wastes no time grabbing your waist and flipping you over so your face is smashed in the pillows, and your ass is up. You know what he wants, and in your haze you subconsciously get on your knees and arch your back, keeping your head firmly planted. Your center is so exposed, all of your arousal dripping around your thighs and out of your cunt, but you couldn’t care less right now. 

“Jesus, you’re perfect,” Joe pants as he glides his hands over your round, perky ass, finally gripping your hips and yanking you back onto his cock impossibly deep. He sets a punishing pace and gives you no time to recover, the new angle giving you no control, just allowing him to drill deeper and deeper. The force of his thrusts push your head further into the pillow, and you feel some of the cotton material in your mouth as your jaw goes slack, every nerve ending in your body overloaded with the sensation of Joe filling you like this. Your eyes instinctively roll to the back of your head, intelligible noises and words falling from your lips as you practically drool into the pillow. “My perfect girl, losing her fucking mind for me,” Joe grunts from behind, a cocky laugh falling from his lips after. “You got anything to say? Feel too good? Hm?” He coos, unwavering in his pace but the slight shake in his voice gives him away–he’s close.

“Ng-,” you blubber incoherently against the pillow, the intoxicating cocktail of pain, pleasure, and the pressure of Joe’s dick brushing your cervix too much to bear. “Ah-, no,” you manage. “Just- please! Please, please, please…I can’t…I need…” you beg, not entirely sure what you’re begging for. 

“Just one more sweetheart,” Joe soothes, letting one of his hands drop to your puffy clit. He starts rubbing circles on the overstimulated area, driving you right to the brink of orgasm and madness. “Don’t you think I deserve it?” He mocks, pushing himself into you harder.

“You deserve it, Joe,” you gasp, feeling your fourth orgasm barreling towards you with his words. Every sensation starts to blur together, and white hot fire starts to simmer deep in your core. 

“Give it to me, baby. Lemme- hear you,” Joe groans shakily, throwing his head back. He rips your orgasm out of you, your eyes screwing shut as your loud, piercing, uncontrollable moans fill the room, a guttural “Four!” standing out against the rest. The pain and the pleasure bleed together, sending you into another dimension as you helplessly clamp down on Joe’s cock over and over. He’s almost as loud as you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as his hot cum fills you, the combination of both of your arousal making the wet slap of his hips into yours that much more pronounced. You shudder through your orgasm, thighs shaking, nails clawing, mind numbing. 

As you finally return to Earth, Joe slides out of you slowly, running his hands up and down your back soothingly. Your breathing is ragged as he coaxes you up onto all fours, stepping off the bed saying, “I’ll clean you up, one sec.” Your vision is blurry for a few seconds as you rise, your body still trembling from the intensity of the night. You try to breathe in and out slowly, and bask in the relief of the cool cloth Joe places on your center, but you just can’t stop the tremors from wracking through your body. Joe notices, immediately flipping you around and scooping you into his arms to carry into the bathroom, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before plopping you onto the toilet. You realize he’s already gotten black briefs on, and you suddenly feel exposed.

“Y’gotta pee, honey,” Joe instructs, going into his medicine cabinet and pulling out a brand new toothbrush, along with some other skincare items you might want to use. He eyes you worriedly, quick to pull out Advil along with the rest of the items.

“I can’t stop shaking,” you laugh nervously, trying to use your hands to cover yourself as your heart rate starts to rise in panic. 

“I’m getting you clothes, I’ll be right back,” Joe promises, darting out of the bathroom. While he’s gone you will yourself to pee, thinking of the god awful UTI you’re avoiding as motivation. When Joe gets back, you silently thank him for grabbing your boy briefs, not in the mood to deal with a flimsy thong that will just overstimulate you even further. You hold onto his strong shoulders for balance while he has you step into the leg holes, pulling the soft cotton all the way up before rubbing your still-shaking thighs comfortingly. Your heart rate starts to return to normal, and Joe stands so he can pull his black “Geaux Tigers” hoodie over your head, his clean woody scent providing you with a safety blanket you didn’t realize you needed. 

“You okay sweetheart? C’mere,” Joe mumbles with pinched brows and a frown, smoothing his large hands down your sides before pulling you into him. Your face squishes against his warm chest, and the tremors slowly fade as you take deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of Joe’s fingers lightly scratching your scalp. “That was a lot, huh?” Joe mumbles.

“No, I’m okay,” you finally pipe up, finding your voice after Joe’s wizardry cures your anxiety. “That was fucking insane. I’ve never gotten like that after sex, I’m sorry,” you chuckle, just relieved that shaky feeling is gone. 

“Don’t ever apologize for that,” Joe is quick to correct you. “If you ever need anything after, you tell me and it’s done. The important thing is that you just breathe and focus on me. I do the work.”

“Okay,” you whisper, slightly pulling away from your embrace with a mischievous smile. “...KitKats?” you ask in a sing-songy voice, giggling when Joe smiles and rolls his eyes playfully. It’s not long after that you’re scooped up again, both of you now cackling as Joe runs with you in his arms into the kitchen. Both of you start to wind down as your exhaustion starts creeping in, munching on a couple KitKat bars deliriously before swaying lethargically back into Joe’s bed. 

Both of you are softly whispering back and forth, recounting stories from the day, or the latest news headline, or random interests. Joe’s heavy duvet helps you sink into the mattress, and combined with you and Joe’s shared body heat, cozy warmth blooms from every part of your body. You feel at peace like this, as if time has stopped and you’re just talking to each other on the moon, gravity ceasing to exist while you float. Your collective drowsiness is growing, but neither of you want to sleep, because that would mean to break eye contact, to stop exchanging smiles and hearing each other’s laugh. 

It’s moments like these where you wonder if what you have is something more than just two friends who like to have sex. You both want to get there one day, but when is that one day? Because sometimes it feels like it’s already happening right now. 

Well, besides the fact that the fucker hasn’t taken you out on an actual date yet. 

“...like the Sun for example. It takes about eight minutes for the heat and light from the Sun to reach the Earth’s surface, so technically if the Sun were to randomly explode or something, we’d still have eight minutes before we’d freeze to death,” Joe explains in a hushed whisper, the current topic being world altering events.

“Hmm,” you hum sleepily, adjusting the covers so they’re pulled up to your chin. “So I get eight minutes? I think I’d just streak. Gotta do it once, right?” You joke, giggling at the thought of immediately stripping in the middle of campus, running freely while your classmates ponder their own demise. 

“Streaking is a good one,” Joe agrees. “Or arson.”

“Arson?” You laugh in surprise, not expecting your typical mediator to carry such rage. “What are you burning down?”

“I don’t know. Mike’s cage. Free him already!” Joe demands with a smile.

“Eight minutes of chaos,” you nod, unable to hide the goofy grin on your face.

“Exactly!”

“Well, let’s hope you at least finish the season before the world ends,” you conclude, watching as Joe nods, his face suddenly sobering at the mention of football. There’s a glint of eagerness in his soft features as he shuffles closer to you, grabbing one of your hands from gripping the blanket and playing with your fingers gently. He looks like a kid again, full of innocence and wonder.

“You know…I think we can do it,” Joe whispers, like it’s a wish that won’t come true if he says it out loud. “I think we can beat anyone. Everyone.” The admission lingers in the air, and you feel like you can barely breathe. You don’t want to break this moment, because you know he doesn’t get moments like this often. Where he can voice his honest thoughts about the team, and admit his biggest dreams without the pressure of everyone watching to see if they will come true. Where he can just want things for himself without feeling guilty about it. 

“You can do anything,” you finally whisper, staring down at your tangled hands. “That’s how hard you work, Joe.” He quickly turns bashful, letting out a deep sigh and bringing your hand up to his lips for a kiss. Slowly, he drags your hand around his neck and leans back, using his other arm to pull you so you’re halfway on top of him, your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

“I hope you’re right.”

That Monday morning alarm hits you like a freight train. 

You stumble around Joe’s apartment, shoving all of your strewn about items into your backpack in the worst way possible. Unfortunately there’s no time for organization, as you need to make it back to your apartment, get ready, and leave on time with your roommates for your lift. And you’re late.

“You know, we could just go together and it would save you a lot of time,” Joe calls out from his sprawled out position, his gravelly morning voice making you want to hop right back in bed with him. You stare at him knowingly.

“You know how that looks,” you frown, not in the mood to piss your ex off and ruin your day. 

“How do you think this looks?” he jokes with a smirk, gesturing to his naked body in bed while you scamper around picking up your clothes from the night before. 

“I’m leaving,” you laugh, blowing him a playful kiss before heading out the door. 

You make it back to your apartment with just enough time to get yourself together and walk with the roommates to the athletic facility. All of you lazily mope across campus, ritually waving and saying hello to Mike on the way. 

Once you arrive at the gym, you’re happy to discover that you’ll be doing group sets, which means everyone gets in groups of four, and you’ll each switch off doing sets so you get accurate rest time. Of course your group of four is already decided, and essentially turns into a gossip circle every time.

“How was your night?” Grace asks you with a smirk, going under the squat rack and positioning the bar on her shoulders to start her reps, while Kelia moves behind her to spot. 

“Good,” you murmur, a tiny smile and a blush blooming on your cheeks as your mind starts replaying the events of last night.

Fuck.

Tay analyzes your expression, barking out a laugh as you struggle to keep your cool. “Oh this girl is getting dicked down. I feel so bad for Joe’s neighbors,” she teases, taking frequent sips from her water. 

“You were like this last week too. I can’t believe our best friend has moved out,” Kelia shakes her head with a smile, helping Grace get the bar back on the rack once she’s done. “He needs to count his days, y’all don’t even have the label yet!”

“I know,” you sigh, setting your water bottle down to get ready for your set. “Sometimes it feels like it, though. I mean we definitely act like more than hook up buddies.”

“I believe your time will come soon enough, because I actually have some important news to share,” Grace admits, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across her face. You all whip your head around to her, eyes wide and jaws dropped. 

“Oh my god-” Tay squeals, and anticipation bubbles in the air.

“Justin asked me to be his girlfriend,” Grace sighs happily, her happy feet bouncing around when she reveals her big announcement. 

“Babe, when?” you gasp, excitement bursting in your stomach. 

“I could cry right now,” Kelia chokes out, fanning her face and dramatically covering her mouth.

“We went on our third date last night and it went so well,” Grace starts, the giddy grin on her face making your heart melt. “He drove me home after obviously, and when he walked me up to the door he had this necklace he wanted to give me, and had this whole speech about how he wants to commit to me, and just…asked.” It’s then that you notice a beautiful opal necklace she’s been twirling around her fingers, the iridescence of the gem making her smile sparkle and her skin glow. Her birthstone. 

“That’s the cutest shit everrr,” you coo, immediately wrapping your arms around the giggly girl. The newest couple on the block is the topic of your conversation for the rest of the workout, each of you asking questions about the date and how he treats Grace. You can’t help but imagine what it will be like when…or if you and Joe finally make things serious. The idea of having him all to yourself makes your heart race, imagining what your life would look like when he ends up getting drafted. Is he the type to buy you gifts for fun, like Justin? If he’s playing professionally he’d surely have the money. Or does he prefer doing kind things for you, acts of service that make your day to day life easier?

You’ve always imagined the free time you’ll have after you graduate, free of the gruelling schedule of a student athlete, but now there’s someone new in the mix. A strong, sexy, hard working boyfriend you come home to, cooking dinner together before he drills you into the bed every single night. Yeah, you could definitely get used to that. 

These thoughts swirl around your head all morning, taunting and teasing you as you go through your workout and attempt to focus in class. Every time you think you’ve moved on, a new fantasy floats across your brain, stirring a longing in you that you can’t tame for the life of you. 

Would he miss you when he starts training for the combine? Calling you at odd hours of the night with his hard cock sprang to attention, greedily sliding his hand up and down his shaft as he instructs you to touch yourself with him? I bet he’d book me a one way flight the next morning. He’d be too eager to wait. Would you finally be able to watch him from the comfort of a seat in the stands, with no physical responsibilities besides a good luck kiss and downing a cold beer? Telling him how well he played, praising him until you’re finally alone and can bask in the victory sex you’ve been practicing since your LSU days? 

By the end of your class you’re practically panting, gnawing on your knuckles in an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that Joe has you absolutely obsessed with him—and more specifically his dick. You hastily gather your things, storming out of the lecture with only one possibility that could keep you stable:  coffee. You make a beeline for CC’s, tapping your foot anxiously as you wait in line for your order to be taken. 

“Hi, can I get a-” you start ordering, jumping out of your skin when your phone buzzes violently in your hands. You flick your eyes down to check who it is, every part of you screaming when you see Joe. As your heart starts to race, memories from the morning come rushing back, completely distracting you from the task at hand.

“Um…hello? Ma’am?” The annoyed student employee taking your order tries to bring you back to reality, and you shake your head vigorously.

“S-sorry! Um, just a small latte…iced, iced small latte with sugar free vanilla,” you stutter out as you fumble with your wallet, digging it out of your backpack and barely registering your payment before your eyes are glued back onto your phone.

Joe: You were in my bed only hours ago and I need you again

Joe: I only have a little bit of time before my QB meeting, but I don’t really gaf right now

Your heart starts racing, and you almost ditch your coffee, until your name is immediately called. You monotonously mutter a thanks, your only thought from this point forward being Joe. All rational thought is abandoned as you race across campus, the ache between your legs growing with every step you take, and only one person you’re thinking of who can satisfy it. You imagine what he’s doing right now, waiting for you to arrive, counting down the minutes until his meeting. It’s really been no time at all by the time you’re at his door, testing the handle to see if it’s open so you can just walk in yourself

You’re surprised when it twists, but nonetheless you push onward, immediately being greeted by the sight of Joe slouched on his couch, scrolling through his phone until his eyes pop up to you. He’s in black sweats and a tight black tee, an outfit so simple sending you spiraling. 

“Hey,” you greet, your voice shakier than you intended.

“Oh you want it bad, huh?” Joe asks gruffly, letting out a light chuckle towards the end.  “Came runnin’ all the way from the Law Center? That should be at least a 20 minute walk.” Your throat goes dry, and your eyes flick to the time. You cut it down to 13 minutes without even realizing. 

“Fast on my feet,” you shrug, the anticipation already killing you as Joe stalks towards you with intent. His hands are quick to grab your waist, pulling you against him.

“So you weren’t dripping for me on your way over here?” Joe asks darkly, trailing his hands over your ass and squeezing. Your breath hitches, your brain going into a frenzy because he’s right. You’ve been craving him all morning. “Squeezing your thighs together just to settle the ache?” He continues, pressing his mouth to your neck in light, separated kisses that cause your heart to thud violently. “Don’t lie to me, baby.”

You look to your feet, and notice a prominent bulge in Joe’s black sweatpants, the tent teasing you just like he is. “Looks like someone else needs it just as bad,” you taunt, running your fingertips over Joe’s clothed erection teasingly. He hisses, immediately grabbing your jaw and attacking your lips, making out with you feverishly. The fire that’s been burning inside you is finally being fanned, and the both of you are quick to move to the couch with you on top of him.

“Clock’s ticking,” you pant, gripping the neck of Joe’s shirt and tugging it off with urgency. He’s quick to do the same to you, kneading your tits and rolling your nipples as soon as they’re in his line of sight. 

“Fuck,” Joe mutters between your feverish kisses, getting to work on your bottoms by swiping them off in one fell swoop. Usually you might be embarrassed by the sight of your panties that are stained with your arousal from thinking about Joe all day, but he looks at your cunt like he needs it, and suddenly you can’t feel embarrassed, only hot. You help Joe with his sweatpants and boxers, both of your frantic hands yanking the material off of him “Ah,” he hisses when his dick springs free, his tip already pink and dripping with precum. 

Still perched on Joe’s lap, you pull off of his mouth with a pop, lightly sucking his bottom lip before letting it snap back into place. You admire his flushed face for a moment, eyes blown in adoration and lips pouted in a silent plea, before flipping yourself around on his lap so your back is to his front. “Let’s speed this up,” you suggest, leaning forward to place your hands on the couch on either side of his calves. You slowly arch your back, grinding on his hard cock slightly before inching backwards, so your ass moves up his chest and pushes him flat on the couch. When you stop, you’re both face to face with where you need each other most, in the 69 position. 

“Oh fuck,” Joe whines, bringing his large, warm hands up to your hips before letting them circle your ass. Before he has time to do much else, you admire his pretty dick, slick with some of your arousal from grinding into him, and kitten-lick the tip.

“Fuck, baby,” Joe breathes out, his handsy rhythm on your hips going still as he throws his head back in pleasure. You giggle before taking the entire head in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down and taking more and more of him each time. You let your tongue protrude at the bottom of your mouth, licking a stripe on the top side of his cock on each stroke.  “Holy shit, juuust like that,” he groans, pulling your ass down so your dripping pussy lands right on his face.

Joe wastes no time teasing, and starts lapping at your clit like there’s no tomorrow. The intense shock of pleasure makes you moan, and eggs you on to bob faster on Joe’s dick. The parts of him you can’t fit you start jerking off with one hand at the base, and you swear you see stars when Joe slides down to give some attention to your entrance, causing the scruff on his chin to scrape deliciously across your clit. Hot breaths, deep groans, and wet, erotic slurps are the only sounds in the room, both of you barrelling towards orgasm after a long morning of anticipation. 

You feel Joe’s patterns on your cunt start to grow more erratic, and his sounds of pleasure getting more desperate, pleading. Your own desperation is at a hilt, especially because Joe is practically unhinging his jaw to allow his tongue to dance around everywhere. You start to take him as far back as you can, now lightly playing with his balls as his tongue prods your entrance a few times, then comes back up to circle your clit and suck hard. Both of you subconsciously start grinding into each other, Joe’s face pressed flush against your pussy, and his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, the combination of Joe’s tongue on your core and dick in your mouth making you break. Pleasure bursts through you as Joe keeps rutting into your mouth, and tears start to prick at your eyes when you start choking and gagging. Your climax remedies the pain, fusing with it perfectly, and you can’t do anything but moan profusely around Joe’s cock. “Mmhm,” Joe hums as you choke on his dick, the vibration triggering a second hotter wave of your orgasm to hit. He finishes immediately after, not letting up from your cunt as he starts to grunt and groan, ropes of his cum filling your mouth. Eventually his hips stutter as both of you start to come down from your highs, pulling away from each other and panting profusely. You crawl around and lay on his chest, the both of you basking in a few moments of peace before Joe’s eyes shoot open. 

“QB meeting,” he snaps, instantly remembering that he’s supposed to be heading somewhere right now. When he checks his phone, finding he was supposed to leave five minutes ago, he mutters, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You’re immediately in panic mode as well, running to his room and grabbing a fresh pair of boxers from his drawers and throwing them down the hall. You both move in hushed silence, focused on getting Joe out the door as fast as humanly possible.

“I can’t be late, this is what I told myself I wouldn’t do,” Joe scolds himself, grabbing one of his disgusting protein bars from the pantry and slinging his bag around his back quickly. 

“You’ll be okay, tell them your mom called,” you suggest, pulling on the last of your clothes as Joe heads for the door. 

“Oh that’s a good one,” Joe nods at your suggestion. “Sorry, I’ll see you later, okay? You can leave whenever, the door auto locks!” He calls out, the door slamming shut behind him. When it does, you immediately squeal.

This boy has me on cloud nine. 

Cloud nine lasts for a solid four days.

Thursday, you jolt awake from a dreamless sleep, your alarm sounding much louder than usual. You groan and quickly tap “Stop,” bringing your hand to your head when a piercing headache immediately burns in your skull. You frown in dismay, slowly propping yourself up on an elbow to get your lamp on, until the next symptom hits. Before you can even touch your water, a deep inhale is immediately blocked by congestion, sending you into a dry coughing frenzy where you notice an acute soreness in your throat. 

“No no…maybe I’m just tired!” you tell yourself, the ache in your limbs as you slowly slide out of bed telling you otherwise. As you grab your bedside water bottle trudge to your bathroom in hopes of a steamy shower, coughs start to come up your throat again, this time in quick, unrelenting succession. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You immediately start to chug, hoping water will magically cure you of all your current problems, but all it does is subdue the coughing and quench your thirst. Your head continues to pound, and breathing from your nose is still a workout. Still, you continue on with your plan, getting undressed and jumping into your scorching shower. Your muscles are able to relax, but you’re only in there for five minutes before you have to start getting ready for practice, giving the steam little time to clear your congestion. 

You huff in frustration as you dry yourself off, sniffing and sighing in the process. Every minute that passes you grow less optimistic that these symptoms will fade, yet you still get dressed and pull together all of your practice gear, rolling your eyes to yourself as you open your bedroom door. 

When you walk down the hall, backpack fastened and duffel in hand, you realize all of your other roommates are waiting for you by the front door. 

I must’ve taken longer in the shower than I thought…

Grace is the first to look up from her phone and notice you. “You ready?” she asks, her face turning slightly concerned when she notices your slightly ragged state.

“Yeah,” You croak with a plastered smile, immediately clearing your throat to correct yourself, until a couple of coughs overtake you. After a lame attempt at waving them off you say, “Um, yeah, I’m ready.” 

All three of the girls look at you like you’re bat-shit. “Hell no you’re not!” Kelia responds, quickly crossing her arms. “You know Coach K will have your head if you come into practice sick,” she points out, stalking up to you and yanking your duffel out of your hand. 

You throw your head back exasperatedly. “I am not sick! I had something in my throat,” you protest, trying to look to your other friends for help, only to be met with two shaking heads. 

“Okay Ms. Sniffles,” Kelia chuckles dryly, gripping one of your shoulders and rotating you 180, then giving you a light push down the hallway back to your bedroom. “I could hear you through the damn wall,” she clarifies, continuing to guide you to your confinements until you’re fully back in your domain, your lips in a pout. She drops your duffel by your desk, then guards your doorway by crossing her arms in front of it in defiance. It’s like she’s daring you to try to leave, the both of you facing off in some kind of staring contest until you finally give in, slipping your backpack off your shoulder with an eye roll. 

She’s right, anyway. Coach Kandace will have your head if you come to practice sick.

You learned that the hard way already…

When it’s your first year as a Tiger Girl, you’re obviously still learning the ropes. You want to make a good impression, show that you’re a leader, while also blending into the background with the older, more seasoned dancers. Each of you are very talented, but can you be responsible? Collaborative? Mature? None of you want to crack under the pressure, or be the one that can’t show up for the team when you’re needed. 

You remember the day all too well. 

You almost never get sick, but moving from a small suburban town to a school of 40,000 exposes you to all kinds of germs your immune system is not used to. It certainly doesn’t help that you and Kelia were both vomited on at the same Halloweekend frat party the previous weekend. So really, you’re not all that surprised when you wake up with some random illness that makes you drowsy and weak. 

But there’s something gnawing at you:  when it’s your first year as a Tiger Girl, you’re obviously still learning the ropes. You want to make a good impression, show that you’re a leader, while also blending into the background with the older, more seasoned dancers. Each of you are very talented, but can you be responsible? Collaborative? Mature? None of you want to crack under the pressure, or be the one that can’t show up for the team when you’re needed. 

“I can tough it out,” you tell yourself. You don’t feel that bad, and nothing is physically impairing you from participating in practice, so you should be there for the team. This is how you can show that you’re committed to being great here, and deserve to continue being a Tiger Girl. 

You hack your way through classes all day, taking the occasional DayQuil to subdue the symptoms, but it seems like nothing is working. By the time you show up to practice, you’re noticeably unwell, but you don’t think it’s something you should be concerned about. You plan on dancing through it. 

You walk into the studio, shoving your bag and other items in your cubby, top row, second on the left. A few girls say hello, sending questionable glances your way when you respond in a broken nasally voice, but continue preparing with stretches. Shortly after Coach Kandace enters, rounding all of you up to begin warmups, until she catches your eye. Her eyes immediately narrow, and she doesn’t hesitate to question you in front of everyone. “What’s up with you?” she asks bluntly, her scowl deepening.

Everyone turns to you, and it doesn’t take long for your cheeks to start burning. You don’t think you look that bad. “Um…nothing. I’m fine,” your weak voice rings out, the evidence of your poor health on full display. There’s a tense silence for a few moments, until Coach finally grumbles and stalks over to you, grabbing your arm to pull you out of the studio and swiftly into the hall.

Once you round the corner, she whips around to face you. “Are you sick?” she demands. 

“Um…I don’t think so. I have a cough, but I can still practice,” you answer slowly, feeling like you’re walking over landmines. 

“So you have a cough, and you’re congested, but you still came to practice?” she clarifies in an accusatory tone, like she’s in disbelief that you would do such a thing. Your stomach drops, and now you think you might actually be sick. 

“..Yes,” you respond in a soft voice, not expecting the tone of her question to be so harsh. You felt fine going into this, but now you feel like you fucked up. 

Coach scoffs and throws her hands up, barking out a short, “Follow me.” She’s stomping off in a flash, and you follow her through a maze of hallways you haven’t figured out yet until you happen upon a door that says, “Trainer.” Coach waltzes through, and you peer inside to find Tanner, the head athletic trainer at LSU. You met him once during the preseason as a part of your short Tiger Girls orientation, but you haven’t had any health problems until now, so you haven’t had to visit him personally. 

“Tanner, give her a fucking Gatorade and a sleeping pill or something, I don’t know,” Coach Kadence orders with a sigh and an eye roll. You study the space around you, noticing you’re in some kind of medical space with all of the examination beds. There’s a small TV in a corner, a large drink fridge, and a full wall with various medical supplies. Athlete tape. Band-aids. IVs. Inflatable casts. 

Coach sits you on one of the beds, immediately bringing a finger up with a deep scowl still etched on her face. “You do not ever come to my practice if you’re sick. You may think you have a lot to work on, want to improve, want to be a part of the team, but you’re not being a hero by spreading your bad germs onto everyone else,” she scolds you sternly, causing you to cower. “And you’re certainly not helping yourself by making it stretch on longer than it needs to. Do better,” she finishes with a huff, immediately stalking out of the room afterwards. 

There’s a silence that stretches in the room for a few seconds, until Tanner lets out a light snicker. You slowly turn your head to him. “What did I do?” You ask quietly with wide eyes. You’ve seen Coach Kadance scold girls, and it’s a scary sight, but almost never has it been directed at you. You thought you were doing good by the team and all Coach did was tell you you’re an idiot for being there. 

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Tanner shakes his head with a nice smile. “She’d rather you actually rest instead of risking the health of everyone else. Without just one soldier, a team can adapt and survive. Take five of 'em out? You have to change your whole game plan.” Tanner’s analogies sounded less like dance and more like football, but you got the jist either way. 

“She’s just a stickler for this kind of thing. Thinks it’s irresponsible to not understand your own body and what it’s telling you,” he continues, finding a Tylenol bottle on his wall of supplies and shaking a pill out. “But you get it now, right?” Tanner asks, holding out his fist for a fist bump.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mutter, letting your heart rate settle now that you understand where Coach is coming from. 

“Good. Now, what Gatorade flavor?”

“Blue!”

Kelia relaxes once your backpack touches the ground, finally convinced you are in fact giving up on going to practice. “I’ll let Coach know when we get there, but text her anyway,” Kelia calls out as she leaves, giving you privacy to get back into your pajamas.

“I will,” you grumble out, already feeling your body overheating from the little movement you’ve been making this morning. “I’ll be ready for the game!” you call out after the girls when you hear the front door open, opening the drawer on your bedside table to find your Tylenol bottle, pop two pills, and dry swallow. 

“I’ll believe you after you rest!” Grace calls back, the rumble of a door slamming shut immediately following. The thud ricochets through your brain and slices through, causing you to wince and pinch the bridge of your nose in hopes of dulling the pain. After recovering, you get on your phone and text Coach.

You: Woke up a little congested, taking the day to recover. I’ll be ready for Saturday 👍

Coach Kadence: Thanks. Keep me updated. - K

You let out a heavy sigh, disappointed in your body’s cells for giving up so easily to whatever you seemed to have caught. It doesn’t matter now though, all that does is recovery, because you’ll be damned if you miss a single game this season. You slowly peel your practice attire from your body, changing into a fresh pair of loose sweats. The feeling of the soft fabric swallowing you is already making you lethargic, and you barely make the two steps to your bed where you promptly pass out cold. 

The day passes by very slowly, even though you’re not awake for most of it. You’re in and out of slumber, occasionally waking up to tentatively knaw on a banana, use twenty tissues to clear your nose, or change the temperature of the room for the hundredth time. At one point you somehow stay awake for long enough of a stretch that you get two assignments turned in for next week, anticipating that you will still have your weekend occupied with the Auburn game. Unfortunately the mental fatigue brings your consistent headache to a fever pitch, and you decide to let yourself head right back to sleep around 4pm. 

You’re tangled in your heavy duvet, sleeping like the dead, when you feel a light, soothing hand run up and down your back. The hand is large, but gentle, careful not to startle you, and you know only one person who touches you with such tenderness. 

“Y/N? Time to wake up sweetheart,” Joe’s quiet voice calls out, his light scratches on your back still coaxing you out of your slumber. Eventually you shift, fluttering your eyes open to see Joe crouched by the side of your bed, adoration in his eyes and a small bemused smile on his face as he watches you intently. 

“Hi pretty girl,” He laughs softly at your confused, tired expression. You immediately pull your sheets up over your head, well aware of how swollen your face feels, how ratty your hair has gotten throughout your hours of sleep, and how snotty your nose must look. You feel awful, and being forced into revealing your gremlin self to Joe feels like further cruel and unusual punishment. 

“I thought we could have a movie date,” Joe offers, grabbing the top of your duvet and pulling it down slowly to reveal your face again. 

“How did you even get in here?” You ask grumpily, furrowing your brows. Joe says nothing and just dangles Kelia’s infamous LSU keychain in your face. “That girl and her keys,” you glare at the item, flopping onto your back so you can get up.

“She’s trying to help you out while you’re sick,” Joe defends.

“I am not sick,” you deny childishly, pointing an accusing finger at Joe. “It’s- it’s getting dryer in Louisiana. I’m just adjusting to it.”

“Hmm, okay,” Joe responds skeptically, raising one of his eyebrows. “Then why are you pouting like that?”

“I just feel horrible,” you whine, throwing your head back onto your pillow. 

“Okay, let’s elaborate,” Joe laughs, bringing a hand up to your head to brush a stray hair out of your face.

“I’m so hot-”

“You’re telling me.”

“-that’s not funny. And all of my food tastes bad, and I don’t know what to eat anyway, and I haven’t had any coffee because I probably shouldn’t, and…and my face feels so puffy!” You rant, not really caring if you sound like a brat. Your body feels like it’s trying to kill you. 

“Hmm,” Joe hums, looking around the room before jumping into action. “Well, let’s start by gettin’ out of bed and changing. That’ll cool you down,” he instructs, standing with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t get up,” you whisper dramatically, flailing both of your arms out to your sides. A yelp falls from your lips when your covers are yanked from you, and Joe starts carrying you bridal style across the room.

“Says who?” Joe smirks, walking over to your dresser so you can pick your clothes. One by one, Joe fixes each of your problems, ordering you your favorite pizza and putting on a cooling face mask with you to aid with your puffiness. You joke and laugh together as you smooth out the lines of the sheet on each others’ faces, and of course you have to snap a picture of Joe, because you don’t know if you’ll ever get him to do this again. By the time the pizza arrives you’re ready for your movie, the both of you curling up in bed with your laptop on your lap.

You do a double take when Joe emerges from the bathroom, seeing large tortoise frames sit on the bridge of his nose. “Oh wow,” you comment, admiring his new nerdy, domestic look. “You wear glasses?” 

“What? Can’t be perfect all the time,” he defends himself, sliding into the bed next to you before pausing. “...Why? Do they look bad?”

“No, no! They’re cute,” you confirm. “I’ve just never seen you wear them.”

“Well, I don’t like to, but it’s good for me to put ‘em on for a few hours before I sleep so I can give my eyes a break from the dryness of the contacts,” Joe mutters defensively.

“Of course you know that,” you laugh.

“At least I’m not in denial of my health. Maybe when you’re all better tomorrow you’ll learn that all you need to cure a cold is rest.”

“It is not a cold!” you protest with an overdramatic pout, dramatically crossing your arms and glaring when Joe rolls his four eyes. “It’s allergies, I’m allergic to…to international law case studies and cute quarterbacks with poor eyesight.”

“Well, you do know what cures allergies to international law case studies and quarterbacks with poor eyesight, don’t you?” Joe asks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, blinking at you matter of factly and trying to cover up the pink appearing on his cheeks. You roll your eyes, fighting the smile that threatens to stretch across your face as you shrug offhandedly. “Movies, duh,” he finally scoffs, snatching your laptop from your hands and typing in Netflix at the top. “Oooh, we could watch Empire Strikes Back?”

“Erm, sure. I just won’t know what’s happening, you’ll have to catch me up,” you respond awkwardly, not exactly opposed to Star Wars, just indifferent. Joe’s typing ceases altogether, and he slowly turns his head to face you fully.

Here we go.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never seen Star Wars?” he mutters lowly in disbelief. 

“I’ve just never gotten around to it, I guess. It doesn’t seem that interesting, and I already know the end. ‘Luke, I am your father!’ and all that,” you defend yourself, not really seeing the big deal.

“You’ve never seen Star Wars? Star Wars?!” Joe repeats, louder this time like he actually believes it. “Oh no, we’re watching Episode Four.”

“What? Why wouldn’t we start on Episode One?” 

“Episode Four is Episode One,” Joe explains, rolling his eyes playfully as if this was common knowledge.

“Then why don’t they call it Episode-”

“All you need to know is this is the first one that was ever released. ‘Kay?” Joe interrupts, a goofy smile gracing his features as he gears up to press play.

“Nerd alert!” whisper teasingly, well aware of how fitting his glasses are for this moment. 

“Damn right,” Joe nods proudly, his eyes immediately flicking back to the screen. You admire him for a few moments, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watch him in his element, partaking in something other than football that he’s truly passionate about. “Pay attention!”

“Okay, okay!”

Friday you wake up feeling ten times better, rejuvenated and ready to practice. Sleep really is the best remedy for any kind of illness, and there’s a part of you that knows the other party responsible for your recovery is Joe. Not only did he help you rest, but even now the memories of your movie night–like making fun of C3-PO every time he made an appearance–causes an uncontrollable smile to stretch across your face, any lingering symptoms you may have now overshadowed by a certain quarterback. You feel light as a feather despite the rainy weather, unbothered enough by the time you take your temperature that night to overlook your reading, that’s still slightly above average…

Saturday is a different story. Your headache returns tenfold, and your stuffy nose is swapped out for a queasy stomach. Considering your vast recovery from yesterday, you’re able to easily blame it on the sushi you ate Friday night, a possible bad batch among the uncooked fish. Fortunately you’re able to push through your morning schedule, with your roommates’ game day excitement keeping you happy, and a quick shower causing your headache to dull slightly. 

Arrivals go well enough, and you’re thankful you don’t feel your stomach get worse when you bounce around, trying to entertain screaming tailgaters that are hoping for a glimpse of their favorite player. The only time you feel your stomach turn is when you notice the #9 ranked Auburn players, recalling a moment from last week where Joe was watching film. It seemed like every other play the D-linemen managed to get their hands on the QB, shedding blocks like they were nothing before ramming into their target. The main talk in the building all week has been these defensive tackles, and how they’re some of the nastiest in college football right now. 

So yeah, you get a little anxious. 

But being unwell has nothing to do with it…or so you tell yourself. It’s almost believable until you’re in the tunnel, gearing up to sprint onto the field. Cheers, hollers, and hype speeches come from every corner, ricocheting off the walls and into your skull, burning you with every sharp sound. The headache is returning, and this time you’re not sure if you’ll get an opportunity to try to make it stop. The confined space doesn’t make it any easier, as you look around for any way out of the sea of people only to find none. Just over 100 athletes all getting hyped up to play in the biggest game of the season up to this point.

You’re thankful when you’re told to run out, desperate to escape your somewhat claustrophobic confinements, but regret is quick to slap you in the face. As soon as you exit the tunnel, a tidal wave of even more noise hits you, the piercing sound almost causing your ears to ring. Not only that, but you feel your stomach tumbling around as you run, unhappy with how much effort you’re exerting in such a hot, sticky environment. The nausea doesn’t subside when you arrive at your allotted position on the sideline next to Tay, and you begin to wonder where you went wrong in your decision making these past couple days. 

The game starts promptly at 3:30pm, and you start to take deep breaths in preparation for what you’re thinking is going to be a long game for you. LSU starts on defense, managing to get to third down after putting plenty of pressure on the true freshman quarterback Bo Nix. On third down, the crowd starts to make as much noise as possible to rattle him, and when it works they go crazy again, causing your head to start throbbing and another wave of nausea to wash over you. All you can do is smile weakly, continuing to fight through your cheers with as much energy as you can manage in your miserable state. LSU’s offense goes three and out as well, the rhythm not quite there yet against this tough Auburn defense. 

Fortunately for the team but unfortunately for you, Auburn is quickly on third down again, and the crowd rumbles even louder than it did last time. Sharp pain pierces you again, your stomach pinching and your face growing hotter. When they actually convert, you can feel the disappointment in the crowd, which just mounts when defensive pass interference is called. Auburn is inching closer, so the crowd grows restless, thundering when a tipped pass is almost intercepted, and getting so overwhelming on third and goal that Auburn commits a false start. Death Valley is sent into a frenzy, loving their direct impact on the game, but unknowing of their direct impact on your wellness. You start to get seriously concerned when Auburn is stopped on 4th down, and your saliva starts to flood your mouth from the sickness.

Come on, you’re okay! You tell yourself. They’ll settle down.

You’re hopeful when Joe and company start to put together a solid drive down the field, but a sack and a false start ruin your chances at points. The crowd comes back to play when Auburn is on offense, causing another false start with their noise that has you reeling from the after effects. At this point you feel like you’re fighting for your life, forced to smile and dance while your stomach is in knots and your body burns. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Joe makes a big run on 3rd and 12, running towards the endline until a linebacker crushes him. Your anxiety spikes even though he pops right back up, getting another reminder of just how nasty this defense is going to treat him. You start to take huge breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, trying to calm your bubbling stomach and panicked brain.

Death Valley thunders louder and louder as LSU gets closer and closer to the endzone, the offense finally picking up their pace. You’re still willing your body not to give up, your lip starting to quiver and your chest starting to shake when Joe throws a deep shot at the end zone, connecting with Terrace Marshall Jr. on a 20 yard touchdown pass.

The crowd erupts, ecstatic the LSU offense is back in business after a slow start, and the sound is deafening. You’re immediately thrust into your “T-I-G-E-R-S” touchdown cheer, and suddenly you can feel your pounding heartbeat in your head, eyes, nose and throat. The blinding rays of the sun are inescapable, blurring together with the stadium screens in an overwhelming frenzy that hurdles your nausea to a fever pitch. When you’re finally able to stop bouncing around, the tumbling, queasy sensation in your belly lands a hard sucker punch, and the unmistakably familiar bile of acid that starts climbing your throat tells you exactly what you’re in for. Panic alarms set off in your brain, and you quickly scan the area for anything that can help you, until your eyes land on the blue medical tent to your left. You rush over to the tent as the nausea starts to overpower every other feeling, getting flustered looks from the medic and the player being attended to, but you don’t much care. Your eyes start to burn, and you snatch the small trash can sitting right next to the table just in time, because next thing you know you’re emptying the contents of your stomach into the tin’s plastic bag. 

You’re not sure how long you’re hunched over, gripping the sides of the bag with white knuckles–your brain tends to black out moments like these and surrender, chanting, You’ll feel better after! You don’t see the chunky aftermath either, too consumed with stray hot tears and the ache in your throat to witness it, but the damage must be bad enough, because after the player exits, the kind middle aged medic guides you to the chair next to her with a soft smile. As you pant, trying to recover from your escapade, a dixie cup filled with water is quickly thrust into your hand. You accept it gratefully, the medic telling you to clear out your mouth and just spit onto the turf. You eye her warily, feeling like you could go for round two with the trash can just thinking about all the bacteria you’re coming into contact with being in this space.

The medic laughs as she ties up the sorry trash bag you vomited in, discarding it into a much larger, heavy duty bin on wheels that you hadn’t seen before. “Honey, this field has some of the best turf in the business. Don’t think too hard about it, there’s a drainage system,” she advises, pulling on a fresh set of gloves. You shrug meekly, gathering water in your mouth before spitting it right back out onto the turf below you. 

Makes sense why Joe does this shit all the time with his water.

A few more rounds of swishing and spitting later, your stomach starts to feel somewhat relieved and your dixie cup is empty. The medic is ready with a disposable toothbrush and another water-filled cup, and you thank her quietly before cleaning your mouth out. Muffles from the sideline tell you there was a bit of a scuffle on the kickoff, and Death Valley responds in kind with another rumble of cheers, even though it’s only Auburn’s first down. There’s another eruption from the crowd. Bo Nix dropped the snap.

When you’re finished brushing, you take generous gulps of the water, the cool liquid subduing the burn in your throat from the prolonged gagging. “You’ve got this routine down pat, huh? Happens often?” you ask the woman afterwards as the pounding in your head dulls only slightly. You wipe your mouth with a small napkin she has at the ready. 

“Let’s just say you should be glad you didn’t have a helmet on when it happened to you,” she answers with a grin, your face scrunching up at the image she’s put in your head. You still don’t feel the greatest as the woman continues on with a couple quick checks, shining a light in your eyes, testing your reflexes, and asking you questions. You pass with flying colors, until she frowns at your temperature. You quickly dart your eyes over the medic’s shoulder where you can see the girls have already adjusted their formation in response to your absence. The woman is about to speak up when you beat her to it. 

“Thank you, but I really need to get back out there,” you smile warily as you stand, well aware of the throbbing in your body that’s refused to let up, but ready to tough it out anyways.

“I’m not so sure-” the woman calls after you before a new, tougher voice cuts her off.

“What are you doing in here?” Coach Kandace demands immediately, thrusting both hands onto her hips into a questioning stance. Her eyes dart from you to the medic while you stand like a deer caught in headlights, fishing for an answer. 

“I’m f-” 

“She ran in here and hurled into the trash. Here’s her temp,” the medic cuts you off with a strict synopsis, getting straight to business with Coach and flashing her the bright red 99.8 ºF on the thermometer. “Not too bad, but not promising.”

Fuck.

Coach Kandace’s eyes immediately screw shut into a glare, crossing her arms angrily before jutting her head backwards. “Get up, I’m taking you to the locker room.”

“What? But-” you protest desperately, even though you know it’s no use. 

“Not a word!” Coach snaps back, and you’re quickly silenced. Her stormy eyes remain on you as you sulk in shame, knowing exactly what she’s thinking. That you pushed too hard. That you weren’t honest with yourself about your health. That you’re acting like a child instead of an athlete. 

Which, you won’t deny. You just thought you could get away with it. And now there’s this big scene.

Coach Kandace puts a hovering hand on the small of your back as she guides you off of the field and back towards the tunnel. You take one glance back at Death Valley, the crowd noise crescendoing as an Auburn third down draws closer, before Coach gives you one last light push onwards. Your head drops as you enter the tunnel and the cheers start to muffle, the thudding in your head returning full throttle. A groan unwillingly escapes your lips, and you bring a hand up to your temple to try to ease some of the tension. 

Coach’s bitter laugh rings out beside you as you’re ushered into the locker room, making a beeline for your stall. “Yeah, I don’t feel bad for you. And I’m not going to scold you about it right now either, because frankly, I know you know better, and this whole ordeal seems like punishment enough,” she barks out as you start to pull out your purple and white post-game sweatset. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, yanking a makeup remover wipe out of a travel sized container and swiping the cool sheet all over your face. There’s slight relief in pulling off your lashes, wiping off your sweaty makeup, and tugging that tight ass ponytail out. 

“I’m sure you feel sorry right now. Get changed and meet me outside,” Coach orders, and stomps out of the locker room without another word. You take your time getting dressed, using the time to regroup and bask in the silence. You peel off your sticky, sweaty uniform, suddenly very thankful you were able to throw your sweats in the dryer for 15 minutes before you left your apartment this morning, because the cotton fabric feels soft and fresh against your skin. By the time you finish tying the laces on your purple and white New Balances, you finally feel ready to call it a day, accept your defeat, and get an earful from Coach Kandace. 

You exit the locker room slowly, peering around the corner before silently standing to full attention in front of Coach. She just nods her head with the same hard look on her face, you following her as she slips down a hallway and into the trainer’s room. The head athletic trainer, Tanner, looks to be organizing wraps when the both of you enter, nodding his head at Coach in acknowledgement.

“What’s up?” he chirps, glancing at you questioningly. Your eyes scan the familiar room, a few examination booths and various medical equipment you couldn’t care less about being the main highlights. The fluorescent lights bore you, and the stale scent makes your throat dry. 

“She’s out. Vomit, a bit of a fever, and is kind of a wreck, so just give her a bed and don’t let her leave,” Coach answers gruffly, giving you a light shove before making a dramatic exit, likely back out to the stadium to watch the rest of your teammates. 

Tanner lets out a hearty laugh at her blunt statement, putting away the last of the wraps and patting a bed. “Get up here. You never learn, do you?” he asks with a teasing smile, grabbing a blue Gatorade from the fridge in the corner and handing it to you. Realization washes over you as you recall your memories from freshman year, before you knew of Coach’s disdain for sick dancers. 

“I guess not,” you respond with a chuckle. “But I really thought I could get through it! I felt so much better yesterday…” You trail off, your heart skipping a beat when you remember the reason why. Because Joe was with you the night before.

Suddenly, Tanner’s head snaps up to the small TV perched in the corner of the room where the game is being broadcasted. You tune in, hearing the faint cheers of spectators and booming voices of the announcers as Clyde catches a dump-off pass from Joe for a short gain. “I’m wondering if this is gonna be roughing the passer,” one of the commentators notes as the camera cuts back to Joe, who–to your horror–is limping back into the huddle. “Hit to the knees of the quarterback, Joe Burrow…” The announcer trails off as the referees make the call.

Your back immediately straightens and your hand flies to your mouth when the slow-mo replay runs, showing an Auburn D-lineman lunging for Joe’s right knee soon after he passes, and yanking him down awkwardly. A second closer look makes your stomach lurch, and all you can do is watch as Joe’s face contorts in pain, looking to have yelled out as he went down. 

This is exactly what I was worried about!

Both you and Tanner watch intently as the camera stays on him in the huddle and information. He’s not obviously limping, but walking awkwardly, clearly a little affected by the hit. “What are you going to do?” you ask Tanner in desperation, gesturing to the TV in panic. Surely this is his job. Right?

Tanner just looks at you apologetically and shrugs. “Nothing, unless he comes out and gets checked out by Donna.”

“He’ll never do that. Not unless he can’t get up,” you argue, searching for some way to make sure he’s okay. Tanner just nods. 

You worriedly continue watching, disappointed when the offense can’t convert on 4th & 1, turning it over on downs for Auburn. The Gatorade in your hands is slowly consumed, your hope being restored when Auburn goes three and out again, until it’s quickly crushed. While trying to receive the punt, the returner fumbles the football and Auburn recovers it on the 22, which means they’re already knocking on the door of the endzone. They get it on the 1 yard line on fourth down, and to your dismay a QB sneak is all that’s needed to get the touchdown. LSU is down 10-7, and the only bright side is that the offense seems to have gotten back into gear. 

Everything seems like it’s coming crashing down as the offense claws their way up the field. They’re managing to convert, but every play feels like a battle. One play, Auburn jumps early, and before the officials can blow the play dead Joe takes a hard wack from a rusher, getting pancaked into the ground. A hot mic picks up his mangled groan as he’s helped up by his center, and you can barely watch as he adjusts his wrecked jersey. Not only that, but he looks panicked in the pocket, unfocused and bouncing around too much. LSU ends up settling for a field goal, and you shrugging your shoulders when Auburn gets the ball and throws an interception with four seconds left in the half. 

“Something’s not right with Joe,” Tanner grumbles, shuffling through scans on his computer.

“It’s probably his leg that you refuse to look at,” you glare at him, only half serious. 

Tanner shakes his head, and sighs, “Trust me. It’s not that.” You roll your eyes, more annoyed at Joe for his stubbornness than you are at the trainers. You know it’s not their fault Joe wouldn’t touch them with a ten foot pole unless he was legitimately dying. 

When the game starts back up, LSU has the ball, and Joe clearly hasn’t collected himself yet. His throws are off target, the D-line pressure is getting to him, and he just seems so tense. The two teams go back and forth a few times, Auburn sneaking away with a field goal, but for the most part it’s just a defensive heavy football game. LSU even gets all the way down to the one yard line on fourth down, and the Auburn defense keeps them out, keeping themselves up at 10-13. You get the stop, but Joe throws an interception on a deep ball to Ja’marr right afterwards, and you can feel LSU losing control. The defense continues to carry LSU through the game with a stop yet again, and LSU gets great field position on the punt. On the next drive, Coach O finally finds what will trip this tough-as-nails Auburn up–runs. Clyde plows down the field and eventually into the endzone, the missed extra point on a bad hold making it 16-3 with LSU up. After another stop, Joe heads back on the field with a somewhat clearer mind. He still has happy feet, taking some unnecessary steps in the pocket that could trip him up, but he starts completing his passes again with confidence, even running for a conversion on third down. 

The fourth quarter starts with LSU around the 25, gearing up to get some points on the board and extend their small lead. You hold out the number four with your fingers in your lap to match the fans in the stadium and players on the field that hold their own hands up in anticipation. Your heart leaps as the team starts to look like it usually does, hope creeping back into your chest as the crowd gets louder and louder. Five yards out from the goal line the announcers point out LSU’s interesting formation, with no one but Joe in the shotgun and five blockers on four defenders. They anticipate Joe’s run, and just as they figure, he bursts up the middle and into the endzone no problem. A wide smile stretches across your face as you hear the crowd roar from both the TV and the rumbling above you, Joe beating on his chest and celebrating with his teammates. Relief fills you instantly, because even though the game isn’t over, Joe seems to be recovering from whatever rattled him earlier. 

The game turns defensive again after that, both teams getting nastier as time ticks on with personal fouls and heated conversations. Bo Nix finally starts to crack under the pressure of Death Valley, with false starts and intentional grounding getting called every other play that Auburn's on offense. He manages to get a touchdown off a few bad calls with 2:30 left, so you’re hoping LSU can just hold on to the ball for a couple first downs. You end up getting extra time taken off due to a holding call, and LSU is able to hold on to the ball for the rest of the game. 

You feel like you can finally breathe, and you notice that the throbbing in your head has significantly diminished due to finally being away from the loudest stadium in college football. “Fucking nail biter,” Tanner sighs, grabbing an energy drink from the fridge and cracking it open for himself. 

“Can I leave now?” You ask lamely, now wanting nothing more than to check in on Joe and pass the fuck out in your bed. 

“I can’t release you until Coach comes in,” Tanner replies, tossing you a water bottle. You throw your head back and groan, about to protest before you hear loud voices right outside the door. 

“-the authority to invade her medical privacy. You have no right to my athletes, just as I have no right to go asking about yours!” You hear Coach Kandace’s shrill, scolding voice. 

“Why can’t I just see her? At least tell me that she’s okay-” 

“Do not open that door-” Coach booms, obviously unsuccessful as the door swings wide open immediately afterwards. The last person you expect to see in here, Joe, comes barreling in, still dirty, sweating, and panting from his game.

“I actually have to see Tanner-” Joe sasses like a smartass, stopping mid sentence when he notices you. His eyes soften, his shoulders dropping in relief as he instinctively reaches out for you. 

“You have to see me?” Tanner smirks, interrupting his moment and breaking the silence. 

“Um…” Joe fumbles, awkwardness filling the air as he formulates his lie. “Uh, yes, my elbow,” he coughs. “It’s just a scratch but um…I thought it would be…important…for you to see.” 

“Not your knee?” Tanner raises his eyebrows, his eyes flicking down to Joe’s right leg. Joe tries to protest, but Tanner beats him to it. “Save it. You’ve waved me off with torn rib cartilage,” he mumbles, lazily digging through a drawer in his desk. “Lemme get a bandaid for your boo boo,” he teases.

Once Tanner’s occupied, Joe is immediately by your side. “Are you okay? What happened, why weren’t you out there?” He questions you in quick succession, his eyes darting around your body in search of any physical harm. 

“I’m fine, I got sick. Guess I should’ve taken Friday off too,” you confirm, trying to not let your heart beat too fast with the way he’s looking at you. “Are you okay? I saw that low hit and freaked,” you ask next, panic evident in your tone. 

“I’ll be sore tomorrow, but that’s it,” Joe waves it off, still analysing your every feature to make sure nothing is out of sorts. 

“Is everything okay?”

“I just…I couldn’t find you,” Joe mutters, the admission making your heart stop. The possibility of you not being okay affected him just as much as it affected you, and that thought makes you melt. He’s worried. 

“Get those cleats out of my medical space!” A loud, sassy voice rings out, and the woman who helped you in the blue tent comes barging in.

“Sorry, Mrs. Duchatellier,” Joe apologies like a child, looking at you with an “Oops!” face. 

“It’s Donna. And I don’t care if you want to come see your girlfriend, but please do it after you get out of those nasty ass clothes,” Donna rants, plopping down on a rolling chair and yanking on a pair of medical gloves. 

Heat instantly rushes to your face at the mention of that word. Girlfriend. 

It’s something you’ve been thinking about lately for sure. It’s just not your main topic of conversation with Joe, and that unconfirmed title leaves an uncomfortable sting in the air that will have to be soothed eventually.

“We’ll get out of your hair.”

That isn’t the last time that word throws you off. 

The following week is a bye week for the football team, and everyone seems happier with the lighter practice schedule. You Tiger Girls are able to focus on your routines for Nationals, going through choreography to see how you can make it more difficult, more impressive to judges. The football team gets extra time to rehab any injuries, get their minds right, and get an extra step ahead on preparations for their next opponent. 

Alabama. 

While some players are letting that daunting word drift to the back of their minds until next week, others don’t see this week as a week of rejuvenation and clarity—they see it as an opportunity to push harder.

One of those players being Joe. 

You don’t necessarily blame him for being more focused than ever. Last season when LSU played Alabama, it was nothing short of an embarrassment with punt after punt in Death Valley. The Tigers didn’t score a single point the entire game, and the one time LSU finally managed to get into the red zone, they were down 29-0 with three minutes left in the game. Then Joe threw an interception into the endzone. You remember being on the sidelines, hope draining from your face after almost every play, and still plastering on a smile to perform your cheers. By the end of the game, you were staring at practically empty stands feeling like you could burst into tears on the spot. At the time you were ranked third in the nation with only one loss, and it felt like if you could win that game you’d have a real shot at the playoffs. 

All of that hope was brutally stomped on, squished like an inconvenient ant under Nick Saban’s boot. 

Given how much that loss haunts you as a bystander, you can’t imagine how Joe is feeling having played the game. You can understand him going in early on Monday. Reviewing the Auburn game, pointing out certain holes that need to be filled on plays that didn’t work, especially given that he didn’t play up to his standard. You can even accept him staying late for an extra meeting with coaches, starting to expand the playbook to include more finesse and confuse the Alabama defense. On Tuesday, he starts to take it too far. 

Practice just ended for you and your roommates, thirty minutes earlier than the boys, and you’re all frantically cleaning the apartment in preparation for your guests. Joe, Justin and Ja’marr agreed to come over for a relaxing movie night and to discuss your bye-weekend plans, which just so happens to be celebrating Grace’s birthday, combined with the infamous Halloweekend. Last season you were lucky enough to have your bye week around Halloween as well, and it serves as the perfect excuse to let loose before the season really ramps up. Thanksgiving is around the corner, which means you’ll only have a couple of weeks before winter break, then a couple more weeks before Nationals.

It’s safe to say everyone's looking forward to one last hurrah before you’ll all be drowning in workouts, cold tubs, and finals. 

The stress has been showing in the cleanliness of your apartment, not that it’s unbearably disgusting, just less organized and fresh as you prefer. Kelia immediately whips out the vacuum, capturing every unwelcome crumb on the floor, while you busy yourself in the kitchen running the dishwasher and wiping down the countertops. Grace dusts and pulls out a warm smelling candle, while Tay switches out the trash and loads up the laundry. You all make quick work of the apartment, exchanging cute high fives afterwards.

Now that you’re satisfied and feeling more put together, you retreat to your room for a quick body shower, washing the grime from practice away. Pajama shorts and a casual sweatshirt are calling your name, and when you change you feel your shoulders finally relax, knowing all of your schoolwork for the week is done and the only responsibility you have this week is easy practices. When you stroll out to the living room you’re half expecting the guys to already be here, but you only find your roommates.

“Guys aren’t here yet?” You frown, looking at the time. “It’s been a while.”

“I was just thinking that,” Tay comments from the kitchen while pouring herself a glass of water. “Should I text them?” She asks.

“Maybe, just to make sure they remember,” Grace calls out from the couch, rolling her eyes and scrolling through her laptop to find a place to order food from. Tay starts tapping on her phone.

mike’s secret service 🐯😎

Taytay: y’all get lost or what, damn

Ja’marr: we were waiting for joe 

Ja’marr: dude on mission impossible or smth rn

Ja’marr: be der in 10

You get the notifications on your phone from the group chat, and when you read the texts, you can’t help but sigh worriedly. You could see a clear shift in Joe’s demeanor yesterday, one you know comes from this game. There’s nothing wrong with being focused on such a big game, but when you observe the slouch in his stance, and the dark bags under his eyes, your brain goes into high alert looking for signs that he’s overworking himself. Hearing that he’s holding everyone up to stay in the building just a little longer is not a good sign.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tay announces, strolling over to the couch and plopping down, looking over Grace’s shoulder to give input on dinner. You decide to join her, commenting on the calling you hear from your stomach in regards to noodles. Hot comfort food just sounds perfect while you watch whatever weird, esoteric horror film Kelia and Ja’marr are bound to convince you all to watch.

Soon enough there’s a knock on your door, and disgruntled greetings flow through the air as the tired football players mosey over to the living room. Everyone’s body language screams irritation, the worst of them to be Joe, who enters last. 

Oh god, he’s a wreck. 

Joe practically drags himself into the room, his posture dead and lethargic. As he inches closer, you notice his hair in complete disarray, and the harsh redness of his eyes, most likely from staring at screens all morning, afternoon, and evening. There’s even a slight twitch in his hands and a certain tightness in his chest that just makes everything about him so worn out. Tense.

“Sorry y’all, Joe had us waitin’ out there for 20 fuckin’ minutes,” Ja’marr grumbles with an eye roll, immediately making himself at home by throwing his bag by the door and falling into a bean bag you dragged out from Tay’s room. Justin does the same, shooing Tay away with a glare and claiming his spot next to Grace.

“Extra time with Coach?” Kelia jokes, raising her brow at Joe, who’s still by the door slowly putting his things down and rolling his neck. 

“Again?” You add on, raising your brows at Joe with a concerned look. Joe’s head snaps over at the sound of your voice, locking eyes with you and reading your worried expression. He remains distant, searching for words for a second. 

“Just some quick things,” Joe mutters, making his way over and sinking next to you on the couch, wordlessly draping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. The action is meant to soothe you, convince you that he’s okay, but the frantic look in his eyes and jittering leg keep you anxious. 

“Okay what is everyone wearing this weekend? Because I haven’t thought about it one bit,” Tay snorts, scrolling through Pinterest for ideas.

Kelia groans in response. “I don’t know. Something easy,” she grumbles. 

“You wouldn’t have to go shopping if you went as a neurotic bitch,” Ja’marr quips, earning a hard glare and pillow to the face from Kelia. 

“We’re doing Joker and Harley Quinn,” Justin motions to himself and Grace. “What about you Joe?”

Joe’s head snaps over again, making it clear he’s been zoning out for most of the conversation, but he must’ve picked up enough to answer the question after a moment. “I haven’t thought about it,” he sighs, bringing a hand up behind his head to scratch his neck. “Honestly, I really don’t even know if I should go. I don’t want to get off track before next week,” he mumbles, starting to rub his fingers on his temple. Your heart sinks, hurt that Joe can’t take one weekend away from football to be with his friends, and you’re starting to think you’ve had enough of this moody, do-or-die Joe. The rest of the room agrees, because noises of protests immediately break out. 

“Oh come on, Joe,” Justin scoffs.

“You have to go-” 

“And it’s my birthday,” Grace mutters softly, furrowing her brows. 

“Joe, stop being a hardass. This is the only weekend you’re gonna get for the rest of the season,” Ja’marr scolds.

“Sorry I wanna win the fucking game,” Joe snaps, his voice laced with petty sarcasm. Stillness falls over the room at his outburst, everyone unsure how to respond. It’s clear the stress of a “few” extra practices and meetings have pushed Joe to a breaking point, one where his competitive edge takes precedence over his relationships. 

Once again, Ja’marr will always break any silences. 

“Damn, I ain’t think you would stay this bitchy in front of your girlfriend,” Ja’marr quips with an eye roll, motioning offhandedly to you.

There’s that word again.

It simmers in the air uncomfortably again, everyone now not only staring at Joe but staring at you. A silent question of, What are you going to do? A stench.

“You smell,” you mutter, shoving Joe off of you slightly. Soon after you rise, waving a beckoning hand and walking towards your bedroom. “I have one of your sweatshirts you can wear.” You’re only half serious, the other half being the need to get Joe alone so you can talk to him without prying eyes. Joe eyes you apprehensively, but you can see the regret in his eyes as he stands and follows. He didn’t mean to be harsh. 

“I’m ordering the food,” Grace timidly calls after you.

“That’s fine, I’m not hungry,” you reply, your appetite suddenly gone after such a bitter start to the night. Once you’re in your bedroom you let out a deep sigh and put your hands on your hips, spinning around when the door clicks shut.

“Text Grace what you want right now, I’m not playin’,” Joe is quick to speak out with a challenging scowl on his face. 

“We can both do that in a second. Get in my shower first, you really do stink and I don’t want to talk to you until you cool down a little more,” you stop him dead in his tracks, meeting his expression with authority of your own. You’re not the one who’s being an asshole, so you’re not backing down. 

Joe flickers his eyes between yours, shoulders tense and jaw set as he thinks, before slowly releasing them. “Alright,” he announces quietly, still steaming as he takes a towel you offer him, then slides into your bathroom without a word. Your room remains silent as you move, texting Grace both of your food orders before finding his sweatshirt amongst your things, along with a pair of sweatshorts he must have left some other time. You shove the clothes into the dryer in the hall while he washes himself, then take the remaining time to sit on your bed and get your own thoughts together. 

He shouldn’t be pushing this hard. What if something happens to him? 

All but ten minutes later, Joe strolls out of the bathroom with your towel hanging low on his waist. You’d be lying if you said you aren’t momentarily distracted by him as he brings a dry wash cloth he must have found in your cabinet up to his head to run through his moppy hair. The way his bicep bulges as he works the towel around, his solid abs contracting with the movement, and that damn towel sliding lower ever so slightly to show off more of his V line, all while stray water droplets slowly slide down his physique, outlining every ridge and curve. It’s tempting to say the least. But you don’t have time for that.

You quickly step out to retrieve Joe’s clothes from the dryer, and when you return you force yourself to look past the broadness of Joe’s shoulders and notice that they’re slightly more relaxed than before, but still heavy. His face has gone from thunderous to cloudy and timid, softer but still concealed. You hand him his warm clothes wordlessly, noticing he’s already tugged boxers on to save you from that distraction. His eyes flick up to you as he pulls the light grey sweat shorts on, and a sigh falls from his lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Joe grumbles softly, a slight edge to his tone as he throws the sweatshirt over his head and falls into a slouched sitting position on your bed. He immediately hunches over, placing his elbows on his knees and letting his hands comb through his hair for a moment. Every movement feels like it may be his last before he passes out from exhaustion, and you’re well aware he’s teetering on the edge of his breaking point, and you can’t help the overwhelming sympathy that washes over you. He looks so soft, so worn, so tired.  

“Because I can see how badly you’re burying yourself in this,” you counter, trying to sound equally stern as you do upset. 

“This is normal,” Joe counters frustratedly, lifting his head to make eye contact with you. “Plenty of guys in the league work this hard every week. This is how you beat the best.”

“By showing up at my door practically a corpse? Is that how you plan on rolling up to Tuscaloosa?” You snap, the authoritative bite in your tone increasing by the moment. Him putting all this pressure on himself isn’t healthy, and you refuse to let him take it out on you, or worse, himself. “By the way, you’re not in the league yet, Joe. You’re still a kid.”

Joe scoffs at that, shaking his head. “I’m fine. My body’s fine,” he shrugs off defensively.

“Why are you bullshitting? You can barely stand, and your mind is anywhere else but here,” you accuse, silently begging for him to just give it a rest. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” Joe grits out, his patience and temper wearing thin. “I am not a kid, I can fucking do this,” he snaps like he did in the living room, only this time his voice shakes–but you don’t sense anger. His retaliation catches you off guard. That brooding face he always wears has finally cracked, and he’s given you a glimpse into why he’s really pushing this hard. For a moment, the only sounds in the room are Joe’s heavy breaths, each of you locking eyes to try to communicate something you can’t say out loud yet. 

“I never said you couldn’t,” you reply softly. “In fact, I remember telling you you could do anything.”

Suddenly, you completely understand where all of this is coming from–the distant glances, the piles of work, the frustrated outbursts–because you said this exact thing to Joe after you two first hooked up. When Joe just wanted to comfort you, you went on the defense, quickly pushing him away because you were panicking, because of your insecurities. Because you were scared. 

He doesn’t think your look is one of pity–he thinks it’s one of doubt. 

He thinks I don’t believe in him. Because he’s scared. 

And how does Joe cope with being scared? He prepares. 

“Joe,” you whisper, slowly approaching him. His face falls when you say his name, and you watch as his mask chips away at each of your words, a quiet, tired man lying beneath it. “There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that you have everything it takes to beat this team. Your poise, your skills, your mind–it’s all there. But in order for those things to be in tip top shape, you can’t burn out,” you continue as you slot yourself between Joe’s legs, using both of your hands to cradle his jaw and keep his helpless eyes on yours. 

“And honey, you’re burning yourself out,” you admit softly. Joe breaks at those words, his body crumbling as he throws his arms around your lower back and shoves his face into your stomach. One of your hands threads through his hair while the other falls to his back, scratching softy as Joe shudders, only a couple tears wetting your sweatshirt.

“Everything just needs to be perfect,” Joe chokes out desperately, breathing in deeply through his nose, and out through his mouth between broken sentences. “This is what I do, this is how I operate, this is how I deal with the pressure. I can’t get shut out again, the whole state is counting on me.” 

“And you’re not going to disappoint them. But you need to be upright in order to show up for them,” you soothe, your heart breaking in two at his words. You’re just glad he’s finally letting you share some of the weight, leaning on you as a support system and not just a cheerleader that praises him when he’s on top of the world. There are a few moments where this is finally understood between the two of you, that you don’t have to do any of this alone. “Just breathe, and trust yourself. Can you do that?” You ask softly, pulling his head back with one hand so you can look in his eyes again. They’re a little glassy, and still red, but you finally see relief in them.

“Yes,” Joe breathes out, closing his eyes and letting his head fall into your palm. “I’m so tired,” he admits in a broken voice, and you see his body slowly falling out of fight or flight mode.

“I know, baby. Let’s go back out and relax,” you hum, stroking your thumb across his flushed cheek a couple of times before fully pulling back and grabbing his hands. Joe lets out a big exhale from his mouth, nodding as you pull him up from his position on your bed. Hand in hand you both start to exit the room, until Joe stops dead in his tracks and tugs at the sweatshirt you’ve given him. Technically his sweatshirt, but it’s been yours for the past couple of months. 

“I’m not fucking keeping this thing,” he grumbles, giving you a pointed look. His serious look makes you laugh unexpectedly, and your heart finally starts to lighten up after such an intense conversation.

“I don’t expect you to,” you smile, giggling again when Joe nods and continues right back on his slow journey down the hall with you. 

Both of you are grateful when you walk into the kitchen and the smell of Chinese comfort food wafts over to you, your stomach rumbling on cue. Debates about the selected movie float around the room as containers of hot food are handed out, Grace always unsure of the horror genre until the film starts and she gets into it. It feels easy to slide back into the routine, and when you sneak a glance at Joe you see his shoulders relaxing as well. Everyone’s jokes and laughter move to the living room, where you all take up couches, beanbags, and arm chairs, the two movie experts quickly taking the two beanbags in front of the coffee table so they can be as close to the TV as possible.

“It came out this past summer, I’ve already watched it four times I think,” Kelia raves as she relentlessly forks noodles into her mouth. 

“Isn’t Midsummer some Swedish holiday? How is that horror?” Justin mumbles sassily, leaning into Grace as they squeeze into an armchair together. 

“It’s Midsommar. And yes, it’s a Swedish holiday…you’ll see…” Ja’marr clarifies with a smirk, sharing a knowing look with Kelia.

The movie starts, and your friends start to quiet down as the plot thickens and the relationships strain. Everyone’s food is finished quickly, leaving each of you with full, satisfied stomachs and unwinding muscles, a gentle calm settling over everyone as you start leaning in to hang on to Florence Pugh’s performance. Eventually, Joe removes himself from your side to grab a blanket, draping it over the both of you before curling back up against you. You’re only twenty minutes into the movie, but you can feel Joe’s head growing heavier and heavier against your shoulder, so you lean over and whisper, “Why don’t you just lay down?”

Joe looks up at you and furrows his eyebrows cutely, so you just pat your thigh and put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him down so his head rests on your lap. You let him take all of the blanket, watching as he extends his legs along the rest of the couch and lets out a big sigh once he’s finally in a comfortable position. After all but two minutes of threading your fingers through his soft, fluffy hair, you can see his breath even out and sleep overtake him, the tension-filled crease in his forehead finally fading. The sight almost makes you cry when you remember how he walked in here, and when he confessed to you how much pressure he’s been putting himself under. 

You continue watching the movie, occasionally running your fingers through Joe’s hair again, or softly scratching his back when he adjusts slightly in his sleep. There’s a moment where Ja’marr and Kelia look back at the two of you and realize what’s happened, and your heart strings pull when Ja'marr flashes you an unfamiliar look:  gratitude. You’re not sure how often Joe confesses things like doubt to his best friend, because they are boys after all, but part of you knows that it doesn’t matter if Joe’s told him or not–he knows. He knows that Joe is putting everything on the line for this game, and it’s been affecting him. 

And he knows that for whatever reason, you’re the answer. You’re his answer.

You don’t say anything to each other, and Ja’marr just turns around and gets right back into the film, but you think about that look periodically throughout the movie, your heart warming each time. When Midsommar is finally finished, it’s only 9:30, but you still wake up Joe and lead him to your room so he can just sleep through the night. His wobbly steps and groggy expression make you laugh, his mind clearly not fully on this Earth because he almost flops right on Kelia’s bed instead of yours. When you finally get him in the right room and close your door, he says something you don’t expect.

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” Joe mumbles from under your covers, looking swallowed in your duvet but a wide awake look in his eyes.

“What?” You laugh, dotting some extra moisturizer on your face even though you already did your skincare earlier. “Why?”

“It’s only 9:30 and I just fucked up my sleep schedule with that nap,” Joe groans, rubbing his eyes and grabbing your laptop from the foot of the bed. “And I’m actually kinda pissed I missed the movie, it looked interesting,”

“So you want me to watch it again?” You ask with an amused look, hopping into bed next to him. Warmth immediately envelopes you, causing you to pull the sheets all the way up to your chin and snuggle up to Joe’s side as he opens your laptop and unlocks it with your finger.

“Star Wars?” Joe whines, putting on an exaggerated pout and wide puppy eyes to lure you in. The two of you have been continuing watching the movie series on and off ever since your sick day, and Joe has been dying to get to the next movie in the lineup, Attack of the Clones. You’re really not tired, and figure this is a good way for him to end an emotional day.

“Sure,” you laugh as Joe fist bumps the air, immediately searching for the movie on Disney Plus.

The image of the film pops up, and a gasp falls from Joe’s lips, his eyes going wide until a knowing look and a smug smirk. “I know exactly who we should be for Halloween this weekend.” 

“Who?”

Bass booms throughout the small bathroom, Drake’s Headlines filling you with even more confidence than the alcohol coursing through your bloodstream. Kelia lets out a big, “Ohhhh!” at the opening notes, and you pause your lip liner to rap the opening verse with her. 

I might be too strung out on compliments Overdosed on confidence Started not to give a fuck and stopped fearin' the consequence Drinkin' every night because we drink to my accomplishments Faded way too long, I'm floatin' in and out of consciousness And they sayin' I'm back, I'd agree with that I just take my time with all this shit, I still believe in that I had someone tell me I fell off, oooh I needed that And they want to see me pick back up, well where'd I leave it at?

Both of you are feeling yourselves, dolled up from head to toe for every college students’ favorite holiday. Tay, the household bartender, made you a cranberry lemon drop martini that’s now sitting in a red solo cup on the sink counter, surrounded by every beauty product known to man. You pick up the drink, finishing it off in a couple of large gulps so you can slide on your lip gloss and top off your makeup. 

“If we don’t take pictures and start pregaming now, there’s no way we’ll be leaving by 10!” You hear Grace call out from the hall, the stomp of her boots giving away her anxious need to stick to your loose schedule. The plan is to leave by 10 so you get to Bogie’s around 10:30, and the clock reads 8:45, so you’re not surprised Grace is already rushing you to get out and get moving, even though the guys haven’t shown up yet. 

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror, doing a once over of your costume to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. Small white booty shorts hug your curves, accentuating the shape of your ass just right, and a loose silver belt hangs low on your hips. Your top leaves little to the imagination as well, the cropped, long sleeve, skin tight fabric at least covering all the way up to your neck. Your matching white go-go boots are knee high, and silver bands wrap around your biceps as well, a nice accent you thought made a huge difference in people guessing who you’re dressed as. Your hair is pulled back in a loose bun, letting your glowy makeup shine and your eyes pop.

You look hot, and you know it. 

Neither you, nor Kelia bother to clean up her bathroom before departing it, knowing you will get an earful from Grace if you’re not out for pictures in the next sixty seconds. Luckily you make it out into the living room just in time to see Joe, Justin and Ja’marr give greetings at the door, a pack of beer and a bottle of tequila in their hands. Everyone’s costumes look great, but your jaw almost hits the floor when you see your counterpart. 

Joe struts in with confidence, the black robes draped around him partially opened to show off his tan, chiseled chest. A brown leather belt cinches his waist, showing off his figure and making his shoulders look extra broad, and a black, strappy glove covers only his right hand. In it, he carries the centerpiece of his costume–a bright blue lightsaber. 

“Hello, my gorgeous Padme,” Joe beams at you, trailing his eyes up and down your figure a million times as he slides his ungloved hand around your waist. The heat behind his gaze and his hard, exposed chest that’s now right in front of you makes you blush, and you struggle to look up and meet his gaze for a moment. 

“Hello, my handsome Anakin,” you reply, easily trailing your palms up Joe’s exposed chest and around his neck to pull him down for a slow, sensual kiss. Neither of you want to pull away, but the racket happening around you as Grace starts directing pictures is hard to ignore, so you share one last charged glance before tuning in to the instructions being given. 

Everyone takes turns getting pictures in group, duo, and solo shots of their choosing, your speaker eventually getting moved from the bathroom into the living room to get everyone hyped up for the evening. Of course everyone hollers when Justin goes in for a kiss on Grace during their Joker and Harley Quinn photoshoot, and does the same for you when Joe decides to plant one. Giggles start to float through the group as the alcohol starts working its magic, and when you’ve all had enough of pictures, you get to sipping some more. 

From Rattlin Bog, to stack cup, to cup pong, and a card game you never really understood the rules to, each of you feel tipsy enough by 10 to order an Uber right on Grace’s schedule. When the driver is two minutes away, Kelia dramatically crowns Grace the birthday queen with a 21st birthday sash and tiara you got on Amazon for $10, so she can wear it to the bar. 

Everyone piles into the Uber, the anticipation level high as you head to your first stop of the night, a popular bar at LSU called Bogie’s. You really don’t plan to be there long, Grace just wants to be able to use her ID for the first time, and most of the rest of you aren’t even 21 yet. The real party starts at your next stop, a big house party hosted by Terrace Marshall from the team. But being in Tigerland, the area of downtown where all the college bars are, is excitement enough to get your night rolling.

When you step out of the uber, the vibes do not disappoint. It’s chillier than you’d like in your tiny outfit, but your alcohol blanket works wonders, and the bustle of students in flashy costumes combined with the electrifying lights of the bars distracts you from the nip in the air. You know that everyone you see is anticipating the fun night, bouncing off the walls with excitement.

What you don’t realize until you walk up to the line for the bar, is that people will stare. You’ve only walked 15 steps up to the entrance with the guys, and you’ve already seen some passerby do double takes, one very drunk guy even pointing at Joe and hooting, “Let’s geaux Jeaux!” Joe just stiffens, laughs semi-awkwardly and gives the guy a point back as if to say thank you. You can see now why he can be so against going out–it’s not always fun to be watched. 

Joe, Justin, Grace and Tay start to actually walk towards the line, the rest of you under-21-year-olds about to split off and find some restaurant to just sit at a table and chill. Until suddenly, one of the bouncers at the entrance walks up to Justin, dapping him up and giving him a bro-like greeting. The bouncer takes one look at all of you with not only Justin, but Ja’marr and Joe, and brings all of you to the front of the line, not an ID in sight. After all of you are mostly in, Grace goes back and says, “Wait!”

“Can you just…look at mine?” She asks sheepishly, handing him her real ID that shows the date of her birthday–two days ago. 

The bouncer finally notices that her sash and tiara are not a part of her costume, recognition flashing across his features as he laughs. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees, taking her ID and scanning the date. Tay is quick to pull out her phone snapping silly pictures of Grace getting carded with her real ID for the first time. “Happy Birthday, Grace,” he boasts as he hands it back and quickly moves on to the next in line. Grace walks back up to the group with a wide smile, and all of you cheer goofily, happy she not only got her one wish for the night, but that the rest of you got in scathe-free as well thanks to Justin and the guys.

Bogie’s is fun. The music is loud, but not too loud to the point where you all can’t laugh and joke around at the bar, nursing only a shot and a drink each so you can keep the party going without getting too hammered before Terrace’s. There are moments where you can feel it, the people staring again, but each time you just look at Joe and put your hand on his arm, watching as the panic in his eyes slowly dissipates when things never evolve into a spectacle. Luckily everyone is kind enough, usually not saying much to him if they say anything at all, but you know what he’s thinking anyway–he wants to leave sooner rather than later.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long for each of you to finish your drinks and be ready for Terrace’s, making Joe let out a big sigh of relief. The second Uber is more expensive, and a longer wait, but now that you’re all thoroughly enjoying the after effects of the alcohol, it feels like you blink and you’re standing in front of a huge family home, decorated to the nines in a classic Halloween theme. 

Justin had explained that the house is Terrace’s late grandparents, and his mom has simply been too caught up in work since they died to have it sold, renovated, or touched at all. It’s not like she needs the money, and selling a house is a huge hassle, so she had no problem allowing Terrace to throw a rager and get in the good graces of the team in his first year. Still, you weren’t expecting a quarter mile long driveway, extensive foliage and a big brick house with balconies for days sitting on two acres of land. 

As you walk up to the open entrance, muted, thumping bass fills your ears, an exciting promise of what’s in store for the rest of the night. All of you take glances around at people filtering in and out of the house, particularly the blunt rotation ensuing on the porch, and point out unique costumes and decorations. When you finally arrive at the partially open double doors, Ja’marr is the first to walk up, peering in before looking back at the rest of you.

“Ready?” He asks with a mischievous smile, rubbing his palms together as everyone excitedly follows him into the blue light and fog. You’re immediately greeted by the smell of sweat and alcohol, the once muted bassline of the house music playing now blaring into your ears and vibrating in your throat. It’s somewhat dark, but the various bright LEDs that occasionally flash on the beat help you make out lots of bodies, everyone either drinking, dancing, laughing, or all three. It’s when you look up that you finally notice the fake cobwebs stretched across the ceiling and walls, lined with plastic spiders.

“God damn Terrace!” Kelia exclaims over the music, her eyes just as wide as yours as they explore the packed house. 

“Let’s go get drinks,” Ja’marr nods at everyone, continuing to lead the way even though none of you have ever been here before–including him. Eventually your group finds the massive kitchen, where countless red solo cups and an extremely wide variety of liquor and booze fill up the entire expanse of the rectangular island. Right next to the kitchen is a cleared out dining room, where a very intense game of cup pong is being played by none other than the host himself. Rowdy party goers, some of which are players you recognize, crowd around the table as spectators to the seemingly epic match. As you approach, Terrace sinks a cup with a plop, earning cheers from the crowd.

“Aye, what’s good, man?” Justin claps a hand on Terrace’s shoulder after he daps up his pong teammate, and Terrace is even happier to see Justin than he was to make that shot. 

“What’s up Jets? I’m good, bro I’m just locked in. Glad all you guys could make it,” Terrace booms with a smile, dapping each of the guys up with questionable aim. 

“This place is sick, I can’t believe it,” Grace comments, still looking around and taking it all in. 

“Hey thanks, birthday girl! Y’all can take anything from the kitchen by the way, just watch your drinks cause I’m not dealin’ with that roofie shit,” Terrace replies, taking a reluctant sip from his mixed drink after someone on the other side makes their shot. 

“‘Preciate it bro,” Joe nods, and all of you take the hint to help yourselves to anything on the table. You turn, your eyes still trying to adjust to the lack of light throughout the space as you look through all of your options, a small smirk tugging on your lips when you notice the Casamigos. Automatically, slightly drunk you reaches out her hand, grabbing the neck of the bottle along with two cups, two lime slices and salt with unapologetic confidence. Before you can think too hard about it, you slowly turn to face Joe, who’s already eyeing your actions with a hint of a smirk. From his still exposed chest, to the sweat already prickling at his skin and in his hair, making him push it back in the exact way you like, you just can’t stop yourself from feeling hot under his gaze.

“Wanna do a body shot?”

Joe throws his head back with a laugh, his eyes crinkling when he meets your gaze again. “With me?” He asks jokingly, stepping closer so he can put his large, warm hands on your hips. 

Your face falls deadpan at his joke. “No, with Ja’marr,” you reply sarcastically, nodding at the man who’s currently measuring out Tay’s drink like he’s an alchemist. Joe’s gaze hardens at that joke, suddenly not in a joking mood at all.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he huffs out, which makes you giggle. “Where are you putting the salt?”

Without hesitation, you duck your head down, slowly licking a long stripe from the bottom of Joe’s abs up to his sternum, looking up at him with wide eyes and an innocent smile once you’ve finished your work. 

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans as you start pressing salt where you licked, the wetness helping the pebbles stick to his skin. 

“Shhh,” you hush him with the lime wedge, sticking it in his mouth so the rind is between his teeth. He smiles with it in his mouth, watching as you pour your shot into one of the solo cups. When you’re done, you look back up at him again, holding eye contact as you lick the salt off his chest sensually. The tequila’s next, the burn sliding all the way down your throat, and finally you bring your hand up to Joe’s jaw, pulling him down so you can pluck the lime wedge from his mouth. The acid liquid soothes the heat from the shot, but does little to tame the heat rising into your cheeks due to the way Joe is staring at you like he could eat you. 

“My turn,” Joe murmurs with darkened eyes, leaning in close to snatch the salt from the counter behind you. His musky, woody scent overtakes you, causing your heart to flutter, and you almost gasp when Joe hooks his hands under your upper thighs and lifts you onto the cool granite countertop. He leans down, and your jaw drops when he flicks his tongue on your stomach, tracing around your exposed belly button in a big circle. He presses the salt against your skin teasingly, a sly smirk playing across his lips as he pours a hefty shot into the second solo cup and leans back down.

Shivers wrack through your body as Joe’s warm, wet tongue slides against your stomach, a wave of heat washing over you when he laps at the salt below your belly button, so, so close to your waistband. He rises to take the shot, locking eyes with you and wrapping a firm hand around your neck to angle your face towards his. He sits there for a few moments, his gaze wandering from your eyes to your mouth as he teases you, letting his breath fan over your lips a few times before slowly removing the lime. Your heart beats a mile a minute, and you’re suddenly desperate to jump his bones, but you know this isn’t the time, or the place. He just wants to rattle you like you rattled him.

“Fair enough,” you sigh, hot and bothered all over. Joe’s proud of his work, removing the lime from his mouth with a little laugh that makes your heart soar. 

“What do you want to drink, pretty girl?” Joe asks, grabbing an unopened Bud Flight from a twelve back and pouring it into his cup.

“Hmm, surprise me,” you chirp. “But whatever it is needs tequila,” you clarify pointedly. Joe’s goofy laugh rings out again.

“Okay,” he agrees, eventually handing you a citrus concoction that tastes like oranges, pineapples and mangoes all at once. You hum with gratitude, hopping off the counter as Kelia challenges Ja’marr to a game of cup pong, the two of them rounding the island in a heated exchange.

“Aye Terrace, we get next!” Ja’marr calls out, and everyone filters over to watch the end of the current game. You lean over a couple shoulders to see the game, getting up on your tippy toes and feeling Joe’s arm slide easily around your waist. After only a few moments you get the uncomfortable feeling you’re being watched, so you start flickering your eyes into the dark corners, until you find the exact eyes that have been on you.

Cam. 

He’s dressed in an all orange jumpsuit, an ugly sneer naturally etched onto his face that you never saw before. Your throat catches as his eyes linger, a mischievous glare in them while he mutters something to another football player. A pit starts to form as he continues to talk and stare, his friend’s eyes eventually flickering over to you, a similar furrow etching in his brows as well as Cam’s. He’s talking about you, and it’s hurting more than you’d care to admit.

But if this situation has taught you anything, it’s that things are always going to hurt you more than you think. You’re always going to feel more than you want to, and it’s how you choose to deal with it that’s going to define who you are. 

“Why do you look embarrassed?” Kelia is suddenly at your side, looking at you and Cam dumbfounded.

“I’m not embarrassed,” you argue, looking awkwardly at the ground, then back at your ex. “He’s definitely talking about me though,” you mutter, anger and frustration bubbling along with that pit sitting low in your belly.

“If you don’t want to be embarrassed, don’t be,” Kelia tells you firmly, turning you towards her by your shoulder and looking you dead in the eye. “Embarrassment is a choice.” Kelia has always had this philosophy, that as long as you own who you are and the choices you make, that you can never really be embarrassed, because you’re not ashamed of who you are. She’s right, and you’ve been trying to adopt this philosophy for yourself, but sometimes you just need a little reminder. 

“So, are you embarrassed?” She asks pointedly, patiently awaiting your answer with her hands on her hips. You think about her question. What should you be embarrassed of? You loved him with everything in you, trusted him because you should’ve been able to, and moved on when he betrayed you. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of.

“No, he should be,” you respond firmly, giving a solid nod and focusing back on the game.

“That’s better,” Kelia cheers, throwing her arms around your shoulder with a giggle, the both of you suddenly bursting into cheers when Terrance hits the game winning shot.

As the night continues on, you forget all about Cam and his stupid friends. From Ja’marr and Kelia’s riveting game of cup pong, to getting to know some more LSU players on the offensive side of the ball, to dancing to your favorite songs the DJ plays, every moment is full of laughter and loose shoulders. And as it gets later, the alcohol flows more freely, some of you starting to take wobbly steps and slur certain words. Eventually you all find a game room, where there’s a pool table, a poker table, and Joe’s favorite–a ping pong table.

“Man you suck!” Tay pouts and drops her paddle on the table, throwing her hands up in defeat before taking another sip from her drink. 

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Joe responds, a wide, cocky grin spreading across his face when he flips his paddle, catching it perfectly before setting it back on the table. You’re about to walk over and tease Tay, when the opening guitar riff of one of the most iconic party anthems of the century floods your ears. All of you gasp at the sound, immediately breaking out into giggles before racing to the living room, where a makeshift dance floor has been formed. Every one of you quickly launches into your best dance moves, singing the opening lyrics along with everyone else in the room.

Comin' out of my cage and I've been doin' just fine Gotta, gotta be down because I want it all It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

You’re all dramatically acting out the lyrics, cackling when Ja’marr and Justin start hitting the Get the Gat dance move, prompting the rest of you to follow suit. 

Now I'm falling asleep and she's calling a cab While he's having a smoke and she's taking a drag Now they're goin' to bed and my stomach is sick And it's all in my head...

Each of you are flowing with the music, not a care in the world what anyone watching could be thinking about you at that moment. You feel free, and when you catch Joe’s eyes, you know exactly what you need to do on this next lyric. “But she's touching his chest, now,” you sing, dramatically running your palm down Joe’s pecks. 

“He takes off her dress, now, let me go,” Joe sings back, sliding his hands around your waist and down to your ass as he pulls you close, the both of you grinning from ear to ear when your noses touch. You feel like you’re on top of the world, and Joe’s close proximity only makes your heart race faster, especially when he pulls back and grabs your hand so he can start frantically spinning you to the music. Your laughter floats over the melody, the giggles interrupting your beautiful vocal performance.

And I just can't look, it's killing me

They're taking control…

On the chorus, you just have to over exaggerate your acting and dance moves again. There is no other way to sing this section–only melodrama. 

Jealousy Turning saints into the sea Swimming through sick lullabies Choking on your alibi

The entire crowd comes alive at the end of the chorus, everyone shouting with each other.

But it's just the price I pay Destiny is calling me Open up my eager eyes… 'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside

As the song continues, everyone’s performances never falter, each of you taking turns singing to and with each other, busting out dance moves you couldn’t reenact if you tried. Just when the high of the song feels like it’ll last forever the last, “I neverrr!” gets screamed out, and you’re left breathless. 

Each of you are still recovering from your dance party as you attempt to exit the dance floor, following Tay and Justin who are both requesting another drink from the kitchen. Joe grabs your hand so as not to lose you amongst the sea of bodies, and you carelessly let him tug you across the room.

Everyone is taking the time to fill up their drinks, your new orange juice and tequila combo feeling like a step up from the unopened beer can Kelia handed you previously. You take a few sips, savoring the taste until Terrace, who’s on the other side of the kitchen nods at you. “Can you grab some more solo cups? They’re in that cabinet behind you,” he asks before concentrating back on his task at hand–concocting a Bitch Cup for the next round of stack cup. 

“Sure,” you chirp. You turn over your shoulder, maybe a little too quickly, because when you do, you step right into a solid body. You gasp as their entire bright red drink pours right down your front, ruining your once white costume with the sticky substance. When you slowly bring your eyes up to face your perpetrator, you aren’t surprised by the sly smirk of the person staring back at you.

Cam.

“Whoops,” he sighs, his voice carrying no hint of actual remorse. Your jaw hangs as you’re still processing what’s happened, Grace racing over with paper towels and immediately starting to pat at your clothes, but it’s no use. 

“What the fuck?!” Kelia growls, wasting no time stomping over to the scene. Joe is hot on her trail, fuming. Cam doesn’t seem to mind their presence, eyeing you up and down. His gaze used to make you feel wanted–now it just makes you feel violated.

“Maybe if you were wearing a little more fabric it wouldn’t be as bad,” he sneers, about to turn and walk away. “Fucking slut.”

You bark a laugh in Cam’s face, his words rolling off of you easily. You know you look hot, and at this point you couldn’t give less of a fuck about what he thinks. But your laugh makes him turn back, not liking that his insult didn’t hit as hard as expected. “Okay bitch,” you spit out, venom lacing your tone in the pettiest way possible. “I’m the slut? You tried to bang both of us at the same time. At least I’m not resorting to fucking a lame. That’s all you can ever get after me.”

“I mean come on, that shit you pulled with the hickeys? Have some fucking class,” he rolls his eyes as if he’s disappointed, shooting a glare at Joe until a sickly smirk curls on his lip. “Makes though. We all know Burrow’s a pillow princess anyway.” 

“Oh buddy,” Joe interjects, slapping a not-so friendly pat onto Cam’s shoulder and stepping between the two of you. You can just feel just testosterone brewing between them, each of their needs to be the one to come out on top growing by the second. You would’ve been able to handle Cam yourself, but once he brought up Joe’s name, it became his fight too.

Oh please do not fight and get hurt, please. 

“Don’t start talking about shit you know nothing about,” Joe clarifies semi-calmly, still squaring up uncomfortably close to Cam. Joe towers over him, but that doesn’t stop Cam from pushing further.

“Oh no I think I know everything about this,” Cam lets out a wicked drunken laugh, getting far too close to Joe than you’d like. “I had her for two years, remember?” He says possessively, in an attempt to gain dominance, which you know Joe will feel the need to stomp in an instant. Unfortunately, you can’t lie and say the rage rolling off his figure right now isn’t causing heat to surge to your core. But to your surprise, even though Joe seems to still be radiating anger, he just lets out a bitter, mocking laugh. 

“Aww, you want me to tell you what it’s actually like making her scream? I’ll even let you sit and watch if you’re good,” Joe teases, tucking his head down slightly as if he was talking to a child, demeaning Cam in the worst way possible. His comment causes Cam’s face to drop in shock, fishing for words that won’t come out. Everyone else listening is taken aback as well, even a gasp leaving Kelia’s mouth before a smile curls on her lips. The embarrassing visual of Joe fucking you in front of Cam, better than he ever could, has a huge effect on Cam, and you relish in it. It’s true, Cam isn’t even half the man Joe is in bed, and you can tell that truth is all Cam is thinking about.

Joe’s clapback stings Cam, bad, but it’s not enough for you. It feels like your arm moves on its own accord as you lift up your red solo cup, jutting it towards his face to empty its contents onto him. Your sticky drink coats Cam’s face, hair and chest, cutting off his helpless stuttering and triggering a shocked reaction from everyone around you. 

“Holy shit!” Ja’marr hoots, bringing a fist up to his mouth and laughing. Everyone else reacts similarly, a few scattered claps and amused gasps egging you on. 

“Wetter than you ever got me,” You shrug while staring at Cam’s shocked, dripping face, smug smirk stretching wide across your lips as you slam your now empty cup back onto the island. 

“That might just be our cue,” Tay notes, nodding her head up towards the clock that reads 2:22am. She’s right–it’s late, and this whole thing makes for the perfect dramatic exit. The entire group starts to file out of the kitchen, most of you still laughing and joking about the whole scene in front of everyone. 

“Well have a good night, cunt!” Kelia waves cheerily at Cam, cackling and continuing to mock your ex as Ja’marr leads her away from the kitchen. 

“You have balls,” Justin boasts, dapping you up once you all exit the house, even though you’re not quite sure you reciprocated the action correctly. 

“The look on his face, I died!” Grace giggles.

“And you?!” Kelia points at Joe, her eyes going wide. “I didn’t think you had it in you Joe, but you had him gagged!”

“Gagged?” Joe asks with furrowed brows, clearly not understanding Kelia’s internet slang. Each of you get into the Uber one by one, finding comfort in your ears no longer ringing. 

“Oh god. Nevermind.”

By the time you’re back at Joe’s, you can tell something is off. Some other time you might just attribute it to him being tired or drunk, but you knew he’d stopped drinking hours ago, and the ticked off raise of his brow made you think it was more than just the late hour that was getting to him.

“That party was fun, it was nice of Terrace to throw,” you comment, testing the waters of his mood.

“Yeah,” Joe mutters, continuing to remove the layers of his costume until he’s down to his boxers. It’s late–so late, and you hate that the sight alone gets you going. Maybe it’s the little alcohol left in your system, or maybe it’s just that he’s that damn fine. Still, his answer isn’t what you’re looking for, so you just keep prying.

“I mean…fun until the end I guess,” you try, wondering if he’s still just pissed Cam said those things to you. But his annoyance doesn’t just seem directed at Cam, it feels directed towards you. Your ears perk up when you hear Joe quietly scoff, shaking his head as he runs his fingers through his hair in the mirror. “Okay, what’s going on?” You ask, hoping he’ll just tell you so you don’t have to investigate. Joe turns to you and tries to shrug, about to speak until he eyes you up and down, his face hard with frustration by the time he gets back up to your eyes. 

Suddenly you get it. All the sex talk, the dick measuring. He’s still worried about Cam. “Are you jealous?” You ask teasingly, plopping down on Joe’s bed to remove your heels and other accessories. 

“I’m not jealous,” Joe denies with an eye roll, moving around his room again in a haste, snapping open his water bottle. Finally he settles on just going into his bathroom, pulling some IcyHot out of a drawer. “I meant what I said, he can’t make you feel like I can.” 

Joe uncaps the rolling stick, sliding the soothing cream over a sore part of his exposed thigh. You watch, amused as his confident look slowly grows frustrated again. “He can’t…can he?”

“No, Joe,” you confirm, a smirk stretching across your lips as Joe’s true colors really start to show. “So that’s what this is.”

“What?”

“You’re still thinking about what he said about you being a pillow princess,” you taunt him, unable to fathom how he really thinks that’s true. Sex with the two of you has always been a two way street–if anything he treats you more often than you treat him. Another scoff of denial leaves Joe’s lips, along with an eye roll, and you know just what he needs to actually get over it. 

You let out a long, over dramatic sigh as you grab one of Joe’s small throw pillows, gearing up to annoy this man the only way you can think of at the current moment

“Joey…” you call out, following with a light throw of the pillow that hits him square in the bicep. He’s quick to shoot you a glare, but stays mostly patient for now. 

“I really don’t have the mental capacity for this right now, let’s talk in the morning,” he grumbles, standing at full height and moving his IcyHot stick up to his bicep.

You don’t like that answer, and you can feel yourself getting wetter just looking at him rolling the soothing substance over the ridges of his muscles, so you throw another pillow. 

“Seriously? It’s 3am,” Joe exclaims, the annoyance in his voice growing quickly. You don’t care. You’re going to throw until he pounces. This time it’s a bigger duvet pillow that hits him square in the head. 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he finally snaps, his frustration from before finally coming back full force. 

“I don’t want to talk,” you explain innocently, and this time Joe watches as you unabashedly grab the other duvet pillow, gearing up to throw it his way. It hits him right in the face, and when it falls, Joe is doing his best to keep his breathing steady. You’ve already found another plush pillow to follow up your attack. 

“Throw one more fucking thing at me Y/N, I swear to god,” Joe threatens between his teeth, almost seething. 

You launch the last pillow at him, and this time he blocks it with ease.

Joe stalks over to you on the bed like you’re prey, his eyes wild and hands clawing, and your smile turns into a smirk when he pounces, immediately straddling you and shoving you onto your back. “Take this fucking thing out,” he growls, staring at your hair and tugging at the bun, desperate to undo the knot and let your hair fall free. You oblige, fishing the hair tie out and shaking out your hair as Joe flings off your stained shirt, his mouth latching onto your chest as soon as he’s able. The heat of the moment sends shocks of pleasure through you, adding to the anticipation you’ve already been feeling in your core throughout the night. He’s looked delectable all night long, and all you’ve wanted to do is get dicked down. 

“Are you gonna prove-” you start, thinking maybe you haven’t done enough to get him riled up, but you’re so wrong. 

“I’ve had enough of your mouth tonight. You don’t get to cum until I say so,” Joe scolds, like it’s final and you have no say. And you suppose you don’t with the way he immediately yanks your shorts off and tosses them aside, diving into you nose first. The sudden pleasure causes you to swallow whatever response you had formed, the only noise escaping you a gasping moan. Joe wastes no time with you, setting a punishing pace, quickly navigating between your clit and your entrance in a way that leaves you breathless and whiny. From sucking, to circling, to lapping and blowing, shivers wrack through your body endlessly, and you find yourself nearing orgasm much quicker than you would’ve liked. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he knows my body too well. He has me right where he wants me.

Just when it feels like you’ll be needing to beg for mercy, Joe pulls away, but instantly replaces his mouth with his fingers, sliding in and out just fast enough to keep you on the edge without giving you what you want. His demeanor is predatory as he looms over you, putting his cocky face right up to your fucked out face. “Call him,” Joe mutters in your ear, easily grabbing your phone from his bedside table and resting it on your bare chest as he continues to work his fingers in and out, keeping you compliant with his methodical pace. 

“What?” You pant, your eyes widening as you realize what he’s asking. He wants you to call Cam while he has you on the brink of orgasm, with not a chance in the world you’ll be able to hide exactly what you’re doing right now. 

“Fucking call him Y/N. Let him hear, or I don’t have to let you cum,” Joe demands, his hooded eyes watching you expectantly. Heat keeps crashing over you, and you know if you don’t do something now, you’re either going to cum before you’re told, or Joe will pull away completely, both of which sound agonizing. Your shaky hands grab your phone, your heart pounding as you unlock it and pull up Cam’s contact. You imagine him on the other end of the line, confused until you keep moaning breathlessly, then seething once he realizes what you’ve done. Your thumb hovers over his number, and you hesitate, not because it’s mean or he doesn’t deserve it. But because you don’t want him to hear you. He shouldn’t get to hear you. But your legs are starting to shake from how hard you’re holding back…

Joe laughs smugly above you, slowly removing his fingers from your center. “No!” You whimper desperately, your hips chasing his touch as you abandon your phone by throwing it on the bed. The band in your stomach loosens, the build up slightly fading but your core growing more sensitive. You’re backing away from the ledge, but you could be right back up there in no time if he just touched you. 

“You won’t do it, baby. And you wanna know why?” Joe asks mockingly, nodding to your phone that’s now locked and shunned away. You watch as he slowly guides the tip of his cock up to your entrance, his touch ghosting over your folds teasingly before sliding in tantalizingly slow. With your sensitivity having increased ten fold, soft, desperate moans are quick to leave your lips again as Joe expertly slides in and out. “Because this is all for me. And you know it,” he groans, sliding both of your calves over your shoulder so he can fold you in half, the new position allowing him to piston in and out of you faster and harder, hitting spots he couldn’t before. A loud, surprised yelp leaves your lips, and the heat inside of you builds faster as Joe leans down so you’re face to face, your moans tangling with his breath when he commands you.

“I’m the only one who gets to hear you like this. Because I’m the only one that will ever make you feel like this, the only one that will ruin you like this, the only one that will make you sound this fucking needy,” Joe pants into your mouth, his words making your brain go fuzzy with pleasure and submission, the possessive hold he has over you strengthening with each thrust. Suddenly it’s all about Joe, how good he makes you feel, and how you could never, ever go back to anything else. You can feel yourself barrelling toward orgasm, but you just can’t yet. 

“So don’t let him hear, let me hear. Who’s making you feel good Y/N?” he murmurs, pounding into you relentlessly. 

“You, Joe,” you cry out, not sure how much longer you can hold on. Every thrust prints so deep in your sopping cunt, and your eyes widen when you notice the protruding mark in your belly that appears each time Joe thrusts in. 

“That’s right,” Joe groans with a smug laugh, his dilated pupils examining you under him like a meal. “Fuck, you look so pretty. Feel so good, squeezing me so fuckin tight,” he whispers against your mouth, basking in your struggle to keep it together. He can tell you’re hanging on by a thread, moans desperate, jaw slack, eyes pleading. He fucking loves it. “Your pussy was made for me baby. Who’s this pussy for? Say it.” 

‘Y-you Joe,” you whimper. “I’m gonna-” 

“Who’s it for? Who’s giving it to you like this?” 

“You, Joe,” You repeat like a fucking prayer. You’re seeing stars, and the only thing your brain can latch onto is the fact that it’s Joe making you feel like this. That you should be grateful you get to be ruined by him in this way. “Thank you, Joe,” you whimper without a second thought, your release so tantalizingly close you feel tears start to well in your eyes. 

“Of course, baby,” Joe coos as his thrusts get sloppier, his veiny cock starting to pulse inside you. He starts thrusting a little slower, but slamming harder, going deeper, pushing you beyond your breaking point. “I’ll always be here to make you feel good. Now be good and cum.”

You finally teeter off that ledge, falling and crashing into your orgasm head on. The sounds that leave your mouth are obscene as every sensation overwhelms you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Joe coaxes you through the avalanche, his hips never faltering as your orgasm triggers his own, the warmth of both of your releases combining to overwhelm you with dazzling heat. You’re both a mess by the end of it, panting hard, slick with sweat, still shivering from the aftershocks of pleasure. 

Joe’s eyes quickly turn soft as he gazes at your features, his baby blues flickering across your face and a hand coming up to brush some stray hairs off of your cheeks. You feel them get even redder due to the endearing attention, and your lips automatically tug upwards in a small smile as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders, allowing you to stretch to your full length again. Joe’s warm hands massage your calves and thighs before you both launch into your typical aftercare routine, sweet kisses and soothing touches being exchanged throughout. Eventually you’re back in bed, tangled together in a mess of pillows and sheets.

“Well, at least I can dime him up in practice.”

“You’re a nut.”

It all feels so surreal as you’re ushered off the ice cold bus, immediately being rushed into the away team’s locker room. The great Bryant-Denny Stadium looms large, the pregame energy in Tuscaloosa the only rival to LSU’s passionate fan base, and the nervous energy that only twinged in your stomach on the bus now courses through your veins at high speed.

Every week you win, there’s an expectation for more, more, more. You beat Texas, but can you beat Florida? You beat Florida, but can you beat Auburn? You beat Auburn, but the true test is this week…

Can you beat Alabama?

Everyone knows. Everyone knows that for the past thirteen years Nick Saban has been coaching the Crimson Tide, they have been the juggernaut. No college football program has been as consistently dominant as them. They win the conference championship every other year, are almost always in the playoffs, and boast five National Championship titles over the past nine years. 

Not only that, but the Tide is out for revenge. In 2015, Saban and his boys toppled an undefeated Clemson team in the championship, his fourth time being credited with the esteemed trophy. The following year, the exact same teams would go head to head, but this time, the Tigers would emerge victorious, marking the very first time Saban ever lost a National Championship game. Alabama was back for blood the next season, crushing Clemson in the semifinals and claiming a sweet, sweet victory over Georgia for another title. What no one expected was for Clemson to emerge again, undefeated again, winning the championship again.

Now, Clemson, Alabama, and LSU all remain lossless through 8 of 13 games, and Saban wants his revenge. Again. 

Warmups are over soon. Too soon. Even though everyone’s had an extra week to practice, for some reason it feels like you’re still not ready. You shake your head to yourself as you realize it’s not that you’re not physically ready–everyone has been sharp this week, with unwavering focus and commitment. It’s that you’re not emotionally ready. Lately you’ve felt like this game is do or die. Win this, or it all means nothing. Which isn’t true–life will always go on. 

You just want this really, really badly.

For Joe. 

Joe, who catches you coming out of the locker room to head to the field, and tugs you into a secluded hallway. Your throat catches, and you’re immediately concerned. He never does this on game days. He never wants to get too close, hell, he never even wants to talk to you on game days, his mind already compartmentalizing his personal life and that other Joe that comes out when he steps on the field. For him to reach out to you, his hands firm and needy as he rests them on your hips, eyes wide and frantic? Something must be wrong.

“Are you okay? What’s happening?” You quickly ask, resting a hand on his cheek and scanning his entire body for harm.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I just…” Joe trails off, his eyes slowly losing their panicked look and settling into yours. He takes a deep breath, running his hands up and down your sides a few times and your heart begins to settle. “…started feeling the pressure like last Tuesday. Wanted to see your pretty eyes for a second.”

Your heart melts, and you feel like crying, the emotions of this game starting to get to you just as much as Joe. You throw your arms around his padded shoulders, nestling your face into his neck to try to hold off the few tears, both of you sighing together as you comfort each other. He rubs slow circles on your back, and you thread your fingers through his hair, each of you searching for a short moment of comfort amongst the whirlwind of pressure. “Can I do anything? Get you some water maybe?” You ask, starting to pull away to find a Gatorade station.

“No, no, just stay right here,” Joe says softly, pulling you tighter into his warm embrace with his gentle hands. He lets out a deep sigh of content, then chuckles to himself after a few moments. “It's crazy. You just exist, and I swear I breathe better.” A single warm tear falls from your cheek at his words, the combination of finally feeling wanted and finally feeling safe overwhelming you in the moment. 

Alabama players are heard getting rowdy in the main hallway, likely heading to the tunnel to run out, and the commotion causes the both of you to pull away. Joe’s head snaps over to the sea of red jerseys, and slowly but surely, you see it. In real time, you watch as he goes from Joe, to a man you’ve only seen from afar, a stone cold killer out for crimson blood. 

Even up close, it’s hard to see exactly what it is–that thing in his eyes. 

“I gotta go,” Joe mutters, even the low rumble of his voice now with a sinister tone you only hear in his cadence. He doesn’t take his eyes off the players as he straightens up, sauntering over to the tunnel with the demeanor of an assassin. 

Eventually you shake it off, stalking towards the tunnel yourself when the bright red invading your every line of sight causes you to start overthinking. Memories start to flood through your brain from when you played Bama last season. It’s a game you frequently push back, where the anger and frustration was palpable, and how could it not be when LSU didn’t score a single point through all four quarters? Helmets being banged on benches, coaches shaking their heads in dismay, running through the defensive cheers over and over and over. Now you try to bury those memories further, because they no longer come with only remorse, but with the crippling anxiety that this game could turn out the exact same way. 

You round a corner, and suddenly you’re face to face with the entrance to Bryant-Denny Stadium, when everything goes quiet. 

The memories flickering through your brain, Joe’s cadence from practice ringing through your ears, Coach Kandace’s whistle prompting another run through of a number. Every bit of it is drowned out by the rumble of the crowd, the hostile energy injecting into your veins like a fucking drug. You’d swear you’re high right now, in fact. You’re not sure if anyone says anything to you, or even how long you’re standing there waiting, soaking in the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the vibration from the crowd noise in your chest, all you know is that it’s that time when you hear…

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Joe’s helmet slams against the wall methodically, and it wakes you up from your trance just in time to notice the CBS Sports employee prompt you. 

“Go!”

As if muscle memory, your body automatically springs into action, bursting out of the tunnel with a newfound confidence you can only attribute to the pure adrenaline coursing through your entire body. Tuscaloosa is on fire, every single spectator making as much noise as possible to express their profound gratitude for a football program so great. It’s so great, anybody is scared to come into their trap and try them on their best day. But you know what they say…

Walk into your trap, take over your trap. 

Your position you know all too well, shimmying your poms as a greeting to the die hard Alabama crowd who’d rather see you packing your things and loading the buses in defeat. You can’t blame them, the anticipation in you is already too much to bear as kickoff nears closer and closer, the moment you’ve been waiting for for two weeks now only minutes away. Not to mention you’re well aware most of the nation is watching, waiting to see who will crumble, and who will walk away with the last word. 

Your heart stops when you notice each sideline starting to send out their special teams, lining up in position. The crowd rumbles louder and louder, all 102,000 pairs of eyes in the stadium fixed on the football teetering on the kickoff stand, just waiting for that whistle to blare out loud and clear.

Football fans around the world circled November 9th on their calendar. They wondered, might they both be undefeated? Would it be a top five matchup?

They are. It is. 

It’s on. 

Alabama receives the opening kickoff, their star, Heisman contention quarterback Tua Tangovailoa navigating the field with ease. It looks easy–too easy for them to glide down the field, knocking on the door of the endzone at 3rd and goal. Then, out of thin air the Tigers are gifted a fumble, an LSU defensive player falling on it immediately, causing your stomach to turn when your offense comes out. You think of Joe’s firm, desperate words.

“I can’t get shut out again.”

The drive starts out with a few run plays, Alabama’s coverage clearly hellbent on shutting down Joe’s passing game. But he can’t keep quiet for long–on a 2nd and 3, he takes a deep shot to Ja’marr, dropping the ball in the bucket between two defenders. Your heart soars as things start to look up, but you try to tell yourself it’s just one play. The very next snap Joe throws a laser over the middle to Justin, gaining another 20 or so yards, immediately launching into the next play to try to catch the Alabama defense confused and on their heels. Joe drops back, and doesn’t hesitate to go yard again, this time hitting Ja’marr along the sideline, who runs three more yards into the endzone. You’re immediately jumping up and down in pure bliss, utter relief flooding you as your fears start to be proven wrong. This will not be like last time, and Joe will not be shut out. 

The broad smile on your face grows even larger as you watch the crowd, who was so boisterous and excited when you first greeted them. Now their mouths hang in utter shock, unsure of how they were so sure of a score five minutes ago, and are now down a touchdown with no points of their own to account for. 

More misfortune strikes for Alabama when LSU stops them around the 50 yard line. On the long snap, the Tide punter completely misses the ball, and it hits the side of his hand, bouncing onto the ground. A frenzy immediately ensues, every player clamoring for the ball, and the punter picks it up in an attempt to still punt it, but it’s no use. LSU players end up on top of him, securing prime field position. 

On the first play of the drive, Joe notices an Alabama player moseying off the field lazily, so he snaps the ball to get a 12 men on the field penalty called on the Tide. Alabama is falling apart, and the Tigers are able to capitalize on every single little mistake.

LSU ends up taking a field goal, and gives the ball back to Bama on a kickoff. Both the Tide and the Tigers go three and out, causing a slight lull in the game until Alabama gets their momentum on a punt returned for a touchdown. You watch the returner sprint downfield, your heart dropping as he keeps breaking tackles and weaving through players all the way until the end zone. The stadium erupts, and you hate to say it, but the noise gets in your head for a few brief moments.

You try to focus on the positive, that LSU will get the ball back and it’ll be in Joe’s hands. The drive starts at a moderate pace, the Tigers utilizing quick passes on short routes to take the heat off of Joe in the pocket. They chip at the field one by one with their yards after the catch, tiring out the Alabama defenders until someone slips up, dropping their coverage on Terrace. Joe hits him on a long slant, and with the amount of separation he has, he’s able to cruise into the end zone for an easy TD. You’re all smiles, launching into a touchdown cheer Grace calls for, until the extra point is missed. But you shake that off too, still grateful for six points and the lead. 

Alabama gets the ball back, barreling down the field at full speed. They seem unstoppable, like Joe will just have to keep getting touchdown after touchdown in order to win, until a false start seems to throw them off. LSU is able to hold Tua and the offense to a 4th and 1 in the middle of the field, and you hold your breath as an Alabama player gets lost in the big pile of bodies up the middle. Tide players signal a first down, Tigers signal a stop, and where the refs spot the ball, it’s just not 100% sure either way. The chain gang comes out to the middle of the field where the ball is spotted, a whole spectacle being made of the play as players gather around the ball to see the measurement. Finally they pull the chain taut right next to the ball, as far forward as it can go, and sure enough Alabama is one chain link short of a first down. LSU players celebrate, the defense earning some cheers from the few LSU fans in the crowd, and the offense gets their helmets on, ready to convert this defense stop into points. Of course Nick Saban challenges the spot, clawing for any way to keep the drive alive, but the call of the field stands, and the Tigers take over on downs for the second time today. LSU’s momentum is in full swing, and you can only hope they keep it. 

Your frustration boils when the offense can’t make anything of the big defensive play, having to punt it away after an annoying delay of game penalty. Unfortunately Alabama is quick to capitalize, scoring a touchdown on a deep throw from Tua, with a missed extra point making it 16-13 with LSU on top. The crowd starts to get into it at this point, with the game getting close and it nearing halftime, and the noise booming in your ears starts to make everything feel more intense. The Tigers are only able to get a field goal, extending their lead to six, but luckily the defense pulls through with a quick three and out, leaving the offense a whole 2:40 to score before halftime. Joe scrambles for a couple of runs, never sliding, which makes you nervous, but he’s able to get a couple first downs out of it. After a couple more quick lasers all around the field, the Tigers make it to the one yard line, and on third and goal, Clyde hurdles the entire pile in the middle to get LSU a touchdown. The two possession lead feels great, and your whirlwind of emotions start to steady when you look over at the sideline, seeing how confident and collected the entire Tigers bench looks. It’s almost like they all expected this–even though it went so terribly last time, they knew history was not going to repeat itself. 

And it’s clear Alabama was not ready for that.

With 23 seconds left in the half and Alabama’s two timeouts, you’re expecting them to at least attempt to get in field goal range. What you’re not expecting is for Tua to throw an interception on the first play of the drive, putting Joe on the 13 yard line with 11 seconds left. You just scored, and now LSU has an opportunity to twist the knife, laying one last blow before the half. Like it’s written in the stars, all it takes is one play for Joe to drop a dime in the corner of the endzone, giving Clyde his second touchdown of the night. Every LSU fan goes absolutely berserk, everyone’s energy and confidence levels at 110 thanks to the 20 point lead, and the offense’s clear domination. At this point, with a measly three seconds to go, Alabama knows better, and takes a knee to end the half. 

You’re on top of the world, but you know everything could change in the second half. You’re reminded of Nick Saban’s infamous ability to change his scheme on a dime, second half adjustments being his specialty when it comes to winning games. It’s why he wins as often as he does. When you head to the tunnel for a quick water break after your tumbling passes, a small TV showing coverage of the game catches your attention.

“Joe Burrow putting on a show, Edwards-Helaire putting on a show…Nick Saban doesn’t like the show,” you hear an announcer from the broadcast call, showing slow motion shots of LSU’s last touchdowns, and a shot of pissed off Saban shaking his head being the cherry on top. You know he’s in his locker room right now, scheming an incredible comeback that will crush the Tigers’ playoff chances, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t still a little bit nervous. 

The second half soon commences, and you’re reminded why you should be nervous. On the first drive, Joe’s arm gets hit while he’s gearing back to throw, causing a fumble recovered by Alabama. The defense is able to get the stop, but Bama matches it, getting the ball back in their hands. After that, their offense is able to pummel down the field, getting into the endzone and making the extra point. 

It’s okay! You tell yourself. We still have a 13 point lead. 

Your hope starts to slowly diminish when LSU gets stopped, making this game that once felt like a blowout feel like a one score game, even if Alabama hasn’t scored yet. You were right to feel that way, because with Alabama’s momentum picking up, and a few costly penalties on LSU, the Tide is in the end zone once again, making the score 33-27 with 14 minutes left in the game. 

Anything could happen now, and the only pressure continues to mound as the clock ticks down and the crowd grows louder. Each down feels like life or death as the LSU offense makes their way downfield, some plays causing your heart to lurch in the best and worst way possible. Joe gets a big run on 3rd and 5, sprinting 15 yards to get to the five yard line, knocking on the door of the end zone yet again. You thank god when Clyde makes a spin move around the pile, waltzing in for a touchdown to add another six points to your lead. At 39-27, Coach O wants to go for two points to make it a 14 point game, so that if Alabama does manage to get two touchdowns, they don’t automatically win on the extra point. That plan goes out the window when Joe throws an incomplete, but you tell yourself you can worry about that if Alabama manages to get two touchdowns. 

The Tide is starting to get scrappy, desperate for any points they can get their hands on as they move down the field. Ten minutes is a lot of time in football, but if you’re Alabama, you don’t just want to come back and win, you want to come back and embarrass your opponent. It’s all gas no breaks, with Bama screeching down the field to the five yard line, converting on a key 4th and 4 along the way. You’re back at fourth down on the five, every LSU fan cheering their heads off for the defense to hold them, but it’s no use. Tua throws a perfect out route TD, making it 39-24. Joe needs to score a touchdown to keep them from being able to tie it up on the final drive. A field goal would stretch their lead to 8, but then Alabama could still match them with a two point conversion–a touchdown would seal the game.

The crowd knows this, making noise on every play as if it’s third down just to try to throw the LSU offense. Sweat drips on your forehead, and your heartbeat rattles against your chest with no mercy, every bit of you begging for this drive to go well. You think of Joe, and the pressure he puts on himself, the weight of the state on his back and the eyes of the Heisman voters looming large. You think of his small confession to you after the Mississippi game. 

“You know…I think we can do it. I think we can beat anyone. Everyone.”

“You can do anything,” you whisper to yourself as you watch Joe take the field with daring confidence, recalling the response you gave to him that night. 

The drive starts off well enough, a long shot down the middle to Ja’marr giving LSU good momentum going into Alabama territory. Your emotions immediately flop again when Joe is sacked, but he’s not going down that easy, because the next play is another laser to Justin, putting them at the 35. After a run and a checkdown it’s 3rd and 2 at the 23, so you’re willing to kick a field goal if you’re stopped–but Joe doesn’t want a field goal. He drops back, watching as the pocket collapses and takes his opportunity to sprint downfield, getting 15 or so yards to get the 1st and goal at the seven yard line. 

“Come on, come on,” you whisper to yourself, looking over at Tay anxiously, who’s brows are also furrowed from stretch. She gives you a knowing look, showing she’s in the same boat you are, and you both turn your attention back onto the field for the snap. 

It’s a handoff to Clyde who heads to the outside, almost getting tripped up behind the line of scrimmage until he stiff arms, holding the defender off. Another player stuffs him up, stopping his momentum for a moment–but he can’t bring Clyde to the ground. He spins to break the tackle, taking two more steps forward to get into the end zone. A loud cry rips out of you, and you throw your hands up into the touchdown signal as all the girls around you start jumping and hugging unapologetically. Tay is quick to wrap you in a hug, both of you hopping around and cheering out of pure glee and relief. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” You scream over the LSU band, the smile never leaving your face as you all try to gather yourselves for a touchdown cheer. You hit every mark, but immediately turn back towards the field once your job is done. The sideline is alive, and your laughs bubble out uncontrollably when you notice Joe who’s doing a victory tour of head butts and high fives, every player and coach approaching him with congratulations or a hyped up cheer. Your heart swells as you watch him, knowing just how hard he’s worked and just how badly he wanted this.

Alabama scored a quick go ahead touchdown, but they still have to recover the onside kick, which would take a miracle. You hold your breath as the kick bounces, and cheer once again when Justin recovers the ball, securing LSU’s victory. 

Players, reporters, and coaches flood the field, pleasantries being exchanged as the sorry Alabama fans sluggishly exit the stadium. You laugh and converse with your teammates, each one of you absolutely glowing from a stellar win against one of the best teams in the nation. Every part of you is so happy, floating like a feather as you all grab your poms and materials to pack onto the bus. As you skip to the locker room with your friends, you catch a glimpse of another TV, showing the beginnings of an interview with Clyde. Suddenly Joe is on the screen, having no care for the live broadcast and grabbing Clyde’s shoulders, screaming into his ear with a huge smile on his face. Clyde and the interviewer laugh, welcoming Joe to the interview as he slings an arm around Clyde’s shoulder in a brotherly manner, towering over the 5 '7 running back. 

The CBS caster asks Clyde a few questions about the game before moving on to Joe. It’s all the usual post game stuff, until she asks a question that makes your ears perk up. “They call a draw play for you at the end there, you get the first down, you stand up. Was that your Heisman moment?” The interviewer asks, clearly wanting to know if Joe’s heard the noise surrounding him and the award for the best player in college football.

Joe just laughs with wide, unsure eyes. “I don’t know about all that, you know. We’re not done yet, it’s game nine. We got three more in the regular season then the SEC Championship, you know…this was never our goal, we got bigger goals than this,” Joe expertly avoids the question, humbly reiterating that there’s still more work to do before anyone starts thinking about awards or trophies.

Oh, he’s getting that Heisman, you think to yourself, full of complete and utter pride for the man you’d like to call yours. 

“Come on, there’s still people here!” Grace is suddenly tugging your arm, giddy as she tries to get you to come back on the field.

“What do you mean?” You laugh, letting her drag you wherever she’s headed.

“The fans. No one in LSU colors has left yet, and they’re all gathering along the barricade, let’s go!” She squeals, and bursts into a run with you hand in hand. When you make it back onto the field, you notice what she means. The stands are already barren, not an Alabama fan in sight, but on the other side of the endzone, there are a couple hundred people in purple and gold gathered in a clump, cheering at the crowd of remaining players and coaches in front of them. To your surprise, Grace guides you into the small sea of LSU players, coaches, and media, on her tiptoes in search of someone. It’s not long before she’s racing towards Justin, at least as fast as she can in a clump of loud, rowdy football players, and wraps him up in a big hug. You cackle at the two of them as they sway and hop around a little, then get curious as to whether or not Joe would want to see you. You think of the reporters, every sports station likely vying for any thread of his attention, and almost back out of the crowd until two strong hands grip your waist, flipping you around and pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

Joe. 

He lifts you off the ground slightly and shakes you like a rag doll, causing unfiltered laughs to fall from both of your lips. “You did it, congratulations!” You cheer, keeping your arms around his shoulders for stability as he puts you down and starts swaying. 

“That was so fucking fun,” Joe says in your ear. “I don’t know why anyone does drugs.” This makes you giggle stupidly, the both of you high on emotions and a much needed victory. He pulls back and you’re both beaming, until his face slowly softens as he looks in your eyes.

“I need to ask-” Joe grabs your hand, but it’s quickly ripped away when one of his defensive linemen bends down to hoist Joe onto his shoulder. Joe looks panicked for a moment until he’s up, and everyone around you immediately starts cheering as the King of Louisiana is put on display. The panic leaves Joe’s eyes as he looks over to the crowd of people still in the stands, who start hooting like crazy for him. Joe smiles, and puts up two L’s with his fingers, for Louisiana, and sticks out his tongue cockily for a goofy picture. He’s treated like royalty has the lineman whisks him off the field, both you and Grace laughing and joking when he shrugs and waves at you. There’s only one chant you hear as you start to follow the crowd of players into the tunnel, the booming sound and the claps carrying through the stadium and out into the night sky…

“Joe for Heisman! Joe for Heisman! Joe for Heisman!”

The ride home is joyful, but turns serene. For the first half you’re celebratory, dancing to your favorite songs, telling stories from the intense matchup, revealing the Alabama players who shit talked the most. But you are eventually pulled back down to Earth, your adrenaline no longer subduing the aches and pains you acquired during the long, physical game. A memory pops into your head from the postgame celebration, when Joe sounded like he needed to tell you something. You ask him about it, thinking now would be a perfect time since you’re finally away from the hubbub of the game, but he just nervously laughs in response, claiming to have forgotten. You’re skeptical, but let it slide for now, putting your focus back on the Star Wars movie you agreed on. When you arrive back in Baton Rouge, you’re expecting to simply get back in your cars and go home. 

The bus is still moving through the parking lot as you’re packing up your items, and the faint sound of cheering causes you to look out the window. You’re left speechless when you notice that there are crowds and crowds of people in LSU gear, all lining the path of the buses with signs and fist pumps. It’s the middle of the night, pitch black, but lined along chain linked fences are hundreds of LSU fans and students, cheering for players as they exit the bus. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, tapping your friends around you. “Look!” You point out the window, and everyone’s jaws drop.

“What the fuck?” Ja’marr says dumbfounded. 

“No way,” Tay gasps. 

“Are they here for us?” Justin asks in disbelief, each of you leaning over to see that as you keep moving, the crowd just keeps going, getting larger and larger as you get closer to the parking lot. When you do finally park behind a long chain linked fence, you see that the fence is lined with hundreds more fans, all cheering on players as they get off the bus. As everyone else on the bus notices the crowds, each of you start clamoring to get off, wanting to see the people’s faces yourselves. You’re right behind Joe as he thanks the driver, taking his first few steps off the bus and being welcomed by a booming wave of cheers, the crowd exploding as they recognize Joe as their Heisman-deserving QB1. 

“Holy shit,” Kelia whispers behind you in shock, both of you laughing as Joe warily approaches the crowd. He reaches his hand out against the fence, the cheers growing even louder as he makes contact and starts running along the line of the fence, accepting hoots and hollers as he passes. You and Kelia step off the bus in awe, letting Ja’marr copy Joe’s actions in greeting the grateful crowd in front of you. You all spend a few minutes out there, the boys showing their appreciation for the support with waves and high fives, before it really is time to hit the hay. 

The car ride back to Joe’s is far from what you expected. He’s fidgety and closed off, only taking quick glances at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, the sweat on his palms showing on the steering wheel. You never see Joe get nervous, and you can’t help but think it’s because of you. 

What did he need to tell me earlier? Is he okay? Did I do something wrong?

Doubt starts to flood into your mind, and neither of you end up exchanging a word as you make your way up to Joe’s apartment. He unlocks the door, then drops both of your bags off on the couch with a sigh, slowly turning back towards you. He looks at you, fully looks at you for the first time since the bus, and you can see it in his eyes.

He’s hiding something. 

Whatever it is doesn’t stop him from approaching you slowly, laying a gentle hand on your lower back before pulling you in for a slow, sweet kiss. He pulls a hand up to cradle your jaw as he captures your lips, completely tame and unhurried. It’s like he's just tasting you, enjoying you in his embrace. No heat, just a warm blanket and an electrifying spark that could keep you giddy for days on end. Every touch, every caress feels like a barrier of protection, an act of devotion towards you. 

You don’t know how long the two of you share this kiss before you pull away, Joe chasing your lips but just letting them land on your cheek. 

“What’s that for?” You ask, both of you sporting wide grins with your noses still inches apart. 

“Is it a crime to kiss m-” Joe stops himself, stammering for a second as the silence overtakes the room. He pulls away from you quickly, his cheeks flushed and his body language bashful, and you’ve decided you’ve had enough of the back and forth. 

“Okay, what is going on? Are you going to tell me?” You huff, crossing your arms and furrowing your brows. He’s being so cagey, and it’s making you nervous. Is it about what you did after the game? Should you not have gone up to him?

“No, nothing is going on, this is just…” he trails off, losing his words and sighing defeatedly. You get absolutely nothing out of that, so you throw your hands up, turning to just start getting ready for bed.

Guess we’re going to bed annoyed. 

“Okay wait, wait. There is something I need to tell you,” Joe stammers out, scratching the back of his neck. You turn to him expectantly, motioning for him to go on. “This is just a horrible time, I wanted to have this whole thing,” he then groans, his eyes starting to dart around as a nervous habit. “But I can’t wait to tell you so I’m just going to do it.”

After that he just starts blabbing to you in the most awkward but cute way, in the most Joe way, and your heart doesn’t quite know how to handle it. “I just want you to be with me. I want to see you after every game, and I just…I just want you here. All the time. You’re the first person I want to tell anything to. I jog off the field thinking about your smile. I’m so jealous those fuckers in the stands get to look at it all game. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, and I know I’m not getting it right, but…fuck. Be my girlfriend. Be my girlfriend, and I promise, I promise, I’ll never let you worry about the tomatoes in your salad, or getting cold on the bus, or finding a ping pong partner, and I’ll definitely never let you even think that I want anyone else, because I don’t. I just can’t do any of this…life…without you. I don’t know how the fuck I was doing it before.”

His speech stuns you to silence, and there’s only one thing running through your brain.

He knows me.

“Say something?” Joe asks desperately, his voice small, like he’s said something wrong. “Please?”

You can’t say anything. You simply take two steps forward, fishing the collar of Joe’s shirt in your hand before pulling his lips to yours. The slow, deep, passionate kisses return, both of your lips telling each other how you really feel without speaking any words at all. Wide smiles occasionally interrupt, the both of you too smitten to keep kissing for long until one of you just has to bust out a grin. Eventually you’re both laughing, your forehead gently resting against his as you hold each other, swaying slowly back and forth.

“Yes,” you whisper, rubbing your palms in circles on Joe’s shoulders. “I’ll be your girlfriend, you dork.”

“Think we can work around your quarterback allergy?” Joe smiles, a cocky but amused grin stretching wide across his face.

“It’ll be tough, but I’ll take my chances,” you laugh, leaning in to place another small peck on his soft lips. Now Joe’s officially yours, you’re nervous you’ll get too addicted to his plump lips, kissing him every chance you get even if it’s small. 

The both of you fall into bed like you’re on a cloud, soaring high above Baton Rouge in your own little world. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get sleepy, finally together and content in your intertwined lives, and the warmth that overtakes you when Joe pulls the comforter up is nothing compared to the warmth in your heart when you lock eyes with your boyfriend. 

You sprawl out on your side when Joe goes to grab a water, noticing a bright light coming from his bedroom window. A goofy smile stretches across your face and you stare out at the sky for a few minutes, watching as the waxing gibbous slowly rounds to almost full completion, presenting the most powerful phase–the full moon. Representative of abundance and achievement, a time where you reap the rewards of seeds planted long before, harvesting them in celebration and gratitude. 

A warm, calloused hand finds your waist and flattens itself against your stomach, pulling you back slightly until you’re pressed against Joe’s hard chest. His lips softly press on your shoulder, pecking you a few times before following your gaze out onto the vast Louisiana horizon. “I’ll take you to the moon, baby,” He mumbles, rubbing circles with his thumb onto your stomach and pressing another light kiss to your shoulder. Your heart squeezes as you look up at Joe, feeling as content as you ever have, not a worry in your head. You doze off peacefully, dreaming of galaxies far, far away, where football players can be astronauts, and tigers roam free as equals to humans. One of them curls up next to you in bed and promises protection from a cold world full of vegetables, solo ping pong, and boys that don’t know you. 

He knows me.

[softieteez]

chomp that gator . joe burrow

summary - Mission Rebound was a resounding success. Now, you have to find a way to deal with the after effects as the busiest season of your life comes into full swing. (Read the first part of this series here) pairings - TigerGirl!Reader x LSU!Joe warnings - Language, angst, fluff, cheater, Joe’s kinda an asshole, reader’s kinda petty, SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI!) yet again THE SLOWEST OF SLOWBURNS!!!!, dom!joe and sub!reader on the lowest of keys

a/n - Election night got me stressed BEYOND compare so, I'm sorry she's pretty late 🥲 First off THANK YOU for so much love and support on this series! I was not expecting this at all, so thank you for being so loving and welcoming I could cry and hope you like :)

Some songs for this chapter if that’s your vibe (in chronological order):

Coffee - Chappell Roan Fortnight - Taylor Swift (feat. Post Malone) Mama I Lied - Megan Moroney supernatural - Ariana Grande Set It Off - Boosie Badazz The Elevator - Lizzy McAlpine 

taglist - @platinumsim, @baekpop05, @flavingfrick, drop a comment if you wanna be on the taglist! word count - 22.1k

KELIA CAN'T GET off her phone. She’s a sucker for attention, and has been meticulously tracking every new Instagram follow that’s appeared in her notifications ever since the oh so famous Joe Burrow graced her with a tag in his post taunting a masterclass win against the Texas Longhorns. Of course the follows are few and far between, by young fans or small football accounts, but as Kelia would say, “Numbers are numbers.”

“Ugh, fame is getting to me,” Kelia sighs from her sprawled out position on your old loveseat, tossing her phone beside her dramatically. “I’ll be expecting a brand deal in my inbox ASAP, no Rocky.”

“Someone pull her ass back down to Earth,” Tay scoffs, shoving Kelia’s legs to the side abruptly before taking their place on the couch. You laugh at their antics, slowly lowering yourself to a criss-cross applesauce position in front of the coffee table. The dull throb in the muscles on your inner thighs intensifies when you maneuver your legs, causing a soft groan to leave your lips when you finally get comfortable. 

“Never mind that,” Grace squeals from the front door, quickly locking it. She immediately whips around to you, a wide smile spreading across her face as she prances up to you and plops down on the carpet. “Mission Rebound was totally successful!” Your cheeks are suddenly very red as cheers and claps fill the room, not sure how prepared you are for the post-brunch grilling about your night with Joe.

“Oh my god-”

“You both were glowing, you don’t understand-”

“-had to have been good.”

“Okay, okay,” You project over your jabbering friends, covering your face with your hands and grinning like a silly teenager. “Yes, it was successful.”

“But was it successful?” Kelia questions with a sassy look and a raised brow.

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the question, and the memories that come with it. You can almost feel Joe’s hot breath tingling by your thighs, his massive, calloused hands gripping your hips, and his full, soft lips brushing over your neck. “It was most definitely successful,” You mumble, each of your roommates responding with squeals and giggles of excitement.

“Oh my god, Cam could never!” Grace laughs.

“Wait!” Tay wails over the commotion, abruptly sitting up and staring at you with wide eyes. When everyone falls silent, a sly grin stretches across her face. “I have to know…” She says in a low voice. “Is it big?”

The girls latch on to your every word. You groan, recalling the feel of him inside you and wondering how on Earth you managed. “Yes. Like, what the fuck?” You respond.

“It’s those football boys,” Grace muses with a wide smirk and a wink, referencing the similar conversations you have all had with her about Justin. 

“Well, I’m so glad we’ve learned that I am always right, and everyone should always listen to my amazing ideas,” Kelia nods firmly, crossing her arms. 

“Yeah yeah,” You deadpan and roll your eyes.

“Honestly, I’m kind of hoping for an extension on this mission. You guys are so cute,” Tay points out, in a sing-songy tone. 

“I mean…are you into him?” Grace asks quietly, bringing a hand up to her mouth to bite on her nail nervously. “Like, for real into him, not just the sex.”

Bile catches in your throat when you go to speak, a soft “No”, waiting to escape. Alarm bells go off in your brain when you can’t bring yourself to say the word, a truth that’s been whispering in the back of your mind now surfacing once you allow yourself to fully reflect on the mere week you’ve spent getting to know Joe.

He’s kind. You know this well. He opens the door for you, maintains thoughtful eye contact when you speak to him, and has never treated you like you’re less than. He snatched Tay’s phone when she showed him a picture of her cat back home, pouting uncontrollably, and you could've sworn you saw his eyes gloss over as he asked question after question about the small animal. He smiled warmly at the three little boys that waited through all of Wednesday practice to meet him, joking and laughing with them easily, handing out as many signatures and pictures as requested. He’s kind, but he’s also hard working, humble, strong, and stable. Everything you know a true man to be.

These memories flow through you as Grace’s question resonates. One in particular memory glosses over the rest.

“It’s a waxing crescent.” 

“Yeah…you pay attention to the moon’s cycle?”

“I love space. The moon phases can tell us a lot about our lives.” 

Your heart squeezes at the thought, softening just as it did that night when you watched Joe’s blue eyes illuminate in the glow of the moon.

He loves space.

A sigh rips through you as you realize none of this is simple. Your feelings are already complicated, and you’ve known the guy for a week. You pull your knees up to your chin to keep your stomach from twisting and twirling, avoiding your friends’ expectant looks.

“I don’t know,” You finally reply. “He’s a great guy, I think it would be worth a shot, but I’ve known him for a week.”

Kelia hums, nodding in agreement. “I get that, Cam was traumatizing. Knowing when you’re ready can be scary,” She replies quietly in a comforting manner.

“Maybe he is worth a shot, just not right now,” Grace suggests, shrugging. You process your teammates’ advice, weighing the options of protecting your heart or jumping in headfirst.

“Or a slow shot,” Tay chirps up. “You know, try it out, but take it slow?” Your mind races with the options, not sure how Joe would react to any of this. 

You think back to the moments after you were done, when Joe was kind and nurturing–but you zero in on the look he gave you after he asked about Cam. Pure pity. The feelings you had in that moment resurface quickly, and that queasy feeling of embarrassment and shame settles in your stomach. Joe was gentle and caring. But you wonder if there was a part of him that did it because he felt like he had to. Because he felt bad for you.

You realize that as much as you’re dreading it, you have to talk to Joe about this, and soon. 

 A long groan rips through you and you shove your face into your knees, curling up to try to hide away from the problem you knew this would cause. Mission Rebound’s fatal flaw. “I need to talk to him,” You finally announce with a sigh. “We can come to a conclusion together.”

Hums of agreement and nods fill the room. “That’s definitely the best idea hun,” Kelia coos sympathetically. Each of you know the toll a situationship can take all too well, and the vibrant energy that once engulfed the room is now stiff, riddled with emotion and wonderings of what if. 

“Well, it’s not going to happen immediately is it? So I say we get our bags, our books, and our brains, and do some work at the library!” Grace chirps as she springs up from her seat, cutting through the tension with her cheery, positive attitude. Tay chimes in with an agreeing smile and a cheer, while Kelia unabashedly whines and throws her head back. Their antics cause you to let out a small laugh, relieving only an ounce of the anxiety you feel starting to mount and swirl in your stomach.

None of that is happening right this second. I will control what I can control, which is my schoolwork!

Your self pep talk keeps you somewhat present, at least enough to pull your knees from your chest and stand to your full height. “Let’s get to work,” You announce, putting your hands on your hips confidently, beaming when your friends let out cheers of agreement.

“To the library!”

Bullshit is back in order the next day, and it’s almost laughable how quickly you snap back into your regular routine. The rigor of fall sports season is no joke, so while your night off was fun, reality comes crashing down on you in the form of a 6:30am workout. You and your roommates slid out of your beds lazily, trudging through campus as the sunrise started to peek out from the horizon. Your good morning wave to Mike, LSU’s real-life tiger mascot, was not nearly as enthusiastic as usual, though it might’ve had something to do with the fact that he was still getting his beauty rest on a comfortable looking rock, and you were jealous you couldn’t do the same.

Getting into the facility and prepping felt like a blur, almost as if you didn’t actually wake up until Coach Kandace ordered you to run five laps around the field as a quick warm up. By the end of the session your muscles are aching, and your skin is sticky, but the endorphins coursing through you makes it all feel worth it. 

With some time to spare until your next class, you made sure to take a plunge in one of the ice baths in the recovery rooms in hopes of keeping your body movable for practice later tonight. After a grueling, frigid ten minutes, you had just enough time to quickly shower and change for your first class of the day. 

It felt the way it always did–the long walk to the Law Center all the way on the opposite side of campus, the smell of the bright flowers that adorn the entrance to the grand building, the long but enamoring lecture on constitutional law, the long line at CC’s Coffee House that you’re more than willing to stand in for a fresh brew. That is until after you grab your coffee, and you whip around towards the exit to see Cam standing right by it, caught up in conversation with some friend. 

Just walk past. Maybe he won’t see you.

You hesitate for a moment before jutting your chin up, taking a long sip of your iced drink, and making a beeline for the door, making sure with absolute certainty that your head isn’t pointed in Cam’s direction. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me, please don’t see me…

He surely sees you, because your name is called out in a questioning tone, followed by a louder, “Hey, wait!” Panic alarms go off in your mind, but you keep your head straight and push open the door, hoping if you ignore the problem that it will take a hint and magically disappear. As you step out into the Louisiana heat, the pace of your legs picks up, and you’re feeling grateful you took that ice bath. 

“No, no, stop!” Cam continues to call out as the sound of his thudding footsteps behind you grows closer and closer, causing the panic alarms going off in your mind to blare louder and louder. He finally calls out your name desperately, and your eyes squeeze shut while your feet unwillingly come to a harsh halt. 

Fuck.

Your shoulders slump in defeat as you turn, coming face to face with Cam with what you hope is a beyond pissed expression. Seeing him up close, with his attention on you for the first time in a while isn’t as easy as you thought it’d be, and you can feel yourself already being pulled between crying right here on the ground, screaming at him, and slapping him.

“What the fuck do you want?” You spit out, in no mood to deal with the nonsense. 

“I just want to talk,” He explains with pleading eyes, raising his hands in an innocent gesture. “Two minutes and I’m done.” You sigh, knowing your decision making skills are going to suffer at this moment. After two years together and no contact for a couple months you have to admit you’re curious what he has to say. He’s clearly desperate to talk to you, and it might be nice to reject whatever bullshit he wants to get out of this. 

“Two minutes, and if it gets shitty I’m walking away,” You agree sternly, pulling out your phone to get the time before shoving it back in your pocket and begrudgingly placing a hand on your hip. 

“Okay, okay,” He breathes out. “I just…I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Your eyes are immediately in the back of your head, rolled so far out of existence. “I know! I know that’s…” He trails off, not quite man enough to admit how wrong he’s been, and you’re about ten seconds away from saying you’ve had enough of the conversation.

“Is that it?” You sneer flatly, wondering why the fuck you stopped in the first place.

“No, no…my mom said she saw you at the game on Saturday. Before we played,” He explains calmly, his face softening as he recalls the moment. “She told me she misses you. And…I kind of agreed.”

“That’s funny, you should’ve thought about that before fucking someone else,” You say exasperatedly, surprised you even have to explain this to a twenty year old. “This is getting shitty, by the way,” You warn, your voice rising as your brows furrow. 

“She doesn’t get me!” Cam complains, his voice squirming in desperation as the conversation is clearly not going the way he wanted it to.

“I’m searching for the reasons I’m supposed to care,” You snap back with fire.

He whines your name quietly, trying to collect himself before continuing, his voice turning soft. “You know, she makes hot cocoa all wrong. Uses water. Not even a single marshmallow in sight.” Amusement strikes you for a moment, remembering when Cam would refuse to drink his cocoa unless it was absolutely perfect. Made with whole milk and as many marshmallows as you could pile on. “Don’t you miss having someone know you? Like, really know you?”

Your bad bitch attitude falters at this statement, because it’s unfortunate how right he is. During the fall, the busiest and most hectic season of your life, stability is what you need. A guaranteed pick-me-up, someone who knows your routine, someone familiar. This guessing game you’re in with Joe? It’s fun, thrilling even. But there’s no stability. 

“I fucked up…I really did. In reality, she was just a friend from home I hadn’t seen in a while. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and I didn’t mean to lose you,” He says delicately, staring at his feet as he shuffles them around. You hate how your heart feels torn. You know this can’t ever happen. You know you can’t give him an ounce of what he wants or he’ll be able to run with it. You just miss the comfort.

“I just miss being friends. If that’s all I can do, I get it,” He reasons, looking back into your eyes with vulnerability. “I want to earn your trust back.” He finishes with a bitter smile, his shoulders slightly slumped from the heavy conversation.

“Also I um…I have something,” Cam mutters when his face lights up, slinging his backpack off and onto the ground so he can unzip it. You almost gasp when he pulls out a deep red sweater you’ve worn countless times, hand-knitted by his mom as a Christmas gift. The light outerwear was a staple in your closet for a couple months, especially during those perfect weeks when it’s just warm enough to not need a jacket, but there’s enough of a chill to carry a light layer. What’s more significant is the fact that you wore it almost every time you knew you were going to see Cam’s mom, because you will never forget the look of pure bliss on her face when you told her you loved her gift. 

You didn’t bother to come back to Cam’s apartment for any of your things when you ended things, and assumed he just threw them away. Looks like he kept this.

“I uh, had it washed. Unscented dryer sheets,” He comments, awkwardly shifting his weight under his feet and bringing his arm up to scratch the back of his neck as he hands you the sweater. Your heart softens as you grasp the knitted fabric, reminiscing on the times you’d leave so many of your clothes at Cam’s that you’d just do a load of laundry. Any kind of lavender is too sweet, and lemon smells like cleaning supplies, so you’ve always used unscented dryer sheets in order to not cringe every time you put on your clothes. Cam eventually bought a box for you that he kept at his place, so you wouldn’t have to suffer through the bitter, tangy scent of his usual citrus ones. 

He knows me. That’s for sure.

You shake your head to throw the memory away, reminding yourself once again that he cheated, and that’s far from what you deserve. 

Ugh. Fuck. You growl to yourself as frustration boils in you. Why’d he have to talk to me?

“Thank you,” You respond timidly, meeting his eyes with a ginger expression. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself and gain the courage to walk away, repeating to yourself over and over again the reason it all ended. Remembering her, that hometown friend fully bare for Cam, his back muscles taut as he lifts and pulls the legs on either side of his head wider, the unmistakable stench of sweat, sex and taboo hanging heavy in the air. The image burns as it sears through your brain. 

The entire altercation plays over and over in your brain as you carry yourself around campus, searching for any evidence of truth in Cam’s words. Your legs are on autopilot, finding a new assignment in the mailbox of a professor, stopping to pet a cute dog, catching up with a freshman Tiger Girl you run into–but no matter how hard you try to brush it off, fragments of your conversation echo through your brain like a broken record, being dissected and analyzed like you’re performing an autopsy. 

You’re so distracted your coffee still remains half full. And you love coffee.

In the midst of your thoughts, your phone buzzes lightly in the pocket of your athletic shorts. You fish it out, and check the notification.

Joe: Hey, I got a QB meeting in a little bit, but do you have time to come to mine? We should talk

Oh fuck, You think to yourself. You were so caught up with Cam, that he beat you to it. That’s fine.

You: That sounds like a great idea actually. I’ll be there in 30?

You let out a nervous breath as you type, a little annoyed his message gave no clear indication of what side of this discussion he’d be on. If he wants nothing to do with you, that could sting, but if he’s immediately hoping for something more, you can only hope he somewhat agrees that you’re not in the best spot. A part of you would love to just jump into his arms with no rationality, but every other part of you knows that wouldn’t be smart for either of you. There’s already a part of you that’s hurting because of the horrible timing. 

You take your time getting to Joe’s, enjoying the slight breeze and shade the clouds provide from the blazing Louisiana heat that usually beats down on you, even when clad in athletic shorts and a tank top. The fresh air helps you breathe better, and leaves you somewhat collected when you approach 

“Hey,” Joe greets you with a smile, in lazy black sweats and a maroon tee naming a Cleveland basketball player you couldn’t recognize with a gun to your head. He looks to be enjoying the luxuries of online class, his squinting eyes a sure sign he hasn’t seen the sun since his lift this morning. He looks cute.

“Hey,” You breathe out, the anticipation killing you at this point. 

“Come in, it’s way too hot,” Joe mutters, glaring up at the sun behind you as he opens the door wider and steps slightly to the side. You let out a breathy laugh at his expression before stepping into his chilled apartment, basking in the air conditioning for a moment before setting your backpack by the door and peering around. Now that you’re in this room with the lights on, you can see that he’s generally clean, and admire the small, boyish attempts at decorations that litter the scene. A couple framed family pictures. A star wars lego set that centerpieces the coffee table. A UFC poster. A hand-carved, hand-painted wooden Cavaliers logo.

“Do you need anything? Water?” Joe asks politely as he strides into the kitchen, already pulling a glass from a cabinet. You snap your head back to him so you don’t look like you’re totally snooping, dismissing his offer with a shake of your coffee and an, “I’m good, thanks.”

He pulls the glass aside for himself and fills it from the filter on the fridge, taking a couple big gulps as he turns back towards you. Your mind starts racing again, frustrated and reeling over the fact that you’ve never been able to read him. In any other situation you’d know exactly how the other guy was feeling…with Joe, your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest because of the unpredictability. You don’t really know what to do with yourself, so you try to casually put one hand on the island countertop separating the two of you, leaning on it slightly in a faux nonchalant manner. Meanwhile, your heart rate turns erratic amidst the sound of Joe gulping down that water like his life depends on it.

When he finishes he places the glass down on the counter between you and grips the edge of the marble with both hands spread, him also beginning to lean forward towards you. You raise your brows expectantly, hanging on to his every expression for clues as to what’s going to happen right now. All you see is uncertainty and darting eyes.

“Okay let me cut to the chase,” He starts, finally looking in your eyes. He goes quiet again after that, seemingly searching for his words as his mouth opens and closes a few times, on the brink of laying it all out on the table without actually saying anything at all.

Come on Joe, spit it out!

“If I’m being really honest, I just don’t do hookups, so I don’t really know how you’re feeling,” He stutters out slowly and awkwardly while darting his eyes around the room, causing your breath to catch and shoulders to tense. “So um, yeah…” He trails off, his eyes finally landing on you.

You stare back at him blankly, not sure what to make of that horribly questionable start to this conversation. One look at his lost, frozen face, and you now can see he’s just as nervous as you. You realize, you’ve never seen Joe nervous.

And it’s hilarious.

An unstoppable grin stretches across your face, and Joe just furrows his brows and tilts his head to the side. His reaction elicits a full blown laugh out of you, and you shake your head as the tension leaves your body. 

Neither of us know what the fuck we’re doing!

As you laugh and Joe just continues to fall further into a pit of confusion, his hands eventually rest on his hips and his face falls to an unamused expression. “Alright, what the fuck,” Joe questions monotonously. 

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” You choke out through cackles, waving your hands and trying to catch your breath until you finally sober and explain. “I just came here all freaked out and scared this was going to turn into something huge, and you’re just as lost as me.”

“Well, yes, I am lost,” Joe groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking a second to think before stalking over to his couch. “Just, come sit,” He beckons you over, plopping onto his plush couch and patting the spot next to him. You walk over and place yourself where his hand once was, crossing your arms and preparing for what he has to say.

“You’re so great. You’re so smart, and strong, and funny, and fucking gorgeous–like really, just, incredibly beautiful–and I’m kicking myself because of course this happens right now. I’ve never felt better about how I’m playing, and giving everything I can to this team, and this state is so important to me. I’m afraid if we take a shot at this, that I can’t give it my all. It wouldn’t be the opportunity I think we deserve,” Joe gets out, clearly not someone who’s used to talking much about his feelings. You let out a deep sigh at his words, somewhat relieved that you’re on a similar page. 

“Okay,” You start, nodding as his words settle in your brain.

“But…” He interrupts, looking slightly panicked until his voice goes soft. “But I don’t want you to think I’m not into you.” The vulnerability in his voice puts you back on edge, the air between you thickening. He looks down and picks at a callous on his palm, swallowing before looking back up at you. “I really do want to try this, I’m just…scared. I don’t want to mess it up, and I already sound like an asshole,” He confesses, letting out a dry laugh after his last comment and going back to picking at his hand. The silence that fills the room afterwards is hesitant. Anticipant. Cautious.

The palpable energy in the air starts to consume you as you realize it’s your turn. He’s waiting on you. The unmistakable weight of this moment and all it will determine going forward pushing down on you hard, so sickening you almost choke on it. You caught him just as nervous, but he’s caught you just as scared, just as anxious to make the wrong move. 

You decide you don’t want either of you to feel as obligated as you do right now. Maybe everything would be better if all the pressure was off. 

“I don’t want to mess it up either,” You breathe out, shaking your head as your thoughts run rampant. “I just got out of this relationship, and you’re so right about us being in season, everything is insane right now,” You manage to explain, both of you meeting each other's gaze in mutual understanding, and taking a deep breath together. 

“Maybe…we just see where this all goes,” You offer, knowing in your heart this is the best way to move forward without completely shutting the door. It may be shaky, and leave some open-ended questions, but at least some of your anxieties can be relieved knowing you and Joe feel similarly. 

Joe stares at you blankly, slowly starting to nod. “Okay…so, timeout?” He asks innocently, pulling his hands up to his chest and making a T hand signal. His brows raise questioningly and you laugh at his football talk. 

“Yes, timeout,” You confirm, with a nod and a smile. “Friends. For now.”

Joe lets out a long sigh of relief, letting his long body fall backwards into his comfy sofa, and you breathe out with him, feeling your shoulders finally drop. There’s a comfortable silence you both sit in for a minute, until Joe emits a dry chuckle. “I feel so much better,” He comments. 

“Me too,” You agree with a nod, feeling your stomach finally settle as your anxiety diminishes, the feeling being replaced by a hollowing hole. As if on cue, your stomach grumbles angrily, the banana you had this morning and the coffee you’re only halfway through drinking no longer sufficient enough to keep your body upright. You widen your eyes and press your lips together in embarrassment, flicking your eyes over to Joe before he lets out a hearty laugh.

“Do I need to feed you?” Joe teases, a smirk stretching across his face as he stands and heads for the kitchen, not bothering to hear your answer.

“No no, I really need to go do work,” You groan, following him into the kitchen and grabbing your abandoned coffee. “I’ll grab something on my way to the library.”

Joe is already rifling through his pantry and fridge by the time you join him, and lets out a loud scoff at your statement. “Why spend the money? You have to at least take an energy bar. I have watermelon and tomatoes too,” He offers, taking a small tupperware filled with cubed watermelon and a plastic container of cherry tomatoes out of the fridge and placing it on the island in front of you.

That does look good…

You eye the watermelon greedily, the gaping pit in your stomach crying out for just a couple bites, and Joe glances back at you with a knowing look. “Take them,” He orders, going back into the pantry to grab an energy bar.

“I don’t like tomatoes…but I will take the watermelon,” You concede with a wide smile, quickly opening the container and popping a cube in your mouth with a loud chomp. The crisp juice coating your tongue is refreshing, a nice break from the bitter coffee you were nursing. 

“Good,” Joe nods, shoving a pumpkin energy bar into your hand before putting the lonely tomato container back in his somewhat barren fridge.

Ingredient household, You think to yourself, shaking your head slightly.

As you scarf down another piece of watermelon, you retrieve your bag from just by the front door, slinging it onto a stool in front of the island in one swift motion. “Well, I really really do have to study,” You sigh, popping the lid back onto the container so you can travel with it. “Of course I have to read an entire case log and summarize it in all but three days. With this practice schedule? Who the fuck can do that?” You pout, taking out your frustration on the wrapper holding your pumpkin bar hostage.

Joe snorts at your peril, picking up a duffel that was sitting next to the couch and grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Fucking insane people,” He retorts, his lips stretching into a sly smirk afterwards. “So…you.”

“And you know what, I’m taking that as a compliment,” You sass as you put the tupperware in your backpack, glad you’re back to this playful banter so soon after a serious conversation. Everything feels easy like this. 

Joe laughs and heads for the door, opening it for you and exposing you to the harsh blaze of the sun. “C’mon, I’ve got a QB meeting,” He beckons, nodding his head towards the great outdoors with a boyish smile. You make sure you have everything, keys and phone in pocket, watermelon now secured in your bag, pumpkin bar and coffee in hand, before walking out of Joe’s apartment cheerily, throwing a quick, “Thanks!” over your shoulder. 

“Ooo, super top secret quarterback meeting?!” You gasp jokingly. “How prestigious. Will you ever let me in on the game plan to defeat the almighty Northwestern State University of Louisiana?”

“Northwestern?” Joe scoffs, his face quickly morphing into a playful smirk. “I barely need the tape. Just put it in my hands.”

Coach O put it in Joe’s hands, and as suspected, the Tigers blew out Northwestern Demons 65-14 in their second home game of the season. While the final score is pretty, the game itself didn’t look that way until late in the second half when the offense finally found their rhythm. Halfway through the third quarter you and the rest of the football team felt good about securing the win, seeing as Joe’s backup Myles Brennan stepped in to finish the job, but a from couple glances at Joe on the sideline barking at players with a set jaw, you could tell he was far from happy about the efficiency of his offense. Even when he was interviewed at the end of the game he looked agitated, praising his teammates for picking up his slack and ending with a stern, “We gotta do better. Myself included.”

You made sure to remind him afterwards that he still threw for nearly 400 yards and had only three incompletions. He told you he appreciated the sentiment, but did not care.

The farther you get into the season and your course load, the less time you’re able to spend with not only the football boys, but your roommates as well. Long essays and demanding tests start to suck up most of your time outside of practice, with the exception of dreamless sleeping and rare opportunities you get to eat with your friends. 

On Thursday you finally get another dinner with the football players, and you dancers collectively cheer because you’ll be eating good. You cackle as Raya, a freshman, skips down a long corridor that leads to the Big Hall. “God is real!” She cheers, gasping and pulling a hand to her chest when she reaches the grand entrance. You aren’t far behind, taking a moment to fully enjoy the pleasant aroma of fresh comfort food wafting through the air.

“I need this,” You groan, giving Kelia a knowing look when she slings her arm around your shoulder. 

“Me too baby,” She nods in agreement, guiding the both of you in the trail of Raya towards the True Balance section where there’s a big beautiful pot of hot gumbo waiting to be demolished by over 100 athletes. The boys are hot on your tail, the once somewhat peaceful cafeteria becoming packed and boisterous with their presence. Your attempts at continuing to converse with your teammates are futile, especially when a particularly loud Tiger places themselves behind you in line.

“What a fuckin day,” Ja’marr groans, stretching his arms over his head for a few seconds before letting them fall back to his sides.

“Hi Ja’marr,” You greet with an amused smile, watching as he waits until Kelia’s received her food, then requests two servings of gumbo and one of every single side from the cafeteria worker. He’s quick to lean on the counter, dramatically showcasing his lethargic mood.

“Damn unc, you gotta hit some sprints,” Kelia boasts, giving the receiver a particularly hard pat on the back that he’s quick to respond to with a light shove. You shoot Raya a look, the both of you giggling tiredly at their antics.

“I’ll cook your ass in a race, any time, any place,” Ja’marr rolls his eyes, collecting his food from the worker with a quick thank you. 

“Did you get a table yet?” A voice calls out from behind your group, all of you turning to see Joe carrying a tray with a large salad, a green apple and a simple water. 

“Joe,” Ja’marr whines, squinting his eyes at his teammate’s largely green plate. “Get some real food, damn!”

“I am!” Joe’s quick to defend, walking up  and politely asking the same worker for a single serving of gumbo and a corn muffin. Ja’marr is still shaking his head as Joe’s being handed his food, his lips spread in a thin, disapproving line. 

“Have a nice dinner guys!” Raya chirps quietly with a quick wave, likely headed off to sit with the other freshmen as she usually does. As she darts away, Ja’marr manages to accidentally get in her path, causing the two to collide for a split second. “Sorry!” Raya apologizes meekly, her face flushing a deep red as she makes eye contact with Ja’marr.

“Nah, you good,” Ja’marr teases with a light smile, letting his eyes linger on Raya as she continues her beeline for the self-formed freshman table. The rest of you exchange looks, fully aware of Ja’marr’s tendency to sometimes unintentionally, sometimes completely intentionally flirt with everyone. 

“Come on now,” Joe warns as the group starts shuffling over to an open table, flashing Ja’marr an annoyed look.

“Oh, relax,” Ja’marr glares at Joe, waving him off as he slouches into a seat. “Besides, I'm a sophomore, brother. Just ‘cause you old as hell doesn’t mean freshmen aren’t in my age range.” Joe just rolls his eyes and starts chowing down on his gumbo, while the rest of you giggle at Ja’marr’s diss. 

“Yo,” Justin greets as he takes a seat next to Joe, sneaking one last glance over his shoulder at Grace who’s sitting with the other captains for a meeting over dinner. 

Down so bad.

“Man, on that last route, can you make your cut a little sharper? Like damn, you’re supposed to be helping pull the safety off me, and they always see exactly what we’re doing,” Ja’marr immediately starts bickering, finding something from their last practice that needs fixing. They play away against Vanderbilt this weekend, an in-conference game that would be a big win in terms of a playoff spot. 

“Bruh I’m cutting the exact way I’m supposed to. Even throw a lil’ stutter step in there sometimes,” Justin feeds into it, retaliating with the same level of sass. “It’s your break that’s got you all twisted.”

“My break throws them off, it’s a mind game, man,” Ja’marr defends himself, turning to Joe expectantly with his arms crossed. “Joe, who’s right?”

“Oh hell,” Joe groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. Justin and Ja’marr discussing routes is common, but when they do it in a non-practice setting, they like to specifically ask Joe for input because of how much it pisses him off. When you’re not able to talk through the intricacies of the play and physically know the motion in your body, Joe finds the casual conversations surrounding football useless. Besides, he wants to keep their playbook knowledge away from prying ears.

“Joe this is for the team-”

“Yeah Joe, think of the team.”

“Justin you’re only barely getting to the top of your route on that play. Take even two more steps farther upfield, and the safety will start to cheat over. Ja’marr, you are dancing around with them too much. When the ball is snapped, just fuckin go,” Joe explains with a huff, attempting to settle the dispute once and for all. The table is stunned Joe finally gave in to their ridiculous arguing and sits in a moment of silence.

“I told you you’re not cut-”

“But he just said-”

Your attention quickly drifts from the argumentative receivers, glancing around until you lock eyes with someone you really didn’t mean to. Cam keeps his gaze on you as he walks across the large dining area towards a table of other burly men, and his hand raises momentarily to flash you a small but somewhat prolonged wave.

Your eyes immediately narrow, and you shoot your gaze down to your food, stirring the steaming gumbo absentmindedly. It’s out of the question for you to return the gesture, so you try to ignore the moment while your mind races. 

“What the fuck was that?” Kelia asks bluntly, causing the entire table to fall silent. You jerk your head up, noticing all the attention is certainly on you, with the exception of Joe who’s stiff body is turned towards the table Cam is now seated at. 

He saw.

“I don’t know,” You immediately defend, your eyes darting around the table at Ja’marr’s expectant eyes, and Kelia’s judgemental ones. “I mean, he talked to me sometime last week about wanting my forgiveness, maybe he thinks that’s helping.” You explain, rolling your eyes at the end and continuing to distract yourself with your food, trying to make it seem like no big deal. A part of you knows you probably should’ve told your friends about your confusing run in with your ex, and guilt starts to creep in.

“He talked to you?” Joe blurts out, a slight edge to his voice as he whips his head back around to lock eyes with you. You almost flinch at the subtle intensity in his gaze, stuttering slightly before getting your response out.

“Well…yeah,” You mutter, shoving another spoonful of gumbo into your mouth to give yourself time to think of what to say. Everyone stares expectantly, far from letting you off the hook. “It was a stupid conversation,” You explain, shaking your head. “Told me his mom said she misses me, and that he agrees with her. And I asked him why I should give a fuck.”

“Just…you didn’t say anything,” Kelia comments, her energy quickly going from confused to protective. “I don’t like the fact that he thought he could even acknowledge you. You don’t deserve that.”

“Yeah, I know,” You confirm defensively. Maybe a little too defensively. Kelia is reading you like a book, on the prowl for any sign of you giving in to Cam’s requests. You shoot your eyes back to Joe who seems to be thinking the same thing.

“So, when did he talk to you?” Kelia prods, showing a nonchalant facade when in reality, she’s testing you. She wants to see how much you’ll continue to squirm under the pressure, to see if you’ll admit to letting him get in your head. 

“I think…last Tuesday…” You trail off, panicking when you see a hint of recognition in Joe’s features that quickly fade into a hard stare.

“Hmm,” Joe hums, dropping his spoon into his bowl and bringing his hand up to rub his jaw in thought. It clenches beneath his touch, and you see a flash of annoyance in his eyes that are wandering off in the distance. 

No, fuck! You think to yourself. Those two conversations are not related!

You want to defend yourself, but know that this is not at all the time or place. You’re searching for something, anything you could say to hint at it, but nothing comes up. You talked to Cam. Then you talked to Joe. That doesn’t look good for you right now, but it’s what happened. 

“So he just came up to you and wanted you back, is that it?” Kelia asks, continuing to casually chow down as if you’re not absolutely crumbling. You think of that goddamn red sweater, the one that’s now sitting on your desk in your room because you don’t know what to do with it. You can’t put it in your closet, but you don’t want to just throw it away.

“He gave me back a sweater I left at his,” You respond, now only able to look at Kelia, because you’re too scared to see Joe’s reaction.

Kelia stops right in her tracks, her eyes widening in terror as she realizes what exact sweater he must have given back. “That sweater? Tell me it’s gone.”

“I’m going to donate it,” You blurt out.

“You better. It’s got to go.”

“Yeah I know I just…haven’t thought about it really.” Lie.

The air is thick with tension. Kelia simply sighs and goes back to eating her food, while Ja’marr and Justin glance around, likely trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. Joe’s gaze is still off in the distance, his expression now completely drained of emotion. He might as well be taking a walk in the park. You just stare back down at your food, wondering how or even when you’ll be able to talk with him about this, considering you’re both drowning in your respective responsibilities.

This is the downside of a “timeout.”

The more you think about it, the more confused you become. Joe didn’t want anything serious yet either, so why is he getting this worked up about an ex? These complicated feelings are the exact reason you called a timeout. 

Luckily, you can always count on Ja’marr to break your awkward silences. 

“Um…Joe…are you going to finish that?”

You have fun traveling to Nashville, feeling a surge of pride for your school when half of FirstBank Stadium is drenched in purple and gold, despite the distance being over eight hours by car. The experience is even sweeter when even with a home field advantage and an extra bye week to prepare, Vandy’s pitiful defense is no match for LSU’s powerhouse offense. The Tigers get up quick in the first half, scoring four touchdowns in four easy drives–two for Ja’marr, one for Justin, and one for Clyde. It seems like every receiver is wide open, and Vanderbilt’s secondary is useless when it comes to open field tackling after the catch, but the D-line is bulldozer-esque, taking their opportunities on extended plays to get cheap shots at Joe. It always gets you hyped when you watch Joe stomp over to the groups of big, burly linemen after plays to exchange some not-so-nice words, because that means he doesn’t plan on taking his foot off the gas any time soon. 

You’re right, because after two more touchdowns of his own and a touchdown from special teams, Joe comes out of the game at the beginning of the 4th quarter with a total of 398 yards and 6 passing touchdowns. But you were never that worried about the game as it progressed–most of your worry surrounded Justin, who got hurt in the very beginning of the match after his touchdown, and never came back in. You and the rest of the girls didn’t find relief until after the game, when he told you he’d gotten evaluated and would most likely be able to play next week. 

By the time everyone is back in Baton Rouge, you’ve done enough of your homework on the bus to agree to get some post-victory takeout from Torcy’s, a delicious Taco place right outside Tiger Stadium. Ja’marr hoots and hollers when everyone agrees, dancing goofily in the parking lot on the way to your respective vehicles. Eventually the griddy breaks out, both him and Justin performing their own variations of the move. 

“Ayeee, that’s clean!” Kelia points out, starting the vibe out with the two receivers right in front of Joe’s truck and Grace’s poor baby Toyota, Cara. 

“Oh my god, we gotta go,” Tay interrupts their antics and starts pulling on Cara’s passenger side car like an annoyed child. “I am going to turn into a different person within the next fifteen minutes unless I get something to eat.”

“Get in the car then, damn!” Joe retorts as he throws bags into the open trunk, unlocking his own vehicle and stepping up into the driver's seat with a dramatic huff. The boys clamor into Joe’s truck while you and your girls carefully crawl into Cara’s deteriorating backseat, the leather beneath you being held together by nothing but duct tape and a dream. The drive to Torchy’s is short, but leaves enough time for you to fully reflect on the game–more specifically on Joe’s attitude this weekend.

Ever since the group's awkward dinner conversation about Cam, Joe’s been more distant than usual with you. Sometimes it’s warranted, like on gameday when he gave you nothing but a short nod to say hello during warmups. When he hits that field, it’s a different Joe and a different mindset. But sometimes it confuses you, like when you made a goofy Marvel reference on the way to class and he didn’t even crack a smile.

You can’t tell if he just needs space, and is trying to keep it friendly like you agreed to, or if he’s fully pulling back. Whatever it is makes you a little perturbed, wishing you could just go up and ask him about it without sounding like some insane girl that’s analyzing his every move. 

Torchy’s is somewhat busy when you pull up, a weekend evening being a primetime opportunity for any college student to get some banging tacos. When your group filters into the dining area, Joe immediately points to the little arcade area that’s around the corner of a hallway.

“Best of three on asteroids?” Joe challenges Justin with a smirk and a shrug, already taking a smooth backwards walk towards the room. 

“Oh I’ll beat ya ass,” Justin retorts, immediately following Joe with a confident strut. You all watch as the three large men giggle and joke on their way to a room that’s really meant for any kids that happen to wander in. 

The rest of you wave them off and make your way to the bar, where you request the takeout order you placed once you got off the bus. For the time you’re waiting, you sit at the relatively empty bar sipping on water and talking about your favorite moments from the game, until about five minutes later when the bartender says your order is finished and goes into the back to retrieve the food. 

“I’ll go get the guys,” You offer, taking a last couple sips from your water before hopping off the barstool and heading down the corridor towards the gaming room. You’re about to round the corner when you hear Ja’marr’s voice say your name, clearly in a hushed discussion. You stop dead in your tracks, not entirely sure if what you heard was real, but you get your confirmation soon after.

“...I don’t know. You were beaming that morning bro,” Ja’marr jokes, a hint of a smile in his voice. Sounds from the asteroids game still ensue, one of them smashing buttons quickly to try to beat the others’ scores. 

“But a girl still in kahoots with the ex?” You hear Justin retort letting out a long, disapproving whistle after. “That’s tough. She ain’t sound too sure about letting him go either.” Someone lets out a scoff in response, whether it’s Joe or Ja’marr you’re not sure. Your heart starts banging against your chest as you continue to listen to the group. I shouldn’t be hearing this right now.

“Damn, so really, you’re gonna let Deavers get in the way of you getting your girl?” Ja’marr teases, both him and Justin letting out laughs at Joe’s expense.

“Nah bro, it’s not like that,” Joe brushes their laughter off, and you can just imagine the insane eye roll he’s throwing to them right now.

“Nah nah, I get it, I get it. That’s some drama too, she’s gotta sort that shit out,” Ja’marr reiterates in an offhanded tone. 

“Yeah,” Joe sighs. “I can’t be a part of her drama right now.”

Your chest constricts at Joe’s last words, a pang of hurt hitting your heart with a hint of frustration.

Well he never mentioned that in our conversation, A snarky voice rings out in your head. 

“I mean, in no way is any of it her fault, but it’s complicated,” Joe defends himself in a slight whine. Insecurity shoots up your spine, and all the doubts you were holding this weekend about Joe’s feelings are suddenly on full display. Did he actually want to try things out with you? Was he just trying to let you down easy with that conversation? Did you have too much baggage for him? 

Your panic morphs into defensiveness, and you’re quickly sick of their bullshit, deciding now is the perfect time to show yourself. You round the corner, strutting up to the group that’s clearly engrossed in the arcade game and their conversation about you.

Justin locks eyes with you first, his eyebrows raising in surprise before he nods at Joe and points in your direction. Ja’marr awkwardly pulls away from the game as you approach, a sad pew coming from the console as the battleship's final life is sacrificed and Ja’marr’s game ends. Both him and Joe’s eyes dart around before landing on you, their pitiful attempts at being nonchalant apparent in their stances. 

They should never be those athletes that pretend to be actors for commercials.

“Hey,” Joe quips, forcing a light lipped smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You can’t help the heat that hides in your gaze when you lock eyes, a subtle hint that you just heard everything. Your lips purse tightly in order to prevent yourself from saying anything right there and then.

“We got the order, let’s go,” You announce, flicking your gaze over to Ja’marr as if nothing is wrong. The three of them glance at each other in a beat of hesitation, clearly trying to decipher what’s going on. You revel in their squirmish energy, satisfied you’ve made them uncomfortable with talking shit.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Ja’marr breaks the silence, casually shrugging and walking past you back towards the front of the restaurant. You almost snort at his bluntness, and follow behind him shortly after, turning on your heel to turn your back on Joe. You don’t dare to look back as you power walk back to the bar, ignoring your friends’ questioning looks and snatching the to-go bag for yourself from Tay’s hands

“I’m starving, let’s go.”

Things don’t exactly go up from there. 

There’s a looming air of animosity that hangs over you and Joe in the days following your trip to Torchy’s, not only because of your schedules that seem to only get tighter and tighter, but because of your unspoken irritations and complicated feelings. Outstanding moments between you include knowing eye contact, short, succinct greetings, and an occasional offhanded smile or chuckle that doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

You find yourselves back at Torchy’s on Thursday, this time to watch a thrilling Thursday Night Football game between the 2-2 Philadelphia Eagles and the 3-1 Green Bay Packers. You’re all crowded in a booth, sweaty and tired from practice, but Coach O just gave the boys an assignment to study their matchup tonight and take notes for their allotted position. They’d thought to at least make a fun time out of their studying, since you’re not able to see each other much anymore.

The game is tight, tied up at halftime, when Joe and Justin go up to the bar to get the table some Shirley Temples. At this point most people at the bar are throwing back beers, being loud and rowdy, creating a sort of party atmosphere that none of you are particularly enjoying right now. You’re engrossed in a conversation with Ja’marr about the Bee Movie, when out of the corner of your eye you notice two girls walking up to both Joe and Justin, one of them wearing an LSU trucker hat. 

You try not to stare. You do. But one of the girls, a thin bombshell with legs for days and perfect, flowing hair reaches a hand out to Joe’s bicep, rubbing it lightly as she laughs at something he’s said. Joe, who looked miserable walking over to the bar, is now smirking softly, welcoming the attention with open arms. Fire courses through you at the sight of them conversing, her casual smile and wandering hands making you want to shove her away from him and pour a drink over her head.

You’re so focused on the sickening sight that you don’t even notice when Justin leaves the bar to come ask for help. “Hey, he’s got like a whole tray, can you come grab a couple?” Justin asks you casually, seeing as you’re the one now at the end of the booth with the easiest access to the floor.

“Um, sure,” You mumble, ripping your eyes from Joe and his new buddy to focus on walking and following. Once you get to the bar and wait for Justin to hand you the drinks, the two are in earshot, and you think you could just die.

“I mean, you’re the best in the SEC right now,” The girl yaps, blinking at Joe attentively while she strokes his ego. “You’re probably looking at life in the pros, right?”

“Time will tell,” Joe laughs, doing his best to stay modest, but the gloat in his tone fails him.

“Ugh, I couldn’t even imagine how much work that must take. All that stress…” She trails off, eyeing Joe up and down indiscreetly while lifting her hand up again to rub Joe’s burly bicep, this time hanging onto it and taking a brave step closer. 

“It can be a lot sometimes,” Joe responds slowly, her innuendo not going unnoticed by you or him. Steam must be coming out of your ears by now, and you’re thankful when Justin hands you two drinks so you can make your way back to the others. Justin pulls Joe away from his new friend, the three of you probably looking like an interesting group of emotions when you get back to the table.

You drown out the noise of your friends’ continued conversation as you sit back down, the only thing replaying in your mind the vile creature’s high pitched voice and batting eyes staring up at Joe. You’re about ten seconds into your fight fantasy when you come to a realization–you have no right to feel this way. Joe is single. You’re on a timeout when it comes to your complicated relationship with him. 

You shouldn’t feel jealous. But you so, so do. 

You start to sip on your yummy Shirley Temple, confused yet frustrated at your feelings and the situation that just unfolded. Why did Joe look like he was enjoying it so much? 

A grumpy attitude overtakes you pretty quickly, and by the end of the night your plastic straw is chewed to almost a thin line, a testament to how worked up the whole ordeal made you. It’s even on your mind at some points on the ride home, and while you finish up your paper on conditional law that’s due over the weekend, eating away at precious brain cells you need to get through this season. 

At least the next day is Friday practice. By Friday, everyone knows their shit, and all you have to do is essentially a walkthrough where you practice the cheer calls, make sure every move solidified, and run through most things only once. You put the work in early in the week to make Friday easy, which makes Saturday even easier. 

Things are light and fun, none of you concerned about your routines, and none of the boys concerned about a game against Utah State, but the real miracle happens when you’re let out of practice early so you can spend more time finishing your schoolwork.

You notice most of the football team has also cleared out, aside from the quarterbacks and a few receivers who are getting some last minute throws in. Grace skips up to Justin of course, launching into a lighthearted conversation about the practice that just ensued, with you, Tay, and Kelia just hanging around so you can all go to the locker room and drive home together. 

Kelia can make friends with anybody, so she ends up getting the three of us into an extended conversation with one of the QB coaches about the upcoming game. In front of you, both Joe and his backup, Myles Brennan, switch off hitting Terrance Marshall on a slant route that must be in the game plan for this weekend. 

“Honestly, we’re just throwing it around for the reps at this point,” The coach shrugs, clearly not at all worried for the game this weekend either. “It could be one of you throwing and I think Utah would be in the bag.” He laughs, obviously joking.

“Oh nah, you don’t want us throwing anything,” Kelia responds with a laugh, standing true to the fact that she will kiss ass to absolutely anyone.

“My spiral would look more like a boomerang,” You agree, watching all three of the men you’re surrounded by handle the footballs with ease.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Myles perks up, looking at you pointedly while Joe prepares for another rep. At the sight of his swooping blond hair and polite smile, a devilish idea flashes through your mind, something you would almost never do in any other circumstance–but after spending the past 24 hours annoyed by your own jealousy, you’re itching for some kind of get-back.

“Well, why don’t you show me how to do it?” You ask innocently enough, placing your hands on your hips to subtly accentuate your curves. Joe’s head whips around to look at you after his rep, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of meeting your gaze. Myles gives you a quick once over before the coach tosses him another ball, and you bat your eyes at the attention as he debates giving into you.

“Yeah, sure,” Myles agrees with a grin, immediately getting close to you and showing you the ball in his hand.

It’s petty. It’s not your proudest moment.

But by god does it work.

You bask in Joe’s attention, feeling his eyes on your every move, his jaw clenching ever so slightly when Myles places you into throwing position, his hands on your hips as he explains how your torque is what’s going to give you power in the throw. You let your friendly personality shine through as you talk Myles through his form, him showing you why each little detail is important and you listening attentively as if it’s the coolest thing you’ve ever heard. The both of you laugh when you try out the throw, the ball flailing off only about 10 to 15 feet in front of you, and it’s after that that you decide to call off the bit, turning back towards the girls.

“Well, I really should get going. I have this horrible paper due tonight,” You easily lie, making innocent eye contact with Joe for a split second, needing one last look at his fuming face before you strut off towards the locker room. 

Game on, bitch. 

Things get even worse next week…

The Tigers blow out Utah State, which is exactly expected from their efficient offense. 42-6 is particularly embarrassing for the western state, but you’re sure Utah is used to it at this point. 

Real disaster strikes when you’re scrolling through your phone as you’re leaving practice on Tuesday, casually scrolling through Instagram. You unfollowed Cam after his betrayal–how could you not? But one of his former teammates reposts something of his on his story, and curiosity gets the best of you. 

You click on the post, scrolling through images from the Utah State game. Mentally, you shrug, wondering why you clicked on the post in the first place. There’s nothing here.

That is, until you get to the final two pictures of the little slideshow. There, Cam poses with his new girl, her body right up against his, and his hand sprawled only over her ass. The image makes you falter, and fiery rage shoots through you when you see the last picture where the two lock lips, looking like they’re about to be whisked away to a bedroom to finish things off. 

What the fuck? Just last week you’re begging for me back, talking about how this girl doesn’t do shit for you and now you’re flaunting her on your feed? Yeah, okay.

You don’t want the picture to affect you as much as it does, but you can’t help it. The thinnest, smallest thread of hope that you had for him is completely snipped in this moment, and the reality of that finally comes crashing down on you. This will never work. 

At this point you’re on a rampage, still in the facility looking down hallway after hallway for your ex so you can tell him just how you feel. You’re about to give up and just find him later, when you spot Cam just going about his routine, clearly ready to go the fuck home in a sweatset and some slides. Sorry bitch. Gotcha. “Hey, asshole,” You shout, picking up your pace as you make a beeline for him. He automatically turns his head at your loud voice, looking bewildered when he sees that it’s you calling for him. “Do you think it’s funny playing around with girls’ feelings? Because my morality would never let me beg for someone back, then go fuck the girl I cheated on that person with. But that’s just me I guess.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Cam asks offhandedly, looking like he’s about to roll his eyes. 

“You just posted with that bitch on Instagram. The one you told me two weeks ago didn’t “get” you?” You clarify, and a flash of recognition appears in Cam’s eyes. “So who are you lying to?”

“I’m not lying to either of you-”

“Oh my fucking god-”

“Jesus christ, this was the shit you always did that was so annoying,” Cam retorts loudly, this time committing to the full eye roll and rubbing his face. Is he serious?

“It was annoying of me to hold you accountable for the things you’d say?” You explain to him like he’s a fourth grader, a pang of hurt hitting your heart. 

“It was annoying that you’d treat it like it was some big fucking deal, don’t actions speak louder than words?” He whines, literally just complaining about the fact that you have feelings.

“Exactly, and your actions aren’t matching up with your words. That’s called lying,” You snap.

“What the fuck? No, that’s just called feeling,” Cam fires back in a snarky tone. 

“You know what? This actually says a lot about our relationship. Don’t you think how I felt about things you’d say should be a big fucking deal? That you should care about how you make me feel?” You rant, reflecting on times in the past when you had this same argument over and over, and you’re so tired of it. “You know, I never should’ve had to beg you to see me. Someone that loves me is supposed to care about how they make me feel regardless of intention.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know how you’re going to feel about something?” Cam retaliates, throwing his hands up incredulously. The way he’s blowing this off lights a fire under your ass, and you immediately feel exhausted having to explain this to him like he’s a child.

“Because we were together for two fucking years! Because I told you time and time again how it made me feel! Because you were supposed to know me!” You shout, your voice thickening and cracking with emotion as you lay out your feelings. Your heart sinks with every word, like a ship slowly being tugged under cold, harsh currents, as you realize how horribly wrong you were about every statement. He never knew you. He never wanted to.

The silence your outburst prompts speaks volumes to Cam’s opinion on the matter. Your shoulders slump, your throat tightens, and your eyes burn. You can’t bear to look at his unapologetic face anymore, so you find some wall in the distance to stare off into. “But it’s becoming quite clear you simply never listened to anything I ever had to say. At all,” You admit in a small, defeated voice. A sarcastic laugh rips through you as you shake your head, reminiscing on memories that now feel fake. Like they’re out of some movie you hate. “God, I can’t believe I convinced myself that you knew me better than anyone else,” You scoff, looking down to pick at your nails to occupy yourself.

Don't let him see you cry. He does not deserve that. 

You can feel the bile building, a strong wave of pure defeat coursing up through your heart, throat and head, willing tears into your eyes. You feel your lips purse, and you know what’s coming. Before he can sense them, you quickly turn on your heel to leave. To get anywhere but here. 

A noise of protest comes from behind you. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna be pissed I can move on and you can’t?” Cam’s venomous voice spits out. Heat surges into your face again, a sharp pain slicing over your heart as you speed up your last few steps.

“Fuck you,” You choke out as the damn breaks and a few tears begin their decent, shoving the door to the facility open. A quick glance around makes you thankful no other athletes witness your dramatic exit, so you let your tears continue to fall as you stalk down the street back to your apartment. The clouds and the cool 4pm breeze make the vulnerable moment more emotional, feeling like the wind is kissing your heated cheeks saying, It will be okay. Let it out. 

By the time you reach your apartment you’ve tired yourself of the tears, your brain fog clearing out enough to tell you to just do the next best thing. To study, or bake, or call your mom. The steps you take up the stairs of your building are lethargic but rushed, due to your sadness morphing into frustration, and your desperate need to just lay the fuck down. 

You unlock your apartment door with haste, your female instincts causing you to immediately whip around and harshly throw the deadbolt into the latch, locking the door behind you with a lot of anger. A deep sigh leaves you as you turn towards the living room and kitchen, until you jump out of your skin at the sight of an unexpected guest.

“Hey, Kelia said you needed…Um, are you okay?” Joe asks, unfazed by your sudden fright until he sees your red eyes and puffy cheeks. He stands in the middle of your living room staring at you blankly, a half used bag of brown sugar casually clutched in his right hand. 

You bring your hand up to your chest as your heart rate starts to settle slightly, a twinge of bitterness replacing your fear as your brain processes the man before you. “Yes, I’m fine,” You respond curtly, unable to stop your nose from turning up slightly out of pettiness. Your hands find your hips in a defensive stance, not liking the fact that you have to see Joe so soon after your awful encounter with Cam.

Joe senses your challenge and immediately takes on a defensive stance of his own, crossing his muscular arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. God dammit he’s hot. You think to yourself angrily. There’s a short silence during your faceoff, each of you daring the other to make a move. Your heartbeat starts to pound on your chest as Joe continues to stare at you, showing no signs of backing down. 

“Why did you rush in here like that then?” He finally questions, taking a cautious step forward and nodding towards the door behind you. 

“I didn’t rush in,” You scoff. “You aren’t even supposed to be in here. This is my safe space.”

“Actually,” Joe quickly retaliates, showing off the plastic bag of sugar that looks small in comparison to his wide palms and long fingers. “I’m here on official baking goods delivery business. Kelia gave me her key,” He smoothly explains, proving his innocence by digging out an LSU lanyard from the front pocket of his gray sweatshorts and tossing them your way. The lanyard heads square for your chest and you catch it with two hands, a hum leaving your lips as you recognize the item, an item Kelia always seems to forget when she’s rushing out the front door.

When you look back to Joe he’s taken a few brave steps towards closer, but maintains his challenging stature, which causes you to judgmentally look him up and down. “Well then. Leave it on the counter, I’m sure she’ll use it when she’s back,” You fire back with an offhanded gesture towards the kitchen counter, an attempt to get him to put that shit and down and leave. 

Silence follows, and Joe doesn’t move an inch. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you-”

“Joe, I’m sorry, but I really do not have the energy for this right now,” You cut him off apologetically as you turn towards the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, too mentally distraught to get into another disagreement. Too scared to tell him how you’re feeling, too scared of the possibility that it’ll be disregarded.

Like Cam disregarded you.

Joe grunts behind you, weighing his options before giving in. “Fine. It’s gonna happen eventually,” He breathes out, stalking over to the door and unclicking the lock. You hear him fidget for a couple seconds, clearly becoming another victim to your faulty deadbolt lock. “I think your lock is broken,” Joe mutters slowly.

“Ugh, no, it twists the other way,” You call out.

“Um…no it’s really broken,” Joe slowly confirms, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose as he backs away from the door. 

“I got it,” You snap out as you roll your eyes, setting your glass on the counter and stalking over to the lock with a pout on your lips.

You turn the lock the correct way, expecting the weight of the deadbolt to follow so Joe can be let free, only for the lock to glide fully around in a 180. Your stomach drops as the reality of the situation starts to set in, because no matter how many times you turn the latch, the hunk of metal lodged in your doorframe that usually prevents you from being murdered in the middle of the night is now trapping you in an enclosed space with your situationship. 

God is punishing me. I fucked up in a past life, and god is punishing me. 

“We’re fucked, huh?” Joe mumbles, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his head in discomfort. You sigh and close your eyes, feeling like your day is just getting worse and worse, without a single moment of peace. The frustration and exhaustion swirl together, and you can’t tell if you’re on the brink of sobbing or crashing out, bringing your hands up to cover your face in an attempt to hide yourself from everything happening in your life right now. School. Dance. Cam. Joe. The absence of coffee in your system.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let me call Ja’marr, I think he’s with Kelia right now,” Joe tries to comfort you, immediately on his phone and dialing. He talks to him for a minute while you just stare at the lock, contemplating life until you give up and take a seat on a cheap barstool you got off amazon that sits in front of your small island countertop.

“Okay…yeah, we’ll be good. See ya,” Joe bids Ja’marr goodbye, hanging up the phone and shoving it in his pocket as you look at him expectantly. “They said they’ll go to the housing office to ask about a locksmith, but it could be a while. They’re across campus from the office, and when they get there they’ll still have to call the locksmith, and then the locksmith will have to get here..” Joe trails off, sighing deeply at the end as you both realize that you’re certainly stuck here for at least the next hour or so. You break eye contact with him to move your head to face forward, slowly lowering it into your crossed forearms that rest on the kitchen island. 

This just cannot be happening.

The first part of your time stuck with Joe goes as smooth as it can. You start making the brownies Kelia was going to start on, utilizing Joe’s brown sugar in the process, while he sits on your couch and sips water, going through play calls for his practice later today on his iPad. He minds his business, and barely even exists in the room, but just looking up and seeing him in your space gets you riled up, frustrated about your feelings and how god damn good he looks. After about a half an hour, the brownies are finally in the oven and you’re thoroughly flustered with Joe’s annoying presence, especially when he comes into the kitchen to refill his water and starts asking you questions. 

“So…how’s your day going?” Joe asks awkwardly, standing across from you as you sit on the barstool in front of your island counter, waiting for your brownies to rise. 

“Fine,” You respond in a tense voice, your tone carrying all the words you don’t want to say out loud. Joe immediately lets out a harsh sigh in return, clearly ticked off he can’t get you to just say how you’re feeling.

“Are we really going to ignore the fact that you walked into this apartment looking like you were going to break down?” Joe asks quietly, but with an edge, looking right at you for an answer. You freeze, unable to meet his eyes, so unsure of how to respond. You don’t want to have to explain your feelings to anyone anymore, but how are you supposed to get out of this? You’re stuck with him.

Joe sighs and shakes his head before gaining the courage to show you how he’s feeling. “You know what, you’re doing it again. You’re shutting me out like you always do when I get too close. ‘Cause I’m not allowed to know what makes you tick, or makes you angry, or makes you vulnerable,” He asserts, each word hitting you like a ton of bricks. He’s right. He’s so right, and it’s driving you crazy. 

“Let me guess, just got done having a little chat with Cam?” He questions snarkily, scoffing and rolling his eyes afterwards at the memory of the last time you spoke with your ex, and then him right afterwards. You’re not entirely sure how to respond because…well, yes. Joe takes note of your silence, confusion washing over him until it clicks, and he’s immediately apologetic. “Wait, I didn’t mean to-”

“No no, go ahead!” You interrupt, standing as Joe’s frustrating attitude combined with the fresh feeling of Cam’s betrayal causes your patience to wear particularly thin. “Let's hear more about how I’m the scared one because I don’t want to get hurt again, when you’re the one who’s scared because you…” You trail off, pulling a finger up to your pouty lip in thought. “What was it? Oh yeah. ‘Can’t deal with my drama right now.’ Low blow, pussy.”

Joe’s stature gets heated again, his brows furrowing. “Oh, so you did hear? That’s another grievance I’m not allowed to know about until weeks after the fact,” He retaliates, the edge coming back into his tone. 

“I didn’t feel like I could tell you, you were standoffish with me the whole week,” You counter, crossing your arms and pursing your lips. 

“Because Cam was doing all that weird shit trying to earn your forgiveness, it was pissing me off because I thought we were going to try things out.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realize I’m supposed to be remote controlling Cam at all times of the day,” You deadpan sarcastically. 

“Yeah, well you sure as shit weren’t thinking about our conversation when you let Brennan show you how to throw his fuck ass spiral,” Joe points out, his nose scrunching at the thought of Myles’s hands on you, adjusting your throwing form your hips and shoulders. 

You shrug nonchalantly, turning your head away from him in a petty, petty moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wanted to learn how to throw and he said he’d teach me,” You feign innocence, well aware of your role in that production. Joe’s jaw drops in disbelief, about to fire back in rage until a lightbulb goes off in his head. His entire demeanor shifts, his once tense shoulders rolling back into a confident stance, his tense jaw releasing as a smirk ghosts over his lips. Eventually he barks out a laugh at your statement, causing annoyance to start coursing through you. 

He’s not taking the bait.

“Yeah, okay. I think you’re just getting in your own fucking way,” He raises his brows at you, a smirk still dancing across his face as his body language grows more relaxed. Seeing him remain calm makes you falter, and you can feel your irritation grow quickly. You’re losing.

“Getting in my own way of what? I don’t want to be with someone who thinks I have baggage,” You snap back desperately, accusingly eyeing him up and down. 

“I don’t think you have baggage,” Joe sighs with a hint of annoyance, now looking and feeling far more in control of this conversation than you. “I was confused, and needed advice. I don’t care about that anymore, I want to try this out with you.”

“And how am I supposed to know that when you’re flirting with any tiger bitch that throws themself at you?” You whine in retaliation, not caring how hypocritical you sound. All you know is you’re frustrated with him for relatively nothing, with Cam for being a bitch, and with yourself for feeling like you need to push him away. But you just can’t seem to stop. “You’re drowning in pussy huh?” You laugh bitterly, sarcasm lacing your voice. “I bet you found one that feels so much better than-”

“Oh, come on,” Joe interrupts in a bratty tone, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in exasperation before placing them on his hips. You open your mouth again to continue with your petty argument, until Joe cuts you off again. “You don’t really believe any of that. Stop it with the bullshit,” He scolds and starts slowly pacing closer to you, his stern expression causing your words to catch in your throat and your mouth to shut. The intensity behind your conversation mixed with the unmistakable heat in his stature makes your heart thud relentlessly, and the anticipation sends shivers straight down your spine to your lower belly.

“You think I have a good time watching you prance around in your little outfits? Every practice? Every game?” Joe asks with an edge to his tone, continuing his slow stalk towards you. Your pulse hammers, thinking of Joe on the sideline watching you intents you fly through your routines, swaying your hips and cheering. For him. “When I know I can’t throw you on my bed and rip it off you after every single one? You think that’s fun? Huh?” He continues questioning you, his eyebrows furrowing together in mock confusion. 

You open your mouth to respond and nothing comes out. Joe is close enough to easily touch, his presence and body heat looming over you like a threat, but you don’t dare to back down. Not after all the shit you’ve been talking. “You don’t have to rile me up to get me to fuck you. Trust that,” Joe asserts bluntly, bringing his right hand up to grip your jaw, forcing your face directly in front of his. His blue eyes are darker, laced with anger and assertion, rendering you quite speechless. You almost feel like if you breathe he’ll snap.

“So next time you want some fucking attention all you have to do is ask,” Joe grumbles harshly, letting his left hand trail down your side and to your front, his whole hand cupping your now throbbing heat. “And you ask me,” He sneers, applying pressure on your clothed clit with the heel of his palm, grinding it against you in slow circles that cause a warm wash of pleasure to fan over you. Your chest starts to heave as your breathing picks up, and your head starts to spin from the sensation and the commanding look in Joe’s bright eyes that are boring into yours. “Not Deavers, not Brennan. Me,” He confirms, solidifying his point with a particularly hard roll of his palm that earns a moan from you.

There’s little fight left in you as Joe continues to work you up, each pass of his hand generating just enough friction to electrify your body. Your lips part as you pant, helplessly rutting your hips into his slow rhythm as the teasing starts to become too much for you to handle. He gives you a glaring look and keeps his pace, knowing this is exactly how to make you compliant, moldable, obedient. You don’t even question it when he wordlessly tugs your body through the hall and into your room.

Joe kicks off his shoes and sits in the center of your bed, then backs himself against your headboard, his manspread showing off his thick thighs in those fucking sweatshorts. He beckons you to him with two fingers, watching you like prey as you automatically climb on the bed and crawl towards him. The second you’re within his reach he yanks you up to him, pressing his punishing lips to your neck. The fire you felt just moments ago returns quickly as he flings your T-shirt off, taking the opportunity to explore your chest with his warm tongue and remove your sports bra. 

Suddenly strong hands give you a full flip, facing you away from Joe as his hands find your shorts and panties and start tugging them down impatiently. Once they’re removed, Joe’s fingers dig into your hips, tugging you all the way back onto him. You relish in the fact that you’re wordlessly letting him fling you around like a doll, too lost in the way he’s making you feel to care how needy this all makes you look. 

By the time you’re settled, you can feel every ridge of his body pressing on your back, and his fervent mouth hovers over your right ear, the anticipation of his hot breath on your neck sending your body into a frenzy. Both of his palms flatten over your thighs, teasingly running his big hands from your knees back up to your hips, slowly spreading your thighs wider and wider for him. The cool air hits your wet center, causing a soft gasp to leave your lips. 

“Hmm,” Joe rumbles in your ear, causing you to shiver because of how close he is. It’s almost overwhelming. He brings his right hand up to your stomach, then trails it down to your pussy, letting his middle finger drag a slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You let out a soft moan at the friction you so desperately need more of, your body pulsing at this point for any relief. Joe grants it to you, sliding his hand back down to your entrance and slowly inserting that middle finger, your walls immediately clamping down on his digit. His pace starts teasing, but deep and thorough, pushing waves of pure bliss throughout your body.

“You know, you’ve been a real brat lately,” He rasps, his deep voice booming through your mind becoming another reminder of the pure dominance he has over you. “Letting other guys touch you, tryin’ to tell me off.” The combination of his taunting words and teasing hands turns your brain to mush, the moans of agreement leaving your mouth completely and utterly unstoppable.

“I shouldn’t even be helping you, but I get it.” Joe mutters, letting his long fingers do all the work in giving you just what you need. “Gettin’ yourself all worked up over nothin’, y’know? You could’ve just asked.” He starts to slowly pick up the pace of his thrusts, pushing harder and harder as he leaves open mouthed kisses in the crook of your neck.

“Gonna come to me from now on? Gonna let me take care of you?” Joe teases, now pumping into you at full speed, his other hand on your upper thigh pushing your legs wider apart so he has full access to you. 

“Y-Yes,” You gasp loudly, the pulses of pleasure radiating through you with each flick of Joe’s wrist. All inhibitions are lost as you give in to him, taking everything he giving you.

“Good. Keep your legs open,” Joe demands, his left hand leaving your thigh to come up to your breast, kneading the soft flesh and occasionally rolling your nipple between his forefingers. Moans and gasps fill the room, the overwhelming sensation of feeling him everywhere now taking over your entire body. In your pussy, on your neck, pinching your nipples, it’s all building up, but you want more. You want him inside you, stretching your walls and filling you up to kingdom come. 

Your back instinctively arches when Joe’s fingers curl, scratching that one spot that drives you insane. Joe’s hard cock on your ass sends you spiraling, your desperate need for him to just fuck you for real increasing every second. You whine softly, continuing to push yourself back on his lap.

“Please, I want-”

“No,” Joe barks. “You’re going to finish for me like this. Right now.” The quick, calculated thrusts of his rough hand has you seeing colors you didn’t even know existed. You can feel the heat pooling, your body barrelling towards climax.

“But I-” You’re cut off by another curl of Joe’s fingers, your jaw dropping and your eyes rolling back as the sensation pushes you clear into oblivion.

“Shut up and cum,” Joe growls in your ear, shooting shivers down your spine. His fingers pound into you relentlessly, his other hand leaving your breasts to land on your clit and rub.  There isn’t a thing you could do to stop that band from snapping hard, a tidal wave of heat and pure bliss knocking you further back onto the hard body behind you. 

Joe sighs, his thick, gravelly voice cutting through the crashing, violent waves of pleasure you’re drowning in. “See baby, if you would just listen,” He says sternly with his lips and hot breath directly on your ear, causing the pulses radiating through you to just hit harder and harder. Your moans turn high pitched in response, and you throw your head back onto his shoulder, thinking of nothing but if he’s ever going to let this end. Joe’s hands don’t let up for a second, roughly snapping his wrist over and over to bury his fingers in you, not letting you breathe for even a moment as your orgasm seems like it lasts forever.

When you finally find your way back down to earth, you pick your head up from Joe’s shoulder to look at your mess, him slowly pulling his long digits from your center. He brings his hand up to your mouth, and you absentmindedly open your mouth, allowing him to push his fingers all the way to the back of your throat. You swirl your tongue around in a daze, lapping and sucking your slick off of him until he pulls back, bringing both hands up to your shoulders to massage you lightly. 

Joe’s once hot mouth is now sweet, pressing light kisses to your neck as he continues to rub your shoulders, making sure all of the tension that boiled in there is washed away under his touch. “Let me clean you up,” He mumbles softly, slithering out from under you to grab a damp towel from your bathroom in the hall. You’re finally able to support your body weight, letting your two hands fall behind you to prop yourself up in your comfy bed, your brain still reeling from the insane way Joe just picked you apart.

Joe stalks back into your room and plops on your bed, suddenly throwing his head back and groaning with an eye roll. “What?” You ask as you furrow your brows, slightly laughing in surprise. 

“We were supposed to be taking a timeout,” He mutters, smirking down at you with a knowing look before bringing his fingers down to your center again, swiping up some of your release before bringing his hand back up to his mouth, slowly sucking them clean. Your heart immediately races, your chest rising and falling faster at the erotic sight, and you just can’t help it. Your tired face turns attentive as your eyes bead up at him, begging for more of absolutely anything. Joe has you addicted, and you can bet he’ll bask in it. 

“Aw, don’t look at me like that,” Joe coos teasingly, letting his fingers ghost over the top of your thigh before slowly looming over you and catching your lips in a deep, slow, teasing kiss. You want to be going any pace but slow, sliding your hand over his peck and up around the back of his neck. You feel like you’re fighting to speed things up, and every time you do Joe just chuckles against your lips and takes back control, driving you to desperation. He suddenly pulls away fully and smiles cockily as you chase his hot mouth, a quiet whine slipping past your lips when your head falls back onto your fluffy pillow.

“Sorry baby,” He whispers before using the towel to wipe you clean and throwing it into your laundry hamper. After that he’s quickly up and gone, sliding on his sweatshorts and trying to calm his erection down while you glare at his broad, muscular back. “Ja’marr said he’d be here in five.” He reveals pointedly as he looks back at you from your dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of boyshort underwear and teddy lounge shorts, before gathering the items with his discarded T-shirt and tossing them next to you on the bed. You reach out your hand out to the side lazily, brushing your fingers over the soft fabric of your shorts. 

“Do you want water?” Joe asks sweetly right before he heads out of your bedroom, remedying your tired gaze with his kind expression. You nod slowly and he smiles. “Okay.”

You let out a long sigh of content, even though your body is still buzzing for him. The clothes Joe laid out for you still lay softly in your hand, and you begin dressing yourself in a happy haze, warmth aching in your heart when you pull on his shirt and his woodsy scent envelopes you. 

What the fuck is he doing to me?

By the time you’re dressed and walking out to the living room and kitchen, you catch Joe crouching in front of the oven, taking out the brownies with your oven mitt covered in cute lemons. The sight makes you smile, and you take in the moment because it’s just so rare to see Joe doing something so domestic. He places the hot dish on the island to cool off, and you walk over to a barstool across from him.

This moment feels like a cumulation of all your feelings over the past couple of weeks. You flip flopped a hundred times, feeling upset, angry, ashamed, apologetic…but so much of that fades away when you look at Joe, who only wants to listen to you and care about you. Both of your lives are complicated, but that shouldn’t get in the way of letting you two feel how you feel about each other, and it shouldn’t impact your happiness.

“I shouldn’t have let Myles show me how to throw,” You admit quietly. Joe looks up at you from his focus on the brownies, listening intently. “I just did it to piss you off. I was annoyed about what I heard at Torchy’s, and those girls who were all over you…It was stupid. And I should’ve just talked to you. I never just talk to you, and I’m sorry.” A comfortable silence falls over the both of you as Joe takes in your apology, preparing his response. 

“I’m sorry too. I never thought you had baggage, I just…” Joe trails off, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “I got insecure. I thought I was getting my hopes up for someone who still wasn’t over their ex, and that I was going to look stupid. But I guess I ended up looking stupid anyways. I should’ve just talked to you, too.” You both share apologetic looks, a mutual understanding being built as the tension you’ve felt over the weeks finally dissipates. 

“We should probably do that more often, huh?” You both chuckle dryly, your eyes wandering off as you build up the courage to open up to him. Your heart starts to pound and your palms start to tremble as you open your mouth, pushing yourself to just be honest. Telling yourself everything will be okay.

“I’ll start,” You whisper, swallowing thickly.  “Cam spent like two weeks trying to earn my forgiveness, talking about wanting to get back together, but today he posted a picture showing off his girlfriend that he cheated on me with. I went to tell him that he can kiss our chances goodbye, and we ended up getting into it about our relationship even before the cheating. He said some not so great things, and I realized that he just…never fucking cared. And that hurt. It hurt because I was so convinced, and who’s to say any guy can’t do that to me? What if you’re just convincing me you care?” You explain slowly, feeling Joe’s tender eyes on you the entire time. “That’s why I looked upset when I walked in here.”

“I’m so sorry. I wanna fucking kill him,” Joe spits out, taking a deep breath and softening his eyes before continuing. “Trust can be scary. I’m ready to prove to you that you can trust me, so that you believe me when I tell you that I care, and I want to be with you. But I don’t want you to feel rushed, okay?” He sighs. “I just want to support you, but I don’t even know we’re going to be able to find time to go on a first date in the next month,” He whines like a child, grumpily grabbing a knife from a drawer and driving it into the brownies to create squares. 

“Then let’s not rush,” You offer. “Let's try, but go slow. I don’t need some huge first date, Joe” 

“Okay. Slow,” Joe repeats, sound in this agreement. “And no one else! I don’t want to see Deavers or Bren even breathe in your direction,” Joe concludes with an irritated mumble and an eye roll, rubbing his jaw a few times in annoyance. 

“And no one else hanging onto your bicep like it’s a crutch? Yeah I’m good with that,” You chirp with an overly sweet smile, plucking a warm brownie from the dish as Joe smirks at you. A hard knock at your front door startles the both of you, a gruff, booming voice coming from the other side.

“Somebody need me to fix a lock?”

The rest of the week leading up to LSU’s matchup against Florida is fiery. With the Tigers being ranked 5th, and Florida being ranked 7th, the primetime 8:30pm game is looking to be an intense showdown. Both teams are looking to keep their playoff hopes alive, and it feels like everything Joe has been working towards culminates in a game like this. It shows throughout the week in his hard set stare, quiet attitude, and confident stature. 

Anticipation builds for you on gameday as you continue to text back and forth with your family, asking them for their ETA almost every hour, only to be met with the same response as “same as last time you asked!” You swipe on your makeup giddily, the hype music blaring through your portable speaker pumping you full of adrenaline, even though the game is a whole five hours from now.

“Are you ready bitch?!” Grace shouts from the hall, skipping off to your front door in the Tiger Girls purple long sleeve uniform, her warm up uniform in hand and backpack slung on her shoulder.

“Yes, almost,” You shout back, then continue gliding your lip liner on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you admire your work on your full face of makeup. You gather all of your items, including your speaker so you can bring it out to the living room for the girls, cheering when you head out there and all of you are ready to head to Death Valley. 

A mini dance party ensues, all four of you hyping yourselves up for a good game and a loud LSU student section. After the current song ends, Tay turns the speaker down as everyone catches their breath, still laughing and vibing. “Okay okay, we gotta go,” Grace tries to settle everyone down, grabbing her keys from the counter while the rest of you double check your bags.

The vibes are carefree as you travel to the stadium, all of you talking and laughing, buzzing with anticipation for the game ahead. Even your time in the locker room is short, having done most of your getting ready in your apartment. You jump out of your skin when your parents notify you that they’ve arrived at the stadium, wordlessly speed walking out to the front where some tailgates have started. After two years of your parents making their way to Louisiana to watch you, you’ve formed a specific meeting spot between two large pillars that has always served as your rendezvous point. 

When both your mom and dad are in sight, you practically scream to get their attention, so relieved to see familiar faces from home after the shit you’ve been through in the past couple of months. 

Your mom is the first one to you, wrapping you in a tight bear hug you never want to let go of. “Hi honey,” She cheers, rocking you back and forth in her arms. When she pulls back you take in her bright purple LSU tee and white shorts, happy that she’s clearly gotten into the spirit of things. Watching you at football games specifically hasn’t always been her favorite, due to the loudness of the crowd and the violent nature of the sport, but over the years she’s gotten around because of her stubbornness and competitive edge. 

“I’ve missed you guys,” You smile back, immediately going in for a hug with your dad next. Just the comfort of their stability makes you feel better, like you really could take on all of the challenges you’re facing right now. 

“We’ve missed you too sweetheart,” Your dad grumbles back, rubbing your back in a comforting gesture. 

You’re immediately launched into conversation about how things are at home, with your recently divorced neighbor selling her house and the new couple down the street having their first baby boy, but your mom quickly diverts the conversation onto Cam–the person you’ve been texting and calling her non-stop. You recount the stories to her like you have a million times, giving a quick update on the recent shit he’s been up to with this new girl. You don’t want to dwell on it, tired of rehashing the same old things, but you felt like you owed your mom an in person conversation about it.

“I was so wrong about him,” You sigh at the end of your rant, feeling slightly embarrassed you have to admit to your mom that you were wrong. Her sympathetic face makes you cringe slightly, because you still hate being perceived as someone who needs pity. Your mind then wanders to Joe, feeling your entire demeanor shift when you mention him to your mom.

“But um…there’s kind of this other guy…”

“And who is he?” Your mom blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting you to move on so fast given how rocky your last breakup was. 

“He’s on the team. His name’s Joe,” You start earnestly, not used to having to introduce your family to a new prospect. “We're just seeing how it goes right now. But he’s so different from Cam, mom. He’s honest, and hard working, and so, so kind. I don’t know.”

“Joe?” Your dad asks skeptically. “Do you mean Joe Burrow? The quarterback?”

“Yeah, actually,” You respond sheepishly, your face flushing as your dad gives you a questioning look. He hums and nods, not saying much else, but clearly not speaking everything on his mind. There’s a beat before your mom speaks up again, both of your parents silently agreeing that they’ll talk about this later.

Ugh. What the hell? You think to yourself. They don’t even know the guy!

“Well that’s great. We’ll let you get back, but we’ll see you after the game okay?” Your mom interrupts your thoughts with a sweet tone, trying to play mediator between you and your father. You brush it off, knowing this really isn’t that big of a deal. You and Joe are not serious, and there’s no way your dad can judge him based on the very little information he has about him.

“Okay. I love you!” You chirp, going in for one last hug.

“We love you too!” Your dad calls out as the two start to walk back into the array of tailgates, sure to let loose at least a little bit before heading into the game. 

You get back to the locker room in the nick of time, joining in with everyone else grabbing their pom poms to head out to the pregame walk ups. You all jog out to the front of Tiger Stadium where a lane has been barricaded off from fans, so the players can report for duty in their dapper suits. Current students, alumni, and local Louisianaians alike are all decked out in purple in gold lining the metal barricade fences, excited to catch even one glimpse of the star-studded LSU roster. 

You Tiger Girls line the fences, entertaining spectors with pictures, cheers, and the occasional backflip, only falling silent when players start walking into the stadium, their presence far more effective than yours.

You’re in the middle of your routine cheering, waving your pom poms at your chest and in the air when everyone on the barricade in front of you suddenly goes bananas, pulling out their phones and yelling even louder than before. You look behind you only to see none other than Joe, strutting into the stadium in a clean light gray suit, every fabric of it pressed to perfection. His athletic figure is well outlined, the swoop of his hair is perfectly styled, and the hard look on his face is intoxicating, drawing you as well as everyone else behind the barricade in to his commanding presence.

He looks damn good.

You might’ve stared a little too long, because he catches your eye quickly and lets his lip turn up a little in a small smile, redirecting his path to walk towards you. “Hi,” He greets cooly.

“Hi,” You chirp, still trying to twirl your poms so it at least looks like you’re still cheering. “Is everything okay?” Everything about him right now is absolutely delicious, and you can’t help but eye him up and down one last time.

“I just wanted to kiss you,” Joe mumbles, almost bringing one hand up to your waist before he forces it down. “But there are so many cameras and I don’t like that,” He finishes with a huff, glancing around at the raging fans for a second before landing his gaze back on you. Your heart flutters at his statement, and you stare at his mouth because you really want to kiss him too, but you don’t need everyone on the internet talking about it the next day. You’re two are going slow.

“How about you kiss me after? Promise I’ll still be here,” You offer with a wide grin, watching as he cracks a small smile at you.

“Deal,” He confirms as he walks away, throwing you a wink before fully turning back towards the stadium. You let out a long breath as he disappears, trying to calm your heart rate to no avail. There’s really no use with him.

The rest of your night moves quickly after that, bouncing back to the locker room, out to the field for warmups, then into the tunnel to lead the football boys onto the field. Your nervousness starts to set in throughout that time, from watching the Gators try to taunt during warmups, to the cautiousness you catch in some announcers voice when you pass by, to the crack of Joe’s helmet against the wall of the tunnel as you wait for the go-ahead to run out. You know it’s all a part of routine, and this could be any other game, but it’s just not. The noise surrounding this team and Joe is louder than ever, everyone already talking about records being broken and Heisman odds, adding ten times more pressure than you could have imagined. Plus, if LSU wins, the chances of them finding their way into the four team playoffs dramatically increases. 

Once you’re told to rush the field, the anticipation you’ve been feeling all week builds to a fever pitch, and you take in the sight before you as much as you can because it’s just that electric. The decibel level of the stadium must break records as fireworks set off in the distance, the entire stadium becoming illuminated under the bright lights and purple and gold LEDs. 

Over 100,000 people. Here to watch this. Welcome to Death Valley.

Every nerve ending of yours is screaming as you skip over to the student section, loving the image of every single person cheering their faces off for you and this team. It’s what makes you all Tigers, holding up loud and proud “L” signs on your hands for the great state of Louisiana. 

Before you know it the game is in motion, every high and low ready to be felt by both you and every spectator. A loud “LSU! LSU! LSU!” chant breaks out right before kickoff, showing Florida why there really is no place on earth quite like Tiger Stadium on a Saturday night, the ground practically shaking with hostility.

The Gators kicker, Evan McPherson, kicks off the game, giving LSU the ball right on the 25. After a few good plays downfield, the Tigers still come up short, not scoring on their opening drive for the first time this season with a missed 44-yard field goal. Luckily the Gators go three and out, and LSU responds with a touchdown off a long run from Clyde, and a tight window pass to Ja’marr. A very long drive from Florida results in 7, things looking to go neck and neck just like everyone suspected coming into the game, building up your anticipation and nerves on the sideline as you continue your cheers. Both teams go three and out once just before the end of the first quarter, all tied up at 7-7 going into the next 15 minutes. 

Joe goes for a long run to start the second half, pressuring the Gators defense on the very next play with a long pass to Justin. As the game picks up, so does the crowd, every celebration getting rowdier as fans get drunker and more delirious, the loudest cheers of the night following a dart thrown to number two for another Tigers touchdown. Their emotions fly up and down until halftime, as everyone is quieted when Florida marches down the field again, scoring on a pass that was almost an interception, then goes off the rails again when Clyde breaks out of the offensive line and uses his wheels to score 7 for LSU in return. The half ends on another hard earned Florida touchdown, the score again tied up at 21-21 to end the thirty minutes. 

Your heart thuds as the boys run into the locker room, the broad smile plastered on your face for the crowd hiding every ounce of anxiety coursing through you. Tay shoots you a subtle look letting you know she’s feeling the same way. Not all of your teammates particularly care about the outcome of the football games they cheer in, but every one of your friends is way too competitive to be taking any of this lightly.

Florida takes the ball at the start of the second half, flowing down the field again for a touchdown, this time taking the lead with the score. Downfield shots own the Tigers offense in the second half, getting them down the field quickly so Clyde can muscle his way into the endzone to finish the job. This unbearable shootout finally starts to see some light when the LSU defense holds the Gators two drives in a row, allowing the offense to score another touchdown to start the crucial fourth quarter up 35-28.

As the clock starts to tick down, every spectator in Death Valley lights up, screaming their heads off on every defensive play to try to rattle the Gators quarterback who’s on his first year starting. They still glide down the field as best they can, until that Florida quarterback snaps under the pressure, throwing an interception into the endzone. Joe and his crew are all boisterous and confident after that, especially after a deep ball to Ja’marr scores an automatic touchdown for the Tigers, now putting them up by two scores. With five minutes left and the Gators still having all three timeouts, the game is technically not completely over, but with the way the boys are playing and the energy they’re getting from their home state, it might as well be. Florida moves too slowly down the field, eating up way too much clock for a two score deficit, but it doesn’t matter in the end because LSU’s defense gets a fourth down stop at the goal line, sealing the game. 

It feels like an earthquake underneath you when the last tackle is made, and you jump high in the sky with a huge smile on your face knowing this team’s momentum is building with every single snap. You hug your teammates, hooting and hollering before launching into a cheer sequence called out by Grace at the front of the formation, even though not a single spectator cares because they’re too busy losing their minds. 

It’s all grins and giggles as you gather your things, heading to your locker room then quickly to the front of the stadium again to see your parents. Your friends can barely keep up with you, even though your parents promised them free dinner and you’d think they’d be just as excited as you about that. 

“Yo yo yo, wait for JB,” Ja’marr says to your group when you catch him and Justin outside the locker room. They’re both glowing coming off of the win, eyes crinkling as they smile and ask how the game went for you guys on the sideline. 

“That shit was insane,” Tay raves, her eyes widening as she recalls the deafening sound of cheers from around the whole stadium. 

“I genuinely don’t know if I’ve seen a crazier crowd in Death Valley,” You agree with a nod, texting your parents to let them know that you’ll be out in just a minute or two. 

“Holy fuck,” A groan comes from behind you, and you turn to see a freshly showered Joe in a bright purple LSU polo and some khaki shorts. “What a fuckin game.” He drapes an arm around you and leans slightly, causing his refreshing body wash scent to infiltrate your senses. His damp hair is messily parted, mostly arrayed because of the amount of times he must’ve run his hand through it, and his eyes are tired but electric, his lopsided grin setting off fireworks in your tummy.

Each of you talk back and forth about the big win, from your favorite moments to funny fan costumes, and it’s not long until you’re in the parking lot searching for your parents. Eventually you see them next to your mom’s bright blue minivan, which is parked right next to…Joe’s car.

Looks like this is now or never, You think nervously, praying to god your parents don’t embarrass you given what you’ve mentioned to them about Joe before the game. 

“Kelia!” Your mom suddenly shouts when she looks up from her phone, somehow more excited to see her more than her own daughter. Kelia is startled, but shouts in return, running up to your mom and jumping into her hug. All conversation is cut off and the boys look at you confused, meanwhile Tay and Grace start greeting your parents with hugs too.

You roll your eyes at their inability to use context clues. “Guys, these are my parents. Mom, dad, this is Joe, Justin and Ja’marr. You might’ve seen them on the field earlier,” You joke, trying to make this the least amount of awkward it could possibly be.

“Good to meet you, what a great game!” Your mom says cheerily, grinning ear to ear because of the electric win. You don’t miss her eyes darting to you suspiciously, clearly picking up on the fact that this is in fact that Joe. 

“Great to meet you boys,” Your father agrees, shaking each of your friends’ hands individually. You internally cringe, knowing you’ll never understand men’s need to assert some kind of dominance over one another in the form of a handshake, and you’ll just have to live with that. Unfortunately that doesn’t make it any less difficult to witness.

“Great to meet you too, sir,” Joe responds with a light smile, Justin and Ja’marr both murmuring and nodding in agreement. You stand so still, hoping this moment can finally be over now that they’ve done the whole handshake thing, and luckily your mom is just the person to interrupt. 

“Well, we were all headed out to get some super late dinner if you wanted a meal on us,” Your mom offers, the win clearly putting her in an inviting mood if she’s this excited to bring people she’s just met to our meal. 

“Oh really we couldn’t-”

“We eat a lot-”

“That’s very kind-”

Each player has their own protest, all too polite to overstep on a family meal, but they’re quickly cut off. “Oh, enough with that nonsense. Get in your cars!”

Your belly feels like it’s about to explode as you sit in the front seat of Joe’s truck, reminiscing on the all around perfect day you’ve had. From the game, to your parents’ visit, to your newfound reconciliation with Joe, everything feels absolutely perfect, and you almost never want the day to end. But your parents needed rest, your teammates begged to be back in their beds, so you said goodbye to them with a heavy heart. You and Joe weren’t quite ready for that yet, so he offered for you to just ride home with him.

Your attention catches when the engine rumbles off, the click of a key indicating that Joe’s fully parked. You glance over at his large frame taking up the entire expanse of the driver’s seat, admiring the soft look on his face when you make eye contact.

“You ready?” He asks, opening his door and hopping out of the truck.

“Yeah,” You call out, unbuckling your seatbelt slowly. Once freed you reach for the door handle, until it’s ripped away from you when Joe opens the door for you, offering a hand for you to use as leverage to step out. Your grin widens, taking his firm hand as you step down to the ground, loving how he holds eye contact with you the entire time. 

Joe keeps your hand in his as he locks his car and the two of you start to make your way up to his apartment. The cool, nighttime breeze floats across your face comfortingly, and you think back to dinner when the whole table agreed to order a big salad to share. 

You sift through the ingredients of the dish, knowing you’re not picky and you’ll say yes no matter what, but a big vegetable at the end of the list stands out.

Tomatoes. 

You shrug to yourself, figuring you’ll just pick out the gross things from your portion when the salad arrives. After agreeing to the split, you excuse yourself from the table to go to the restroom, surprised when you come back to the table and the salad has already been delivered and portioned. You sit quietly, listening as Grace rattles off about a professor that graded her unfairly on an assignment until you notice something…

Your salad has no tomatoes. 

A glance to your right reveals the story of what happened. Sitting on the side of Joe’s plate is a big pile of tomatoes, untouched by his salad that already contains its own vegetables. You look up at him in disbelief, unable to stop yourself when you quietly ask, “Did you pick out my tomatoes?”

Joe glances at your plate, then back up at you. “You don’t like them,” He says simply, then turns his head back to Grace and her rant. You sit in shock for a moment, not realizing that something this little would make you melt. To your left, your dad taps you on your shoulder, causing you to look up at him with big eyes.

“I like him.”

Your smile grows wider at the memory, realizing you’re falling for Joe, hard and fast. You may have been scared before, but you let that feeling slowly slip away when you remember moments like that, moments where he makes you feel seen by him. You didn’t realize how rare and those moments were with Cam–with Joe, they’re casual. 

The bright moon reflecting in the sky catches your eye, taking note of its state in the half moon phase. “I want to go to the moon!” You cheer to her, throwing your arms up with a big smile. 

“The moon, huh?” Joe chuckles. “You know, that could’ve all been fake.” He deadpans, his face suddenly turning serious. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” You retort sarcastically, blowing a quick kiss to the glowing orb in the sky before walking into Joe’s apartment building. 

“You wouldn’t last two seconds on the moon,” Joe jokes with a shake of his head, leading the both of you up a flight of stairs. “You’d float away like a little feather.”

“That is just rude,” You argue, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to unlock the door. The piece of wood eventually swings open, revealing Joe’s tidy apartment. 

“I’m sorry you can’t handle the truth, baby,” Joe teases as he guides the both of you to his room.

“Please,” You scoff with an eye roll, planting your hands on your hips once you make it past his door frame. “I can handle anything. It’s you who can’t handle me.”

“Oh I can handle you,” Joe mutters, flicking his eyes up to you with heat in his gaze. You feel everything in that one look, a fire already sparking in your core from the promise it holds. “You know, I never got my kiss that I asked for. Y’know, before the game?” He mentions, starting to get closer and closer to you, the proximity already starting to make your breathing uneven.

“Ah yes, I do remember that,” You tease, looping your wrists around Joe’s neck and letting his hands slither to your waist. His hard body is warm to the touch, and that heat travels through you and straight to your center. He lets you control the kiss as you pull his neck down to you slowly, letting his breath fan across your lips once before softly pressing your lips to his. 

You kiss him tenderly, sweetly, as a thanks for how much he’s shown you he cares, allowing the both of you to lose yourselves in just that for a moment–just kissing. But after a few moments, you become all too aware of his big palms on your lower back, your mind running back to the intimate moments you’ve shared and the sexy glare he wore for most of the game today. Both of your lips automatically turn feverish, wandering from lips, to necks, and back to lips, and your clothes start to automatically leave both of your bodies until you’re stripped naked. 

You love being tossed around by Joe, but something about you taking control of your life today makes you want to take control of him. Before and after games, Joe looks for you. Joe opens doors for you. Joe wants to go home with you.

Before you can think too hard about it, you push Joe so he’s backed up to his bed, immediately crawling on top of him afterwards. His beautiful eyes are blown out in pleasure, eyeing you deliciously as you make your way up to him, taking a seat right on his lap. You feel so powerful like this, hovering over him like a predator over prey, knowing you call the shots now. You’re the one in control.  

An image flashes through your mind when you admire Joe’s hard chest, thinking about how it’d look even hotter if it was decorated. 

“I want to do something,” You whisper faintly as you trace the ridges of Joe’s abs, not exactly sure how he’s going to take this idea. “How much would you care if I gave you hickeys on your chest?” You ask.

“Not at all,” Joe replies huskily, his voice dripping with arousal. 

You slowly bend yourself down, attaching your mouth to Joe’s chest, purposefully sucking hard and rolling your tongue harshly against his skin so as to leave bruises. As you work and glide across his chest, leaving bruise after bruise, his breathing picks up more and more, and you notice the bulge in his pants growing larger and larger. You squirm with anticipation, loving every second of his struggle to keep his pleasure at bay. You don’t let up until you’re finished with your art project, removing yourself from his torso with a soft kiss. 

In the middle of Joe’s chest in the form of dark bruises, you painted your first initial, plain as day. The letter stands out nicely against his pale complexion, a stark reminder to him or anyone else of who exactly he wants to be with.

“Oh fuck,” Joe whines, bringing his own hand up to ghost over the pretty purple splotches. You smirk at his surprise, happy you could finally catch him off guard for once.

“You did so good tonight Joey,” You praise, starting to slide your hand up and down Joe’s cock at a slow pace, reveling in the way his marked up abs contract as he throws his head back. Soft groans leave his lips as you continue to pump, working him up just enough to get him ready for you. Eventually his desperation starts to sink in, and Joe doesn’t like it one bit. 

“If you don’t get on my cock I’m gonna edge you ‘til you can’t fuckin’ think,” Joe growls, the conviction in his voice letting you know that he means it. A part of you wants to test his limits, but the other part of you is giddy to ride him for the first time, pushing yourself onto his cock over and over again til you can’t breathe. You opt for the second option for now, positioning yourself just above the angry head of Joe’s dick before sinking onto him slowly, relishing the feeling of how good he stretches you.

God I’ve missed this.

Joe groans in relief as you start rising and falling on his dick, and you find a spot that goes just deep enough to get you going. “You’re right. I am drowning in pussy. Yours,” Joe gloats, locking eyes with you as he says that final word. A surge of pride runs through you as you take in his words and realize he’s telling the truth–he wants to fuck you. You look at Joe’s taut brows and pouty lips, watching him come undone underneath you with your initial marked loud and proud right above where you’re connected. 

“Mine,” You repeat breathlessly, your newfound confidence urging you to bounce faster, giving yourself that overwhelming pleasure. 

“Yes, baby,” Joe gasps lightly when you hit a kegel, his hands on your hips tugging you down on him more forcefully now. “Take what you need.” His words egg you on, and you moan as you lose yourself in the feeling of his hard, throbbing cock inside you, hitting just where you want it just as hard as you want it. Even when you falter, getting tired of holding yourself up because of the weight of your long, draining day, Joe digs his fingers farther into your hips, dragging you up and down himself. Your orgasm hits you quickly with Joe not far behind, the waves of warmth washing over your tired body causing you to immediately slump onto Joe’s chest.

The two of you are sweaty messes, wordlessly exchanging kisses and comforting rubs as you stalk over to Joe’s bathroom. Each of you cleans up, too tired to care about putting on clothes as you slip under the sheets, both of you out cold when your heads hit the pillows. 

For the next couple of days you only remember your little art project on Joe’s body whenever he’s shirtless around you–changing, showering, or just too damn lazy to care. You never imagined someone else would see it unless Joe was deliberate about it, which was fine because the bruises would fade in time anyways.

On Monday, football and cheer alike are back on the field for practice. Coach O is up to his usual shenanigans, finding some interesting way for the guys to get competitive with each other and learn what makes a good team. On your water break, you watch absentmindedly from right by the benches as the large group is separated into teams for some kind of relay race set up across the field. When they break, Joe and what you’re assuming his teammates come jogging up to your bench.

One of them being Cam.

“Hey,” Joe greets gruffly, rummaging through a cardboard box on the bench with bright green shirts in it. 

“Hey,” You return, trying to peer into the box. “What’s this?” “Well, we’re doing a relay, and Coach O said they got us all different colored shirts so the media team can do some fun coverage on it or something,” Joe replies with an eye roll, an avid hater of all the media the team is expected to participate in. “I’ll have to change my shirt.” Joe finishes with a pointed look at you, and your eyes widen as you realize what that means. 

Usually, Joe would just face his back towards the team and make it quick, so as to not reveal much of anything. Or, just put the shirt on over his current one and take it off from underneath. But there’s a glint in his eye that tells you he’s feeling mischievous, and don’t really give a fuck what his team will have to say. 

Joe grabs his size and turns outwards towards the rest of his team, or more specifically Cam, tugging his shirt off in one swift motion, revealing your initial painted across Joe’s chest in pretty purple bruises. Cam’s eyes almost automatically fall to the large abnormality, his eyes filling with fury as he sees you, standing next to him, rocking your initial in hickeys. 

After Cam gets a good long look, Joe pulls on the bright green tee the media team gave him, a wide smirk stretching across his face because of Cam’s displeasure. You can’t help it. A shit eating grin spreads wide across your face, the utter satisfaction you feel in this moment worth every second of trouble Cam put you through. 

This is going to be so fun.

part III - beat bama

[softieteez]

horns down . joe burrow

summary - After your college sweetheart of two years cheats on you, your friends convince you it’s time for a rebound—in the messiest way possible. pairings - TigerGirl!Reader x LSU!Joe warnings: language, angst, fluff, cheater, alcohol, drugs, physical fighting (not abuse!), SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI!), THE SLOWEST OF SLOWBURNS!!!!, Dom!Joe and Sub!Reader on the lowest of keys

a/n: Oh hey! Here's a lil LSU Joe fic hehehe. This fic is a prime example of me trying to keep it simple and creating too much plot smh. Literal yap. Idk if this is how college athlete shit works don’t sue me.

If you want to listen to the song mentioned in the chapter, its Finish Line by Delaney Bailey (start at about 0:57)

Drop a comment to get on the tag list!

word count: 30.7k yikes

IF WHOEVER CREATED the five stages of grief is right, you have to sit and wonder just how long depression is supposed to last, because anything is better than crying yourself to sleep for all but a few hours of actual rest.

You’d met broad, charming, confident Cam in late July, when both the football team and LSU Tiger Girls came to campus early to start practices for the season. Of course both of your teams were somewhat intertwined, with a few shared practice spaces, sociable team lunches, and occasional joined travel accommodations for away games. After jumping into whatever clique you could hang on to, you managed to meet him, a lean defensive back hailing from somewhere in Texas. The tall, slick, nonchalant motherfucker. 

After about a month of sneaking glances through sweaty workouts, pointing at each other from across Death Valley, and post-practice pizza hangouts, you officially started dating Cam about a week into actual classes. You cursed at yourself over and over again for getting in a relationship almost immediately upon coming to college. Your gut always told you, I have so many people to meet! Am I really going to settle on the first guy? Everyone who does this gets screwed!

You should have listened to your gut.

Finding Cam nose deep in some Zeta’s pussy when you forgot your dance bag in his apartment wasn’t exactly your ideal way to learn this lesson, but it got the message across loud and clear.

It’s now been your most gruesome start to a season yet. The worst part is that it’s not even about the suicides you have to run in the Louisiana heat or the two minute planks held with weights on your back—those feel like nothing compared to the overwhelming pit of nausea that slices through your stomach when you simply sense Cam in the vicinity. Currently, you can barely even stand on the right side of the bright, mirror-ful LSU dance studio knowing he’s with the guys on the other side of the wall picking up and slamming down weights. A particularly loud thud of workout equipment from that room sends a jolt through your body, eyes snapping up to Coach Kandace mid sentence. 

“You need to move together on that beat, not even a millisecond behind…” She demands with a snap of her fingers. 

Practice has always helped you work through your darkest times, but now you can’t even catch a simple note from Coach clearly. Anger boils deep in your chest, your head heats up at this thought. 

I can’t even do the shit I love most because of this motherfucker. How did he take everything from me?

Curses string through your brain, overlapping until you feel the tears of frustration springing in your eyes. 

No! You snap at yourself. Absolutely not. 

You take a shaky but calming breath in and out through your nose, and use all of your willpower to focus on Coach, practically glaring at her at this point. 

“Let’s do that, yeah? Last run before lunch, don’t make me hate it,” She booms, her loud voice followed by two claps. You make your way to your position at the start of the hip-hop routine, shaking your limbs on the way in an attempt to sharpen your mind. 

There’s a silence before the music begins. Another thud. Loud laughter. A couple encouraging howls.

The track starts and catches you slightly off guard. Your movements are strong and sharp, but you feel your spatial awareness slip as you push yourself through the routine. Your internal dialogue doesn’t help in the slightest. Choruses of “What the shit was that?” and “Fuck him,” and “Just GET through it.” And of course, on the slide section Coach said no one could be a millisecond late on, you hear your sneaker squeak on the floor just after everyone else’s. 

Fuckin’ great. 

By the end of the routine your frustration has simmered into sadness, feeling simply disappointed in yourself and your performance. You and everyone else in this room know you’re a much better dancer and teammate than you’ve been for the past month. Your chest contracts and heart aches as you break from your ending position to grab your water bottle and notebook before sitting in a semicircle on the floor in front of Coach. A sharp pain climbs up your throat as you purse your lips, an attempt to keep your eyes from watering. You can’t even stand to look at most of the girls, too embarrassed. Of all of it. 

Thud. A football coach’s muffled voice yelling, “Hey, pick that shit up and get over here!”

Coach Kandace starts her post-practice notes, and you hang on to every word. You feel it’s the least you could do after another horrible practice. You get as many details of her quarries as you can jotted into your notebook, your handwriting looking messier than usual ever since the breakup. Another thing you can’t stand about this whole ordeal. Once Coach is finished, you feel your throat has miraculously loosened after those few minutes of focus and a couple sips of water. 

“Alright, thank you all for your work. We’ll be in the stadium this evening for sideline practice, so please come prepared in your white practice shorts and purple practice tops. If you’re dressed incorrectly, I don’t want to see you,” Coach speaks slowly as she lists off directions for tonight’s practice. “Lunch is in the big hall today, you’re dismissed.”

You internally groan at the last announcement. Lunch in the big hall means you’re eating with the football team. Another thing you used to look forward to, and now dread. 

Everyone starts to disperse, girls talking, and stretching, and drinking more water while getting ready to leave. You start to gather your items, until Coach Kandace calls you over.

Oh God.

You scamper over to the far side of the room, walking right up to her with a straight spine, directly meeting her eye. Anything less and you’d be in even more trouble than you already are.

“Hi, hon. How are you doing? I know we talked at the beginning of preseason about what’s going on, but I want to check on you,” She starts. Coach can see right through each of her girls, and it was blatantly obvious something was wrong that week you’d caught Cam red handed. You had a chat about it after that practice where you told her what happened, but haven’t talked since.

You could have lied, but it would’ve been useless. This woman is basically your second mother. “I’m getting through it,” You said after a few moments. 

She hums. “Listen. I know what’s going on here. So do you. So do your teammates. All we want is for you to be uplifted and supported. I’m sure you feel the same. Everyone in this room right now, we all know you are facing adversity. And I hate to be the bitch here, but it’s kind of my job,” She speaks calmly and slowly. “There is adversity happening in every corner of this building. It may not be the exact same as yours, it may not be happening at the same time as yours, but you have a mental responsibility to this team–and more importantly, yourself–to face it. I’ve seen you for the past three weeks try to dance your way out of it and around it. Cut that shit out. It’s not going to solve anything. You need to sit with yourself and your support system, and face it.”

You stand there, hands on hips. All of your past practices loom over you, and finally you realize. Your dreams filled with every mistake in your routines. Running laps around Death Valley when you can’t sleep. Handwashing every practice and game uniform two times over. Dance, dance, dance. You’ve been smothering your feelings so far away, and it’s coming back to bite you in the ass every time. An endless loop of you wanting to substitute your pain with your passion, and your pain infiltrating your passion as a result, making you want to continue substituting your pain with your passion. It’s like you’ve been trying to shove a key in the wrong lock, pushing dance further in, desperately trying to patch up your emptiness until the key bends. How long have you been shoving? And has the key finally snapped, or can you be fixed?

Coach lets out a sigh as she crosses her arms. “You are stronger than this. We all know that. I would not have put you on this team if you weren’t. You’re a fucking Tiger Girl for fuck’s sake.” She points at my chest while she says this. “So, are you going to show up for your team, or not?” Her eyes bore pointedly into yours. You don’t dare to look away.

You take a deep breath and mutter, “Yes.”

Her eyes widen and brows raise at your response. “I’m sorry?” She exclaims as she leans in.

“Yes ma’am,” You declare, speaking stronger this time. Meaning it. 

“Alright,” She responds and nods with a slight smile and a glint in her eye. “Also, if you need to bring your lunch somewhere else let me know.” She places a hand on your shoulder rubbing it slightly as a comfort. 

“That’s okay,” You reply with a real, full smile. “I’m stronger than that.”

She smiles back. “That you are.”

You turn and walk back towards your items, seeing Kelia on her phone and all packed up, standing by the wooden cubby that holds all of your dance gear. You quickly pile your dance bag a mile high, barely managing to get the zipper closed. Kelia turns to you with a soft, “You good?” You meet her eye as you sling the bag over your shoulder. Her concerned frown makes you sigh. 

“Yes,” You reply confidently with a nod, running with this newfound optimism Coach just gave you. You stalk towards the door with your head held high, Kelia falling in step with you quickly.

“That is my girl,” Kelia replies excitedly, slinging her arm around your shoulder as you both walk down a grand corridor in the LSU facility towards the big hall, refusing to glance over at the gym where the boys are finishing up their workout. 

You think about what Coach said about your support system, knowing immediately Kelia is one of the people in that circle. Kelia was selected to be your random roommate freshman year, most likely because you’re both Tiger Girls. You honestly didn’t get along super well at first–she’s ridiculously clean, which was hard to keep up with, and you liked to sleep around 11pm, whereas her bedtime veered closer to 3am–but after being yakked on by the same drunk girl at a frat, your trauma bond made you inseparable. She’s been with you through thick and thin, and vice versa. 

You start to glance at some of the epic pictures of athletes from LSU’s history that decorate the bright hallway when you see someone break off from a group of girls in front of you. The figure you now recognize as one of your other closest friends, Grace, jogs over to you and Kelia. 

“Yo,” She sighs, slinging her arm around your shoulder tiredly. “I don’t wanna go to sidelineee.” She whines in your ear, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout.

“How else would you do so good cheering for your man?” Kelia teases, snickering.

“He ain’t my man,” Grace snaps at her. “We’re feelin’ it out.”

“You want him to be though,” You comment with a laugh, Kelia adding in a little Oooh! to back you up. Grace’s little situationship with one of the team’s star wide receivers, Justin Jefferson, is one of the few things providing you entertainment in this dark period.

“Anyway,” Grace booms with a glare, trying to silence you and Kelia’s giggles. “I’m gonna get him to join us for lunch so you can grill him all about it then.” She crosses her arms and juts out her chin as you three march into the big hall, an extensive, bright, pristine cafeteria with a variety of meal stations and LSU memorabilia all over the walls. The smell of different cuisines and freshly cooked food perks you up. You didn’t realize just how hungry you are until this moment. By far the biggest benefit of eating at the same time as the football team is that you get the same food as them, which is far superior to the bland, prepackaged meals usually provided for the women’s sports. 

It seems your teammates are thinking the same thing as you, because Kelia immediately says, “Oh bless those little boys and their silly game.” She makes a beeline for the True Balance section, and you follow suit, both of you filling up your plates as Grace wanders off elsewhere. You chit chat while you make your way to an open table, and the football players start flooding in with all of their smelliness and loudness and whatnot. You try to find Grace over the shoulders of huge sweaty men who just finished a gruesome workout, and eventually find her already walking towards you, side by side with Justin.

Guess she got him to sit with us. You smile to yourself. If there’s one thing about your friends, it’s that they know exactly how to have a man wrapped around their finger. You tease Grace all the time about how down bad she is for Justin, but you have no doubts that if she actually wants him, she and Justin will be an item by midseason.

You tap Kelia’s shoulder as you sit down next to her, nodding at the pair behind you. She glances at them, then shares a knowing look with you. “That girl,” She mumbles as she smirks and shakes her head. 

“Hey!” You hear Grace chirp as she slides next to Kelia, Justin hot on her tail, plopping down right across from her. 

“What’s up?” Justin greets you both warmly. You’ve met Justin a handful of times when he’s been over at your college apartment you share with Grace, Kelia, and Tay, another Tiger Girl you love dearly. Before unforeseen recent events, you typically hung out with Cam’s friends on the team, who are mostly on the defensive side of the ball. Your breakup and Grace’s newfound infatuation has you branching out to meeting some new players, and that’s definitely for the best, but it feels weird. Sometimes it feels like all of them know exactly what happened, and are laughing at you on the inside. Justin seems nice enough though.

And you’re just jumping to conclusions. 

“Fucking tired,” Kelia grumbles, picking at her salad and shoving a bite in her mouth. 

Justin just laughs. “Tell me about it, brother,” Another voice interrupts. You look up from your rice and see another wide receiver, Ja’marr Chase, stumble into your table across from Kelia. Everyone gives him a small greeting including you, just giving a tight smile. Your memories of Ja’marr are even blurrier than the ones of Justin. You can’t even recall a full conversation you’ve had with him, only meeting in passing or large groups.

New people, that’s okay, that’s cool! 

“So, what is this fight I’m hearing about?” Grace asks the group, specifically the guys.

Ja’marr immediately lets out a loud groan and Justin rolls his eyes. “Man, I don’t even care about this shit. Like, it’s fucking football and I don’t give a shit about feelings,” Ja’marr rants, instantly throwing his arms all around in exaggeration as he gathers a large amount of food onto his fork and chomps down on it. 

“It’s actual pussy shit,” Justin points out to you all, shaking his head.

“God,” Ja’marr scoffs, sighing again before starting, “Basically, we was in the weight room right, doing our splits. All the sudden, this– Ah wait. Aye, nine!” Ja’marr pauses, getting distracted and yelling at something behind you and Kelia, seemingly waving someone else over to your table. 

Jesus.

You look over your shoulder, realizing the number nine he called over is LSU’s star quarterback and supposed savior, Joe Burrow. 

Oh. 

Like Ja’marr, you’d met Joe in passing only one or two times. All you know is that he can be pretty quiet, is kind of a big deal, and when faced with football, destructively intense. The kind of guy who walks in the room and everyone knows he means business. 

You would be lying if you said he didn’t scare you sometimes. But only sometimes. 

When Joe makes his way to the table, he scoots right in next to Ja’marr across from you. “Okay we’re talking abo- Bro, what the fuck did you grab pickles for?” Ja’marr looks at Joe incredulously. Everyone’s head turns to Joe’s plate, with a whole five or six pickle spears on the edge of it. 

Joe looks up with part of a pickle already in his mouth, staring at everyone like a deer caught in headlights. His gaze lands on Ja’marr, and his expression turns defensive as he speaks with his mouth half full, “I like pickles. What’s the problem?”

A couple of you all snicker at him, Ja’marr saying, “No problem bruh, you just got, like, 12 of ‘em.”

“You could at least share,” You comment, holding out your thumb and forefinger. 

He lets out a little laugh, picking up one of his pickles and gifting it to you, saying, “Here, you can get bullied too.”

“Okay,” Grace booms over the table exasperatedly, “what happened with this fight?” 

Joe groans, “This shit?”

“Ohhh yeah,” Ja’marr points at Grace as she rolls her eyes in exasperation. “So, we’re lifting. All the sudden, Deavers and Delpit on the squat rack next to me start chirping or something.” Your stomach turns at that last name. Deavers. Cam. A last name you foolishly thought could possibly be yours one day… 

But it won’t be. And you’re better off without it.

“So I’m like bruh, what’s going on? They’re talking about the Texas game this weekend, I’m like, okay. But Deavers is out here on some–” Ja’marr’s voice jumps three octaves as he imitates your ex, “--‘my dad went there, and my whole family are Longhorns, and this is going to be such a hard game.’ Like bitch…shut up!” He throws his hands up when he says this, eyes widening and eyebrows furrowing. You remember moments when Cam told you about his family’s history with Texas, telling you it would be hard whenever LSU plays Texas. You almost forgot how significant this weekend is for him. 

“I literally do not give a fuck who you are, where you come from. That’s straight up weird to not be betting on your own guys,” Justin grumbles.

“So Delpit’s already chewin’ him off, I start talking my shit, some punches get thrown, blah blah blah. Some trainers broke it up. I’m just annoyed by what he was saying,” Ja’marr waves off the rest of the story. “The best part was Joe,” Ja’marr points to his teammate and starts laughing. “He came up to Deavers after all macho and shit, and was like, ‘Cut that shit out. This is football, you go to war with your men.’”

“Really there was no reason for all that. Obviously what he’s saying is stupid as fuck, but you should’ve just all shut up,” Joe says to Ja’marr with a hard stare, lightly scolding him as well. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ja’marr rolls his eyes. “But literally 90% of all the punches were him. I was defending myself.”

“He was acting like he wanted to get hit,” Joe backs up Ja’marr’s point.

“Crazy for a guy on the bench every game,” Ja’marr adds, grumbling and going back to picking at his food. 

“Sheesh!” Justin calls out, eyes widening at Ja’marr. “You didn’t have to do him like that now.”

Ja’marr shrugs. “I’m sick of his shit.”

“Wooow, the girls are fighting,” Kelia mumbles. All three of them shoot their heads up and glare at you all as you giggle. 

“Whatever,” Justin spits out as he rolls his eyes. 

“I mean, doesn’t this all make sense anyway?” Grace asks. “The defensive guys are always a little feistier.”

“What do you mean?” Ja’marr challenges, stiffening up.

“Well, they’re just super aggressive,” Kelia explains. “That’s why they play defense…right?”

“Not necessarily,” Joe counters. “For some guys it’s just their build, or how they see the ball. Different skills are good for different positions and make different kinds of players.”

You let out a small laugh. Everyone says that. “Sure.”

All three of the guys are staring at you now. “What?” You ask, throwing your hands up in defense.

“Well, I think we just want you to elaborate,” Ja’marr replies, motioning for you to continue.

“I’m just saying, they’re ramming their bodies into other people’s for fun. They’re a little rougher!” As you explain, you recall the few moments Cam would be in the game and make a particularly hard tackle, scaring the shit out of you. Sometimes you would really think he died or had a serious injury, but he would just get up every time and flex towards the crowd. 

You also recall your hot make out sessions after draining practices when he would still find the energy to toss you around, making it feel like his hands were in twenty places at once. It was something you always loved and found extremely attractive, up until he started making excuses for not getting you off afterwards and turning out the light before you could even clean yourself up. 

“You don’t think we can play rough?” Joe quips, staring you straight in the eye. You see a glint in them, not quite amusement, but darker. A challenge. 

Joe’s innuendo, whether intentional or not, sets off sirens in your brain. You can’t help but imagine what Joe would be like in comparison to Cam. How he would treat a girl he’s with, his favorite positions, just how rough he thinks he can be…luckily the thought is a small flash, and you push it away as soon as it appears. Still, your imagination only fuels the fire of his intimidating stare, and a sudden heat surges into your cheeks for a quick second or two. “No…But you aren’t the guys smashing someone’s face into the ground,” You reply with a shrug.

Joe just laughs, slightly smug. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll stomp on a ho,” Ja’marr declares, pounding his foot into the ground under the table. 

“Be serious,” Justin laughs with his wide receiver duo, wiping his greasy fingers on his napkin before gathering his trash. “Want me to take yours?” He asks Grace.

“Oh, sure!” Grace quips innocently, giving him a big smile as he collects her scraps and piles them on top of his plate. You eye Kelia, noticing Joe and Ja’marr across from you giving each other similar looks. You lightly kick their legs under the table, grabbing their attention and darting your eyes towards Justin’s back that’s now headed towards a trash can. Joe just smirks and shakes his head knowingly, continuing to pick at his food, while Ja’marr puts a finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture.You and Kelia hold back your laughs, and a short silence falls over the table.

Grace notices and darts her eyes between the four of you, her cheeks turning a little pink. “What?” She questions, a smile threatening to burst through her lips. 

“Nothin’ girl,” Kelia replies with a chuckle, gathering her trash as well as yours. 

“I really don’t think I can make it through this heat bro. I really don’t,” Ja’marr starts complaining as he looks outside at the blazing Louisiana sun. “Not after that workout.”

“I thought you only had to go to Hodge?” Joe asks.

“Well yeah,” Says Ja’marr. “I still don’t want to step outside.”

Grace nods at you. “She’s got class in Hodge too! We usually walk together and split off ‘cause I gotta go across campus.”

“Oh perfect, you can be my human shield,” Ja’marr gives you a cheesy, sarcastic smile as you deadpan your expression in response. Both of you end up chuckling after your little joke as he and Joe finally start throwing their things out. You mentally sigh in relief, glad these guys are easy to get along with. Jumping into everyone’s preordained friendships is nerve-wracking.

The group continues chatting as you make your way out of the hall. When you step outside into the scorching sun Ja’marr so clearly despises, you catch the tail end of a hushed conversation between Cam and a defensive tackle you can’t remember the name of. Their heads snap over to you all as soon as the door opens. You make eye contact with Cam for only a second before turning your head forwards again, standing a little straighter, and holding your head up high. 

Not worth it. 

Cam and the DT continue their top secret convo once your group is out of earshot, and Justin and Kelia bid their goodbyes. While you’re waving, your brain comes to a serious halt when you make a realization. 

Your stomach didn’t drop when you saw Cam. In fact, your reaction was minimal. This is progress. Support system. 

“You going back to Gateway?” Ja’marr questions as he points at Joe. Gateway is the nice athletics dorm, and you’re not surprised Joe lives there, especially since Justin and Ja’marr do too. 

“Yeah, I’ll walk you guys though, it’s on the way,” Joe replies, falling in step with you, Grace and Ja’marr. 

You barely get two paces in when Ja’marr looks back at the ops, grunting. “Of course they’re out here, probably talking shit. Find something better to do,” Ja’marr demands, obviously still salty from the fight at practice. 

“I feel like we shouldn’t sit in this rage,” Grace suggests, softly patting Ja’marr’s shoulder to feign console. 

Suddenly Ja’marr is quiet, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Wait. I’m sorry. I should’ve shut my mouth,” He rambles. “You guys aren’t friends with him or something, right? That’s my bad.”

“Oh, no,” You blurt out, maybe a little too suddenly. It feels like all eyes are on you after your outburst, Grace looking slightly sympathetic. “Sorry,” You wave your hand back and forth like it will waft away the awkwardness. “He’s just, um, he’s my ex. So, no, not friends with him.”

There’s a short silence. “Oh,” Joe and Ja’marr say simultaneously. 

You let out a little snort, and eventually everyone else seems to follow suit, laughing with you. 

“Yeah, we don’t like him,” Grace confirms through her giggles. 

“Great,” Ja’marr announces. “Cause it’s horns down all week, mothafuckas.”

The sound of Coach Kadence's whistle slices through the humid air, and you swear the white, intense field lights of Death Valley make your head spin just a little harder for a few moments. “Take fifteen. Drink some damn water, and put away your poms. We’ll finish with tumbling,” Coach announces over the crowd of panting Tiger Girls, everyone exhausted after running your hardest drill. Your body breathes a sigh of relief at her words, begging you to rest for just a moment. In all honesty, you’re still happy as can be. This is the best practice you’ve had in weeks.

You start trudging over to the facility to put away your poms, not too far from the stadium, when you realize the football team has gone inside. They were out here for a majority of the time running their usual drills, and must have gone in ten or twenty minutes ago. The stars catch your eye as you look up, noticing the moon has taken a break tonight. A new moon.

“Jesus,” Someone breathes out next to you. “I always underestimate that drill.” Tay, your other roommate besides Grace and Kelia, has her hands on her hips as she walks side by side with you towards the tunnel where there’s a shortcut to the facility.

You cough out a short laugh through your tired pants and dry throat. “Yeah, me too,” You agree as Grace catches up to the other side of Tay.

“If Coach didn’t give us a break after that I was going to vomit, I swear,” Grace insists. You and Tay just nod in agreement, too exhausted to speak much longer. Luckily, Kelia jogs straight up to the group and does all the talking for you.

“You guys, I came up with an ingenious plan during my Thermodynamics exam today,” Kelia announces excitedly.

“During an exam?” Tay inquires with a judging look. 

“Shush. Anyway,” Kelia waves her off quickly and grabs your arm. “Girl. You have been moping about this stupid Cam, sham, bland idiot, and I think today was the exact rebrand you have been needing. I mean look at you, you were fucking killing it out there today!” Kelia motions out at the field as you smile at her. You’re not entirely sure where this is going, and the topic is making you wary, but everything sounds good so far.

“So in the true spirit of that, I think to top it all off you need a full factory reset,” She smirks at you. “I think it’s time you learn the art of the rebound.”

Grace gasps, “I love this idea.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” You chant as you wave your hands out, trying to simmer your friends down from their excited chatter. A rebound? Of course you’ve heard of it, even had a few friends experiment with the unorthodox method of getting over an ex. But there are a lot of complications. You don’t want to hurt the rebound’s feelings if they’re actually into you, and you don’t want to get attached yourself. You don’t want to feel like you’re just trying to fill a void, although at this point you haven’t had good dick in quite some time and your body is a little antsy for it. 

“Is that really an ingenious idea? I would say it’s just a theory that has a very slim possibility of becoming successful,” You counter. 

“Hey!” Keila lightly hits your shoulder. “It is ingenious! At this point, most of your emotional attachments to him are gone, so it’s not like you’re just trying to fuck away your feelings. Besides, we all know good and well about Cam’s selfishness in bed,” Kelia mumbles the last sentence as you nod off handedly. “It would be good to find someone new who knows what they’re doing a little more.”

You sigh, definitely still not sold on the idea. “Besides, I have the perfect candidate,” Kelia remarks.

“Oh really?” You snort, and Kelia nods, her expression smug and her head held high. “Who?”

“Joe,” She replies simply.

“Joe Burrow?” You utter.

The other girls’ mouths drop. “No way,” Grace gasps with a smile.

“The kid’s teammate?! Oh that’s messy,” Tay adds, cackling along with Grace.

“That’s perfect. Please, please say you’ll do it,” Grace grabs hold of you through laughter.

“Okay this all feels so dramatic,” You reply, your brain moving a mile a minute as you process.

“Come on,” Kelia whines. “He’s nice, hot, a little more experienced cause he’s a little older…Last spring when his ex was in town I met her at this party and she would not shut up about how good he is in bed. It was kind of annoying actually, like bitch I don’t know you.” She scrunches up her nose at that last part.

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” You mutter under your breath.

“Oh, so you have thought about it!” Tay points her finger at you.

“Every girl says that about their boyfriend,” You dismiss Kelia’s previous comment, trying to ignore Tay.

Kelia stops outside the door to the facility with a pointed look. “Did you ever brag to other girls about how good Cam was in bed?” She asks.

You fall silent. Everyone knows the answer.

“Exactly,” She deadpans. “So just think about it! All I’m saying is it would be a really good time, and a really good get-back at Cam.”

“It would definitely be a ‘for the plot’ moment of the ages,” Grace mutters in agreement. 

You sigh with your hands on your hips. Realistically, there’s not much that can go wrong, and it’s a pretty win-win situation. The only tricky part is getting him on the same page.

“I’ll think about it,” You finally respond. Kelia lets out a little ‘Yes!’ and high fives the other two girls, as you roll your eyes and enter the facility behind Grace.

A couple doors down is the Tiger Girls equipment closet where a few girls are putting their poms away. The rest are a couple more doors down, peering in the observation windows of one of the matted rooms where the wrestlers typically practice. They’re chatting and gripping their fingers on the window sills, hanging on to every second of whatever is going on in that room. Grace notices too, furrowing her eyebrows back at you and the other girls before investigating. 

Once you get to the windows, you realize this is where the football boys went. There are bleachers set up on the far right side of the room where the entire team is sitting, and Coach O, the head football coach, stands in the middle with two clear buckets full of wooden balls. 

“Look, Justin,” Grace points out in the row of bleachers. You follow her finger, seeing Justin, Ja’marr and Joe all sitting next to each other. After the conversation you had with your girls on the way in, you unconsciously start noticing Joe a little more. His blonde hair is slightly darker than it usually is due to the sweat accumulated from a long practice, and his strong jaw is set tightly as he focuses on his Coach. He rubs his hand along that jaw for a moment, licking his full lips in the process, making your heart rate accelerate so deliciously that it’s addicting. 

He really is hot…

The boys must have seen Grace’s pointing, because Justin gives her a small peace sign, and Ja’marr smiles. Joe’s expression remains stoic and hard set as he makes eye contact with the group, his gaze lingering on you until the side of his mouth tugs upwards ever so slightly. His eyes snap back to Coach O.

“What’s going on?” Tay asks another Tiger Girl, Del.

“They’re wrestling,” She replies with wide eyes. “Watch.” Del points to Coach O, who pulls out a ball from each bucket.

Coach O’s deep, gravelly voice booms, “Offense, 51. Rosenthal. Defense, 1. Fulton.” Cheers and hollers from the guys rattle through the room as two members of the team stand from the bleachers and replace Coach O in the center of the wrestling mat. Coach steps aside, puts his silver whistle in his mouth, and pushes out a hearty alert to start the match. The two players launch into action, grabbing at each other's limbs, trying to form headlocks and pin a pair of shoulders. After a minute or two of tousling, a player wins and earns cheers from the rest of the team, while Coach O approaches a large whiteboard where each match is listed and its winner circled. 

“Holy shit,” You mutter. As if they don’t beat each other up enough during games.

“Alright,” Coach O announces, trying to settle the team. “Defense, 13. Deavers. Offense, 9. Burrow.”

Oh god.

Oh god.

The universe is sending you signs and you don’t know how to handle them.

Both Cam and Joe stand from the bleachers as the rest of the team conducts their obligatory claps and hollers, a little, “Oh yeah,” coming from Ja’marr. Your brain short circuits a little when you notice Joe’s wearing a white LSU compression tee with no sleeves, showing off his leftover tan from August. 

Jesus Christ.

Joe and Cam shake hands and face off, gearing up in athletic stances for the fight. Almost instantly you take notice of their size comparison. You always thought Cam was a big guy, sitting at a good 6’1 (although he’d tell you 6'2) with a decent amount of muscle on him. Seeing him next to Joe made you rethink that entirely. He’s noticeably taller than Cam, and his shoulders are definitely broader. Although it may not be entirely true, the sleeveless shirt is working in Joe’s favor, making his arms look more sculpted and refined. Plus that ass…

Okay. You need to stop, You scold yourself. 

“Alright,” Coach O huffs out, then blows his whistle loud and clear. 

Of course Cam is immediately attempting to attack, hoping any intimidation can work in his favor. Joe doesn’t waver, quickly maneuvering out of Cam’s holds, not even flinching at his jukes. After 30 long seconds of Cam on the offense, he manages to trip Joe up on his legs, getting both of them on their knees. Players on the bleachers react, shouting words of encouragement to both of their teammates. 

“Agh, come on!” Cam grits out while pulling Joe closer and closer to a chokehold. Both of them are letting out so much force they’re slightly shaking, sweat wicking down their foreheads and cheeks flushed. 

Joe takes a deep breath, then lets out an angry grunt, his face suddenly turning as hard and mean as you’ve ever seen him. With his brows down and eyes hooded, Joe’s biceps that are preventing Cam from getting the full hold start contracting beautifully in that cutoff shirt, slowly and shakily bringing Cam’s arm off his neck. 

Holy fuck.

Joe starts to pull himself off of Cam’s body, quickly turning and getting a good grip on the arm that was around his neck. Cam uses his other fist to try to make a cheap shot at Joe’s knee, but Joe catches it, using Cam’s moment of weakness to ram his shoulder into Cam’s torso. A couple of your teammates gasp as Joe keeps pushing, driving both of them to the ground with Joe facing you dancers at the observation window, his knees on either side of Cam’s hips. The players on the bleachers get even rowdier as the fight picks up, everyone banging on the metal and cheering on who they want to win. 

Come on, Joe…

Joe’s biceps bulge as he lets out another mean grunt, eventually maneuvering Cam’s arm behind his own back like he’s getting arrested. Cam’s other arm tries to grab desperately at any of Joe’s limbs, but Joe drives a knee into Cam’s lower back, forcing him onto his stomach. Whoops and hollers fill the room, with someone barking out, “Get ‘em Burrow!”

Come on Joe…

Joe’s other arm grabs Cam’s free one, joining the two together so he can hold both of Cam’s wrists with one hand. He uses the other arm to crash his elbow and forearm into Cam’s shoulders, holding a pin as Coach O starts to count.

“Three…”

Joe takes his eyes off of the pin and looks straight up. At you.

“Two…”

He quickly adjusts his grip, removing his forearm from Cam’s shoulders, and moving that same hand onto Cam’s head, squishing it into the mat. 

“One…”

It dawns on you what Joe’s doing, and why his electric blue eyes are burning into yours at this very moment.

He’s smashing Cam’s face into the ground.

The realization leaves your mouth agape. Joe can see right through you, and he knows it. A cocky grin stretches across his mouth. He’s holding you to your words, and putting you right in your place, leaving you breathless.

The loudest cheers of the night erupt from the spectators, many of them hooting and dancing. Joe rises, still extending a hand to help Cam up afterwards even though he just disrespected the hell out of him by shoving his face into the floor like that. Joe saunters back to his place on the bleachers as Coach O records the match. Your eyes are glued to his frame, his energy and demeanor making him exciting and magnetic. He sits while Justin and Ja’marr give him a few words, and you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. In a moment you could’ve missed if you blinked, Joe looks at you one last time and throws you a quick wink, turning right back to his teammates. 

You finally look to your friends, who are just as stunned as you. “Oh, this is perfect,” Kelia whispers, with the largest shit-eating grin you have ever seen.

The rest of your week drags on as normal, other than your somewhat overwhelming thoughts of a certain quarterback. You eat with the football players one other time, sitting again with Justin, Ja’marr and Joe, even chatting with them during practice transitions and occasionally walking to classes together. You and Joe specifically have been getting closer by the day, joking and laughing. Grace is over the moon of course, and it feels like Kelia and Tay are watching you and Joe like a hawk, willing their wish to come true. 

Usually, you have no trouble reading guys. In fact, they almost feel boring and predictable most of the time. But Joe is entirely cool and collected, and you’re not at all used to being caught unaware. It excites you, but scares you to death as well.

Am I reading too far into this? Are we flirting? It feels like flirting. He could just be a flirty guy. I could just be ridiculously horny. 

That’s the other problem. No one talks about the struggle of going from okay sex, to horrible sex, to no sex at all. You feel so close yet so far, and stupidly desperate, which just makes you even more frustrated because you hate being desperate.

“Ugh,” You groan at your thoughts, finally focusing on your computer screen long enough to submit your last bit of homework before you leave. The team’s bus to Texas leaves at 7am, and maintaining your GPA is part of being a Tiger Girl, so it's essentially team policy to have all of your homework done before you leave. 

You shut your laptop with a sigh, dropping it in your backpack and double checking you have everything you need for game day. You hoist the sack on your back, grabbing your dance bag next to your bedroom door and lugging it to your apartment’s entrance so you can leave quickly once your roommates are ready. Grace and Tay are in your small living room using the coffee table to work on a puzzle of a colorful painting of New York, and you join them with a sigh. “All ready?” Tay asks, snapping a purple piece into place.

“Oh yeah,” You respond exasperatedly, glancing at all of the scattered pieces, not even bothering your brain to attempt matching them together. 

“Texas will be fun,” Grace comments. “I hope people get rowdy.”

“I hope we win,” Tay retorts with a worried look on her face. “This game is kind of going to make or break the team. We beat Texas and everyone will see the guys didn’t come to play around.” Texas is really good. Beating them is hard. Beating them at home is even harder. The boys keep saying they know what they need to do and how to do it, they just need to execute and show everybody. Even just hanging around their practices you can feel a shift in energy this year compared to last–thing is, you only know this because you’ve been around the practices, and the rest of the world hasn’t. This is the team’s chance to show people what they’re made of.

“I’d also love to crush Cam’s stupid idols,” Tay adds, sharpening her tone. “Or maybe I do want us to lose…whatever hurts him more.”

While you share that sentiment somewhat, you just laugh in response. “You’re stupid. I really hope we win,” You reply. “In fact, we should just win every game.”

Grace snorts. “That would actually be lit,” She smiles, reaching across the table to grab a couple blue pieces.

The sound of a door being shoved open startles all three of you. Kelia comes stumbling out of her bedroom with a huge backpack and overflowing dance bag, her chronic overpacking tendencies on full display. She waddles over to the front door, placing her bags next to everyone else’s with a thud. 

“Okay!” Kelia chirps, placing her hands on her hips and glancing at the digital clock on your wall. “And thirty minutes to spare. I’m amazing.” She smiles cheekily, joining you on the couch.

“That you are,” You respond, smiling and jokingly pinching her cheek until your hand gets swatted away. 

Suddenly your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dig it out. A text from an unknown number appears.

(740)-219-1009: Hey, it's Joe. You guys want a ride to the stadium? I have room in my car

Kelia squeals in your ear, leaning over your shoulder to read your texts. “Hey!” You exclaim, shielding your phone screen and pushing Kelia’s shoulder.

“Sorry, that was an exciting text! Say yes, right now!” Kelia encourages. 

“What happened?” Tay asks.

“Joe texted her saying he’d drive us to the stadium to meet the buses.”

Grace gasps. “Yes! Say yes, I don’t know if my dear old baby Cara can take even one more drive,” Grace whines with an overexaggerated pouty lip. This might actually be true. Grace’s deep red Camry, no matter how sentimental, is on death’s door and could cough at any given moment. 

“And this pushes Mission Rebound-” 

“-Exactly.” Kelia drives Tay’s point home.

They all stare at you expectantly. “Everyone is ganging up on me,” You comment, typing out your response to Joe.

You: That would be great honestly

Joe: Great, I’m with JJ and Ja’marr too

Joe: We’ll be there in 15

You thumbs up his message. “He’ll be here in 15,” You announce to your friends, and they cheer in response. Grace jumps up and goes into the bathroom, likely spraying on more perfume before she sees Justin. You, Kelia, and Tay shoot each other loaded looks, giggling at your friend who is so horrendously down bad, even if she won’t admit it. 

A follow up text from Joe arrives quickly, and everyone lugs their bags out to the front of your building. The Louisiana weather is more forgiving before the sun is fully up, and you’re grateful for the wind that cools your cheeks when you see Joe hopping out of the driver’s seat of a Black Chevy Silverado. He takes the cover off of the open trunk where the guys’ bags are, greeting you with a kind smile. “Hey guys,” He sighs.

“Hi, Joe,” You chirp as he takes each of your bags from you to pile in. “Thanks for picking us up, we really, really appreciate it.”

“No seriously, I don’t even know if we’d have made it to the stadium in my car,” Grace interjects as she slides into the back seat, pointing out dear old Cara in the parking lot. Useless duct tape adorns her bumper in an attempt to keep it intact, a decently sized dent in the back left door is a little more than slightly frightening, and the scratches all over the exterior make her a sight for sore eyes.

“Jesus,” Joe mumbles with wide eyes, popping the hard cover back on the trunk. 

“You might as well have saved our lives,” You say as you also study the beat up vehicle, only half joking. Realistically, Cara is a biohazard.

Joe chuckles, rounding the truck to get back in the driver’s seat. “Glad I could help,” He replies with a wink. Your heart leaps, and you fight a smirk as you climb into the back, feeling Mission Rebound get more exciting with each passing moment. 

Studying the situation in the back, you realize Joe really didn’t have that many extra seats. With him as the driver and Ja’marr as the passenger princess, there are only three seats left with five people. Grace is already in Justin’s lap on the far end, so you just plop yourself on Tay’s thighs, seeing as there’s no other option. 

During the very short ride to Death Valley, Ja’marr plays some obnoxiously hype rap for 6:45am, asking about the game and if you have any new or special cheers for Texas. You all joke and laugh sleepily, knowing when it comes time to board the buses you’ll be separated, as the Tiger Girls and football teams have different bus assignments. 

Joe rounds the corner into the stadium agonizingly slow after Ja’marr dramatically clutched onto the door handle on Joe’s last turn, claiming he “rounds corners like it’s F1,” and is “going to send us to the hospital.”

“Now you’re just being a dick,” Ja’marr throws his hands up and gives Joe a long look as he makes it a point to roll through the turn.

“Nah, you said I’m turning too fast!” Joe sasses back with a petty shrug. Everyone in the back groans and gives their two cents, chastising Ja’marr and punching the back of Joe’s seat to no avail. Your collective complaints and laughter slows to a halt as you look towards the stadium and confusion sets in. Outside Death Valley is a large crowd of athletes and coaches, suitcases and bags, loads of equipment…and no buses. 

That’s weird.

“Um…where are the buses?” Grace ponders slowly. The apparent becomes more obvious as Joe parks in his reserved spot and everyone climbs out of the truck, getting a closer look at the mob’s annoyed appearance. 

“Well this is fucking great,” Justin mumbles.

A tired and less than pleasant looking Del makes eye contact with you and shuffles over. “No buses?” You ask disappointedly. In your two years as a Tiger Girls thus far, the buses were only late once, and by all but 15 minutes.

Del shakes her head. “Not yet. Everyone’s calling around, but it looks like the company messed up. No one knows when they’ll be here,” She explains with a raspy voice. “We’re sitting ducks.”

Joe lets out a long sigh next to you and rolls his eyes. 

“That is my cue brother,” Ja’marr announces, promptly sitting right where he is on the sidewalk and pulling out his phone. 

“I second that,” Tay groans, cringing when she sits on the hard concrete. You look around, realizing that pretty much everyone else has also taken to the ground, save for a few coaches that are yelling into phones about our transportation. Following suit, you plop down criss cross applesauce, shoving your elbow onto your knee and your pouting face onto your palm.

After fifteen minutes of New York Times games and using Kelia’s phone to play Heads Up, the sound of Coach O’s whistle pierces through the air, causing a few athletes to complain. “Alright,” He starts, his voice as large as ever as he announces the update on your travel accommodations. “Our buses will be here in an hour and a half. But I don’t want a single one of you leaving this lot until we’re on our way to kick some Longhorn ass.”

Grumbles and commotion breaks out immediately after, everyone settling in for a long morning. “I’m reaaally close to Doordashing a coffee right now,” You drag out, feeling your game day anticipation wear off after being told you need to sit on hard concrete at 7am for the next hour and a half. 

“There’s those bottled Starbucks things in the vending machines,” Justin comments, nodding his head towards the facility. “Go in and get one.”

You look from Justin, to Coach O, and back to Justin again. “Did you not hear him? We can’t leave. He won’t let me in there.”

“He’ll let me in there,” Joe states, tapping your knee and motioning for you to get up with him. 

You look back at Justin warily. He nods and says, “He’s right.”

You sigh, and Joe looks at you pointedly with an outstretched hand. Reluctantly, you grab it and he pulls you to your feet with ease. You follow behind Joe like a shadow as he stalks over to Coach O and says his greetings. 

“Do you mind if we head into the facility and grab some Gatorades from the vending machine? I didn’t realize I was out this morning,” Joe asks casually. Coach O has his hands on his hips as he looks between you and Joe, furrowing his brow slightly. You hold your breath, and after what feels like an eternity he finally grumbles under his breath and points to the entrance. 

“Go ahead,” He mutters reluctantly. You silently celebrate, both you and Joe thanking Coach as you walk off. “Remember, I trust you boy!” Coach O calls after you and points at Joe’s chest.

“Thank god,” You breathe out as Joe pushes his index finger into a scanner, his print unlocking the doors. 

“I don’t know why you were scared,” Joe snorts, tugging the door open for you.

“If he said no I would’ve died,” You defend yourself while you stroll into the open foyer. “This coffee is my lifeline right now, I can’t lie.”

The vending machine isn’t far, and you excitedly squeal when you hear the clank of the glass bottle rolling around in the bottom compartment. You immediately unscrew the cap and take a large gulp, placeboing yourself into already feeling more awake. Confusion flashes across your face as Joe punches in some numbers after you, grabbing a blue Gatorade. 

“What?” He asks when he sees your expression. “I really did run out this morning.”

The both of you take a moment to indulge in your drinks until Joe starts wandering off. “Um…where are you going?” You ask warily.

“Dunno,” He responds. “It’s going to get hot outside the longer we’re out there, so I want to be in the A/C a little longer.”

You shrug and join him, closely observing the walls you’ve been walking past for two years now. Suddenly Joe halts in place when an idea pops in his head. “You should show me the dance studios,” He exclaims, a wide smile stretching across his face. 

Your nose scrunches up. “What? That’s boring.”

“No, no,” He whines. “I’ve never seen them.” Suddenly Joe pops up in front of you, stopping you in place, and it doesn’t seem like he's budging. “Pleaseee,” He pouts exaggeratedly, slumping his shoulders and shuffling one of his feet back and forth. 

“Oh my god, if you’re going to be a big baby about it we’ll go,” You laugh and lightly shove his shoulder, which does absolutely nothing to alter his stance. 

Joe pumps his fist and lets out a prolonged, “Yesss.” You start making your way towards the dance studios, with Joe trailing behind like a little puppy. 

When you enter the short, more closed off dance hallway, you present the first door on the left with outstretched arms. “This is our main studio, and we basically only ever practice here for Nationals. Obviously for sideline we’re on the field, but everything else is this studio,” You explain, taking a couple steps in. The wooden floors are brand new from last year’s renovations, with a large LSU logo painted in the middle, and floor to ceiling mirrors cover the wall to the left of the door. Bars, props, and mats neatly line the back of the room, exactly as the team had left them after practice yesterday. 

“This is massive,” Joe exclaims in awe. “Is this how big the stage is for Nationals?”

“We have a little more room to account for the wings, but just about, yeah,” You nod. 

“I’ve never understood how you guys can use this much space in one dance,” He confesses, still slowly walking around to each corner of the room to observe. “I have like two dance moves in the club and it’s all upper body movement.”

You laugh. “Well, I have been doing this my whole life,” You clarify, walking to the middle of the LSU logo and sitting down to stretch. Although you already got in your daily routine this morning, it only feels right to immediately loosen your limbs when you walk in this room. Call it muscle memory. 

“Still,” He insists. “It’s incredible how much you can say without speaking at all. Not to mention the strength and stamina it takes, my god. You are a true athlete.”

His compliments make you bashful. Of course this is your art, and you love it, but hearing that someone else appreciates it as much as you do, makes the hardships that weigh you down worth it. Especially coming from someone who’s so elite in their own craft. Someone whose opinion you now value. 

Joe finds his way back to you when he’s done analyzing the room, just watching for a moment as you reach for your left foot that’s outstretched. You lean forward as far as you can until you’re stopped by your frontside coming into contact with the top of your thigh, feeling a light pull in your hamstring for a few seconds until it fades. You come back up, and Joe blurts out, “Dance.”

Your face turns bewildered at his vague request. “Oh sure, let me just get up and dance,” You reply sarcastically, rising from your position to complete a single perfect turn to absolutely no music, finishing with a dramatic bow.

Joe shakes his head and laughs nervously. “No, no, sorry. Um, that came out wrong.” He stutters. “I mean, do you have a dance you could show me? I don’t know, just like, thirty seconds. A little part. It’s just so cool.”

“Uhhh,” You drag out with a nervous chuckle. Your palms get a little sweaty, and you realize dancing for Joe with 22 other girls in an 80,000 capacity stadium after he throws a dime for a touchdown is a lot different than dancing for Joe alone in an empty studio. “I guess I can show you a little bit of something.”

“Something, anything,” He pleads. “I wanna see you up close.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as you walk over to the small sound system in the corner. “What do you want to see? Hip-hop? Contemporary?” You ask. “A cheer?” A dry chuckle falls out of both of your mouths at the last suggestion.

“Whatever you want. Whatever you like the most.”

You sigh as you recall last night when you stayed after sideline practice. After getting through the week and actually feeling okay for the first time in what felt like forever, you started doing some self reflecting. You kept replaying what Coach Kandace said to you after practice on Monday about how dance can’t be a place where you block your feelings out. It made you think about how the reason you got into dance in the first place was because it’s where you could let your feelings show without explaining them to anyone at all. You made a commitment to yourself that you wanted to begin carving out time to make dance about that again, so you stayed after practice for that solo studio time. 

You played music you were relating to in that moment, and started improving. Eventually it evolved and snowballed, so you came out of the hour and a half with a fully choreographed solo. Since the choreo was fresh in your mind, and you actually really loved this piece, you decided you’d show a part of it to Joe. 

“So, it’s to this song called Finish Line,” You explain as Joe sits criss-cross applesauce at the front of the room with his back to the mirrors. “It’s contemporary, and slow, so I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I choreographed it last night for fun. This is the last minute or so.” 

You click play, leaving ample time in the song to allow yourself to get to the center of the room before the section you want to start at. The atmospheric nature of the melody fills the room, and the beautiful acoustic guitar and piano make your shoulders drop and heart rate slow. Suddenly it feels exactly like it did in here last night, just you, your thoughts, and dance. Delaney Bailey’s soft voice rings out, and you begin.

If this breakup was a race, you’d win by a landslide.

I’d be walking laps babe, to watch the birds fly by.

You’d lap me cause you’ve been moving along way too fast.

Your legs are on fire babe, ease up on the gas.

So I’ll watch the flowers grow for a while,

You keep running your mile.

The music swells as the outro plays, and you launch into a long turn sequence. Your breaths are deep as the choreography spills out of you, feeling each moment as you transition from one move to the next. Eventually the song peters out, and you’re left walking off the “stage” slowly as your final moment. After a very tired breath, you drop the “dancer walk” and look over at Joe. His expression is entranced, with his wide eyes locked on you. 

“What’d ya think?” You quip through tired breaths, walking towards him with your hands on your hips.

He just looks up at you dumbfounded and astonished. “I’m in awe of you. That was incredible,” He mutters, shaking his head slowly. “You are amazing.”

You let out a short laugh. “Uh, thanks,” You cough out, trying your best not to let your giddy emotions show. “Here, let's go to the next room.”

Grabbing your phone quickly, you both make sure to turn off the lights and leave no remembrance of your visit behind. The door shuts with a soft click, and you move past some offices to your old studio, which used to be your only studio freshman year.

“This is what we used to practice in, so thank god for whatever millionaire alumni got us the new studio,” You comment, using your whole shoulder to open the older, more beat up wooden door into studio B. After flicking a switch most of the lights click on, save for a few that never worked even when it was your only practice space. The room is smaller, with little to no equipment, and dirt and dust infiltrate almost every surface. You don’t remember it being this bad, but to be fair you don’t think this room has been touched by anyone–including a custodian–in the two years you’ve been away from it. 

“Jesus,” Joe mumbles, almost immediately sneezing from the dust.

“Yep,” You agree, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

You both take hesitant steps into the space, your eyes wandering from the broken bar to a section of a mirror that broke off years ago. Eventually you hit wooden shelves, raking your finger over the top to see the dust and dirt that’s collected.

A gasp falls from your mouth as a realization hits. “This was my first cubby,” You exclaim, your hand almost immediately finding the top row, second one on the left. A wave of nostalgia hits you, seeing that a thin stripe of old blue painters tape still adorns the bottom of it. On the sticky material are bold capital letters that spell out your first and last name, etched in Cam’s handwriting. Looking beyond that, you notice a polaroid of you both is taped to the back, taken after the boys beat UCF in the Fiesta Bowl last year. You and Cam are on the bus, still glistening with war paint and makeup on, but changed into sweats. It’s a selfie with Cam smiling and his tongue out, and you snuggled up to his side while making a kissy face. The high you’re both riding from the win is evident on your faces. You slowly pull the polaroid off the wall, and bring your fingers up to the painters tape. 

The memory hits you. You were two excited freshmen, still riding the high of finally feeling like you were a part of something important beyond high school. Seeing your name on anything, from a jersey to a roster to a uniform bag, just solidified the feeling that this was real. You had both actually made it, and were living your dreams. Coach had told you to make sure you put your name in your cubby, because it would be yours for the rest of the season, and before you could claim your territory yourself, Cam snuck into the studio to see you. You remember feeling giddy, in awe that a boy could like you this much, so much so that he would tip toe around for you. With all but a few minutes before someone would catch Cam where he wasn’t supposed to be, you quickly laid out the strip of tape, and watched in adoration as Cam stenciled your name on it. “My favorite girl in the world,” He had said after. 

Your heart feels like it’s weighted down with a stone, and a bitter taste fills your mouth. 

Well, he lied.

Still tracing your fingers over the tape, you study it one last time before you start picking at a corner. You need to get it off. Joe’s presence looms behind you.

“So, you guys were together for a while, huh?” He asks, most likely analyzing the picture.

“Yeah, we started dating freshman year,” You explain.

He hums. The room doesn’t hold tension, but the air is thick. You both know this is heavy.

Joe sucks in a deep breath before asking, “How’d he lose you?”

Your fingers still methodically pick at the tape that doesn’t seem to budge. “What makes you think I broke up with him?”

“I just know,” He mutters. 

It’s your turn to hum. You contemplate telling Joe the truth for a few seconds until you decide there’s no real point in hiding from it. “He cheated,” You state plainly, still picking at the stubborn tape.

Joe goes silent behind you for a moment. “I’m really sorry,” He says sincerely. 

For a moment there’s a familiar lodge in your throat that threatens your lip to quiver, but you shrug and let out a deep breath that reminds you of your strength. 

I am still standing. I am better for this. This does not define me.

“It’s not your fault. The world keeps spinning,” You push out. The tape finally gives, allowing you to pull it up all in one go. You turn, and Joe makes it a point to look you in the eyes. 

“I’m still sorry it happened. No one deserves that,” He affirms. 

“Thanks,” You whisper. His eyes are kind, and you pull yourself away before you feel too much from it, crumpling up the piece of tape and the polaroid. 

“Well, now I definitely don’t regret kicking his ass in wrestling,” He gloats, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. You laugh, remembering the astonishment you felt in that moment, and the unmistakable fire in Joe’s gaze. 

“That was pretty gratifying for me, I won’t lie…” You respond, walking up to the exit to be face to face with Joe, flinging the wad of tape and polaroid into the trash can.

“Good,” He declares with a smile. “Enough to prove to you that I can play rough?”

Your heart skips a beat at his innuendo. A smirk dances across his face, and his eyes peer down at you, making you feel smaller than you already are compared to him. The way he’s staring at you, and the broad nature of his stance has your stomach doing cartwheels, and he just watches as you falter over his words.

He knows. He knows what he’s doing, and two can play at that game.

You step closer to him and jut your chin up, shamelessly letting your eyes rake over his body until you find his gaze again. “You’re improving, but I’m not quite convinced,” You tease, letting a small smirk ghost over your lips.

“Hmm,” He lets out a low, rumbling hum. “I guess I’ll have to be more convincing.” He drawls, his words feeling like nothing but heat as he looks at you like you’re his last meal. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. You’re reminded of just how sexually frustrated you are, and just how rash the whole ordeal is making you.

I have a feeling this is exactly why Coach O didn’t want us in here alone.

“I guess so,” You breathe out, using your last bit of strength to rip your eyes away from his. “C’mon, I never get to go down the football hallway.”

Joe sighs, then chuckles behind you, half-jogging to catch up as you strut out of the studio, your mind racing and your expression casual. “Wait, I like it down here more,” Joe abruptly exclaims, resting his hand on your back to guide you left instead of straight. The small touch almost makes you jump, and your thoughts are silenced as your brain zeros in on the warmth Joe’s hand provides. He slowly drops it, walking ahead of you as the hall opens up, and the warmth simmers off your body, much to your disappointment.

This is getting ridiculous, You think to yourself. I can’t even have his hand on my back without needing to be cleansed with holy water.

“Look,” Joe announces as his face lights up, pointing out the grand, glorious displays that adorn the wide hall. 

“Woah,” You murmur in surprise. Huge trophy cases are sectioned off, one for each year LSU won a National Championship. Yellow and purple sprout off of each of them, from signed jerseys, to significant game balls, to large golden plaques, to team pictures, to newspaper articles. You and Joe stop by each showcase, reading about the historical matches until Joe gets too excited and tells you the stories himself. You can’t help but smile as his features become more animated than you’ve ever seen. 

Finally you come across LSU’s most recent win in 2007. At the center of the display is of course the sparkling football-shaped trophy, but above it is a picture of then-quarterback Matt Flynn with a wide smile, holding the award up into purple and yellow confetti. The photograph is pure happiness. Victory. 

“That’s going to be me one day,” Joe whispers, his eyes darting around the picture in awe. He brings a hand up to the frame, an index finger tracing the wooden outline. Your heart strings pull as you imagine little Joe in front of a TV watching college ball with this same look on his face, and how he must have wanted to be where he is now so badly. Joe’s exterior is brooding and serious, but right now all you can see is a kid with a dream he’s working so hard to achieve. 

“Yeah,” You suddenly agree quietly. “I believe you.”

Joe gives you a look, and a twinge of pink appears on his cheeks. He tries to stop it, but a small smile pulls at his lips anyway as he looks down and pulls an arm up to scratch the back of his neck. “Thanks,” He mumbles.

Your head gets thrown back as you laugh. “Did I just make you blush?” You tease, throwing your hands on your hips.

“No one will believe you,” He counters like a child, crossing his arms and pivoting to stalk out of the hallway. This makes you laugh harder, watching a 6’4 football player made of pure muscle stomp away like you did 12 years ago when your parents refused you candy from 7/11. Taking one last look at the beautiful displays before you catch up with Joe, you make a silent little note to the universe to pretty please help LSU win the Natty this year. 

After your little jog to get next to Joe, you loop your right arm in his left, feeling the effects of your caffeine start to kick in. “Where to next, Joseph?” You declare gallantly.

Your burst in energy makes Joe smile down at you. “Well I’m glad you’re having a good time, but I was thinking it might get a little suspicious if we’re in here much longer,” He comments

“Unfortunately I think we’ve already passed that threshold,” You remark.

“Not for me,” He scoffs.

“Oh, you think you’d need more time to get me off?” You ask innocently with a shocked look on your face. 

Joe immediately backtracks and drops your arm. “What? No!” He proclaims, furrowing his brows and shaking his head. “I mean- I meant- I was saying that I would-”

Your laughter cuts him off. “Relaaax, I was joking,” You soothe as he pushes on the exit door, letting you both back out to the rest of the team.

“Yeah, yeah,” He drawls. “Keep talking, see where it gets ya.”

All of your friends watch you and Joe like hawks as you approach. The sun has fully risen at this point, and Joe was right about the heat amping up, because your happy mood is quickly being dampened by the sweat already wicking your brow.

“Now where have you two been?” Ja’marr scolds like a mother with a small smile creeping onto his face. 

“Keeping out of this damn heat,” You snap back. And it’s true. Nothing technically happened in there.

“Mmhm,” Kelia hums, but adds nothing to it.

“So…can we go back to Heads Up?” Grace asks quietly. Everyone looks at each other, and with a collective shrug, Kelia pulls her phone out.

“Joe’s not on my team this time, bruh.”

After the longest series of Heads Up ever played, and the most boring yet nerve-wracking bus ride from Baton Rouge to Austin, you finally catch a glimpse of DKR Texas Memorial Stadium. You jump up from your window seat and press your finger to the glass, violently tapping Kelia’s shoulder so she takes off her noise cancellation headphones.

“Ugh, what,” She spits out with a grimace, begrudgingly sliding her headphones onto her neck after being wildly immersed in whatever video is playing on her iPhone. 

“We’re so close,” You squeal while poking your finger over and over on the window where the stadium is, practically daydreaming of the minute you get off this frigid charter and get to stretch your limbs. 

“Oh bless,” She groans, suddenly no longer interested in the Bachelorette Top 10 Moments. Both of you begin gathering your items and picking up trash you left from your snack time, quickly running over the team’s updated schedule after your two hour setback. 

Your first steps off the bus are exactly as you dreamed for all of thirty seconds, until you’re told to race to the away lockers and get in your warm up gear. The away locker room is boring and bland as usual, but bustling with energy and excitement, especially because you can hear the Texas crew getting ready next door. While you obviously don’t compete with their dancers, you’re a team that likes to stand up for the football program, and anyone in burnt orange is public enemy number one. After a good-enough makeup job you did on the road, you just have to take off your crisp white warm up jacket, and step into your purple joggers to be ready. 

The Tiger Girls jog out to the stadium together, finding that you’ve exited on the home sideline, and will have to go across the field to get to the away sideline. You veer left to avoid the right side of the field where Texas football has already started their warm ups, sticking to where LSU football is stretching. You have to cut through some spread out players, and lightly high-five Justin when he outstretches his hand to you. 

You stop when you hit the away benches, walking left until there are no more benches and you’re closer to the end zone. While you wait for the other girls to catch up, you take a good look around the ginormous stadium, anticipating what it will be like at 7:30pm full of 100,000 spectators. “Well, it’s no Death Valley…but it will do,” You smirk at Tay, who’s usually next to you in formation for sideline. 

Coach Kandace is already leaning on the wall that separates the field at the stands with a whistle in her mouth. She’s immediately putting the team through a quick full body warm up with stretching, a jog from one end zone to the other, and some light tumbling. You ease through the motions of your long-time cheers, Grace calling them out each time as captain. When it comes time for the new ones, you roll through them a couple times until Coach is confident there isn’t one pom out of place. 

“Five minutes for water, then tumbling passes, then stunts, then we’re out,” She barks, finishing with a sharp blow of her whistle. You all stroll over to your water bottles, panting between large gulps. 

After a few minutes Tay gathers herself enough to throw her sweaty arms on your shoulders and deadweight. You stumble slightly out of surprise, and Tay tiredly laughs in response. “Bitch, leave me be,” You groan in faux annoyance, grinning after your light shove causes Tay to take a tumble herself. Tay cackles again, her eyes going to the field after you both sober. 

Together you walk closer to the sideline, basking in the golden hour sun, admiring the vast stadium, and observing the two teams who are finishing up their drills. “Every time,” Tay smirks, nodding towards Joe as he stalks up to the 48 yard line, eyeing down every Texas player across the field. He just stands with his hands on his hips, occasionally pacing from one end of the Texas logo to the other, parallel to the 50 yard line split down the middle of the field. A couple players in burnt orange stop and stare, talking to their teammates and shrugging their shoulders. At one point you think you hear someone yell something to him, but if it did happen Joe doesn’t respond, and nothing comes of it. 

You smile with Tay and shake your head, your need to beat this godforsaken team growing by the minute. It would obviously be epic, but you do also think it would hurt Cam just a little bit, and that counts for something. 

Coach Kandace whistles everyone back into formation, going through the exact chain of events she outlined earlier. Your tumbling pass is a little rusty from the past couple of weeks, but you work out the kinks quickly enough, and surprisingly not one flier is dropped when you finish up with stunts. As Coach flies through the final updated schedule until game time, friends and family of players start to file into the stadium. 

“Mama!” Kelia screams, immediately running towards the wall separating the field and lower bowl. About six feet up leaning on the padded fence is Kelia’s beautiful mom in a bright purple LSU Tigers V neck. Her open mouthed smile is wide as ever as she bends over the fence and extends both of her arms out to Kelia, yelling, “Ahhh my beautiful girl!”

Kelia gets up on her tiptoes just enough to kiss her mom’s cheek and you walk up to the duo with your hands on your hips. “And how are you miss thang?” Kelia’s mom asks you with a squeal and a kiss on your cheek as well. 

“I’m good, thanks,” You laugh and kiss her cheek back, your cheeks hurting from how much you’re smiling. Ever since she helped Kelia move into your shared dorm freshman year she’s been such a light in your life, supporting both you and Kelia as you persevered through classes, practice, and the social hellstorm college can be. 

Kelia and her start gabbing away, bouncing off each other enthusiastically after not seeing each other for about a month. You watch as other Tiger Girls and football players approach their parents, noticing Joe and Ja’marr in their white away uniforms all but 15 feet to your right, approaching two spectators who look to be Joe’s parents. They’re animated as they talk and laugh, and your heart strings pull when you realize you won’t see your parents until the Florida game in October. Somehow so much has happened since you’ve seen them, and lately all you’ve been craving is a hug from your mom. 

Joe looks left and double takes when he makes eye contact with you, flashing you a quick smile and a wave before setting himself back in game mode. Ja’marr follows his eyeline and copies his actions, and you realize now all four of them are looking right at you. You quickly wave back and feel a grin stretch across your face, engaging yourself back into Kelia’s conversation with her mom after. Your heart beats a little faster after you turn, feeling their gazes still burning into you.

The somewhat happy moment is short lived, because two all too familiar voices cut through the air. Cam’s dad, Frank, comes bounding down the stands to your left in burnt orange. His unmistakable Texas twang causes memories of being with him and other members of Cam’s comforting family to come flooding into your mind. Cam’s mom, Lisa, trails behind him in a white LSU football shirt, flanked by their large extended family, each of them also clad in Longhorns gear. 

The group is rowdy and enthusiastic, all barreling towards Cam who jogs up to the group. Kelia and her mom notice, both shooting daggers at the family before looking back at you with sympathy. Your stomach turns further, not knowing if you hate the commotion or your friend’s pity more. You take one last look at the faces you met last spring break when you visited Texas, each of them recognizable except for one.

Or, you don’t recognize her until you see her bag. The same one that was lying on the floor when you caught Cam giving her the head he refused to indulge you in. 

You watch in horror as she bends over the railing the same way Kelia’s mom did, planting a big kiss right on Cam’s mouth. Tears involuntarily prick at your eyes, and you tap Kelia’s shoulder with an, “Oh my god.”

“What?” She exclaims worriedly and snaps her head back around to Cam’s commotion. “Who the fuck is that?!” She demands, her furious eyes coming back around to meet yours. You attempt to keep your resentment at bay, but the fury in Kelia’s eyes validates you, and venom laces your tongue.

“It’s her,” You spit out quietly, the overwhelming shock making it harder for you to find words. “He cheated on me with her.” Cam and his new girlfriends eyes are bright as they converse, laughing away at whatever the fuck is so funny. He keeps one of her hands in his hold, rubbing it softly. You feel like you could genuinely be sick. 

“Oh, honey,” Kelia mumbles while placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, not sure how to immediately comfort you in such a public space–and right before a huge game. 

“What’s wrong?” Ja’marr quips behind you, his usually lighthearted tone now more serious. You tear your gaze off of the sickening couple to whip your head around, meeting his concerned gaze. Joe stands behind him, his hard set face still analyzing your expression that probably looks all kinds of sad, angry, frustrated and confused. 

“Um…nothing,” You say in a shaky voice, darting your eyes between the two and refusing to let the tears pooling in your eyes fall. You clear your throat quietly. “I just need to leave.”

Yes, just go back to the locker room, You tell yourself as you start shoving the few items you brought onto the field into your bag, taking deep breaths to calm the waves of despair and nausea that are washing over you. He is not the one. There’s a game you’re about to cheer for. You are stronger than that. 

The steady self-encouragement helps a little as you rise with your bag, refusing to make eye contact with any of your friends as you stalk off across the field. It takes every ounce of your restraint to not take one last glance over your shoulder. Suddenly the weight of your duffel is nonexistent, and you look to your right to find Joe walking with you side by side, your bag in his left hand and his yellow helmet in his right. His expression stays stoic and his jaw stays set, seemingly completely unfazed and locked into his upcoming match. He doesn’t even meet your eyes, simply walking with you to the locker rooms wordlessly. But you look down at your bag in his hand, then back to his face, knowing this is his support. There’s not much many athletes have to give to anyone else when they compete, needing their full undivided attention to be on their craft. For Joe, this is what he can give you to let you know he cares, even if he doesn’t know exactly what happened. And for you, this is enough.

Your gaze goes back to the extensive stadium, letting yourself breathe in the warm early autumn air as you watch the few clouds that are in the sky drift off. The short walk and Joe’s quiet, but calm and collected energy helps you ground yourself, and by the time you’re in front of the away lockers you feel somewhat removed from Cam and his drama. There’s a part of you that realizes it's a little dangerous how fond you’re getting of Joe, but for now you couldn’t be more grateful. 

Joe looks up at the sign above the door that reads “Away Women’s Lockers” and drops your duffel back in your hand gently. “Thank you,” You say firmly. He responds by meeting your eyes blankly and nodding once, grazing his hand on your upper back in comfort before decisively turning on his heel to head towards the guys locker room.

You’re still breathing deeply as you enter the dingy room, recounting Coach's instructions as  you change into your bright purple cheer skirt with gold trim on the bottom, and cropped high neck tank top with LSU in big yellow lettering across your chest. Other girls file in and out while you re-tie your ponytail and put finishing touches on your makeup, taking one final look in a dusty mirror and grabbing your poms before lining up in the tunnel with the team. 

Eventually you notice the soft rumble of the crowd, which is just stadium noise for now, but will certainly grow into deafening cheers and taunts once the players take the field and the game starts progressing. Your conversation with your teammates gets more enthusiastic when Tay pulls up the ABC Sports app on her phone where their coverage of the game has already started. Tay’s friend who’s an assistant physical therapist always brings a bag full of medical gear onto the sideline, and she lets Tay sneak her phone into her bag sometimes so she has access to it in the tunnel and onto the field. You crowd around her phone in awe as drone footage of the packed stadium comes into view, then cuts to clips of their warmups from earlier where some players on both teams are seen getting into the trash talk already. You all shake your heads, used to a tame but chippy warm up, until a video pops up of Longhorns fans shooting through a Burrow jersey with a cannon. 

“Oooooh,” The group reacts all at once, a couple of you jumping with anticipation.

“They’re gonna regret that,” Grace mumbles with a fire behind her voice, making sure to keep somewhat quiet with the whole Texas football team right ahead of us in the tunnel. The Texas cheerleaders lead their football team out, then you and the rest of the Tiger Girls lead the LSU players out, so you’re currently sandwiched between the two rowdy groups of men. 

“I’m sure Joe has seen it,” Kelia notes, glancing over to the front of the LSU team where Joe is pacing back and forth from wall to wall, occasionally stopping to hold his helmet-clad forehead to one of the walls with intensity. He’s locked in as always, blocking out the noise. You think if you told him he’d just won a million dollars, he wouldn’t hear you. 

“I’m scared for Texas,” You add on, watching as Joe suddenly smashes the side of his head three times on the wall, the impact from his helmet hitting the concrete causing loud, crisp bangs to ricochet through the whole tunnel. A couple of Tiger Girls jump, including Kelia and Grace. Kelia slowly turns to you with wide eyes and a slightly concerned expression and says, “Yeah…me too.”

Everyone takes one last look at Tay’s phone, admiring the crowd and laughing when they cover Joe’s dad who throws up the classic horns down at the camera. The Texas marching band then starts their opening routine, causing Tay to quickly shut off her phone and shove it into her friend’s bag with a quick, “Thank you!” 

Your excitement bubbles and your heart leaps when the stadium sees the band, causing the echo of the crowd noise to swell in the tunnel. Texas players get even louder and crazier as the song comes to an end, most of them jumping, hooting and shouting as they prepare to greet their 98,763 screaming spectators. The song ends, and every athlete in this hall puts on their most merciless, meanest game face, knowing that in just a few moments nothing else in the world will matter more than one thing–glory. 

Suddenly a battle cry breaks from the front of the Texas crowd, causing their entire crew to streamline forward onto the field. The stadium noise crescendos, hitting a fever pitch as the LSU teams are held back by an ABC Sports official that’s coordinating timing. You squeeze the hands of a couple of girls, feeling your heartbeat pounding all throughout your body, ready to unleash your energy. About fifteen seconds later the coordinator releases you, and immediately from the football team you hear someone cry out, “Come on Tigers!”

The uproar that follows is impalpable. You let out a short but loud, “Let’s go!” and don’t hear a single syllable of it due to the noise around you. The entire team breaks out into a fast run, throwing your hands in the air and shimmying your pom poms as you exit the tunnel, the energy and excitement that bursts from the crowd hitting you like a line of cocaine. You bask in the atmosphere and attention, a wide smile stretching across your face, knowing all eyes are on you even though you’re the opposition. You skip up to your spot in formation where you warmed up, the location familiar but different, as the crowd lets you know you’re not as welcome as you were before. Now, a large section of Texas students reside in the silver stands, greeting you with boos and “horns up” hand signs. 

Gotta love it.

A few bright purple LSU shirts stand out towards the front railing, but other than that it’s burnt orange for what seems like miles. You try not to pick out those select few Tiger fans, knowing one of them may be Cam’s mom and locking eyes with the girl whose face is etched into your brain forever is definitely a possibility. 

The rest of the team takes formation with you, and everyone just smiles and shakes their poms in response to the hostile environment. You've cheered sideline for enough games at this point to appreciate the energy of away crowds, and know that throughout the match the team will be able to shut them up by playing well. 

Your smile grows wider at this thought, remembering the cracking sound of Joe slamming his head against the hard wall of the tunnel. Devilish excitement bursts through you, anticipating the moment you get to watch the Texas students’ screaming faces drop in disappointment when Burrow drops dime after dime on their turf.

Good luck, Longhorns. 

The first quarter is eventful, but trenches-heavy. The Longhorns start the game going three and out, then the Tigers march down the turf and are held to a field goal. Texas gets to the goal line on the next drive, but the LSU defense is able to force a turnover on downs after the refs overturn a Longhorns touchdown, and Texas fails a 4th and goal attempt. Joe almost immediately gets picked off on a tipped pass, putting Texas back in the red zone, but history repeats itself and the Tigers create a second goal line stop on a 4th and goal. The quarter ends with the ball in the hands of the LSU offense and the Tigers up 3-0.

You sigh restlessly on the sideline, hoping the game gets more high scoring. The crowd still isn’t settled with everyone anxious to see the first touchdown of the night, and it’s making Grace’s cheer calls harder to hear. At least the sun is starting to set so you can stop sweating buckets, and each cheer has gone relatively smooth. Luckily the slight pause in action between quarters lets you take a self-breather, getting water and releasing your relentless grip on your poms for a moment. After a minute or two you’re pulled back into the action, anticipating what’s hopefully a scoring drive from LSU.

After the teams switch directions so the Tigers are heading in your direction, they get a couple of first downs, but to your disappointment the drive ends with a punt. The Longhorns then score the first touchdown of the night on the other side of the field with wide receiver Brennan Eagles, reigniting the rowdy crowd you’re cheering in front of. 

The next LSU drive has you on your toes, knowing how LSU responds could be crucial to controlling the momentum of Texas, and in turn the outcome of the game. Clyde Edwards-Helaire is a powerhouse, breaking tackles and running up the field, surprising the Texas defense who’s scheme is built around Joe’s strong passing game. This causes linebackers and defensive backs to second guess their covers, leaving Justin wide open for a long shot in the red zone. On 3rd and goal Joe threads the needle, hitting Jefferson on a dot between two defensive backs, resulting in LSU’s first touchdown of the night. 

Your entire squad lights up, enthusiastically screaming and hugging in celebration before Grace quickly calls out a cheer. Everyone bursts into action, routinely performing the chant while Texas fans hang their heads and throw their hands up in disappointment. 

Yep, exactly that, You think to yourself with an evil little giggle. 

Texas attempts to get points on their next drive to no avail, thanks to Cameron Dicker who missed a 58-yard field goal. LSU attempts a field goal of their own after the Longhorns get a stop in the red zone, and Cade York nails it right down the middle to put the Tigers up 13-7. 

With not much time left in the half, the Tigers are eager to get Texas three and out, putting the ball back in their hands with only 1:13 left. Joe makes quick work of the Longhorns defense with a long sideline pass to Ja’marr, a far laser over the middle to Justin that keeps the clock ticking, and an absolute dime of a 21 yard passing touchdown lofted yet again to number two. It’s almost as if you blinked and the ball was in the end zone. The entire stadium seems to be shocked by your quarterback, who just placed the ball perfectly within reach of Justin, and perfectly out of reach of both his defenders. 

You look back to the line of scrimmage where Joe is talking his shit, roughly beating his chest once with each fist and screaming in the faces of his O-line who hype him up. He points his fingers towards the ground as he walks off the field and continues his long tangent to his teammates, and you can only imagine the cocky boasts that are coming out of his mouth.

You don’t blame him. Everyone’s figuring out who Joe Burrow is now. 

The touchdown cheer you and the team complete is quick, and you’re still beaming. There’s commotion to your right where the football team is, and you look over to see Joe still hyping himself up with his teammates and coaches, this time yelling just a couple words at the students who’ve been sitting right behind our benches. With his helmet now off, you see just how merciless his expression is. The only thing you know is he is out for blood. 

God, he looks so hot. 

You used to love observing Cam on the sidelines, but because he didn’t get much playing time it wasn’t all that entertaining–just a sight for sore eyes. Watching Ja’marr, Justin, and especially Joe is thrilling. They’re electric, intense, and it’s simply more attractive when a guy is actually good at what they do. And these guys aren’t just good–they’re truly some of the best in college football. The cockiness really does work when it’s backed up by how you ball. 

With only one timeout left, Texas has a couple attempts to get upfield, but ultimately lets the clock run out so they can take a breather and strategize for the second half. Things are looking good for LSU at 20-7, but you internally groan as the football players run past the team to the locker room and you have to line up for tumbling passes, absolutely hating this part of the night every time. 

The load lightens when you feel a gloved hand hit your upper back a little harder than you would have expected, and Ja’marr’s adrenaline-filled face is suddenly in your view. “You see that shit?!” He screams at you over the crowd, pointing out at the field with intensity. 

“Yeah, y’all look fucking great!” You shout back with a large smile, hitting his chest to try to get into the football hype-talking spirit. You can tell he barely notices.

“We get another tuddy in this endzone and it’s for that bitch in orange, yeah?!” He continues pointing at the field, then nods to where Cam’s family was earlier with his new girlfriend. Your heart twists when you remember the moment, but the feeling is quickly replaced by an angry one when you realize Ja’marr’s sentiment. He wants to help you show those fuckers. 

There’s a sudden lasering heat you feel in your eyes when you look back at Ja’marr. He looks ready to run through a wall, and you feel yourself wanting to get on that same level when you think about how fucked up what Cam did is. You’re not sure how feminist Ja’marr’s thinking is, saying fuck the girl instead of fuck Cam, but you do recall hearing that the girl was aware of Cam’s relationship with you…and did it anyway.

Suddenly you realize you no longer give a fuck. She’s not a girl's girl, so neither are you.

“Fuck yeah,” You spit back at Ja’marr, this time using both hands to give him a little shove towards the locker room. He stumbles slightly, cackling in surprise at your outburst and immediately turns to Joe who’s walking by, slapping his shoulder and saying, “Aye, nine..” Their voices trail off, and you straighten yourself in the tumbling line again with a newfound fire under your ass.

Your brain goes on autopilot during halftime, throwing fake smiles left and right while your thoughts of Cam and his charming face cause your movements to be harder and sharper with anger. You feel like you’re glancing over at the locker rooms every 30 seconds, eager as ever for the latter half of the game so you can beat these goddamn Longhorns. Both teams finally come bounding out and you’re all business, immediately turning with your poms behind your back once you finish your opening cheer to watch kickoff.

Sides switch yet again, and LSU goes three and out, putting a slight halt in their momentum. Texas goes on to conduct a very long drive that eats up over nine minutes of the quarter, many LSU players being pulled out due to injury as the Longhorns slowly progress up the field. Cam ends up leaving his spot on the bench and subs in for an injured DB, causing your jaw to tense and your eyes to narrow. The drive ends with a touchdown right in front of you on a QB draw, and Texas has now cut your lead down to one touchdown. 

Your heart drops when the Longhorns get a huge defensive stop on LSU’s next possession, yet again holding the team to a field goal. As the clock dwindles, Texas marches up the field to the red zone, and you feel a particularly hard stab of frustration when Cam gets absolutely smoked by Texas’s receiver Jake Smith, resulting in a Longhorns touchdown. LSU’s once comfortable 13 point lead has been reduced to two with the score being 23-21, and everyone can feel that the Tiger’s sideline is now on edge. The fact that Texas fans are now screaming obscenities at you and the players, words you can hear loud and clear, is definitely not helping. 

It gets harder and harder for you to cheer towards the rage-filled Texas crowd, and you start avoiding eye contact as much as you can, looking straight ahead at the orange wall so you don’t focus on the words of crazy spectators. You take a moment to glance at the players on the sideline, noticing Joe sitting still as a stone on the bleachers. 

The fans behind him are far worse than the fans in front of you, almost every one of them staring at his back with fire in their eyes. Many of them are even leaning over the fence to get only slightly closer to him, screaming their heads off in an attempt to get in his head. Joe still sits firmly, but you can tell from his expression he’s listening, and letting it fuel him. His chest rises and falls slowly but deeply, only rising from the bleachers and slamming on his helmet after Coach O nods him over. 

Both teams get even meaner this drive, with Joe immediately hitting Ja’marr on the sideline for a push to the 50 yard line. He gets blown up by a DB while running out of bounds but stays on his feet, causing him to give a nasty look to the back and shake his head, pointing his finger forwards in a “first down” gesture. Texas blitzes after a short run, and Joe gets the ball out quick to Justin over the middle. On his way up from the ground, a defender stands over Justin, causing him to have to shove the defender in order to get up. The two get chippy and a referee separates them but a string of nerves runs through you at the thought of an actual brawl breaking out. You don’t need anything else to hurt your chances of this win. Luckily there’s only 20 seconds left in the quarter, so the Tigers let it run and start holding up four fingers to the sideline stadium. As per tradition the Tiger Girls follow, letting the crowd know it’s serious now–we’re in the fourth quarter. 

With the final side switch of the evening, LSU is now trying to score in the endzone right in front of you. On the first play of the quarter Joe shoots a deep pass across the middle, and Terrace Marshall Jr. earns a 26-yard touchdown. You jump and cheer with your team, letting out a huge sigh of relief because at least it’s now a two possession game. You don’t let yourself get too excited, knowing there’s still the whole rest of the quarter left and there’s still a big possibility that Texas could come back. 

The Longhorns earn a long first down and get up to LSU’s 45-yard line, and the quarterback throws it away on third down making it 4th and two. They decide to go for it, and the safe checkdown play ends up turning into a 43-yard run in for a touchdown, leaving Texas one field goal away from the lead. You and the team all stress on the sideline once again, Tay even grabbing your arm and squeezing a little harder than you expected. Your eyes dart from the field, to Joe, to the screaming Texas crowd, and back to your girls. You believe in the team so badly, and you’re desperately trying to will them to prove themselves. 

Come on, guys.

The ball is back in Joe’s hands, and he looks poised as ever in a hostile stadium full of spectators all betting on him to lose. After the offense quickly converts for a first down, your body jolts in fear when Joe eats a late hit on the next play. There’s a flag to show for it, and of course the stadium erupts in an uproar, but you couldn’t care less. Your eyes are glued to Joe who is on the ground under a ridiculously large body, until suddenly he springs up as if nothing had happened. You scoff as the player who hit him throws his hands up, clearly disagreeing with the call along with the rest of the stadium. 

Don’t hit him then, You think to yourself, furrowing your brows at the notion that Joe could be seriously injured on a play like that. 

The penalty gives LSU a boost towards the end zone, placing them only 23 yards away. The offense picks up another first on a pass, then hands the ball off for Clyde who bends the corner of the Texas D-line to stroll into the endzone. The eleven point lead feels just as good as it did last time, but the Longhorns’ chances of coming back are still just as high. Texas starts inching down the field again, eventually housing another field goal, making the score 37-31. With four minutes left, it’s still anyone’s game. In fact, if the Texas defense gets a stop, their offense will be able to eat away at the clock on their way downfield, score a touchdown, and take the lead by one with essentially no time left. LSU needs to put something on the board right now, or the lead they’ve had all game could slip away in one drive.

The offensive line is surprised by an all out blitz, and the pocket collapses ridiculously quick on Joe as he steps up in an attempt to escape the pass rushers. Your stomach churns as all hope seems lost. You envision the sack, the roar of the crowd that will follow, and the nasty drive the Longhorns are about to pull out. It’s slipping away.

You don’t know how, but Joe keeps his eyes up and finds Justin downfield, managing to still throw right to his receiver’s chest while his leg is being yanked to the ground. The ball is caught firmly by number two, who quickly turns and stiff-arms a Texas safety onto the turf. Justin turns on the jets in the open field as he races down the sideline, arriving right in front of you in the endzone to deliver the knockout punch to Texas. Your mouth hangs open as you and the Tiger Girls go ballistic, jumping and cheering like you never have before. 

Holy fuck! They just did that! 

Your laughter is uncontainable as Tay basically tackles you, and players from both on the field and on the sideline run up to cheer Justin on. He celebrates with them for a few moments before cutting through the sideline and running up to the Tiger Girls. You notice number nine hot on his tail, both of the men stalking up to you. 

Oh god, what is happening?

“Hey, you like that?!” Joe’s screams as his raw football voice comes out, his finger pointing right at you as he approaches.

“Fuck yeah!” You shout back, shoving his shoulder pads with both hands like you did to Ja’marr earlier, except Joe doesn’t go anywhere when you push, he just gets even closer. He slings an arm over your shoulder, pulls your side into his and faces you back towards the crowd, another sweaty body smothering your other side when Justin mirrors him. Both of them shoot out their arms and do the horns down gesture to the now butthurt section of Texas kids, Justin leaning his head down slightly to tell you to “put your fucking hands up.”

You’re thinking only of Cam and his new stupid girlfriend as you pull both of your arms up to match Justin and Joe’s, the Texas fans overly disappointed at their inevitable loss, but still yelling in disapproval of all of your hand gestures. The three of you hold your pose to piss off the crowd until Joe points at a cameraman rushing to get a picture, and you keep still for the photo op.  “Fuck you, horns fucking down!” Justin yells out once the camera man walks off, still riding the high of his last touchdown. 

“My fucking house!” Joe adds on with a beat to his chest as he removes his arm from your shoulder to walk closer to the crowd and down the sideline towards the benches. Justin follows him and keeps talking to the hostile spectators as well, while you struggle to get the wide grin off your face. You continue to watch as Joe starts princess waving to those fans that were behind him all game, chirping insults and obscenities that surely drove him crazy. Rubbing the dominant win in their faces just feels so sweet, and the cocky look on Joe’s sweaty face under the white lights of the stadium makes your heart beat even faster than it already is.

“That was fucking crazy,” Tay tries to project over the stadium noise and rowdy LSU bench, throwing her arms around you for another big hug. Your laughter just continues to ring as you both sway back and forth in the embrace, until you hear Grace call out another touchdown cheer. 

The rest of the game flashes by in a blur. Texas scored another touchdown, which no one really cared about because there was only 22 seconds left and LSU was about to get the ball. The Longhorns’ onside kick was of course not recovered, so Joe easily took a knee to seal the game. 

After completing a couple more practiced chants and waving goodbye to spectators for what feels like forever, Grace finally releases the team from formation. Kelia, who is always stationed on the opposite side of you and Tay immediately prances over to the two of you, squealing and hopping around. 

“We fucking did it!” She yelps and tackles both of you in a bear hug, hoots and excited screams bursting everyone’s eardrums. Your face is flushed and you can feel your tight ponytail sagging slightly, a few small hairs that have escaped sticking to your damp forehead, but you couldn’t care less. The pure adrenaline and thrill of winning a neck-and-neck away game trumps any tiredness you may feel in your muscles. Tomorrow morning may be a different story, but right now victory is just sweet. 

“A hug, without me?!” You hear Grace call out teasingly. The circle opens up immediately and she joins in your mini dance party, everyone's voices overlapping as you call out the most intense moments of the match and marvel at the plot like it’s your favorite movie. 

“Grace!” A random voice interjects. You all stop mid sentence, whipping your heads over to the bench to see who could’ve dared to interrupt this moment. A boy in an LSU uniform with a red penny tee over it looks at you…confused. A freshman. “Is one of you…Grace?” He asks quieter this time, looking slightly terrified.

“Um…yeah?” Grace quips back with a hand on her hip.

The freshman doesn’t say a word and just points to the smack dab middle of the field, where most of the cameras have cleared out and now just a few outstanding players and reporters stand. Right where he gestures there are four players standing on the painted Texas logo, the number 1 and 2 frantically waving you over. Only now do you hear a faint, “Grace! Kelia!” coming from their mouths.

Grace practically drops everything to run over to Justin, a goofy grin immediately stretching across her face. You don’t really blame her, because the high you’re riding causes you, Kelia and Tay to quickly follow suit, linking arms and skipping across the field to the 50 yard line. You feel weightless as you fly towards your friends, recognizing Joe and Clyde as the third and fourth bodies, and suddenly Coach Kandace's voice zips through your mind. 

I’ve seen you for the past three weeks try to dance your way out of it and around it. Cut that shit out. It’s not going to solve anything. You need to sit with yourself and your support system, and face it.

Breathless and hopeful, flying through the air, you realize how easy it’s been to face your feelings with your new support system. You’d never called Cam your ex out loud until earlier in the week when you told Ja’marr. Kelia’s rage at seeing Cam’s new girlfriend made you feel okay with being angry too. Performing a number you’d dedicated to the breakup for Joe was nerve wracking, but felt natural to show to him. 

Maybe the key isn’t broken. It’s just been trying to open the wrong door.

“What’s going on?” Tay giggles as you approach, jittery from the excessive skipping. Coach O’s ragged voice suddenly looms over you, calling the football team to the lockers, and everyone in a football uniform’s eyes go wide.

“Okay we gotta be quick people,” Ja’marr says urgently with a clap. “We wanted to get a picture on the dumbass Texas logo.” Looking to your right, you notice Grace is no longer by your side and is up in the air. On Justin’s shoulders. 

“Woah,” You exclaim in surprise, wondering when the fuck she got up there.

“Yep, we’re doing it,” Clyde says with a sly grin. 

“And again, we do not have all night,” Ja’marr comments, using hand motions to emphasize the need for speed. “Joe, you got it.” 

Two large hands are immediately on your waist with a commanding grip. “Ready?” You hear Joe’s gruff voice behind you. The electric touch and looming presence on your back causes you to flush, and you quickly put your hands on Joe’s to stop him. 

“Wait, wait, wait! Do you know how to do this?” You protest.

“Just jump,” He mumbles sassily. “One, two-”

“I don’t know-”

“-three!”

You comply, fully dipping and jumping with a petrified yelp. Joe easily lifts you high in the air, ducking his head under your backside to give you a firm seat on his shoulders, a leg on each side of his head. Your skirt rides up your thighs slightly, and his hands slip to the exposed skin to keep you stable, leaving a frenzy of tingles in their wake. One of your palms instinctively lands in his wavy hair for support, and you let out a big sigh when you realize that you made it up there alive, and that you haven’t breathed since his hands came in contact with your legs. 

Girl, stand UP. 

“See, you made it,” Joe laughs dryly, causing his chest and shoulders to shake slightly. His thumbs rub up and down your thighs slowly, intending to comfort you but only making you more lightheaded. 

You huff and roll your eyes, finally removing your hand from his head and placing both of them on your hips. “I could’ve died,” You retort flatly. “You know, I don’t think the NFL rocks with first degree murder.”

“Hm, I didn’t know.”

“Read up on it.”

“You should read up on balancing lessons. Why does it feel like you’re about two seconds from falling flat on your-”

“Okay!” A cheerful voice rings out, cutting off your banter with Joe. You look around and realize everyone else is already lined up next to you, with Justin and Grace on your right, Ja’marr and Tay on your left, and Clyde and Kelia to the left of them. Luckily everyone seems to have safely made it onto their respective players’ shoulders, and the group is positioned right in the middle of the Texas logo that’s been painted onto the turf. 

Cassidy, a sophomore Tiger girl, is in front of you all with an iPhone, ready to snap the picture. “Just do a normal one first,” She calls out to the group. You’re close enough to wrap your arms around Grace and Tay’s shoulders, so you stay there for a couple seconds, then everyone starts to do various “candid” poses with their hands in the air, peace signs, and excited faces. 

“Cute, cute, cute!” Cassidy squeals. “Okay, y'all have gotta do it…horns down!”

Everyone laughs and hoots out little jabs at Texas, giving the camera the insulting gesture with one or two hands, and putting on tough faces. 

“Love it, yay!” Cassidy smiles, waiting for Tay to dismount before giving Ja’marr his phone back. Joe squats far down enough for your feet to touch the orange turf, giving you his hand to keep you upright.

Joe opens his mouth to speak, but is immediately whisked away by Ja’marr. “We gotta go!” Uno shouts over his shoulder while ushering all the boys into a run. Justin tries to get a quick cheek-kiss to Grace but misses horribly due to Ja’marr’s almost violent tug on his arm. He trips over his own feet for a moment and you all giggle at the guys’ antics, sitting in your amusement until Cassidy’s heavy yawn interrupts.

“Sorry,” She says sheepishly. “This night has been incredible, but I’ve never gotten tired this quickly after a game.”

You laugh knowingly. “Oh yeah. I don’t know when I’ll hit that wall, but I’m riding this high as long as I can,” You respond while pulling her into a small side hug, her tired smile a clear indication of how quickly she’s about to pass out on the bus. 

The group treks back to the sideline in search of your poms and other materials, sure to leave nothing behind considering it’s an away game. The chaotic atmosphere is evident given that after a big win, most organizational efforts are abandoned and your coaches just want anyone wearing LSU gear to get their ass on a bus by 11:15. That chaos seems to fade into the background as you begin to depart. 

Your body feels like a feather as you float across the stadium and into the locker room, taking your time as you let your aching hair down and gently swipe off your sweaty makeup. The sweet, giddy conversations you have with your girls keeps a soft smile on your face, and you wish you could sit in this glow forever. Eventually most of the room has cleared out, and you figure you should probably start making your way to the buses. 

You start rummaging through your packed bag in search of your bright purple LSU Tiger Girls hoodie, which is an essential on the upcoming six hour bus ride. The charter buses blast the A/C, and you’ve learned that to come without some kind of cover up is a death sentence. Unfortunately your demise readily approaches as you realize your hoodie is nowhere to be found, and the image of it sprawled lazily on the floor of Joe’s truck suddenly pops into your mind. 

I left it in his fucking truck.

Your shoulders immediately slump and you grumpily zip up your bag, knowing there’s no use in continuing to search. Hopefully you crash hard enough on the bus to fall asleep with no problem, but you’re not sure how well that will work out in only a warm up tank top. 

Grace and Kelia are throwing out their makeup wipes when you join Tay who’s waiting by the exit on her phone, an oversized hoodie pulled all the way over her head. You quickly try to pull the strings as a little prank, but your hand is harmlessly swatted away. Tay sticks her tongue out at you mockingly so you fake a pout, shoving a smile down. 

“We ready?” Kelia asks as her and Grace approach, both of them also clad in large sweat sets. 

“Yeah,” Tay confirms and you all exit the locker room, noticing pretty much everyone else in the entire away team hall has cleared out. 

Coach O is standing in the doorway of the football locker room, yelling in his thick southern accent, “Come on now, y’all got five minutes to get your asses on that bus!” All of you jump at the sudden exclamation, not seeing Coach at first, but certainly hearing him. Orgeron looks over at the group and has no problem instructing you as well, as if your team was his own. “Good job tonight girls, we’ve only got one bus left so get on it.” He even throws a thumbs up in there too.

“Thanks Coach!” Kelia sweetly beams as you all nod, about to follow the order until Clyde and Justin come bounding out of their locker room. There’s immediate commotion with Justin and Grace hugging and laughing, Clyde wondering if someone got a picture of his touchdown, and Joe and Ja’marr quickly joining the group seconds later. Kelia’s elbow digs into your ribs and she nods towards Joe mouthing “Mission Rebound!” with wide eyes and a sneaky grin. You roll your eyes, your response getting cut off by the man himself approaching you. 

“Hey,” Joe rasps, his voice obviously tired from calling his cadence all night and screaming in victory. Fortunately the result sounds heavenly. He grabs your dance bag from you before you can blink, and hooks his other arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side. You instinctively follow his embrace, leaning into his warm, freshly cleaned body.

Jesus this man smells good.

Another body exiting the locker room causes all nearby conversation to halt. Your eyebrows furrow and you turn around still attached to Joe, your throat catching when you’re suddenly eye to eye with Cam. The tension is evident, and the fact that everyone else behind you is staring like this is their personal reality TV show does not help. 

He stops and gives you a hard stare, chest puffed and eyes darting from you to Joe. You watch as realization flashes across his face, and the position you and Joe are currently in causes fury to wash over him. Joe doesn’t even stiffen, only clenches his jaw and stares right back. 

Cam lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, that was quick,” He spits out at you, motioning to Joe and tilting his head lower as if he has to look down at you. Trying to make you feel small.

You feel your eye twitch. This motherfucker. “Absolutely pathetic coming from you,” You respond sharply. 

Cam just rolls his eyes. “‘Aight,” He quips, giving Joe one last stare before walking off towards the bus. 

You let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding, shaking your head quickly to get him out of your brain. Your friends all seem to do the same as you turn back towards them.

“Oh I will smack him-”

“What did he think he was doing-”

“Yikes-”

“Why is he such a laaame?” Ja’marr whines like a little kid, stomping his foot on the ground. Everyone cackles at this, collectively agreeing and starting the trek to the bus. 

Joe stays solid next to you, rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder and pulling you into his side tighter. “I never got to ask–how was the show?” Joe asks with a boyish grin, his hair still slightly wet from the quick shower the boys get to take after games (It’s such a crime the difference between male and female locker rooms). 

“Insane,” You respond, letting your head fall into his warm chest for a moment, getting another whiff of his calming cucumber body wash. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a game as amazing as that one. I was so so nervous at certain points, I can’t lie, but you all are just…incredible.”

He lets out a throaty laugh when you mention your nerves, and starts obnoxiously swaying the both of you back and forth as you walk, as if you were in a ballpark singing Take Me Out to the Ball Game. You almost fall a couple times, causing you to try and get him to stop, (to no avail) and the both of you snicker like little kids as you goof off down the hall.

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but we did it,” He responds, finishing the statement with a broad, cheesy grin. It’s at this moment that you decide post-game Joe is your favorite Joe. You feel like every other time you see him he’s mostly all business, focused on his grind, trying to be a straightforward, picture perfect leader. That Joe is great, but there’s something so special about the guy you’re talking to right now. He’s got a cute twinkle in his eye, an infectious, giggly nature, and a warm, comforting glow that makes you want to package him up with a little bow and put him in your pocket. His touch is soft, his words are sweet, and his smile is youthful. 

Aw. 

“I wanna do it again, and again, and again,” Joe comments with a happy sigh. 

“Justin’s last touchdown was insane. I don’t know why I almost got scared when you guys ran up to me,” You recall.

Joe snorts. “Baby, you looked terrified. What’d you think was gonna happen?”

“I don’t know, you’re these big guys sprinting towards me!”

His cackle rings out again, and your heart starts doing somersaults. “We probably did look a little crazy. But I couldn’t help myself, you looked so beautiful!” Joe announces, grabbing your hand to raise it above your head and unexpectedly spin you a couple of times. Your laughter feels never ending, and a light blush coats your cheeks as you’re tugged back tight into his side. 

“Oh you’re too kind,” You joke. Glancing back up at Joe, you wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest. “I am really proud of you,” You confess softly. 

He looks so adorable with his crinkly eyes and flushed cheeks, and you can’t help yourself. Your arm reaches up to his neck and you pull his face down to yours, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Joe’s face is immediately redder, and he pulls an arm up to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Thanks,” He mumbles with a wide smile, trying to recover from the break in his facade with a kiss to your forehead. “I’m proud of you too.”

Finally the last bus is in view, with all of the other vehicles clearly already en route back to Louisiana. Coach O and the Tiger Girls’ assistant coach stand on each side of the door, going down the list of players that have yet to be accounted for and crossing off your names as you and Joe climb onto the bus. 

You almost always enjoy the bus ride home more than the bus ride to the game, because in all of the post-game commotion, the gender separation bus rules are usually abandoned, and you can sit with whoever you want. When Joe finds an open row and grabs your hand to pull you onto the seat next to him, you’re even more thankful for the chaos. The fiery look Cam’s giving you from many rows back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you make it a point to very obviously follow Joe’s lead.

Watch all you want, bitch.

Joe settles in quickly, shoving each of your bags under your respective seats. It’s pretty spacious because it’s a charter bus, so you can lazily slump in your own space, but the harsh chill of the A/C immediately hits you and your hopes of sleeping peacefully without your sweatshirt are on a swift decline. Goosebumps involuntarily appear on your arms, and you instinctively try to cover them with your hands.

“Where’s your sweatshirt?” Joe suddenly questions, a blank look on his face. 

“I left it in your truck actually,” You admit awkwardly, trying to push yourself further into the rough but somewhat woolen seat. Maybe it will provide you a little more warmth. 

You can see what’s coming before it happens. Joe wordlessly starts removing the light gray LSU Football sweatshirt he’s wearing, and you’re quick to protest, sitting up and waving your hands. “Don’t even, Joe. It’s freezing in here, and you’re not going to be able to sleep,” You scold. It’s useless, because he just continues his movements and ignores you. 

“Blah, blah blah,” He mocks when he gets the hoodie off and places it lightly on your lap. You notice a large 9 is printed across the back, like a jersey. “I have another one.” He raises his eyebrows at you pointedly before rummaging through his duffel to pull out the sweatshirt you saw him wearing to the game.

This comment silences you, and you quickly give in when another waft of cold air brushes across your body. “Well if you have another one,” You mumble, throwing Joe’s large hoodie over your head, his left over body heat immediately warming you up. The hood naturally falls on your forehead, the oversized fit causing it to fall all the way over your eyes and part of your nose. You hear Joe’s squeaky giggle from right next to you.

“Where’d you go?!” He jokes, his dorky smile coming into view when he pushes the hood farther back so you can see. 

All you can smell is woodsy musk and fresh laundry, and the aroma combined with the cozy cotton of the sweatshirt causes your brain to slow way down. You can feel the exhaust setting in, your time to crash steadily approaching. The smile you give to Joe is tired, and your response is quiet. “Thanks, Joe.”

“Mmhm,” He hums with a small smirk, watching as you slump back onto your seat. Coach O climbs onto the bus as the last couple athletes make their way into their seats, and the bus driver immediately shuts off the lights. Your limbs grow heavier and heavier, then here’s a moment where your eyes glaze over and observe Joe intently. 

He looks so comfy…

“Sweetheart?” Joe calls knowingly.

“Hm?”

“You gettin’ tired?”

“Yeah.”

Warm, large hands grab your waist and you’re slowly being pulled towards Joe’s body. He settles your head right on his chest and guides your arms around his torso, letting you use him as a human pillow. Your legs dangle off your seat until Joe grabs the back of one of your knees and pulls it to rest on his lap between his comfortable manspread.

You want to be surprised, but are too tired to react, and let yourself give in to his rather mundane actions. The freshly washed cotton hoodie rubbing against your cheek and rhythmic motion of Joe’s fingertips grazing up and down your back lulls you to sleep quickly. 

“Goodnight, Joe,” You whisper. 

“Goodnight,” He whispers back, another soft forehead kiss the last thing you feel before your muscles finally go limp, and sleep drags you under.

  A slight shake rumbles through your body, and you twitch in displeasure. A small light clicks on in your brain, your consciousness peeking through a vast sea of utter darkness, until you hear your name being softly called. Your eyes open warily, adjusting to the cool light seeping through the windows, signifying the early stages of a sunrise. You recall your surroundings, clutching onto the thick fabric of Joe’s sweatshirt to make sure everything you’re remembering is real. The familiar pattern of his hand on your back still continues, until his full palm stretches out to shake you once more.

“Y’gotta get up, we're here,” Joe’s rugged voice mumbles, trying to be kind, but laced with sleep. You sigh deeply and force yourself to move, slowly untangling your arms from his torso and throwing them into the air for a nice stretch. 

“Good morning,” You yawn out, trying to get your stiff body back to its usual limber self. 

“Too early of a morning,” He complains from his sprawled out position, showing you with his phone that it’s about 6:00am. 

“Yeah, I’m about to pass out again when I get home,” You comment, retrieving your bag from under your seat and making sure you have all of your items. There isn’t much discussion as the two of you slowly vacate the space, thanking the driver as you hop off the bus and gather with the group you arrived with. 

Everyone is half asleep, so the group wordlessly walks to Joe’s truck, all of you clearly feeling major separation anxiety from your beds. You pile in the same way as was before, and Ja’marr doesn’t even bother trying to connect to the aux, leaving the car ride silent but comfortable. Grace takes a picture of the sunrise now perfectly casting over the front windshield, making the sky bluer and bluer by the moment. She smiles and shows Justin the picture from his lap, him responding with a grin of his own and a kiss to her shoulder. 

It’s not long before Joe parks in front of your building, hopping out of the driver’s seat to lift up the cover on the trunk. Each of you trudges out of the tall truck, tiredly thanking Joe as he tugs each of your bags out of the back. 

“I’m gonna crash, but I’m sure Ja’marr will want people over later for pizza,” Joe mumbles, putting a light hand on your waist while he says goodbye. 

“I’ll ask him about it,” You respond sleepily, pulling him in for a quick hug before he nods off in front of you. “Sleep well, Joe.” 

“You too,” He whispers, taking one last breath before pulling away. You have to rip yourself from Joe’s arms, your body immediately whining and complaining at his dwindling proximity as you wave and back away. The morning chill creeps up on you while you drag your feet up to your apartment, silent and slightly somber as you click the lock to shut your door. 

Thudding bass can already be felt in your feet from two floors down, so you don’t even re-confirm the address Ja’marr sent to you. You know you’re at the right place.

After a couple more hours of sleep and a rejuvenating Sunday reset, you and all your roomies were not surprised to hear that the two star wide receivers wanted to have a post-game pizza night. As it was explained, this has been their usual routine every Sunday after a win, but they feel that this time it should be special–a little boozier. Tomorrow is Labor Day after all, and you won’t have a single class or practice to go to. 

So here the four of you are, clamoring up a couple flights of stairs towards the source of the loud music, dying to get your hands on some greasy, cheesy goodness. 

Everyone reaches the top of the steps, now only a couple doors down from Ja’marr and Justin’s apartment. “Damn, who hooked them up with all this?” Kelia pouts, gesturing to the clean, wooden doors with working locks and fancy door lights. Your apartment is fine, better than the dorms you were in freshman year, but it’s clear the football team lives in luxury. 

“Got me,” Grace scoffs. “Just wait til you see the inside.” She turns and pounds on Ja’marr and Justin’s door with little delicacy, probably so the hooligans inside can hear her knocking. It miraculously works after a few moments, Ja’marr swinging the door wide open with a beer in his hand.

“Ayeee!” He exclaims, beaming and throwing his hands up in excitement. “Come in guys!” Ja’marr steps to the side slightly to let the group into his apartment, giving you all short hugs as you enter. “Grab whatever you want from the fridge, the pizza’s on the counter,” He points out, gesturing to both the double doored fridge and many boxes of pizza laying on the large island countertop. 

“Oh you were not joking,” You mumble to Grace, looking around in awe at the spacious two bedroom apartment. The floors are clean wood, with no scratches or dirt hiding between panels. A large kitchen is immediately to your right, with painted cupboards and a modern backsplash, counter space going as far as the eye can see. The living room is just ahead of you, with enough square footage to hold two very comfy looking sofas, a large coffee table, and a huge TV. You can’t even begin to imagine how much space they have in their bedrooms.

Or how nice their bathrooms must be. You pout to yourself. 

While the music is pretty loud, you have no problem conversing at a somewhat normal volume. A couple other football players and girls you haven’t met, but recognize, loiter around the living room and kitchen, but it really is a chill hangout. While some of you are partiers and some aren't, student athletes have to limit their alcohol intake to pretty much zero when in-season, so it makes sense it’s such a small group–honestly, you’re grateful for it. 

“There you are,” A loud sigh comes from the living room, a tall, broad Joe clad in a cotton black tee and light wash jeans walking towards you with a purpose. His fluffy, dark blonde hair sits messily on his head, a couple strands falling onto his forehead. Sleep did him justice, eliminating his slouched posture and puffy face, and reviving his confident strut and strong facial features.

How did he go from adorable and snuggly, to confident and sexy in 10 hours?

A panty-dropping smile stretches across his lips as he approaches you, pulling you into a strong hug. His woodsy, musky scent sends a small flash of heat between your legs, and it’s in that moment you realize just how dangerous he’s going to be for you tonight. 

“Damn, we’re chopped liver!” Tay sasses, crossing her arms at Joe jokingly. He boasts a laugh, giving each of your friends short hugs. 

“Hey, guys,” Joe greets. “Please grab food and drinks before Ja’marr and Justin take literally all of it.”

“Oh, we will. In fact, I need a plate right now,” Kelia responds, making a beeline for the stacks of pizza boxes. Everyone scampers after her, eagerly filing through the boxes and asking what toppings are available. You grab a paper plate, your heart almost leaping out of your chest when a warm palm finds your hip and pulls you slightly backwards into a large body. Joe’s arm appears in front of you, grabbing a plate of his own.

You’re a little surprised by Joe’s somewhat forwardness, but the fiery feeling he’s causing overrides any bashfulness you may have displayed in front of your friends. You attempt to ignore some less than subtle reactions from the peanut gallery and casually grab a slice, moving with Joe as his hands guide you to the fridge.

“Want a drink?” He asks while grabbing a Yuengling, presumably for himself. 

“Sure, a High Noon if that’s fine,” You reply, taking the cold can when it’s handed to you. 

Joe grabs your other hand and guides you over to the living room couch. He casually plops down in the middle, stretching a beefy arm over the back and letting his thick thighs part in a confident manspread. He looks huge, taking up so much space with not only his body, but his demeanor as well. He’s coming off a huge win, looking poised, relaxed, like he owns the place. It’s so hot.

And you’re so horny.

Joe raises his eyebrows at you and nods to the spot next to him, waiting for you to join. You slide into place, daringly closer to his body than you thought you would be, but Joe doesn’t seem to mind because he just scoots even further towards you, leaning into your touch. A whiff of his woodsy scent just further ignites the growing fire of need inside you. You take a sip of your drink to cool down, knowing this is the start of a very long night.

And a long night it is. 

You and Joe are attached at the hip, teasing, laughing, and touching all evening. As you both nurse a couple of drinks, the added buzz of a little bit of alcohol makes your words honest, stares heated, and touches lingering. You flirt back and forth for what feels like forever, your anticipation on a steady incline, and you start to wonder if you should make the first move, or if everything you’re feeling is just a result of your clear sexual frustration.

A couple hours in, Joe takes a hit from Ja'marr's spliff, and you watch his strong jaw contract, sucking in. He lets his head fall back and you watch helplessly as the smoke lazily leaves his mouth, creating a dangerous haze of second hand intoxication and pure sex appeal. It’s at that moment that you decide to get to a bathroom and splash some cold water on your face to try to chill your horny ass out. 

The water calms your flushed cheeks, but does little to tame the overwhelming need you’re frustrated with. It’s only a matter of time before you act upon it, which could result in you doing something stupid or embarrassing, but could also result in some great sex. 

I don’t know what I’m doing. What the fuck.

Your trip to the bathroom comes up short of your expectations, and you leave no better than how you entered. 

Joe’s stands at his full height when you return to the living room, seemingly waiting for your arrival. “Hey, I just remembered you left your sweatshirt in my truck again this morning, want to go grab it?” He asks, starting to dig out his keys from his jean pocket. 

“Oh, yes,” You respond, actually excited to get your favorite lazy day clothing item back in your possession. Not to mention, your only official Tiger Girls sweatshirt.

“Hey, I know you’re not leaving with keys in your hand,” Ja’marr scolds when he sees the two of you walking towards the door, narrowing his eyes.

“We’re grabbing her sweatshirt, no driving,” Joe clarifies, throwing a peace sign behind his back and strolling out of the apartment. 

You roll your eyes at Joe and turn to Ja’marr. “Thanks for checking,” You comment with a smile, shutting the door behind you. 

The party music coming from inside immediately muffles afterwards, and the sound of the cicadas chirping in the trees fills the gaps, sobering you slightly. A cool night breeze floats by, giving you a break from Louisiana’s early September humidity, and you feel like you’re in a daze as you lazily follow Joe down the stairs and across the parking lot to his truck.

Joe lets out a long sigh as he unlocks the car. “What’s up?” You ask softly.

“Nothing,” He answers honestly, “I just needed fresh air. It’s getting muggy in there.” He opens the backseat door, revealing your prized Tiger Girls sweatshirt in all its glory. 

“Yay!” You cheer, stepping up to the seat and grabbing the clothing, pulling it over your head. 

Suddenly, a thought hits you. You realize that if you left your sweatshirt here, the one you wore to bed immediately after that bus ride certainly wasn’t yours. 

It was Joe’s.

“Oh shit, I still have your sweatshirt,” You announce, putting your hands on your hips as Joe reaches behind you to shut the door to the truck with a chuckle.

“Yeah…don’t worry about it. I don’t mind,” He trails off, a cocky look flashing across his face. 

You narrow your eyes at him questioningly. “Why are you making that face?” You pry.

Joe raises a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Honestly? I’ve been thinking about the look on Delpit’s face if he ever sees you in it,” He admits with a cheeky smile.

“Oh, of course,” You boast with a laugh and an eye roll. 

“Hey, it would be funny!” Joe retorts, raising his hands in self defense. 

There’s a knowing silence before Joe breaks it, taking a step closer to you. “Though, I’m not so sure he would be very happy with me tonight either,” He says lowly, heat flashing through his eyes. Your mirror his step, and your back comes into contact with the cool, metal truck door, your heart beating a little faster when you realize there’s no avoiding his overwhelming proximity now. 

“No, he probably wouldn’t,” You breathe out, losing yourself in his bright blue eyes. Joe stares you down with a light smirk pulling up one side of his full lips, wasting no time making the gap between you smaller and smaller. 

One of his large hands finds its way onto your hip, resting comfortably, though the heat it generates makes you anything but. Now that you’re truly alone, desperation strikes you hard, and you don’t know if you want to squirm or climb him like a tree. You’re so sexually frustrated this one touch has you begging, and you can’t help but think of how he’ll have you when he puts in some real work. The images flashing through your mind cause your resolve to slip further and further away, and your body naturally responds to his welcome touch.

You realize you need it. 

“What’re you thinking about in that pretty little head?” Joe asks with a sultry tone that tells you he already knows, he just wants to see you suffer. His large frame looms over you now, stormy eyes still locked on you with his chin tipped down and his head tilted in a questioning manner. The smirk still dances across his face, and his eyebrows are slightly raised, letting you know you’re not getting out of the question any time soon.

You try to speak, but your throat catches, and you don’t even know what you were going to say anyway. He knows. You don’t want to say it. But he’s not going to do anything until he hears it.

“You,” You breathe out, trying to steady your breathing a little. You know your answer is far too vague, and your brain starts fishing for something, anything to say next. It’s quite rare you’re rendered speechless.

“Hmm,” Joe’s hum rumbles low in his throat, his small smirk growing larger by the second as his second hand finds your other hip, easily sliding around to your lower back to pull himself even closer to you. “Anything in particular?” His palms circle slowly, easily, from your lower back to your hips and back around, occasionally slipping under your shirt so his fingertips graze your bare skin. You almost whine at the contact, so close yet so far from what you really want from him. Your resolve is still slipping, slipping, slipping…

I need it.

You let out a small huff. Joe’s smirk curls into a full fledged grin, his eyes never faltering. “No,” You finally retort. “Just…” Joe’s eyebrows shoot up when you trail off, still awaiting your response. 

His hands continue their torturous pattern, sending wave after wave of need through your body each time they come in contact with your hot flesh. You quickly shake your head for a second to try to rid his intoxicating scent from your nose, but you can’t. It just comes right back, circling in your head, forming a haze and pushing heat low in your belly. “Just you,” You finish, knowing you’re losing this battle, that he’ll just keep teasing you endlessly until that last single thread of restraint is snipped. He doesn’t want this unless you’re begging.

Fuck it. I need it.

“And your hands,” You whisper, finally allowing yourself to grip his shoulders for support as your chest starts to rise and fall quickly. A shadow starts to cast over Joe’s face as you speak slowly, his pupils dilating and eyes turning primal as his hands come to a halt on your hips.  

Please, Joe. 

“And your mouth,” You continue, your fingers trailing up his neck and to his jaw, one thumb reaching up to touch his plush lower lip, applying pressure until it snaps back into place. The strong hands on your sides push you flush against the car door, and Joe steps into you, your bodies brushing against each other with every movement.

Please…

“And any and every way you can make me feel good,” You whine, looking up at Joe with desperate eyes and praying your answer is sufficient enough to get you what you want. 

He groans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back for a moment. When it falls and he sets his eyes on you again, he takes a deep breath and pulls your hips flush against his. He asks one question, with a dark, promising tone. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” You utter, both of you falling into each other helplessly. Your first kiss with Joe is electric, and you feel hypnotized by his hot mouth against yours, controlled, relentless, and full of power. One of Joe’s hands leaves your hip and trails up your body, finding the side of your face to allow himself to kiss you deeper. Your hands slide to his bulging biceps, needing some sort of grounding due to the fog you’re falling further into. Joe pulls away slowly, leaving a couple pecks as a parting gift before fully giving you room to breathe. 

You’re both panting softly, somewhat satisfied you’ve at least cut the tension, but still hungry for so much more. Joe eyes you like you’re a meal, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips every few seconds. “You’re certainly trouble,” He purrs, dipping his head back down to you and slowly placing wet kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. 

“Joe,” You moan and swing your arms around his neck as he moves back up, not sure if your body can take much more of is slow, tantalizing torture before you implode. “I need you.” The admission is raw, and causes you to flush further.

“I know, baby,” He murmurs against your ear, pressing his mouth under it just after. “I just want you dripping.”

Your pulse pounds, and Joe chuckles when he feels it. He places wet kisses on the pressure point and flattens his tongue before blowing softly, the sudden cool causing you to shiver in pleasure. You pull a hand down from Joe’s neck, grabbing his jaw and pulling his lips to yours, already addicted to the feeling of his soft, yet demanding mouth. 

You kiss him with need, letting your hand fall back into his fluffy hair as you scratch his scalp, eliciting a groan from him. The vibration travels down your whole body, causing your heart to jump and your insides to mush. It’s not long very long before the kiss turns feverish, each open mouthed caress radiating through you and down to your core, leaving both of you breathless and moaning. 

Joe whispers your name between kisses a few times, eventually restraining himself enough to get a full sentence to you. “Come on,” He murmurs, using one strong arm around your lower back to tug you off of the car and back towards the dorm building. “I’d love to fuck you in my car, but,” Kiss. “Bed’s better.”

“Good call,” You pant, forcing yourself to let him go by telling yourself you just need to get up to his room and you’ll have plenty more time together. Joe quickly turns his back to you to make his way to the building but catches your hand, eagerly guiding you up only one flight of stairs. 

You spend your short travel time in a daze, too hot and bothered to think of anything other than when you can kiss Joe next. The only reason your patience doesn’t wear thin while he enters in the code to his door, is because you get to stare at his broad back while he does it.

You enter an apartment that looks similar to Justin and Ja’marr’s, at least with the lights off. Joe doesn’t bother to turn them on, stalking straight past the modest kitchen and living room, down the singular hallway. The layout is different, you assume because it’s a single. No roommates.

You follow Joe hastily, and the second his bedroom door swings shut behind you you’re backed up against it with hands on your waist. Joe’s eyes meet yours with such intensity, adoration, and promise, saying everything neither of you are daring to at the moment. He’s saying, Just give in. I’ve got you. 

So you crash your lips against his.

The spell he can put you under quickly returns, needy touches and a punishing mouth causing the resolve a small part of you is still hanging on to to wither away. Your beloved sweatshirt is quickly removed and discarded on the floor, Joe’s hands back on your waist and ass again soon after. He nudges you towards the plush looking king sized bed, your kiss never breaking until you feel a stronger push cause you to fall backwards onto the mattress. Joe hovers over you, confidence and pure dominance oozing out of him as he climbs over top of you and finds your jaw, continuing his pleasurable assault. He gets a firm grip on your T-shirt, pulling away panting a simple command, “Off.”

You don’t have to be told twice, throwing the oversized fabric over your head and tossing it to the hardwood floor. Joe’s eyes are immediately on your chest, eyebrows furrowing like he’s been wounded. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” He groans, tucking his fingers under his collar to lift up his own shirt and discard it, while you quickly remove your bra. 

The sight of Joe’s chiseled chest and abs is something out of a Michelangelo marble sculpture, all strength, beauty and valor, and your heart races as you watch the muscles contract with his every movement. You instinctively reach out to touch his warm, hard chest, his eyes meeting yours as your fingers trace patterns across the slopes and ridges. “Jesus,” Joe mutters, leaning down to capture your lips again. 

You can feel your body buzzing, anticipating every touch, nervous but excited to just take what he gives you. Joe’s large palm comes to knead the soft flesh of your breasts, causing you to moan under him. He pinches your nipple and rolls it around his fingers, keeping you gasping and heated, craving friction down below.

You reach for Joe’s jeans and unbutton them quickly, detaching your lips from his to undo the zipper and help him shove them off. Before you can find his boxers to get them off, his hands are on your jean shorts, masterfully maneuvering them off of your body. You reach for his boxers again, and this time your hands are swatted away.

“Nuh uh,” Joe scolds firmly, pushing your shoulder lightly so you fall back onto one of his soft pillows. His large silhouette towers over you and you’re pinned by his gaze, his stormy eyes telling you if you move a muscle, you’re in big trouble. 

Joe positions himself between your legs and leans back on his calves comfortably, with swollen red lips and tousled hair. His hands start on your knees and travel up your thighs to your hips, hooking his fingers under your panties. Pupils dilated, his blue eyes bore into yours as he drags the lacy fabric down your legs, the light sensation sending shivers up your spine. Joe grabs each of your knees, pushing them apart until you’re opened up completely and the cool air hits your soaking cunt. Your chest starts to heave as you realize how vulnerable you feel, how desperate you look, how much control he has when you’re in this position.

Joe looks down at your pussy, so ready and glistening. “So perfect,” He smirks, basking in the ego boost he gets from seeing you spread, wet and quivering for him.

“I’m so deprived,” You groan. “S’why I can’t focus.”

“No, sweetheart,” Joe laughs cockily. “This is all me.” He nods down to your slick heat, sliding his big hands from your hips, down your thighs, to your knees and back again, leaving tingles in their wake with each stroke. 

“Tell me, I want to know. Did Cam ever get you this wet?” Joe purrs teasingly, slowly gathering your juices with his thumb and rubbing small, frustrating circles on your clit.

Your voice trembles. “No, he didn’t.”

“Hm. Has anyone gotten you this wet before, princess?” He asks, easily slipping his long middle finger in your cunt achingly slow, continuing to pump in and out. You gasp and throw your head back at the sudden sensation, the pleasure coursing through you causing you to almost forget about the question entirely. “It's okay baby, you can be honest.” He coaxes you soothingly, teasingly, observing your every reaction to find the spots that are driving you crazy. 

“No,” You gasp out suddenly, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in his precise, calculated movements. “Just you, Joe.”

“Ah,” Joe lets out a fake disappointed sigh, and the hand that was so perfectly ruining you quickly pulls from your center. “Shame.”

Your eyes snap open and are immediately on Joe as his betrayal washes over you. You feel your pussy ache, and your hips naturally buck slightly to chase the friction. Joe’s other hand still caresses your thigh softly, and he closes his eyes while he pulls the finger that was just inside you to his mouth, tasting you. 

“Oh, fuck,” He groans, furrowing his brows and sending a pleading stare back at you. “I have to taste you. Please.”

A small pang of nerves hits you, having very little experience receiving head. The few times Cam tried you both gave up, because it seemed like your body just didn’t respond to that kind of sex. 

“Um, you can try if you want to,” You respond softly, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. “Honestly, it’s never worked for me.”

Joe’s demeanor softens at the nervous look on your face, and he leans over to give you a quick, reassuring peck. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to. How about we try, and see how it goes?” He asks lightly, feathering kisses across your neck and collarbones before moving to your breasts. 

Joe looks up for your response, locking eyes with you as you respond breathily, “Yeah, let’s do it.” He smiles and continues tending to your chest, closing his mouth over one peak. Joe’s actions cause you to mentally float in the air, the nerves you just felt dissipating somewhat. He moves to your other breast, repeating his lovely assault and causing pleasure to jolt through you. 

Joe’s lips continue to fall lower and lower, leaving kisses and licks and nibbles in his wake as he eventually parts your legs again. You feel your expression contort back into nervous, and Joe notices, gathering your slick with his thumb and teasing your clit. The relief makes your head fall back, dizzying slightly under Joe’s intense gaze.

“Relax, baby. Let me make you feel good,” Joe mutters, rubbing you a few more times before removing his hand and lowering his face even further.

Joe slowly presses feather light kisses to the inside of one thigh, inching closer and closer until he reaches your bikini line, where he falls back to repeat the process on your other thigh. The second time, he finishes by hovering over your heat, locking eyes with you until you feel his lips press on your clit. The anticipation makes you sensitive, and even this small touch sends a jolt of desire through you. 

Okay, maybe I do like this…

Joe’s massive hands continue to rub your thighs, building on the heat you suddenly feel everywhere. He flattens his tongue and licks a long stripe up your slit, finishing by sucking gently on your clit. 

“Oh fuck,” You moan, instinctively pulling away until Joe grabs your hips and pins them in place, feeling his hot breath on your heat when he chuckles. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

Joe’s mouth on you is as merciless and precise as he is on the field. Not quite aggressive, but not at all willing to give you any time to breathe as he seamlessly rotates his attention from your entrance to your clit at exactly the right moments. He’s observant, finding what drives you crazy in every way, and making sure to push every single button that will send you spiraling. Every sharp breath and high pitched sigh is quickly calculated into a counter movement, leaving you the writhing mess he wants you to be. He’s taking care of you in every way–something Cam never did–and that thought alone pushes you further into oblivion. 

Each movement of Joe’s pulses through your body, making your heart pound and muscles tense. “Joe,” You whine in a haze, not particularly knowing what you’re asking for. You can barely even see straight right now.

“Hmm?” He hums, glancing up at you he continues his work. The eye contact and vibration on your clit shoots pulses of fire through you, sending your clouded brain into a frenzy. It’s so so much.

“I- I think…I…” You breathe out, grasping for words as his methodic patterns keep sending wave after wave of heat through you from head to toe.

“Are you going to cum for me baby?” He asks gently, dipping his tongue into your entrance. The juxtaposition between his nurturing words and demanding, intense actions spur you on.

“Oh my god,” You choke out. “Yes.”

“I know, it’s okay,” He responds soothingly with another quick thrust of his tongue into you. “Relax, you can let it go.” Your mind zeros in on Joe’s words through the fog, your muscles loosening and body relaxing automatically upon his request. 

Joe’s mouth feels even hotter on your pussy, your body feeling like it’s on overdrive with how so, so good every touch feels. He starts lapping at your clit, rubbing it over and over again with his icy eyes on you until you feel the searing band of fire in your lower belly snap. “Fuck,” You shout as your orgasm cuts through you, grabbing on to whatever you can. The only thing you know is your pleasure and Joe’s tongue, continuing his delicious rhythm on your heat as he coaxes you through your high, a string of your moans following suit. His hands don’t falter, keeping you exactly where you are, unable to escape. 

Eventually your vision comes back, and you feel Joe’s soft blonde locks in your left hand. He gives you a couple more loving strokes of his tongue as you come down, parting from your heat with a light kiss. Your breathing is still heavy as you admire his features in your post-orgasm daze. His back muscles are on full display from this angle, and his facial bone structure even more defined under the moonlight. He truly looks beautiful. Strong. Powerful. 

You continue to stare as he looks up at you while climbing forward, now noticing your glistening arousal decorating his mouth and chin. Oh God, you internally groan when the sight stirs more fire within you. 

“You want a taste?” He murmurs. You nod slowly, and he brings his hot, slick lips to your panting mouth, letting you suck lightly on his bottom lip. This earns a groan from him, and your eyes quickly dart to his black boxers, where a prominent bulge proves you're not the only one in shambles. 

Images mull through your mind of Joe pounding into you furiously, eyes shut and brow furrowed in concentration, his lips parting as pleasure takes over him. “I want these off,” You demand, the sudden urge to have Joe’s cock inside you driving you to take hold of his waistband, helping him tug his boxers down his thighs. 

When Joe’s dick springs free, your reaction is unstoppable. “Shit,” You whisper, causing Joe to chuckle softly, bringing a hand up to your face to tuck some stray hairs behind your ear. 

“You can handle it, sweetheart,” Joe asserts with a passionate kiss, rubbing his thumb on your flushed cheeks. “You’re my strong girl, I know you can do it for me, hm?” He asks softly, locking his baby blue eyes with yours. His praise makes your heart leap and your brain go fuzzy, a soft hum escaping you as you nod. 

A smirk falls across Joe’s face. “That’s right,” He nods with you before spitting into his hand and pumping himself a few times. You watch as his face falls in slight relief and his cock grows even slightly more, his tip becoming a darker shade of pink.

“There are condoms in that drawer,” Joe grunts, nodding towards his bedside table.

“I’m on the pill,” You respond, sliding your hands into his golden curls and pressing your lips to his neck. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

Joe groans, pulling your face to his for a kiss. “You’re fucking perfect,” He mutters against your lips, crashing his mouth back onto yours to guide your head back onto the pillow. After a few more intense kisses, Joe pulls away panting, and lines up his cock with your entrance.

He slowly runs the head from your opening, to your clit, and back down again a few times, your already sensitive center immediately reacting to him. You’re boiling with anticipation, so desperate and so ready for everything he has to give. On the next go ‘round, he pushes in ever so slightly and comes back up to your clit, and just the small taste causes an involuntary whine to bile up in your throat.

“Joe,” You whimper. “I can’t take it anymore. Please.”

“Fucking dripping,” Joe sighs, staring in awe at where you’re about to be connected. His eyes then dart back up to you when he stops right at your entrance, ready to burn the image of you taking him for the first time into his memory. 

He slowly starts to push in inch by inch, your face contorting further into pleasure with each passing moment. The friction rubs you just the right way, shooting tingles through you from head to toe. Your pussy practically sucks him further in, every part of you stretching in the most delicious way. Pulses of pleasure and heat crash down on you with each inch, and every time you think you can’t take any more, he pushes deeper, reaching spots you didn’t even know existed. 

When he finally bottoms out you’re lightheaded, dizzy and disoriented. It’s so overwhelming, it’s hard for you to speak. While Cam wasn’t the only guy you’d slept with, he was the only one of note, and the size difference was evident. You’re so achingly full you feel like you’re choking on air, your vision spotty until you feel Joe’s large hand softly grab yours and guide it to his warm shoulder, giving you some sort of grounding amidst the pure ecstasy. “I’m right here, baby,” He rasps out. “Are you okay? You feel so fucking good, it hurts.”

You grasp his shoulder tightly as his hand drops from yours, landing back on your hips. “I’m good. So good,” You moan in confirmation, grinding your hips upwards to encourage the sentiment, earning an Ah, from Joe.

“You are trouble,” He mumbles, tightening his grip on your sides as he slowly starts pushing himself in and out, snapping in hard. Every thrust is deliberate, the pleasure only snowballing in your center as his dick brushes against your walls just so. The friction is addicting, and you find yourself chasing it more, needing it harder, faster, rougher. 

“Harder,” You breathe out on a high pitch, using your grip on his shoulder to pull your lips up to his ear. “I need it rough. Prove it to me, Joe.” He snaps his head to face you, scrunching his eyebrows in stone cold determination. The look almost makes you cower, for the first time slightly fearful of what you started. He grabs your jaw firmly and plants his heated mouth on yours, pushing you back down onto the plush bed. He brings his hand back down and lets his fingers coil into your hips, taking a bruising hold before setting a relentless pace with his hips. You moan loudly in surprise.

Oh, yes. 

The fire in your belly is fueled by the feeling of Joe’s fingers digging into your flesh, the way he’s keeping you at his mercy, with no choice but to be thrown around and torn apart. It’s exactly what you’ve been craving, and as much as you want to hold back your reaction, the fight is futile. You feel your body succumb to it, legs shaking, moans spewing, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’ve never felt this fucked out in your life. 

“Look at you baby, finally getting what you need,” Joe’s low voice rumbles, accenting his words with his hip movements. “Just a good- hard- fuck.” You can feel the truth of Joe’s words seep into you, and it pushes you further towards the edge. Just how incredible he’s making you feel, just how long you’ve been frustrated, waiting for months to be completely delirious, and now you’re so close to letting it all go. And you didn’t even have to tell him–he could read your thoughts like a book. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Just lie back and take it,” He groans, sliding one of his hands down to your clit to give it a quick pinch. He then uses both hands to push your thighs against your chest, allowing him to drill his cock into a spot deep inside that sends you absolutely spiraling. You gasp, then uncontrollably moan and blubber as he grazes the spot over and over and over.

“Please, please, please,” You beg in a whisper, though you’re not sure what for. You can feel your body tensing as Joe continues to pound into you, every part of you screaming for release that doesn’t seem to arrive quite yet. 

“You can do it gorgeous, just hang on to me,” Joe whimpers, his eyebrows furrowing and bottom lip dropping as his own release approaches. You let out shaky breaths as you continue to hang on the edge, tears about to well up in your eyes from your dizzying agony. 

“I-” You gasp. Joe notices, his demeanor darkening as he drags a hand from your thigh up to your throat, easily wrapping around the entire front of your neck with a light grip. He leans down and pins you in place with his gaze, his striking blue eyes now hooded, dark, and blown out in desire.

“Poor thing. So deprived she doesn’t even know what to do next,” He rasps, feigning sympathy. His grip on your airway tightens slightly as you feel jolts of pleasure cut through you again, fire radiating from your throat all the way down to your core. The only thing you can think of is Joe, Joe, Joe. 

“You can’t fight me, baby. Now be a good girl and cum,” He commands, and just like that your body responds, giving in to Joe completely. You yell his name and your eyes roll to the back of your head as your second orgasm hits you twice as hard as the first, the fullness you feel skyrocketing you into a state of pure delirium. Wave after wave of heat hits you and your resolve comes crashing down each time, feeling like there’s no end in sight with the way Joe keeps ramming into you, continuing to hit that one spot just right until you can barely feel anything anymore. There’s a point where you’re not sure if you’re even breathing, so you focus on inhaling and exhaling until you feel the high fade. Eventually you find a bicep, latching onto it as if it’s some kind of lifeboat, regaining your senses one by one until you open your eyes. 

Joe’s slowed down, but you feel his movements get sloppy and uneven as he chokes on moans, his scrunched up face and closed eyes telling you he’s holding out. You reach out to cradle his jaw, pulling him towards your face for a sweet kiss. “Joe,” You breathe out soothingly. “I’m okay. Let it go.” You finish your sentiment with a particularly hard kegel and a trail of kisses from his flushed cheek, to his set jaw, down to his neck. Starting to buck up into his thrusts, you pick up the pace and push through the light twinge of pain in your thighs to push him closer to the edge. 

“Fuck,” Joe whimpers, his groans getting louder. “Just like that baby, please.” He buries his head into your neck and presses his chest to yours, digging his fingers into your hips one last time and finishing inside you. You pull your head back slightly, admiring Joe’s face as he orgasms; eyes closed, brows furrowed, lip pouty and sweat-wicked. 

As Joe comes down from his high, your fingers thread through his soft, wavy hair and scratch his broad back lightly, both of you basking in your post orgasm glow for a minute. After a couple long breaths, Joe presses his lips to your collarbone and slowly pushes himself off of your chest, his dick sliding out of you in the process. A sharp, involuntary gasp escapes you at the sudden lack of fullness, your heat tingling and your walls clenching around nothing.  

Joe gives you a soft look and brushes your hair out of your face for a moment, running his thumb over your bottom lip before fully rising and getting off the bed. He wordlessly turns to stalk towards the bathroom, and as you stare at his back muscles flexing expertly, you feel the weight of the world return. You’ve been in this situation enough times to understand what’s supposed to happen now, and you silently curse yourself for considering for even a second that this was meant to be different.

You quickly sit up, feeling slightly unsure as you start to scramble around the bed, looking for any of your clothes to cover up. Reality really sets in, and you’re quite aware of the fact that this most likely felt like a quick fuck to Joe. Operation Rebound was successful, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that it’s nothing more. 

Hearing you rustling around, Joe suddenly turns with a confused face, his expression falling worrisome as he realizes what you’re doing. “Shh, no, no,” Joe exclaims with the wave of his hand. There’s a small pause as you freeze. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” He whispers, his eyes going soft at your baffled and disoriented look.

Your muscles slowly relax as you watch him turn back around to grab a clean pair of boxers and find the bathroom. Okay…You think to yourself, eyes darting around the room nervously. Luckily Joe is quick, emerging in his new undies with a damp washcloth and a cup of tap water. He heads straight for you, holding out the glass of water which you take gratefully with an unsure, “Thanks.”

“Lie down,” Joe instructs quietly and you comply, allowing him to gently push your knee to the side to open your legs. You jump slightly when he presses the warm cloth to your center, him reacting with a hand rubbing your thigh and a quiet, “Shh, I’m sorry.” He cleans you up diligently and carefully, discarding the cloth in his bathroom when he’s done. Your shoulders slowly release their tension as he continues to cater to you, helping you into a pair of boxers and an LSU football T-shirt that smells like him and feels too cozy. He finally grabs a glass of water for himself from the bathroom, joining you criss-cross applesauce back on the bed after he’s had a couple sips. 

You give Joe a soft smile as he keeps observing you, searching for any other signs that you may need his care. He lifts up your shirt slightly, softly caressing your hips and leaning down to observe them. “Hmm. Let me know if they start to bruise,” He says, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows. “I think I dug in a little too hard.” He then murmurs, pulling the shirt back down. One of Joe’s hands comes up to hold the side of your face as he brings your head to his mouth, pressing his lips softly to your hair. “You okay?” Joe asks, using his hold on your jaw to make sure you’re looking directly at him.

“Yeah,” You whisper, giving up and letting yourself fall into his ocean blue eyes. 

“You’re just awfully quiet,” Joe comments with a chuckle, dropping his hand from your face and letting it land on one of your thighs, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth. 

“Sorry,” You laugh lightly, letting your head hang as you start picking at your nails and looking  at your hands for a moment. Eventually you look back at him. “I’m not used to doing all this talking and stuff after. I don’t know. You tired me out.”

Joe throws his head back as he laughs full heartedly. “Aw, come on,” He teases. “And don’t tell me Deavers missed on this too.”

There’s a bitter silence as you shrug, and Joe’s smiling face slowly drops. “He did this sometimes. I just thought it was, like, a relationship kind of thing.”

“No,” Joe says quietly, but sternly. “This is an every time kind of thing.”

You feel a little pang of hurt. A twinge of embarrassment. Your eyes go back to your hands that are still preoccupying themselves in your lap. The more you reveal about your relationship with Cam, the more your friends help you realize that he wasn’t the guy you chalked him up to be. This is just another subtle reminder that even in the times you looked back on that you thought were good, and the things he did that seemed so grand, weren’t even the bare minimum. You’d think this would make you feel better, like you didn’t even lose something that amazing in the first place. But right now, you just feel like a fool. A child who was desperate for any sort of affection. Stupid. Lied to. Cheated. Which technically, is true. He cheated. 

Joe’s face is easier to read than Goodnight Moon. His eyes wander over every inch of your body and face, searching for any sort of signs that will indicate how you’re feeling. You can see it all over him–Poor her. I feel so bad. How tragic.

“Stop staring at me like that,” You snap at him. You’ve gotten to a good point with this whole breakup in the past week, and you need everyone to stop treating you like you’re broken so you can stop acting like it. Especially after a hookup. It makes you feel like an idiot.

Joe is taken aback by your sudden sharp tone. He furrows his brows and opens his mouth to counter you, but nothing comes out. Retreating, he slowly removes his hand from your thigh and turns towards his large window, leaning back on his palms. You sit for a minute, letting the twinge of tension you created simmer down, the bit of moonlight peeking in still doing wonders for Joe’s beauty. 

“It’s a waxing crescent,” He notes quietly.

You look out at the moon. “Yeah,” You reply, surprised. “You pay attention to the moon’s cycle?”

He nods. “I love space,” He explains. “The moon phases can tell us a lot about our lives.” Your heart squeezes at his statement. 

Maybe I was too mean.

Now you’re feeling regretful. There’s another less painful silence that floats through the room while you both swim in your thoughts, until Joe’s hard, flat tone cuts through it, “You’re sleeping here tonight. I don’t care if you had your drinks two hours ago, you’re not driving or walking home alone.”

You’re not sure how to respond. You’re not sure how he’s feeling. He’s still turned towards the window, but you can still tell his face means business, and there is no other option. “Okay,” You reply cautiously.

“Great,” He sighs as he stands, grabbing his water bottle and a few other things, “I think everyone wants to do brunch in the morning. You coming?” You nod in response, but he still isn’t looking at you. 

Come on, Joe. 

“Yeah, sure,” You say softly instead. “I can sleep on the couch, you know.”

“No,” He responds plainly.

You roll your eyes. “Joe,” You call sternly. He finally turns his head to lock eyes with you. Relief floods through you, knowing you didn’t completely fuck it up. You get under the sheets and pull one side of his heavy, navy blue duvet up. “Just sleep here. I don’t give a fuck.”

He sighs, moving his eyes back and forth between you and the bed. “I don’t want to-” You cut him off with a shush and look at him expectantly. Eventually his feet slowly carry him towards the bed, and you smile at him. 

“You were literally just nose deep in my pussy, so you’re fine,” You mumble once he starts pulling the covers over his long body. He lets out an abrupt laugh, one where his eyes shut and his nose crinkles. 

“That’s a good point,” He comments as he turns his body to the side and smiles at you. The silence afterwards is comfortable, and you find yourself leaning into it, already drifting off.

“I want to talk to you,” You mumble, knowing you’re fighting a losing battle with yourself. 

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Joe replies in a whisper. “Talk to me in the morning.”

The morning is slow but sweet, with soft smiles and gentle touches. You and Joe lazily gather your friends, floating through a hearty brunch at the local breakfast place “Sunny Side Up,” enjoying the delicious calories of coffee and syrup. Stories and jokes make their way around the table, looking forward to the new week ahead, when Joe gets a text of pictures from the weekend.

“Aye, look at this!” Justin exclaims, pointing to the picture displayed on Joe’s phone. You lean over and see the shot the cameraman took of you, Justin and Joe after the game winning touchdown. It looks straight out of a movie with the stadium in the back, all of your game faces on, and the energy oozing out of the screen. 

“Oh that’s Insta worthy,” Joe jokes, immediately swiping over to the app and creating a post. He puts the photo with you and Justin first, followed by a shot of him running to the sideline with his hands up, and the picture of all the Tiger Girls on the guys’ back last. 

He takes one last look at the pictures to make sure they’re all there, then clicks the caption box where he enters just two words:

Horns down 😈

part II - chomp that gator

[softieteez]

soon you'll get better

summary - y/n has to cancel a date to care for her sick daughter, but instead of staying home and moping, joe comes over to help

pairing - joe burrow x fem!reader

wordcount - 4.4k

masterlist

This week was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be a chance to spend some extra – and very much needed – time with Joe and give him a chance to get away from football for a bit after all the interviews and press he’d done lately. But it wasn’t. 

She’d been up all night trying to soothe her daughter, who just wouldn’t stop crying no matter what her mom did. Yesterday, they’d gotten news from her pediatrician that she had an ear infection – another one. It certainly wasn’t her first, and Y/N had almost lost count of how many they’d managed through, but still it never got easier. If anything, it felt like it was getting harder to manage. 

Maybe because her sweet girl was eighteen months old already and had by now learnt how to scream her mom’s name and air any grievance out with her very limited vocabulary. It made it hurt all the more every time she was sick or uncomfortable in any way – something that happened far more often than Y/N wished.

“Sasha, baby, I’ll be right there!” she yelled from the bathroom across the hall, hoping her daughter would hear and somehow understand her all the way from the nursery. She was trying to find the antibiotics and painkillers that her pediatrician had prescribed for her baby just last month, following her doctor’s instructions and hoping they’d soothe her enough to get them through the weekend. 

On Monday morning she could bring her into the doctor’s office, but until then they’d have to make do. 

It would’ve been much easier too if she didn’t feel the constant pressure of Sasha’s piercing cries, a sound she never really got used to no matter how many hours she kept screaming. 

With the antibiotics in hand she walked back in, seeing the tear stricken face of her baby girl come back into view. “I’m sorry, honey,” she mumbled as she measured out the medicine and carefully gave it to her, seeing her tiny face twist into a grimace at the taste. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, picking her daughter up and holding her against her chest, lightly bouncing her up and down as she walked aimlessly around the small room. 

Just as Sasha’s cries had started to lessen and her body had started to relax, Y/N’s phone rang, breaking the comfortable silence of the room. Sasha started screaming again as Y/N frantically shushed her, trying to get her phone out of her pocket with her free hand. She didn’t even look at the contact before picking the phone up, saying a quick, “Hello?” as she kept trying to get her daughter to calm down again. 

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” she heard the familiar voice of Joe ask, his worry clear as day even when she barely heard his voice over the screams. “Is that Sasha? Is she okay?”

“She has another ear infection, I’m trying to get her to calm down,” she told him, balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear to hold her baby with both hands. “I’m sorry if she’s screaming a lot, I’m really trying.”

“That’s horrible, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

She wanted Joe by her side more than anything, if not for his calming presence, then just for the fact that she didn’t want to be alone. But she couldn’t ask that of him. Not only had they not been dating long enough for that but he’d only met Sasha a little over a month ago. It was way too soon to ask him to help her parent her own child. 

“No, it’s okay,” she sighed, releasing a thankful breath as Sasha started quieting down again. “Why’d you call?”

“Oh, I was just checking if we were still on for tonight for our date, but I’m guessing you need a raincheck on that one,” he humorlessly laughed. 

“Was that today? What day is it?” she asked, looking at her phone to check the date. She’d completely forgotten, even though they went out the same day nearly every week and had for a while now. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I completely forgot.”

“It’s okay!” he was quick to reassure her. “You clearly have your hands full over there, I can’t blame you for forgetting.”

“But you probably had something planned,” she sighed. “I feel horrible for forgetting, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“There’s no need, I promise,” he told her. “Sasha is far more important than one date. We’ll go on another one, it’s okay.”

Sighing, she asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he insisted. “Worry about her, not me. I promise we’re good.”

“Good, okay,” she sighed, relieved. 

“Seriously, though, is there any way I can help? Do you have your parents there with you?”

“No, they’re on a date themselves and I don’t wanna bother them. They deserve to go out for once,” she waved off. “But I’ll manage on my own, it’s okay. I’ve done this before, I can do it again.”

Something about what she said just didn’t sit right with Joe. The idea of leaving her to fend for herself when he had nothing better to do than sit at home alone and let her suffer left a bitter taste in his mouth, his stomach twisting with worry.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, unconvincingly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Joe sighed, and she could tell he wasn’t happy saying it. “But if you need anything, anything at all, please call me? Or if you just want to talk.”

It was something she loved about Joe, especially now that the season was finally over. He was always just one call away. 

When she was with him, hanging out at his house or at dinner somewhere in the city, he would occasionally miss calls and ignore texts. But she was never on the receiving end of any of it. The fact that he cared enough to make sure she was never left to wait had her heart beating just a little faster, an unconscious smile spreading over her face. He was a nice distraction from the chaos around her. 

But in her arms, Sasha whined again, reminding her she couldn’t keep talking to Joe, no matter how much she wanted to. “I know,” she told him. “I promise I’ll call when I find the time, I just have to go right now. I gotta make sure she eats, and come up with something that she’ll even let me get near her,” she sighed. “But I really have to go.”

They said their goodbyes, and she could practically feel Joe’s apprehension through her phone. But she had things to worry about other than his pity. 

She wasn’t sure how long she spent trying to soothe Sasha, trying to distract her from the fever that had yet to go down despite the medicine. 

Y/N was walking around her kitchen, Sasha still in her tired arms, an hour later. Every time she tried to put her daughter down, she just started screaming even harder, so she didn’t even have the heart to try anymore. Her arms burning and legs aching was just the price she’d have to pay. 

She wasn’t expecting the sudden knock on her door. And even less for Joe to be standing on the other side of it. “Joe?”

“Hi, how are you? And how’s baby Sasha?”

“She’s been better,” Y/N sighed, glancing at her fussy girl. “And I’m okay, but… why are you here?”

She noticed his eyes settled worriedly in Sasha, eyebrows furrowed and a pained look in his eye. It was a look she could recognize anywhere, as it was the same one that stared back at her in the mirror every time her daughter was sick or hurting in any way.

He looked a little uncomfortable, smiling sheepishly at her as she scratched the back of his neck. “I couldn’t just leave you here alone. I brought some things,” he lifted his arm to show a bag of groceries.

She opened the door wider for him to come in, trying to shush Sasha in the process so she could talk for a few seconds with Joe uninterrupted before the screams started again. She figured if she just kept bouncing her and rubbing her back she’d get at least a few minutes. 

“You really didn’t have to,” she said as he closed the door behind him. 

“I know,” he agreed. “But I wanted to.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she led him into the kitchen to leave all the stuff he’d brought. “Okay, so I might not know anything about kids or what they need when they’re sick, but I asked one of the ladies in the grocery store and she said popsicles are a good way to get them hydrated,” he explained, pulling three boxes of different popsicles out of the bag. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, though. I wasn’t sure what she’d like.”

“That’s so thoughtful…”

“I also got honey and ingredients for chicken noodle soup. And then a box of chicken soup in case I mess that up.”

She had to hold in a laugh at that. Knowing Joe’s cooking skills, that might’ve been for the best. But it was sweet that he wanted to try doing it properly anyway. 

“I read on the internet that bubble baths might help too?” he hesitantly added, not wanting to step on her toes despite his excitement to help.

“They do,” she nodded. “I was gonna get her something to eat and then try that, hope it helps her fever go down.”

“Well, why don’t you give her a bath and I’ll try to make some soup for her,” he suggested, rubbing his hands up and down her upper arms soothingly. “Wait, she’s not allergic to anything, is she?”

“Only strawberries, which I’m assuming you weren’t gonna put in, so you’re good,” she told him. “Are you sure, though? You don’t need to be here and help if it's trouble for you in any way at all.”

He sighed, eyes softening as he looked at her. “Listen, I want all of you. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my girlfriend if I didn’t. That includes Sasha and anything she needs. So, for as long as you let me, I’ll stay here and help you.”

Y/N couldn’t describe the extreme gratitude she felt toward him. Some days, she didn’t know how she had managed before him. Despite them only having been together a couple of months, she was already splitting life into before and after him, the same way she looked at life before Sasha and after Sasha. They had both changed her life irrevocably in the best ways possible. 

Well, Sasha more than Joe. No one could ever top her. But at least he made the list. 

“Okay,” she nodded. “We’ll be done in maybe half an hour.”

“Perfect,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, then the top of Sasha’s head – which even he could feel was burning up. “I’ll have everything done when you get out.”

────────────

Sasha cried all throughout her bath. She didn’t scream, seemingly finding the lukewarm water a relief from her fever, but tears streamed down her wide doe eyes the entire time. To distract her, Y/N poured in the bubbles Sasha loved and placed all her favorite bath toys in the water with her. 

Inevitably – despite the tears – Y/N ended up soaked through her clothes from Sasha’s splashes. The bubbles made the bathroom floor so slippery it was hard to walk, but it was all worth it for those few seconds when Sasha forgot she was uncomfortable and let a few giggles slip through before the ache in her ear returned. 

“Ohhh, you’re okay sweetie,” she mumbled to her daughter, picking her up out of the bath the second she started shivering. “Let’s get you dry and dressed, okay?”

Sasha only continued crying and squirming, still not screaming though which Y/N took as a win. With much effort and work she managed to get her daughter dressed in her thinnest bodysuit, one she was unlikely to run hot in. But no matter how she tried she could brush her hair, as Sasha started screaming every time she got too close to her ear, the root of all their problems. 

But somehow, someway, they made it through it all and soon enough they were walking downstairs. Joe was busy working in the kitchen with focus she rarely saw with anything not football related. He wasn’t a good cook by any means, but still he seemed so in his element in the kitchen for once.

Seeing him in her kitchen, making food for her baby, also made a warm feeling settle deep in her chest, warming her from the inside out.

“Oh wow,” she said, walking in with Sasha in her arms. The little girl could already walk fine on her own, but since she was so sick Y/N didn’t want her wasting her energy on anything, certainly not on walking when she could carry her just fine. 

The kitchen was a complete mess. All the counters were dirty and ingredients were left all over. But he had managed to make an actual soup, one that actually smelled and looked edible. The battleground around him seemed to have been worth it. 

“I’m sorry about your kitchen,” Joe sheepishly apologized, though he didn’t look all that sorry. He looked… proud. 

“It’s fine, we’ll clean it later,” she waved him off. Suddenly getting emotional as she watched Joe act so at home, supporting her as if it was second nature. 

“No, why are you crying,” he panicked. “Please don’t cry.”

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” she sniffled, wiping under her eyes as Joe gathered her and Sasha in a hug. 

“Still, I don’t want you to cry.”

She would’ve gladly stayed hugging him, but over his shoulder she saw the soup about to boil over on the stove, “Joe, the soup!”

“Oh shi–” he cut himself off, rushing to turn the heat off just in time. “I promise I was doing well before this.”

“I believe you,” she told him, smiling gently at him.

Joe ushered the two of them to the dining table beside the kitchen and helped Sasha into her high chair. He’d set the table for not only Sasha but for Y/N too, something that made her furrow her brows. When he noticed her confusion, he said, “I know you haven’t eaten anything today. So just sit and take a break, I’ll help Sasha.”

“Thank you,” she weakly sighed, shoulders sagging as she happily dug into the soup that Joe had set in front of her. “I’m so glad you came over.”

“Me too,” he said, sitting beside her daughter to help her eat, since soup was a little harder to balance than hard foods. After a couple of tries and protests from the 18-month-old, he gave up and just started feeding her with the spoon himself. “There ya go.”

As they all sat still, quiet for just a few minutes, Joe noticed the dark circles underneath Y/N’s eyes, the way her shoulders slumped and the slow blinks that told him she was on the brink of falling asleep. 

“How long have you been awake?” he asked her.

“What time is it,” she said aloud, checking her phone. “Nothing too bad, like fourteen hours or so. It’s just that I didn’t sleep more than two uninterrupted hours last night, cause Ms. Fussy over here decided that if she can’t sleep, then I can’t either.”

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle, looking at her with an apologetic smile, so obviously pitying her, but she just didn’t have the energy to notice or care. “Babe, you need to go to sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re really not,” he chuckled. “You’ve been scraping the bottom of an empty bowl for the past minute.”

Eyebrows raising, she looked down at her bowl to find it exactly as Joe said it was – completely empty. And she hadn’t even noticed. Maybe she did need to sleep more than she’d thought. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Listen, you go get yourself ready for bed, I’ll clean up and give her a popsicle before I go put her to bed, see if she’ll fall asleep now that she’s eaten.”

“Are you–”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. I’ve done this a bunch of times with and without you. We’ll be fine,” he assured her, digging a raspberry popsicle out of the freezer. She was still a little fussy, but seemed just a little less angry once she had the icy treat in her hands. Usually she was far more talkative, too, but she must’ve been just as tired as her mom since she said little more than the occasional mumble or name. The pain must’ve gotten to her more than her mom wanted to admit. 

As Y/N took a shower in the bathroom, Joe cleaned the kitchen and put away the leftover soup in the fridge. And once Sasha finished her popsicle, and after they washed her hands since they’d gotten all sticky, he carried her up to her bed and placed her in her crib with all her stuffed animals. He saw the orange tiger he’d given her just last week in the corner and picked it up to hand it to her. “Who dey,” she sniffled, clutching the tiger. 

Joe smiled, it was what he’d told her the tiger was called in hopes that she’d learn to say those words easier that way. And clearly it had worked. “Yes it is, pumpkin. You want a bedtime story?”

“Want mama.”

Joe smiled sadly at her. “I know, but mama’s taking a shower right now. She needs to sleep and so do you. So the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you’ll see your mama when you wake up in the morning,” he told her, hoping to incentivize her some. 

Sasha nodded, but she wasn’t convinced at all. And she didn’t agree either. “Want mama,” she repeated, a little more agitated this time. 

“Okay, okay, what if I stay here with you instead?” he offered, one hand in her crib, rubbing her arm gently. 

Hesitantly, Sasha said, “Okay,” though her furrowed brows told him she wasn’t exactly happy with it. 

She was a mama’s girl through and through, and Joe wasn’t surprised at all. Of course, she was the parent she lived with full time, so that was a given. But he hoped he could at some point at least get some brownie points from her. 

Half an hour later it was finally quiet in the room. Sasha only fell asleep fifteen minutes in. She kept fussing and crying about her ear, and Joe understood why Y/N had barely slept at all. Being all but helpless around someone so little and defenseless hurt, especially when that little someone made all their discomfort and pain more than heard. 

When Sasha finally did fall asleep, lying on her side clutching Who Dey the tiger, Joe didn’t dare move. He was afraid that if he’d pull away his hand, he’d wake her up. And he just couldn’t take that risk. So he stayed sitting on the chair he’d pulled next to the crib half an hour ago and leaned his head against the wooden railing. 

He looked up to the baby mobile hanging from the ceiling, one with colorful planets hanging and spinning around in slow circles. He’d bought it for Sasha the first time he met her, hoping that if he impressed Y/N’s baby enough that he’d have better chances with her. 

Evidently, his silly plan worked. And now the mobile slowly spun above Sasha’s bed, lulling her to sleep along with the steady movements of his hand over her side. 

He didn’t know when, but he must’ve fallen asleep right there, because he eventually woke up to Sasha screaming her lungs out for her mom. “Shhh shh, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he tried soothing her and picked her up to rock her in his arms. She clung to his shirt as tightly as she could, little hands in tight fists of whatever she could grab. “Go back to sleep, it’s okay.”

But Sasha wouldn’t stop crying, repeatedly grabbing at her ear instead. “Your ear’s hurting,” he said, more to himself than anything else. “Your mom gave you medicine… nine hours ago,” he counted aloud. “So you can have some more, I should probably wake her to ask.”

Even though he was deliriously tired himself from being awoken so suddenly, he sobered somewhat quickly. He laid Sasha back down despite her protests to sneak into Y/N’s room and ask really quickly, hoping to wake her for no more than a minute before she could fall asleep again. But of course, that didn’t happen. 

“I’ll just do it myself,” she yawned as she got out of bed, much to Joe’s disappointment. “I know the dosage and everything so it’s just easier that way.”

He nodded along and made sure to pay attention as she measured out the medicine, taking note of exactly what the name of it was and how she was giving it to Sasha. He wanted to be able to do it later if need be, so he wouldn’t have to wake Y/N. 

With the medicine administered, Y/N held Sasha in her arms and patted her back as she bounced her lightly, doing her best to comfort her daughter until the medicine could kick in. She didn’t know if it would help her fever go down – it hadn’t last time – but at least it took away the pain. 

“You should go sleep, Joe, I’ve got her,” she mumbled, sitting down in the armchair in the corner of the nursery. 

“What, no,” he quietly argued. “You need it more than I do. I’ll be fine with her.”

“Doesn’t change that you need to sleep, too.”

He sighed, realizing the only thing he could do was compromise. “You’re right. What if I stay with her, just until she falls asleep, and then I’ll come to bed with you?” he offered, hoping it would be enough to convince her. “I’ll put on the baby monitor and everything so you can get up if she starts screaming again.”

“When she starts screaming again,” she corrected him. “Cause she absolutely will.”

“Then we can both get up. We’ll be sleep deprived together.”

It was sweet, in a way. Even if it was incredibly dumb. But it was the thought that counted. 

“I promise, you just go to bed, I’ll be there soon, babe,” he continued, seeing her resolve crumble. 

“Okay,” she sighed, hesitantly handing over Sasha. “But wake me up if anything happens.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, kissing the side of her head before gently pushing her out of the room and into the hallway. “Good night,” he mumbled. 

He sat back down on the armchair she’d just been in and shifted Sasha into a more comfortable position on his chest. His hand rubbed up and down her back, her head lying right above his heart. 

He’d never in his life seen a baby prettier than Sasha. And maybe it was because she was her mom’s twin, or the fact that he’d seen her grow these past months, but he really couldn’t imagine life without either of them any more. 

Sure, he and Y/N weren’t too serious yet. They’d labeled things and went on their weekly dates, but he wanted even more. He knew he’d have to wait, since it was way too soon for another step, but he was already looking forward to the day when he wouldn’t have to leave the two of them to go to an empty house. 

Joe wasn’t sure how long he sat tiredly daydreaming, slowly imagining all the simple moments of their future life together. Because it wasn’t even a question of if anymore, he knew it was going to happen at some point. There was no one else for him, that much was more than clear.

But at some point, Sasha’s soft snores evened out and the grip on his shirt loosened. Carefully, he pried her off of his chest and placed her back in her crib, gently placing her blanket over her lower half and Who Dey the tiger within grasp of her tiny hands. 

He leaned over into the crib to place a simple and soft kiss to her forehead, mumbling a quiet “Goodnight, princess,” hoping he didn’t accidentally wake her. 

He made sure the baby monitor beside the crib was on before he quietly padded out of the room, yawning as he pushed open Y/N’s bedroom door. He didn’t even think twice before pulling his sweats and shirt off and crawling under the covers with her, arms wrapping around her body and pulling her back into his chest. 

She stirred for a second, before settling back into the deep sleep she’d been in. And just before he closed his eyes for the last time, he just sat in the content silence that being in a home brought him. And it wasn’t her place that made it feel that way, not her bed, not even the fact that his arms were wrapped around her. 

No, instead it was the knowledge that she was near, Sasha was near, and that when he woke up, both of them would still be there by his side. And it was a feeling he never wanted to let go.

And he’d gladly nurse Sasha back to health time and time again, just to see her excited laughs when she watched Spongebob with him again when she was feeling better. When the three of them could dance around the kitchen to whatever Taylor Swift song Y/N was obsessed with at the moment. 

It really was all he’d ever wanted from life.

[softieteez]

[softieteez]

nosy anons let's go

0: Height

1: Age

2: Shoe size

3: Do you smoke?

4: Do you drink?

5: Do you take drugs?

6: Age you get mistaken for

7: Have tattoos?

8: Want any tattoos?

9: Got any piercings?

10: Want any piercings?

11: Best friend?

12: Relationship status

13: Biggest turn ons

14: Biggest turn offs

15: Favorite movie

16: I’ll love you if…

17: Someone you miss

18: Most traumatic experience

19: A fact about your personality

20: What I hate most about myself

21: What I love most about myself

22: What I want to be when I get older

23: My relationship with my sibling(s)

24: My relationship with my parent(s)

25: My idea of a perfect date

26: My biggest pet peeves

27: A description of the girl/boy I like

28: A description of the person I dislike the most

29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend

30: What I hate the most about work/school

31: What my last text message says

32: What words upset me the most

33: What words make me feel the best about myself

34: What I find attractive in women

35: What I find attractive in men

36: Where I would like to live

37: One of my insecurities

38: My childhood career choice

39: My favorite ice cream flavor

40: Who I wish I could be

41: Where I want to be right now

42: The last thing I ate

43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately

44: A random fact about anything

[softieteez]

snoopy of the day

[softieteez]

ROSÉ | 3am live performance