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joeyburrrow · 3 months ago

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he's just a baby 😭😭😭

breathe || joe burrow x reader

description: when the weight of everything around him comes crashing down, joe only needs one person. the one person who could help him breathe

a/n: requested by my love @yelenasbraid!! this is so rushed and not my best writing at all but here we are :)

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions and descriptions of anxiety

word count: 4.4k

taglist (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @starkeyswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

The locker room was suffocating after the loss against the Chargers. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, bitter frustration, and dissatisfaction. Reporters circled like preying vultures, their questions sharp and relentless, making the voices inside his head even louder. Cameras flashed without any hesitation, the artificial light burning into his already pounding head. His ears rang, his pulse thundered against the walls of his arteries, and the words coming at him blurred together into one indistinct buzz.

Joe could barely hear himself think.

This game had been as brutal as they come. Physically, emotionally, mentally--everything about it had left him battered and bruised. From the slow start before the half--24-6--to not one, but two missed field goals, countless defensive struggles, time mismanagement, and playcalling being a nagging issue. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Every mistake replayed in his head like a cruel highlight reel, the weight of it pressing down on his chest, making it harder to breathe.

The incessant voices, the buzzing overhead lights, the grating questions--What went wrong? What happened? Why didn’t you do more? It was all layering over him, crushing him from every direction.

It was too much. It was drowning him.

This put them in a tough spot, and Joe knew that. He knew it better than anyone. He didn't need to be reminded by anyone and everyone with a mouth and a microphone. If he had to hear the words, 4-7, one more time, he might just fall to his knees at the mention of their standing.

He was giving it his all each and every week, yet somehow, it was never enough. It was never enough for them to win, it was never enough for the league to acknowledge his hard work, it was never enough for himself.

Right now, he was sitting on the chair in front of his locker while Ja'marr and Tee rattled on about how they need to do better at closing games, better at managing the clock, how they need to keep the Bengals in that conversation as it was getting increasingly hard to since they had nothing but one SuperBowl appearance and two AFC championship appearances to back it up.

They were telling Joe everything he already knew.

Tee yanked off his cleats with a frustrated grunt, the sound echoing in the otherwise eerily quiet locker room. "We can’t lose after the bye. At all. Or we’re totally fucked," his words were blunt, his discontent practically radiating off of him, a heavy cloud that lingered not just over his head but throughout the locker room.

Ja'marr rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his irritation. "I don't know 'bout y'all, but I'm getting real tired of these reporters running their fucking mouths. We know we suck, no need to rephrase it every way humanly possible,".

Joe didn’t answer to any of their complaints and venting, despite knowing that as the leader of this team and as their friend, he should be doing something to ease their worries. His eyes stared blankly ahead, his mind running a thousand miles per minute as he tried to breathe through the frustration tightening in his chest. Every word, every criticism, felt like it was clawing at him, making it harder to focus on what really mattered--keeping his cool while he kept his team together. He could feel the pressure creeping up his neck, settling into his bones, reminding him of everything he hadn’t been able to fix, everything he hadn’t done well enough. He could feel the expectations, the endless hunger for more from himself and from the team, threatening to overcome him.

"You can't keep someone else together if you can't keep yourself together,".

That voice. Sweet as sugar, smooth as honey, soft as a cloud.

Your voice.

The only one that he could hear through the buzz in his head.

But you weren’t here.

And without you, the weight of it all was suffocating. The importance of the loss, the looming consequences, the endless chatter about the playoffs--it bore down on him, stubborn, inescapable. If he spoke now, even he didn’t know what would come out. Frustration? Defeat?

Something he couldn’t take back?

So he just sat there, silent. Letting them talk. Letting their words blend into the static already buzzing in his head.

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms, grounding himself in the sting. He needed to get out. The walls of the locker room felt too close, the air too thick, the rock on his chest too heavy to bear for another second. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit there, pretending it was all fine, pretending he wasn’t fraying in the eyes of his teammates.

And that noise. That god awful noise.

It wouldn't shut up.

And all he wanted was to disappear.

To escape, to breathe, to find something--someone--to hold onto before he drowned in it all.

He needed you.

The only person who could quiet the storm raging in his head. The only person who never demanded answers, never pushed him to speak when the words felt too heavy to say. You just knew--you always knew. You saw past the clenched jaw, the stiff shoulders, the foggy eyes, and you never asked for anything in return. You just gave. Your presence, your touch, your understanding.

He needed the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his ear, the warmth of your fingers threading through his hair, the quiet reassurance in your eyes that told him he wasn’t alone. That he didn’t have to be Joe Burrow, the quarterback, or Joe Burrow, the leader.

With you, he was just Joe.

And right now, that was all he wanted to be.

He couldn’t sit here any longer, couldn’t force himself to listen, to nod, to act like he wasn’t barely holding it together.

So he moved.

Without a word, he pushed himself up from the chair, his movements stiff, almost mechanical. He grabbed his bags, slinging them over his shoulder with a quiet urgency, his pulse throbbing in his ears. And then, without looking back, he started walking toward the exit.

Behind him, his teammates noticed his sudden shift in demeanor. Ja'marr raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-conversation, while Tee threw him a confused look.

"Yo, where you going?" Tee asked, but Joe didn’t stop.

He didn’t owe them an explanation. He didn’t owe anyone anything right now. The murmurs, the unspoken questions, the tension in the room; it all faded into the background. None of it mattered.

Not when he could already feel you--the only person who knew how to pull him out of the chaos.

With each step, the noise of the locker room faded, the pressure in his chest loosening just a little now that he was putting some much needed distance between himself and everything suffocating him. But the relief was brief. Every step felt like it was heavier than the last, the walk stretching endlessly before him as he passed players, staff members, people who were giving him that look.

The look of pity.

When he finally reached the stadium doors, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed them open, stepping into the cool night air like a man emerging for his first real breath in ages. The crispness stung his lungs, but it was better than the stifling heat of frustration and failure that clung to him inside.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, checking the time--only to be met with a flood of texts.

Tee: yo man, where'd you go? the buses won't be here for another 30

Ja'marr: you good?

Sam: hey, saw you cleared out your stuff. where'd you go? we're not outta here for a little while

And then, another came in.

You: hey baby. i'm so sorry about tonight's game. please don’t beat yourself up over this. i’m always here if you need to talk :( i know you were really riding on this one to turn things around before the bye. just know i love you, and i'm so proud of you. i'm back at the hotel but i'll see you when we get back to cincy, okay?

You: but if you need to, call me.

Your words hit him like a wave--not the kind that dragged him under, not the kind that left him gasping for air. No, this was different.

It was a wave of fresh air, crisp and cool, filling his lungs where the pressure had been before. A wave that washed away the tension, rinsing off the exhaustion clinging to his skin.

A wave that felt like you.

Your words weren’t just comforting; they were exactly what he needed to hear, a glimpse of the steady presence he was craving. It was enough to make the tightness in his chest loosen, just a bit. She wasn’t asking him to be okay. She was just letting him know she was there. And that was all that mattered.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, unsure if he should respond to his worried teammates before he sent you a text back. He didn’t want to snap or say something he’d regret to them, but the guilt of slipping away so abruptly gnawed at him. Even though he couldn’t be what they needed right now, he could at least let them know he hadn’t abandoned them completely.

So, he decided to send a brief text to all three.

Needed to get out. I'm going to her hotel. Don't wait up.

He knew he was breaking at least two different league codes by doing this--going to you when he was supposed to be boarding the plane home in an hour--but in that moment, he couldn't get himself to care. The locker room felt like it was closing in on him, choking him.

"Breathe, Joe," he mumbled to himself, but it did nothing to ease the returning pressure building in his chest. Even the mere thought of the night made him feel worse.

The only thing that felt real, the only thing that made any sense right now, was you.

So, without thinking twice, he clicked back on your contact and sent a text back to you.

I love you.

It was simple, but it was everything. It was the only thing that mattered.

—

The next thing Joe knew, he was in the backseat of an Uber, staring blankly outside the window. The city lights cast a harsh glow onto his exhausted, defeated face, amplifying the shadows beneath his eyes and highlighting how pale he’d become in the last few hours. His breath was shallow, a sharp contrast to the rhythm of his heartbeat, which thumped aimlessly in his chest. His hands were trembling, fingers clutching his thighs as if grounding himself would keep him from floating away.

But the pressure in his chest--heavy, crushing, like an unseen force--had only intensified. It felt as if the world itself going black around him, forcing him deeper into the confined space of the car. Each breath he pulled felt shallow, as if the air around him had thickened like molasses, it being replaced by a rigid force of the public's expectations, judgments, and self-doubt. The echoes of the voices in the stadium still haunted his mind, but being alone in the car, trapped with his spiraling thoughts, was even more unbearable than he realized.

And then it hit him. The radio.

The recap of the game blared through the speakers, repeating every mistake, every misstep, every lost opportunity. It was like someone had opened a door to a room full of harsh, biting voices, each one reminding him of everything that had gone wrong. The analysts hummed on, their voices cold and indifferent, dissecting the Bengals’ performance.

"Another missed chance for Joe Burrow, a disappointing loss for the team--,".

Great. Just great.

Joe could feel his stomach twist, his chest tightening even more as they tore apart the very thing he had fought for all night. He could hear their voices--"Same old Bengals. Same old Joe Burrow. Not enough."--repeating over and over in his mind, louder than the actual commentary. He could feel it in his veins, like an electric current of doubt, of failure, surging through him.

The worst part wasn’t even the game, though. It was the nagging feeling that no one saw him for what he was--more than just a player on a losing team. No matter how great he was on the field, no matter how hard he pushed through each and every game, the team’s performance overpowered his individual efforts. And that? That was the worst feeling of them all. The feeling of neglect. The feeling of being overlooked, unseen, despite doing everything he could.

It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

His hands gripped the edge of the seat, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together. But with every word from the announcers, every criticism that hit him like a punch to the gut, his anxiety surged higher, chewing at him from the inside. His breath came faster, shorter, and the world around him began to blur, the lights from the city outside dancing in his vision.

He had to get out of there. He had to get somewhere quiet, somewhere safe where he didn’t have to listen to them anymore.

But the voices didn’t stop.

The analysts kept talking, their words cutting through the air like knives, each one sharper than the last. Every comment, every suspicion, every assumption about his performance lodged itself under his skin, burrowing deep into his mind like a splinter he couldn’t pull out.

"He’s not enough. He’ll never be enough,".

Those words were on loop in his brain.

The car turned a corner, the noise and the voices still spinning in his head, and Joe finally couldn’t take it anymore. His chest felt like it might cave in on itself, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay in this small, confining space, trapped between his thoughts and the echo of their words. His phone buzzed in his pocket, surely another text from his teammates, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it--he was already gone.

Everything felt too much. Too loud. He needed space--he needed you.

His hands fumbled with the door handle once the car pulled up in front of your hotel. His legs were unsteady, like he couldn’t find his footing on the ground beneath him. His breath was coming too fast, short and jagged, like his lungs weren’t getting enough air no matter how hard he tried. His fingers tingled, and his vision blurred again as a fog crept over his mind.

By the time he reached the door of your room, his entire body was buzzing with anxiety, the skin on his arms and chest feeling too tight, like it couldn’t contain the frantic energy pulsing underneath. His mind raced faster than he could process, every thought crashing into the next. It felt like his brain was moving too fast for him to keep up, too fast for him to breathe.

His hand shook as he reached for the handle, but before he could touch it, the door swung open.

And then, there you were.

Soft, warm, steady--everything he wasn’t.

Your brows furrowed immediately, eyes scanning over him in an instant, picking up on every subtle sign: the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest was rising and falling too quickly, the distant, unfocused look in his eyes.

You saw it all. You always did.

You didn't need him to speak. You could feel it in the air, in the way he stood there, barely holding it together.

"Come here," you murmured, your voice calm, soothing.

Joe didn’t hesitate.

He stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. The second the space was closed off from the rest of the world, he dropped his bags and his hands found your waist, clutching at you like he might crumble if he let go. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath shaky, uneven, because he couldn't get enough air.

"I can’t--," his voice broke, strained, each word like it was a struggle to push out. "I can’t breathe,".

Without thinking, your hands immediately went to him, one curling around the back of his neck, the other smoothing down his back. You could feel the frenzied pace of his pulse beneath your fingertips, the way he was shaking, not just with anxiety but with the overwhelming need for relief.

"Yes, you can," you whispered, voice filled with confidence. "You’re safe. Just breathe with me, baby,".

But it wasn’t that easy. Not for him. His chest was too compressed, his ribs constricting, refusing to expand the way they should. The panic was rising in him, clawing at his throat, sinking deeper into his chest with every breath he couldn’t take.

"He's slipping again," you frowned to yourself as a flashback of all of the times he'd come to you like this played in your head. You'd been through this too many times to count, so you knew what he needed.

You had to guide him.

You slipped your hand over his heart, pressing your palm flat against his chest. His breath hitched at the sudden touch, his heartbeat erratic beneath your hand, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you held your palm there, anchoring him. "Feel me?" you nodded. "Right here. Just focus on that,".

Joe’s fingers dug into your hoodie, gripping at you like a lifeline, desperate not to let go. His breathing was still too fast, still uneven, but your touch--your calm presence--was helping, even if just a little. His head was still foggy, his thoughts tangled up in a mess of frustration and self-doubt, trying to crawl out from under the weight that had been holding him down all night. He wanted to focus, wanted to feel the calm that you brought him, but his mind kept drifting.

"I can’t…I don’t…agh," he mumbled, his breath catching on every word, a frown tugging at his features as he struggled to find the right thing to say, or even the right way to feel. His chest tightened again, and his hands quivered slightly, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath or his words. The panic threatened to creep back, the pressure of everything creeping up his body, trying to pull him down again.

You could feel him falling. Feel the tension returning, the struggle to stay present, and it broke your heart just a little bit. You knew he wasn’t just fighting the anxiety, he was fighting the feeling of being lost in everything around him. The feeling of it all had him spinning, unsure of how to breathe through it.

But you were here now. You were here to remind him that he didn’t need to deal with this alone. You knew just how much pressure he was under, how this season was more critical than years past. And you knew how much work he was putting in to make sure he was nothing but perfect every time he stepped onto that turf.

Which is why you knew all too well how much this hurt.

How much this was killing him, week after week.

"Joe," you whispered softly, gently cupping his face with your hands, your thumb tracing over the sharp lines of his jaw. "Look at me,".

He hesitated, his eyes unfocused, darting everywhere but at you. He tried to push through, but he couldn’t. The panic was still there, tugging at his chest, making it hard to hold on. "Joe," you said again, a little firmer this time, your voice soft but insistent. "Look at me, baby,".

He slowly turned his face back to yours, the fog in his eyes clearing just slightly as he tried to focus on you. Your gaze softened when you saw the struggle in him, the tears pooling, the need for reassurance, the vulnerability that he so rarely showed.

"I’m right here, Joey," you murmured, your hands resting gently on his cheeks now, your thumbs stroking across his skin as you held him in place. "Feel me. I’m here,".

Your words, your touch--it was the lifeline he needed. The grounding presence he could rely on. He let himself lean into you, closing his eyes just for a moment, letting the warmth of your hands on his face pull him back from the edge. He felt the steady pulse of your fingers, your warmth, and the way your breath met his. You were right here. It was going to be okay.

With a shaky exhale, Joe opened his eyes again, this time meeting yours. A soft breath left his lips as his body relaxed, just slightly, the overwhelming need to push everything away slowly fading into the background.

"I’ve got you, baby," you whispered, your voice steady and calm as you pressed your forehead gently to his. "Just breathe with me? I’m right here," you promised again, then placing the softest kiss to his temple. "You’re not alone. Just follow me, okay?".

He nodded weakly, his breath hitching again as he tried to focus.

"Good," you whispered, your voice stable. "Now, in for four. One, two, three, four…,".

You took a slow, measured breath, exaggerating it just enough so that he could follow. Joe’s breath was shaky as he tried to match you, but it was broken, stuttering, still too shallow. "That’s okay," you soothed, your thumb brushing against his cheek. "Try again. In for four,".

This time, he managed a deeper inhale, the air shaky in his lungs, but it was more than he had before. "There you go," you whispered, your voice a constant rock for him. "Now, hold it. One, two, three…,".

You watched his jaw tighten, his whole body bracing as he tried to hold it in, his chest rising and falling with the effort.

"Let it out. Four, three, two, one,".

His exhale was ragged, but the moment the breath left his lungs, a tiny fraction of the crushing weight on his chest lifted. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was enough to make him realize that maybe--just maybe--it was possible to find some relief.

You repeated the cycle, guiding him through it, breathing with him, your voice the only thing keeping him tethered to the present, to this moment. Each time he wanted to slip under again, to let the anxiety drag him back into the storm, you pulled him back.

By the fifth breath, his grip on your waist had loosened just slightly, his fingers no longer clutching at you with desperation. By the seventh, his head wasn’t spinning quite as much. By the tenth, the racing pulse in his chest was slowing--still fast, still erratic, but now within his control.

His forehead dropped against yours, his breath warm against your lips, the tension in his body finally starting to ease as he sank into the comfort of your embrace. His chest rose and fell in a steadier rhythm now, the frantic pace of his breaths slowing just enough for him to feel the grounding presence of you. He could feel the soft pressure of your hands against him, the quiet love radiating from your touch, and it was everything he needed right now.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice hoarse and broken, a sharp contrast to the softness of your touch. His eyes were closed, but you could see the weight lifting off his shoulders, little by little, as the steady beat of his heart slowed. It wasn’t just the physical pressure that was lifting--it was the mental burden, too. And all it took was you.

You smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You were his safe place, his anchor, and you reminded him of that every day without needing to say it. But tonight? Tonight, he needed to hear it. He needed to feel it.

Your hand slid over his chest, tracing soothing circles like a quiet promise, letting him know you were there, that he didn’t have to face any of this alone. You felt the rhythm of his heartbeat, the steadiness returning to it under your hand, and you couldn’t help but smile a little wider, the ache in your chest easing.

"Always," you whispered, leaning forward to press a silent kiss to his lips, almost as if you were trying to suck the pain out of him and bring it into yourself.

Joe exhaled a long, slow breath, feeling the last of the tension leave his body. The tightness in his chest was gone, replaced by the warmth of your arms, the steady sound of your heartbeat in his ear, and the certainty that no matter what the world threw at him, you would be there, holding him up.

You'd be there to give him the shelter from the storm raging in his mind.

You guided him to the edge of the bed, easing him down until his head found its place in your lap. Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails grazing his scalp in a way that sent the smallest shiver down his spine. With your other hand, you found his--calloused and tired--and brought it to your lips, pressing the softest kisses to each of his knuckles, as if you could kiss away the weight of the night.

"You're safe, baby," you murmured, your voice a gentle melody in the quiet room.

Joe exhaled, sinking further into you, letting your warmth surround him. The steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your fingers moved through his hair, the warmth of your skin against his--it was everything he needed. Everything he’d been searching for. And in that moment, wrapped up in you, he finally let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

For the first time all night, he felt like he wasn’t drowning. It wasn’t just the air that was easier to breathe--it was everything. The thoughts stemming from the horrible loss, the pressure of his own expectations, the piercing noise in his head--it all faded into the background as he moved closer to you, stabilizing himself in the quiet comfort of your presence.

Because you were there, and that was enough. You were his calm, his home. You kept him afloat, and in your arms, he could finally let go of everything else.

He could finally breathe.

--The End--

#i just got war flashbacks to the hottie superbowl #cuz why was my chest tight too #maja reads #oomfies 💘#arch! 💫#my golden girls 👯‍♀️

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joeyburrrow · 5 months ago

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christmas might be over but this fic still lives in my head rent free 😮‍💨

had to run it back and make sure it still hits just as hard

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕠𝕟𝕖

under the mistletoe

lsu!joe x fem!reader

summary: you and joe can’t stand each other. what happens when your stubbornness meets his head on… underneath the mistletoe.

warnings: minors dni, 18+. cocky joe is always his own warning, kissing, spitting, p in v, semi-public sex.

word count: 4.3k

note: happy first day of fic-mas! what better way to start than with lsu joe <333

“yeah, i’ll be able to make it… i think,” you say into your phones receiver, struggling to slide your uggs on and talk on the phone at the same time. “sorry margot! i’m scrambling this morning!” you tell your roommate, turning her on speaker and laying your phone on the counter.

her cheerful voice fills the kitchen as she responds. “it‘s okay babe! i just heard about this party and we have to go to it before we go home for christmas this year! can you write it on the fridge calendar?”

as you listen to margot talk, you pop a k-cup into your keurig and begin brewing it, sliding your trusty travel mug underneath to catch all of the delicious liquid that you can only hope will get you through this day.

“yep, i’ll put it on there! december 21st?” you ask her, popping the cap off the dry erase marker that your white-board calendar holds.

“yes, that’s right. we’ll just have to watch our alcohol intake that night since we both have an early flight the next morning.” she laughs.

you write the event down and close the marker, placing it back in its holder. you fix up your coffee as margot continues talking, filling you in on the campus drama she’s already seen this morning.

“so anyways girl,” she raved, the smirk on her face evident in her tone, “i saw justin and joe this morning talking to the same girl. like get a grip. they’re probably having another weird competition again.”

you scowl immediately as you hear joe’s name. the quarterback and his best friend chatting up the same girl, how cliché. “god i cannot stand them!” you reply with an eye-roll, annoyance present in your voice.

you weren’t sure why you hated joe so much. maybe it was the incessant flirting he did with you and every other girl you knew. maybe it was how his friend group always made bets on who could “bag bitches” first, or maybe it was just the overly confident attitude that seeped from his pores. every class that you took with him, you dreaded, because you knew he’d be right there on his bullshit the whole time.

over time, he grew to dislike you as well, especially when he realized his advances wouldn’t work on you. you tried your best to avoid and ignore him, but he always made it difficult for you. he’d bump you as you passed by, knocking you and your books over into the floor. he’d stick his foot out in hopes that you’d trip. he’d send unsolicited dick pics just because he knew it’d piss you off. the joke was on him when you’d reply with laughing emojis or even the shrimp emoji.

margot laughed at your anger. “joe’s honestly kinda funny.” she says, only making you scowl even more. “oh am i?” you can hear him ask her, it becomes obvious to you that he’s made his way over to your best friend. “mhmmm.” she draws out, and you gag. you can imagine her twirling her hair around her finger as she flirts back with him. puke.

“hey princess, comin’ to the party?” he asks, clear that he’d taken margot’s phone. hanging up the phone on him is your answer. how could she be talking trash about him flirting one minute, and then flirting back the next. you roll your eyes for nobody but yourself.

you grab all your things and leave your flat, locking the door behind you as you head to class, ready to get the last few days before winter break over with.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

the days seem to fly by, which you’re thankful for, and you pack your bag at the end of your last class before break with a smile on your face. the party is tonight, which you aren’t really excited for, but you’re going for margot and to get at least a little tipsy.

you sling your bag over your shoulder and head out of the class, your stomach growling as you think of what you should have for dinner.

you’re lost in thought as you walk, and soon you’re running straight into a hard body. as you look up to apologize you realize it’s joe, so you close your mouth as quickly as you’ve opened it.

“damn, princess.” he chuckles, grabbing your elbows to steady you. “if you wanted a hug i could just give you one.” he winks.

“no thanks.” you say, shoving him off you. “i’m too afraid i’ll catch chlamydia or something.” his friend ja’marr laughs at your words and joe throws him a scowl.

“that’s not how that works.” joe snarks, raising an eyebrow at you. “but then again, you probably wouldn’t know, you’re probably a virgin.”

you stomp down hard on his toe. “actually no, i fucked your dad.” you retort, blowing him a kiss as you walk past, and farther down the hallway.

you don’t see justin and ja’marr losing their minds at what you said, falling into each other with laughter. you also don’t see how joe stares as you walk away, a mix of anger and pride written all over his face.

when you make it home, you can barely get your keys out before margot is throwing open the door and dragging you in, headed straight for her closet. she has about ten different outfit options laid out, and even some she’s selected for you, including a beautiful strappy red dress.

“help me pickkkkk.” she whines, rifling through all the clothes she’s strewn over her bed. you pick up a navy bodycon dress with shiny silver accents and hold it up to her frame, followed by a long, dark green dress.

“i’ve always liked how these two look on you, marg. pick one of them!” you say, trying to sound as chipper as possible. she holds them both up as she turns to look in the floor length mirror, examining them and trying to make a decision.

“ughhhhh, i don’t knowwww.” she whines again, and you’ve had enough. you snatch the red dress off the bed and race out of her room, headed for your own. you lock the door behind you, and you hear margot laughing as she knocks at the door.

“bitch!” she yells, amused at your antics. you step into your bathroom, hanging the dress on the back of the door as you slip your clothes off and turn the hot shower on. you tie your hair up, not wanting it to get wet, and you step under the hot stream.

the water hits your back pleasantly, the warmth working at the knots of stress you’d been holding in your shoulder blades. you lathered your body wash onto your loofah and began scrubbing, washing away the ick of your day.

you quickly check your body, rinsing before turning the water off and stepping out of the shower to dry off with your favorite fluffy towel. you lotion up, put on some perfume, and apply a quick layer of makeup - concealer, mascara, and lipgloss - before sliding the dress on and letting down your hair. the red fabric hugged your shape in all the right places, and you posed in the mirror as you admired just how good you looked.

you plugged the curling iron in and as you waited for it to heat up you ran out into your room to slide a thong underneath your dress, followed by putting on a pair of sparkly silver heels. you began curling your hair shortly after, and then you applied some hairspray, then a few accentuating pieces of silver jewelry.

once you were satisfied with how you looked, you spritzed on some extra perfume and unplugged the curler, wrapping the cord around it and shoving it back under your bathroom cabinet. you unlocked your door and went out to the kitchen to try and find a quick snack before the party. you settled on toast, popping a piece of bread into the toaster and pushing the button down.

margot stepped out of her room and joined you in the kitchen just as you were spreading peanut butter on your bread, and she spun around so you could critique her look. she wore the navy dress with black heels, and she looked incredible.

you took a bite of toast before speaking, “it looks great babe!”

she gagged as you spoke with your mouth full. “i can’t believe you’re eating that in a dress, my dress no less!” she scowled playfully.

“i like living life on the edge.”

you finished your food and washed your hands quickly, margot was ready to get out the door. you grabbed your phone and locked up, heading to her car so she could drive to the party. you left your phone in her car as you arrived, knowing you’d be staying sober and driving back home tonight. you had originally planned on drinking, but you changed your mind. leaving your phone was against your better judgment, but you did it anyway.

margot left her phone as well but she gave you her keys, knowing you’d be dragging her ass home tonight since you had to fly out in the morning.

as you walked into the party, you laid down the game plan.

“alright, let’s try to stick together, no unnecessary hook-ups. and please don’t drink too much. i’d also like to get home in enough time to sleep a little, and finish packing a few things.” you tell her.

she rolls her eyes and calls you a procrastinator before reluctantly agreeing. you head into the party, the loud music was already bumping through the house and making the floor shake. you knew this was a “christmas” party, but you didn’t expect anything less than rap music to be blaring throughout the frat house.

you stuck by margot’s side as she waded to the kitchen, ready to indulge in a few drinks. you politely declined all that was offered to you, and you kept a close eye on your friend as she began downing shots. after a few sips of liquid courage she finally wanted to dance, so she pulled you along until you were passing through the doorway into a giant room that had been transformed into a dance floor. red lights created a sexy scene, and a disco ball was hung from the ceiling, swirling around and creating a beautiful pattern along the walls.

unfortunately, you didn’t make it past the door. as you were headed one way, joe was headed another, and his friends blocked you both so neither of you could pass.

“the fuck are y’all doing?” joe asked irritatedly, shooting pointed glares toward his friends and to you. “seriously, move and let me through.” you said, just as angered.

justin and ja’marr laughed and smirked at each other, and you noticed margot giggling too as she pointed up to the top of the door-frame. hanging there, of course, was a bit of mistletoe.

joe spoke first. he shoved at justin, “dude, fuckin’ move.” he said.

you tried pushing past ja’marr, but he wouldn’t budge. joe shot you a dirty look. “come on, let’s get it over with then.” he said, annoyance very clear in his tone.

“hell no.” you refuse, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “i’d rather stand here all night than kiss you.”

joe’s face turns to what seems to be a genuinely offended expression, and he mirrors your pose as he challenges you. “oh yeah? alright then.” he says, sticking his bottom lip out and furrowing his brow as he shakes his head. “let’s stand here all night.”

you firmly place your back against the door frame as you make eye contact with him, and he does the same. margot is standing by with his friends, and all three of them are laughing hysterically.

“literally the two most stubborn people i’ve ever seen in my life!” she giggles, leaning on ja’marr’s shoulder.

“you think we need to stand and watch ‘em?” justin asks, looking over at margot. ja’marr answers before she has the chance. “nah, if there’s one thing i know about 9, he ain’t backing down from a challenge.”

“y/n’s the same way. she’d argue with a brick wall if it meant she could prove a point. she won’t budge until he does.”

justin laughs at their answers before ushering them off to the dancefloor, leaving you and joe alone to stare at each other with utter disgust.

you huff as you look at joe, and he smirks back at you, unfazed by your little display of attitude. people pass between you and stop to kiss under the mistletoe, on the lips, cheek, or forehead. the two of you also earn many dirty looks.

standing there is honestly easy - at first. the sheer amount of dislike you have for joe is what’s holding you upright, it has to be. you continue to shoot dirty looks at him, all of which he returns, but after a while your legs start feeling weak. you slouch, eventually falling into a sitting position, and you fix your dress along your thighs so nobody can see under it. joe takes the opportunity to tease you.

“just a quick peck,” he smarms, making a kissy face at you. “that’s allll it’ll take.”

you gag, mostly jokingly, at the thought. “i don’t wan’t your lips anywhere near me, burrow.” he laughs and shakes his head, continuing to stand there with his arms crossed.

you sit there for what feels like hours - it has to be hours, people are leaving the party now… and joe is still across from you, still crouched against the doorway. people have resorted to stepping over you both to get through to the kitchen, pecking each other happily as they cross. some of joe’s friends have tried to come save him, they’ve offered to kiss you so he could come play beer pong or hangout, but you won’t let them. you made this bet with joe, and you have to see it through.

you figured joe would break whenever a girl would come offer herself up to him, but he didn’t. he declined everyone that wasn’t you, and brushed all his friends off. you pretended that didn’t affect you… but the fact that he was doing all this because of some stupid rivalry you had with him turned you on as much as it pissed you off, not that you’d ever admit that to him.

as the crowd starts to dwindle down you get nervous, you really need to get margot and head home, but there’s no way you’re breaking and kissing joe. you look over and see her kissing ja’marr in the corner and you roll your eyes. joe seems kinda proud of his friend and a tiny smirk falls upon his lips.

you scoff.

“what’s your problem?” he asks you, sticking his foot out and kicking yours. “i really need to get going. margot and i have to fly out early and she’s over there sucking face. and i’m over here…”

“not sucking face?” he laughs, tilting his head slightly. “exactly.” you agree.

“look, if it’s bothering you that bad,” he shrugs, “i’ll give you a peck to get it over with. then you and margot can leave.” for a moment you think you can see a crack in that ‘fuckboy’ exterior. you aren’t sure you want to take him up on that offer, but you know neither of your friends will let you move from this spot if you don’t.

you think about it for a brief second, and reluctantly agree to let joe kiss you. you try to talk yourself down. i mean, it could be worse. at least he isn’t ugly.

“okay… fine. but you have to tell everyone you caved.”

“whatever you say, princess.” he lilts, already leaning in toward you. “don’t call me that, i hate it.” you snap, looking him firmly in the eye.

“why?” he teases, inching closer, “it’s what you act like. even now, getting your way so you can go home instead of standing here all night. you’re a spoiled little princess.”

you reach out your hand and place it on his chest, you definitely don’t want to kiss him now. that doesn’t stop him, though. he’s already almost there until finally, his lips are touching yours as his frame towers over yours a bit. you’re both still sitting on the floor, but joe stands up quickly and yanks you up with him.

your immediate reaction to the kiss is to squirm away, but joe doesn’t let you. he wraps his arms around your smaller frame and pulls you into him, caging you against his chest. his lips start moving against yours and after a moment, you start kissing back.

all the alarms in your head are going off, but you can’t force yourself to care now. joe is a really good kisser. your hands find their way to his hair, tugging slightly. joe pulls away for a quick breath.

“went from not wanting my lips near ya to tugging on my shit real quick, huh?”

you slap his arm, earning yourself a laugh. you wait for joe to lean back in, but he never does, and for some reason you feel hurt by it. you look over and see margot still occupied with ja’marr, and then you turn your attention back to joe. he takes in your expression before laughing, you look like a kicked puppy.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he teases again, sliding his hands back around your waist. “didn’t realize you liked me so much?”

“fuck off, joe.” you retort, but you’re laughing as you say it. you stand on your tiptoes to meet his lips again, and he obliges you. you move together in sync, and this time he keeps his hold on you, pulling you even closer.

“always knew you liked me, could fuck you under this mistletoe if i wanted.” he rasps. you moan at the thought. you aren’t sure what’s come over you. you didn’t drink anything… you aren’t usually desperate… maybe it’s something to do with the fact that joe said he didn’t want this just as much as you said you didn’t, but here you are both reveling in each other’s touch. it felt like you couldn’t get close enough to each other. he pushes your back against the doorway, finally moving his hands off your hips and tangling them in your hair.

the tip of his tongue dips into your mouth slightly, and you push yours back against his, sliding it along the roof of his mouth as you slip past his lips. before you know it, joe’s dragging you down the hall and into the first vacant room he can find before he’s throwing you down onto the bed and towering over you. you push up to unzip your dress, realizing you might want this just as much as he does, but he stops you by holding out a hand.

“nah, keep it on. slide it up.”

you do as you’re told, sliding your dress over your legs, wiggling your butt and arching your back so you can get it up over ass and hips. joe drinks in the sight of you, your smooth legs and gorgeous body. you’re insecure about yourself a lot, but he’s looking over you like a man starved as he licks his lips.

he doesn’t bother closing the door as he stalks toward you, pulling a condom from his back pocket with one hand while unbuttoning his pants with the other. you slide your panties down your legs and spread them open for him with confidence.

“fuck,” he gasps, watching as you dip your fingers down between your folds to gather some of your wetness and then you rub them in tight circles on your clit. you gasp as you touch yourself, your eyes following joe as he finally pulls his pants down far enough, fisting his hand along his admittedly large length. you always teased him about it in pictures, but it was big. he knew it, you knew it, half of the state of louisiana knew it. and to your dismay, it was prettier in person.

joe finally makes it to the edge of the bed, still watching you as you work yourself. you figured you’d be cringing at the lack of foreplay, or how his pants aren’t even all the way off, but you can’t bring yourself to care as he continues stroking himself before ripping open the condom and sliding it on. he gets on the edge of the bed by his knees and comes toward you a little, a hand extending out to run a finger through your heat and gather some of the wetness pooling there. he smears it all over his cock, and even though the condom is there, it still drives you crazy to see. “joe, come on before i back out.” you tell him, and you almost don’t recognize your fucked out voice.

the heat of the moment is so enticing to you both. his clothes are still on, pants down his legs halfway, and your dress is hiked up while you dig your high heeled shoes into someone else’s mattress. he finally leans forward and slides into you. you take a sharp breath, feeling more full than you ever have as he pushes in to the hilt.

joe barely gives you any time to adjust before he’s thrusting into you roughly. his lips find yours again and you gasp into his mouth. he pulls away slightly, allowing a drop of spit to fall from his lips into your mouth, which you take happily. you’re both moving sloppily against each other, but as joe brings his hand to your clit to flick his fingertips against it gently, you can’t bring yourself to even care. you’ve had sex with plenty of people and you’ve had orgasms before, but you’ve never experienced the euphoria joe is making you feel.

the warmth starts at the top of your head and it spreads throughout your extremities, into your fingertips and toes. you arch into him, your lips still moving together, and joe’s hips are still pounding into yours, shaking the bed against the wall. you cringe as you hear margot’s keys jingling in your bra. it doesn’t seem to bother joe.

with a few quick slips of his fingers over your clit, you’re cumming against him without warning, and harder than you ever have in your life. the tight squeeze around his cock as you cum is the catalyst for his own orgasm as he spills into the condom.

he pulls out of you with haste, ready to tie off the condom and discard it as fast as possible, hating how slimy it feels. just as soon as he’s moved you dart off the bed, grabbing your panties and slipping them up your legs before attempting to make a run for it.

joe pulls his pants and boxers up, tucking himself in and then runs after you, making it to the door before you. “pretty good, wasn’t it?” he jokes, and you roll your eyes at him before pushing past and walking back down the hall, headed for margot. he chases after you.

“okay, didn’t last as long as i normally would, but i mean, we could do it again, i could prove it. that was… you were…”

you press a finger to his lips as you pass through the very same doorway that got you into this predicament. your eyes study joe’s face as he nervously worries his bottom lip between his teeth. you’ve never seen him like this before, he’s shaken up, and you like that you’re the cause of it. you’d hate to admit it, but you would like to do this again. you point up at the mistletoe and joe takes the hint, pulling you in for another short yet sweet kiss.

“text me.” is all you say before walking over to margot, grabbing her by the arm, and dragging her out the door and to the car. you pull her keys from your bra and unlock it, opening the passenger door and shoving her in before going to the drivers side and starting the ignition.

margot slurs her words as she speaks to you. “wha’ happened? did’ya kiss ‘im?”

“i’ll tell you later, marg.” you say, eager to get home as quickly as possible. you park as quickly as you’ve pulled into the space and you help margot out, grabbing both your phones before you go inside, taking margot right to her room. she insists she’s okay enough to take off her makeup and undress, and she promises she’ll drink water before she falls asleep. you head to your room, shocked to see the clock on your phone reading 1:00am already.

you set yourself an alarm for six, and you undress quickly before sliding on some pajamas and settling in bed.

when you wake the next morning it’s to margot beating on your door. “wake the hell up, we missed our flight!”

you scramble out of bed, unplugging your phone and running out into the hall. margot stands next to her door, laughing at you as you panic.

“don’t just stand there, marg!” you shout, your voice laced with panic. “we’ve gotta get dressed, load our bags, call the airport—“

she cuts you off with a loud laugh. “relax, y/n.” she says between giggles. “we aren’t late. i just wanted to get back at you. how dare you sleep with the quarterback and not tell your best friend?” she shoves your shoulder.

you look down at your phone, realizing it’s only 6:10am. “bitch.” you laugh, running back into your room. you lock the door behind you again, and margot continues her laughter. “i need all the juicy details! literally every last second of it, you have to tell me everything!”

you weren’t sure how she even knew, even though you’re sure ja’marr probably texted her.

you roll your eyes at her even though she can’t see it as you head to your bathroom, ready to take a quick shower. you check your phone one last time before hopping in the water, noticing a text notification from joe, who you’ve affectionately saved as “fuckface.”

you don’t open it just yet, but you crack a smile knowing he’s messaged you already. what have you gotten yourself into?

all photos and dividers used are not mine. all credit to owners.

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