*ahem* just being blunt - this is the joemarrjj dp fic 😭😭.

Um. this i think was going to be like a 3/4kish unserious smutty thing. lsu era…starts w jjmarr and maybeee possibly joejj on the side?? but essentially it’s like funny sequences of jjmarr messing around and joe keeps running into it and each time his involvement (?) increases gradually until well. ja’marr has himself a grand old time!!!! 🍆🍆🥳

and that was fine. that was fineeee. i actually started cooking something up!! …taking place during the school year. they’re hooking up in the locker rooms or joe was supposed to come over but they forgot he was coming etc. etc. and just like general unseriousness.

but spotify shuffle 💔 (it’s really crazy how much music impacts my writing.) so i heard this and these lyrics:

you dry gin drinker / jive barefoot in your overalls stone cold sinner / eyes flicker with the alcohol under the evergreens / just out of reach i'll laugh as you sing to me / we′re so damn naive you take out your hair tie / overtired, i'll hold you in the dark it feels good we′re outside / let's engrave our names into the bark

so i thought of summer. like a good summer. like peace and love and adventure…… (also idk i just called this fuck my stupid baka life bc. it’s just so ridiculous really. ja’marr’s life in this fic. will have to chew on an actual title lmfao. )

it’s technically all still what i said above. except i changed the setting and the vibes. so now this is a LSU summer 2019 fic. jj is a june baby, and ja'marr has a little (a little. 👁️. Ok) crush >:) and so we start off with this. more or less:

++

The box is slippery with sweat—Ja’Marr’s or the humidity’s, he’s not sure which. His fingers slide on the thin cardboard as he stands in the Aldi parking lot, heat rising off the blacktop in waves. Derek’s beside him, peering down into the box with his arms crossed over his chest like they’re going to war with the cake.

It’s early still—barely past nine—and already the air is thick enough to choke on. Sun beating down like it’s mad at them. Feels like a bad omen, which tracks, considering the state of the cake.

The day is on a schedule. Justin’s on a schedule. It’s the only reason they’re doing this so early—he’s going back down to St. Rose next week, and before that, he’s got shifts at the dog shelter, and before that, he’s gotta do a camp with some high school kids, and basically today is the only window they have to pull this off. Joe and Ja’Marr had coordinated it down to the minute: surprise party at Grant’s, pregame at Clyde’s, and then hit downtown after dark. Tight schedule. No margin for error.

Except the cake is fucked.

It’s supposed to say Happy Birthday Jets, but the handwriting is wonky and uneven, like the guy piped it left-handed while drunk. The blue icing is bleeding into the white, the letters warped and smudged together until it looks like Happy Brithday Jats.

“Didn’t I tell y’all?” Ja’Marr snaps suddenly, scandalized. “Didn’t I tell Grant and Clyde yesterday? That the dude didn’t know what the hell he was doing?”

Derek scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah—”

Ja’Marr had clocked the Aldi’s employee immediately—half-slouched behind the counter, eyes glazed over like he was praying for death. He met Clyde’s eyes like, Is this dude for real? But Clyde had just shrugged and said —

“‘We’ll just pick it up tomorrow,’” Ja’Marr mimics, voice pitched high and mocking. He swipes a hand over his face. “Now it’s tomorrow and look. Look at this shit.”

He presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, huffing out a frustrated breath. Shouldn’t be taking this out on Derek, but he’s still tired—stayed up too late last night, laid out on his stomach on the couch with a box of tissues in front of him while Miguel begged Coco to remember Héctor. Woke up with his face puffy and throat thick. He should’ve had more water. Hydrate or die-drate, as Joe always says. 

He’d Snapchatted Justin mid-ugly-cry, eyes red and wet, captioned i hate it here. Justin had FaceTimed him immediately, even though it was 1:13 a.m. Face tight with worry when the call connected, brows drawn together, mouth soft, until he saw what Ja’Marr was so upset about. 

Justin stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Then he’d rolled his eyes so hard Ja’Marr thought he might sprain something. "Oh, what the hell, Uno."

They bitched at each other for a few minutes—Justin telling him he was stupid, Ja’Marr saying he was stupider—but Justin’s voice stayed soft the whole time. His face relaxed when Ja’Marr started laughing more than crying. They stayed on the call till Ja’Marr’s breathing evened out, till Justin’s eyes started slipping closed.

He woke up to a ‘good morning ugly’ text and his heart aching in a way he didn’t really have language for.

“Ja’Marr,” Derek says now, cutting into his thoughts.

He’s patting his back in that rough but ultimately kind way that’s more about not knowing what else to do than it is about genuine comfort. “It’s not ruined. He’s not gonna care about the cake.”

Ja’Marr glares at him. 

“JJ?” Derek snorts. “The man literally ate gas station sushi three times on a dare. You think he cares about some crooked frosting?”

He is right. Ja’Marr knows this. Justin’s gonna laugh at the cake anyway. Say something dumb and sweet like I don’t care what it looks like if you’re the one who got it for me and then Ja’Marr will have to sit with the molten fact of it in his chest for at least a week.

Derek shifts beside him, dropping his hand to his hip. His gaze cuts sideways toward Ja’Marr, too knowing. “You know he’s gonna think it’s funny.”

Ja’Marr exhales sharply through his nose. His chest feels tight. “I know.”

“And he’s still gonna hang around you all night.”

Ja’Marr presses his lips together. Yeah.

He’s not gonna care about the cake. But Ja’Marr does.

-

derek: *dog sideye. hope it's just a phase* Anyway! ja'marr basically takes it upon himself to fix the cake! so bday party time!!:

++

The cake’s not perfect, but it’s good enough.

It had taken Ja’Marr the better part of an hour—propped up on Derek’s kitchen counter, sweating under the brutal blast of Louisiana heat coming through the half-open window—to scrape off the fucked-up icing and rework the lettering. He’d pulled up a YouTube video titled Beginner Cake Decorating (SO EASY!!!) and cussed the girl out in the video under his breath the whole time because it was not easy. He mixed food coloring with a hand-mixer that kept jamming and piped out the new letters with shaky hands, tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth like it was game day.

It comes out… fine. A little lopsided. The color's not perfect. But it didn’t say Jats anymore, and that’s what mattered.

The party’s loud behind them—Joe and Clyde are locked in an intense game of beer pong, Grant’s playing DJ, and Derek’s talking to a girl by the back door. The smell of grilled burgers and weed is bleeding through the open windows, and somebody’s yelling about how Joe’s elbow was over the line. Ja’Marr’s heard that argument before; Joe never cheats at beer pong. He’s just irritatingly good at it.

“Then it’s a you problem,” Joe fires back, and Ja’Marr snorts because he's definitely lit — can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. Joe’s cheeks are probably flushed pink from the alcohol and the heat, curls sticking to his forehead from sweat, all loose-limbed and comfortable. Mingling. Good for him. If it takes a couple drinks to get him to relax, to let his guard down and stop thinking three steps ahead of everyone else, then yeah. Good for him.

Justin’s been the center of it all. He always is—sun and gravity, everyone in his orbit. Shirtless since the sun went down, skin warm and golden, chain catching flashes of light every time he throws his head back laughing. Glowing, like he always is.

Ja’Marr’s been trying not to look at him too much.

Last he checked, there was a girl sitting on the ground at Justin’s feet, watching him with that head-tilted, low-lidded kind of look. Justin didn’t seem to notice, but Ja’Marr did, and his stomach twisted, so he kind of just tried to keep himself busy by doing anything else. 

He doesn’t realize he’s drifted away from the main circle until he’s standing under the overhang near the side of the house, his back against the cool siding. His head feels light—not drunk, not exactly, but that kind of buzzy warmth that comes from a joint being passed around one too many times. He’s scrolling through his phone when he hears footsteps.

“Hey.”

Ja’Marr’s head snaps up. Justin’s standing a few feet away, his face soft in the dim light from the porch bulb. His hair’s a little mussed, and his shirt has reappeared, hanging loose around his collarbone. His eyes are bright.

“Hey,” Ja’Marr says, and his voice comes out rougher than he expects.

Justin grins as he steps closer. His gaze slides down, sharp and amused. “Heard you fixed the cake.”

Ja’Marr’s mouth twitches. “Who told you that?”

“Joe.”

“Of course.”

Justin’s already close enough that Ja’Marr can smell his cologne—orange blossoms, clean in a way that makes Ja’Marr’s stomach twist a little. Justin’s still smiling, all playful and sharp as he lifts a hand and pokes at Ja’Marr’s side.

“Didn’t know you were a cake artist,” Justin says, tone teasing.

Ja’Marr swats at his hand. “Stop.”

Justin pokes him again, smirking. “I mean, it was still kinda ugly—”

“Stop,” Ja’Marr says, laughing now, and he tries to shove Justin’s hand away, but Justin just catches his wrist and holds it loosely between his fingers.

And then—Justin leans in and kisses him on the cheek.

It’s fast and soft, more pressure than anything else, just the brief press of Justin’s mouth against Ja’Marr’s skin. But Ja’Marr’s whole body locks up like he’s been tased. He’s suddenly too aware of how close they are, how warm Justin’s hand feels around his wrist, the soft curve of Justin’s mouth lingering near his jaw.

Ja’Marr’s brain whites out for a second. His stomach flips over itself.

Justin pulls back, still smiling, but his eyes are a little darker now. “That was sweet, Uno. Seriously.”

Ja’Marr’s mouth is dry. He swallows hard, his heart punching up into his throat. “It was nothing.”

Justin’s eyes stay on him a little too long. “It wasn’t nothing.”

Ja’Marr’s heart skips. His pulse thuds painfully loud in his ears. Justin’s mouth is close—too close—and Ja’Marr’s buzzed enough, tired enough, emotionally wrung-out enough that he doesn’t think. He just tilts forward, closes the space, and presses his mouth to Justin’s.

It’s quick. Clumsy. Ja’Marr’s breath catches as soon as it happens, and then he’s pulling back just as fast, heart spiraling in his chest. His brain scrambles to process it—what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—and his body goes hot with panic. The Glomp is in full effect.

“Shit,” Ja’Marr breathes. “I didn’t—”

Justin kisses him back.

It’s much slower this time, more intentional. Justin’s hand cups his face, and Ja’Marr goes still—stomach flipping, knees locking, skin heating all over. Justin’s mouth is soft and sure, tasting like punch and summer air and something sweet underneath it. Ja’Marr’s hands are hanging useless at his sides, and his brain is just—white noise.

Justin pulls back, his thumb sliding over the hinge of Ja’Marr’s jaw. He’s smiling again, but it’s softer now, less playful.

“Thank you,” Justin says quietly.

Ja’Marr’s still breathing hard, his lips tingling. “For…?”

Justin’s thumb brushes over his jaw again. “For all this.”

Ja’Marr can’t speak. He’s too aware of Justin’s hand on his face, the heat between them, the way his pulse is still skipping under his skin. His brain is short-circuiting, but somehow, he manages a shaky little nod.

Justin leans in and presses his forehead against Ja’Marr’s temple for a second, just breathing.

Ja’Marr’s heart doesn’t stop hammering for a long time after that.

--

i'm not sure i fw all that really but whatever. so basically after that they just start fucking around. playing house if you will :p. very much bed peace by jhené aiko vibes. so yeah some of this fic is going to be general summer shenanigans. ja'marr just doing whatever. exhibit A:

++

Ja’Marr’s got his own place now.

It’s small, but it’s his. A little one-bedroom a couple blocks off campus with an ancient AC unit that rattles like a loose muffler and beige walls that could use a fresh coat of paint. But it’s got good light in the mornings and a decently sized kitchen, and he’s already figured out that if he cracks the bathroom window just right, the steam from his showers doesn’t fog up the mirror. It’s home enough. Or it will be, once he finishes putting it together.

Sophomore year’s gonna be fun, he hopes. Last year was good—better than good, really—but this year feels like it could be something more. He’s already got a list of shit he wants to do: more team hangs, maybe trying to hit up some of the local bars with Derek now that they both got decent enough fakes, maybe convincing Joe to teach him how to play piano for real instead of just fucking around with the intro to Clocks whenever he’s bored.

Next time he goes back home to visit, he’ll probably bring back his old Naruto collection to fill out his shelf. He’s thinking about getting back into reading, too. Used to do it all the time—stayed up late with his little book light clipped to the side of the page, toes pressed into the mattress, breathing shallow so his mom wouldn’t hear him awake—but that’s been a while now. 

Still, the other day, he’d found his way into a Barnes & Noble, slurping at the bottom of a Kit Kat Coolatta like it was oxygen. This Hershey x Dunkin collab was doing something dangerous to him—cold and sweet and chocolatey, the perfect antidote to the sticky heat. He had both hands wrapped around the cup, dragging his tongue along the straw, because if the Coolatta was gonna kill him, he’d go down happy.

He’d wandered through the store with the slow aimlessness of someone trying not to seem like they were trying. Sneakers scuffing soft over the carpet, head tipped down, gaze skimming over the glossy covers lined up along the tables. He lingered by the manga section, fingers brushing over the edge of a new Jujutsu Kaisen volume, but he didn’t pick it up. His mouth tasted like chocolate and nerves, and he could feel it creeping up the back of his neck—The Glomp.

That’s what he calls it—not out loud, never out loud—but it’s the only way to describe the prickly, skin-crawling feeling of being watched. Like a hand pressing flat against the center of his chest, urging him to get small. His ears go hot; his hands start feeling stupid and too big. He’s just standing there, doing nothing wrong, but suddenly it feels like he’s doing too much. He hates The Glomp.

And then—

“Hey.”

He turned, and there was this girl standing there. Maybe a little older than him. Cute, in a bookish kind of way—round glasses, septum ring, soft blue eyeliner that made her eyes pop. Her name tag said Mel.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked, her voice light and even. Not pushy.

Ja’Marr’s hand tightened around his drink. He took another long pull at the straw, felt the cold rush of chocolate and whipped cream hit the back of his throat. “I don’t—uh.” He scratched the side of his neck, eyes flicking down to the table of books. “I don’t really read.”

Mel’s head tilted. Her mouth curved into a small smile. “Just browsing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just—y’know.” He waved vaguely at the table like that explained anything.

She hummed thoughtfully. Then her eyes scanned the table in front of them. “Well… if you’re looking for something easy to get into, this one’s pretty good.” She picked up a paperback and held it out toward him. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. “It’s got magic and shit. Very atmospheric.”

Ja’Marr took it, turning it over in his hands. His thumbs brushed the embossed silver lettering on the cover.

Mel’s smile widened, like she could sense his hesitation. “Or if you want something faster, maybe a mystery?” She grabbed another one from the display. The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides. “Twisty. Quick read. Could probably finish it in a couple of nights.”

Ja’Marr’s mouth twisted. He nodded, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. His pulse had calmed down a little. The Glomp was still there, sitting heavy in his chest, but it wasn’t squeezing as tight anymore.

Ja’Marr took them both. Turned them over in his hands. The covers felt cool and smooth under his fingers. He didn’t end up buying them—he set them back down on the table on his way out—but he might go back.

If nothing else, the Coolatta was worth the trip.

--------------

Ja’Marr is not doing anything sexy right now. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room, wearing an old, baggy LSU t-shirt and shorts, with his knees sticking out in a way that probably makes him look stupid. There’s a half-built Ikea shelf in front of him, pieces of particleboard and little silver screws scattered across the floor like confetti. The Allen wrench is digging into the side of his foot. His brow is furrowed as he squints down at the instruction booklet, which—unsurprisingly—does not have any words, just vague stick-figure drawings that seem to imply that Ja’Marr should, somehow, defy the laws of physics.

And yeah, he’s wearing glasses.

They’re not even cool glasses—they’re the kind he picked up at Walgreens last summer when he realized that squinting at the scoreboard was starting to give him headaches. Black plastic frames, slightly crooked on his face. He doesn’t need them all the time, but when he’s doing this kind of shit—up-close work, reading fine print—it helps.

He’s deep in battle with a particularly incomprehensible step in the instructions when Justin walks by the open door.

He’s mid-stride, passing by, probably on his way to the dining hall or the gym or wherever it is Justin casually looks like sin incarnate while heading to—but then he pauses. Stops in his tracks like someone hit the brakes on him.

Ja’Marr feels it before he sees it—that charged, crackling shift in the air when Justin gets focused. He looks up just as Justin turns around—sharp pivot, full 180—and then Justin’s walking back toward him, gaze locked on him.

“Uh,” Ja’Marr says, eyebrows hitching up as Justin drops to his knees in front of him.

Justin’s eyes flick up toward his face—then lower. “Didn’t know you wore glasses,” Justin murmurs, head tilting. He’s smiling, small and sly. “Thought you had 20/20 vision.”

Ja’Marr blinks. “I mean… yeah? I just—sometimes, you know.” He gestures vaguely toward the mess of Ikea parts. “Small print and shit.”

Justin hums low in his throat, and then his hands are on Ja’Marr’s thighs. Just… sliding up. Casual, like he’s got every right. Ja’Marr’s mouth goes dry. Justin’s hands are warm.

“Jets,” Ja’Marr warns, already feeling his face heat up, “I’m trying to—”

Justin kisses him.

It’s not one of those soft, easy kisses—this is hot and sure and a little messy, Justin’s hand sliding up to cup the side of Ja’Marr’s face, the other pressing down on his thigh. His thumb strokes over the inside of Ja’Marr’s knee, coaxing his legs wider, and Ja’Marr makes a soft noise in the back of his throat before he can stop himself. His glasses slide down his nose a little and Justin kisses him harder.

Ja’Marr pulls back just enough to huff, “You really—” Kiss. “—getting turned on—” Kiss. “—by glasses?”

Justin pulls back, eyes half-lidded and dark. “Yeah.”

Ja’Marr snorts. “Did you take something?”

“Just creatine,” Justin says, grinning against Ja’Marr’s cheek. 

Ja’Marr’s fingers curl into the papers. He’s pretty sure he’s crushing the instructions, but he can’t focus because Justin’s mouth is sliding down his throat and Justin’s hands are beneath his waistband now and—

blah blah sex whatever. also didn't he stop reading bc of Gay. LMFDAKL okay maybe not that but i swear didn't people make fun of him or something? one of u posted this i think. or i'm just making shit up.....anyway: joe piano player 🙂‍↕️ ja'marr glasses 🙂‍↕️ jj's freakuency all the way up 🙂‍↕️. Anyway!! as for the rest of the fic i was like. i'll just do more lazy summer shenanigans i guess. BUT THEN! spotify shuffle!

enjoy the view by henrik:

i want you on the passenger side drivin' through every mile marker sign i want you, stay a while, stay a while right side of the yellow lines, blue eyes and if i just keep mine on you i think that i'll enjoy the view

okay. so the cogs started turning. and after the normalish stuff, basically some of the LSU crew (so the trio, and grant, clyde, and derek. i don’t Know much abt the last three yet but this works right? makes sense? they all fw each other. idk. Anyway.) go on a beach trip! they were supposed to go for spring break but it didn't work out. so they rented out an airbnb and rescheduled it as like one last hoorah before school starts. obviously like fun stuff happening!!! bonfires and parties and fishing and dumb shit. and ---

++

Ja’Marr’s sat in a plastic chair that’s listing a little to one side, the cheap metal legs dug unevenly into the sand. Clyde’s in the one next to him, legs stretched out, knees knocked together, red Solo cup balanced precariously on his thigh. He’s been unusually quiet for the last couple minutes.

Ja’Marr looks over and sees Grant.

And, yeah—Grant’s putting on a show.

He’s standing a little too close to some girl Ja’Marr doesn’t recognize—tall, long legs in white linen shorts and a gauzy crop top that’s doing a whole lot of work. Her dark hair’s wet, slicked back from her face in this effortless, model-off-duty way. Her hand is on Grant’s chest, head tipped toward his shoulder, mouth glossy and laughing.

Grant’s leaning into it, grinning that lazy, self-satisfied grin of his, hand curling low on her waist. His fingers slide over the bare skin above her shorts, and Ja’Marr can practically hear whatever bullshit line Grant’s murmuring in her ear.

Ja’Marr snorts. He shakes his head, already turning toward Clyde to make some kind of joke—when he sees Clyde’s face.

And stops.

Clyde’s watching them—watching Grant—but his expression is sharp in a way Ja’Marr’s never really seen before. His mouth is tight, jaw flexing under the light sheen of sweat on his skin. His eyes are flat, hard. He looks… bitter.

Ja’Marr settles back in his chair, blinking. He hadn’t ever thought about it like that. But now that he’s seeing it—now that he’s looking at Clyde’s eyes, at the stiff line of his mouth, at the way his shoulders are drawn up around his ears—it’s obvious.

Ja’Marr looks away, down toward the shoreline where Justin’s still in the water, making a big show of jumping to catch the football Joe throws at him. His feet kick up spray as he lands, arms stretched wide like he’s about to yell touchdown even though that’s not how this works. Joe’s smiling as he wades toward him, curls sticking to his forehead.

Ja’Marr’s gaze slides back toward Grant—and then he notices Joe looking at Clyde.

It’s quick—barely even a glance—but Joe’s eyes cut toward Clyde’s face, lingering just long enough to register the tension there. Ja’Marr sees the flicker of understanding that passes across Joe’s face before Joe looks back toward Grant, mouth tightening.

He starts walking toward them.

“Yo,” he says, easy and loose as he steps over the sand, barefoot and shirtless, sunburn blooming high on his shoulders. He drops a hand to Clyde’s chair, squeezing at the back of it. “We’re playing two-hand touch. You in?”

Clyde’s mouth pulls tighter. He’s still watching Grant. “Nah.”

“Come on,” Joe says. His tone’s light, but his hand stays firm on the back of Clyde’s chair. “We need a running back.”

“You got Justin.”

“Justin’s a show-off,” Joe says. “I need a real back.”

Ja’Marr watches Clyde’s mouth twitch—like he’s thinking about saying no, like he’s about to dig his heels in—but then Joe’s hand slides to his shoulder, squeezing once.

And Clyde sighs. “Fine.”

Joe steps back, grinning. Clyde takes his time standing up, brushing sand off the backs of his legs. His eyes flick toward Grant again—just for a second—and Ja’Marr watches the way his jaw ticks before he shakes it off and follows Joe toward the water.

Joe looks over his shoulder at Ja’Marr, mouth tugging into a half-smile. He shrugs. 

Ja’Marr tilts his cup toward him in a lazy salute.

---

Yikes!!! 😬 soooo. don't know what i'm Going to do abt that really but Anyway!!

but then this trip is also where it gets decidedly Not Normal. not to steal obx's chain or anything but i was like i reallllyyy want these guys to go on an adventure. maybe they find treasure or there's like a mystery they have to solve. things get kinda gnarly maybe. drama. danger. romance. friendship. the works. i just don't know what yet. obviously it's not going to be like insane in that they end up in morocco (like what even is obx doing fr) but like definitely a thrill yk?? ja'marr and maybe someone else will end up in a life threatening situation for sureee. and yes he will have himself a good old time 🍆🍆 🥳 at the end still. then yeah they all go back like wowwww what an unforgettable summer. 😊

sooo yeah. considering that would be a good chunk of the fic. i have to figure out the mystery/action/thriller plot. which i have some idea of but not really. so things are kind of hanging rn 🧍🏿‍♂️if Anyone knows of anything that would make sense. you know. feel free to share w the class.

Okay. what else.

i also got so deep into this that i briefly morphed into my 13 year old self on we heart it and made like. a moodboard 😭 actually i made many. i made an entire pinterest w sooo many pics but anyway:

And of course. poetry (ur not a vibe bro 😂😂📘):

^ really i just talk. so those seem dramatic. take with a grain of salt….

OKAYYYYYYY. i think that's all?? guys i hope this all makes sense. like can u follow what i'm saying? 😭😭

this is like my child idk. and also this could all be changed i'm so serious i have written like 1390938 versions of these snippets. crazy how i just wanted to write ja’marr taking two dicks up his ass and now i am Here. 3-4k .... weak sauce 😂😂😂. you know once i Get Going.....