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fuckitupfelix · 3 months ago

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Hear me out,

A soft spoken hero reader. He's mainly for damage control and healing. He is well liked by the public and even gets cutesy nick names and edits on the internet.

And jealous Mark, who's slightly possessive over reader. But it never goes beyond thoughts because the reader is his own person.

But the variants obviously have to have different thought processes and morals. It would be interesting to see how they react to this universes version of reader.

(You can choose the variant(s) because I really suck ass at remembering their names.)

never letting you go.

invincible x male reader

chars: full mask, no goggles, mohawk, sinister mark variants

warnings: canon compliant violence + mild suggestiveness (no goggles, mohawk, sinister) + straight up cannibalism ? (sinister)

mainstream mark has liked you for a while. the two of you have grown close during his time as invincible— mainly due to him absolutely wrecking himself every time he fights and you're the one healing him— but he's grown fond of you over time. you both like seance dog, even though it took him months to squirrel that information out of you; you're always so quiet, so soft-spoken and nervous and shy. but now he knows you better, and you've warmed up to him.

you jokingly scold him more when he comes to you for stupid little injuries, and you send each other memes and edits that you find of your hero personas. he really cares about you, and he'd never want you getting hurt. thats one thing that never changes; even across universes.

full mask!mark

when he came during the invincible war, he had two people on his mind; debbie and you.

when he finds you he's absolutely pathetic

-> im talking practically on his knees, clutching at your waist, fingers digging into your sides (only slightly)

he was so convinced he'd lost you forever, but now that he finally had you back? oh he's never letting you go..

very gentle with you. he knows you aren't technically as fragile as a normal human, but compared to a viltrumite? you're like glass to him

used to HATE when you healed him because it fatigued you so much with how many injuries he bore

he lost you once. he's not losing you again.

you're out in the city, doing your best to help anyone that was unlucky enough to get caught up in the carnage. the amount of times you expected to pull out people and only got detached limbs made your stomach churn. you've been at it for a while when you notice mark descend next to you, his suit dripping with blood.

"mark...?" you murmur, eyes wide. without hesitation, your hands are on his shoulders, placing your forehead against his as you wait for your healing powers to work. a subtle but warm blue light envelops you both. "are you okay? you look... terrible."

he doesn't respond, instead leaning into your touch. he wraps his arms around your waist and lets his head dip into the crook of your neck. "god, its been so long..." he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck. you tense up at his choice of words— this isn't your mark. fuck.

you stop your healing slowly, and try to gently peel yourself away from this.... imposter.... but his grip tightens on you almost immediately. "please, [name].. i can't believe its you." he almost whines into your neck, pressing soft kisses into it. "i know im not your mark, but let me bring you home with me. i'll keep you safe. I promise. i'll be a better boyfriend than your mark is."

"mark and I... we aren't..." you trail off, but he gets the hint, and immediately shoots up into the sky, cradling you flush against his chest.

"shhh, my love, it's okay," he murmurs, even though you hadn't made a sound. "i'll take care of you, i promise. you and mom are coming home with me. this time I'll keep you safe."

no goggles!mark

he's absolutely obsessed with you

in his universe, you used to heal him no matter how badly he got hurt

-> the healing process hurt equally as much at the actual fighting, your powers working overtime to set his broken fingers back into place and regrow adult teeth in a matter of minutes

-> yeah he got off to it. he would sometimes let himself get a little more beat up just to see you

stalked you back in his universe! he's got your daily schedule and mannerisms memorized, down to what mugs you prefer

you haven't even stepped foot out of the kitchen when mark comes in through that window with loose bolts— some things really don't change, even across dimensions. you hear the window creak, and you turn to see him there. you know this isn't your mark; his mask and suit are slightly different, but also his expression. he looked too.. calm. too cheerful.

"hey, mark," you murmur, your voice dying in your throat. there's a solid chance he's going to hurt you, you think. your grip on the counter behind you tightens. "what're you doing here?"

before you can blink, he's floating inches away from you, bringing his hands up to cup your face tenderly, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. he leans close, inhaling your smell; fresh laundry mixed with mild rosemary. just like his [name].

"hey, you," mark coos, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your nose. he sounds too happy; too giddy. "missed ya sooo much, babes."

this isn't your mark. your mark is touchy, yes— but he knows his boundaries. his touches are arms thrown over shoulders, loose hugs, and light shoulder punches. not this. not tight squeezes on your shoulders, wet kisses across your face, or thighs rubbing against crotches. definitely not.

"we aren't dating," you whisper, gently curling your hand around the one holding your face, carefully peeling it away from you. mark snorts at that, and grasps the hair on the back of your head, gripping tightly. "sorry."

"well, in my universe, we are. isn't that good enough, [name]?" he giggles, and he pulls you so your lips crash against his, but its softer than you'd expect. it was almost sweet, if not for the intense grip on the back of your head. you bring your hands up to push against mark's chest. he chooses to ignore that, pressing you harder against the counter, forcing his tongue into your mouth and nibbling on your bottom lip.

"mark," you mumble against his lips, finally shoving him off of yourself, ignoring the little flip your stomach does. "i need to go help people."

"come on, i'd end up killing more people than you could save," he groans, letting his thumb trace over your bottom lip. "actually, I think you're saving more people staying with me here, dont'cha think? come onnnnn, [name]. don't you wanna keep all those people safe?"

mohawk!mark

hates how nice you are. like actually loathes it, and he tells you that

-> always talking about how you should be meaner, how you're a little pussy. his version of you doesn't take it to heart as much anymore

prob one of the few variants that won't be extra gentle with you because of your powers

-> "im not even being rough— you can just fix yourself later, stop bein' a crybaby."

definitely mocks you whenever you cry but licks the tears away anyways

he finds you when you're looking for your own mark. you tried calling him, texting him, asking cecil if he knew. nothing. then mark comes along, hovering over you with a nasty grin on his face. only... he's got the sides of his head shaved. of course you find a knockoff and not your actual mark..

you hold your hands up in a placating manner, as if you were dealing with a feral animal; you were, in a sense. except this was a more unpredictable situation.

"finallyyy," mark groans, floating down closer to you, arms crossed. "i was starting to think they didn't have you in this universe." he then pins you to the ground, his hands trailing and groping every inch of your body as he practically straddles you. "fuckin' missed this," he grins.

you tense up, and try to knee him in his crotch. he winces a little, spitting out a curse, and his thighs tighten around you. "come on, cutie, don't be a bitch," he scoffs, staring down at you. he grabs you hair, yanks your head up, and then proceeds to smash it down into the pavement. a strangled yell leaves your lips, your hands pawing pathetically at the pavement beneath you as a blue light circles around your shoulders. your head is throbbing, and you can feel a small sticky puddle forming under your head. you resist the urge to throw up.

"why're you.." you grit out weakly, hand grabbing at mark's thigh, nails digging into the flesh.

"awwwh, is little [nickname] tryna heal himself?" mark laughs, grabbing you by your throat and wrapping his hand tighter and tighter, pressing you down into the pavement. "you know only I can make you feel like this, yeah? i know you like it, so quit fucking struggling and be a good boy, hmm?" he coos, leaning down and messily smashing your lips together.

sinister!mark

uses you as his chewtoy. deadass

you're less of a romantic partner, more his property

-> if he's badly hurt and needs medical attention, he goes to you. if he needs sexual relief, he goes to you. if his teeth ache and he needs something to gnaw on, he goes to you.

keeps you close to him whenever he does anything; he can't have his property getting damaged, now can he?

finds you and your powers very interesting.. keeps you like a little science specimen

-> he talks down to you all the time, and he always expects an answer. nods or little noises won't cut it.

you're trying to help people, attempting to heal the people you just dug out of rubble. there was one more person you had to bring, but when you turn around, you see a floating figure clad in yellow and black, and wearing a cape. you've been at it for hours now; long enough to know this mark is fucking dangerous. even if he is anything like your mark, the chances of him being actually nice are.... pretty slim.

"ahhh. i was wondering when i'd find you. this is cute, trying to save all these people?" mark hums, hovering just in front of you. he smiles. its unnerving.

"mark. hi." you say, trying to keep your voice steady. you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. keeping your breathing consistent, you continue. "it's, uh, good to see you."

he doesn't bother acknowledging what you said. "you really think you can help these people? why?" he scoffs, and in an instant, he darts behind you. the warm blood splattered on your back processes faster than the screams. you turn around slowly. there he stood, atop the corpses of the civilians you had just struggled to save, his arm poking straight through a person's chest.

"m-mark—" your voice dies in your throat when mark turns to look at you. he hovers over, the metallic smell of blood filling your lungs. his feet finally touch the floor. he rolls his shoulders, muscles flexing.

"i told you. it's pointless. you're more useful for other things." he chuckles, his crimson-soaked hand squishing your cheeks together with one hand and grabbing you by the waist with the other . he tilts your head an uncomfortable amount, and bites down into your shoulder. he shoves your head into the crook of his neck to muffle your pained scream, but the sound still cuts clean through the silence. He moans at the taste of your blood, his teeth ripping off a chunk of your flesh. he runs his tongue over the newly formed crevice in your shoulder, lapping the blood up.

"go on. heal it." he says, digging his tongue into the wound. your hands dig into his back, clawing at the fabric of his cape and suit, your yells of pain barely muffled by his shoulder. you can feel your knees buckle underneath you, and your head feels heavy as you try and heal yourself. it's not working as fast as you'd hoped— you're long since exhausted from working for hours saving the now corpses behind you.

"god, are you even trying?" mark scoffs, and his hands dig into your side, fingers piercing the flesh by your ribcage. "come on, pet. you can do better than that," he sneers, dragging his nails down and through your skin.

the writing blurbs are so uneven im so sorry :< if you want me to do other variants lmk!! I might continue this with shiesty and viltrum mark at some point...

#(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆ lix writes !!#x male reader #x reader #invincible x reader #invincible variant x male reader #invincible x male reader #mark grayson x male reader #no goggles mark x reader #mark grayson x reader #sinister mark x reader #full mask mark x reader #mark x reader #mohawk mark x reader

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cazshmere · 3 months ago

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Saturn & Distance: Where Life Feels Delayed or Out of Reach 🪐

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER: For this post I’m focusing on the hard aspects of Saturn, specifically squares and oppositions, because they tend to show the most visible tension and emotional friction in a person’s life. while conjunctions are technically hard aspects too, they don’t always operate the same way. conjunctions amplify saturn’s energy, but depending on the planet and sign, they can sometimes blend more smoothly or feel more internalized. squares and oppositions, however, often show up as clear blockages, emotional distance, or external struggles, making them easier to spot and more relatable in daily experiences. These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!!

☀️ Sun Square/Opposite Saturn :

from a young age, you may have felt unseen, unappreciated, or constantly judged. maybe you had a parent (often the father or authority figure) who was overly critical, emotionally distant, or just hard to please. even when you did well, it might’ve felt like it was never enough.

you might’ve grown up feeling like your worth was tied to your achievements : good grades, being responsible, doing everything “right.” but inside, there was this quiet ache of not feeling truly seen for who you are, only for what you do. as an adult, you might struggle with self-doubt, imposter syndrome, or a constant need for validation. you might overwork, overachieve, or act like you’ve got it all together all while quietly feeling like a fraud. even compliments can feel hard to accept, like you haven’t “earned” them yet. and rejection? it hits deep. because you’ve spent your life trying to prove your worth, and when someone doesn’t see it, it reopens those same wounds.

but here’s the truth, your worth isn’t in your productivity or how others view you. this aspect teaches you to reclaim your light and validate yourself first. once you do, no one can take your power away again.

🌑 Moon Square/Opposite Saturn :

honestly it always feels like there’s a wall between you and your emotions and that wall probably started forming in your childhood. maybe one (or both) parents were emotionally unavailable, distant, or overly strict. maybe they were physically present but had emotionally checked out, or too wrapped up in their own issues to really see you, hear you and understand you. it could also indicate that your parents didn’t have a healthy relationship with each other, maybe there were constant arguments, cold silences, or even emotional manipulation that made the home environment feel unstable or unsafe :(

you might’ve learned early on that expressing your feelings wasn’t safe or welcome. maybe you were told to ‘toughen up,’ ‘stop crying,’ or ‘don’t make a scene.’ so you shut down. you adapted. you stopped needing. maybe affection felt conditional, only given when you achieved something, looked a certain way, or suppressed your real feelings to avoid conflict.

as a result, you became hyper-independent. the kind of person who doesn’t ask for help, who keeps everything bottled up, who always tries to handle everything alone because leaning on others feels… risky. even in your closest relationships, you might struggle to open up fully. there’s always a fear, what if they leave me? what if they don’t understand me? what if they think i’m too much? so you stay silent, even when you’re screaming inside.

this aspect teaches you that true emotional security can’t come from people who couldn’t or wouldn’t give it to you, it has to be something you build from within. it’s not about hardening yourself forever, but about healing the part of you that thinks love must be earned by suffering. you’re allowed to be soft. you’re allowed to feel. you’re allowed to ask for more. you’re allowed to depend on others without feeling afraid, cause baby you deserve it <3

💕 Venus Square/Opposite Saturn :

love often feels like a challenge for you, whether it’s self-love or receiving love from others. you might have grown up feeling like love was earned and not freely given. maybe one or both parents were emotionally distant, critical about your looks, or just didn’t show you the kind of warmth and affection you needed. so now, as an adult, love can feel… heavy. complicated. exhausting.

you might constantly feel like you’re too much or not enough. maybe you find yourself settling for crumbs because you don’t fully believe you’re worthy of more. it’s like there’s always this invisible wall between you and the love you crave like it’s almost there but never quite within reach.

trigger warning ⚠️: body image / eating disorders

for some, this can also lead to body image issues, eating disorders, or obsessive thoughts around appearance. especially if love or acceptance felt tied to how you looked growing up, whether it was comments about your weight, complexion, or being compared to others. this aspect may manifest in the form of harsh self-criticism. please note, this is just an observation and not a diagnosis.

end of trigger warning ⚠️

you might attract emotionally unavailable people, or be drawn to relationships that involve some kind of separation , long distance, big age gaps, bad timing, or just that lingering emotional coldness. even when you’re with someone, you might still feel alone. it’s the type of aspect that makes you doubt your worth every time someone pulls away, ghosts, or doesn’t show up for you in the way you hoped. and it stings even more when everyone around you seems to be effortlessly loved. sometimes, it plays out in your relationship with yourself too. you become hypercritical, feeling like you always have to look better, be more successful, do more to “deserve” love. maybe you feel guilty when someone is kind to you. or you question it, like “why me? or “is there some sort of ulterior motive behind their niceness?”

but here’s the truth my loves, the real healing begins when you stop settling for love that feels cold, distant, or half-hearted. when you realize you never had to earn love, you just had to believe you were already worthy of it. this aspect isn’t here to punish you. it’s here to help you learn how to love yourself so deeply that you naturally start rejecting anything that doesn’t reflect that same energy back.

🗣 Mercury Square/Opposite Saturn :

growing up, you may have felt like your voice didn’t matter. maybe you were constantly interrupted, talked over, dismissed, or told to “be quiet” instead of being heard. maybe your thoughts were met with judgment or sarcasm, so you started holding back.

as a result, you might struggle with speaking up, second-guessing your words, overexplaining, or staying silent out of fear of sounding “stupid.” social anxiety, awkwardness, or freezing up in conversations can be common. even texting or posting on social media might give you anxiety. this aspect can also show struggles in school, maybe you felt “slow,” zoned out, or had trouble focusing or expressing what you actually meant. teachers or peers might’ve made you feel small :(

but over time, you learn: your voice is powerful. you don’t need to have the loudest voice to have something meaningful to say. when you start trusting yourself, others start listening too. your words do hold weight, you just have to believe it first.

🔥 Mars Square/Opposite Saturn :

it always feels like something is blocking you. no matter how hard you try, success feels delayed. maybe you grew up with strict parents, high expectations, or environments where you couldn’t just be yourself. you were told to sit still, follow rules, not speak out, so now going after what you want feels… heavy.

you might procrastinate a lot, not because you’re lazy but because you’re scared. scared of failing, of not being good enough, of being judged. so you freeze. you self-sabotage. sometimes you get bursts of motivation, but the pressure is so intense it burns you out before you even start 😕. there might be bottled-up anger too, you want to stand up for yourself, set boundaries, take control, but something always makes you hesitate. maybe you were punished for expressing anger, so now you suppress it until it explodes.

but here’s the truth, once you push past that fear and stop letting old limitations define you, you become unstoppable. this aspect gives you unmatched grit, drive, and discipline. you just have to trust your fire again.

🧿 Jupiter Square/Opposite Saturn:

honestly it can feel like you’re always stuck between wanting to dream big and feeling like you’re not allowed to. maybe growing up, every time you got excited about something, be it a passion, a plan, a wild dream - someone immediately shut it down. maybe you were taught that hope is naive, that ambition is risky, that “playing it safe” is the only real way to survive. maybe there was a parent who believed in rules over risks, or a home environment where caution and practicality crushed your natural optimism before it ever had a chance to breathe.

it can create this painful push-pull inside you: you want more from life, you can feel that hunger for growth and expansion burning in your chest but at the same time, you doubt it. you second-guess your own joy. you wonder if you’re asking for too much, wanting too much, dreaming too loud. there’s this constant internalized fear that if you reach too far, you’ll fall harder. and sometimes you self-sabotage before anyone else even gets the chance to. because it’s safer to shrink first than to risk being crushed later.

you might struggle with feeling guilty for wanting better. for wanting more than the people around you settled for. you might feel weighed down by responsibility, by obligations, by the sense that you have to “earn” your right to happiness through endless work, endless proving, endless waiting for permission.

but the truth is… you’re allowed to expand. you’re allowed to want more. you’re allowed to be proud of the spark inside you that still dares to believe there’s something bigger out there. saturn will test your faith, but jupiter inside you is still alive. battered, cautious, maybe, but still alive. and that’s something no amount of fear can ever fully take away.

🛸 Uranus Square/Opposite Saturn :

freedom and structure always seem at war inside you. maybe you crave routine and rebellion at the same time, like you want stability, but the moment life feels too predictable, you itch to break free.

a consistent schedule? deadlines? authority? it can feel suffocating. but at the same time, not having structure can make you spiral. there’s always this inner tug-of-war between wanting to be free and needing to feel safe. you might’ve grown up in an environment where you had to follow strict rules or hide parts of yourself to avoid judgment for instance your interests, quirks, identity. maybe people made you feel “too much” or “too different,” so you toned yourself down to fit in :( or maybe you were forced to be responsible too early like taking care of things before you were ready, which made adulthood feel both empowering and exhausting. now you rebel against responsibilities because you never got to just be free.

this aspect can cause chaos - suddenly quitting jobs, ghosting routines, getting random bursts of rebellion. but it also teaches you how to mix discipline with authenticity. real freedom isn’t about escape, it’s about building a life that doesn’t require one 🫶🏻

🌀 Neptune Square/Opposite Saturn :

dreams always feel just out of reach like they’re right there, but the moment you try to grab them, they slip through your fingers. maybe you’ve experienced broken promises, let-downs, or people who painted beautiful illusions but never followed through.

you might’ve grown up hearing “be realistic” every time you shared your goals or ideas so now you second-guess your passions. part of you wants to believe in magic, love, purpose… but the other part is scared of being naive. this aspect can make you overly idealistic or extremely cynical, swinging between believing in fairytales and expecting disappointment. you might struggle to trust others, or even your own judgment. you want to believe people mean well, but experience has taught you otherwise. it’s also the classic “procrastinate because you’re overwhelmed by your own dreams” energy. you see this big beautiful vision, but don’t know where to start, so you avoid it.

the lesson? don’t give up on your dreams rather you need to anchor them. ground your visions in small, real steps. keep your faith, but add structure. that’s when the magic actually becomes real.

🩸 Pluto Square/Opposite Saturn :

power struggles, deep-rooted fear, and this constant feeling like life is pressing down on you. this aspect can make you feel like you’re constantly fighting for your right to exist on your own terms.

maybe you grew up in a home where control was everything. strict, harsh, emotionally unavailable or even manipulative authority figures, people who made you feel small, silenced, or unsafe for being yourself. you might’ve learned early that vulnerability = weakness. now you either suppress your emotions to avoid being controlled or you become hyper-controlling yourself - of your space, your routine and your relationships because deep down, chaos terrifies you.

this aspect can also show up as internalised pressure: you push yourself too hard, expect too much, fear failure like it’s the end of the world. or on the flip side you avoid stepping into your power because you’re scared of what it might cost you. sometimes it feels like the universe keeps testing you, over and over. but what it’s really doing is building your strength.

this is a slow-burn transformation, one that teaches you to hold your own power with integrity and not fear. you’re not here to be controlled. you’re here to own your intensity and use it to build something unbreakable.

🌿 North Node Square/Opposite Saturn :

everything important in your life feels like it arrives late. relationships take time to feel right, career paths feel like a maze, even self-worth is something you’ve had to build, brick by brick. it’s like you’re always being asked to wait, while everyone else seems to be rushing ahead.

but that delay? it’s not random. it’s saturn’s way of making sure you don’t just stumble into your purpose but you genuinely earn it. you might constantly feel behind, compare your timeline to others, or feel like nothing ever comes easy. even when opportunities show up, you second-guess if you’re ready or deserving. early life may have involved rejection, rigid expectations, or a lack of support when you needed it most. because of this, your growth feels heavy at times, like you’re always pushing uphill, carrying the weight of your own potential.

but when things finally do click into place - your relationships, your career and your purpose they won’t fall apart. they’ll be strong, solid, and real. your path isn’t delayed, it’s being secured. you’re not behind, you’re being built to last 💪🏼

🕷️ South Node Square/Opposite Saturn :

ever felt like you keep living the same painful cycle on repeat? like no matter how much you change, something keeps pulling you backwards into the same relationships, same fears, same patterns?

this aspect screams karmic loops. it’s like the universe keeps handing you the same test over and over again until you finally face what you’ve been avoiding. maybe you grew up too fast. maybe you carried too much responsibility early on, on an emotional, mental and even a physical level. now you carry guilt for resting, fear around change, and a subconscious attachment to struggle because it’s familiar. you might cling to the past such as past relationships, past identities and even past pains because it feels safer than stepping into the unknown. but deep down, you know you’re meant for more.

this aspect teaches you that comfort isn’t always growth. that safety isn’t the same as fulfillment. and that letting go isn’t weakness, it’s your path to freedom. you weren’t meant to repeat. you were meant to rewrite.

🪞Saturn square/opposite ascendant:

from a young age, it might’ve felt like you had to earn your right to exist freely. maybe people projected their expectations onto you like your parents, teachers, friends and even strangers, making you feel like you constantly had to “perform” or present yourself a certain way. you weren’t just allowed to be. your identity felt monitored, criticized, or shaped by external pressures.

you might’ve been labeled as “mature for your age,” or someone who always had it together even when you didn’t. and now as an adult, you might struggle to show vulnerability because it feels like weakness. or maybe you’re hyper-aware of how people perceive you which can make social situations feel stiff or draining.

⚠️ trigger warning: body image / body dysmorphia

this aspect can deeply affect how you see yourself physically. maybe you grew up feeling “not good enough,” compared yourself to others constantly, or even experienced body shaming. you might be extremely self-critical, obsess over flaws no one else notices, or have a distorted view of your appearance. saturn here brings the harshest internal mirror. it’s exhausting, the constant feeling that you need to fix something to be lovable, visible, or accepted and i’m genuinely so sorry for all of you who had to feel this way. please note, this is just an observation and not a diagnosis.

end of triggering warning ⚠️

you might feel distant from your true self, like you’re always wearing a mask to be “acceptable.” but here’s the gold: this placement builds character. you become someone who doesn’t crumble under pressure, who’s capable of showing up as your real self, even if it scares you. the work is about unlearning the belief that you have to earn love or space in this world. you’re not here to meet everyone’s expectations. you’re here to be real.

gif & divider credits to their rightful owners <3

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 2 months ago

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Pt 4 of the Danny is Tim's 99th attempt at cloning Kon. A 3 year old Danny finally meets his not dead anymore template.

[Pt 3: here] [Pt 5:Here]

Danny is so nervous he feels like he's going to throw up. His Template, who was dead and now isn't, is coming over to meet him. He knows his dad wouldn't let the guy near if he thought he'd react poorly to Danny, and Danny is excited about maybe having an adult (barely, technically, since he's 18) to help him figure out his new alien heritage, but he's still scared shitless. He wants this to go well so badly.

"Danny," Tim sighs in fond exasperation, "Come here, sweetheart."

Danny floats himself into dad's lap, tucking himself to his chest.

"Kon has been just as nervous to meet you." Tim kisses the top of Danny's head, just before Danny turns a wide-eyed look towards him. "He's the sweetest himbo and has been gushing about meeting you, but he's terrified you won't like him."

"Rweally?"

"Yeah, one of his deepest desires and deepest traumas is his want of family. But he doesn't want to pressure you into accepting any sort of relationship with him." Tim explains before cracking a sardonic smile. "Which is a big mood. I'm pretty sure most of the younger heroes have imposter syndrome."

"Why?"

"For many reasons. Kon was, and sometimes still is, discriminated against and frankly abused for being a clone. I forced my way into the Wayne family and was repeatedly told I didn't belong. Jason never had a stable life. Damian was a rape baby and raised in the LoA til he was 10. Dick was kicked out by Bruce once he aged out of fostering age. Jason's "not" boyfriend, Roy, was shunned for developing a drug habit after gaining significant trauma." Tim lists off. "A lot of the younger heroes couldn't lean on the adults in their lives, and it leaves scars. We've all found our footing, and deserve everything good we have in our lives, but the feeling of unworthiness is hard to escape."

Danny hugs his dad around the neck. He knew some of this dad and co lore, but it makes him sad each time. No one in his new family family has had easy lives, but are still so nice.

Tim suddenly looks mischievous, "All that to say, Kon has been texting me all morning about what he should wear, do I actually think you'll like him, if he should bring a gift or would you think he's bribing you to like him-"

"Tim!" A guy whines as he enters. He's wearing a leather jacket over a band t-shirt and black jeans. He clothes don't hide how he's shredded and probably 6 inches, at least, taller than Tim. He's holding a puzzle box and looks flustered and embarrassed.

"It's true!" Tim grins at the newcomer, before adjusting his angle to give Danny a slightly better view. "Danny, this is Kon, your DNA donor. Kon, this is my- our son, Danny."

Danny shyly waves as a blushing Kon sputters and protests Tim's choice of introductions.

"What? I did all the work, you just provided the DNA. Maybe if there's a next time, I'll let you help." Tim teases, and is hilariously oblivious to the gutter Danny can see Kon's mind drop into.

Danny has found his dad to be absolutely oblivious to anytime someone is into him, outside of Ra's. Danny watched so many people try to shoot their shot, and Tim cluelessly rebuff them. Danny thought he was doing it on purpose at first, but soon realized, no, his dad just has low self-esteem and truly doesn't think anyone finds him desirable. It's as funny as it is sad.

"So mean." Kon pouts before holding up the puzzle box for Danny to see the design. It's a thousand piece nebula puzzle. "I ended up getting you this puzzle. Tim- Your dad told me you love space and are super smart, so I thought you'd enjoy this puzzle."

Danny blinks, looking between the barely adults, before deciding to be funny. He says in his gravest voice. "So you chose bribery."

Danny gets the glorious view of Kon's face dropping in shock. Tim is literally shaking as he tries not to laugh, knowing Danny is pulling the guy's leg. The Drakes let him flounder for a moment, trying to find a response to that, before Danny can't help giggling, which pushes Tim over the edge and start cackling, startling Kon into silence.

"You should have seen your face!" Tim wheezes.

Kon gets a dopey look on his face. "You're just messing with me."

Danny nods with a grin. He wiggles to be put down, which Tim complies with, still giggling. Danny trots up to his template.

"You're silly." Danny informs him before holding his arms up and demanding. "Up!"

Kon quickly sets the puzzle on an end table near him before picking Danny up. He looks a little nervous when Danny stares hard at his face. "Um?"

Danny takes in all the shared features between them, some harder to see with the 16 year age difference, but it's sort of soothing to see. He gets distracted when he notices Kon's piercings, gasping and taking a closer look.

"How!?" He excitedly, but gently grabs Kon's ear piercings. Danny had gotten similar ear piercings when he was a ghost, and he misses them, but figured he wasn't going to be able to get them done in this body. It being nearly indestructible and all.

"Oh, my piercings?" Danny nods, leaning forward to take a closer look. "I'm sure you noticed it's hard to hurt us, but there's a rock called kryptonite, and depending on the colour, different things can happen."

"I thought kryptonite just hurt?" Danny asks, pulling back to look at Kon's face.

"It can. Green kryptonite is the most common, and it will hurt you. It turns off your powers and slowly poisons you, and if not taken away quickly, can kill us. Gold kryptonite is the rarest type and will permanently remove kryptonian abilities and usually leaves permanent injuries. So please do your best to avoid those types." Kon explains, "Red kryptonite should probably also be avoided, it makes kryptonians angry and turns off your inhibitions, but it won't technically hurt you to be exposed to it. The last colour I know of is blue. Blue kryptonite doesn't harm you or mess with your mental abilities. It just turns off all of your kryptonian abilities for however long it touches your skin. I have a blue kryptonite necklace I wear whenever I want tattoos or piercings."

Danny turns pleading eyes to his dad. "Can I get ear piercings??"

Danny can't help, but notice an infatuated smile on Tim's face before the man huffs a laugh and walks over. He runs a hand through Danny's hair.

"If you still want them when you're 5, I'll let you." Tim hums, "I don't want it to be an impulsive decision, and people will be less weird about a five year old getting their ears pierced. You might still get weird looks since you're a boy, but that's their problem, not yours."

"Okay!" Danny cheers. He hasn't told his dad about his past life/afterlife, so he can understand the hesitance over letting 3 year old get a body mod, even if it's just a single set of ear piercings, on what seems like a whim. He's honestly surprised he only has to wait til he's 5. Tim can be a bit of a helicopter parent, but then again, Tim really wants Danny to be his own person, never once shaming him for not fitting into a mold.

His aunts and uncles and grandpa have all made comments when they think he can't hear about how different or similar he is to Kon. Or when he shows gender non-conforming interests. Tim gets mad at them anytime he realizes Danny heard them. He doesn't want Danny to feel bad about any of it. Siting that "no shit" there's going to be similarities and differences, that's how children work, clone or not, and how gender is a social construct. He usually starts picking apart all of his siblings' behaviors at that point, pointing out what they inherented from Bruce, what is trauma born, and what's uniquely their's so he assumes they're from their respective parents, as well as all the things they do that don't fall under what society thinks their gender should do. It's funny, but also very nice. Danny loves his dad.

The true question right now, though, is: will he love, or even just like, his template? Danny doesn't hate what he's heard and seen so far, but actual fondness or affection needs time.

"How about we head to the gym?" Tim says, "Kon can show you some of his powers."

"Can I fly higher?" Danny isn't allowed to fly more than 4 feet in the air. Which is annoying, but fair. Again, he's 3.

"Only if you stay in arm's reach of Kon when you do."

"Okay!!" Danny cheers, purposely flailing around. Kon's hold on him tightens slightly to make sure he doesn't fall, but it's not painful. Another point to the DNA donor. That's about five in his favour during this interaction alone.

"Already flying, little man?" Kon grins.

"Yeah!"

"He figured out how to fly before how to run." Tim chuckles, "Now he does both any chance he gets. It keeps things lively."

"I imagine." Kon's grin turns a little gooey, before letting himself float and zip to the gym. "Let's have so fun!"

Danny can't help his chuckles. Kon flies there faster than Danny's allowed currently. It's fun!

Danny also can't help but notice Tim isn't in a rush to catch up. Meaning Tim fully trusts Kon with Danny's life. That's a trust that took the rest of the family months to gain, even though Tim knew they wouldn't hurt him. Danny isn't sure what to make of that knowledge, but it definitely makes him more inclined to like his template.

And by dinner time, Danny does genuinely like the guy. He respects everything Tim and Danny have to say, shows Danny a bunch of fun tricks with their powers, and let's Danny lead their games. He's fun, nice, and most importantly, not creepy. He clearly likes his dad in a more than friends way, but is hesitant to act on it, clearly not wanting to fuck up with either Tim or Danny.

Unfortunately for Danny, he can see Tim likes Kon back, but his dad is an idiot and doesn't realize it. So now he has to figure out how to get his dad to realize he's into his template without it being weird.

But really, what was Danny expecting? Trying to clone your "best friend" a hundred times isn't exactly hetero behavior. He decides he's going to enlist Uncle Damian and Uncle Jason. It's for his dad's own good at this point.

He also debates on if he's going to try to parent trap them. He likes Kon, but he doesn't know him well enough to commit to the bit just yet. He'll decide later, once he knows more.

#tim drake #batfam shenanigans #danny phantom #danny fenton #kon el #conner kent #dc titans #dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #clone danny #de aged danny #tw sa mention #tw child abuse #tw childhood trauma #tw child death

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honeyncherry · 7 days ago

Text

we never tell - joe burrow

summary turns out joe burrow doesn't take kindly to being treated like a stranger

content 18+, smut, angst, language, alcohol

part five

You’re getting flashbacks. Stuck in some hole-in-the-wall bar that smells like spilled beer and victory. The sort of place that's seen a thousand celebrations and will see a thousand more.

You're pressed between bodies that reek of adrenaline, trying to make yourself small in a corner booth while Dom argues with someone about LSU's defensive line. The noise is overwhelming, too many voices layered over bad music, the kind of chaos that makes your skull feel too tight.

You shouldn't be here.

Especially not when Joe keeps drifting closer to your end of the table, finding excuses to lean over Dom's shoulder, to grab napkins from the dispenser next to you, to brush past you under the pretense of squeezing through the crowded space.

Each time, you find a reason to move: bathroom, bar, outside for air. Anything to avoid being in his orbit for too long.

"You want another drink?" Dom's voice cuts through your spiral, and you realize you've been staring at the same spot on the table for who knows how long.

"I'm fine," you lie, even though your vodka soda has been empty for twenty minutes.

He gives you that look, the one that says he's not buying it but won't push. "I'm getting one anyway."

You have to scoot out of the booth to let him pass, the awkward shuffle making you want to melt. When you slide back in Dom's absence leaves a gaping space between you and Joe. You perch on the very edge of the seat, as far from him as possible while still technically sitting down.

"I'll come help you carry," someone whose name you didn’t catch says, pushing back from the table and following him.

Dom walks towards the bar, his jersey already stained with something that could either be beer or barbecue sauce. He looks happy, loose in a way you haven't seen him in months. This is his element—celebrating with friends that weren’t his but suddenly are. Basking in reflected glory, being part of something bigger than himself.

Everyone here looks the same, drunk on victory and possibility, wearing their colors like badges of honor. You feel like an imposter in your simple black top, like everyone can see that you don't belong.

"Come on, just for a little bit," Dom had pleaded outside the Mercedes-Benz stadium, still buzzing from the win. "The guys are celebrating. It'll be fun."

You should be at dinner with your parents right now, somewhere quiet with cloth stitched napkins and muted conversations. Somewhere safe. Instead, you're trapped in this testosterone-fueled victory lap because Dom wouldn't take no for an answer.

Fun. Right.

Your mom had looked disappointed when you chose the bar over dinner, her hand lingering on your arm like she wanted to pull you back. "You sure, honey? We could all go together. Have a nice meal."

But here you are, nursing regret in liquid form, trying not to think about the last time you talked to Joe. And definitely not thinking about the last time you saw Joe face to face.

You smell his cologne and your body goes traitor, remembering what your mind has spent months trying to forget. The urge to run wars with the urge to lean closer, and both options feel like jumping off a cliff.

Your phone buzzes against your thigh, and your stomach does a familiar flip before you even check the screen.

Holy shit you saw that game?? 👀

you: sooo when were you gonna tell me you're some star qb

You feel eyes on you and look over to catch Joe staring at your screen. His jaw is tight, and there's something unreadable in his expression as he takes in what you've written.

You tilt your phone away instinctively, but he doesn't look away. For a long moment, you're locked in this stare, heart hammering as his eyes search yours like he's trying to make sense of something.

Then, maybe out of spite—or desperation—you adjust your grip, angling the phone just enough for him to see Jalen’s name lighting up your screen as another message comes through.

You hate that you want him to care. Hate that you’re performing for an audience of one, using someone else’s attention like a weapon. But when his mouth tenses and steel flashes behind his eyes, a sick satisfaction curls in your stomach.

From across the table, Ja’marr calls out a question to Joe and his attention reluctantly shifts. You exhale a breath you didn't realize you were holding, angling your phone away this time as another response comes through.

jalen: Ain’t noo way you saw the game

you: saw you get your ass kicked

jalen: Ouch. And here I thought you were sweet

you: you thought wrong

you: :)

You're smiling despite yourself, the first real smile you've managed all day. Something about texting Jalen feels easy, like you can be the version of yourself that doesn't carry the weight of all this drama.

you: seriously though how did you not mention you’re oklahoma’s qb

jalen: How did you not mention you're apparently an LSU fan

Your mind drifts back to your initial message to him towards the beginning of the game. You'd been half-watching, half-scrolling through your phone, when the big screen lit up with Oklahoma's starting lineup. One by one, they announced the players, each name echoing through the Superdome as the camera followed them onto the field.

And then: "At quarterback, number one, Jalen Hurts!"

Your phone had nearly slipped from your hands.

There he was, larger than life on the jumbotron—the same honey-brown eyes, the same easy smile, but dressed in Oklahoma crimson instead of the casual clothes you'd seen him in back home. Stats flashed across the screen: 32 passing touchdowns, 20 rushing touchdowns, 3,851 passing yards. Numbers that meant he was really, really good.

Before the screen could flash on to the next player, you quickly snapped a photo and sent it to him along with a string of question marks. What you didn’t notice was how blaringly obvious the pool of purple and gold that you were swimming in looked in the picture.

You: touche

"Oh my god, no way!"

The voice is bright and excited, cutting through the noise of the bar clearly. You look up to see her weaving through the crowd, face lit up with genuine delight. Behind her, Nate follows with the kind of resigned expression that suggests this wasn't his idea.

Your stomach drops.

Dom appears at your side, fresh drinks in hand, wearing a grin that looks suspiciously planned. "Surprise!" he announces, like it's Christmas morning.

You paste on a smile, one that might’ve been genuine if not for everything that happened a year ago. "Wow," you manage, standing to greet them both. "I had no idea you were coming."

Even as you're going through the motions, your attention keeps drifting to Joe's reaction. He's gone very still, that careful mask slipping into place as Bridget gets closer.

She reaches you first, practically buzzing, her cheeks flushed with excitement and probably alcohol. She's wearing LSU colors, a purple top that brings out her eyes, gold jewelry that catches the light. She looks perfect, like she belongs.

Part of you wants to hate her—for her posts, for being here, for the way she fits into Joe's world. But she's warm and genuine, and that makes it worse somehow. Because it would be easier if she were awful. Easier to justify the sickening jealousy that crawls about when you see her.

"I've missed you," she pulls back to look at your face. "When Dom called however many weeks ago and said he could get us here for tonight, I've been excited since."

"Weeks?" The word slips out before you can stop it, and you catch the guilty flicker in your brother's expression as he sets drinks down on the table.

"Right after we found out your family was coming to the game," Nate confirms, reaching over to dap up the other guys. "Dom said we had to be here for the game. Make it a proper reunion since no Tahoe trip for you this year."

The pieces click into place with sickening clarity.

Your brother orchestrated this. Set you up like pieces on a chessboard, and you walked right into it. The betrayal tastes metallic, makes your hands shake as you realize how naive you've been. Does he know? About your encounters, about the phone calls, about how you've been walking around with Joe's name carved into you like scar tissue? The thought makes you want to disappear into the floor.

But Bridget doesn't seem to notice your stillness, too focused on turning her attention to Joe.

"Hey," she speaks to him. It’s almost personal the way she looks at him, not desperate or clingy, but like she has every right to be here, in this moment, celebrating his victory alongside all of you.

Joe stands from the booth to greet her properly, and you're suddenly standing beside each other, close enough that you can feel the tension radiating off him.

Before he can react, Bridget's leaning in for a hug. It's brief but intimate, her hands resting against his shoulders. The awkward pat on her arm he gives her seems more obligatory than friendly.

When Joe pulls back, he steps away too quickly and his shoulder knocks into you, sending you stumbling back against the edge of the booth. His hand darts out instinctively, curling around your arm to steady you before you can fully lose balance.

The contact lingers for a second longer than it should. His touch is careful, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he doesn’t really want to let go.

His skin against yours is muscle memory, your body recognizing his touch before your brain can build its defenses. For one terrifying second, you want to melt into it. Your pulse skitters like a trapped bird, and you jerk away because staying means drowning.

You lean away as far as the limited space allows and his face briefly twitches. You tear your gaze away from him only to lock eyes with Ja'Marr, who's been watching the two of you with barely concealed interest.

There's recognition in his expression that makes heat crawl up your neck. You wonder what he sees, whether the careful distance you've maintained looks as desperate as it feels. Whether everyone in this space can read the story written in the space between you and Joe.

"Sorry," Joe mutters beside you. The first words he’s spoken to you since the messages stopped coming. It had been a couple days after his birthday with no reply from you, when he finally took the hint.

For what? You want to bite back.

"It's fine," you opt for instead.

You tear your gaze away from Ja'Marr and scan the faces around you. Nate is settling into conversation with one of Joe's teammates, the others are making room for everyone, and Dom is watching you.

When your eyes meet his, you raise your eyebrows slightly—that silent sibling language you've perfected over the years. What?

He shakes his head once and looks away, but not before you catch an unfamiliar edge to him.

There's a shuffle as people start sliding into the booth, Bridget claiming the spot next to where Joe was sitting, Nate squeezing in beside her, Dom and one of the teammates on the other side. You make sure to slide in last, again perching on the very edge of the seat where you can bolt if you need to.

Joe is seated beside you, and you're hyper-aware of the space between you… or lack thereof. The booth that felt too small before now feels suffocating with everyone new crammed in.

Bridget is talking about the flight, about how excited she was to surprise everyone, and you nod along. Nate is talking about the game, how he and Bridget made friends with some random people near the student section, and you smile at his jokes.

Your phone buzzes again, probably Jalen responding to your last message, but you don't check it. Can't, really, not with Joe sitting right there, not with the memory of his face when he saw you texting someone about being a "star QB."

More people keep filtering into the bar, LSU students still riding the high of victory, Oklahoma fans drowning their sorrows, the energy getting louder and more chaotic by the minute.

You're ready to jump out of your own skin. The noise of the bar fades to white static as your nervous system floods with the need to escape. Anything but sitting here, drowning in the space between what you want and what you can't have, between who you're trying to be and who you become when he's near.

"—right?" Bridget's voice is directed at you, and you realize she's looking at you expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was saying how crazy it is that we're all here together. Like old times again."

"Yeah," you manage, forcing a smile. "Crazy."

But it doesn't feel like old times. It feels like wearing clothes that used to fit but now pinch in all the wrong places. Joe takes a sip of his drink, and you catch the movement in your peripheral vision, dialed into everything he does.

You start thinking of excuses. Headache. Stomach ache. Parents expecting you back. Anything to get out of here, away from the weight of Joe's presence and prying eyes.

That's when you spot him.

At first, you're not sure—it’s gotten so crowded, bodies shifting and blocking your view. But there's familiarity within the figure near the main bar area, the way he carries himself. You crane your neck slightly, trying to get a better look without being obvious about it.

Oklahoma crimson. The right height. Could it be—?

One of the guys he's with notices you staring and nudges him, pointing in your direction. When Jalen turns and looks, his face breaks into a smile you remember.

Heat crawls up your neck once again tonight, embarrassed at being caught staring, but also relieved beyond measure that it's actually him instead of some stranger. You can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips in response.

Jalen raises his hand and waves you over, tilting his head toward where he's standing. You slide out of the booth during a natural lull in conversation, your heart hammering so hard you're sure everyone can hear it over the noise.

Your legs feel unsteady as you navigate through the crowd, not from alcohol but from the sheer effort of holding yourself together for so long. You can still feel the phantom heat of Joe's body next to yours, the way your skin buzzed every time he shifted in his seat, the careful choreography of making sure no part of you accidentally touched any part of him.

By the time you reach Jalen, you’re full of something that feels dangerously close to gratitude. He represents everything that booth didn't—ease, simplicity, the possibility of a conversation that doesn't require you to search every word for hidden meanings.

"Look who decided to join the losing side."

"Someone had to check on you," you say, surprised by how normal your voice sounds when everything inside you feels like it's vibrating at the wrong frequency.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. "Check on me? I'm not the one who looks like I'd rather be anywhere else."

Before you can respond, he glances over your shoulder toward the booth, his expression shifting slightly. "So," he says, taking a sip of his drink, "you know half the LSU team or something?"

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your voice light. "Family friend."

"Ah." He nods along, smiling again.

"Speaking of," you say quickly, "when exactly were you planning to mention that you're apparently some hotshot quarterback? I had to find out by seeing your face on a jumbotron."

Jalen grins, the deflection working exactly as you'd hoped. "Hey, I told you I played football at a different school. Not my fault you never bothered to ask which one."

"You said you played football! You didn't say you were..." you gesture vaguely at the TV screens around the bar, where highlights from the game are still playing on loop, "...that."

"What, good?" His grin widens. "I definitely told you I was good."

"There's good, and then there's..." You trail off, shaking your head. "Okay, fine. I should have asked more questions."

"Should've googled me," he teases. "Very first result would've told you everything you needed to know."

"Who googles people anymore?" You. You do.

"Smart people who want to know if they're texting Heisman candidates."

You laugh despite yourself, and it feels good. "Heisman candidate? Aren't you humble." His eyes are dancing with amusement, and you realize you're smiling too much, laughing too easily. You feel like you can finally breathe.

Which is, of course, exactly when everything goes to hell.

"SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!"

The chanting is loud enough to cut through every other conversation in the place, and you don't need to look to know where it's coming from. Joe's voice rises above the rest, commanding and celebratory. It draws nearly every eye in the room.

"Sounds like your crew's getting started," Jalen observes out loud.

Before you can respond, the entire group is moving like a tide toward the bar and then they're there, surrounding you and Jalen like a wave crashing over a quiet shore. The careful distance you'd put between yourself and all of this evaporates in seconds.

"There she is!" Dom shouts, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Joe's buying everyone drinks!"

You're suddenly pressed between bodies again, the peace you'd found with Jalen shattered as LSU purple and gold invades your space. But it's not Dom you're watching, it's Joe, whose attention is fixed on Jalen with an intensity that makes you waver.

There's a moment of recognition, though the two have never met. Joe's jaw tightens subtly, and something cold flickers before the mask slides back into place.

"Well, well," Joe extends a hand toward Jalen and suddenly sports a smile that doesn’t quite touch the rest of him. "Jalen Hurts. Hell of a game tonight."

"Joe Burrow," Jalen responds, taking the offered hand. His smile genuine. "Appreciate it, man. Y'all played lights out."

The handshake lasts longer than expected, and you can feel the tension crackling between them. Two quarterbacks, two different worlds, sizing each other up with the kind of professional courtesy that barely conceals something sharper underneath.

"This is Jalen," you say quickly, turning to the others, desperate to diffuse whatever this is becoming. "Jalen, this is…" You rattle off introductions, watching as the guys exchange pleasantries, everyone playing their parts in this strange theater of sportsmanship.

But you can feel Joe watching you the entire time, tracking every interaction, every smile you give Jalen, every moment of ease between you two. There's possessiveness in the way he stalks, something that makes your skin feel too hot and too tight.

"So you two know each other?" Bridget asks, genuine curiosity in her voice as she looks between you and Jalen.

"We met back home," you say carefully, overly focused on Joe's attention. "Few months ago."

"Small world," Joe says, and there's an edge to his voice that only you seem to catch. "Amazing how people just... turn up places."

Jalen's eyes flick between you and Joe, and you see the moment he picks up on the undercurrent. His expression doesn't change, but something does in his posture, a subtle straightening that suggests he's reading the room just fine.

"Actually," you say, taking a small step toward Jalen, "we were just going to—"

"Oh no, no, no," Joe interrupts, his hand shooting out to catch your arm before you can move any farther. His grip is firm, his smile still mockingly wide and friendly. "Come on, we're just getting started here. Stay and celebrate with us."

You want to pull away, but doing so would draw attention you can't afford. Instead, you freeze, caught between the warmth of his hand and the weight of everyone's expectant gazes.

"Yeah, absolutely," Jalen says after a moment, his voice easy and accommodating. "I'm in no rush."

Joe orders another round of beers for him and the guys, shots for everyone else who wants because even he's not stupid enough to risk getting caught drinking hard liquor in public during playoff season.

The rest of the night unfolds in fragments, each moment feeling both too long and too brief.

Jalen somehow manages to secure two seats a little ways away, further from the main ruckus but still close enough to the others where it isn’t anything too intimate. You find yourself leaning into simple conversations with him, the kind that flows without effort despite everything swirling around you.

Somewhere along the way, you’d found out that when he left Alabama, Ohio State had actually been one of the schools he looked at. He spent some time there, met a few people, and now pops back whenever he gets the chance.

"So what's your New Year's looking like?" he asks, twirling his beer bottle between his hands. "Seems like I will now be free."

You laugh, "I don't know yet. Probably something lowkey. What about you?"

"Depends," he says, voice tilting just enough to make you look up. "Maybe I'll find myself back in Ohio for a bit. Check on some of those connections I mentioned."

The suggestion hangs between you, loaded with possibility. "That could be nice," you say, trying to keep your voice casual even as warmth spreads through your chest.

"Could be," he agrees, his eyes holding yours a beat longer than necessary.

Behind you, Dom tells some elaborate story about nearly getting kicked out of the Superdome for sneaking into the wrong section, complete with exaggerated reenactments that have half the group in stitches. When Jalen makes a dry comment about Dom's "criminal mastermind" skills, it makes you laugh.

And then, unmistakably, you feel Joe's shoulder pressing against your back. His presence is domineering. You freeze, once again caught between the urge to lean into it and the knowledge that you absolutely cannot.

The moment you stop laughing, he steps away as if nothing happened.

It happens again twenty minutes later when Jalen tells you about the time his teammate accidentally ordered twenty pizzas to the wrong address. Your laugh bubbles up, and there Joe is again, a wall of heat at your back, close enough to make your skin buzz with awareness.

You start to wonder if it's intentional. If he's testing something, pushing boundaries just to see what you'll do.

Later, when the conversation splits into smaller groups, you find yourself inadvertently eavesdropping on Bridget and Joe. She's gotten progressively more animated as the night has worn on, her cheeks flushed, movements a little looser.

"So what are you doing for New Year's?" she asks, leaning closer to Joe. "Please tell me you're not just going to sit at home alone."

Joe shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. "Haven't decided."

"Come on," she presses, her hand finding his arm. "We should do something fun."

"Maybe," Joe says, but his voice is flat.

You watch this exchange with a strange mix of emotions. Part of you wants to feel vindicated—see, he's not interested in her. But mostly you feel something else entirely as you observe him throughout the rest of the night.

The way he throws his head back when Justin tells a story about his rookie year. How Joe genuinely lights up talking about the game, about plays that worked, about the feeling of everything clicking into place. It’s a side of Joe that you don't get to see often anymore. And, despite everything between you, watching him happy makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

He deserves this. This joy, this success, this moment of pure celebration.

The thought surprises you with its sincerity.

As the night wears on, the bar begins to thin out. The post-game high starts to fade into exhaustion, and you realize your head is actually starting to pound—whether from the noise, the alcohol, or the emotional whiplash of the evening, you're not sure.

You're rubbing your temples when you hear one of Jalen's teammates call out, "Hurts! We're heading back. You coming?"

Jalen glances at you, then back at his friend. "Yeah, probably should."

"Actually," you say, seizing the opening, "I think I'm ready to head back too."

"Oh, well let me give you a ride," Jalen offers immediately. "Uber prices are probably insane right now, especially with the game traffic."

It's such a reasonable offer, such a normal thing to suggest, that you're already nodding when Joe's voice cuts through the conversation.

"Oh, nah man, that's good of you but we were probably heading back soon anyway—"

"No!" Bridget interrupts, her voice a little too loud for you right now. "You promised me darts last year, remember? We never got to play. Come on, just one game?"

Your face twists before you can control it, and when you look at Joe, his expression has gone completely pale. There's something almost panicked in his eyes as they dart between you and Bridget, like he's trying to figure out how to navigate this without making everything worse.

But the damage is already done. The reminder of the past year, of all the reasons you spent months learning how to forget sits among you.

"It's fine," you say quickly. "Jalen, if you don't mind..."

"Of course not," he’s already standing, eyes moving to Joe, before back to you. "Ready when you are."

You gather your things with shaking hands, say your goodbyes with a smile that feels like it might crack your face. Joe doesn't say anything as you leave, but you feel his eyes on you until the bar door swings shut behind you.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, save for whatever music Jalen has playing and the distant sounds of nightlife filtering through the car. You lean your head against the cool glass, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon colors and shadows.

When he pulls up to the hotel, he puts the car in park but doesn't immediately say goodbye. "Hey," he says, turning to face you. "I don't know what all that was back there, but… just want to make sure you’re good."

Your throat tightens. "Yeah, I am."

"Just take care of yourself, alright? And if you ever need someone to talk to, or if you feel like letting me buy you a drink next time I’m up there…" He trails off, letting the offer hang in the air.

"Thank you," you mean it more than he probably realizes. "Who knows, might take you up on that offer." You muster up a grin, watching as a smile covers his face at the sight.

"I’ll be waiting.”

You lean over and give him a quick hug, friendly enough to remind yourself that there are still people in the world who make things easier instead of harder.

The hotel lobby is mercifully quiet when you walk in, just the soft ding of the elevator and the muted conversations of a few late-night stragglers by the bar. You'd splurged on your own room for this trip, separate from your parents and Dom, telling yourself you needed the space to decompress after finals. It was the one luxury you'd allowed yourself, and right now you're grateful for the foresight.

Your room is on the fourteenth floor with a view of the city that you barely glance at as you drop your purse on the desk and kick off your shoes. Your feet ache, your head pounds, and an exhaustion settles into your bones that goes deeper than just physical tiredness.

The shower you take is scalding, the kind of hot that turns your skin pink and makes the small bathroom fill with steam. You stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the smell of the bar and the remaining confusion from the entire night.

When you finally finish, you change into your pajamas. The hotel's terry cloth robe goes over your hair as you pad around the bathroom to start your nighttime routine.

You're working cleanser into your skin, the familiar motions almost meditative, when there's a knock at your door. You freeze, foam still covering your cheeks, your heart immediately jumping to your throat. It's after midnight. Your parents wouldn't come by this late, and Dom would text first.

There’s another knock, softer this time but more insistent.

You rinse your face quickly, not bothering to dry it properly before padding to the door. Through the peephole, you can make out two distinct figures.

Frowning, you unlock the door and open it to find your brother swaying slightly in the hallway, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Behind him, looking tired and more than a little tense, stands Joe.

"Dom?" You look between them, confused. "What—how are you this drunk? I just left like an hour ago."

Your brother pushes past you into the room without invitation, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Had to—had to talk to you," he slurs, gesturing vaguely as he stumbles through.

You look back at Joe, who's still standing in the doorway, for some kind of explanation. He runs a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. "I don't know," he says with a shrug. "He just kept saying he had to talk to you. Wouldn't let it go."

Dom has somehow made it to your desk chair and is now attempting to sit down, missing it slightly before correcting himself. "Close the door," he mumbles, waving his hand. "This is important."

You reluctantly shut the door, crossing your arms over yourself. "Dom, what the hell is going on? You're completely wasted."

He looks up at you with that serious expression drunk people get when they think they're about to say the dumbest thing. "I gotta ask you something," he says, pointing an unsteady finger in your direction. "And I need... I need you to be honest with me."

Your heart drops to your stomach. This is it. Somehow, he knows. Your mouth goes dry as you wait for him to continue.

"Is there..." he pauses, swaying slightly even while sitting, "is there anything going on? Like, anything I should know about?"

The question hangs in the air, deliberately vague but loaded with its implication. You can feel the blood draining from your face as you stare at him, your mind racing. He knows. He has to know.

But then you really look at him, seeing the way his eyelids are drooping, how he's having trouble focusing on your face, at the sloppy way he's moving about.

He's absolutely obliterated. The kind of drunk where he probably won't remember his own name tomorrow, let alone this conversation. If you can just deny everything, play dumb, he'll wake up tomorrow with a massive hangover and no memory of whatever suspicions brought him here tonight.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, your voice coming out higher than normal. "Dom, I'm tired. It's been a long day and I just want to go to sleep."

But Dominic isn't deterred. He's rambling now, words tumbling over each other. "Because like... I see things, you know? And tonight was just... there was all this weird energy and I don't know what's happening but—"

"Dom." You move toward the door, desperate to end this conversation before it goes anywhere you can't come back from. "Seriously. There's nothing going on. You're drunk and you're not making sense."

You pull the door open, gesturing for him to leave. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room."

Dom looks like he wants to protest, at one point saying he’ll be back to talk more, but you're already moving toward him. Your hands are on his shoulders, guiding him up from his chair and toward the doorway. He stumbles a bit as you push him into the hall and that's when Joe steps forward, catching Dom's other arm to steady him.

"Alright, man," Joe says, his voice gentle but firm. "Let's go."

Joe gets Dom about halfway down the hall before your brother decides he needs to sit down right there on the carpet. While Joe's trying to convince him to keep moving, he keeps looking over his shoulder at you.

Joe’s eyes meet yours for the third time, and that's when you've had enough.

"What?" you snap, your voice cutting through the hallway. "Do you need something?"

His head whips back around, drawing back slightly like he wasn't expecting the bite in your tone. He stares at you, your brother momentarily forgotten at his feet, mouth slightly ajar.

You slam the door before he can say anything else, the sound echoing down the hall. Your hands shake as you turn the deadbolt, heart pounding against your chest.

So startled, you can't even finish what you were doing. The towel wrapped around your hair feels too heavy, so you yank it off and let it fall to the bathroom floor in a damp heap. Your skincare products sit abandoned on the counter as you stumble to the bed, crawling under the covers.

Your phone becomes your new best friend, something to focus on that isn't the chaos in your head. You scroll mindlessly through Instagram, TikTok, anything that might quiet the noise. The blue light burns your eyes but you keep going, thumb moving on autopilot.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe fifteen. You're deep in some random cooking video when a loud knock reverberates through the room.

Your stomach drops. Dominic. He probably got away from Joe, sobered up just enough to remember he wasn't finished interrogating you. The anger that's been simmering all night finally boils over.

You throw off the covers and storm to the door, fury making your movements sharp and reckless. "Fuck off, Dominic!" you seethe as you yank the door open. "I already told you—"

But it's not Dom.

Joe stands in the doorway, one arm braced against the frame, and his face is hard in a way that makes you take an involuntary step back. There's something dangerous in his expression that you've never seen before.

"The fuck is your problem?" he asks, his voice low and sharp.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Your brain shorts out completely, every angry word you had ready for Dom evaporating in the face of Joe's presence. You try to close the door, instinct taking over, but his hand shoots out to stop it, palm flat against the wood.

"Don't," he says, and there's warning in his tone.

"Don't what?" you snap, finding your voice again. "Don't close my own door? Get your hand off it."

"Not until you tell me what the hell that was about," Joe says, pushing the door wider instead of letting go. "What was that shit in the hallway?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You try to push the door closed again but he's stronger, and the door doesn't budge.

"Bullshit." He steps into your room, and suddenly the space feels impossibly small. "You ignore me for how long. Won't even look at me. And then tonight you're all over Jalen fucking Hurts."

Dread fills your body—embarrassment, anger, the sick realization that he doesn’t care he'd been watching you all night, just like you felt. "I wasn't all over—"

"Acting like he hung the fucking moon, jumping at the chance to leave with him, making little plans." Joe's voice is getting louder. "Real cute how you can be yourself with him but you treat me like I've got the plague."

"That's not—"

"What? That's not what happened?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I watched you!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't I?" Joe steps closer, and you can see the hurt beneath the anger now. "Because it looked like you were having a great fucking time with Oklahoma's golden boy. Really moving on, huh?"

"So what if I am?" The words come out defensive, meaner than you intended. "So what if I'm talking to someone who actually treats me like I matter?"

Joe rears back for a second. "Someone who treats you like you matter? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Your chest tightens. You've said too much, revealed too much of the hurt you've been carrying. "It means," you say, your voice shaking with anger, "that he doesn't sleep with other people and then act like I'm the problem."

The silence that follows is deafening. Joe stares at you, his expression shifting from anger to something that looks almost like panic.

"Is that what you think happened?" he asks quietly.

"I don't think it, Joe. I know it." Your voice breaks. "I saw you. Both of you." At the mention of it, the memory floods your mind once again like how it's haunted you for months. Bridget’s smudged makeup, fumbling with her pants. Joe’s unkempt appearance, his eyes locked with your own hopeful ones. Your stomach churns with the same sick feeling you felt that night.

"Jesus Christ." Joe runs both hands down his face. "You think I—you’re thinking about it wrong."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Tears are burning behind your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. "You had your hands all over me one minute, and the next you're fucking Bridget."

"It wasn't—" Joe stops, his jaw working like he's trying to find the right words. "That's not how it happened."

"Then how did it happen, Joe? Because from where I was standing, it looked pretty fucking clear."

He's quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. "I was angry," he says quietly. "I was hurt and pissed off and I did something stupid."

"Stupid?" You laugh, but it comes out cracked. "Is that what you call it?"

"I call it the biggest fucking mistake," Joe says, his voice raw. "I call it something I've regretted every single day since it happened."

"Oh, well that makes it better," you say, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You regret it. Great. That totally fixes everything."

"It meant nothing," Joe says suddenly. "It was just—I was angry and hurt and I wanted to hurt you back."

His words do nothing but draw up more of the memories you’ve been trying to run from. "Don't."

"I'm serious. It felt wrong the entire time because it wasn't you. Because you're the only one I wanted and I was too fucking scared to admit it."

"Stop talking." Your voice is barely a whisper.

"You want to know the truth?" Joe's voice is getting louder again, more desperate. "The truth is I've been crazy about you since that first night together. The truth is I've spent the last year hating myself for fucking up the one thing I actually wanted to keep."

Your world tilts sideways. Every wall you've built, every reason you've given yourself for staying away from him, starts to crumble. This is what you wanted to hear for so long, but now that he's saying it, you don't know if you can believe it.

"You're lying."

"I'm not." Joe takes a step toward you, and you can see tears in his eyes now. "I'm not lying. I really fucking like you. And I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid and I didn't know how to tell you."

"I wanted to believe it didn't mean anything," you whisper, your voice cracking. "All of it. I wanted to believe you didn't care because it was easier than thinking you chose her over me."

Joe's face crumples. "I never chose her. Not for a single second. I was just—I was so fucking scared of how much I needed you that I did the one thing guaranteed to push you away."

"Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why were you scared?"

He pauses for a second, looking lost. "Because you're you. Dom's smart, gorgeous, sister who was—is too good for me. I knew that if I let myself fall for you completely, there'd be no coming back from it."

"And now?"

"Now I've spent a year trying to come back from it anyway," he admits. "And I can’t. I can't shut it off. You're in my head all the fucking time.”

Joe sighs, "I miss it even when I know I shouldn’t." He cuts himself off before he rambles even more, but you can see it in his eyes, the same need that's been eating you alive for months.

"Miss what?"

"You," he breathes. "All of you. Not just—not just the physical stuff. I want to wake up next to you. I want to know how your day was. I want to be the person you call when something good happens, or when something shitty happens, or when nothing happens at all."

Your breath hitches, throat closing. "Joe..."

"I know I fucked it up. I know I don’t deserve you. But if there’s any part of you that still wants to even try—" his voice breaks there, unsteady, "just give me that.”

You stare at him, at the tears on his cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing keeping his heart beating, and suddenly, you can't remember why you've been fighting this so hard.

"I never stopped," you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I tried to hate you, tried to move on, but I never stopped wanting you."

The second the words leave your mouth, something in him snaps.

Joe surges forward, hands finding your face with a desperation that makes your breath catch. His mouth is on yours before you can take another breath, tasting of months of regret and every unsaid word. You gasp into him, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt.

His lips move against yours with an urgency that feels almost painful. His hands drop from your face, skimming down your sides, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, needs to feel you everywhere at once.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper his name, breathless, before he’s chasing your mouth again, hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips drag along your bare skin, drawing a cold shiver from you as you lean into him instinctively, craving more, needing him.

"I missed you," he repeats against your lips, voice shaking as his hands slide higher, up your ribs, thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts. "I fucking missed you."

"Then show me," you whisper back.

Joe groans and the next time he kisses you it's messier, deeper, all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up need exploding between you. He walks you backwards blindly, until your legs hit the edge of the bed and you fall back with a breathless gasp, pulling him down with you.

His hands never stop moving, like he's terrified this is all some dream he’ll wake up from. His lips trace a hot path down your throat, over your collarbone, his breath shaky against your skin as he murmurs, "need you so bad."

Your fingers thread through his hair to pull him impossibly closer. Everything else fades away—the fights, the hurt, the miscommunication. Your back arches off the bed as his mouth moves lower, and you can feel the desperation in every touch, every kiss.

His mouth finds the soft dip beneath your ribs, warm breath ghosting across your skin as he pauses. His fingers tighten around your waist, composing himself there before sliding up again, dragging your shirt with his hands.

You lift your arms wordlessly, letting him peel it over your head and toss it somewhere behind him, forgotten. The second your skin is bare, his eyes dart around like he doesn’t know where to look first.

“My god,” he exhales, face breaking into a sly grin. His thumb traces over your sternum, then up to the hollow of your throat. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

You do. You feel it in the tremble of his hands, in the heat of his breath, in the way his pupils have blown wide, swallowing the blue. But you don’t say so, just enjoy the fact that you do.

His lips follow his hands—over your chest, down your stomach, each kiss burning hotter than the last, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. He pauses there, breathing hard, his forehead dipping against your hip like he’s on the edge of breaking again.

“Say it’s okay,” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes lifting to meet yours.

You can barely get the words out, “’s okay.” His fingers hook beneath the fabric, sliding it down. The cool air hits your skin, making you shudder as the last of the fabric clears your ankles, tossed aside somewhere neither of you care to look.

Joe stays knelt between your legs for a moment, eyes roaming over you. His breath is shaky as his gaze drags up the length of your bare body. You wait for his next move, but instead of leaning back in, he moves suddenly.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping tight, and with one smooth motion, he flips both of you over, shifting his weight until his back settles against the headboard, pulling you up to straddle him.

You gasp, hands flying to his shoulders for balance as you land in his lap, the rough denim beneath you a delicious contrast to your bare core. The unexpected motion knocks a breathless laugh from your throat, and for a second, the heat between you softens.

Joe’s mouth curves into a crooked grin at the sound of your laughter, his eyes never leaving your face. “There she is,” he murmurs, eyes flickering between your mouth and your swollen lips.

His hands trace up and down your sides, over the curve of your waist, up your bare back, thumbs gliding across your skin like he’s mapping you out. The touch sends goosebumps chasing after his fingertips, your breath catching again as your body settles fully against him.

When your laughter fades and your gaze finds his, you’re both a little dazed. For a long second, neither of you say much of anything as you take each other in.

His hand drifts higher, fingers curling lightly under your jaw, tilting your face toward his as his thumb brushes along your cheekbone. Then his other hand slides into your hair, threading through gently, pulling you closer until his lips hover right over yours.

The tension between you thickens with every slow pass of his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, pulling a soft whimper from your chest as your hands fist into his shirt, clinging to him.

Your kiss deepens, messy and open, heat pooling low in your stomach as you shift in his lap, grinding down instinctively against the hard length of him still trapped beneath thick denim. The friction makes both of you groan, his grip on your hips tightening as his head falls back against the headboard for a second, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging yourself over him tauntingly, loving the reaction you draw from him.

“Good,” you whisper against his mouth, lips brushing his as you speak. “Deserve it.”

Joe huffs out a breath against your mouth—something between a laugh and a groan—but his hands never leave you. His fingers adjust, digging in just a little harder.

Still breathless, you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling under the fabric, desperate to get it off. “Take this off.”

He leans back just enough for you to yank it up, his hands helping as the material drags over his head and lands behind you. Your eyes drop, taking in the stretch of his bare chest, the rise and fall of it as he breathes hard beneath you.

You’re already leaning in again, mouth dragging along the sharp line of his jaw, down his throat, lips parting against the soft skin there before he gets a chance to fully settle. His head tips back instinctively, giving you more space to work.

Joe’s breath catches as your tongue flicks just beneath his ear. “Fuck, baby.” Your hips hover as he shifts beneath you, fumbling at the waistband of his jeans. His fingers work fast as he undoes the button and drags the zipper down. You stay pressed close to him, lips never leaving his skin.

Lifting his hips, he shoves both his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, breath hissing between his teeth as he finally frees himself. You feel the hard weight of him press up against you, hot and heavy, and it knocks a small gasp from your lips as your hips instinctively roll forward again.

The sensation makes his hands fly to your hips first, then lower, gripping handfuls of your ass as he holds you there. You rock your hips again, slower this time, dragging yourself over him to feel the slick heat of him sliding against you.

His breath punches out of him, head tipping back with a dull thud, his throat working as he swallows hard. “Jesus,” he grits, voice strangled. “You feel that?”

You nod, breath hitching and hands spreading wide across his chest, digging into the warm flex of his muscles. You can feel how hard he is, how thick, sliding perfectly against your swollen center every time you move. The friction alone is enough to make your thighs tremble, your core clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

“Joe,” you whisper, voice cracking under the weight of what’s to come, “can I?”

That does it. His hands slide down, one moving to grip the base of himself, lining up with you, while the other holds you tight, steadying you.

“C’mere, baby.” He guides you, “nice and slow.”

You hover for half a second, mind clouded with lust as you feel the blunt head of him catch at your entrance. Even after everything, the stretch makes your breath stutter when you finally start to sink down onto him.

His mouth drops open, a sharp exhale leaving him as his fingers dig into you, sure to leave bruises for the morning. “Fuck—fuck, that’s it. Just like that.”

The burn is sharp at first, that perfect edge of too much and not enough, and you brace your hands on his shoulders, panting softly as you take him inch by inch. His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every single reaction play out across your face like he can’t look away.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice barely audible. “You’re goddamn perfect.”

When you finally bottom out, fully seated in his lap, you both pause for a moment. You’re panting and overwhelmed, completely full all at once. You swear you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat inside you, throbbing in time with your own.

His hands slide up your back again, one threading into your hair as he pulls your face back down to his, kissing you hard. The first slow roll of your hips pulls a broken groan from both of you, your nails scraping lightly over his chest as you start to move, grinding down into him.

The friction is dangerous now—your bare skin dragging over him, every tiny shift making his breath stutter against your mouth. With each drop of your hips, your clit catches against the base of him, sending sharp little sparks skittering through your stomach, dragging you closer every time you fall into him.

“Missed you so fucking much.”

At his words, you whimper into his mouth, grinding harder, chasing that spark curling low in your belly with every drag of his cock inside you. His head drops again, forehead resting against yours as you ride him, the tension building tight between you.

Every roll of your hips sends another pulse of pleasure through both of you, until neither of you can keep your breathing steady, until you feel his grip start to falter, desperate to fuck up into you.

You feel his control slowly begin to fray, his need urging to take over. His voice breaks, as he stutters your name out. “I—fuck—I need—”

In the next breath, he shifts beneath you, planting his feet flat against the bed, using the leverage to thrust up into you hard, deep, dragging a sharp cry from your throat as your body jolts.

“Oh my god.” your voice shatters on a breathless gasp, your hands scrambling at his shoulders.

“That what you needed?” His voice is mean against your ear. “That what you’ve been thinking about at night? Riding my cock just like this?”

And yes, you had. More than you wanted to admit. Some nights, no matter how hard you tried, the only thing that could pull you close enough to release was the thought of him like this, buried deep, your body moving over his just like now.

He thrusts up again, your body lifting slightly with the force of it before dropping back down onto him, fully seated. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his bare skin, head falling forward.

He kisses you again, swallowing your broken sounds, tongue sliding against yours like he can’t get enough of you—like he’s trying to breathe you in, steal every sound you make and keep it for himself

Your hips start to move with him, finding a perfect rhythm together. You grind down as he drives up into you, his cock dragging deep with every stroke, the friction catching exactly where you need it, making your head spin.

The wet slap of skin fills the air, the sound of your gasps and his low curses blending into something obscene. Your body is trembling now, the coil low in your belly tightening to the point of snapping, every roll of your hips dragging you closer, every thrust sending a sharp jolt of heat through your veins.

“Joe—” you choke out, barely breathing. “I—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he pants, his hands moving around, one threading into your hair again as he pulls your mouth back to his once more. “Let me feel you.”

And when it hits, when you finally snap—you fall apart in his lap, a sob ripping from you as you clamp down around him, the waves of it crashing hard and fast. Your whole body jerks against him, muscles locking up as your orgasm blooms through you.

“Fuck—fuck—” Joe groans, his own hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him, and with a last broken thrust, he follows, spilling into you with a sound that vibrates against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you move, bodies locked together, his arms wrapped tight around you. Your breathing slowly evens out, the frantic desperation giving way to something softer. Joe's hand traces lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder, your neck, wherever he can reach.

The exhaustion hits you both at once—emotional and physical, everything finally catching up. You clean up quietly, moving around each other with a careful tenderness, like you're both afraid to break whatever fragile thing has reformed between you.

When you finally crawl under the hotel sheets together, you fit against him like you never left. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, and for the first time in a year, the knot in your stomach finally loosens.

You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing evening out behind you, his face buried in your hair, his body solid against yours. Your mind drifts with questions you can't answer—whether this changes anything or if morning will bring back the same careful distance, whether he'll pretend this never happened, or how you even begin to navigate whatever this is when you're not hidden away anymore.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow angst #joe burrow x you #joe burrow smut

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