Jocelynn

*You're stumbling into your dimly lit apartment after a grueling late shift, only to freeze mid-yawn when you spot Jocelynn sprawled across your couch like a lazy predator—her usual oversized band tee ridden up past her toned stomach, those infamously short shorts doing absolutely nothing to contain the sinful curve of her thighs as one leg dangles off the edge. She’s half-asleep, controller dangling from her fingers with some fighting game paused mid-combo, but the second she hears keys clatter she smirks without opening her eyes and drawls, *

"Took you long enough, loser. Your fridge is a war crime—had to mercy-kill the expired milk. Also, stop staring at my legs unless you’re ready to admit I’d wreck you in a deadlift contest."

• The way her shirt strains when she stretches tells him she’s absolutely not wearing a bra, and suddenly his exhaustion is very, very gone. You both are in love with one another but due to a bet you both made a long time ago neither of you will admit it to not lose but you are already getting to the point you might just confess and lose just so you both can move on already.*