mena

pairing joe burrow x ex-girlfriend!reader

summary after two years of something that burned too bright to last, joe left baton rouge for the draft and you both pretended that was the end. the late night calls said otherwise… so did the visits… and so did the silence that eventually replaced them both.

now a week on south padre has you trapped under the same roof, and you can already feel yourself slipping again. everyone is taking bets on whether you’ll kill each other or end up in the same bed. smart money’s on both.

meet your spring breakers

─ justin & peyton ─ malik & eliana ─ ja’marr & eva ─ joe & reader

follow along

day one you could have warned me, but then again, so could i day two let’s not ruin this by being honest day three this is how it starts, isn’t it? day four and there you were, like you’d been waiting day five ruin me, i’ll let you day six collide, burn, repeat day seven okay, this is where i leave you

Seeing the lake house feels better than letting out a sigh of relief. This place feels like coming home because your people are here. People that have known you since you spent BuckID cash on cheap ramen and skittles. And right now, you need your people to bring you back to that carefree self, just until the weekend is over.

It’s grilling night. Trae has steaks and asparagus on, while Ibi brings down the shrimp skewers. Sasha is half focused on the mashed potatoes, half waiting to see your car on the dirt road. Trae’s girlfriend Dezi tosses the garlic knots into the oven on a timer and asks Micah to take them out when they’re ready, breaking into a light jog down the brick steps with Sasha when they see you.

Open arms welcome you in, almost bringing you to tears for the first time since you left Toledo this afternoon.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Sasha sighs, hooking her arm through yours, holding you close.

“We’re really glad you’re here.” Dezi chimes in, placing a hand on your back. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Joe doesn’t hear any of the conversation but he almost drops the cooler he’s carrying when he sees you. The lake trip is an annual event, a tradition that started summer 2018, months after his official move to Baton Rouge, it was supposed to be one last Ohio summer long weekend and turned into a yearly meet-up even into adulthood. The unshed tears were spotted from his spot by the door, along with the hint of mourning in your greeting hug as you finally worked the courage to let the girls go and headed into the house. Zacciah grabbed your overnight bags, making no comment at the amount of stuff you’d brought for only a few nights on the lake.

This year was supposed to be the first trip you’d miss out on, having prior plans to attend your long term boyfriend’s family thing at a country club in Toledo. You made it one night and a full day before making the drive to the beloved lake house.

No one pressed you about your sudden arrival during dinner but the elephant in the room was more Rex from Night at the Museum sized. The biggest topic of conversation before you headed up to your usual shared room with Sasha was tomorrow’s cornhole tournament, your favorite tradition. It was a classic, one guy, one girl per team, winners get bragging rights and don’t have to clean up before heading home Sunday morning. You lived for it and with Joe as your partner this year, you could get your mind out of whatever was happening in Toledo and visualize your win while stargazing.

The sky was illuminating dark hues of blue and green from the light of the star clusters reflecting the trees and the water. You couldn’t get a light show like this in the middle of the city. But here? Everything had a place, the lightning bugs shone brighter, the sun was somehow warmer and more true and the wine coolers tasted more crisp.

Everyone was so focused on being one with nature that you didn’t hear Joe and Trae get up to grab more drinks if anyone wanted them.

“Did you know she was coming?” Joe asks once they’re safely back in the house.

“Dez mentioned a text from her before we started getting ready for dinner. That’s when I knew.”

He contemplates pushing the conversation forward, not exactly knowing how to be delicate while also getting straight to the point. “She seem off to you?”

“Off how?”

“I don’t know.” He definitely does. “Just—thought I saw her looking upset earlier.” Joe sighs, running a hand through his hair as he pulls a beer out of the fridge and takes a long swig, mustering up enough courage to relay his thoughts without giving too much away. “I heard Noah was gonna propose this weekend. His parents are renewing their vows and I guess he thought that’d be the perfect opportunity to ask. That’s why she wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Trae nods silently, leaning against the counter with a can of cut water. “And yet, here she is. Could work in your favor if you think about it.”

Joe sets the bottle down. “What are you talking about?”

“You said Noah was supposed to propose. I heard the same.” He chuckles a little to himself at his friend’s attempt to not react, “I know, I didn’t tell you but I figured someone would. But bro, she’s here. And there’s no ring on her finger. And she left in the middle of the weekend, that can’t be an accident. I thought she looked fine, you thought she looked sad, could be nothing, could be everything. Maybe you’ll finally get your head out of your ass and tell her how you feel.”

Joe scoffs, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not even like that.”

Trae just smiles. “Sure buddy.”

With yesterday’s whirlwind escape, the drive and dinner and seeing if your future could potentially be written in the stars, a true act of exhaustion and desperation, you didn’t think about how awkward the corn hole tournament could be.

CR Architects hired you after you graduated. Your junior year, you spent most of the summer picking up coffee and delivering blueprints as an entry level intern. Worked on a remote project for your senior portfolio and got a designer job in Chicago that you kept for four years. Noah had a risk analyst job with a successful hedge fund agency about a 10 minute walk from your office which worked beautifully, until your promotion a year ago that relocated you to the Cincinnati headquarters office. Wanting to be a supportive partner, Noah followed and got a job downtown, pleasantly surprised at the pay increase.

The relationship worked and better than that, it made sense. He’d made the move for you, adjusted his schedule and compromised. You told yourself this is what adults do, this is the right person to do this with.

Your move to the city he’d lived in the last five years set up some admittedly unwarranted expectations that you and Joe would see each other more regularly and get back to what you were before he transferred. The reality was that you barely saw him in the year since you’d become a Cincinnati resident. His schedule was busy, understandably, but some part of you felt like he was avoiding you in a way. Conversations weren’t weird, they were just noticeably shorter. This was the same person whose best friends became your best friends because of how often they’d frequent your apartment in college. Your lives seemed to always intersect and now that they were intertwined again, something felt…off.

You hoped whatever it was could be smoothed over by a classic game of beanbag toss.

That mantra carried you all the way to the backyard, to the arena where you'd finally be able to let off some steam. Joe is competitive. And not the cutesy, gentle kind. Even if the game is meaningless, he's talking strategy, mentally decimating opponents and will be morally crushed if he doesn't come out with the win. And you’ll be damned if you're the reason he is silently plotting corn hole world domination for the next year because you couldn't toss the bag into a hole. All that to say, by the time the tournament commences, you have to switch your mindset and lock in because you had spent the last five years learning how to lose gracefully, how to laugh something off, how to keep the peace. Noah liked games, but he never cared. He didn’t mind losing as long as everyone was having fun. He didn’t brood or plot or scheme, he was just happy to be there. It wasn’t a character flaw, per se but something different than you were used to. Something you’d grown accustomed to nonetheless.

So, you stood quietly watching Joe toss a bag idly from one hand to the other while Trae explained the rules for the hundredth time, wondering if the two of you are going to clash.

You wonder if this will be another thing you don’t quite fit into anymore.

“Alright,” Trae says, clapping his hands together. “Same setup as always. One guy, one girl for each team. Bracket’s on the back of the pizza box. Winners don’t clean Sunday morning.”

You make eye contact with your partner and he walks over, holding out the purple bag. "Ready to do this, partner?"

“I’m just thinking about kicking my feet up on Sunday morning watching Food Network while everyone else is doing the dishes and vacuuming.” You smile.

“I like that,” he has a smug look on his face as you open the bag and take the rest of the beanbags out, “here we go.”

The first game starts off rough, for your opponent. Micah and Rachel just can’t get on the same page. He’s overshooting, she can’t keep her beanbags off the grass in front of the board. You’ve sunk in your first two shots and Joe hasn’t missed, watching in amusement as the other team falls apart. He’s watching everything.

You notice it when you miss a shot by inches and mutter under your breath, already stepping back to give him space. He doesn’t comment. He leisurely steps forward and tosses it dead center like it’s nothing.

When it’s your turn again, he hands you a bag without looking.

“You’re off center a bit,” he says quietly. “Aim a little left.”

You do.

It drops perfectly.

You glance at him, surprised despite yourself.

“Told you,” he says, shrugging like it wasn’t a calculated read.

It keeps happening.

Not just the advice, although his words are precise and always with a hint of reassurance, even when either of you miss a shot. The loudest thing about it is the coordinated cadence. The way he knows when to step in and when to hang back and let you figure it out. The way he lets you take the lead when you’re hot and subtly reins things in when you’re not. There’s no ego in it. No correction that feels like instruction. It’s just pure alignment.

By the second round, people are paying attention.

“Since when did you two practice?” Nikki calls out as you sink another shot.

“We didn’t,” you say automatically.

Joe grins, hands on your shoulders. “When would we have had time to practice? She got here last night.”

You missed this, his dry sense of humor, this familiarity between the two of you that didn't miss a beat. With Noah, everything had been discussed. Everything felt planned and lacked spontaneity. You’d been good together in all the ways that made sense on paper. Five years of dinners and shared calendars and long conversations about the future.

But standing here, trading glances and nods and half-smiles with Joe, you realize something uncomfortable.

You’d never been like this with Noah. Ever.

Not once had you moved in sync without talking it through first. Not once had you felt like part of a machine that adjusted instinctively, that didn't have to be jumped started or have batteries put in to make it go.

That scared you, this feeling of real partnership screaming at you in the middle of a stupid kids' activity with little to no real reward.

His jokes die off and the focus settles in during the finals against Ibi and Sasha. Joe's quiet intensity juxtaposes Ibi's constant trash talk and attempts to get in his head. Your partner welcomes it, not allowing his friend's words to distract, even though they are very much giving you a run for your money. Everyone is sitting in chairs watching like this is Game 7 of the NBA Finals. You miss a shot and shake your head, Joe whispers “you’re good” and Sasha misses her shot immediately after. He’s been hot this game, maybe one miss at the very beginning but he’s hit the last four in a row. Ibi yells when he overshoots by inches and you know you only need one more bag to win.

Joe hands it off to you. “All yours, partner.”

You line up the shot when he steps back and take a deep breath, feeling like the kid taking the final shot, a buzzer beater in a basketball movie. The toss is straight on and slides smoothly through the hole in the board and Joe pumps both fists. You turn and take a few steps toward him, jumping up to give him a chest bump. More like you jumped into his chest and he stood still so he didn’t knock you over or tower over you even more, but you made it work.

But like all good things, the post win high wore off during another intense game that night, this time Uno was center stage.

Ibi of course, pulled the carpet out from under you.

“You can tell me to stay out of your business or to shut up. But—why the change of plans? What happened in Toledo?”

Dezi speaks up first before he can go any further, thunder rumbling outside. “Shut up.”

“Mind you fucking business,” Sasha whisper yells, pinching his thigh.

He hisses in pain, rubbing at the spot as you reassure them it’s fine. “No I think I should just be honest.”

“Whatever you’re about to say is fine because we’re just glad you’re here. With your real family.”

You hold out your hand from across the table and give his a squeeze. “Thanks Zac. I appreciate you and I am really glad I’m here. It’s—I was in Toledo obviously for a few days with the vow renewal happening. But um…Noah and I broke up. So I packed my stuff and drove straight here. Nothing dramatic happened.”

Everyone is silent. Even the ones who already got some background information before you officially arrived. You’d never explicitly said there was a break up, you just told Sasha and Dezi that something happened with Noah and you were on your way to the lake. That was the first time you’d verbalized it out loud. And that made everything more real, more final.

The news was out there and after five years, you and Noah were going your separate ways.

“Okay. You guys do not need to look at me like someone died, I’m fine. Really. It was time to end it.”

Zacciah knees Joe under the table but he doesn’t react. Both he and Zacciah know he’s taking everything in. Whether he files it away or finally does something with it is completely up to him.

Storms are scientifically linked to lulling people to sleep due to natural white noise masking disruptive sounds, producing cooler temperatures and promoting relaxation for better sleep. At least that’s what Google says.

Google is a freaking liar.

Rain pellets beat against the roof, nudging you out of sleep and you head downstairs to the living room to at least watch the waterworks from the huge glass windows.

“Are you sure you’re the same person the first year we came here?” You hear near the steps. “The one who begged me to share my bed because storms were and I quote ‘the worst thing to happen to humanity since the flood that created Noah’s Ark’.”

“In my defense, I was scared of everything back then.” You moved the pillow over so he could sit. “I’ll have you know I’ve grown since then. I’m an adult now. Developed frontal lobe and everything.”

Joe scoffs. “You’ve grown?”

“Yes. I have a big girl job, a new car. I—”

“Developed a mean beanbag toss?”

“Well I had to! Didn’t wanna hear you bitch about how I lost you the natty for a whole calendar year.”

“No I wouldn’t have.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Okay yeah,” he laughs, covering your legs with the blanket, “maybe I would have. Losing isn’t fun.” He sighs, sitting back so he can get comfortable, “neither are breakups. You doing okay? No PR answers allowed. It’s just us.”

“Non-PR answer? I used to be terrified, of a lot of things. Rainstorms, Chemistry 101, starting over, rejection, the list is pretty long. But I’m not scared of any of those things anymore, if anything this is the end of a chapter that I think should’ve been closed a long time ago.” You look out and catch a lightning strike creating a glow over the trees. “With Noah, I thought I’d found someone who balanced me out. He doesn’t really need to play the game and if he does, he’s not trying to win. He just wants everyone to have fun, and that’s not a bad thing.” You think for a second, wanting to be honest, wanting to take this opportunity, this bull by the horns if you will, while it’s there.”

“But I don’t want to look back on my life and realize I spent it standing on the sidelines.” You continue and he stifles a laugh at the football reference. “Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of wanting too much. I don’t want to cheer for other people’s lives anymore. I want to live. So I left.”

Joe mulls over everything you just said, but he’s still confused. “I thought you were happy. I thought—I saw you two together at Sam’s wedding. You looked happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I was happy. But I wasn’t in love. I was…distracting myself I think. Mostly excited to be back in Ohio full time, excited to move,” you take a breath. “Excited to be closer to you. But then I made the move and you were MIA.”

Joe sighs. “Non-PR answer, seeing you with him at the wedding wasn’t something I was excited to see more of. I wanted you to be happy but I don’t know. I wasn’t about to force myself to fake it.”

“Fake what?”

“It’s nothing against the guy,” he emphasizes. “I just, at the wedding—”

“The wedding was a year ago.”

“I’m aware. I’ve just spent the last year distracting myself too, in a way.”

“Distracting yourself from what?”

“From the fact that you might be spending the rest of your life with someone else. And I never got my head out of my ass fast enough to tell you how I feel. Now, it’s out there and if you don’t feel the same it’s fine. I just—I didn’t want to keep that information to myself forever.”

It’s quiet for a minute, the weight of his confession sits heavy between you.

“Joe, why do you think this was the first place I drove to after my breakup?”

He doesn’t answer, shrugging, his go to mechanism to distract himself from remembering that his heart is in his stomach. He doesn’t even want to let it sink in that he’s said something that could have ended a decade long friendship. That the two of you could never come back from this.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“You asked me why you drove here. And I have no idea.”

If you weren’t so nervous you’d slap a hand across your face. “Clearly I have to spell it out for you. My longterm relationship ended because I realized I was settling. I’m not sad about the breakup because it was long overdue. I don’t want to settle, I want to be with the person who has kept me on my toes for the last decade of my life. That’s you, if I need to make that a little more clear.”

He tries to bury a smile, “what do we do now? I don’t want you to feel pressured to jump into something with me because we’re both single.”

“We don’t have to get married tomorrow, I’m just glad I got that off my chest. Been holding that one in for a while.”

“Me too.” He blows out a breath, cutting it off with a slow chuckle. “Should we go on a date?”

“That depends, are you asking me out?”

Joe looks over at you, eyes warm. “Will you go on a date with me tomorrow night? A real one. Like adults.”

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. He just drives. The nerves are starting to consume you as a million questions swarm in, mostly this nagging damaging thought about if the romance doesn’t transition well beyond friendship. You’ve loved every version of him that you’ve known. The third string pseudo frat boy who probably had more alcohol in his blood than water some nights. The recent transfer with a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount Rushmore. Before the fashion shows and veneers and the mansion. But you thought about how all of those versions of him led to the one you were with now, still the one you loved all those years before.

“I can’t believe you wore that on our first date.” You grabbed at the bottom of his t-shirt, tracing one of the pepperonis with your finger.

“Why not? You gotta love me at my worst before you get me at my best. That’s how you know it’s real.”

You shake your head, walking into the resort with him as he checks the two of you in. “Sounds like a test.”

He laughs, backpack over one shoulder and leads you to the elevator. “This whole night is a test. Hope we pass.”

The room service cart is stacked high with options from the one restaurant they have, Kindred Spirits. The staff is kind and extremely accommodating for your impromptu date, throwing everything together last minute without making a huge deal about the fact that Joe decided to stay at their bed and breakfast instead of a fancy chain.

“When did you…start to feel it? Like things could be different with us.” He says slowly, cutting into his chicken.

“Right before you transferred. I think when I realized you’d be gone, I had to face how much I was gonna miss you and yeah you can miss a friend but I think it was more than that. I felt like I was losing this person that always made me feel safe. Then you left and I met Noah and took that as a sign to move on. But ‘it’ has been there for a while,” you smile.

He nods, pushing food around his plate as he chews. “I’m pretty sure I always felt it. From the beginning but I wanted football more than anything so pushed my feelings aside to prioritize my goals, as shitty as that sounds.”

“It’s not shitty, prioritizing your career got you in a pretty great position. Hard work and sacrifice are engrained in your DNA, I knew that when I met you.”

Hearing the sincerity and conviction in your voice has him certain more than anything else that tonight was a great decision. “I pushed my feelings aside and I buried them. But Sam’s wedding brought things back, feelings I really didn’t know were still there. And I didn’t say this before but—thank you for driving to the lake and not going home. I’m glad you did.”

“I am too.”

There’s a movie on in the background, you can’t even remember what he threw on because you’re so focused on how your nerves have faded. You thank him for dinner, for this low stakes, low pressure date that feels so appropriate for the two of you. He yawns and you mention wanting to brush your teeth and getting ready for bed.

You move to stand, heading to your overnight bag. “Bathroom’s all yours if you wanna go first.”

“Together?” he asks without really thinking, then pauses, glancing at you. “I mean, only if you want. No pressure.”

You smile, because that’s been the theme of the night. “Yeah. Together’s fine.”

There’s something strangely intimate about brushing your teeth side by side, like it’s an activity you’ve been doing together for years. He catches your eye in the mirror a few times, kind of smiling, mostly brushing but there’s this relaxed aura about him. You sneak a glance at his arms when he leans down to rinse his mouth, seeing his muscles clench through the thin fabric of his shirt.

The stupid cat surfing on a pizza shirt. The way it’s stretched across his chest when he’s just standing.

He notices you looking as he walks back into the room and you lazily follow.

“What?” he asks, amused.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true,” he says gently. “You’ve been staring at me for like, a full minute.”

You laugh, heat creeping into your face. “I was just thinking about how unfair it is that you look like that while wearing…that.”

He grins. “So the shirt’s working.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Is it doing it for you?” he asks, teasing.

You swallow. “Yeah. It kind of is.”

Joe stands still for a second, making eye contact like he’s checking in, seeing if you’re open to this.

Then he leans in, slow enough that you have time to pull back if you want to. You don’t. You can’t. Not when you’ve been thinking about this since you got in the car a few hours ago. The kiss deepens automatically, a natural push-pull rhythm that’s both sloppy and delicate.

His hand comes up to your waist, hands grounding you, holding you steady. Yours finds his shoulder, then slide up, fingers threading briefly into his hair before settling at the nape of his neck.

The moment your thumb presses there, he hums into your mouth. You slide your fingers down and around to the front of his throat, gently clutching his hair in the back of his neck while caressing the soft skin in the front.

A soft, involuntary sound vibrates out of him. Somewhere between a hum and a moan. The sound catches him off guard and he stops moving for a second. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, half embarrassed, mostly stunned. He didn’t even know he capable of making that sound.

“Was that okay?” You smile, keeping your hand exactly where it is. He nods, sitting on the bed and pulling you down on top of him.

He’s perfectly content with exploring your body as you kiss, less in his head about control because that’s what most of his life consists of. Even affection most times is on his own time, his own terms and it’s deliberate, thoughtful and often quiet. This is driven by emotion, he can let go, this uncontrollable release consumes him in a way that is scary for a quickly passing moment but he trusts you enough to kiss you through it. He’s not making things happen, he’s letting them happen.

For a few more minutes, it’s hands and goosebumps and lips. You’re sliding his shirt over his head and he pulls it off, placing his hands right back on you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling back to look into your eyes, voice steady even though his breathing is shaky. “We said we’d take this slow. I just—I don’t want to mess this up.”

Your heart melts at the question written all over his face, wordlessly confirming consent.

You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

“We’ve been doing this dance for years,” you say quietly. “I think waiting that long counts as slow.”

He searches your face for any hesitation, then lets out a breath that turns into a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you again. “Yeah, okay.” Joe helps you take your t-shirt off, peppering kisses down your chest, taking his sweet time. It’s taken this long, he is going to make sure it’s worth the wait.

All the lights are off when you wake up, there’s only a glimpse of sunlight from the curtains.

And you’re alone.

Joe steps into view, fresh out of the shower. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” you exhale, a grin brewing on your face despite your best efforts to replay last night in your mind. “Why are you walking over here like that?”

“Like what? This is how I walk.”

“No it isn’t,” you laugh. “This is—extra sultry. Like you’re trying to seduce me. And we need to leave, get back to our friends?”

“Right…them.” He rolls his eyes, kissing the side of your head. “Should we head out now?”

“We should. After I shower.” You rise to your feet and head toward the bathroom. “Do you wanna join, I think there’s this spot I can never reach. Might need help.”

He shakes his head, looking at the ceiling, “well, you’re asking for help. I’m not gonna say no.”

This drive feels much more stable than the one you made days ago. The house smells like sausage and gravy, biscuits rising in the oven.

No one bats an eye when you and Joe walk in. You spent most of the drive thinking you’d be welcomed by a standing ovation and obnoxious whistling. Instead, you were met with a plate in hand and Rachel asking if you wanted apple or orange juice.

In celebration of your cornhole win, you and Joe packed all of your stuff in your car after breakfast and he has his bags in hand.

“You guys driving back to cincy together? Or are you riding back with us?” Trae asks him, nodding towards your car.

“I’m gonna ride with her,” he answers calmly, tossing his stuff in your backseat.

Trae and Dezi give each other a knowing look and Zacciah whispers finally under his breath even though you all can hear him.

Joe heads back inside and grabs your keys. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, hugging your friends goodbye, promising to give extensive updates of the recent developments when you yourself can wrap your mind around it. He puts your address into his GPS and lets you pick the music.

“Trusting me with aux? You really did get your life changed last night.”

He mock laughs and buckles his seatbelt. “Play whatever you want, except—”

And yet.

Some mornings still felt too big, stretched wide with memory. The sunlight pouring through the kitchen window sometimes hit just right, warming the worn wood of the table Joe built that first off-season. You’d catch yourself staring at the high school photos pinned on the fridge—faded edges, smiles too wide for faces so young. The promise of something bigger back then felt so far away, and now, somehow, you were living it.

You still teased Joe about the way he looked at you that night in the stadium lights—LSU on top of the world, a ring glinting on his finger and another hidden in his pocket. The world had watched him win a championship. You’d watched him choose you.

Hayes shrieked from the next room, snapping you back. His voice, so full of life and Joe’s stubborn determination, brought you right into the now.

This was the life you’d built. Solid. Strong.

But life had a funny way of throwing curveballs just when you thought you had it figured out.

The smell of bacon drifted through the house before the morning sun had fully stretched across the bedroom walls. It was soft at first, a whisper of something warm and familiar, pulling you from the edge of sleep. You stirred, blinking against the faint light filtering through the curtains, and for a moment, you stayed still—listening.

Laughter.

Faint and sweet. Hayes. His tiny giggle echoed from the kitchen, and then came Joe’s low murmur, soft and steady like it always was when he was talking to Hayes. A smile tugged at your lips before you even opened your eyes.

You dragged yourself from the warmth of the bed, your body still heavy from the night before. The ache behind your eyes reminded you of the one-too-many glasses of wine you’d shared with Emily and Joe’s mom after the party ended. You weren’t built for late nights like you used to be. But even through the lingering haze, there was something about mornings like this—slow, quiet, and simple—that made everything feel right.

As you padded barefoot down the hall, the sounds grew clearer. Hayes was babbling in that animated way of his, his words still jumbled but full of determination.

“Mix it, Daddy! I do it!”

Joe’s laugh followed, low and warm. “Easy, bud. You gotta stir slow. We don’t want pancakes on the ceiling, huh?”

You leaned against the doorway for a moment, just watching.

Joe stood at the counter, dressed in gray sweatpants and one of his worn LSU shirts, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Hayes sat perched on the kitchen island, wooden spoon clutched in his small fist as he stirred the pancake batter with all the focus in the world. His curls bounced every time he nodded, a mirror of Joe’s determination.

Neither of them had noticed you yet.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping into the room.

Joe looked up, and the way his face lit up—just a simple smile, easy and familiar—made something in your chest tighten. “Morning, sleepyhead. We didn’t wake you, did we?”

Hayes’s head shot up. “Mommy! I make pancakes!”

You crossed the room, pressing a kiss to Hayes’s cheek before slipping your arms around Joe’s waist. His hands immediately found your hips, warm and steady.

“Pancakes, huh? Big plans this morning.”

“Big plans,” Joe repeated, grinning. “Chef Hayes is running the kitchen.”

“I do it!” Hayes insisted, holding up the spoon like a trophy.

You laughed and ruffled his curls. “Looks like you’ve got it under control.”

Joe leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple. “We’re trying to keep it quiet, let you sleep in. You were having a little too much fun last night.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead to his chest. “Don’t remind me. I’m never drinking with your mom again.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your cheek. “Liar. You say that every time.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Yeah, well, this time I mean it.”

Joe smiled, eyes soft. “Sure you do.”

The morning slipped by in an easy rhythm. You helped Hayes pour batter onto the griddle—Joe’s large hands steadying his small ones, yours resting over them both. It felt like a scene from a life you’d dreamed of once. The three of you in the kitchen, sunlight spilling through the window, the quiet domesticity of it all.

It wasn’t loud or flashy. It was just yours.

But then—

It hit you. Out of nowhere.

A wave of nausea rolled through you so suddenly that you had to grab the edge of the counter. The smell of the bacon, which had been so comforting just moments ago, turned heavy, too much.

“Hey—” Joe’s voice cut through the haze, concerned now. “You okay?”

You forced a tight smile, straightening up even though your stomach lurched in protest. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Just... I think I need a minute.”

Before Joe could say anything else, you slipped out of the kitchen, heart pounding. The hallway felt longer than usual, the bathroom door somehow farther away.

The second you reached it, you closed the door behind you and leaned over the sink.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You gripped the cool porcelain, trying to steady yourself, but the nausea didn’t pass. It clung to you, persistent and undeniable.

In the back of your mind, a thought began to form—one you hadn’t expected. One that made you press your palm flat against your stomach without thinking.

No.

Not now. The timing couldn’t be right.

But your body told you otherwise.

You stayed there for a moment, leaning against the sink, cold porcelain pressing into your palms. The nausea ebbed but didn’t fade entirely—like it was lingering, waiting. The bathroom was quiet, the muffled sounds of Hayes’s laughter and Joe’s voice filtering through the door.

You closed your eyes, steadying your breath.

It’s probably nothing. Just last night catching up to me.

But the feeling in your stomach wasn’t just queasiness—it was deeper, heavier. The kind of feeling that settled in your chest when you knew something before you were ready to admit it.

You glanced up at the mirror.

Your reflection stared back, hair mussed, sleep still soft in your features. You looked... normal. But your hand drifted again, unthinkingly, to your stomach.

No. It’s not possible. We just figured this out.

The timing wasn’t right. You and Joe had finally gotten your footing with Hayes. The sleepless nights had become rare. The tantrums were manageable. You were finally feeling like yourselves again—like you had time to breathe.

And yet. The thought wouldn’t leave.

A knock at the door broke your spiral.

“Babe?” Joe’s voice, gentle but laced with worry. “You okay in there?”

You swallowed hard, wiped a hand across your face, and opened the door.

Joe stood there, holding Hayes against his hip. Hayes had a smear of pancake batter on his cheek and a wide grin on his face. But Joe—Joe looked at you like he already knew something was off. His brow furrowed slightly, eyes scanning your face.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. “You’re pale.”

Hayes reached for you with a sleepy grin. “Mommy! Pancakes!”

You forced a smile, taking Hayes into your arms. “I’m okay. Just... probably a little hungover. Too much wine last night.”

Joe didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer, brushing a hand against your cheek. “You don’t get hangovers like that. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His touch was steady, grounding you. You tried to push the thought away, but with him this close—with the smell of coffee and pancakes still drifting from the kitchen—it didn’t feel like something you could ignore.

Not with the possibility pressing at the edges of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, but your voice lacked conviction.

Joe studied you for a moment longer. “You want me to run to the store? Get you something? Gatorade?”

You hesitated. The question you’d been avoiding suddenly felt real. Too real.

No, don’t say it yet.

“Maybe... some Gatorade.”

Joe nodded. “Sure, okay. I'll take Hayes with me.”

Your eyes met his, and he seemed to buy the excuse. You needed time to process this, without a screaming toddler and doting husband who really does mean well. There was a softness in gaze, like somehow he knew what was happening.

You nodded again, forcing a smile. And in that moment—in the warmth of Joe’s gaze, the weight of Hayes in your arms, and the faint smell of pancakes still lingering—it didn’t feel quite as scary.

Another one you hadn’t planned for. But maybe, just maybe, it would be just as good. When he left, though, you did what you always did when the world felt like it was tilting on its axis.

You called Maisie.

Because if anyone knew how to talk you off a ledge—especially this ledge—it was her. The last time you’d dialed her in a panic like this was two and a half years ago, standing in the exact same bathroom, clutching a different pregnancy test.

And now? Déjà vu.

The phone rang twice before Maisie answered, her voice breathless but unmistakably smug.

“If you’re calling me before nine a.m., it better be because Joe finally shaved that scruffy beard.”

You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, pacing the bedroom now. “Maisie.”

A pause.

“Oh no. What’s wrong? Did Hayes break something? Did you break something?”

You sank onto the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down your face. “No. Worse.”

“Worse than Hayes launching a toy at your TV last month?”

“Maisie.”

“Okay, okay! Geez. I just finished yoga. My chakras are, like, open and sensitive right now. What’s going on?”

You took a breath—deep, shaky—and stared at the tiny white bag on the dresser. The pregnancy test Joe had gone out to buy.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

And then, Maisie laughed.

“Oh my God. Again? You again? Girl—didn’t we have this exact phone call two years ago? Same time. Same tone. Are you messing with me right now?”

You flopped back onto the bed with a groan. “Maisie, I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you’re serious. You always sound like you’re being chased when you’re serious.” You could hear rustling on the other end—Maisie, undoubtedly grabbing her keys without being asked. “But for real, did we not talk about this? I mean, you just got your life back. No more diapers. No more late-night feedings. You and Joe were finally getting your groove on again—don’t pretend like you weren’t!”

You covered your face with a pillow. “I know! It wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Maisie snorted. “Oh, honey. If you didn’t want it to happen, you and Joe should’ve been safe. What, you thought those post-birthday celebrations wouldn’t come back to haunt you?”

You yanked the pillow away and glared at the ceiling. “I was safe. We were safe! We just… I don’t know. Got comfortable.”

Maisie hummed, entirely too amused. “Comfortable, huh? Sounds like complacent to me.”

“Maisie.”

“Okay, okay! No more fake lectures.” She softened, her tone shifting in the way only Maisie could—like she knew exactly when to stop messing around. “Babe, breathe. You’re spiraling. Again. Same way you did with Hayes. And look how that turned out. The cutest kid alive. Even cuter than Joe, and you know I don’t say that lightly.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “This wasn’t the plan. We just got our rhythm back. We finally figured out Hayes’ schedule. I’m sleeping again. We have a routine. A good one.”

Maisie let out a soft laugh, gentler this time. “And if you are? You’ll figure it out. Same way you did last time.”

You didn’t respond. Because what could you say?

The last time, the fear had been new. You’d been two kids in love, still figuring out marriage and parenting at the same time. Hayes had been your unexpected blessing, sure, but he’d turned your entire world upside down.

And now you were just catching your breath.

“I’m coming over,” Maisie said suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts.

“What? Maisie, no—you don’t have to—”

“Already grabbing my keys. I’ll bring smoothies. You sound like you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying.”

“You sound like you are.”

You groaned. “Joe’s at store. He’s some gatorade for me, cause he thinks I'm hungover.”

Maisie’s voice brightened with mischief. “Ooh. Papa Burrow on a hungover run? Man of the year. I need to see his face when you break the news if it’s positive.”

“Maisie.”

“I’m just saying!”

Despite yourself, a small laugh bubbled up. Maisie always knew how to make you laugh when you least wanted to.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said. “We’re in this together. Again.”

The line clicked off before you could protest. You lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of Hayes’s cartoons that they left on from the living room.

It was happening all over again. The panic. The uncertainty. The not-knowing. But this time, you weren’t alone in it.

Maisie would be there—smoothies in hand, snarky comments locked and loaded. And Joe would be back soon, walking through the door with that steady calm he always carried.

You just had to get through the next twenty minutes without having a meltdown. Again.

You gripped the counter with trembling fingers, staring at the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The same quiet stillness settled over the room—the same uneasy hum beneath your skin. It felt too familiar, too soon.

Another wave of nausea crashed over you, sharper this time. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing slowly through your nose, but the memory came back anyway.

Two years ago.

The same tiles. The same cold. The same shock.

Back then, you were fresh off the plane, honeymoon glow still clinging to your skin. You’d been so sure you had all the time in the world. Someday, you’d said. After the chaos of the wedding settled. After Joe’s season. After the perfect timeline you both thought you had laid out so neatly.

But timing had never been your friend.

The memory tightened its grip—

The little white stick. Two lines. Not one. Not a faint maybe. Two.

You remembered how the air had felt too thin that day, how the bathroom mirror had reflected wide eyes and a face caught between panic and disbelief.

It hadn’t been in the plan. Not then. Not yet.

You’d called Maisie, just like today. You’d sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, terrified of how Joe would react—if he was ready. If you were ready.

The sound of the front door creaking open reached you before you heard the voices.

Two voices.

You winced.

Of course they arrived at the exact same time.

“…why are you here?” Joe’s familiar drawl drifted from the entryway, laced with confusion. You could picture his face already—brows furrowed, lips tugging into a skeptical frown, Hayes probably perched on his hip like a mini sidekick.

Maisie’s voice shot back, full of mock offense. “Why am I here? Wow. Great welcome. Thought you had manners, Joseph.”

Joe snorted. “Didn’t answer the question.”

“Oh, so your wife invites me over and then get all suspicious when I show up? Typical. Classic quarterback ego.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

The arguing. The constant bickering. They’d always been like this—like siblings locked in an eternal battle of snarky comebacks and petty insults. Normally, you’d find it amusing. Endearing, even. But today?

Today you weren’t in the mood.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

From the kitchen doorway, you could hear them still going at it.

“You sure you didn’t just show up for free breakfast?” Joe teased.

“Oh, like you can actually cook without burning something.”

“Did you forget who made pancakes this morning?”

“Yes, I actually did cause I wasn't even here. Did you forget you still owe me lunch from two years ago?”

The headache behind your eyes throbbed harder.

“Enough!”

Your voice snapped through the house like a whip.

Silence.

You stood in the hallway, one hand on your hip, glaring at the both of them. Joe blinked at you, wide-eyed and almost comically innocent. Hayes let out a confused little “Mama?” from his spot on Joe’s hip. Maisie raised a brow, smirking like she knew something you didn’t.

“Can the two of you not bicker for five minutes? Just five. I don’t have the energy today.”

Maisie’s grin widened. Uh-oh.

“Ohhh, there it is,” she said, pointing at you dramatically. “The snap. The patented no-patience tone. Her tell-tale pregnancy sign.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Maisie—”

“Nope.” She brushed past Joe, who was still standing there looking like someone had just handed him a puzzle missing half the pieces. “Let me guess—you’ve been feeling nauseous? Snapped at your sweet, perfect husband who can do no wrong—”

“Hey—” Joe started, recovering from his shock.

“—and now you’re avoiding eye contact. Classic.”

Maisie didn’t stop, of course. She never did.

“No, seriously,” she continued, toeing off her sneakers at the door like she owned the place. “Last time you snapped at Joe like that, guess what happened?”

You rubbed your temples. “Maisie.”

“She was pregnant,” Maisie sing-songed, turning back to Joe with a smug smile. “You remember that, don’t you?”

Joe, still frozen with Hayes on his hip, blinked at her. “Yeah, and we were also careful this time, right?”

“Ohhh, you mean because you said you were careful? Like I’m supposed to believe that? Please.”

Joe’s jaw dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Men are notoriously unreliable narrators.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re in denial.”

“Okay, enough!” you snapped again, louder this time, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. “God, I swear I can feel my blood pressure rising.”

Maisie gave you a pointed look, crossing her arms. “Uh-huh. And what do we call that?”

“Oh my God, Maisie—”

“Pregnancy sign number two: irritability. Textbook.”

Joe sighed, shifting Hayes on his hip. The toddler, sensing the tension, looked between all of you with wide eyes, thumb halfway in his mouth.

Joe finally spoke, calm but certain. “Look, it’s not like that. We were safe this time. No way.”

Maisie snorted. “Famous last words.”

“Maisie, seriously—”

“Nope. We’re settling this right now.” She turned on her heel, stalking toward the kitchen. “I’m calling it. She’s pregnant. You’re just too cocky to admit it.”

“Oh, I’m cocky?” Joe scoffed, following her.

You stared after them, completely exhausted. “Where are you even going?”

Maisie tossed a grin over her shoulder. “We’re going to the store for a test.”

Joe paused. “Wait. You don’t have one already?”

Maisie looked at him like he was the idiot. “Do I look like I keep pregnancy tests stocked? You’re the dad. You go get it.”

Joe opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, with a grumble, adjusted Hayes on his hip. “Fine. But when it comes back negative, I want a full apology.”

“Dream on, Joseph.”

The quiet after they left was almost jarring.

You slumped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with a long, tired sigh. The distant hum of the baby monitor upstairs blended with the ticking clock in the kitchen.

Pregnant?

No. No, surely not.

You rested a hand on your stomach, your mind swirling. You’d been careful. You and Joe had both been careful. You’d talked about waiting, about giving yourselves more time before adding another little one into the mix.

Still—Maisie wasn’t wrong. The irritability. The exhaustion. The nausea you’d brushed off as a fluke.

Could it be? You let your head fall back against the cushion.

This day was not supposed to go like this.

They were gone for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of you sitting there, spiraling, while Hayes babbled to himself with his toys on the rug.

Finally, the door creaked open again.

“We’re back!” Maisie’s sing-song voice rang out. “Guess who’s got the goods?”

Joe trailed behind her, plastic bag in hand, still looking skeptical. “I still think this is pointless.”

Maisie ignored him. “Here you go, Mama. Time for the moment of truth.”

She placed the small box in your lap with a flourish, like she was presenting a trophy.

You stared at it.

The words Pregnancy Test stared right back at you.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Maisie plopped onto the couch beside you. “Take it.”

“I’m telling you, it’s negative,” Joe said again, shaking his head. “We planned everything this time.”

“Ohhh, planned,” Maisie mocked, mimicking air quotes. “Because babies always follow plans, right?”

Joe pointed a finger at her. “Bet you fifty bucks it’s negative.”

Maisie’s eyes lit up. “You’re on.”

You stared between them. “Are you seriously betting on this right now?”

Maisie grinned. “Hey, you’re taking forever. We had to entertain ourselves somehow.”

You groaned, standing up. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll take the stupid test.”

Maisie gave Joe a smug look. “Fifty bucks, Joseph.”

Joe shot back a grin. “Easy money.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you.

You stared at your reflection for a long moment—hair mussed from the long day, eyes a little tired.

Could Maisie be right?

You opened the box with shaky hands, reading the instructions even though you knew exactly what to do.

Minutes. That’s all it would take.

A few minutes to change everything.

Back in the living room, Maisie and Joe were still at it.

“She has to be pregnant. I mean, come on—you heard her snap at us.”

“That’s just her normal voice when you’re around.”

“Ouch.”

Hayes sat between them on the rug, chewing on a soft toy, oblivious to the debate surrounding his potential new sibling.

Joe glanced at the closed bathroom door, then back at Maisie. “We were careful. No way, I know my wife.”

Maisie smirked. “Babies don’t care about ‘careful,’ Joe.”

Joe huffed, glancing again toward the bathroom. “Still. It’s negative.”

Maisie raised a brow. “You sound awfully confident.”

Joe looked down at Hayes, who babbled up at him. “Because I know what I’m doing.”

Maisie snorted. “Famous last words.”

Joe ran a hand down his face, glancing again toward the closed bathroom door like it might give him answers. “It’s gonna be negative. We were careful.”

Maisie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You keep saying that like the universe cares.”

“Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on this?”

“I’m just saying—statistically—babies don’t care about your plans.”

Joe huffed. “You just want to win the bet.”

Maisie shrugged, smirking. “And when I do win, I want cash. None of that Venmo nonsense.”

“Unbelievable.”

You groaned from inside the bathroom. “Do you two ever shut up?”

Silence.

Then the sound of footsteps.

Before you could react, Maisie and Joe were both in the doorway, hovering like two overgrown kids waiting for Christmas morning.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Well, the clock’s ticking. We might as well wait together.”

Maisie plopped onto the edge of the tub. “Yeah. Might as well.”

You stared at them, still clutching the test in your hand.

“Are you serious right now?”

Maisie looked up at you, unbothered. “Absolutely. We’re invested.”

Joe nodded, flashing that familiar, boyish grin that usually got him out of trouble. “Family moment.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. They were impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Still…

A small part of you softened.

Because even though they were both driving you insane, they were here.

Not running. Not leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts.

They stayed.

Hayes’s soft babbling from the hallway caught your attention.

You peeked out the door.

There he was—your little boy—crawling his way down the hall with determination written all over his chubby face.

“Hayes, baby…”

He paused, sitting back on his heels when he saw you, arms stretching up in that way he always did when he wanted you to hold him.

“Mama,” he mumbled, voice soft and sweet.

Your chest tightened.

You reached for him without thinking, scooping him up and settling him on your hip.

Hayes nestled his head against your shoulder instantly, thumb going straight into his mouth.

Joe watched quietly from the doorway. His eyes softened in that way they always did when he looked at the two of you—like the entire world faded out except for this moment right here.

Maisie, for once, didn’t say a word.

The bathroom suddenly felt warmer.

Not suffocating. Not overwhelming.

Just warm.

Hayes shifted against you, his tiny fingers curling into your shirt. You swayed slightly, rocking him out of habit.

You looked at Joe.

At Maisie.

At your little boy.

And the knot in your chest began to loosen.

Because no matter what that little stick said in a few minutes—whether it changed everything or changed nothing—you had this.

You had them.

And somehow, deep in your bones, you knew that would be enough.

Joe must’ve seen something shift in your expression because he stepped closer, slow and cautious, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His blue eyes, always so steady, held yours.

“No matter what it says,” he said, voice low and sure, “we’re good.”

Maisie hummed from her spot on the tub, teasing but gentle. “Wow. Look at quarterback over here, trying to have a heartfelt moment.”

Joe shot her a glare. “Don’t ruin this.”

Maisie raised her hands in surrender, but the smile on her face wasn’t sharp like usual. It was soft. Almost proud.

The timer on the bathroom counter buzzed.

The three of you froze.

Hayes stirred against your shoulder, but you barely noticed.

Joe looked at you again. “You ready?”

Were you?

You took a breath.

Felt Hayes’s weight against you, solid and warm.

Felt Joe’s gaze steadying you.

Heard Maisie’s soft “You’ve got this.”

And for the first time today, the swirling anxiety quieted.

Because this wasn’t just a moment that would change everything.

It was a moment you didn’t have to face alone.

You had your family.

And that would always be enough.

Slowly, with trembling fingers but a steady heart, you reached for the test.

And with both of them right there beside you—waiting, watching, ready—you looked.

Your fingers hovered over the test for a heartbeat longer, the faint buzzing in your ears louder than anything else. The world seemed to narrow, breath hitching in your throat as your eyes flicked down—

Two lines.

Clear. Bold.

Positive.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale. Maisie was the first to break the silence.

“Oh my God—” she shrieked, practically launching off the edge of the tub. “I knew it! I knew it!”

Before you could even process the moment, Maisie was grabbing your free arm, shaking you like you’d just won the lottery.

“Auntie Maisie strikes again! I told you! Oh my God, Hayes, you’re gonna be a big brother!”

Hayes, still perched against your hip, blinked up at her with wide eyes, then looked at you. His chubby hand patted your cheek, as if confused by the sudden burst of chaos.

Joe, however, had barely processed the news before his protective instincts kicked in.

“Maisie—stop shaking her!” His voice snapped louder than usual, laced with panic. “She’s pregnant!”

Maisie froze mid-shake, wide-eyed. “What?”

“You’re gonna hurt the baby!” Joe practically shoved her back with one arm, stepping between the two of you like a human shield. “You can’t just shake her like that!”

“Oh my God, Joe,” Maisie groaned, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t shaking the baby, I was shaking her.”

“She is the baby right now!” Joe shot back, hands flapping before landing protectively on your shoulders. “You’re done. Sit down.”

“What?” Maisie screeched, throwing her arms up. “You weren’t even sure five minutes ago!”

“That was five minutes ago. Now I know. Which means rules apply. No shaking. No stress. Don’t even breathe too hard around her.”

You stared at Joe.

His whole demeanor had shifted—gone was the teasing, laid-back tone. Now he looked at you like you were made of glass, as if the slightest bump or wrong move might shatter you.

“Joe.”

He blinked.

“Breathe.”

Maisie, still grumbling, sank back onto the tub, but her grin remained wide. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You shook her!”

“I barely touched her!”

“Guys—” you started.

But Hayes chose that exact moment to let out a delighted squeal.

All three of you turned.

He was clapping.

Little hands slapping together, eyes bright, giggles bubbling up like he knew something good was happening—even if he didn’t quite know what.

Joe melted instantly, face softening.

“Aw, buddy…” he murmured, stepping forward. Hayes reached for him without hesitation, still grinning like he was in on the secret.

Joe scooped him up with ease, holding him close.

“You’re gonna be a big brother, Hayes.”

Hayes babbled, pressing his cheek against Joe’s chest.

Your chest ached—full and warm.

Joe looked over at you, expression shifting again.

Soft. Sure.

“But you’re always gonna be our baby too,” he whispered to Hayes, pressing a kiss to his son’s head.

Maisie grinned from her spot. “Look at you. All sentimental.”

Joe glared at her again. “Don’t start.”

But the tension had eased.

You leaned against the bathroom counter, letting the weight of the moment sink in.

Pregnant.

Pregnant. Again.

And somehow, instead of fear tightening your chest like you expected, all you felt was warmth.

Because Joe was still looking at you like you hung the stars.

Because Hayes, your little boy, was clinging to his dad without a care in the world.

Because Maisie, loud and impossible as ever, was already rattling off how she’d be the best aunt again.

“I’m buying all the baby clothes,” Maisie was saying. “And if it’s a girl? Oh my God, the bows.”

“Calm down,” Joe muttered, but his smile was creeping in.

You stepped forward, resting a hand on Joe’s arm. He glanced down, blue eyes wide and searching.

“We’re really doing this again,” you whispered.

Joe stared at you for a long moment, like he was letting it all sink in too. Then, slowly, his mouth curved into the softest smile.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “We are.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. Hayes squirmed between you both, giggling like he knew this was a moment that belonged to all of you.

And as you stood there, wrapped in warmth and laughter and messy, chaotic love—

You knew you were ready.

Because no matter what came next, this was your family.

And it would always be enough.

If you looked too hard, you’d see Doll’s hands trembling, fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of her oversized sweater as she dragged her scuffed shoes against the pavement. The chilled night air bit at her exposed skin, but the real discomfort came from the house looming before her—the dingy yet massive fraternity house sitting at the edge of the block.

She had passed by it countless times on her way to class, always keeping her head down, always quickening her pace when the bass of some obnoxious party shook the windows and spilled into the street. She’d never once imagined stepping foot inside.

On weekends, the place was a spectacle. Crowds sprawled across the yard, a sea of drunk bodies leaning against cars, folding tables cluttered with red solo cups arranged in sloppy triangles for beer pong. Some of those cups were always abandoned in the grass, their contents seeping into the dirt and filling the air with the sour stench of cheap alcohol.

The music was always deafening, an overwhelming pulse of bass that made her ribcage vibrate as she hurried past. She always felt their eyes on her—the frat boys and their guests, assessing, smirking, whispering. She never looked back.

And now, here she was. Nine at night. Dark. Cold. Staring up at the same house, but this time, she was expected to go inside.

Doll tightened her grip on the straps of her backpack, knuckles white, her stomach twisting itself into knots. The little voice in her head—the one that always kept her safe—was screaming at her to turn around, to walk back to her apartment, to forget about this entirely. Her breath came out uneven as she sucked in the crisp air, trying to steady herself, but her inhale hitched painfully when the front door swung open.

A girl stepped out, mid-shout, her voice carrying toward someone still inside. Doll froze. Was this the wrong house? Her fingers scrambled for her phone in her back pocket, tapping frantically at the screen as she checked the address the mysterious “9” had given her. She was so focused on her phone, she didn’t even notice the girl turning back toward the doorway, calling something inside before disappearing again.

Then the door opened again, and this time, it wasn’t the girl.

It was him.

The tall blonde from earlier. The one with the lazy stance and sharp, unreadable expression. He stood in the doorway, staring at her like she was some kind of puzzle he hadn’t decided if he wanted to solve.

“Y’gonna come in or be a fuckin’ stalker?” His voice cut through the cold night air, casual yet sharp, pulling her attention away from her screen.

Relief washed over her for the briefest moment—she had the right house, at least. She shifted her weight awkwardly before nodding, feet hesitating before finally stepping forward.

“Sorry... I wasn’t sure if—” she started, her voice quiet, but he cut her off with a dismissive grunt.

He stepped forward, the motion uncalculated, and his broad chest bumped into her as he pulled the door shut behind him. The contact sent her stumbling back slightly, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He just pointed behind him with his thumb, his gaze flickering toward the inside of the house.

“Don’t—uh—if they say some dumb shit, just ignore ’em. They’re idiots,” he muttered.

Doll didn’t respond, not that he gave her time to. He was already turning back inside, leading her in without a second glance. She hesitated before stepping inside, her fingers briefly hovering over the doorknob before she pushed it shut behind her.

The inside was... exactly what she expected. The air was thick with a mix of beer, sweat, and something stale she couldn’t quite place. The floors were sticky, her shoes making an uncomfortable suction sound as she moved. The lighting was dim, flickering slightly, probably from too many people messing with the fixtures over the years.

She glanced down at her shoes, debating whether she should take them off out of respect, but before she could, the girl from earlier strolled back in, a White Claw in hand, her expression vaguely amused.

“Oh, no, babe. Keep those on till you get up to Joe’s room,” she warned, shaking her head before taking a sip. “These guys are fuckin’ animals—no clue what’s on these floors.”

Doll blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected friendliness.

The girl took another sip before smirking. “Honestly? Even when you get to Joe’s room, I’d still keep the shoes on. Man’s a pig.” She let out a short laugh before disappearing into another room, leaving Doll standing there, speechless.

She barely had time to process before she realized “9”—or, Joe, she was assuming—was already halfway up the staircase, not bothering to check if she was following. She hurried to catch up, but his long strides made it difficult, his frame disappearing up the steps two at a time.

As she reached the top, she caught the low murmurs of conversation drifting from the hall.

“Burrow got a new one?”

“Good. Dude needs some pussy.”

“Yeah, I give it a week...”

The voices trailed off as she reached the landing, her heart hammering against her ribs. She swallowed hard, her grip tightening on her backpack strap as she forced herself to move forward.

Joe’s room was somehow even more fratty than the rest of the house, or at least from what she had seen of it. The air inside carried a heavy mix of something musky, stale, and distinctly male. His bed sat unmade, covers tangled, only two pillows haphazardly thrown at the top. A futon against the wall held a draped hoodie, a few crumpled shirts, and an empty bottle of water. Cleats and a football sat beside an overflowing duffle bag in the corner, while crushed Gatorade bottles and half-empty water bottles cluttered nearly every surface.

“Shut the door,” he said, not looking back as he strode over to his desk. He grabbed a handful of items—Doll couldn’t quite make out what—before moving to his bed and sitting on the edge.

She hesitated for a second before softly clicking the door shut behind her. Unsure of what to do, she carefully stepped over a pile of laundry, her shoes scuffing against the floor as she neared the edge of the bed. Shrugging off her backpack, she slowly unzipped it, trying not to draw his attention.

A sharp cracking noise filled the silence as he twisted something in his palm. He chuckled. “Y’scared or somethin’?”

Doll swallowed dryly. Yes, she was nervous. “No,” she muttered anyway.

He had already turned his attention back to whatever he was doing, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her gaze wandered around the room, taking everything in, the mess, the air thick with an unidentifiable scent—until the click and hiss of a lighter cut through the quiet.

He turned, leaning against the headboard, his legs stretched out as he brought the glowing ember between his lips. His brows furrowed slightly as he inhaled, the tip burning brighter before he exhaled a thick, slow cloud of smoke.

“What’d y’bring that for?” he asked, nodding toward her bag.

Doll hesitated, her lungs burning as she waved a hand to clear the air. “I—I brought my notes,” she said, unzipping her binder. “For your project.”

Joe’s brows furrowed before realization dawned on him. “Ohhh,” he let out a lazy chuckle. “Forgot. That’s what I told y’, huh?”

Doll’s posture dipped, confusion and slight embarrassment washing over her.

“I don’t need help with a project,” he admitted, smirking.

Now what?

Doll found herself standing in a house she actively avoided, in a room that reeked of stale beer, cologne, and something smokier that curled into the air, lazy and intoxicating. She was in one of the frat guys' bedrooms—someone she barely knew, someone she shouldn’t have trusted so easily. She was supposed to be helping with a project, but there was no project.

Instead, there was him.

Sprawled across his unmade bed, arm tucked lazily behind his head, a joint balanced between his fingers, he studied her with a slow, knowing smirk. His eyes, sharp with amusement, flicked up and down her figure as if she were the real subject of observation tonight. Doll's stomach twisted—not quite in fear, not quite in excitement.

This wasn’t a sight she had expected to see tonight. Hell, she hadn’t expected to see this ever. But she wasn’t exactly mad about it, either.

She just didn’t know what to do.

“Y’smoke?” he asked, lifting his hand toward her, the thinly rolled joint smoldering between his fingers. His lips curled at the corners, already assuming her answer.

Hesitantly, Doll shook her head.

“Shocker,” he muttered, rolling his eyes before pulling another drag, exhaling the smoke slow, deliberate. The scent of weed mixed with the lingering traces of expensive cologne, clouding the space between them. Then, just as casually as if he were asking for the time, he tilted his head and said, “Y’a virgin?”

Doll’s breath caught. Her body went rigid, eyes snapping up to meet his as if he’d just uttered something completely absurd. Her pulse quickened, her face heating against her will.

He chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender, amused by her reaction. “Don’t kill me now, it was jus’ an observation.”

Her brows furrowed. “Observation or a question?” Her voice came out sharper than she intended, laced with something defensive.

For the briefest second, surprise flashed in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected her to bite back. But then it was gone, replaced with something more playful, something more dangerous. “Both,” he admitted, bringing the joint back to his lips. The embers glowed as he inhaled, the slow burn of smoke slipping between them.

Doll shifted on her feet, biting the inside of her cheek, debating how to respond. The room suddenly felt too warm, too heavy. “That’s private information,” she muttered.

Really, Doll? That’s the best you could come up with? Her inner voice screamed at her, especially when she caught the way his lips twitched in amusement.

“Definitely a virgin,” he sighed, teasingly.

Something about his certainty got under her skin, slithering beneath the surface like an itch she couldn’t scratch. The cockiness, the casual arrogance—it made her want to prove him wrong. He’d only met her less than twenty-four hours ago, at the library of all places, inserting himself into her space as if they’d been friends for years.

“I’m not a virgin,” she muttered. It was the truth, but her voice wavered, making it sound anything but convincing.

He exhaled another plume of smoke, his gaze dragging over her face like he was sizing her up, deciding if she was worth calling out on her shaky delivery. Then, smirking, he tilted his head. “Yeah? Not a virgin but too scared to sit in m’bed, huh?” He tapped his fingers against his chest, watching her. “Scared I’ll bite?” His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips between drags.

Doll swallowed, her hands twitching at her sides. She wasn’t scared of him. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

Slowly, hesitantly, she toed off her shoes, feeling the cold floor beneath her bare feet before climbing onto the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she crossed her legs, sitting beside him, stiff and uneasy.

The realization hit her immediately—God knows what is on these sheets. Or worse… when they’d last been washed. She forced herself not to think about it.

He watched her, amusement flickering across his features. “Well, would ya look at that,” he murmured, exhaling smoke through his nose, “Realized I only bite sometimes, yeah?”

The insinuation made her stomach tighten, warmth creeping up her neck. She cracked her fingers in her lap, nerves rolling through her like waves.

His smirk deepened.

Doll sat perched beside him, back rigid, hands tangled together in her lap. She could feel the heat of the room pressing in—thick and heavy, laced with the sharp scent of weed and something faintly musky, like faded cologne mixed with the remnants of last night's party. The air was hazy, curling in lazy tendrils around them, softening the glow of the dim bedside lamp.

Across from her, he was sprawled out like he owned the place—because he did, in a way. One arm draped behind his head, the other idly holding the burning joint between his fingers, the ember pulsing orange-red each time he took a slow drag. His chest rose and fell in an unbothered rhythm, his lips parting just enough to exhale a thin stream of smoke that ghosted up toward the ceiling. His gaze, however, was all for her.

Watching. Assessing. Amused.

She hated that look. The one that made it seem like he had her figured out before she'd even spoken a word. Like he could read every thought unraveling in her head before she had a chance to lock them down.

Her throat felt dry, though she wasn’t sure if it was the smoke clogging her lungs or the way his eyes dragged over her, pausing just briefly on the way her fingers twisted together in her lap.

"So nervous," he murmured, voice slow, teasing.

Doll stiffened, fingers tightening around each other. "I'm not."

A smirk flickered across his lips, lazy and knowing.

His free hand moved—slow, deliberate, like he was testing a theory. Two fingers reached out, skimming the bare skin of her thigh where the hem of her shorts had ridden up. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through her, heat licking up her spine before she could will it away.

She forced herself not to react, not to shrink back, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d gotten under her skin.

But he knew anyway. Of course, he did.

The corner of his mouth lifted, his smirk deepening. "Liar," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

The word curled around her, slipping beneath her skin, seeping into her bones. She knew she should move—should say something sharp, should push his hand away—but she didn’t. Instead, she sat there, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin, her mind screaming at her to look away, to break the tension crackling in the space between them.

But she didn’t. She met his gaze head-on, even as her stomach twisted itself into knots.

And the bastard just smiled.

Doll exhaled sharply, forcing herself to turn away, her gaze locking onto the far wall instead of his insufferable, smug expression. The paint was chipped in places, a patchy white that did nothing to distract her from the weight of his stare pressing into her. She shifted slightly, but the mattress barely dipped beneath her.

"I just don’t usually sit on strangers’ beds," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"Strangers?" His voice was low, teasing, laced with something almost amused. He took another slow drag, the ember at the tip of the joint flaring between his fingers. "Damn. That’s cold. Thought we bonded over Shakespeare earlier."

Doll rolled her eyes. If "bonding" meant sitting at the same library table while he asked why she wasn’t in a sorority and pestered her, then sure, they had bonded. But she wasn’t about to feed his ego by admitting as much.

"I was doing chemistry homework," she corrected with a quiet chuckle.

"Same shit," he waved a hand, dismissing the difference entirely.

Her eyes flicked toward him, watching as he inhaled again, his lips wrapping around the joint, his fingers steady and relaxed. It was effortless, the way he exhaled—slow and smooth—like he had all the time in the world. The smoke curled from his mouth, twisting into the air in hazy, lazy ribbons, dissipating just as quickly as it formed. There was something almost hypnotic about it, about him, and she hated that she noticed.

Then, without warning, he turned his head—exhaled right in her face.

The thick cloud hit her full force, sharp and overwhelming. Doll coughed, waving a hand in front of her face, her eyes watering as the acrid scent burned her nose.

"Are you serious?" she wheezed, glaring at him.

His grin widened. "Just tryna get y’ comfortable." He shrugged, tapping two fingers against his chest. "This is me, makin’ you comfortable."

Her cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and frustration, but all it did was make his smirk deepen, his eyes glinting with something dark, something entertained.

"It’s rude," she muttered under her breath, still fanning the air in front of her.

"Yeah?" His voice dipped lower, his tongue flicking lazily across his lips as he watched her. "Y’gonna do somethin’ about it?"

Doll clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palms. But no—she wouldn’t do something about it. Even if she wanted to. 

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak and change the subject, in attempt to ground herself in something familiar. "What’s your name?" she asked, the words escaping before she could stop them. It had been bugging her for hours, ever since she saved the number he had put in her phone as "9." He’d never told her his name, and it had been eating at her.

His eyes flickered with something almost amused, as if he’d been expecting the question, as if he knew all along that she would eventually ask. His lips curled up into a sly, knowing grin. "You tell me yours first," he said, dripping with something sharp, something teasing.

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure why the way he said it made her feel exposed, like she was being pulled into something she didn’t understand. But she couldn’t back out now, not with him watching her like that, his eyes dark and calculating.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she fought the instinct to look away. His words lingered between them—half a challenge, half a demand. The weight of his gaze coiled something tight in her stomach, an unfamiliar mix of tension and something else, something she couldn’t name. 

Maybe it was the dangerous edge in his voice, or the way his eyes refused to leave hers, steady and unrelenting. Whatever it was, it left her feeling exposed, caught in something she didn’t know how to escape.

The silence stretched, thick and expectant. She hesitated, fingers twitching in her lap before she swallowed, willing her voice to stay steady. “Y/N,” she said quietly, her chest fluttering with nerves she refused to show. It wasn’t like her to offer up something so personal, but backing down wasn’t an option. Not now. Not after everything.

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of approval she barely caught before the corner of his mouth curved. “Y/N,” he repeated, rolling the name over his tongue like he was testing it, like he was claiming it. 

And the way he said it—slow, deliberate—sent a slow twist through her insides. There was something possessive about it, something intimate, even though they were barely more than strangers.

“Alright, Y/N,” he murmured, settling back as he reached for the nightstand. The ember of his joint burned for a final moment before he smothered it into the ashtray. Then, with that same easy confidence, he gave her his name. “I’m Joe.”

Simple. Straightforward. And yet, the way he said it—with a lazy drawl that felt more like a warning than an introduction—sent a shiver down her spine.

Doll nodded, tucking the name away. She had heard his friends downstairs say it earlier. Joe.

The air between them had shifted, the tension thickening into something deeper, something more dangerous. She couldn’t quite pin him down. One moment, he was teasing. The next, he had her questioning herself with nothing more than a glance, a touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved through the space between them. 

It was dizzying. Unsettling. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

The silence between them wasn’t empty—it crackled, thick with something unspoken. Doll felt it pressing against her skin, winding around her ribs, making it hard to breathe. Joe didn’t move, just watched her with that same unreadable expression, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips before flicking back to her eyes. It was quick—barely a second—but she caught it.  

She swallowed.  

“You always stare that hard?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended, more affected.  

Joe’s mouth twitched, something amused flashing across his face. “Only when there’s something worth looking at.”  

The words shouldn’t have sent heat curling low in her stomach, but they did. She shifted under his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of the space between them—or the lack of it. He hadn’t moved closer, but it felt like he had. The air itself seemed charged, like if she leaned forward just a little, she’d fall right into him.  

Doll exhaled slowly, keeping her expression neutral. “That line work on everyone?”  

Joe shrugged, shaking his head as he reached for his lighter, flicking it open just to snap it shut again. A habit. A distraction. “Most of the time,” he admitted, tilting his head as he studied her. “Is it workin’ on you yet?”  

Her fingers curled into her lap, her pulse kicking up. He was good. Too good.  

And the worst part? She wanted to play along.  

She licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement, darkening slightly. “You think I’m gonna fall for that?”  

Joe smirked, slow and knowing, his gaze dragging lazily down her body, watching the way she squirmed, how she shifted in place without realizing. He saw it—the way he was affecting her before she did.  

With that same cocky smirk she’d met earlier, he leaned back just enough to taunt her with the space between them. “I think you already are.”  

Her breath caught.

The bass from the music downstairs thumped through the walls, a dull, distant vibration that barely registered over the pounding of Doll’s pulse. The air in Joe’s bedroom felt thick, weighted with something unspoken, something dark and teasing and undeniably tempting. She hated how easily he crawled under her skin, how effortlessly his words curled around her, squeezing, suffocating—like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

And he wasn’t wrong. Joe knew it, too.

Just when she thought she could gather her thoughts, pull herself together, he spoke again, voice low and syrupy smooth.

“I can help you, y’know.”

That cocky smirk was still on his face, lazy and sure, like he had all the time in the world. Like he already knew her answer.

Doll’s brows furrowed, a pout forming on her lips. “With... with wh—”

“With that ache,” he cut her off, his voice dipping lower, hitting somewhere deep in her stomach.

Doll couldn’t breathe.

How the hell did she end up here? In his bedroom, on his bed, her body burning under his stare? This wasn’t like her. She didn’t let guys like him—cocky, reckless, dangerous—get under her skin. But the way he looked at her, the way he sat there, lounging back like he owned the whole damn world, made her dizzy.

And then he moved.

Slow, deliberate, like he was giving her time to stop him. His fingers skimmed up the smooth skin of her thigh, tracing the outside, light enough to make her shiver. He didn’t hesitate, but he wasn’t rushing either—he was watching, waiting, reading her, and if she had any sense, she would have stopped him.

But she didn’t.

Joe’s hand reached her upper thigh, his fingers flexing, grabbing her flesh in a rough squeeze. Doll’s breath hitched, heat flashing through her as he kneaded the soft skin before easing his grip, soothing the spot with a slow, deliberate rub. A quiet hum rumbled from his chest, satisfied, like he liked the way she felt beneath his palm.

“I don’t need help on a project, but…” He let the words hang, his other hand sliding down his stomach, slow, teasing, his fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweats.

Doll’s eyes followed before she even realized what she was doing. And then she saw it—the thick, obvious bulge straining against the fabric.

Her stomach flipped.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, and Joe snickered.

“You call the shots, pretty,” he murmured, his voice a slow, taunting drawl.

Doll felt like she was trapped in a trance, her thoughts sluggish and hazy as the heat between her thighs pulsed harder, needier. She hadn’t even noticed the ache—not really—until he pointed it out. Now, it was all-consuming.

Her mouth parted slightly as she watched him palm himself over the soft cotton of his sweatpants, his movements lazy, unrushed. Heat rose to her cheeks, embarrassment and arousal twisting together until she couldn’t tell one from the other.

Joe smirked, watching her squirm. He gave her thigh another squeeze, harder this time. “That turns you on, don’t it?” His voice was thick with amusement, his grip tightening for emphasis.

Doll’s breath stuttered, and she dragged her gaze back up to his face.

“Watchin’ me…” Joe added, his lips quirking, knowing, taunting.

She bit down on her lip, worrying the soft skin between her teeth as she nodded, slow and hesitant, but there.

Joe’s smirk deepened, sharp and victorious.

His hand left her thigh, moving behind his head in a lazy stretch, while his other hand dipped below the waistband of his sweats.

And Doll couldn’t look away. It felt reckless, the way she just sat there, watching, heat pooling low in her stomach with every flex of his fingers.

“You wanna help, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, coaxing.

Doll swallowed, the weight of his words settling deep in her stomach.

He exhaled, a quiet hum, like he could see her battling with herself. “S’cute,” he muttered. “You sittin’ there, actin’ all shy when you know what you want.”

Her stomach tightened. She should’ve been embarrassed—should’ve looked away, pretended like she wasn’t completely under his spell—but she didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension tighten like a wire pulled too thin.

“Go on, then,” something about the way he said it—like a challenge, like a dare—sent a rush of heat through her.

He coaxed, "I see the way you're lookin' at me. Show me what y’ know.

Doll's pulse thundered in her ears, and she knew she was past the point of pretending. She exhaled, slow and shaky, and let her hand move—tentative at first, fingers hovering just above his stomach, feeling the heat of his skin through his hoodie.

Joe's breath hitched, but he stayed perfectly still, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Atta girl," he murmured, low and approving.

That did it.

Doll let herself touch him, her fingers skimming lower, brushing against the band of his sweats. She hesitated, nerves thrumming beneath her skin, but Joe made it easy—he hooked his thumb beneath the waistband and pushed it down just enough to free himself, his cock heavy in his hand.

Doll hesitated for only a moment before wrapping her fingers around him, her touch featherlight at first, testing. The heat of him, the way he twitched in her palm, sent a rush of something dizzying through her veins.

Joe’s breath hitched, his hand instinctively covering hers. He didn’t guide her—just felt her, let her set the pace. But he didn’t need to.

Because after a few slow strokes, his fingers relaxed, realization flickering behind his half-lidded gaze. She didn’t need help. Didn’t need direction. That sweet, innocent look in her eyes—the quiet voice, the hesitant posture—it had fooled him. She knew exactly what she was doing.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as she tightened her grip, dragging her fist down slowly, experimentally. His hips twitched, his head pressing back into the pillow, eyes hooded but locked onto hers.

Doll swallowed, her pulse hammering. The quiet rasp of his breath, the way his stomach tensed under her touch—She was intoxicating.

Joe let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back against the pillow as his fingers dug into her thigh, searching for something—anything—to anchor himself. His breath hitched, muscles tensing beneath her touch. "Oh fuck, y/n..." His voice was rough, unsteady.

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he said her name, all wrecked and breathless, or the way his hips shifted into her touch, but something in her snapped.

She squeezed, just a little, testing, and Joe hissed through his teeth, his eyes snapping back to hers.

With every groan, every ragged breath that slipped past his lips, Doll felt her confidence grow, inch by inch. Emboldened, she gathered spit on her tongue before letting it drip onto him, watching as it mixed with the slickness already coating his length. Her fist moved with ease now, strokes smooth and deliberate, the wet sounds filling the space between them.

When she glanced up, Joe was already watching her, his heavy-lidded gaze locked onto her face, jaw slack in something close to awe. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and then—low and rough—he muttered, “You’re gonna be fuckin’ dangerous.”

She didn’t have time to process what he meant before his fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her forward with effortless strength. A startled gasp left her lips as she found herself straddling his torso, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his ribs. Somehow, this felt more intimate than anything she’d done before.

Joe’s hands gripped the plush of her thighs, squeezing once before delivering a sharp smack against her skin. “Slide ‘em off.”

Doll’s mind went blank. “My pants?” she stuttered, unable to wrap her head around the sudden shift.

Joe shot her an annoyed glance, his patience clearly thinning. “Y’don’t have to, we can stop right here. But if y’ wanna keep going... hurry the fuck up.” 

She knew he meant it. If she hesitated, he’d let go. He wouldn’t push. But the thought of stopping now made something hot curl in her stomach. He told her that she calls the shots.

Still, her confidence wavered. The boldness that had surged through her moments ago was now tangled with nerves. She just stared down at him, her thumbs hooked in the waistband of her pants, heart hammering against her ribs.

"I thought you wanted me to..." she trails off, her voice faltering. 

He cuts in, shaking his head, his tone dark and firm. "What I need is to fuckin' taste you."

The whole time, Doll couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts in her head, struggling to grasp how insane this situation was. She never expected her night to take such a turn. 

It wasn’t that she was complaining, but she was undeniably nervous. Since moving to college, she hadn’t been with anyone—not touched, not kissed, not even hugged. And here she was, in a frat house, with a guy she barely knew, just learned his name an hour ago.

As she slipped her pants off, kicking them to the floor, Joe helped, tossing them aside carelessly. She knew it would take a while for her to find them later, buried somewhere among his laundry piles, but that was the least of her worries.

Joe’s smirk deepened, his fingers trailing over the delicate pink fabric of her thong as she settled back down. “Come sit,” he commanded, pulling at her thighs.

“Sit? On… on your face?” Doll stammered, a hesitant question slipping past her lips.

Joe’s expression darkened, annoyance flashing in his eyes. He reached up, fingers digging into her jaw, squeezing her cheeks together just enough to force her attention. With his free hand, he brushed the hair from her face, his voice low and mocking. “You already blew your cover, Y/N. You’re not innocent, and you know exactly what you want. Don’t act dumb unless its me fucking you dumb, yeah?”

Doll’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping her as she nodded. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Her eyes flickered to his lips—so close, so inviting, so detailed.

Joe caught her gaze, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. He licked his lips slowly, shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, his voice laced with authority.

Doll snapped her eyes back to his, her pulse racing. Joe released her jaw, tapping her cheek gently with his fingers. “Y’ gonna let me taste you?” he asked, his voice dark and demanding.

Doll moved without hesitation this time, her urgency obvious in every swift motion. She was almost too quick, too desperate, her body acting before her mind could catch up. Was it his threat that had her moving like this? Maybe. She slid up his body, hovering just above his face, her legs trembling as she positioned herself.

Joe’s hands roamed over her thighs, teasing the sensitive skin with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing her ass until she couldn’t help but thrust her hips forward, coming dangerously close to collapsing onto him. His thumb eventually found the fabric of her panties, dragging along the edge of her clothed core, sending an ache spiraling through her. 

The pressure grew, and Doll could hardly stand the wetness collecting in her panties. A soft whimper escaped her, brows furrowed as she gazed down at him, a pout pulling at her lips.

Joe watched her with a sharp, calculating gaze, his eyes following the way her chest rose and fell, each breath deeper than the last. His thumb circled her slowly, teasing, giving her nothing but just enough to make her ache with need.

“You’re bein' mean,” she murmured, the words barely a whisper, thick with frustration.

Joe’s lips twisted into a smirk, mocking her pout. “Awh, yeah? Am I bein' mean?” he chuckled, clearly enjoying the power he held over her. He didn’t care—he was in control, and he was going to make her wait just a little longer. 

He didn’t feel guilty, but his patience with himself was wearing thin. The air around them was thick, heavy with warmth and the lingering scent of her arousal. Dim light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, softening the sharp edges of their bodies. The sheets beneath his knees were bunched and wrinkled, evidence of her restless anticipation.

His fingers curled around the damp fabric at the center of her panties, the heat radiating from her making his pulse stutter. He looked up, searching her face for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was hunger—her lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, teeth sinking hard into her bottom lip as she gave a slow, breathless nod. That was all he needed.

With a deliberate pull, he inched the fabric away, the damp material peeling from her slick, needy core. Her puffy folds—glistening, swollen, dripping, and aching with need.

“Jesus,” he exhaled, his tongue swiping over his lips as if tasting her in his mind before he even got close. The need to bury himself in her was nearly unbearable, but he forced himself to take his time, to savor. His hands smoothed up the soft skin of her thighs, fingers flexing as he dipped his head.

The first slow stroke of his tongue against her heat had her thighs twitching against his shoulders, her breath hitching sharply. He groaned deep in his chest, letting the taste of her settle on his tongue, warm and intoxicating. His hands gripped her thighs tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fought the urge to pin her down and devour her.

He wasn’t the type to prefer giving over receiving, but when his eyes fluttered open again, he found her watching him.  

His eyes flickered open, and the sight above him nearly wrecked him. Doll was staring down at him, her jaw slack, brows furrowed in pleasure. Her fingers found his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as if she was barely holding herself back from grinding against his mouth. The tension in her body was electric, her thighs trembling as she tried to stay still, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

The taste of her, the heat of her, the way her body responded to every flick of his tongue—fuck. He was in heaven.

His grip on her thighs tightened as he buried himself deeper, his tongue moving with a slow, deliberate hunger. Every flick, every lap, was purposeful, coaxing breathy moans from her parted lips. The air was thick, the quiet hum of the night swallowed by the wet, sinful sounds between them—his mouth working against her, her stifled whimpers, the rustling of sheets as her body fought against restraint.

She was trembling now, her thighs twitching, threatening to close around his head, but he held her firm. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated from his chest, the sound sending shivers up her spine. He wanted her to fall apart for him. To lose herself completely.

His hands, rough and warm, smoothed up her thighs before sliding beneath them, hooking around to grip the soft flesh of her ass and pull her closer. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair, and that alone sent a bolt of heat straight through him. She wanted to move—to grind against his tongue, to take what she needed—but she hesitated, her body tight with restraint.

He lifted his gaze, watching her beneath heavy lids, his tongue still slow and deliberate as he worked her open. “Don’t hold back,” he murmured against her, his lips brushing over her swollen clit, teasing. The vibration of his voice sent a jolt through her, her breath hitching.

Doll let out a shuddering whimper, her fingers curling tighter in his hair as she finally gave in. Her hips rolled, cautiously at first, testing. He groaned at the feel of her grinding against him, his tongue flattening against her in encouragement. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice thick with approval.

His jaw ached, his tongue burning with the effort of devouring her, but he didn’t care. He wanted more—to pull every sound, every tremor, every breathless plea from her lips. His fingers slid lower, teasing at her entrance, slick with her arousal.

When she gasped his name, breathy and wrecked, he nearly lost himself. His hips rutted subtly in the air, desperate for friction, but his focus never wavered.

He could feel her getting closer—the way her thighs tensed, the way her grip in his hair turned desperate, the way her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. He groaned against her, his pace quickening, determined to push her over the edge.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice rough, coaxing, “You taste so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

Doll was close—so close that it shocked her how easily he could tell, barely knowing her. He must have had a lot of practice. But she couldn’t focus on that now, not when the pleasure was winding so tightly inside her, threatening to snap too soon. She wasn’t ready for this to be over.

Before she could think twice, she lifted herself off of Joe, pulling away just enough to make him growl in frustration. His grip on her thighs tightened, and before he could complain or yank her back down, she flipped over, settling herself back over his face.

Joe barely had time to process the shift before she sank down again, stealing his breath. “What? Y’didn’t want me seeing you fall apart—oh, fuck,” he choked out, his words cutting off into a strangled groan the moment realization hit.

She bit her lip, fighting a whimper as she reached down, wrapping her delicate fingers around his throbbing cock. His whole body jolted at the touch, a muffled groan vibrating against her core.

She smirked, but it quickly melted into a sharp inhale as his mouth latched onto her again, hungrier, more determined. His hands splayed over her ass, gripping her harder now, guiding her as she rocked onto his tongue.

Joe was completely lost in her now, his hips twitching, bucking up into her grasp as his tongue worked her with relentless precision. She was falling apart above him, and he was drowning beneath her, drunk off the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she was finally taking what she wanted.

He bucked into her fist, a strangled noise catching in his throat. “Fuck,” he rasped against her, voice muffled, wrecked. His hips rutted up into her grip again, chasing the friction, but he refused to let up—his tongue still circling, still flicking, still working her.

She purred, squeezing him just a little tighter, her thumb swiping over the slick tip.

His response was another deep groan, muffled by the heat of her, his fingers flexing before one hand slipped from her thigh to wrap around her hip, forcing her to move against his tongue harder, rougher. He was getting impatient.

She barely had time to register it before he changed everything—before his mouth latched onto her clit with a fierce, sucking pull that sent her reeling, her thighs clamping around his head as a sharp cry tore from her lips.

Her hand faltered, grip on his length loosening as pleasure ripped through her. But Joe wasn’t letting up. His free hand slid up her spine, pressing against the small of her back, forcing her to stay put as he devoured her. Every stroke of his tongue, every hot breath against her core, had her teetering on the edge again, helpless under his relentless pace.

“Cum… oh, shhh—, I’m close… so close,” Doll moaned, her voice breathy and desperate as her hips rocked in perfect rhythm, chasing the inevitable. The combination of his tongue and lips working her clit, paired with his long fingers curling inside her, had pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly.

It was filthy and hot and desperate, both of them teetering on the edge, pushing each other closer and closer—

She didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, her hand keeping the same relentless pace on him—twisting, stroking, her thumb gliding over the prominent vein that pulsed beneath her fingers. Joe was close too—so fucking close—but just like her, he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. He wanted more.

With a ragged breath, he pulled away, licking his lips, savoring the taste of her, “Up,” he commanded, voice rough, impatient.

Doll whimpered, clenching around nothing, her body aching for him to come back. But before she could protest, he cut her off. He brought a firm hand down on her ass with a sharp smack, “I said up,” he growled, gripping her hips and pushing her to the side, forcing her off of him.

Doll landed on her back beside him, dazed, confused. 

But then she got her answer.

She barely had time to process before he was moving, hovering over her, his body burning against hers.

They were both panting, their eyes locked.

Joe ran his hand down her side, his fingers trailing teasingly between her thighs. “Tell me you want it,” he rasped, his tip nudging at her entrance, just enough to drive her insane.

Doll swore she answered—at least, she thought she did. The word screamed through her mind, over and over again. Yes. Yes. Yes. But nothing actually left her lips.

Joe's gaze stayed locked onto hers, sharp and unrelenting. There was no teasing in his expression, no smug amusement—only raw, unfiltered need.

Doll nodded quickly, but he tsked, shaking his head.

“Not enough. Gotta hear y’ say it.”

Her breath caught as he shifted, the thick head of his cock brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh—too close, but not close enough. Heat coiled in her stomach, a needy whimper slipping from her lips as he dragged himself through her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal but refusing to push inside.

“Please,” she finally gasped, her voice breathless, desperate. Her fingers clawed at the sheets beneath them, struggling against the delicious torment of his teasing. “Use me.”

Joe groaned, low and guttural, his jaw tightening as if he were physically restraining himself. His knuckles went white as he fisted himself, gliding his length through her wetness with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Yeah?” he murmured, the tip of his cock grazing her clit, sending a sharp jolt through her body. A wicked smirk played on his lips as he watched her squirm.

With one hand, he lifted her hips just enough to hook his fingers into the fabric that dared to keep them apart. In one swift motion, he tore the panties down her legs, tossing them carelessly into the growing mess of discarded clothes.

“Use you?” he echoed, voice dripping with amusement and desire, his smirk deepening as he dragged his length through her slick, teasing her just because he could.

His voice was dark, dripping with hunger, with promise. The room felt suffocating, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air, heat radiating off their bodies. Moonlight from the window cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the feral gleam in his eyes as he watched her fall apart beneath him.

Joe let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening around the base of his cock as he lined himself up, the swollen tip pressing insistently against her entrance. The heat of her, the slick warmth teasing at his head, made his stomach coil tight with anticipation.

As he began to push in, inch by inch, a low, guttural groan escaped him. His jaw went slack, his eyes locked on the way she stretched around him, taking him in.

“Biiig stretch f’me,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal. His fingers flexed against her thighs, holding her steady as he eased in deeper, mesmerized by the sight of himself disappearing inside her. “Thas’ it… fuck.”

His head tipped back for a moment, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, trying to keep himself from slamming all the way in. The way she clenched around him, the way her body welcomed him despite the slow burn—it was almost too much.

Joe groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs as he forced himself to take it slow. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to bury himself to the hilt, to chase the tight heat that wrapped around him like a vice. But he wanted to feel it—every inch, every pulse, every desperate little flutter of her walls trying to pull him deeper.

“Fuck—s’good,” he rasped, his voice barely above a breath, thick with restraint. He tilted his head down, watching where they were joined, his cock glistening with her arousal as he sank in further. His stomach tensed, every muscle in his body strung tight like a live wire.

Doll whimpered beneath him, her nails scraping at his forearms as she gasped for air, overwhelmed by the deepening burn of him stretching her open. He was big—thick and unrelenting—but the way he filled her, the way he made her feel like she was made to take him, had her mind slipping into a haze of pure need.

“Joe,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “More… please.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, dark and hooded, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. He didn’t need to be told twice.

A smirk ghosted across his lips as he rolled his hips forward, pushing in another inch. “Greedy, huh?” he muttered, gripping her thigh and hiking it higher against his waist, angling her just right. “Barely takin’ me, and you’re already beggin’ for more.”

But he was greedy—he wanted more.

Doll moaned, her head pressing back into the mattress, her body shuddering as he finally bottomed out, filling her completely. The stretch was maddening, a deep, all-consuming fullness that had her trembling beneath him.

Joe let out a shaky exhale, dropping his head as he willed himself to stay still, to let her adjust—but she was already shifting, already rolling her hips in desperate little movements.

His control snapped.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, pulling back just enough before snapping his hips forward, his pace slow but deliberate, making sure she felt every inch of him.

The bed creaked beneath them, the air thick with heat and the heady scent of sweat and sex. His lips brushed against her temple, his breath hot against her skin.

“Feel that?” he murmured, voice gravelly.

Doll whimpered, her nails raking down his back as she clung to him, her body already on the edge of falling apart.

And Joe—Joe was right there with her, completely lost in the way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she was taking him like she was made for it.

Gripping her thighs, he spread her a little wider, angling himself just right before snapping his hips forward, harder this time. The sharp cry she let out made his cock twitch, made his control fray even more.

Joe smirked, his eyes burning into hers as he pulled back, then slammed into her again, setting a punishing rhythm.

"Shhit," he muttered, watching the way her body responded, drinking in every gasp, every moan, every tremble. "Suckin’ me in, so fuckin’ good."

Doll’s nails dug into Joe's forearms, her grip desperate as she tried to ground herself, desperate to hold onto something as his hips slammed into hers with relentless force. Each thrust took her breath away, her body stretching to accommodate him, every inch of her reacting to him in ways that left her spinning. 

She wanted to feel him everywhere, wanted to lose herself in the pleasure, but there was no time for her to catch her breath—Joe wasn’t letting up.

Without warning, he yanked her shirt upwards, exposing her breasts. His eyes darkened as he pulled the strap of her bra down just enough to free her nipple, leaning down to take it into his mouth. His lips were hot and insistent, his tongue flicking and teasing, then sucking, then nipping with a ferocity that sent jolts of pleasure through her. 

She gasped, her body arching involuntarily against him, but even with her best efforts to keep quiet, the high-pitched moans tumbled from her mouth. She couldn’t stop them, couldn’t hold back. She forgot where they were, forgot the people downstairs. All that mattered was the way Joe’s mouth was on her, the way his hips were grinding into hers, deep and relentless, making her lose all sense of control.

Her body clenched around him as the pleasure built higher, more intense. Joe groaned, the sound vibrating in her chest as he pulled away from her nipple, his eyes locking onto hers, searching, calculating. 

His thrusts didn’t slow; they only deepened, pushing her to the edge faster. She tugged at his hair, fingers tightening around the strands, urging him back to her, urging him closer. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her breath ragged as she felt him drive into her over and over, each stroke pulling more desperate sounds from her.

He came up and gripped her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She couldn't hide the way her body fluttered around him, squeezing him tightly in response. The air between them crackled with tension, and he laughed low, dark, nodding knowingly. "Close. Huh?" His voice was rough, his breath hot against her skin.

All she could do was nod, her body trembling under his control, a whine escaping her lips as her climax neared. Every thrust was like a jolt to her core, every inch of him driving her insane. There was no stopping it now.

The tension between them had built to an unbearable pitch, their bodies slick with sweat, movements frantic and desperate. Doll’s nails were digging into Joe’s skin, her grip on him as tight as her clenching muscles, urging him to push deeper, faster, harder. His thrusts were relentless.

“God, so tight…” Joe muttered, his voice strained, guttural as he leaned down to kiss her neck. His hands were everywhere—cupping her tits, digging into her waist, each movement pushing them both closer to the edge.

Her breath was coming in gasps, her back arching, pressing her chest up to meet his as his hips drove into her. It felt like he was everywhere at once, filling her up completely, stretching her, claiming her. Her mind was foggy, all thought stripped away by the sensation of his body pounding into hers, her swollen pussy clenching and fluttering around him.

With one particularly deep thrust, Doll cried out, her entire body tensing as her orgasm hit her. The force of it left her shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as her body contracted around him, unable to stop the rush of pleasure coursing through her.

Joe groaned, his movements becoming sloppy as he felt her clench and flutter around him. The sound of his skin slapping against hers echoed in the room, but he didn’t slow down. 

He was too close, too far gone, his body driven by the need to finish. The grip on her waist tightened, pinning her hips to the mattress as he slammed into her one last time, his own orgasm ripping through him.

He spilled inside her with a low, guttural groan, the warmth of his release flooding her. But he wasn’t done yet—he pulled out quickly, his hand coming down to fist his cock, finishing on her stomach. The messy, thick spill of his release pooled against her skin, a sticky reminder of how completely he’d taken her, the heat still lingering between them as he panted above her.

Doll’s chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, the weight of the moment settling heavily between them. The air was thick with the aftermath, the mess still warm and sticky on her skin, and neither of them spoke at first, both lost in the haze of their shared release.

Joe's eyes flickered down at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gave her a quick nod. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, rough from the intensity.

Doll swallowed hard, her body still humming from the pleasure, her mind spinning. She wasn’t sure what to say, how to process it all. "Yeah," she finally managed, her voice shaky but honest. "I’m good."

Joe nodded again, a slow gulp as he seemed to compose himself, the tension shifting between them. He stood up, reaching for a towel that had been discarded somewhere earlier, tossing it beside her. Doll blinked, grabbing it as she carefully cleaned the mess on and inside her. The room felt different now—more distant, the heat that had been there moments ago replaced with something cold.

Joe stepped into the connected bathroom for a minute, leaving her alone to gather herself. By the time he returned, his body now dressed in only boxers, his chest bare. Doll had scrambled to find her clothes, hastily slipping them on just in time. When he reappeared, he looked at her with a trace of amusement in his eyes.

"I—" Doll opened her mouth to speak, but she knew how it looked. She couldn’t hide the unease that settled in her chest.

Joe's brows furrowed as he glanced over at her, his voice dripping with that usual cockiness. "What, you just gonna hit it and quit it?"

The question hung in the air, cutting through the lingering tension.

"Joe..." Doll didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t expected tonight to unfold the way it had. It was a shock, a rush of emotions and desires she didn’t know she needed, but now that the dust had settled, the uncomfortable reality was sinking in. Not that she regretted it—far from it. She’d needed this, maybe more than she cared to admit. But now came the part that always felt the strangest. The part where words and feelings collided in awkward silence.

"That's fucked, y'know..." Joe said, his lips pressing into a straight line, his usually cocky demeanor slipping into something a little more serious. His eyes were calculating, but there was still a glint of amusement behind the tension in his gaze. 

Doll felt a knot tighten in her stomach, the words she'd rehearsed in her head about how this was just sex, nothing more, sitting at the tip of her tongue. But they wouldn’t come.

Then, to her surprise, Joe let out a low laugh, his face softening for a moment as he shuffled over to grab the baggie of weed and papers sitting on the nightstand. "I'm just fuckin' with you," he said, his tone easier now, catching her completely off guard.

Doll opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but she shut it quickly, not sure if she should respond at all.

"This ain’t nothin’ serious, don’t stress it," he reassured, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he packed the paper with weed. The familiar motion made the tension in the air start to lift, though a small part of Doll still felt uneasy. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, nodding slightly.

"Just didn’t take you as that kind of girl," Joe said, his voice light but still laced with curiosity, his gaze flicking up to her as he placed the joint between his lips.

Doll blinked, caught off guard. He had just smoked, and now he was lighting up again? She was confused but still couldn’t stop herself from asking, "That kind of girl?"

Joe’s eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle grin creeping onto his face. "I mean, come on," he chuckled, shaking his head as he lit the joint, shielding the end with his hand as the tip flared up. He took a long hit, holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. His voice was thick with smoke when he continued, "If I took a second longer in the bathroom, I probably would’ve seen a dust cloud behind you with how fast you were tryin' to leave."

Doll couldn’t help it—she laughed, the sound of it easing some of the weight that had been hanging between them. Joe chuckled with her, the playful tension returning, but there was still something undeniably intense about the way his gaze lingered on her as he took another drag.

She watched him with a slight frown as he took a few more hits, the way his eyelids drooped as the effects of the weed started to hit him. His relaxed, slow movements contrasted sharply with how things had been a few moments ago, when he was above her, every breath heavy, every movement rough. The air between them felt thick and charged again, but in a quieter way now.

"Y' get around then?" he asked, breaking the silence with that same cocky edge, leaning back against the wall casually.

Doll rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, her tone light but defensive. "I'm not a slut," she muttered.

Joe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he blew out another puff of smoke. "I don’t know... you were moanin' like one—"

Doll’s jaw dropped, her eyes going wide, but she couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. His teasing had taken her by surprise, but now she couldn’t hide her amusement.

"No, I don’t 'get around,'" she said, mocking his tone, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Joe chuckled, unfazed by her response, his eyes glinting with mischief. "M'not judging," he said, shrugging, his voice playful but still with that knowing edge.

Doll raised an eyebrow, not backing down from his challenge. "You?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost curious.

Joe shrugged again, exhaling slowly. He took another hit, the smoke swirling around him. "I have fun," he said with a casual ease, his voice steady, a little gravelly from the smoke.

Doll nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her lap as she absentmindedly started picking at her nails. The room felt quieter now, more introspective, but there was still something almost charged in the space between them. 

"Seriously though," Joe said, his voice low and smooth, the smirk still lingering on his lips. "Y' not gonna, like, get all sappy and attached now, are ya?"

Doll shook her head quickly, her voice a little softer than she’d intended. "M'not looking for anything... serious."

For a moment, Joe’s expression softened, the amusement in his eyes replaced by something like he had an idea. Then, with a slight smile, he shook his head. "And here I thought you were so innocent," he teased, his eyes narrowing playfully. It was like he saw right through her, like he had from the beginning.

"I wanna know what else you’re hiding," he added, his voice teasing yet tinged with curiosity.

Doll scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest again, but there was no real defense in her posture now. "Not a virgin—though even if you were, you aren’t now—and clearly sexually frustrated..." Joe started, his voice low, his eyes watching her closely.

"Always gotta worry about the quiet and ‘innocent’ ones, huh?" he said, his tone light, but there was something almost teasing about it, as if he was still trying to figure her out.

Doll stood up with a soft chuckle, brushing her hair out of her face. "Is that what they say?" she said, her voice playful but with a hint of something deeper, something that made her feel exposed in a way she wasn’t used to anymore.

She began walking toward the bedroom door, but then the anxiety hit her like a wave, sharp and sudden. She hesitated, her hand frozen on the doorknob. The unease gnawed at her, and without thinking, she turned slowly on her heels and faced him again.

"Can you walk me out?" she asked, a little more vulnerable. "Your friends scare me,” her voice soft and innocent, proving his point.

Joe rolled his eyes but put his joint down in the ashtray anyway. His movements languid and relaxed despite the tension simmering just below the surface. He pushed himself off the bed, stepping past her, his chest brushing lightly against hers as he moved. The contact was casual, but it sent a jolt through her, leaving her feeling suddenly aware of every inch of him.

 As they moved through the dimly lit room, she could feel the weight of his friends' eyes burning into their backs, their silent scrutiny palpable.

“Well, well, well—” One of them started, but Joe didn’t let him finish.

“Shut the fuck up,” Joe snapped, his voice sharp and low, his tone biting. He didn’t even glance in their direction, cutting off whatever comment was about to follow. Doll could feel her anxiety rise as she met the gaze of the friend who had spoken, giving him a tight-lipped, strained smile. Her stomach twisted with the knowledge that they definitely weren’t quiet. They had all heard everything.

Joe’s hand rested on the door as he swung it open, stepping out into the cold night air. The moment the door closed behind them, the weight of their private space, now invaded, seemed to lift. Doll felt the cool breeze hit her skin, the contrast between the warmth inside and the chilly night air making everything feel more real.

“Send me your addy. I’ll pick you up after class tomorrow,” Joe said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice thick with confidence as he spoke. His words hung in the air, cocky as ever, though there was a slight edge to his tone.

Doll stopped walking, turning to face him, a flicker of confusion and challenge in her eyes. “For what?” she asked, her voice quiet, but pointed.

Joe smirked, the corners of his mouth curling as if the answer was obvious. “You know,” he shrugs.