#even though naming things were the bane of my existence

[goldfades]

★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms—like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

���Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days��knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,��� he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[xoxochb]

request + a/n at the bottom

cw: (overly?) rough sex, brief swearing, overstimulation, piv, and erm I think that’s it? mdni (or do, that’s none of my business)

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

he’s trying to kill you, that’s what. there had been a celebratory event for percy jackson— what he did this time was beyond your knowing. one day he kills the minotaur the next he’s universally known and wanted by the fbi, in a similar way he’s praised at camp for every tiny thing he does. new quest, celebration, came back alive from a quest, celebration, presumed dead but came back alive, celebration, just existed, a damn celebration! the kid’s not even eighteen and he’s the talk of camp! it’s ludicrous, yes, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, what other people cared about was out of your capacity of understanding, he’s just a kid.

to your boyfriend, though, percy wasn’t ‘just a kid’ he was the bane of his existence. when you think about it— why was it fair that percy got claimed to quickly and is actually acknowledged by his godly parent while luke can’t do the same? that’s unfair. today, during another celebration for the great perseus jackson, you witnessed luke’s anger first hand, through fireworks and a party bonfire, you were pulled away by him in the middle of your s’more making— which he claimed was “helping add onto the hype for that dumb kid.”

with a pout spread over your lips, you’re dragged to an empty cabin eleven, his bed more specifically. you had no control coming after this, none when your clothes were pulled off, and none when he, without warning, shoved his cock inside of you (quite violently may you add, may the gods save you from the pain you’re going to feel in the morning). nonetheless, you’re not going to interfere with his mood, you’ll let him fuck you senseless until you fall into a coma. and that’s what you’re sure he’s trying to do!

because between his thumb maniacally rubbing over your clit and with each vicious thrust you feel yourself growing progressively more lightheaded, your hands tightly fisting the sheets and a plethora of tears streaming down your perfectly pink cheeks. you hear luke murmur incoherent babbles, something you assume is all hatred towards the son of poseidon, because you take notice that he gets rougher each time.

“luke, I- please… mhm I- can’t-” what the fuck are you saying? you sound like a clueless child attempting to say their first words. your chest heaves with great force, seemingly to the same pattern of the cacophonous fireworks outside that don’t seem to ever stop— gods, why fireworks of everything? you’re getting a fucking migraine at this point, and with every deafening moan escaping your maroon lips your head seems to pound harder. this is how you’re going to die for sure.

practically sobbing, you grab at luke’s dark curls in an attempt to pull him out from you, or just to do anything that involves stopping your current state of overstimulation. it’s too much, fine at first, but now it’s too much. panting, you repeat his name, pleading, praying. he doesn’t seem to listen at all, continuing to thrust inside you to impel your moans to jump to the highest octave possible, and you’re half sure that by now they’re louder than the bursting fireworks outside.

“you gonna come for me, angel? not done until you come for me…”

you could scream. shit— you’re practically already moaning at the same decibel level of a blood curling scream (you’re so not going to be able to talk tomorrow). “fuck, please- ah- luke, I-”

nonetheless, you feel your velvety walls tightening as your orgasm washes over you, your thick wetness coating his throbbing cock. he prolongs this for a full minute you were sure would’ve killed you, until he pulled out of you, he’s met suddenly with your deathly glare.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

༯ “So you had this post where u said 'louder than the fireworks' (which later said '(he's fictional)' lol) and i got an idea.. Luke castellan just fucking the shit out of you while everyone is celebrating percy bc he's mad or sum shit idek all i know is that its rough and he's trying to get louder than the fireworks 🤭” hi nonnie, my love, for some reason I was unable to respond to your request?? it only had “delete” and “post” but I love love loved this request so I just copied it on here :)

[ch4nb4ng]

Marital Duties

Pairing: Chan x afab!reader

Word count: 9.4k

Genre: Established relationship, married

Warning: SMUT (18+ only), phone sex, sexting, car sex, mention of boobs, oral sex (f. receving), penetration, swearing, mention of cum, mentions of pussy, kissing, praise

Note: ok i kinda nervous to post this but yas! Here is my inspo (here) (here) (here) warning it’s literally p word.

Tagged: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree @kpopsstuffs

Summary: Having a job that meant travelling and spending time away from your husband made the absence grow much fonder for you and your needs, as well as your husbands.

Work conferences were the bane of your existence. Yes you were away from your kid and sometimes it was hard, but being away from your husband was harder. There was no doubt about your job. Being a world renowned forensic psychologist was amazing and something you wanted for a long time. Sometimes though, it was nice to just curl up on the couch, read a good book, watch a comforting movie; there was nothing wrong with indulging in self-care, you just did not have the time to do so. 

The recent promotion into becoming head of the north-west region of mental health care was a big step up from your previous job. No one than you was more qualified for this. Everyone, colleagues and board members put your name up. Psychology was your life, but your family was bigger. 

Highschool sweethearts, you and your husband had been inseparable since what felt like the dawn of time. Meeting at 15, having your first dance at 17 at prom. Graduating and going to college together; If you had a dollar for everytime you accomplished a big milestone with him or because of him, you would be swimming in luxury. When the two of you got married, things just fell into place even more. The doubt of being able to help people mentally after graduating from your post grad made you nervous, but then again, you never thought that you would be married to such a wonderful man. A dream job at your local hospital fell into your lap, and your husband became the nurse that everybody wanted to assist them with their care. Working in close contact with him everyday was just another blessing in disguise; you simply could not get enough of him. It was impossible to get sick of him.

That was when you decided to have your first child. What could be a better mix than the two of you combined? The first 4 years of parenthood came with its challenges. Nevertheless, it was the best decision you ever made, and you couldn’t think of anyone better than to share the unfamiliar journey with.

The promotion, however, meant that you wouldn't work with your husband as much, and spending time with your daughter was a little limited, but you knew he would never tell you to turn something down, and in a way it was the best decision for your marriage. The times together were shorter, but it also meant that every moment was savored tenfold. The time was better quality, the acts of service more thoughtful, and the sex. The sex, was that much more passionate, just like the first time he made love to you. He would always find ways to surprise you. Whether it was the way he grasped, grabbed you on the fibers that lingered to be touched, the way his body pressed upon yours, lips lingering on new places. You were always amazed with how much he could do, and what he was capable of.

These are the ideas that tortured your mind when you were away on business trips. Calling him and hearing his voice, seeing his face through the tiny phone screen was not enough. It didn’t matter how long you had been together, you always craved and missed him significantly.

“Hang on,” he whispered through the phone speaker, “someone wants to say hi to you.”

Your heart beamed with joy every time you saw her little face on the screen. God she looked like her dad, and you knew she'd  grow up to be a beautiful woman.

“Hi mommy,” she giggled, fingers crinkling then uncrkinly as she waved at the camera, “I miss you mommy.”

“Aw baby,” you pouted, “I miss you too. Mommy will be home tomorrow. Now it’s time for you to sleep.”

“Yes,” he cooed, “and daddy is going to read you a bedtime after you say goodnight to mommy.”

Your baby squealed with joy, running out of the frame and to her room. You could do nothing but chuckles, careless that she was that excited over a book of words that she forgot to say goodnight.

“Let me call you back at 15.”

You nodded, pressing the red cross before rolling on your back and looking up at the ceiling, admiring the off white paint color, heart beating out of your chest every second that the callback was not made. It’s not that you were worried he wouldn’t call back, you just felt that longing you always did when you weren’t looking at him.

The vibration on your chest was extra sensitive. You rolled back over, now lying on your front with your hand resting on your chin, other hand holding the phone as you answered. 

“Hey baby.”

“Hiiii,” you whispered, a smile on your face impossible to be rid of.

“She was out like a light.”

“I’m glad.”

“How was your day, baby? I want to hear all about it.”

You giggled as you saw him get up, walking into the bathroom of your house as he placed you against the bench next to the sink. Chan wasn’t shy. He thought it was completely normal to remove his scrubs and leave his upper body bare as he bent down to the bottom drawer, taking out his skincare and placing it on his face. Chan was your husband. You had seen him shirtless 100 more times than you could count. It should not affect you this much. It should not make the temperature of your cheeks rise. It should not cause a sudden sharpness of change in your breath. It should not make your eyes bulge, and it should definitely not send you into a head spin when his biceps flexed when washing his face. Being a clinical psychologist meant having pristine precision and concentration, so if anybody got a hold of this live footage right now, they might question your profession.

“Y/n, Y/n?”

You blinked, quickly snapping your head to get back in the game. It was too late, however, your husband was already smirking at your distraction. You could try and play it off, but the both of you knew that he was too smart to fall for that.

“Sorry babe, I’m a bit distracted.”

“Oh yeah? What’s distracting you?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “you know exactly what you are doing.”

“Me?” He gasped, placing a hand on his chest, flexing his opposite bicep, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his obvious attempt to woo you over, the subtle flirt. Sometimes it was easy to resist, but in this case, it was easier to play along, feign innocence until he truly told you what he wanted. The two of you liked to play such games, especially when you were on the road. It was time for you to sit up, placing Chan on the lamp atop of the bedside table before placing yourself on the edge of the hotel bed. The buttons on your shirt were suddenly feeling a little tight. The smirk on your husband’s face grew the moment he saw the first two buttons undone, a sneak peak of your cleavage making its debut for the night. You stopped there, gently pulling down the fabric, stretching the collar of the shirt, consequently putting your chest on full display. 

“Two can play that game Mr. Bang.”

A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he walked over to your shared bedroom, placing his phone in similar fashion to yours before removing his bottoms, your husband now in nothing but his boxers as he laid down, stretching out his legs before lifting you again, wanting the closest view to your fingers continuing to remove one button at a time, a painfully slow movement to your fingertips. Fuck. Now he kind of regretted starting this game with you tonight. A gasp of gratification spilt from Chan’s lips as he watched the satin material that made up your shirt slither off those, in his words, gorgeous shoulders of yours. The black lace bra, the one being your husband’s favorites out of pure coincidence the only garment covering your chest. 

Chan loved every part of you, make no mistake. He would worship every part of your body 24/7 if he could. He simply could never get enough of you, but your chest, your breasts were on a whole different level. Chan loved your boobs. It didn’t matter what the two of you were doing, promiscuous acts or not, if he could have his hands on them, he could. Cuddling, sex, hugs; call him a pervert, but he didn’t care. It was his wife for god sakes. He would feel abnormal if he wasn’t attracted to them. Conveniently for you, this was something you could play to your advantage. Didn’t want to do the dishes? Show him your cleavage. Needed to put your daughter to sleep but you wanted him to do it? Promise him to show your cleavage after he does so. It was a convenient weapon to use, and this was the perfect time to use it. It was fair, seeing as he was using the weapon of his own to try and get you where he wanted.

“Aw come on,” he whined, “you did that on purpose?”

“Did what,” you smiled, fingers gently tracing the lace attached to the strap, “I didn’t do anything.”

Tapping the phone screen, you sighed. It was like, and your flight home was something that required you getting up much earlier that you would ever prefer. You should go to sleep. Hang up on him. You were going to see him tomorrow anyway, surely you could suppress your urges until then. 

But then you saw your husband redirect his palm from the outside of his undergarment, which was obvious to the eye, to the inside, a gentle slap against his skin as it dived past the waist band. Fuck this was cruel now. Not only because you could see his hands subtly tumbling underneath, he drew attention to how hard he already was, and you didn’t know what aroused you more: his probaby pulsating length or the fact that he was as aroused as he was because of you. It didn’t matter how many times it occurred, Chan always had a way of making you feel special. Physically, emotionally, intimately; it was part of his aura, and one of the main reasons that you were so attracted to him in the first place.

“Baby,” you gasped, hands traveling up waist and to your chest, gently kneading the mass in an attempt to match his slow pace that he was palming himself, “you’re so naughty. I have to go to bed.”

“Aw come on baby,” he groaned, head resting atop the headboard, gaze even more piercing at the angle his head was at rest, “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I know Chan,” you sighed, your next words going to be knowingly disappointing for him, “I have to check out at 3am and it’s already almost 10. You know what I’m like when I don't get my beauty sleep.”

Chan gave you a disapproving pout as he took his hands out of boxers, a shiny ring reappearing from the undergarment as he took the phone with both and lay flat on his back, sinking under the sheets and head gliding onto the pillow. He was humbly accepting defeat, most likely because he would see you tomorrow anyway; that’s when he could have his fun.

“I know baby it’s ok,” he smiled, bringing his face as close as possible to the camera, lips still pouting, “let me give you a kiss goodnight.”

“Thank you baby,” you giggled, also leaning forward to kiss the phone screen simultaneously before whispering a small, “goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and the adrenaline from your almost raunchy rendezvous over the phone wore off quickly. You weren’t that young anymore. Getting tired was much easier. There was much less energy, especially after getting riled up like that. Even if it was what you saw while you were sleeping in your dreams, and you only have to wait 12 hours to see your beautiful husband in the flesh. 

***

The alarm caused a fright, a deep groaning sound of annoyance bellowing from you, but that quickly wore off. The immediate thought of seeing Chan and your beautiful daughter being the main reason for your sudden change in temperament. Your bags were already packed and you organized your brain knowing that you would be too tired to do it in the morning The smile on your face couldnt dared to be wiped off once you were in the taxi. The cool breeze of the warm summer hitting your face as you pushed the window in the back seat halfway down. Summer was your favorite time of the year, especially since it was the time you got to spend with your family that was of the best quality. All of the aspects of your job you loved, even the times you traveled. However, your heart did sink a little when you had to travel at this time of the year. The school holidays always felt too short, so when you had to travel, the amount was even shorter.

A ding from your phone brought out of your somewhat solemn daze, heat creeping to your cheeks immediately:

[hubby <3] 7:00 am Can’t wait to see you, hope there aren't any delays at the airport.

*one attachment*

Jesus fuck. Now sending a full blown dick pick with your daughter in the car, which you assumed was there, was definitely not the way to go; and thank god your husband knew that. But that did not let him off the hook. It was a photo of him, in the mirror, with his face cut off and only his lips in the frame. He was wearing a black sleeveless tank and those fucking grey tracksuit pants. Call yourself cliche, but nothing turned you on more than that particular piece of clothing. Chan had one hand on the camera, the other hand at the base of his hardened length. He always did this. As mature as Chan was, the times he chose to be inappropriate truly were the most inconvenient for you. A loud gasp escaped your lips, head almost hitting the chair in front as the driver came to a halt.

“Everything okay back there?”

“Uh yes,” your head snapped towards him, nodding furiously as a terrible attempt at acting in the norm, “why did we stop?”

“We are at the airport, miss?”

His tone sounded one of question, kind of looking at you in the rear mirror like you were one of the strangest passengers he had. You looked outside, a ferocious laugh escaping your lips as you decided it was better to say nothing and just pay, get out, and grab your own luggage. The awkwardness left your mind in shambles. How dare he send such a photo. Your husband. It was most likely to get revenge from last night, because he knew you would have to sit on the plane and suffer in silence.

Your luggage was checked in quickly, security easy to get through; there was plenty of time to wait in the boarding lounge. At first you were annoyed by the message. The sexual frustration that had already accumulated from your absence away from him was enough, but if anything, it felt like this was an extra punishment for last night.

But then you opened it again, started analyzing it (if you could call it that) until your finger was subconsciously in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you looked at him, your husband, he was always going to do it for you, every single time. The ache that has been coming and going throughout the week returned, and it made you annoyed. So annoyed that you found yourself lifting your butt from your chair, walking to the bathroom and locking yourself in one of the stalls. Gripping the bottom of your shirt, you pulled it down as much as you could without taking it off, mimicking a downward looking angle in an attempt to copy your husband, lips down as the camera clicked, off silent. Fuck. It’s fine. The idea that people may have heard the sounds of you taking a photo in the toilet. You were too fueled with a horny rage to think of the ramifications as you sent your photo, giving in and responding to him.

[Y/N] 8:30am No delays. Make sure you’re there on time.

*one attachment*

Oh, he was gonna hate that. Chan had patience for a lot of things. But short, dry messages were something that made him mad. Serves him for sending you that first. You knew exactly what his reaction would be as well, but at least you could board the plane in peace.

**

It was around 3 hours before the plane arose from one location and landed in another. The plane ride was painful. You tried to do the things you usually would. Create drafts for your patients, read a book, watch a downloaded netflix movie, and just sink into your non-reclining chair and relax; but you simply couldn’t.

The brain rot that was the simple image of your husband’s half naked torso should not be affecting you this much. But that was the problem too. It wasn’t just the picture. That image was the catalyst for the sexual rumination that had been numbing your brain for the past week. The want to get home was even stronger now knowing that you really had something to look forward to.

Of course, to your dismay and longing, the baggage claim took forever, security had a long line, and by the time all of that had been completed, it was, of course, an hour schedule that you told your husband to come and pick you up. The look on his face was sour to say the least. There he was, leaning against the exterior of your shared four wheel drive, drinking his probably now lukewarm coffee. The tingle instantly came back to your core, feeling like a teenage girl again. The scene was just like old times. Chan, waiting around the corner from your house to come and pick you up. The only thing that was different was that it was slightly taller, and had a few more wrinkles. Nonetheless, he looked super hot. Still wearing those grey sweatpants, and a fucking black tank. A fucking blank tank that was probably the tightest fitting pieceing of clothing in his fucking closet. His stance was strong, biceps, triceps, and ¾ of his pecs bulging out in public, and it was truly making your brain dizzy. You walked over quietly, the jarring sound of your suitcase wheels rolling along the parking lot concrete ruining the suspense of your arrival. Chan’s head snapped, eye widening the moment you appeared in his vision. 

“Hi baby, sorry I’m late the customs took for-”

The interruption was welcome as Chan shoved his phone in his pocket, apparently with an empty takeaway coffee cup falling to the floor as he enveloped you into his arms, a groan of admiration falling from his lips as they immediately attached to yours, your body to relaxing against his, eyes fluttering shut at his touch. God, it was only a week. One week, but you craved his touch more than anything in the world. It truly was the little things such as his calloused textures, the warmth of his skin, his smile. Holy fuck his smile was, in your opinion, the greatest thing in the world that ever existed. 

“Mmmh,” you hummed, gently pulling away, hands snaking across your husband’s waist, a smug smile on your lips, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too baby,” he growled, morning raspiness to his tone, “how was your flight?”

The implication of his question made your eyes ogle, the visual image of his text message imprinting on your brain. The smirk that developed on his face formed the expression of realization that hit you. Suddenly his grip on your waist was tighter, and Chan was pulling you in even closer, leaving you to feel everything; yes, everything. 

“It was good,” you giggled, knowing that you had been caught, “what was not good was your behavior since last night.”

“Hmm is that so? I don't see this being a one-sided activity?”

Your right hand left his torso, smacking him on the chest before taking a step back and walking to the car. It was fun to pretend to be annoyed, especially because you knew it would work your husband up even more. Chan hated when you sulked, especially when he playfully called you out. Chan always liked games, and so did you, because you knew that there was always one thing it would lead to. The longer the game went on, the more passionate the ending to this game would be. You walked into the car, peacefully sitting in the passenger seat as you left your husband to take your suitcase and place it in the boot. Serves him right for being a smartass. There was no sound except for the car door once the two of you were inside. The ignition was turned on, and so were you, watching your husband's arm reach over to the shoulder of your car seat, his head turned to look behind him. This was so dumb! You really should not be aroused by this; you’ve seen him do this thousands of times.

“You okay babe?”

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of this lustful daze, “yeah, why?”

“Ok it’s just,” he paused, shifting into drive, then placing his hand on the inside of your thigh, “you’re staring at me like a piece of meat.”

“I am not,” you scoffed, “you wish I was staring at you like that.”

He said nothing, a light chuckle following as the car fell into another silence. A comfortable one at that, well, to an extent. His thumb was gently nudging at your skin, knuckles inching closer to your center. There was something in the air, and the longer it lingered, the harder it was to ignore it. The want. The need to have him. It was impossible. You knew that even if you did get home soon that your daughter was home, and there was no way you were going to traumatize her like that; kids remember everything. If you took too long in the car, your father would get suspicious. He was one to get on your nerves like that, especially if he spent more time than agreed to watching your beautiful child. 

“I got your text message this morning.”

Chan’s eyes were on the road, which forced you to keep yours. Your eyebrows furrowed however, knowing that the street he just turned down was not the right way to your house. Instead, Chan turned the opposite direction, the car coming to an immediate stop at a lookout, but not just any lookout. The lookout east. The two of you came from a small town, meaning there weren't many spots to go; that was until the lookout east was uncovered. Back then it was the talk of the town, the go to hookup spot for many. You have seen it yourself. It had a beautiful view however, and most of the time you and Chan would go just to admire the view, but did not mean that every time would be an innocent one. The two of you had not been in years, and there was a big question mark as to why you were here right now. Chan said nothing, getting out of the car and walking over to your side, opening your own door before opening the back door, crawling in with you following. The two of you got comfortable, that was, until Chan pinned you down to the back seat, lips once again attacking yours as he pressed his horny groin into yours, a deep groan bellowing from your husband's chest. His dominance was easy to comply with, the desperate moan falling from your lips a culmination of feelings from the past 12 hours. This really could have been the horniest you have ever been in your whole entire life, even including the times of excessive sexual hormonal changes during pregnancy. His tongue snaked past your lips, without any slight of permission as his hips fell into a gentle rhythm. Chan moved with such delicacy and poise, yet somehow he was able to convey his ultra high level of arousal. Now you were in big trouble; it was serious business when Chan pinned you down like that. It meant he had serious business to take care of. 

“Chan,” you tried to speak, his lips interrupting each word, “what, are you doing?”

He pulled away, sitting up. Chan said nothing, eyes fixated on your chest as he grasped your wrist to pull you up, your body clumsily falling into him as you fixed your balance. Chan was quick to attack your lips again, hands making light work as they gripped onto the edge of your shirt. Your arms lifted unconsciously, allowing the kiss to break as he took off your shirt, your upper body in nothing but your undergarments. Your husband was like a kid in a candy store the moment he saw the slightest bit of cleavage. Chan’s arms wrapped around your back as he effortlessly unclasped the unwanted fabric, lips immediately attaching to your left nipple. A gracious moan fell from your lips, a hand tickling the back of the hair at the base of his skull, keeping a guidance. At first this tongue was small, gentle. A few kitty licks right in the center. Although it was minimal touch, you were one to have more sensitive nipples, so the feeling was already heaven enough. It wasn’t until his entire mouth was attached, a parietal noise of vacuum escaping his lips each time your tit went in and out of his mouth. 

“Mmmmm,” you hummed, back arching slightly at the subtle texture of his teeth, “you’re like fuckin newborn.”

“Mhh can’t help it,” he huffed, out of breath, hand replacing his lips for a brief moment, “makes me want to have another kid.”

Chan gave you no time to reply, lips resuming their position, but now on the opposite nipple. His fingers never stopped moving, either on your shoulder, running up and down your arms, but mainly on your breasts, doing whatever he can to feel you. Each squeeze of the mound brought a whine to your throat. His statement ran through your mind and just stayed there. Having another kid was not really something the two of you had ever spoken about. It wasn’t that it was off the table, no. It truly was just something that had not come up in conversation. You could understand why he wanted to have one, and in this moment especially, it had nothing to do with having an actual child. 

It is true that when you met your husband, your body shape resembled more of a P, but when you were pregnant with your daughter, Chan was on another planet. Any chance he got, his hands were on them. Call him twisted, but he loved how much bigger and softer they got when you were deep into pregnancy.

When you came back out of thought, and the major distraction of your husband's lips on your body, you pushed him away gently. You followed the sort of harsh motion with a gentle peck to his lips, arm wrapping around his neck as you smiled at him in disbelief. The last chance the two of you, well more him, had been so reckless like this was so long ago you would not even be able to recall. This didn’t mean you hated it though, if anything, it satisfied that little part of your adolescence that lingered. The adolescence that was always sparked whenever you were away. Whenever your calls turned to a lustful space. The photos. The phone calls. Usually the ‘rebellious’ behaviors were to compensate for the distance. But now, Chan was hungry for you, even when you were right in front of him.

“Babe, what has gotten into you?”

Your husband buried his face into your chest, a large breath filling his nostrils, your scent deeply satisfying him before he responded. 

“I just missed you a lot, baby. And that picture you sent drove me fucking wild.”

A smirk appeared on your lips, legs hovering over your husband's waist before encasing the lower limbs around his waist, a light amount of friction created by the swift move of your hips makes him hum in pleasure. Your eyes, now sitting on top of his lap, gazed over, looking down on the poor man. There was a slight emotion of guilt there. Depriving him of getting what he wanted. You didn't really care though. If anything, pissing him off usually led to better sex after, and there was nothing in this moment that you wanted more. 

“Mmmh, as much as I want this,” you mumbled, another soft kiss in between your sentences, “I need to go home and see my daughter which I have not seen in a week.” 

“You’re right,” Chan chuckled, “I am getting a little bit carried away, aren't I?” 

Yeah he was impatient, but he understood, and it was one thing you really loved about him. He was extremely empathetic, sometimes to a fault. Able to put himself in everyone else’s shoes. So as soon as you mentioned wanting to see your daughter more, he understood. He passed you your bra and shirt, quickly helping you put them back on, not without stealing another mouth watering kiss, and hopping back into the driving and passenger seat promptly. 

The drive was once again peaceful; which lasted around 30 seconds. Maybe it was a better idea to just fuck in the back of your car, because the ache between your legs, when reflecting on the past week, was at the most intense it had been. Maybe this was your karma for withholding your body from your very eager husband. It didn’t matter now because whether you liked it or not, all of this was going to have been scheduled at a much later, uncertain time.

Chan’s hand was placed on your thigh like before, the light background and the noise somewhat distracting you, but not for long. Your husband’s grip was getting stronger and stronger, inching closer and closer to your wanting pussy with each second. A sharp gasp left your lips when his middle finger traced over the hem of your jeans, your level of arousal heightened to the point where even the breeze most likely was enough to partly satisfy yourself.

“Chan.”

“Y/n.”

“Stop it,” you whined, fingers coincidentally fidgeting with the button of your jeans, following the same direction with your zipper before the pair of pants were below your waist, your bottom undergarments now on display. You looked down, embarrassed at the mass wet patch coating your panties. Your husband's hands took a little bit of a wander, but froze almost immediately when he felt that familiar patch he had felt oh so many times. The digits were quick to act, another moan spelling from your mouth as soon as he got you in the exact spot he knew to touch. That were the perks of having a husband, because whether the time of orgasm was long or short, he knew exactly where to touch you to make that happen.

“Your body is having the opposite reaction,” he smirked, “and my eyes are strictly on the road.”

“And keep it that way.”

“Mhmm,” he ignored, fingers somehow able to push your panties to the side, raw fingertips now spreading open those pussy lips. God you felt dirty, nasty. How could you do this in your fucking car? Too horny to even wait until you were in the comfort of your bedroom. You were much too harsh on yourself. It was most definitely your husband's fault for opening that can of worms the moment he rocked up on the facetime camera without his shirt on. Therefore, your humility was minimized, there were always much worse things you could have done. Chan was easily able to find that wanting little entrance of yours, two fingers effortlessly plunging themselves inside, the unsympathetic texture of his hard working fingers gently scratching the velvet interior of your walls, hips now gently rocking back and forth on him. Your hands came to your breasts automatically, pinching, twisting, flicking the sensitive buds in any way possible that could create a replica of Chan’s mouth from previous moments. Fuck, no one else could do you like your husband, even yourself.

“Fuck Chan,” you whimpered, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Shh it’s okay,” he cooed, coaxing you through his honey textured tone, “just let it feel good, worry about other things later.”

Just as you let your head fall against the headrest, eye fluttering shut, the car came to a halt. Eyes flying open, a mound of disappointment when your visual fields were filled with your front yard. To your dismay, your husband withdrew his fingers from your pussy, a large squelching sound in the moment as he placed his hands on the gear shift, placing the toe of your into park before turning the car ignition off. The look you were giving your husband now was one of sadness, despair, making him laugh. He loved when you were dramatic.

“You’re not happy to be home?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, redoing your pants up before storming out of the car, forcing your husband to grab your suitcase as you stood impatiently at the front door, waiting for him to open it. It would be impossible to wipe the puffed up look of content on his face, knowing that he got right under your skin. Games were fun to play, but you simply knew that if he didn’t give you what you wanted soon, the house would fall into chaos. It was one thing to wind you up, but this time it was too far to push through, then stop just when things were getting good.

A fake smile plastered on your face, the refreshing thought of seeing your daughter coming back into your mind as you walked through your abode. It faded however, unable to see or hear anything that resembled your little baby. It wasn’t until you walked down your long hallway that led to your kitchen that you saw the note on your marble bench. It read the following:

Hi Darling, hope you had a safe flight!

I have taken my beautiful granddaughter to the park for a playdate with a couple of her friends and the other available parents. 

We are leaving at around midday, and won’t be back for a few couple hours. Apologies you will have to wait a little longer, but I couldn’t say no to her beating eyes when she asked me.

I'll see you when I’m looking at you.

Dad

“Chan!”

Your timbre was loud, somewhat frightening your husband as he rolled your luggage across the floor, meeting you in your shared kitchen. He was kind of worried. Chan knew that your dad was taking care of her while he went to pick you up, but he never said anything about taking her out. He stood next to you, trying to analyze your expressions before you spoke. You missed your daughter a lot, there was nothing false about that statement. Nonetheless, when the smug look came to your face at the thought of what having an empty house implied, you couldn't help yourself. 

“Did you know that my dad took her to the park?”

Oh fuck. Chan thought he was in trouble; big big trouble. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress your smile at how hopeless he looked. Being the medical professional you were, it was easy to read your husband like a book. And after his actions, which were already on the verge of crossing the threshold of what you would put up with, he was in his every right mind to react this way. Walking on eggshells was the right way to go. From his friskiness on the phone, to sending an almost naked picture to you in public, to publicly groping and prodding at your highly aroused body in the discomfort of your car, to now delaying your reunion with his daughter; my my my did he dig himself a massive grave that he would not be able to dig himself out of this one. 

“No,” he answered, hesitance leaking from his tone, “she must have asked him after I left.”

“Right,” you paddled, handing the note your dad had left to your husband. A sigh of relief in the form of his chest falling from the fat breath he sucked in before dissipating from his chest. Taking a step close, your husband ignored, focusing all his efforts on the written material until he felt the texture of what was your fingertips find a place on his torso, index fingers ‘accidentally’ finding a way underneath the hem of the thin material that made up his shirt. The note was removed from your husband’s face in the form of a toss with his own hand, eyes piercing into yours the more and more the skin of his torso was being exposed to the light. Your palms then became a part of the conversation, gently pressing against your husband's groin as you could feel his length awake from a light slumber.

“Why am I sensing that you’re not mad now?”

“Me,” You gasped, feigning ignorance as you finally pulled the flimsy material over your husband’s head, “I was never mad?”

“You weren’t?”

“No Mr. Bang,” you giggled, wrapping your hands around your husband’s neck once more, “Mad that you have been teasing me for almost 24 hours straight?”

Chan didn’t answer, instead sweeping your legs off the floor and into your arms, carrying your bridal style back down the said hallway, bedroom door conveniently already open as he laid you down on your back. A hum of happiness fell from your lips at the familiar feeling of your own bed sheets encompassing your back. You were brought out of those thoughts quickly however, your husband left you little to revel in bed texture, removing his sweats immediately before lifting you by the armpits again, leaving you to stand and him sitting on the edge of your shared mattress. The invitation of your barely dressed husband with a pressing erection straining his boxers was a very enticing seat. One that you took without a second thought as his hands were straight for your throat, a gentle squeeze as your lips connected first, legs cloaking his waist once more, the both of your tongues fighting for dominance over each other. Chan’s mouth vibrated as he relaxed into the sensual nature of the kiss, hands drifting away from your upper body and right to the outside of your thighs, a gentle tingle of fingertips dancing across your heated skin as you pulled away from a brief moment, wanting to match at least half of his body in the lack of clothing. Your husband helped as he withdrew his hands from your body for a brief moment, deciding to, rather than pull your nice shirt over your head like a normal person, he pulled the seams apart, splitting the shirt into two before using one hand only to unclasp your bra this time. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t impressed by it everytime.

“I liked that shirt,” you pouted, “did you have to rip it?” “I’m sorry y/n,” he chuckled, hands snaking up your sides another time, “I just want you so badly.”

There was no time to react as your husband gripped your hips, spinning you around and pinning you into the mattress. His second attack followed impeccably, hands fumbling on your jeans before getting them undone, panties groped in unison as they hit the side wall. That was an irrelevant detail, because Chan was lying on his front, abs rubbing against your core as he brought his hands back to your tits; his most favorite thing in the world. The man could not keep his hands still, mouth slobbering all over the sensitive skin as he began his second attack of the day on your nipples. 

“Never gets old,” you giggle, a gentle moan following after at the contrast of your flimsy mounds and rock hard nubs. Chan’s hands felt like no other, and when he had them on you, it was the time when you felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Your husband’s chuckles followed closely to yours. Seeing his wife happy was one thing, but knowing that he could make you feel this good aroused him to another level. His admiration deepend, yes, but it was somewhat of an ego boost for him. Knowing that he was that good with his fingers. 

Your husband’s lips, like his hands, began to wander, a strip of wet kisses trailing down the center of your stomach, causing him to crawl back further and further until his lips were just above your core. Chan brought his fingers right back to where he had them in the car, easily able to slip in two fingers without warning, a deep groan gritting his teeth at the way your back arched for him monumentally. The sight was one that he had been craving, one that you craved yourself. It did not matter how far apart you were from your husband, his appetite for you would never change. If he wanted to be close, he wanted to be close. If he wanted to be far, well that was just simply not plausible. As much as he wanted to pleasure you, make you feel good, like the diligent role of a husband should be, it was the closeness that motivated him every time. Chan longed for these moments, especially since the introduction of your daughter restricted the ability to do so. At any possible moment, Chan would demand to do whatever he could to profess his love, and it was always done with his mouth; his tongue to be more specific. 

In this scenario, rather than speaking with tongue, it was sticking out of your husband’s lips, flattening as he dived in head first without hesitation, your hands automatically rummaging through the thick mound of curls that supported the top of his head. His tongue was heaven, spreading your pussy lips farther and farther apart and he used that ferocious organ to fiercely suck on your wanting nub. A monstrous moan escaped your lips at the contact, a gratifying humm coming from his throat at the way you tugged on his locks. Your eyes were barely open, unable to prevent yourself letting your eyelids dance back and forth from open to shut, mesmerized at the current view you had when hunching your neck to see. Chan could see the way you were desperate to view his fulfilling prophecy that was going down on his wife, making sure to lay his chest flat on your bed, ejecting his fingers from your cunt and hooking each forearm around each leg, compressing them into the mattress, giving you the perfect perspective of the combination that was his lips and tongue simultaneously pleasuring your aching core. If this was going to be the result after pining for each other for around 12 hours only, you would never think about it twice. 

“I love being married,” you whined, another humorous hum escaping your husband’s lips, “tongue feels so good.”

“Mmmh,” he mumbled, half of his face muffled in your pussy, “you taste so good.”

“What was that?”

He took away his tongue for a brief moment, looking you deep in the eye before repeating his statement.

“You taste so good.”

He didn’t want to take much time away from making you, his wife, feel good, let alone waste his breath on 3 words. His tongue snaked across your inner thigh, the organ licking a gentle strip up each leg before descending back onto your gushing pussy. The smile on your face at his works was impossible to wipe off, your moans through the pearly whites getting louder and louder at the same time with your core, the accumulation of your slick and Chan’s oral fluids contributing to the squelching sound that was bringing you closer and closer to peak arousal. His lust was simply one of trance and dedication. It genuinely could not be explained enough how much he loved seeing you like this, knowing that he was the one that was doing so. Your lips contorted, unable to keep the smile as your bite down on the skin below your bottom lip, harsh enough to leave a line of marks before you were sitting up, hands leaving his hair and dominating his face, palms spread across either side before pressing a kiss to his lips. Your nose crinkled, easily identifying the taste of you on his tongue before giving him one last look, eyes completely open as you crawled backwards on your elbows, left index fingers curling in a come hither motion. The invitation was simply too divine to resist. Your husband turned into a predator, jumping on top of you like he had just caught his prey. His moves were delicate, making sure to not crush you underneath him. His lips were itching to be on yours again, and the feelings were returned, tongue automatically parting his lips and dipping inside his wanting mouth as his hands left your figure for a brief moment, slipping the thin material down his legs and over his feet, fingertips, like magnets to his wife’s skin, straight back onto you. Your own hands were now back on your husband's body, fingernails digging into the large mound of muscles that was his upper back as his fully erect length pressed against your heat. A moan slipped out of your mouth and straight into his, causing him to pull away.

“Fuck you really missed me, didn’t you?”

His smirk was fucking priceless. So annoying, but it would just be a flat out lie if you said you were not attracted to it in the slightest. Cocky did not look good on most people, but it 100% suited your husband. Your nails buried themselves deeper into his flesh at his statement, a poor attempt at humbling him in the slightest as another moan fell from your lips as he began slightly rocking back and forth, the tip of his pre-cum soaked tip hitting your extremely sensitive nub. You went to open your mouth, a failing endeavor of speaking a sentence when the only thing coming out being sounds of pleasure.

“Don’t tease me Mr. Bang,” you mumbled in between each groan, bucking your hips to create a larger friction between your two bodies. Chan was getting impatient himself, but god, did he love to tease you. Your husband had no trouble making you orgasm over and over, he just had displeasure in making you cum so quickly. Your body was sensitive solely to him, even after all these years, it didn’t take much to get you there. Therefore, teasing you made the process so much more enjoyable. Watching you squirm was something that he really enjoyed. 

“Hmm Mrs. Bang,” he hummed, lifting his hips off of yours, one hand now wrapped around the base of him, “you’re so cute when you’re all hot and bothered.”

Your eyes formed into a squint, annoyed at how easily he was pinning you down, “stop playing games and fuck me. Preferably today before they get home.”

“Oh fuck,” Chan chuckled, prodding at your pussy hole with his length, “you’re right, let me get to business.”

It was funny when previously mentioned that Chan left to tease and see you squirm, because once his length was comforted by the strength of your tight walls, your husband was a mess. He couldn't help it. Your pussy, after being with you for so many years, molded exactly to the shape and maneuvers that Chan needed. He tried to maintain a slow pace, allowing for your cunt to stretch perfectly around him, wanting you to feel every inch of him; but it simply was too irresistible to resist. Chan wrapped his hands around your ankles, lifting your limbs in the air and stretching them as far as they could go before kneeling on his knees as he began to flat out pound your busy. His pace was not as fast no, by the velocity of the thrusts was truly toe curling. Your jaw dropped to the floor if it could, the bedhead surely denting the walls at the arms as each time his hope made contact with your contact, a large noise resembling a slap occurred. Your husband was usually not as rough, but it’s not that you’re complaining at all. It was rare that he would just throw you around like this, usually if he was frustrated or that you had been away. So really, you should have seen this coming. Maybe it was what provoked you to reply to his lustful text in such a similar manner; whatever you have been doing it was right seeing as he was making your pussy cry with arousal. 

Chan’s teeth sunk into your left calf, a string of large huffs and puffs escaping from his chest as he put all his mighty effort into each thrust, your husband breathing heavy at the combination of his force and pleasure he got from fucking you like that. His eyes ogled however, at how easily your tits bounced back and forth.

“Fuck,” you shouted, “s-so rough.”

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, keeping your legs in the air as your pulled him by the neck, foreheads accidentally smashing foreheads together with a significant force, “you’re fucking me like you want to put another kid in me.”

“Maybe I do,” he grunted, pressing a kiss to your lips in between, “maybe I should put another kid in you.”

God the way he talks, especially like that, turns you on so much. Your hands now travel back to the familiar spot of his back, pulling his chest against yours as he picked up his pace, thrusts much smoother with rhythm as your eyes fluttered shut, head hitting the back of the pillow ad your husband relentlessly fucked your pussy. A deep breath blew from your lips, an insufficient try to maintain your composure as your husband refused to set a forgiving speed.

“Fuck your pussy,” he growled, unable to finish his sentence.

“Yeah baby?”

“Mine,” he huffed, his own eyes fluttering shut as he pinned your upper limbs next to your head, head dipping down back to your breasts, a ferociously lick on your left nipple before he continued, “Fuck I’ll fuck another fucking child into that fucking pussy if you want me to.” 

Chan became a menace when he reached his peak horniness, and during this timeline, that was right now. Anyone who met or knew Chan, as a well-respected friend, colleague, or even a stranger, knew that was one of the most polite people that you could possibly have the pleasure of meeting. Not one to swear, always use his manners and respect other people’s time and values. However, it was only you who got to see the truly feral side of him, like this, cursing his head off. It was only at this point did he forget that facade of a well-mannered gentleman. Chan was certainly not polite or gentlemen like when he fucked you, and it was a guilty pleasure of yours. It always aroused you to hear him say ‘fuck’, mumble a ‘motherfucker’ or ‘shit’ under his breath, even just in normal dialgoue. So when he said it during sex, it truly was one of the hottest fucking things your had ever seen. 

“Do it,” you mumbled, unable to use your full voice, “put a kid in me.”

“Really?”

His head snapped up immediately, lips moving back to your own, pecking you one more time, but with his eyebrows raised in surprise, “Are you being serious?”

“Yes,” you smiled, fingertips spreading across your husband’s cheeks, “you have my permission.”

“Oh fuck,” he grumbled, “you really shouldn’t have said that.”

Chan’s hands snuggled under your back, scooping you and placing you up right on him, cock still inside of you as he sat up himself, keeping you close to his torso as he scooched the end of the bed. He let out a groan as he stood up, hands trailing to your hips as began to bounce you. A new level of sound escaped your lips at the new angle he was hitting inside of your pussy. It was smart to keep your arms enclosed around his neck, head buried into his chest as he still managed to keep the same pace. You really didn’t know how much more of this you could handle; the pressure in your body was building. The pit of your stomach was making its way to your final high, and your muscles were tightening in conjunction. The room’s scent was full of sweat, but also passion. Sweet sweet passion and sweet sweet love filled the four nostrils in the room, bringing you even closer to the edge. 

“Chan?”

“Y/n, you okay baby?”

“I’m gonna cum baby,” you whined, “I'm gonna cum so hard.”

“Oh me fucking too baby,” he fritted through his jaw breaking teeth clench, “I’m about to blow so fucking hard.”

“Yeah?”

“All in this pussy,” he whined, placing you back down on the bed, “my pussy.”

“Mhm, all yours.”

Your husband kept your back arching off the edge of the bed, making sure that when let go of himself, that nothing but even a drop would drip out of your hole. His hips became erratic; you could tell that your husband would not last much longer. Not that you were far off either, but you know that the release of his seed would tip you over the edge. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, hard, “Y/n I’m so sorry I’m gonna cum first.”

“It’s ok,” you whined, “I need your seed inside of me so fucking badly.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you clenched, eyes dark with lust as he kept his gaze on you, “put a fucking kid in me.”

“I fucking love my fucking wife so much,” he spat, jaw falling agape as his load exploded, the ropes of your husband’s orgasm roping over and over inside of you, “I fucking love you so much.”

“Fuck Chan,” you screamed, your own orgasm washing over and sending you into a haze, “it feels so good inside of me.”

Your whine was so attractive to Chan that he leant down to kiss you one more time, before withdrawing his aching cock, falling to your side in a heavy breath. He was quick to get back into action, however, falling off the bed and grabbing your ankles again, lifting them off the floor and onto the bed, ensuring that not a lick of his load would fall out. A fat giggle escaped from your lips when you watched him do so.

“Fuck you were serious about that kid hey?”

He was already gone, annoyingly leaving you by himself. He was quick to come back however, returning with a glass of water and a banana from the kitchen bench, handing over to you without a second thought. Your lips turned into a smile automatically, practically chugging the water down to quench your thirst before peeling the banana open. Your husband took his spot next to you, lying on his side as he watched you with admiration. All of a sudden you felt self-conscious, hesitating before putting your lips anywhere near the fruit.

“I’m starting to think you got this fruit for a particular reason.”

“No,” he chuckled, “just eat it.”

You looked away from him as your lips ‘accidentally’ slipped down the banana, much past where necessary to take a bite. You could see your husband's jaw clenching out of the corner of your eye as your motion.

“What,” you mumbled, mouth full of food, “you were asking for it.”

“Fuck your lucky that your daughter is going to be home soon.”

[rosieswriting]

The Chemistry of Chaos

Barty Crouch Jr x reader

Summary: Amidst teasing and undeniable chemistry, a party celebration leads to unexpected encounters that blur the lines between annoyance and attraction

Note: engllish is not my first language so probably it has some mistakes!

Words: 1,5K

The library was more crowded than usual, with the exams being next week, and it seemed like students had only just now started to take their studying seriously. By students, of course, you meant you. You’d always managed top grades in every subject—except Potions. It was the bane of your academic existence. Thankfully, Remus, and Lily Evans, your ever-supportive best friends, were currently helping you with that very subject. 

“I just don’t understand why I need to know how to make it! It´s not like I need it to know who I fancy!” you groaned in frustration, having recited the steps to make Amortentia about a dozen times but always forgetting one.

Remus and Lily chuckled softly.

“C´mon, you are almost there” Lily encouraged you. So once again, you started to say the steps. But before you could finish, Barty Crouch Jr, Evan Rosier and Regulus Black entered the library.

You immediately recognised Barty´s voice and rolled your eyes. “Just a second” you excused yourself from your friends before standing up from the table with a book in hand and going to the slytherins.

“Junior” you called out shortly.

Barty turned around, a cocky smirk already spreading across his face. “Treasure” he greeted smoothly. “Missed me already?”

 “You wish” you scoffed and hand him the book “next time don’t be too stuck up in your ass and actually pay attention to where you leave your things”

The boy just kept smirking as he grabbed his herbology book that he had given up for lost.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty girl that can return it to me?”

“If you call me pretty girl again i´ll hex you” 

As you turned to walk back, you heard his voice, teasing and smug as ever. “Looking forward to it!” Though you didn’t turn around, you could practically feel the grin plastered on his face, and it took every ounce of restraint not to give him that hex he so richly deserved.

As soon as you sat down, you caught the amused looks on both Remus and Lily´s faces. “What?” you asked them confused and with furrowed eyebrows.

Remus raised an eyebrow, his expression half-amused, half-intrigued. “So…Junior huh?”

Lily smiled, leaning in slightly. “You practically ran over there to give him his book, Treasure”

You shoot her a glance at the nickname. "I did not ‘run.’ He just left it behind and—"

"And you, being the kind, considerate person you are, couldn’t wait to get it back to him, right?" Remus finished, exchanging a glance with Lily. “You’ve been talking to him a lot lately, haven’t you?"

"Not by choice," you insisted, crossing your arms. "He’s always around, and it’s not like I can just ignore him when he’s that loud."

Lily tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "And what was that? ‘Pretty girl’? Seems like he’s got a little nickname for you."

You shrugged,. "He calls everyone names. It’s not a big deal”

"Uh-huh," Remus said, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Lily giggled, nudging your arm. "Admit it, you think he’s cute”

Was Barty Crouch Jr. an idiot? Absolutely. 

Was he the cockiest person you had ever met? Without question. 

Was he the most insufferable student in Hogwarts? Definitely.

 Was he also the hottest student in Hogwarts? Yes, but you would never say that out aloud.

"I do not," you huffed. You focused on the Potions notes in front of you, determined to shift the conversation away from Barty and his stupid, handsome face. "Besides, I’ve got better things to worry about."

Remus raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Alright, alright. We’ll let it go. For now."

But you knew they weren’t convinced. They could see through you, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself. You were stubborn, yes, but not blind. 

Two nights later, exams were finally over, and the Ravenclaws had organized a party in their common room. The air was buzzing with excitement as students from all houses snuck in, celebrating the relief of another term well done. You made your way inside with Lily and Mary and went directly to greet your other friends.

"Looking good," Remus greeted you, handing over a Butterbeer with an approving look. He raised an eyebrow. "Too good, actually. You didn’t dress up for someone, did you?" he teased.

“Oh god” you groaned, rolling your eyes as you took a sip

But Lily quickly jumped in, recounting the story of your recent run-in with Barty, complete with dramatic embellishments.

“Barty Crouch Junior? Of all people?” James asked you with raised eyebrows

“Remus and Lily are dramatic, nothing is going to happen” you shrugged, trying to brush it off.

“Well, you may want to tell him that, sweetheart” Sirius told you, throwing an arm around your shoulders and gently steering you to face the other side of the room.

Barty was leaning against the wall, talking to his friends, but his eyes were locked on you. When you caught his gaze, he gave a slow wink, his lips curving into that annoyingly smug smirk. You rolled your eyes, turning back to your friends.

“Alright, can we drop this now?” you said, taking another swig of your Butterbeer. “Let’s all just enjoy a perfectly nice and irresponsibly drunk party, yeah?”

Your friends laughed, dropping the topic for now, and soon you found yourself in the middle of the dance floor, laughing and spinning with Lily and Mary. After a while, your drink ran out, so you left your friends to grab a refill.

But to your luck, Barty was also getting another drink over the table

“Didn’t know you could clean up this well, Treasure” he drawled, his eyes roaming over you “You sure seem nice when you are not being a smartass” he said looking at you with a devilish grin.

“I wish I could say the same to you, but you look as hideous as always” you said walking pass him and over the table to grab another beer.

You felt his presence behind you and you froze for a second, his body really close to you

“We both know you don’t mean that” he whisper over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You froze for a second as his presence surrounded you, the warmth of him far too close for comfort. Turning to face him, you found him leaning into your space, his smirk deepening as he watched you, utterly unbothered by the fire in your gaze. You were trying to hold your ground, but your gaze flickered to his lips for the briefest second, which he noticed. His grin widened a glint of triumph in his eyes.

“See?” he murmured his voice barely above a whisper. “You find me irresistible”

You gave a short, exasperated laugh. “Junior,” you said, taking a breath, “the only thing I find irresistible is the urge to slap that grin off your face.”

“Oh really?” he said and without warning wrapped his arms around your waist. You gasped and quickly rested your hands on his chest, trying to separate your bodies at least a bit “Because it doesn’t seem like it, in fact you look like if you-“

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the distance, you pressed your lips to his, determined to silence him for once. You could feel his smirk even as he returned the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands slid to his shoulders and then tangled into his hair, deepening the kiss as he nipped at your bottom lip, making you gasp. He took advantage, his tongue teasing against yours, and despite yourself, you found yourself getting lost in the heat of it.

You don’t know how long you have been kissing until you both needed some oxygen and pulled away. His smug expression was maddeningly back in place

“Just wanted to shut up, so don’t let it go to your head” you said as you gave him a playfully pat on his cheek and walk away over to your friends, who had watched what happened.

“What was that about ‘nothing happening’?” Sirius teased, unable to contain a snicker.

You rolled your eyes and grab his beer, having completely forgotten to grab your own thanks to the distraction.

You rolled your eyes. “He wouldn’t shut up,” you mumbled, taking a long sip to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks.

Your friends exchanged knowing glances but decided to save their teasing—for now. But you had a feeling you’d be answering a lot of questions come morning. Still, as you turned one last time and caught Barty’s gaze from across the room, you saw him wink at you again, but this time, you didn’t roll your eyes. Instead, you felt the slightest blush bloom on your cheeks, along with a feeling you couldn’t quite name.

Damn you, Junior.

[exceptional-z]

zed necrodopolis x reader

this is an au where zombies were never allowed to go to human high school. so zed is aged up (though age is never mentioned so you can imagine whatever) but has never been on the other side of the barrier. i attempted not to use gendered language but i tend to write with fem!reader in mind.

also please ignore any inconsistent verb tenses. english is not my first language and verb tenses are literally the bane of my existence. + i wrote this in like an hour

your family didn’t have much money growing up, hence why you lived so close to the gate. real estate was cheap since no one wanted to live near the zombies. but it also meant you learnt how to save money in as many ways as you could.

seabrook was all about perfection. if a mattress was two years old, it was time to throw it out and buy a new one. if a bike had a single scratch, it was thrown into the dumpster. all of the old items deemed as ‘garbage’ were brought to a warehouse that was emptied around every two weeks. and this was your favourite place to be.

you sneak into the warehouse. it’s late at night and there’s never any security around. you’re immediately greeted with piles of furniture and clothing and trinkets that are too unique to fit into the seabrook aesthetic.

you start to rummage through with the plastic gloves you always wear just in case any bugs or mice decide that this is a perfect place to burrow. lost in thought, you don’t hear the creaky door open, but you do hear the sudden shout that erupted from behind you.

your heart nearly stops beating at the sudden noise and your head swivels around. the lighting isn’t great, and you can only make out the vague shape of the person blocking your only exit. he looks fairly lanky, and if you squint you could make out some of his features. he doesn’t look much older than you and he certainly doesn’t scream “imposing”. he’s taller than you, but maybe if you caught him off guard you could knock him out with one of the many heavy objects splayed around you.

“i was told no one ever came in here,” the boy says. fuck, his voice is attractive.

“they don’t. in the three years i’ve been doing this i’ve never run into anyone else.” you answer, obviously suspicious.

“i’m uh- i’m just looking for a gift for my little sister,” he explains, “it’s her birthday soon and she said she wanted a new bike but we can’t really afford it.”

you relax a little at his explanation, sharing that you’d gotten into the habit of coming here to rummage for things since your family also doesn’t have much money. “i could help you look if you’d like? and even if we can’t find a bike, there’s a ton of cool stuff you can find if you’re willing to dig.” you offer.

you can’t be sure, but you think he smiles as he answers. “i’ll take any help i can get. my friend eliza told me to try coming here to look, but honestly, i’m a bit overwhelmed.”

you talk and laugh together for what must be at least two hours. you don’t end up finding a bike, but you find an old cheerleader outfit that looks to be in perfect condition. you can’t imagine why anyone would throw it out unless it just didn’t fit anymore. the boy -who still doesn’t have a name- literally jumped up in joy when he saw you holding the skirt from the set, doing a little celebratory dance that should have been embarrassing but was somehow endearing. (that’s how you figured out his little sister was obsessed with cheer).

eventually you have to part ways; it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and you both need to be getting home. he’s halfway down the street when you realise you never shared names and you yell out, “wait!”

he stops and turns around, and you jog to catch up to him.

“what’s your name, stranger?” you ask, “just in case we run into each other again.”

he tells you his name is zed, and you tell him your name in return. for a few seconds the both of you just stand in the street, memorising each other’s faces until you look away, shaking off the thoughts of how attractive he is under the starlight.

(bonus: when zed gets home, all he can think about is you. he wonders if eliza would recognise your name, or if he would possibly run into you if he chose to go to school for once instead of always skipping. he wonders where you live in zombietown, since he doesn’t recognise you and is sure he would remember seeing someone as gorgeous are you. he spends the next few days wondering, and then is in for the shock of his life when he sees you through the fence that blocks off zombietown from seabrook and learns that you’re human.)

[fridgemissionmaster]

Beelzebub x Reader: A Winter Date, Ignoring Indulgence

In which Beelzebub tries cheering you up amongst snow flurries

Word Count: 6410

Warnings: Reader is very stressed

AN: Thanks @om-adventcalendar for giving me an excuse to write something for my favorite guy.

Your breath shuttered hearing that screeching alarm go off. Slowly, ever so slowly you propped yourself up with your arms and patted the nightstand once, twice, thrice, and several more times just hitting wood till at last your numb fingers grazed the bane of your existence, snatching it with a  slap, pressing the power button.

Silence.

You stayed like that for a while, leaning against the nightstand.

It’d been so long since you’ve last met that. Perhaps that was just a part of winter here. The snow drifting down, tucking everything under that fridged blanket and cloudy pillows making things perfect for a peaceful slumber.

…

A pitiful chuckle escaped you at the thought.

“Oi, MC breakfast’s ready!”

“Coming.”

Time to get up.

You hadn’t fully unpacked yet, the brothers left you no time for such frivolous things where there were much more important ones, like breaking the sprinklers when your back was turned.

Despite it having been several days the bed beneath you was still unfamiliar. Your room empty, impersonal, all your belongings still in your bags strewn about on the desk and chairs.

It was very empty. A unanimous decision by the demons that you get the largest room despite you having brought the least amount of stuff. A work desk before the window, a chair there, one across that, bed in the corner, door across that, and a closet alone away from all else. The twins or Asmo would have been better off here instead of you. All you could muster placing here was upsetting news and unsettling thoughts.

With an unceremonious thud you slammed into the wooden floor.

Cold.

Seemed your body betrayed you and was insisting you get some actual proper rest, but no such luxury could ever be afforded to you, could it. All the worlds loved you too much and something notable always had to be happening.

One arm up and you found purchase on that stranger’s mattress to help yourself up.

You needed to hurry up, otherwise the brothers would throw a fit.

You wondered if them throwing a fit would have been so bad though, watching Mammon and Satan both try and fail to use the mixer, incessantly yelling about how to use the damn thing. It was shiny and new to them, but if it was so difficult why didn’t they just do what they usually did back home.

They called your name, but you ignored it. They both called you enough as it was, they could figure it out themselves.

“Are the pancakes bad?” Beelzebub, your gentle giant sat beside you; his plate already half gone.

“No, you can have mine though.” It was difficult to keep anything down, your stomach twisting and churning. You swear you could feel those acids clinging and stinging your throat raw.

“Mc?”

Okay, what… what was the way back to your room again? It was up the stairs then… then… It was difficult to move, your body felt as if it were lead. Why did Diavolo have to get such a large house? Sure, he wanted EVERYBODY, but four stories was ridiculous. And he wasn’t even here yet! This was his idea and yet Lucifer is insisting on decorating the place for his arrival! Where did the princeling get the idea of having a snow-white Christmas anyway?

Click

It’s too much.

Leaning against the shut door you slowly slid down it, breath trembling.

It’s not bad, you knew this’d happen. You just felt worse off because you didn’t sleep! E-everthing’s… You’re not-

In

and out

In

then out

Deep breaths.

With that third one you got to your feet and strode over to the bed plopping yourself down, the sudden weight shifting the admittedly messy quilt and sheets beneath you. You never actually cleaned the thing, did you. Oops.

It still sat on the nightstand beside the bed… upside down.

…

Fingers picked at the edge of the mattress.

You already knew, there was no point looking to it again…

It’d be irresponsible not to though. And so you plucked the little device from the stand.

It was still muted from last night, not that the lack of notifications did much, upon unlock being greeted to your contacts, the hundreds of messages from friends and family next to each of their names and icons.

You already knew, you didn’t want to hear the same damn news over and over and Over again. You didn’t want to help make plans, you didn’t want to arrange dates or talk about it or WHATEVER else needs to be done! What all even needs to be done!? Can’t someone else do this!? Be in charge for a change!? You DON’T WANT it to be real! Why do YOU have to be passed responsibility!? It shouldn’t be! Doing that stuff it’d ju-

Knock, knock, Click. “Mc?-”

Before you could do a thing he was already kneeling before you, snacks dropped and forgotten in his lap.

“What’s wrong?”

You could not look at him. Beelzebub and his absolute earnestness would tenderly rip your bleeding heart out from your throat and have you say it, acknowledge it. What could you say, he is gluttony, indulgence, and once you started spilling this awful bile you’d indulge, and not stop, dumping all this bullshit onto him. He should be happy on vacation, not… THIS.

“Dry.”

“Huh?”

You wiped your stinging eyes with the palm of your fist before looking to him. His brows slightly furrowed, hands placed on either side of you, so worried. Did you really look that much like on the brink of tears?

“The heaters’ always on, right? Well, the things here have the stupid side effect of making things dry as well and let me tell you it’s not the most fun thing to deal with, especially with it on constantly. It can irritate the eye.”

Beel simply gave you a single nod and hum. You couldn’t look at him much longer than necessary.

…

There was a quiet thump sound as he arranged whatever it was in his lap before sitting beside you.

…

A little plate of berries and cut-up fruit was placed on your lap.

?

“Bunny apples?” You held the slice up to wide beams of light that streamed from that window to your side.

“Uh… My Monster Crush…Monster Crusher-” The man shook his head, deciding the title didn’t matter and to forget about it. “Levi watched it a couple days ago and wanted them when they showed up. I don’t get it, but he liked them.”

Ah, so that’s why the knife work looked so good. Beel could master just about anything in such a short amount of time if it’s for someone he cares about. From that wobbly first attempt at sewing plush of Belphie, to designing outfits for everyone, then going on to making the most gorgeous yukata you have ever seen. You’re still so surprised every time you look at it seeing how small and even the stitching is, all hand sewn. And now seeing his brother like a cut-up fruit and figuring out how to make it overnight.

That crisp, juicy flesh and the satisfying SNAP as you took a bite, lovely. And the CRUNCH of every last bite, so satisfying!

“Dose the dryness make humans not hungry?”

“Thirsty, yeah. Hungry, I’m not too sure.”

You didn’t even need to look at him to know what was coming. Better to beat him to the punch.

“I’m just feeling a little off. Whenever I go here or the Devildom my body usually takes a few days to readjust.”

The silence between you and the sixth born was always a comfortable one, no need to fill up the space with needless chatter, however right now it just… you weren’t sure. You knew you didn’t want to be alone, but being around the others was just too much. You knew eventually someone would notice you then everyone else would find out since even the most simple of things must be so dramatic or the end of the world around here. No place to just rest, or even ignore them since personal space is such a foreign concept that even if you tri-

“Would going out help?”

“I- What?”

Your gentle giant had to take a moment to swallow before answering, only popping in a few pretzels from the bag in hand so his voice wasn’t completely muffled. “It’s not too dry outside, right?”

“I… don’t think sssooooo?” That last word grew higher in pitch, you unsure about… ANY of this?

“Let’s go on a date.”

His expression… you’ve lived together for so long you gotten accustomed to the little changes of his faces, but this… No matter how you tried to scrutinize it you couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking. Was he worried? Just wanted to go out? There was something serious about it but trying to take you out on ‘proper’ dates and worries about you were both taken seriously to him, yet something was off with this.

“A date?” Placing the plate aside you leaned in. A hand on his cheek, thumb wiping away those pesky crumbs… Damn, still couldn’t read a thing. At least you got such a pretty view out of it. “We still have to decorate for Diavolo’s arrival, and I doubt Lucifer’ll let us so easily get out of that.”

“… I’ll ask Belphie to cover for us.”

Beel, thinking of skipping out on something involving his family? Maybe you weren’t the only one feeling so odd today.

Already he stood, squeezing your hand with his before you could take it back, then striding towards the door. “I’ll get you soon, okay?”

Upon seeing you nod he smiles, then closed the door behind himself as he left.

Well…

Certainly not what you were expecting to do with your day, but you know what, maybe this was just the thing you needed! The pair of you hadn’t gotten the chance to spend time together without someone interrupting for a while now, even before arriving here on Diavolo’s whim.

Quickly you got ready for the outdoors. In the end you had to ransack your own luggage to find all you wanted but cleaning the strewn about clothes could come later, it also made for the perfect excuse to finally put it all in the closet. Perhaps you were a little too eager for this excursion, not sure what to do with yourself.

Not much else for it other than to look out that window. It was a nice view. Next to the hotel across the way was that massive horse ranch. The moment you sent Mehpisto a picture of it when first arriving he wouldn’t stop spamming, demanding more pictures. You hadn’t gotten to visit the place yet, but they did allow visitors, maybe you’d all get to go later. There were a few out, dashing across those white plains, kicking up snow, blurring their legs as they went. Had his horses ever experienced snow before? Surely, it did snow in the Devildom, albeit rarely. If not, maybe it’d be something to look forward too when he arrives with Diavolo.

…

Should you bring your phone? You REALLY didn’t want to, just the thought alone made the constant pit in your stomach sour. Leaving them on read would just make them upset and the whole thing worse. But not being able contact others could be dangerous.

.

.

.

The view’s pretty, especially so when there was such a bright handsome demon in it.

What were you thinking. There was no such thing as danger if Beel was nearby.

He simply kept waving to you even after you waved back.

It was simple enough to flick open the hook lock. You immediately regret throwing open the windows as you did, that chill engulfing you. You should have expected it though, already able to feel it through the crack between the door-like panes.

“HEY BUB!”

“JUMP!”

“...”

He held his arms up and out.

Just what was up with him today?

Okay. Thankfully with the whole lot of nothing on the desk it took but a moment to perch yourself on the windowsill. A bit too thin for your liking, but… Beel was there, you knew you were safe. Didn’t stop your body from freezing on the spot clutching to the side of the thing, heart thumping something in you screaming to hop back onto the desk instead, you were on the fourth floor after all. However, the man below you was much too far for your liking and that had to be fixed.

And so

The wind thrashed into you before your mind could register it, already crashing into his firm frame. It took a moment to collect yourself from the impact despite Beel’s best efforts to give you a soft landing into him.

He… didn’t move. Leaning back you could see the snow around him wasn’t disturbed other than the trail he made to get here already disappearing.

“… You didn’t even need to take a step back for balance!”

“You’re not that heavy.” Effortlessly he readjusted you. “Lika a grape.”

“A grape? Dude, I smashed into you from up there-” Your arm was flung toward the top of the building where the open window was. Damn, still had no effect on him. Was that a demon thing or just a strong Beel thing? “-not even the force of gravity did anything!?”

“No?” The man just stood there, a light chuckle shaking his body at your bewildered expression as he squeezed you closer. What were you finding so confusing about him? You didn’t seem upset by it at least.

“Belphie said this would be safer than going out together. Mammon and Asmo were in the living room looking for you.” Gently you were placed on the ground. Too bad, he was so warm, like your own personal heater.

“Ah, well then, we just better get going before anyone notices.” Perfect timing too, with the current snowfall your tracks would be covered. The icy flakes drifted down, twisting and twirling as the wind rushed past kicking up parts of clothes and hair as it went playing along.

“Could we go get supplies. They asked where I was going and Belphie…” Your demon’s gaze drifted away from you, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“Of course, that’ll be out first stop.” He perked up relieved by your answer. Even more so when you took his hand and began walking.

The town was definitely more of a touristy one, Danish themed you believed. Oddly reminded you of the Devildom in some ways like the cobblestone walkable streets, or the colorful buildings, even the wooden signs that hung above the doors of shops, the words engraved an intriguing font. Plants littered the place, trees and wooden potted shrubbery everywhere. The Devildom had similar too, however it was nice being able the see them from every angle easily instead of needing the help of the lights from shop windows. It… was nice. In a way like seeing the Devildom in daylight. Was this place really like the Devildom though or were you just imagining it and making connections where there were none. There was also the fact it felt so odd to be seeing lights hanging from rooftops and windows not lit up constantly, or the twinkling stars above.

…

You didn’t have much of a choice coming back given this was another one of Diavolo’s sudden adventures, but would it have been better if you hadn’t followed along and came here? They already know you have so it’s not like you could just make the excuse you were off ‘studying overseas’ again. It’d be nice if you could just ignore everything. Not that playing tour guide for so many demons would be any better. How were you going to handle things when Diavolo arrived, yesterday you only got to bed at THREE in the morning because everybody needed you for some reason or another, like what’s this thing, why do you need a can opener when you and use your teeth, MC I broke the weird thing in the lawn, the SPRINKLERS which isn’t the worst thing, but WHY!? MC spend time with me. MC it’s too damn bright outside. MC I brought paperwork on vacation for no reason, help me because I’m such a self-entitle brat who believes I can just take you any time I so please because your wants and needs don’t matter, here take responsibility for my family, because you’re family and the only one I can rely on apparently!

Your hand was squeezed.

Everyone but the one person you wanted to be with most. And you were with him now.

A date.

Even a squeeze and he was so gentle, so aware of his strength. His hand absolutely engulfed yours. You could feel some of those calluses pressed against your palm even through gloves.

And it was gone.

“Bubba?” Beel was taking off his jacket?

“You’re shaking.” Didn’t even look at you, just kept taking the thing off.

“I was?”

His eyes widened pausing mid action, just a sleeve still on.

“You’re not cold?”

Fuck

“Ah! No, no I am. I just didn’t realize I was shivering!” You tried swallowing, pushing down the lump building in your throat. No stresses, you’re with him. “But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine, you know it gets much colder back home.”

Before you could say a thing further he already had the garment off and in hand. At least he had a turtleneck unde-

Your knees buckled underneath, your foot shooting out to not fall.

“MC!?” His hand was on your chest, but you were fine, you didn’t completely lose your balance.

“What’s this thing so heavy for!?” It wasn’t too terrible a weight, but certainly enough to startle you and trick you body into thinking someone from behind… fell on you slowly? Or something, it was such an odd sensation!

“Snacks, I can-”

“Oh no mister! This is mine now!” You took a step back before he could take it from you. Yes, it startled you, but it was comfy and warm! Still though, he managed to hide that many in there? It was very big and durable though. Beel had worn this before when you went on hikes back home. You’d seen that thing get beat up, sliding down rocky land, trudging through prickly thickets, even slashed and pecked by wild animals yet still it was in pretty decent condition, that probably had something to do with it and the layer of fluff lining the inside.

Beel held his wrist to his chest for a moment, a habit that normally showed when he was anxious or worried.

“Hey.” You wrapped your hands around one of his, gently pulling away getting him to let go. “We still need to get that shopping done, right?”

All you got was a light hum, lips straight and taught, lost in thought.

Oh! “Beely-boy, the bus!” Immediately he nodded, gripping you tighter and picking up pace, footfalls crunching with every hastened step across the fridged landscape. It wasn’t too much farther down the street, and it had just stopped.

It was nice watching the scenery pass by beside you. It was an open-air bus, not exactly too many walls, but this was probably better than wandering about on foot looking for a good place for the supplies. There were people walking about, hearing them talk in a multitude of languages, shouldn’t be all too surprising, the town did seem to be a popular place to vacation, exactly what you’re doing.

You leaned into the warmth behind you as your companion wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer.

…

“Mc, are you okay?”

‘No.’ What an answer that would be to give…

“Beelzebub.”

“Yes?”

You couldn’t. You knew all too well those crystalline eyes would break any resolve there was to keep anything from the man.

“Beel.”

“Huh?”

That building had a green roof.

“Bub.”

A food stall, you took note to go there later.

“Bubba.”

You wondered if there’d be any interesting books in the gift shop, like history of the town.

“Beelzeboo.”

Toy shop, probably could find a good puzzle for Luke there.

“Beely-boy.”

You wondered if the shop with the giant grandfather clock behind the window was an antique shop.

“Beely-boy-bub.”

“M-mc?”

Oh, a horse drawn carriage. Big ones with the floofy hooves. Mephisto would love to go for a ride.

“Big guy.”

You could see the giant windmill you first spotted when arriving in town.

“Big boy.”

Maybe it was safe to look back now… but just in case you thought it best to go for the kill.

“My cute little Love Bug. You have nothing to worry about.”

…

You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him. Looking up and back the first thing you spotted was surprisingly not that fiery orange hair but the lightest steam which quickly twisted and drifted away in the wind. His cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed, almost as bright as the color of his sin. Lips slightly parted, eyes bore into you while he faced away, something in him unable to fully face you in the moment.

You… knew he could get awkward and blush at certain topics, but THIS

Never before could you have imagined him getting so bashful.

YOU JUST MEANT TO DISTRACT HIM, MAKE HIM A LITTLE SHY, OR SOMETHING, NOT COMPLETELY EMBARRASS THE POOR GUY!

“I’m sorry! Sorry! I’m just tired and am in a weird mood! I didn’t-are you okay?”

Obediently he nodded, although he did start facing his feet.

…

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

“I’m not! I’m sorry!”

Lightly he shook his head before finally facing you again, a little wobbly smile creasing his lips. “You’re cute.”

“What do you mean! You can’t just say stuff like that after…” Your hands lightly waved about before gesturing to yourselves. “THAT!”

“Why not?”

“Why am I the one starting to be embarrassed here!”

You proceeded to hide your face in your hands.

“Mc?”

His arm pulled you closer, letting you hide in his chest.

He seemed so flustered but then just decided to slap you with THAT AND WORST OF ALL YOU KNOW IT WAS NOT OUT OF REVENGE, HE JUST GENUINELY MEANT THAT BECAUSE YOU GETTING FLUSTERED ON HIS BEHALF HE FINDS SWEET APPARENTLY! AND THEN HE’S JUST ALL NORMAL AGAIN AND ACTING LIKE YOU’RE THE ONE COMPLETELY EMBARRASSED AND LETTING YOU HIDE YOUR FACE! YOU SHOULD BE THE ONE OFFERING YOUR SHOULDER FOR HIM TO HIDE HIS FACE AT!

Gently he rubbed his hand up and down your arm, a soothing motion. His other hand slipped into one of his jacket pockets and pulled something out.

This man, just

Damn it

“Oh, Mc.”

“… yes.”

“Our stop’s here.”

“eh?”

Lightly he tugged you up to your feet before leading you off the bus.

One, two, three, four buildings the pair of you went past…

“Where are we going?”

“There.” He pointed down the street, the end of which you could only kind of see, very misty and away. Sometimes you forgot just how good his eyesight was, man could spot you from the opposite side of a fangol field in practically pitch darkness effortlessly.

With a little hum in his throat the bag he held was tilted your way.

… you really didn’t want too, but how could you refuse him.

“thank you.” Dried fruit, maybe it’d settle your stomach a bit.

…

Sour and acidity. Felt like you just ate a rock, part of it sticking in your throat. Or did it already feel like that before, when you got the ne-

NOPE

NO

You! Are on,

A date.

None of that nonsense!

A sigh escaped in your failing attempts to alleviate the tension in you. That puff of air freezing in the wind. There was chatter all around, music in the distance, and a crunch with every step beneath your feet. Even with everyone milling about flattening it, more snow kept falling to take it’s place, only the streets where vehicles drove were more or less cleared of it.

Your fingers twitched around the edges of Beel’s jacket, pulling it closer.

“Warm?”

You nod. Very warm. “Thank you… Are you sure you’re fine?”

His eyes followed you up and down for a moment, landing on your face. “As long as you are.”

“That’s not an answer! Are you cold or not!”

“No, you warmed me up earlier.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry for what?”

This man…

Supplies, supplies, supplies, that only referred to one of two things when on vacation, getting ‘just in case’ things, an extra first aid kit here, a fire extinguisher there, or party stuff. This trip seemed to be for both. There was a demon prince, his butler, loyal noble, a wizard, angels and a reaper arriving throughout the week, so everything had to be perfect and not get too out of hand.

While you were here you could probably pick up some extra food as well, you always needed extra on hand. You stood there, arm draped over the handle of the shopping cart unable to decide if getting candles would be a good idea as well, never know when there’ll be a power outage. You heard the distinct clinking of many items being placed in the shopping cart. With a quick glance you could tell Beel tried leaving a little room for anything that wasn’t food. Or perhaps you shouldn’t get to much extra supplies, you would have to be walking around with the stuff after all.

“Mc, do you like this?” There was a spool of thread in Beel’s hand. A bright red with a shiny gold strand running throughout.

“Yeah, it reminds me of you.”

“Oh… I thought of you when I saw it.”

“Any ideas for it?” Gingerly you took it, spinning it about to see if it was frayed or damaged anywhere before placing it in the cup-holder of the cart.

“A jacket for you.”

“A jacket?”

Beelzebub gave you a single nod. “I wanted to get you the same one as mine, but they don’t sell them anymore. And you like mine so much, I want you to have one like it.”

…

And he just stood there, smiling at the thought of making you something you’d like.

…

Why was this getting to you so much. Such a simple action and you were hot allover, and it felt as if your rib-cage was shaking. “Well, we better pick up a few more spools then.”

He was very quick to come back with more in hand, however as you waited you noticed something. You pulled out this pan from the cart. Similar to any other one in shape, but instead of one large divot there were nine shallow ones.

“Know what this is for Big Guy?”

“… Takoyaki balls?”

Gently you placed it back and began making your way to the registers. “No. Aebleskivers. Imagine pancakes, but better.”

“Better?” You couldn’t help smiling hearing his immediate interest.

“Yeah, better! They’re like spheres. They’re usually COVERED in powered sugar. The smaller ones are dipped in jam, but the bigger ones, chocolate, creams, jams could be stuffed inside. We passed some on the bus ride, wanna go?”

“Yes!”

You didn’t even need to ask; his answer was obvious. You tried hurrying as best you could, your giant’s excitement palpable and infectious. He took the heavier bags without a word, just like every other time. Just in case you fed him a new pack of cookies as you went so the anticipation wouldn’t turn to impatients. Thankfully the bus went at a leisure pace, so it was easy enough to recall how to get to the little hole in the wall.

Hole in the was the best way to describe it actually. No shop to go into, simply an open window where one could order how much they wanted, watch as the delicacies were made, the glass to the sides reflecting your partner’s twinkling eyes and the drool rolling down his chin, and have little colorful, topless boxes passed to you, steam raising up from the golden-brown spheres from the parts that weren’t drizzled with jam, a little powdered sugar sprinkled on top like the snow flittering down around you.

“Here.” Part of the perfection of theses things was how they were so simple. Just a sphere. Easy enough to stab it and hold up to a waiting maw.

You distinctly heard a sort of click sound, likely Beelzebub’s teeth knocking into the plastic. Admittedly with the force behind his bite you were worried for a moment he broke and swallowed part of the fork as well.

Your pace slowed as Beel’s did, soon coming to a stop before a park. It was small, not much to it aside from trees much taller than those in the rest of town and the tables and benches strewn about.

He trotted along, placing the bags he held aside, needing a free arm to sweep the frozen ice chunks off the table and seats. They didn’t seem too wet, you at least had Beelzebub’s jacket to cover yourself in-case it was, but Beel… was already sitting before you could say a thing. He didn’t seem bothered so it must have been fine.

Soon both of you had placed your treats about, already there was a stack of those boxes off to the side, you having made sure Beel had gotten plenty on the way.

There was that stiffness still in your neck, probably got there from the night before. Hands held high you stretched, joints popping. Each one got the demon before you to flinch, eyebrows furrowing further with each one. You had told him plenty of times it was nothing bad, that as far as you knew that was just a part of the human body, but that didn’t stop him from worrying, you had yet to tell him the popping was air bubbles for that reason, him probably getting concerned as to how those got there in the first place.

Neck still felt off.

With a loud exhale you tried relaxing, only to be greeted to one of those round pancakes at your face.

…

They weren’t that heavy, deciding it couldn’t be so bad you took a bite.

“… Still not hungry? You haven’t had much all day.”

“Not everyone can unhinge their jaw like you Buddy. I’ll have more soon.”

“Hmm.”

You tried ignoring the growing uncomfortableness in your gut and the urge to pick at something, your gloves, the peeling paint on the table, your fingers, perhaps the empty boxes, maybe a loose thread somewhere, something to pull, to break, something hard to grind into your hand, flick, press-

Or nudge, like whatever had knocked into your foot. You tried pressing against it to shoo it away, instead it nudged into you again.

Was it the leg of Beel’s chair or table somehow?

You tried lifting your foot up to tap the thing only for your toe to get caught! And the sole of your shoe was lightly pushed!

Only then did the realization dawn on you.

“You wanna play footsies, eh?”

The man before you quirked a brow. “You started it.”

YOU started it!? Well, perhaps you WERE distracted and maybe started bouncing your leg or something but certainly you were going to finish it! Why just look at him, Beelzebub sitting there so mischievously and cooly, munching away as a little smile pulled at the corners of his lips! Too handsome and charming, you had to do something about it!

Reeling back, packing in as much power as you could, launching your foot forward.

A giggle escaped him at the ticklish feeling. Success! Something in you always worried about any hit to the man but after seeing him get whipped and laughing at it, you realized not much could phase him. Still it felt odd to-

“Ah!”

You left yourself vulnerable, Beel catching the bottom of your foot, lifting it up.

Alright a swift maneuver to the l-

THUNK

A nervous giggly mess of a laugh escaped you. Everybody in the area probably heard you crash into the table and were looking your way!  You couldn’t stop yourself though, it was so silly y-

“I love you.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

what

He sat there. The chill dusting his cheeks with a rosy hue, hair gently swaying in the wind, snowflakes clinging to a few strands making the orange color seemingly unbearably warm in contrast.

He’s just always like that.

Quiet, yet overwhelming.

So direct, and honest, and raw.

He didn’t even think about that action, it just came out.

His eyes were half closed in that moment, pooled with emotion, shiny, reflecting only you.

Or at least you think.

Fuck

Everything just kept getting blurrier and blurrier. You could not stop laughing. It ripped out of your throat in painful, satisfying bursts wracking through your whole body, everything shaking and rattling only settling a little as a kind pressure enveloped you, one you could only try holding in kind.

Your breaths were unsteady but eventually you were able to claim them and hold them back, to be steady.

It was hot.

With a deep breath you slowly leaned back a little, never being let go of though.

“sorry”

All he did was hold you tighter yet it felt like it was enough to squeeze a few more tears from you despite his tenderness.

“i didn’t… i”

A hand slowly soothed up and down your back, very much there.

“… you make it hard. to not just

say everything

……

you just

always

make me feel so safe”

You were terrified to look at him yet could not resist the temptation.

Beautiful

His cheek felt so hot the moment you placed your hand on it, him nuzzling into the touch.

“Is that bad?”

“… i don’t think it matters. you

your

everything

it’s just so much, i just

want it all

your love

your strength

your warmth.”

“Oh.”

“hmm?”

“You’re smiling, really smiling.”

A light chuckle rumbled out your throat. Only he could make a comment like that in a moment like this.

Gently you pulled his face closer to your’s, your giant demon not resisting in the slightest.

His breath was unbearably hot against your lips.

Even after you parted you didn’t move your hand. How could you? He was still enjoying the touch, leaning a little into it.

“Do you want to talk?”

“no. i really, really don’t

i don’t

i

i don’t wanna deal with it

i don’t want to talk

or think about it

not now

i

…

you’re so warm and safe and i know

i know you’d listen to anything i have to say

but i don’t wanna dump everything on you

but you make me want to

to indulge in the pain

to wallow in the relief

i”

“Is that bad though?”

...

“That’s okay, I’ve waited all day and longer, I can wait as long as you want.”

And longer?

Clearly he could tell the question playing in your mind.

“You left for your room in a hurry. I thought you were trying to get to bed at first, but you were shaking a little. I wanted to ask but you needed sleep and Lucifer started lecturing us about keeping you up.”

“TCH, are you kidding me? the last thing i did last night was look over those stupid papers with him.”

Hypocrite, not that the fact was anything new.

“Want to go back?”

“eh, a date with you or having everyone fight over me. I definitely know what I prefer.”

You managed to get a giddy chuckle out of him with a quick kiss to emphasize the point.

“What do you want to do?”

You sighed, not really wanting to think too much in the moment, however you could come up with one thing. “You found that cool thread, right? Maybe they’d have some fabric shops here with other unique designs.”

With a beaming smile that was far too bright he picked you up, effortlessly collecting the bags and boxes. The least you could do was to hold on to those, giving him a bite.

“You should have more.”

“It feels awful from the stress though.”

“You’ll feel worse if you’re hungry.”

Those pleading eyes, you couldn’t refute them and gave in. They were definitely cool but damn it, they still tasted good.

“I can walk.”

“I want to carry you.”

“You have all the bags though.”

“Like a grape.”

“… Okay, that’s ridiculous! A grape fits in your hand, I’m much bigger than that!”

“A human grape maybe. But you and those are easy to carry.”

… Should you really be surprised at this point by the nonsensical things from the Devildom!

You and everything else were truly effortless for the man to carry, even managed to pull the wallet out of his pocket to pay the carriage driver.

Even when seated he still held you close. It was an open-air carriage, but at least the covering kept the snow off. Gave you an excuse to snuggle into his side whenever an especially chilly breeze rolled by.

…

“Love Bug.”

“… yes.”

“Thank you, you really mean so much to me.”

He didn’t need to say anything, that wobbling smile, the light blush and him holding you tighter said it for him.

“M-MC! BEEL KIDNAPPED MC!”

Leviathan!?

Only for a moment you spotted him, Satan by his side however before you knew it you were already leaping out of the carriage in Beelzebub’s arms, him bolting across the streets.

“Oh. Belphie tried calling.”

Beel passed you his phone for you to scroll through as he run, your name being called by a new voice on occasion. There were dozens of texts and several missed calls. Seems he had a plan but everyone realized you were missing during a nap and panicked, especially when they found your room a mess and the window open.

That… wasn’t exactly a good look, was it.

“Guess we should go back, huh Bub.”

“Do you want to?”

“… Not really, no.”

“Then we won’t.”

… What were you going to do with this man you wondered. “Thank you.”

[thebramblewood]

For a brief moment in her eternal existence, Lilith was well and truly shook.

Previous / Next

[incessant pounding at door]

Lilith: It’s nearly sunrise! Who would be calling at such an ungodly hour? [expectant pause] Fine. I suppose I’ll answer it then. Helena? [immediately composes self] Well, isn’t this an unexpected pleasure?

Helena: Let’s get one thing straight, Lilith Vatore. I’m only here as a last resort. I won’t let you have your way with me. Caleb warned me about you.

Lilith: [bemused smirk] Oh? So that’s what’s been keeping him busy.

Helena: [barreling forward] And I read your book. You don’t come off well.

Lilith: It’s hardly my book. That journalistic hack is the bane of my existence. No one alive still cared about the Vatore name until he started nosing around. I’d kill him, but it'd just make more trouble than it’s worth.

Helena: How can you talk about it so casually?

Lilith: What?

Helena: Killing people!

Lilith: Because it’s what vampires do. It’s as natural to us as breathing, darling.

Helena: Caleb doesn’t kill people, does he? I don’t think he even drinks blood.

Lilith: Caleb, bless his heart, is a miserable fucking sadsack. Clinging onto one’s humanity is a thankless task, one he’s bafflingly decided is his personal cross to bear. But we’re above humanity now, Helena. We’re elite. We’re supernatural. Nobody can fucking touch us. Our power is limitless, so long as guilt doesn’t get in the way.

Helena: I’m not interested in power. I didn’t ask for any of this. Are you even sorry for what you did?

Lilith: Of course! I thought you were dead until five minutes ago, and I have been mourning the loss.

Helena: [scoffs in disbelief] For yourself maybe. You didn’t give a shit what happened to me. I have no future because of you!

Lilith: Oh, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’ll make a remarkable vampire someday. I can sense it. I understand you and Caleb have been… bonding. While you’re here, though, you may as well learn from both of us. You might be surprised whose lessons you prefer.

Helena: We’ll see about that.

Lilith: Make yourself comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a little chat with my dear brother.

[alpaca-clouds]

Trying to figure out Gortash's backstory

As I said before, I am right now very much inspired to write a redemption story for Gortash. Like post-canon, Gortash lives AU (because I still hate that he dies), and he actually gets a chance to redeem himself. Not only like: He turns good, but he actually does something good enough to be considered a redemption. And he does so without dying.

But... Yeah, that story is going to be from Gortash's POV, which means that I very much need to come up with some fillings for the big ass holes that the game leaves in terms of his backstory.

We don't know how old he is, but I would estimate him to be around his late 30s or early 40s. Which means we kinda have like 20 years to fill up.

While the entire timeline of Raphael "buying" him from his parents and him escaping the hell is very vague, he was probably somewhere between 18 and 20 when he got out of the hells. And the exact stuff what happened in between is vague. Even how he escaped the hells is not quite clear. I mean, was Helsink responsible for that? Or how did he get out?

And then he starts to do illegal weapons trading once he is back in Baldur's Gate. Which is fair. I am going to assume that he is actually going to throw some stuff in there that is of his own making, given that he clearly is a tinkerer.

Given Karlach is 30, I do not think he hired her before she was 15, so at max she has worked for him just a couple of years.

I mean, technically those details don't matter. What does matter however is: How does he become a Chosen of Bane, and how does he get into contact with the Dark Urge?

As quite a few people have pointed out: Technically the Dark Urge existing is very confusing given that they have been created by Bhaal and Bhaal was dead for about a hundred years until ten years ago. So unless Durge is ten years old, this does not fully make sense. Sure, technically speaking Durge could be immortal, I guess, but... Well.

See, the issue I see with Gortash is, that I just do not pick him as the religious type. I do not see him going to the Banite church and actually give enough fucks to make himself a name in the church and after some great show of faith getting the status of chosen. I mean, if you talk to him, he just... Ketheric is devoted to Myrkul, sure. And Orin was indoctrinated into the Bhaalist cult from her birth onward. But Gortash? He would follow nearly every god if that god gave him powers. At least that is my reading of him. Sure, the entire tyrant thing plays well with his pompous and kinda narcissistic personality (and I mean this in a neutral way - given how he grew up narcissism in a medical sense is to be expected), but... Like, had Oghma thrown him a boon, he would have served Oghma, right?

So, why is he a chosen?

Usually chosen are either one of two: Either, they are very dedicated to the god and have proofen themselves to them over and over again, or they have something (power, knowledge, influence) that the god is interested in. As I don't see Gortash falling underneath the first umbrella, the second one could be it. Was Bane interested in Gortash maybe, because Gortash had a lot of knowledge about the hells maybe? Was Bane originally interested in the crown or something else that Gortash knew about? That would be one possibility.

Though, there is another one. Because it just so happens that in the lore of Faerûn something happened just 8 years ago, that could have given him chosen status without him doing shit for it. Even though it would also mean, that him being a chosen is almost random. Because 8 years ago the second sundering happened. And during the second sundering for a variety of reasons the gods picked quite a lot of chosen. And yes, that included the Dead Three as well. And a lot of those chosen were in fact not people super dedicated to the gods or anything, but just people who generally aligned with the domain and alignment of the god in question. And I cannot help but wonder: Was Gortash just one of the chosen Bane got from that event?

It would work out fine. Because there is one thing that keeps bothering me: Sure, Gortash kept secrets from Karlach. But she still was his personal bodyguard. And she had no idea that he was aligned with Bane. Which makes me think that indeed he was not a Banite when he sold her off to Zariel.

And yeah, I cannot help myself. The timeline would work out rather well: Gortash becomes a chosen closely prior the events of the second sundering, but after he sold of Karlach. After a bit the Dark Urge (who somehow very much is an adult, because I guess he time travelled or something) finds him. The two hit it off (whether romantically or platonically) and come up with their grand evil scheme. At some point Ketheric joins.

Of course, there is one big hole in that explaination, though: Who are the other people working for Gortash while he just is a black market weapons trader? If he was a Banite it would be easily explainable (other Banites), but like this it leaves open the question: Who are they and what happened to them?

I don't know. I am rambling. But yeah. I like this asshole. And his story is fun to think about.

[cyberl33ch]

Excuse Me, Miss? Chapter 1

masterlist, part two, part three, part four

summary: Neighbor turned business partner, romantic or conflict of interest?

tw: angst, eventual smut, conflict of interest, alcohol consumption, & hopeless feeling.

pairing: Neighbor/BusinessPartner!Abby x NepoBaby!Reader

Graduating university for some people is freeing but for you it was just another thing on your checklist. Being a multi billionaire's daughter with a happy childhood doesn’t really leave you wanting anything but the newest Hermes or Birkin handbag. So as your fathers daughter you drown your issues at the local bar (which your dad happens to own).

You were perfectly fine talking to one of the random girls who had swarmed over to you as soon as you sat down at the bar. Starting to get sweaty and overwhelmed with all the chitter chatter around you, you walk outside for a quick smoke.

As you destress on one of the benches outside your phone starts vibrating in your pocket. Quickly taking it out of your pocket you identify the caller. “Ughhh” You slur out rolling your eyes, before picking up the phone. If there was one thing your father knew how to do it was kill a buzz immediately.

“Get in the car.” Your father says demanding. Standing up you take a look around the street and spot the white limo with the company logo spread across it. Picking up your purse off the bench you walk towards the limo and get inside.

Closing the door you look at the bane of your existence. “I need you to do something.” He says not even sparing a glance. “It better be worth it.” You sit back in the seat slowly relaxing. Your father knocks twice on the roof and the car starts to pull off.

“I hope those…” He pauses to squint at his computer ”5 shots of tequila were worth it.” Making you roll your eyes, it was typical of your father or anyone at the company to monitor you and your intake.

This is why you have always been hounded about who you date, never why because they already know. You’ve always said that if you had complete control over your life you would’ve never been in such a lose-lose situation with life.

“What do you want?” You say groaning out rubbing your temples. “You’re going to pick up Marissa's job for a month.” He blankly says following it with a sigh. “See that’s the thing you never make it an option- Wait, did you fire her?” You remark with a raised eyebrow. “Wouldn’t dream of that.” This is the first time he dares to lock eyes with you, even though he immediately looks back down at his computer.

“Your shift starts on Monday…see you there.” You step out of the limo in front of the lobby of your penthouse. Closing the door you walk through the doors of the lobby sighing in relief that the interaction ended. Walking past the front desk you choose the elevator with only one person in it, stepping in you go to click your floor button but see it’s already clicked.

Since you’ve only just passed the 12th floor you finally realize you’ve stepped into an elevator full of boxes. “Oh, are you moving?” You said stepping out of the way. “Yeah sorry, all the other elevators were full of people…my name’s Abby.” She extends her hand out to give yours a FIRM shake.

After getting through the casualties, somewhere along the line you ended up agreeing to help her move some boxes to her place. I mean it couldn’t hurt right she’s just across the hallway, literally your doors are peephole to peephole. What the hell, it's just a couple of boxes, they’re not gonna hurt anybody.

Putting down the box you exhaustingly wipe the sweat on your forehead plopping down on the stairs next to you. “You’re trying to kill me.” You mumble in between breaths, making Abby chuckle while putting a bigger box like a pillow. “Would you like something to drink? At Least my kitchen is put together.” She motions towards the bar stools in the kitchen getting something out of the fridge.

You take a seat on one of the barstools hoping that something cold might help you catch your breath. This is the first time you take in how warmly decorated Abby’s place is, in comparison to yours less marble more wood. Well you didn’t have control over the decorations in your condo, hell you didn’t even have control of where you lived.

Your thoughts are once again interrupted by Abby slipping a glass full of lemonade into your open hand. “You space out a lot.” Abby says truthfully. “I have a lot to think about.” You say while taking a sip from your cup, eyeing her physical response over the top of your cup.

You might’ve been a functioning alcoholic that night but if there was one thing that was for sure it was that Abby was quite the woman. Not just from a physical standpoint but from a personality one, you two had so much in common.

Same music taste, you guys both loved journaling, not to mention the most romantic of them all…you both love the exact same authors. But being the awkward person you were, you didn’t know if this meant that the energy you put out was getting reciprocated or even noticed at all.

After all it was a long night and your shift starts in a few days, and you really feel the urge to call and tell your father off. “Hey Abs I think I’m going to call it a night.” You speak to Abby who is seemingly in her own world as well. “Yeah, I’m getting a little tired myself.” Abby knows she's lying, her life was lonely, it was nice to have a new personality in her space, refreshing even.

After finishing your nightly routine you plop down on the bed with an exhausted sigh, you wish you could sulk over your life. But after years and years the tears stopped coming and the situation never got better so what was the point?

What was the point when you could just drown your sorrows in the nearest bar wishing you were drowning yourself instead.

Waking up in your bed that was clearly too big for just you is always comforting, like a big hug you’ve never had. You get up to take a shower and do your morning routine when you get a call from your dads secretary.

You don’t really have a problem with her, she's just always…there and that can get really annoying. “How can I help you Karla.” You say rubbing your temples. “You’re late.” You can hear her teeth grinding through the phone. “Jeez Kar don’t rip all your hair follicles out like last time.” You remark letting a chuckle slip.

Karla clears her throat regaining her composure before speaking “You're taking over Marissa’s shift right?” She questions. “Yes..” You respond vaguely, rushing to check the calendar on your fridge. “Wait…it’s Monday.” You screech audibly it was just like you to forget what day it was but for the hangover to get to you the next day. “I’ll be on my way.” You say briefly before ending the call and rushing to put on business attire. You know for a fact that Karla is on her way to laugh with your dad about your slip up.

Walking into the building with slightly messier hair than you would like, attracting unwanted glances before reaching your desk. Finally something you can hide behind, gosh don’t people know what hard times look like.

Before you have the chance to do anything someone taps you on the shoulder. “Yes?” You turn around with a raised eyebrow meeting gazes with a very sculpted facial structure.

“Hello I’m Kev, your assistant here to help you with anything you need during your time here.” He says robot like. “Well Kev I like your tie but you can relax around me.” You say slightly nudging his shoulder with your fist. Kev lets out a sigh and starts listing off the duties he’s going to help you with, this is going to be a very long month.

You have 30 minutes left of your shift meaning you weren’t even doing your work, you were watching youtube on your computer. Completely swallowed by the drama showing on the screen.

The office phone on your desk starts ringing, letting out the biggest exhale ever when you pick up the phone “Front Desk.” You say with fake enthusiasm. “Bring those papers you printed out to my office.” You hear your father on the other side.

Hanging up the phone without any further explanation you snatch the papers out of the printer and practically stomp towards the executive elevator. Getting out of the elevator you step into your fathers office to find it empty, you just leave the papers neatly on his desk before departing you see pictures of you when you were younger.

Of course they’re among his new wife but you’re just surprised he didn’t burn a hole in your mothers face. “Excuse me, Miss?” Your reminiscing is interrupted by a familiar voice. You turn around to lock eyes with none other than…Abby?

my masterlist

(tell me in my ask my anything's if you have a request!)

(divider by @gigittamic)

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

First years + Grim ‐ With Silly & Strong Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

To @kawaistrawberry21 I hope you like this! I'm not good at being funny, so I just went with the silly and strong thing. The reader is in Ramshackle but is NOT Yuu. The reader CAN use magic but is naturally very physically strong. The reader's physique is described as tall and muscular. The reader is silly in a sort of oblivious and sarcastic way. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻

The demon-weasel-cat magician thing, Grim.

Grim actually met you after the orientation ceremony; when he was tossed out by the Headmage, Dire Crowley.

Apparently, the Dark Mirror believed that you weren't fit for any of the dorms inspired by the great seven, but it would be a waste of potential for you not to attend Night Raven College.

Thus, you were sent on your way to the Ramshackle dorm. And that's when you two bumped into each other, literally; his flight from the hall of mirrors exit door had come to an end on impact with your hard, muscled back.

You were at first distracted from him; not even registering that he had hit you. Your mind is occupied with finding your magical pen which you seemed to have misplaced. That was the reason you had given yourself for uprooting one of the many stone benches that lined the walkway; totally not just to see if you could lift it, definitely not.

After you had realized that something had hit your back, you turned and looked around with a "Hm?", only to see nothing. Shrugging, you made your way to the Ramshackle dorm, unknowing of the cat-like monster that clung to the back of your orientation robes.

👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•💀•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

The literal bane of my existence, Ace Trappola.

He first met you when he went to the Ramshackle dorm to spend the night after he was collared by Riddle. Though, instead of Yuu, it was you who had ended up letting him in.

However, you seemed to have accidentally ripped the door right off its hinges. Ace was appalled at the raw strength you displayed, but he got a good chuckle in when you had said "Magical tape from Sam's and a little elbow grease should do the trick." before dramatically flexing your arms.

Then, after he had explained his situation to both you and Yuu, you had offered to go with him to apologize.

When Ace asked why you would help him when the two of you had just met, you explained how even if you never ended up meeting him personally or even learning his name, you would always help out your peers whenever you had the chance.

You had told Ace how you had been in a similar situation and that even if you felt that you'd done nothing wrong, you had still ended up apologizing at the end. Explaining to him that it was better to apologize and move on than to have someone angry at you over something that could be solved so easily.

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

Our resident ex-delinquent, Deuce Spade.

You actually met him in class when the both of you were paired together for a project.

It was going well at first until you kept accidentally breaking the flasks and test tubes needed to complete the project. Deuce got a little heated and grabbed you up by your shirt collar, to which you easily removed his hands.

You then came up with the idea of using folded notebook paper to hold the various spilled and somehow not mixed ingredients. "Paper funnels are useful for holding all sorts of powders if you catch my drift." Deuce, in fact, did not catch your drift.

The poor boy had a panic attack at the thought of failing the project; rambling about how disappointed his mother would be in him. Deuce was hyperventilating and unable to calm himself on his own; so you took the initiative to remind him to breathe. You encouraged him to use you to ground himself so he could calm down.

After that little hiccup, you both agreed that Deuce would manage the fragile items from then on.

You both got an A- on the project.

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

The goodest boy who's ever lived, Jack Howl.

He met you just before Magishift season came up. He had decided to use the NRC's weight room to train his body before the event. You were already there, working out.

Jack couldn't help but notice the absurd amount of weight you were lifting and was in disbelief at the sight of you not even breaking a sweat. He thought that was pretty admirable, but didn't approach you at first; you were a stranger after all.

It seemed he didn't even need to make the first move as you had approached him first; starting up a conversation about fitness and hobbies involving exercise. Over a few days, the two of you started talking and found that you got along quite well and became close friends in a very short amount of time.

One day Jack brought up the possibility of learning your training regiment and trying it out for himself. You supported him wholeheartedly and even gave him a really inspiring and touching pep talk.

You also told him if his muscles ever hurt too much after a workout, you'd carry him wherever he needs to go. He gave you a playfully annoyed look, lightly punching your arm.

The weight room is now your little hole in the wall to hang out at.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

The manliest man in Pomfiore, Epel Felmier.

Epel first met you in the NRC's cafeteria, while he was trying to escape the beautifying clutches of his dorm head and vice dorm head.

He had quite literally bumped into you, startling you to the point of your muscles tensing, causing you to snap your lunch tray in half with your bare hands. Your lunch landed on the ground with an unceremonious 'plop'. You sulked, your large stature slouching and shoulders slumping as you let out a defeated, "Aw man..."

Epel turned to see just who he'd bumped into and he turned pale while also feeling some sort of admiration. The boy in front of him towered over him, he looked like he could snap Epel in half like a twig.

Oops. He said that out loud.

You'd let out a hearty laugh and thanked Epel for his strangely worded compliment; telling him you worked out occasionally. His eyes sparkled as he clasped his hands in front of him and begged you to teach him your ways.

Epel told you of his dilemma; how he felt emasculated by his feminine appearance and below-average strength. However, you assured him that he was perfectly manly just the way he was and that if he didn't see it, you would keep on telling him until he believed it himself.

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

My favorite half-fae first year, Sebek Zigvolt!

He met you in passing while escorting Malleus to his class. Your unique look seemed to have caught the dragon fae's attention for a few moments before he returned his focus to the hallway in front of him.

That's all it took for Sebek to absolutely despise you; for a bit at least. A mere human caught his master's attention!? How dare they!! And after a small mention of how you, a mere human, may make a good knight from Malleus; Sebek made up his mind and went to confront you.

When he finds you, he challenges you to a duel in swordsmanship that you confusedly agree to.

At first, he had the upper hand due to your lack of knowing how to properly use a sword. He knocked you down continuously, yet you kept getting back up and refused to back down.

Then suddenly, with a burst of confidence, you swung your sword with great force, unintentionally using your full strength. Both swords shatter on impact and Sebek is thrown back onto his butt.

You look at the broken metal on the ground in embarrassment, bringing your hand up to cup the back of your neck.

"Uuuh.... Whoops?..."

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻

The enigmatic boy from another world; Yuu.

He met you when he and Grim first came to Ramshackle Dorm. You were standing in front of a broken door in the common room, presumably one that was already broken judging by the state of the dorm itself. He cleared his throat to get your attention, then introduced himself and you both hit it off from there.

Yuu unfortunately found out about your ridiculous strength when, while cutting the steak on your plate during dinner, you accidentally cut your plate clean in half. Then the table itself unceremoniously snapped in half right where your plate was sitting. To say Yuu was traumatized was an understatement. He was horrified.

What the hell did you eat to be able to cut through porcelain like it's butter? And then the table!? Then you dared to look shocked? Wtf? Was everyone in this world freakishly strong?

Yuu could only stare at you silently like you were some sort of alien, causing you to look away guiltily.

"...Sorry..."

👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻•♡•👻

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[pollenallergie]

Perks of Being a Dad

AN: Eddie Munson is a sensitive guy, an amazing dad, and also a scheming lil genius. In other words, Eddie cons his goobers into giving him some extra special affections one Sunday morning. Thank you so, so much to @sw34terw34ther for helping me name Eddie's youngest and for beta-reading this for me! <3

Word Count: 1.9k

CW: Brief mentions of the reader being pregnant in the past (though their gender identity is never stated). Also, the reader is mentioned but isn't actually present in the fic. It's not really implied/stated that Eddie is a rockstar in this fic, but it is part of my dad!rockstar! Eddie AU.

Eddie’s a sensitive person, and not just in the emotional sense. When he was younger, he was hypersensitive to just about everything; sensory overload was frequent for Eddie as a kid. However, he mostly grew out of that, no longer being quite as picky about tastes, scents, sounds, or visuals, though he is still slightly more particular than the average person. Nevertheless, one acuity he’s never truly outgrown is his tactile sensitivity. For as long as he can remember, Eddie’s always been picky about certain textures and when and how people touch him. Of course, now that he’s older, he’s a bit less finicky about those things. Even so, Eddie still loathes the feeling of crushed velvet and has to stifle a gag every time he removes the little cotton ball from a brand-new bottle of medicine. Likewise, Eddie has also maintained his sensitivity to other people’s touch. 

In 1987, when you two first met at one of his gigs, you had cradled his forearm in your hands so that you could write the digits of your phone number on his alabaster, freckled skin. Though your touch was so light that it was barely there, it’d caused every little nerve under his skin to shoot off like fireworks, making a warm, fuzzy feeling spread all over his body. As romantic as that sounds, that sort of sensation wasn’t necessarily exclusive to your touch. 

One time, Mr. Rothering, his former algebra teacher and the bane of his existence during his sophomore year, accidentally brushed up against a fifteen-year-old Eddie Munson as he waded through the aisles of desks to hand back their most recent tests and, even though Eddie was in no way attracted to that sneering son of a bitch, his nerves had gone into a frenzy in much the same way they had when you’d first made contact with him several years later. Although, in that case, the feeling was much less intense than it had been with you; Eddie reasons that Mr. Rothering’s vile aura most likely dulled it. 

As a father, Eddie is still subjected to this sensation, even when the touch that triggers it comes from the hands of his sweet babies, Marley, Jude, and Rowan. Granted, his familiarity with them has conditioned him to the resulting sensation, but it still occurs all the same. However, in the case of his little tadpoles (something he’s called his kids ever since the twins were mere embryos growing in your womb), his pure adoration for them gives that odd, fuzzy feeling a warm, wholesome, serene edge to it, so much so that it calms his mind and his body. Eddie luxuriates in the affections — or, as they’re often referred to in the Munson household, ��sugars’ — that his little goobers give him. Eddie loves it all, from their clumsy hugs to their warm snuggles, even their slobbery kisses and ornery play-wrestling.

Nevertheless, Eddie’s love for his precious little loves and their magical sugars isn’t enough to fill the void of your touch and the divine sensations it brings, something he’s been without for a grueling twenty-four hours since you left yesterday morning for a work trip. Eddie’s been yearning for your affection from the moment he dropped you off at the airport. Today, he’s specifically craving one of your life-altering, all-powerful back rubs, which Eddie swears can cure even the sourest of moods in mere minutes. He misses the gentle caress of your fingertips and the incomparably blissful sensations they leave in their wake. This constant yearning for a relaxing back rub, combined with the knowledge that the twins have recently been learning to draw shapes at daycare, gives Eddie a brilliant idea on this wonderfully lazy Sunday morning. 

Eddie lounges on the couch watching cartoons, shirtless and sporting the Star Wars-themed pajama pants Wayne gifted him last Christmas. The twins are snuggled up on either side of him while little Ro is reclining in his lap, all three still in their jammies, sporting coordinating, but not perfectly matching, sets of nautical-themed jammies you’d gotten from Gymboree. Suddenly, Eddie heaves a dramatic yawn, snuggles his kids closer, and gently traces his calloused fingertips up and down one of each of the twins’ short, chubby arms, buttering them up with some sugars of his own. Jude, his snugglebug, almost immediately responds to these sugars with a pleasant little coo, conveying his happiness. However, Marley and Rowan are too far gone; the elder sister is too enthralled in Tom and Jerry’s reruns to notice her dad doting on her while the younger sister is happily snoozing away in Eddie’s lap. Armed with the knowledge that he has at least one of his kids’ attention, Eddie decides to strike while the iron is hot. 

“Daddy’s tired,” Eddie remarks lazily. It’s the same warning he always offers his little ones just before dozing off for a nap. 

Upon noticing Jude’s subtle pout, he nearly loses his composure and abandons his covert mission entirely. Eddie powers through, though, not wanting to give up on the brilliant plan he’s concocted. He decides to focus on Jude, knowing that if he succeeds in roping his baby boy into his not-so-devious scheme, his little ladies will surely follow. 

“Tell you what, Joodlebug, how about I lay down on my tummy and you, my sweet boy,” Eddie pauses to boop his son’s little nose quickly, simply because he can’t resist, before continuing, “practice drawing your shapes on my back? Huh? How’s that sound?” 

Jude’s brow furrows adorably before he looks up at his dad with bright doe eyes. “Markers?” The tiny tot inquires, getting tripped up on the r’s as he does so. 

“No, bear,” Eddie gently grabs one of Jude’s little hands and taps the tip of his tiny index finger with his own, “use these. Just pretend like you’re actually drawing on me, ’kay? Sorta like those finger paintings you do at daycare, but without the paint,” he explains, chuckling softly when Jude responds with a rough nod. His son’s a very passionate little boy; Judah Bear Munson gives his all to every single thing he does, even if it’s just a simple nod of his head. 

“We got a deal, Bubba?” Eddie asks. 

Jude offers his confirmation in the form of another adorably curt nod paired with his beautiful, toothy grin. 

“Atta boy,” Eddie praises his son before gently removing the littlest of his tadpoles from his lap, carefully placing his tiny Rowboat on the couch next to her brother so as not to rouse her from sleep. He then theatrically slides off the couch and onto the floor, causing his little prince to erupt into a fit of giggles. 

Jude’s high-pitched giggles catch his baby sister’s attention, rousing the little 18-month-old girl from sleep. Rowan then calls out in a concerned, whiny tone, “Dada?” 

So much for not rousing Ro, Eddie thinks. 

“Just laying down, Ro-Bird,” he reassures his baby girl, “wanna be the bestest helper ever and toss me a pillow?” 

Rowan wordlessly responds by grabbing a throw pillow from next to her on the couch and harshly, though not maliciously, chucking it at her dad; she’s still at that funny little age where she doesn’t quite realize her own strength. Eddie miraculously catches it just before it hits him in the face and gruffs out a sarcastic, “Thanks, babe.” 

Seeing a pillow suddenly flying by her in her peripherals is enough to finally draw Marley’s focus away from the cartoon cat and mouse on the TV screen. The little three-year-old watches as her dad gets situated on the floor, rolling over to lay on his belly as he rests his head atop his crossed arms on the small pillow. Eddie then turns and looks up at his baby boy, the spitting image of himself, offering him a beaming grin. 

“Ready, Jude?” Eddie asks, prompting the little boy to nod before gracelessly flopping down onto the shag carpet beside his dad. A relaxed sigh leaves Eddie as his son begins to delicately trace shapes on his back. It’s soon accompanied by a victorious, smug grin when Marley finally pipes up and asks, “Ca’i help, daddy?” What’s meant to be ‘can I’ comes out sounding more like ‘kai,’ and that makes Eddie’s heart melt into a puddle of sticky, saccharine syrup. 

“Yeah, Mars, show me watcha got,” Eddie responds. Soon two tiny pointer fingers are drawing on his back, one from each twin. While Marley sticks to abstractly filling the expanse of his back with invisible shapes, Jude, his little artist, takes to connecting the various moles and freckles on Eddie’s back with invisible lines, forming secret constellations on his alabaster skin. 

“You guys are doing really good,” Eddie murmurs encouragingly as his eyes drowsily flutter shut. 

“Dada?” His littlest love calls out to him from the couch. 

Eddie struggles to open his eyes but somehow manages before turning his head to look up at his youngest daughter, who looks identical to you, making her your little mini-me. “Yeah, birdie?” He asks softly. 

“Snuggles?” She asks, her tone sleepy and needy. Rowan may look exactly like you, but she’s a daddy’s girl through and through. 

“Of course, babe. C’mere,” Eddie beckons her to his side with a wave of his arm, “Come snuggle with daddy, Rowboat.” 

Rowan giggles adorably at her dad’s silly nickname for her as she climbs off the couch all by herself — a big feat for someone with such short little legs — and waddles over to her dad. Eddie lifts one arm for her, and she plops down beside him, lying down and nuzzling up against his side. He wraps that same arm around his little nestling, cradling Rowan’s warm little body close to his own as she lays on her side with her back pressed against the side of his torso so that she can watch the TV as she cuddles with her dad. 

Right now, Eddie’s on Cloud 9, loving being so close to his little tadpoles, with Tad 1 and Tad 2 (his nicknames for the twins while they were in the womb) giving him a makeshift version of a back rub with their tiny little, chubby fingers, while Tad 3 snuggles up close to him. Fuck what his past teachers always said because, in this moment, Eddie thinks he’s a goddamn genius. Eddie lets out a quiet, blissful sigh as the serene, comforting sensation floods his body, settling underneath his skin and warming him from head to toe. Perks of being a dad, he thinks. 

For the rest of the morning, or at least for as long as he can hold his little tads’ attention, Eddie luxuriates in his toddler massage and all the sensation it brings. At the same time, he snuggles with his littlest baby, his little Rosie Ro, who has swiftly fallen asleep in his arms. All the while, he listens to his two little chatterboxes discuss anything and everything that comes to their brilliant little minds; the sounds of Rowan’s snores and the cartoons on the TV act as soothing background noise to the twins’ vivid conversation. To Eddie, moments like these are heaven on earth. Eddie wouldn’t trade these wholesome moments for anything, not even an opportunity for Corroded Coffin to headline their own show at Madison Square Garden. Even his biggest rockstar dreams can’t compete with the love that fatherhood has brought him. Yeah, Eddie thinks, nothing compares to this. 

[featheredclover]

Presenting September Rain !

Inspired by the moodboard created by @arshifiesta

Also on Wattpad

Prologue

Chapter One>>

Tiny sniffles filled the car as the Guptas drove in the valleys of Uttarakhand.

“Khushi “ Garima began gently,” It’s going to be okay! Nani had her schooling here, and so did I . Payal is here with you too”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw her sister roll her eyes. 

“She’s just being dramatic, mom. I didn’t shed a tear when I was 11”

“That’s because you were happy to get away from me!” Khushi screeched.

“Khushi “ Shashi admonished.

“You’ll be fine beta. They will all be your age. All in the same boat. And oh! The memories you’ll make!”

She blew her nose noisily in her pristine white handkerchief, and grumpily looked out of the window.

The imposing building came into view.

Woodsmith School

The bane of her existence. Her family’s tradition. How will she ever survive?

—————

She looked around at the other children.

I am wearing the same thing, yet they look so smart, she whined in her head.

“Cheer up cry baby, this is not the end of the world” Payal said with a sharp nudge.

“In fact, this is the beginning!”

Khushi looked up to see a tall bespectacled boy walking towards them.

“Oh hi Akash!” 

She narrowed her eyes at her sister’s sudden change of voice.

“Hi Payal. God, I missed you!” 

Khushi gasped as the boy kissed her sister’s cheek.

Payal stiffened as she became conscious of Khushi.

“Well Akash , meet my baby sister Khushi. She is beginning today,”

“Hello,” she said in a small voice.

Akash bent down to meet her eye, his eyes crinkling with kindness.

“Hi Khushi! Welcome to woodsmith! You’ll have a great time here, even though now it will seem a bit daunting.”

Khushi nodded.

“Here, my brother is in your year too. Arnav, say hi !” 

Khushi looked up at the young boy she hadn’t noticed till now.

Caramel chocolate, she thought as his eyes met hers.

He looked so much at ease, Khushi couldn’t imagine it being his first day too.

“Hi, Khushi “

“Hi” she swallowed nervously.

“Khushi” Payal said impatiently, “We need to go right now, Akash is the school captain! I’ll see you at recess okay?”

“Don’t be a cry baby” she hurriedly whispered into her ear.

Khushi looked on as her sister sauntered off with her boyfriend.

“I don’t think you are a cry baby”

She looked back at Arnav, who seemed so much wiser than her, she almost felt jealous.

“You don’t?” She asked, her eyes wide, seeking reassurance.

“Nope! Now, come on, let's go. They have a morning assembly every day.”

He said, his hands resting in his pockets.

Khushi hurried behind him, suddenly the thought of boarding school was not so scary anymore.

———

She sidled up beside Arnav, as scary adults lined them up. Their cruel eyes scrutinised them from head to toe. Their hands looked rough, probably from the beatings they gave to children like her.

This is nothing like Hogwarts, she thought.

“Silence” 

Akash’s booming voice echoed across the hall. He looked far from the kind person she had met a few minutes ago. She watched as he stepped away from the mic, and a stout woman took his place.

“Good morning, young boys and girls. I am pleased to welcome the sixth class students to Woodsmith school. Established in 1915, it is an institution renowned across India for its discipline and excellence in all fields. You all will be divided into four houses. And those houses will be there with you till you leave this school. But the friends you make and the lessons you learn will last you life long! I welcome back all other senior students for another year of learning.”

Khushi crossed her fingers discreetly, wishing to be in the same house as Arnav.

Waiting patiently, she heard the names being called out with their houses.

“Khushi Gupta….Green house!”

She sighed. After all, Payal di was in yellow.

She looked at Arnav to see his eyes set on the stage, listening intently.

“Arnav Raizada….Red house!”

All her hopes came crashing down. The one person she could be friends with, would be away from her forever, she thought stewing in her own misery.

She startled as she felt a rough crumble of paper being stuffed in her hand.

“What?” She whispered into Arnav’s ears.

“Read it after the assembly “ he said sternly, before flinging his bag over his shoulder and heading towards the red house master.

Heart thumping, she looked around for her own house master.

She walked towards an older girl, waving a green flag, her hands still clutching the note.

————

Meet me at the secret stairs

Scrawled with pencil below this command were directions leading to the said staircase. 

Khushi knew she should head towards her dorm room, but she just couldn’t let a friend down.

Arnav was her friend wasn’t he?

Stumbling and fumbling across hallways and grounds, she finally found the rustic dome Arnav had scribbled in his map.

She walked inside, noticing the brick walls and brick staircase.

“Boo!”

“Aah!” 

“Shush Khushi! It’s me!” Arnav chuckled.

“You gave me a heart attack!” She slapped his arm.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Eleven year olds don’t get heart attacks silly!”

“Whatever” she muttered.

“Now come", he grabbed her hand leading her up the stairs.

There was his bag, beside two soda bottles. 

“There was only one flavour” he said sheepishly.

“How do you know of this place?” 

She felt at peace. Far away from the tall teachers and snobby children.

“Well, my parents brought me and my brother here this summer. You know, just to let me check out where I’ll be going. And I just explored the place.”

Then a streak of seriousness entered his eyes.

“No one should get to know about this place Khushi, I am serious. This is sacred. Do you get it?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Promise” She entwined her pinky finger with his, flashing him a toothy grin.

They sipped their strawberry flavoured soda quietly, sharing a few moments of silence before the mayhem takes over.

“We are in different houses,” she said sadly.

“But we are in the same class,” he clinked his bottle with hers.

Khushi didn’t budge.

“I’ll tell you what!” He opened his bag, held out a sharp compass. 

He took his soda bottle cap and with an artist’s precision, began scraping at it.

There on the pink cap, over the bold letters spelling out soda, was the scratch 

A+K

“A memorabilia for our friendship! It will last forever Khushi Gupta !” He winked.

“Okay” she smiled softly.

The brick walls stood still, as a tale of love began.

Tagging: @hand-picked-star @phuljari @msbhagirathi @thenainitaldisaster @thedupattaknowswhatsup @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @barshifan @andli @shiyaravi @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @minpdnim @bigfatreader @arshiradio @simplycurlz @scorpio-smiles @bengudill @exosexosekai @0218fm

——————

Chapter One>>

[moon-and2saturn]

Antithesis

j.t.k x reader & j.m.k. x reader

part II

word count: 7.5k

warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!! fluff, swearing, drinking, a little bit of name calling, cheating *kind of* SMUT: flirting, kissing, sexually implicit language, touching, dirty talk, slight voyeurism, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving & m. receiving), unprotected sex, biting, degradation kink if you squint, cum play (just a little bit, ok?)

a/n: aaaand i’m back! sorry that i’ve been gone so long… getting ready to graduate college is no joke! but i worked really hard on this one, so i hope you all enjoy :)

listen to the official playlist on Spotify here

read part one here

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It’s been a little over a week since your encounter with Jake, and it has yet to desert the back of your mind. It plagues you, like some sort of nightmare that you can’t seem to wake up from. Luckily for you, you haven’t had to see him too much since his party, since you and Josh had spent the Christmas holiday apart. The two of you were still a relatively new couple, if you could even call it that, and weren’t remotely serious enough to meet each other’s parents, at least in your opinion. He didn’t seem to mind too much, however, and he and his brothers went back to Michigan for the holiday. 

Despite the much-needed distance, your dilemma with Jake was still all you could think about. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could feel was Jake’s cold, calloused hands on your skin, giving you a feeling of euphoria that you had yet to experience before. And even if you wanted to forget about it (which you didn’t), it seems as though he won’t let you. Much to your surprise, you received a call from an unknown number late Christmas Eve after you’ve already tucked yourself into bed in your childhood bedroom at your parents’ house.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

You swallow deeply. “Jake…?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he replies, “The one and only.” His voice is deep and husky, slurring his words together slightly. You can tell that he’s had plenty to drink.

You roll your eyes and ask, “How did you get my number?” 

“I have my ways… A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” He utters, with confidence dripping off his words like honey. You scoff at him but say nothing. He speaks again, a bit more hushed than before.

“You been thinkin’ about me, baby? I know I’ve been thinkin’ about you.” The hoarseness of his voice on the other line is enough to make your knees buckle, but you’d never let him know that. 

“Definitely not,” you say, lying through your teeth. “You’re the last thing that would ever be on my mind, actually.” You hear him chuckle to himself.

“Yeah? Thinkin’ about my brother, then?” he jests, seeing right through you.

“And what if I am?” you reply, refusing to back down.

“He can’t handle you, sunshine. He doesn’t have it in him,” he says, and you can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

“And you think you can? Is that it?” you scoff, starting to grow tired of his games.

“Why don’t you tell me? I seemed to handle you quite well the last time we saw each other, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he says, his voice in almost a low whisper now. You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t affect you. You were under his spell, and he knew it.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you reply, a smile apparent in your voice, then hang up the phone. You stare at his phone number for a moment before creating a new contact, naming it “Bane Of My Existence,” then close your phone, set it on your bedside table, and go to sleep.

That was a week ago, and you’ve been able to avoid your dilemma since then. But now, with New Year's Eve tonight, they’ve all returned for a “night of revelry,” as Josh called it. As excited as you are to spend New Year’s Eve with Josh, you’re fearful of what’s to come if you find yourself alone with Jake again. You hope that it won’t get to that point, and you’re going to do your best to avoid it at all costs.

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Luckily, Josh was hosting the party this time, which made you feel slightly less nervous. He got home from his trip yesterday morning, so he took the two of you out on a date last night and you stayed over to help him prepare for the party. Even though you didn’t need to be there that early to set up, you enjoyed the excuse to spend some extra time alone with him. You hope that the more time you spend with Josh, the easier it will be to forget about your previous intoxicated lapse of judgment with his twin.

You wake up, rolling over in bed to face him, He’s still asleep, laying on his back with his hands on his chest, snoring ever-so-slightly. You know that the snoring is thanks to his very deviated septum, which he refuses to get surgery for. Josh told you that Jake had gotten his fixed last year and it got rid of his snoring completely. He won’t get it done, though- he’s convinced that it would “ruin his angelic singing voice.” You rolled your eyes at him that day, but it was something that you admired about him: his dedication to his art. 

Despite the band being Jake’s idea at the start, singing has slowly become Josh’s entire life, that much has been obvious to you. He puts his entire heart and soul into it, sometimes at the expense of his health and well-being. He tends to push himself too far, but in the past year, it’s clear that he’s learning from his mistakes. This new tour meant new beginnings and better habits for him, and you couldn’t be prouder.

You reach your hand over to him gently, pushing some of his curls back and out of his face. Josh’s eyes begin to flutter open and land on you as a smile creeps across his face.

“I could get used to this,” he mutters with a smirk, his voice sounding groggy after just waking up.

“Don’t get too comfortable now,” you joke, running your fingers through his hair as you gaze at him with a smile. 

“If you’re not careful, I just might,” he says, his smile widening as he begins to sit up. Your cheeks turn pink at his words and you try to look down to avoid any teasing. 

“So…” you say with a smile, “You wanna go get some coffee?”

“You read my mind, darling,” he says, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on your lips and grins. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

You roll your eyes and turn around to get out of bed, heading toward the bathroom to get ready for the day. But first, you turn around and quip back, “Because I always like to go get coffee? No other reasons?”

“Oh, I could list plenty of other reasons, lover…” he answers, walking toward you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “Want me to show you?”

You swear your heart stopped right then and there. His eyes had darkened as he looked down at you with a smirk, and you could already feel his morning wood against your abdomen. No, no- you had to stay focused (for now). Your cheeks flush and you clear your throat, trying not to appear too flustered. “Coffee first,” you say, smiling softly as you meet his eyes before grabbing your overnight back from the floor and heading into the bathroom.

You quickly shut the door behind you and rest your back against it, taking in a deep breath. You were way in over your head with the Kiszkas, and you knew it. You take a look in the mirror, seeing how disheveled you looked from your night’s sleep. You’re not sure how Josh could still be attracted to you, even when you looked like such a mess, but you know the answer to that question was one that you’re not quite ready for yet.

You quickly brush your teeth and braid your hair loosely down your back, leaving out a few strands around your face. You take off Josh’s old Greta Van Fleet t-shirt that he gave you to sleep in last night and throw on your oversized college sweatshirt and a pair of light-colored jeans. When you go to open the bathroom door, Josh is sitting on the bed, waiting for you. He had put on his favorite Sherpa jacket and some khaki pants. He must have gone to get ready in the spare bathroom downstairs since his hair looked neat and his face was freshly washed. He turns his head as he hears the door open, smiling as he catches sight of you.

“There she is,” he says, standing up and walking over to you. You smile at him, holding his shirt in your hands.

“I should probably give this back…” you mutter, holding it out for him to take. Instead, he shakes his head and gently pushes your hand downward.

“Nuh-uh. That’s yours now,” he says with a proud smile. “It doesn’t fit me anymore. Besides, you look much better in it anyway.” You blush, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

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Josh heads down the stairs and you follow closely after him, sliding on your sneakers before heading out the door toward his car. He unlocks the car with his keys and opens the door for you before rounding the car and getting into the driver’s seat. He turns the car on and the radio starts blaring, causing Josh to quickly hit the Bluetooth button on the screen.

“You wanna put something on?” he asks. You’ve been in his car plenty of times by now, but you’d never really had the opportunity to control the music before, as he usually would have something on before you got in the car. The corners of your lips turn into a small smile as you nod, connecting your phone to his car’s Bluetooth.

You decide to put on your 60s and 70s playlist, knowing that he’d probably enjoy anything that might come on from there. As the opening notes of a familiar song start to play as he pulls out of the driveway, you can already tell that your intuition was right.

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

You’d be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much 

At long last love has arrived

And I thank God I’m alive

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

A smirk appears on his lips as he looks over at you, clearly happy with your song choice. He nods his head along with a smile as he drives to your favorite coffee shop in downtown Nashville. As the next verse starts, though, he begins to sing along.

Pardon the way that I stare

There’s nothing to compare

The sight of you leaves me weak

There are no words left to speak

He turns his head to meet your gaze, winking at you before turning back to the road.

But if you feel like I feel

Please let me know that it’s real

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

You giggle at his attempt at a serenade as the chorus gears up, deciding to join in with him. He places his right hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiles brightly, sneaking glances every chance he gets.

I love you, baby

And if it’s quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm a lonely night

I love you, baby

Trust me when I say

You can’t help but look at him with the biggest smile on your face. You knew then and there that if anyone knew you the best, it would be Josh. Despite whatever your romantic relationship was, this man is your best friend. He gets you more than anyone else does. You place your hand on his, which is still planted on your thigh. 

Oh, pretty baby

Don’t bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby

Let me love you

You finally arrive at the coffee shop and pull into a parking space at the front. Josh puts the car in park and turns to notice that you’re already looking at him, smiling from ear to ear.

“What?” he asks, smiling at you.

“Nothing- just you,” you answer.

“You growing soft on me, darlin’?” he jokes, reaching over to brush some of your stray hairs behind your ear.

“Yeah, maybe I am,” you say, leaning into his hand as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. He smiles wide and brings your face to his, kissing you. You smile against his lips as he pulls you closer to him, brushing your tongue against his bottom lip as if to ask permission for its entry. He opens his mouth slightly, allowing your tongue to slip past his lips and meet his own, causing him to let out a low groan. Before you get the chance to pull him closer to you, he ends the kiss, keeping his face mere inches away from yours.

“If we keep going like that, then we’re not gonna make it inside that coffee shop, baby,” he whispers, stroking your cheek before turning to open his door, then going around the front of the car and opening yours. You try to get rid of the flush of your cheeks as you exit the car and enter the cafe, taking Josh’s hand in yours.

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You both got your coffee and then went to run some errands to get ready for this party. You stopped at the party store for some decorations, the grocery store for snacks and ingredients for appetizers, and the liquor store to get a few bottles of champagne and stock up on tequila. Before you know it, it’s nearly 5 p.m. and it’s time to start getting ready. Josh knew that it would take you a while, so he opted to shower first and then went downstairs to start cooking the famous dish that he makes for every party- jalapeño poppers with a secret dipping sauce that he won’t share with anyone, not even with you. Cooking skills are well beyond your expertise, so you just let him enjoy it on his own.

You finish up in the shower and wrap one of Josh’s soft, white towels around your body, tucking it in on the top corner. You tap your watch to check the time, which you left sitting on the counter, which reads 6:12 p.m. The guests are supposed to be arriving around 8, so you luckily have enough time for now, but Josh did warn you that his brothers will likely arrive early. You go to plug in your hair dryer, then begin drying your hair. Your mom had just gifted you one of those fancy hair dryers for Christmas that curls your hair as you dry it, and you finally have an excuse to test it out. 

After a while of drying, thanks to the thickness and length of your hair, you finally achieve the style you were hoping for, a blowout with a beautiful curl to it. You spray in a bit of hairspray, then start on your makeup. You lay on your base makeup and then add in some light silver eyeshadow, just enough to make your eyes sparkle. You apply eyeliner, just enough to line your eyes tightly, then put on a layer of mascara. You put on dark red lipstick then pick up your watch from the counter: 6:58 p.m. Still plenty of time to spare. You head out of the bathroom to get dressed. 

You walk to Josh’s closet to take your dress off its hanger. It was a tight silver sequined dress, hitting around the middle of your thighs. It has thin straps and a square neckline, which didn’t show too much cleavage but definitely didn’t leave that much to the imagination. You put it on, then slip on your black heels and go downstairs to find Josh.

You turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs and walk toward the kitchen. You see Josh in front of the oven, putting his jalapeño popper in to bake. He’s wearing a white sweater with a pair of gray dress pants and black loafers. As he hears the cadence of your heels, he turns around and leans his side against the counter, not taking his eyes off of you for a second as he watches you approach him. A smile spreads across his face as you get closer, then he reaches his arms out and places his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. 

“Oh, you look delicious, baby…” he says, capturing your lips in his. It’s quick and almost impatient- you can tell that you picked the right dress. With his hands still on your waist, he flips you both around so that your lower back rests against the kitchen counter. His hands slide down to grip your ass and he lets out a low groan as he pulls you closer to him. 

“I should cancel this party right now, keep you all to myself,” he mumbles as his lips start to pepper kisses along our jawline and down your neck. “It’s not too late, you know, I’ll call everyone right now…” You lean your head back as he continues his assault on your neck, a small whimper leaving your mouth as you feel him suck one of the sensitive spots on your skin. But unfortunately for you, amidst your heated interaction with Josh, neither of you heard the front door swing open.

“It seems like I might be interrupting something,” you hear a deep voice say from behind Josh. You sigh as Josh frantically lets go of you and turns around to see none other than his twin brother staring back at him with a smirk spread across his face.

You feel your breath catch in your chest as you see Jake standing at the kitchen's threshold. His eyes are hidden underneath his usual dark sunglasses, but you know they’re locked on you- you can feel it. You take a moment to watch him as Josh walks over to greet him. He’s wearing a pair of black dress pants paired with his usual black Chelsea boots. On top, he’s opted for a dark red button-up, with a few buttons undone at the top as always, and the sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows. 

You hear Sam and Danny walk in through the front door, and Josh goes to greet them in the foyer. It sounds like they ask him to help carry in snacks and drinks from the car. They all exit the house, leaving just you and Jake in the kitchen. You watch as he takes his sunglasses off and slips them into the small pocket in his shirt, his eyes still locked with yours. Suddenly, as he goes to approach you, they seem to wander downward, taking in every inch of you before he’s only less than a foot away and meets your gaze once again.

“At this point, I have no choice but to think that you must be doing this on purpose,” he says, leaning his arm onto the counter next to you, allowing his left hand to ghost slightly over your arm. 

Your eyes go from where his hand nearly connects with your skin, then up to meet his eyes. “Doing what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what… You wear that little number just for me, sweetheart?” he says, his voice sounding graveling and hoarse. You swallow harshly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, your eyes falling to his lips before quickly snapping yourself out of it.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Knowing exactly how to get my attention…” he whispers, leaning in slightly so that his mouth is mere centimeters away from your ear. “Do you like that, baby? Knowing that I’m looking at you, and only you?”

You feel your cheeks start to heat up at his words. You take a deep breath and mutter out a quiet “Yes.” He smiles a crooked smile, and you can still feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

“That’s what I thought. Craving attention, like the filthy whore you are.” He chuckles under his breath when he hears the quiet whimper that comes out of you at his degrading words, and then brushes your hair back slightly to place a soft kiss behind your ear. “You don’t have to try so hard to get my attention, sunshine… all you had to do was ask.”

With that, he backs away from you, turning around and then heading into the dining room to make himself a drink, leaving you alone in the kitchen. Your chest is heaving slightly from the adrenaline, your heart is beating ten times fast, and you can feel your arousal start to drip down your thigh. You opted out of wearing any underwear this evening, which you now know was a huge mistake. 

Finally, Josh, Sam, and Danny reemerge from outside, carrying cases of beer and grocery bags. You greet them and smile shyly at Josh as he sets the bags down and walks over to you, wrapping one around your waist. As you catch Jake’s eyes in the mirror above the bar cart and notice the mischievous look that starts to creep over his face, you know that you’re about to be in for a long night.

You wait for Jake to desert the bar cart and find a seat at the kitchen island before walking over to make yourself a very strong drink, which you know you’re going to need. You pour yourself what seems to be about two shots of tequila before adding some soda water. The guests have begun to arrive now, trickling in slowly, and as social as you typically are, you didn’t really feel like you were in the mood for the same old small talk. “How’s the tour?” “What’s in store next for the band?” It’s always the same questions, and as much as Josh loves to answer them and talk about his art, you didn’t have it in you to stand there quietly and nod along. And then, as though someone had read your mind, a soft voice calling your name broke you from your trance.

“Y/N, hey,” you turn your head to see Sam standing in front of you. You offer him a soft smile, silently thanking him for saving you from your thoughts. 

“Hey, Sam,” you answer, straightening your back, trying not to seem as absent as you so clearly were. You watch as he walks up next to you, taking the bottle opener from the bar cart and popping off the bottlecap from his beer, then setting it back down. 

“D’you wanna go hang out in the living room with me? You look a bit bored, and Daniel’s already ditched me for some chick,” he chuckles to himself, then takes a swig of his beer before continuing. “We could put a record on, I’ll even let you choose.” You giggle a bit and look up at him for a moment. “Sure.”

The two of you walk through the dining room into the living room, where a few people have already started to congregate. You see Jake in the corner of the room speaking to who you know to be one of their producers, his back leaning against the wall with his whiskey glass in his hand. You immediately shake it off and opt to ignore him.

Sam sits down on one of the loveseats, leaning back against the cushion. You walk over to Josh’s record player and sift through his record collection, trying to find the perfect one for the occasion. After searching for a moment, a smile grows on your face as you pull out Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. You take the vinyl out of its protective sleeve and place it gingerly on the turntable, then lift the arm and place the needle delicately on the edge of the record.

 As Second Hand News begins to play, you walk back toward the loveseat and sit down next to Sam. He’s wearing a toothy grin, and says “Good choice, Y/N,” then takes another sip of his beer. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then look back up at his face and smile at him. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and he was certainly sweet- though, not your type. You subtly turn around to see if Jake is watching, and you’re immediately met with his eyes piercing through you. This will definitely do the trick.

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After a few hours of sitting and chatting with Sam, and several more tequila sodas, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. Josh had popped in every once and a while to check in on you, sometimes choosing a record to put on, then going back to whoever he was talking to. He knew you didn’t need him to hover over you, you could handle socializing without him. Besides, he had never asked you to be his girlfriend, so who would he introduce you as to his colleagues anyway? It was less complicated to just keep to yourself. 

Or, keep to Sam, if you’re being specific. The two of you talked for hours, just about traveling and the outdoors and his garden. You knew Jake was watching, and every once and a while, you’d touch Sam’s arm while you spoke just to get Jake riled up, and you knew it was working. 

You head upstairs to use the bathroom and decide to use Josh’s master bathroom instead of the main one, to check on your makeup and have a few moments to yourself. You finally break the seal, and as you stand up from the toilet, you feel your head rush a bit- a sure sign that you’ve clearly had enough to drink. You fix your makeup, reapply your lipstick, and then run your hands through your hair a bit to get out any kinks. 

You pull your phone out of your purse and see the time: 10:27 p.m. Still a decent amount of time until midnight. As you slip your phone back into your purse, you hear the outer door to the bedroom open and shut. You open the bathroom door and step out to find Josh approaching you.

“Hey, baby,” he says, a slight slur in his voice giving you the impression that he's had a few to drink himself. “I was wondering where you went off to… was worried about you.” He slips his arms around your waist, pulling you into him and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Oh, I’m alright, don’t worry,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and running your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Just needed to powder my nose.” You let out a little giggle at the phrase, which brings a big smile to his face.

“Well, you look beautiful, darling,” he says, kissing your cheek again, then trailing his lips down, peppering soft kisses along your jaw. “Been thinking about you all night, you know.”

You smirk as you lean your head back slightly to give him more access to your neck. “You have?” you jest, bringing one of your hands down to grip his shoulder for stability as he starts to suck lightly on the skin of your neck.

“Of course I have… Haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you in this dress, baby… We didn’t get to finish what we started earlier, did we?” he mumbles against your skin as he guides you toward his bed. The warmth of his breath against your neck is enough to get you aroused, especially combined with all the alcohol in your system, and you already feel the wetness pooling between your thighs. 

You grab the collar of his sweater and pull him into you as your back falls onto the bed, capturing his lips in yours. His hands grip your ass firmly before his right hands slides between your legs. When he finally notices your lack of underwear, he lets out a low groan and leans back down to kiss you again.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, his voice dripping in lust, “You do this for me?” He runs his fingers through your wetness as he attacks your neck again, causing you to let out a small moan as you nod “yes” and reach your hands down to start undoing his belt. You can already feel that he’s ridiculously hard, and your intoxicated state is causing you to be a bit more impatient than usual.

“I need you, Josh. Need you so bad,” you whine, which makes him groan loudly against your neck. You use your hands to pull him onto the bed more before pushing him to the other side, with him lying on his back. You quickly hike your dress up over your hips before crawling back onto the bed agilely now with the increased freedom from your tight dress. After gently tapping the side of Josh’s thigh, he get the message and lifts his hips up off the bed, allowing you to shimmy his pants and boxers down just enough so they sit resting at his mid-thigh.

You position yourself at the bottom of the bed, taking Josh’s thick, hardened cock in your hands, pumping it a few times before taking him slowly into your mouth. He lets out a deep, guttural groan as he watches you take him completely down your throat. “God, you look so fuckin’ sexy like that,” he utters, bringing his hand down to brush your hair out of your face and then holding it all in his fist as you bob your head up and down. He throws his head back as you ease him all the way to the back of your throat, but then quickly pulls you off of him. “If you keep going, I’m not gonna last, baby. Need to feel you,” he says, pulling you up to straddle him.

You place your right hand on the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss as your other hand works to align yourself with him, letting the straps of your dress sling down your arms. Finally, you slowly sink down on him, letting out a moan that’s much louder than you intended. You kiss him passionately, slipping your tongue past his lips and joining his as you start to lift your hips slowly, then bring them back down. 

“Fuck, that’s it, darling’. Just like that,” he moans, gripping your hip tightly with his left hand as the other finds your breast now pouring out of your dress. He squeezes it softly, then rolls your nipple between his fingers, causing you to let out another moan. His lips find your neck and travel downward, sucking harsh bites into your collarbone. You pick up the pace on top of him, throwing your head back as the feeling of his lips on your neck and his cock throbbing inside of you begin to throw you completely out of orbit.

Josh starts to thrust upwards into you, meeting you halfway as you become a blubbering mess for him. “Oh, fuck Josh, right there,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the euphoric feeling takes over. He takes that moment to flip the both of you over, then swiftly tucking his dick back into you and takings your lips in his. You whine loudly, which is barely being muffled inside the walls of his mouth, but you don’t care.

You could tell by his uncontrolled thrusts that he was getting close, and you knew that with both of you having had as much to drink as you had, this wasn’t going to last long. He groans loudly into your mouth one final time before, pulling out of you and straddling your torso quickly, holding himself up with one hand on his headboard behind you. Hunched over you, you place kisses along his abdomen as he throws his head back with a groan and finishes on your chest. 

He brings his head down to rest on top of yours, leaving a soft kiss on top of your head before getting up. As he stands up next to the bed, he looks down at you, admiring the sight of you lying on his bed, with your dress now only left covering your mid section. “My god, you are exquisite… could put this view in a fucking museum,” he mutters, leaning over you and grasping one of your breasts in his hand, spreading his cum across them. He groans as his hands caress you, bringing his lips down to kiss you. Finally, he pulls his pants up slightly, retreating to the bathroom to get a wet hand towel to clean you off before the both of you redress for the rest of the party.

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

JAKE’S POV

You excuse yourself to go get another drink, then walk over to the dining room. As you pour yourself another glass of whiskey, you wonder how many you’d reached- was it four? Maybe five? It doesn’t matter. You take a long sip before returning to the living room, then notice that she’s gone. You swear she was just here. Sam was still there on the couch, thank God. You knew that she was hanging all over him to get under your skin, and it makes your blood boil to admit that she was succeeding. 

You set your glass down on a side table and then venture upstairs in hopes of finding her alone. She was no match for your charm, no matter how hard she fought you on it. But as you climb the stairs and take a look around, you can’t help but notice noises coming from Josh’s bedroom. 

Out of curiosity, you slowly creep closer to the door, and the sound that you find coming from the room makes your heart nearly stop beating. It’s her, you know it’s her- but she’s not alone. 

“Oh, fuck Josh, right there,” you hear her exclaim, sending shivers down your spine. Despite the sounds being for your brother, all you can think about is how you can get her to make those noises for you. You’d never admit it out loud, but you’d do anything to feel her underneath you again, to be the one coaxing those moans out of her. 

Just the idea of it sends half the blood from your brain straight down to your dick, you can’t control it. You feel yourself strain against the material of your pants as you listen to her whine on the other side of the door. You slowly palm your erection through your pants, just to find some relief and get it under control, but you realize that it’s much more serious than you thought. 

With that, you pull yourself away, heading into the bathroom in the hallway at the top of the stairs. You quickly shut the door and lock it behind you. As you approach the mirror, you almost don’t recognize the man staring back at you. Who are you, to let some girl get the best of you like this? Not only that, but the aspect of her being off-limits makes it even more appealing. Whatever, you’re nothing if not a masochist. You’ve found yourself in trickier situations than this in your lifetime.

You reach down and try to ease your erection away again as you hear the distant sound of a door shutting. Curiosity takes control, and you unlock the door and stick your head out, seeing your brother threading his belt back together, bouncing down the stairs, and turning the corner toward the kitchen. You shut off the light and crack the door open now, leaning against the wall and waiting for her to inevitably come out.

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

YOUR POV

Thanks to Josh’s help, you have to fix your makeup again, so he heads downstairs first without you while you go back into his bathroom to freshen up. As you finish up, you check your phone one last time: 11:29 p.m. Better get going, you thought.

You open the door to Josh’s room and step out into the hallway, shutting it behind you. You walk toward the steps, but before you’re able to start your descent, you feel two strong, calloused hands pull you back into the hallway bathroom. The figure shuts the door, leaning your back against it as they flick the light on and you’re suddenly face to face with a very inebriated Jake Kiszka.

“Was curious about where you ran off to… now I know. Dirty girl,” he mutters, reaching down to sweep a piece of your hair out of your eyes. You let out a quiet sigh as you looked up at him, realizing that he’d heard you.

“Where I ran off to is none of your business, for the record,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. He ignores your jaggedness and continues.

“First, you flirt with my little brother right in front of me all evening, Then you sneak away to fuck my twin brother, during his own party, knowing that I could find you there.” He brings his hand up to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek softly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were trying to make me jealous…”

You look up at him, answering smartly, “What would you say if I was?” A smirk washes over his face at your answer, and you hate that you’re feeding right into his ego, but the alcohol in your system doesn’t seem to care. 

“I told you earlier, sweetheart- If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask,” he says, leaning down to brush his nose against your cheek, then whispering directly into your ear. “But now you’ve got me all worked up… And we can’t have that, can we? You can’t just tease me in public like that and expect me to let you get away with it.”

Your breath grows shaky as the feeling of his mouth so close to you starts to intoxicate you. “What are you going to do?” you ask.

“I think I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, sunshine…” he answers, bringing his hands down to your hips and guiding you over to the sink, resting your back against the cold marble. He leans in once more, resting his lips against the shell of your ear. “If you’re going to act like a slut, then I am going to treat you like one.”

With that, his hands turn you around, bending you over the sink. You plant your hands firmly on either side of the counter, panting slightly from the anticipation as your eyes meet his in the mirror. His lips meet your shoulder, placing soft kisses there then slowly down your back. His left hand rests on your hip while his right is planted firmly on the small of your back, keeping you bent over in just the way he wants. You’ve never been handled by a man like this before, and you’re not complaining.

You feel his hands slowly slide your dress up over your ass to rest on your hips, much like your encounter with Josh not long ago. But Josh is long gone from your mind now- all you can think about is the feeling of Jake’s breath on your skin as he plants agonizingly slow kisses on your thighs.

 As Jake sees your core, bare and open to him underneath your dress, he lets out a deep groan. “Fucking filthy. I knew it,” he mumbles, then sucks a love bite on your asscheek, placing a soft kiss afterward. He brings his face back up to meet your gaze in the mirror once again.

He pulls your hair over your left shoulder then starts sucking the sensitive part of your neck as his fingers start to run through your folds. His eyes look up to meet yours in the mirror as he removes his lips from you for a second.

“He didn’t make you cum, did he, sweetheart?” he asks, kissing your shoulder as his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow circles against it. You bite your lip to stifle the moan that almost erupted from deep inside your chest and then shake your head “No.”

“No, he didn’t, did he? Left that job to me, huh?” he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take good care of you.”

Jake crouches back down and then spreads your cheeks apart, letting out a low groan as he plants a wet kiss right on your folds and immediately dives in. You have to steady yourself from the sudden movement and quiet your moans with a bite of your lip as he attacks your core from behind you.

He makes quick work of you as his tongue pleasures your pussy, licking deep inside and making you feel like never before. His right hand wraps around you and makes quick circles around your clit, causing you to let out a quiet moan. He groans against your core at the sound and palms himself through his pants as he gets you closer and closer to your climax. As he hears your noises become less and less controlled, he can tell you’re close. 

“That’s it, baby, cum all over my face like the dirty whore you are, you know I want it,” he says quickly before diving back into you. His pace quickens even more and before you know it, you feel your orgasm crashing over you. It’s like something you’d never felt before, it erupts from you before you can even see it coming and you can’t stop it. Jake coaxes you through it, helping you down from it. 

You finally come down from your high, you turn around to face him and find his face completely soaked. You gasp at the sight before pulling him up and capturing his lips with yours, tasting yourself as your tongue slips into his mouth. He moans into your mouth, pulling you closer to him. You feel his hard cock against your core, straining against his pants, causing you to whine against his lips. 

You pull away from him, resting your forehead on his. “Jake…” you say, resting your hands around his waist. “Let me make you feel good…” Your eyes meet his and you can see the internal battle happening in his head as he shakes his head and shows you his watch. 11:54. 

Shit. You had to go, and he knew it. Your eyes soften as you look up at him. “I’m sorry,” you utter as he backs away from you, allowing you to exit the bathroom. You unlock the door, pull it open, and then turn around to look at him one more time. There’s a look in his eye that you can’t place, but you don’t have the time to ask him about it at this moment. 

You rush down the stairs to find all the partygoers in the living room, watching the ball-drop countdown on Josh’s flatscreen TV. You see Josh, leaning against the wall near the dining room holding his drink, by himself. Your heart sank a bit knowing that he was alone and didn’t know where you were, but it didn’t matter now.

“Hi, baby, sorry it took me so long,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looks over at you, a smile growing on his face. “I had a lot more to drink tonight than I thought, so I had to take a couple more minutes to collect myself.”

“That’s okay, darlin’. I’m just glad you're here now, you’re just in time,” he says with a grin, placing a soft kiss on your cheek as you both turn to watch the TV.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!

As the clock hits midnight, Josh wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you in for a long kiss. You cup both of his cheeks with your hands as you both share a special New Year’s kiss. As he finally pulls away, you can’t help but notice Jake across the room, standing alone with his eyes locked on you. You watch as he picks up his half-drank glass of whiskey and downs the rest of it, slamming it back down on the table and then walking out of the room to the kitchen. 

That’s when you knew that you were way over your head. You’re not sure how you can appease one twin without hurting the other. You realize that it all goes much deeper than you knew, and whatever you had with Jake wasn’t going away anytime soon. You know you have to face it head-on. But where will that lead you? You’ll likely end up breaking somebody’s heart, but whose will it be? If you’re not careful, it might be your own.

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

read part three here

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[heareriissmau]

title: what happened in kyoto? pairing: uraraka ochako x bakugo katsuki word count: 4,034 genre: fluff, comedy, a bit mystery, quirk accident synopsis: in which uravity is entangled in a dating rumor with great explosion murder god dynamight, who she apparently met secretly in kyoto. ochako doesn't remember anything, so katsuki helps her remember.

rumors. the bane of ochako's existence. well, not really. though, she does have a fair share of crazy rumors surrounding her since her first few months as a public figure. that she came from a wealthy family; absolutely bonkers. that she was the first woman to go to the moon; conspiracy theory at most but a nice try at least. that she floated mt. lady in her giant form and when she released her, it quaked the earth's core so bad it led to a tsunami.

point is rumors always had been strange.

as strange as this article shoved into her face via mina's phone in the middle of lunch break. ochako had to squint and pull herself back from the phone to focus her sight on the led screen.

DYNAVITY CONFIRMED?: PRO-HEROES DYNAMIGHT AND URAVITY SPOTTED LEAVING SAME APARTMENT IN KYOTO

her eyes squinted even further by the absurdity of it all.

"it's trending, ochako!" mina exclaims, unapologetically amused by the whole thing. the phone now in her hands, ochako slides the window to the trending page and sees a handful of words trending on twitter related to this specific article.

OCHAKO URARAKA

BAKUGO KATSUKI

URAVITY

DYNAMIGHT

COUPLE GOALS

oh. ochako's favorite singer is trending, too. did something happen-

"why were you in the same apartment together?!"

"mina, we haven't seen bakugo in three months. he's europe, remember?" ochako says matter-of-factly, further investigating updates about her favorite singer. turns out it was a pre-release announcement, which she already knew. she returns the phone. "how in the world could i possibly meet up with him? and in kyoto?"

her argument was true. a team was assigned for a project mission a few months back, led by katsuki. it was a volunteer type of project, which ochako obviously didn't sign up for. her quirk is enough to give her enough nausea, let alone taking planes to go to the other side of the world. plus, momo, tsuyu, tooru, kyouka, denki, shoto, and mezo already put their names on the roster before ochako thought about it.

last time she checked their (class turned into) agency group chat, their mission had already finished weeks ago. denki and the others insisted on having some more fun before going back to japan, so maybe there's a part of ochako that's a bit envious she didn't join.

let's track back. she has not seen bakugo and company for almost four months now, however ochako forgets the person she was talking to is mina. "i don't know? maybe you two were actually in a secret relationship we had no idea about." mina humors herself, knowing full well the rumor is stupid but insists on annoying ochako anyway.

"i would love for you to let me eat my lunch in peace."

"girl, this rumor is on rampage. what's peace anymore once you step out of this agency?"

"i'll just deny it."

"with the help of who? your boss?"

"uh? yeah?"

"ochako... bakugo is our boss."

ochako pinches the bridge of her nose, staring at her untouched bento box. "never mind then. my other boss."

then said other boss spawning inside the breakroom like this is a whole comedy skit purposefully hurting ochako's overworked brain. "europe team is coming home tonight," izuku announced to the girls with a bright smile on his face. he takes the seat across ochako to begin his lunch break.

"must be exciting to see your boyfriend after a long while, uraraka," he teased.

"we are not turning this into a bit." ochako considers clocking out immediately and floating herself into space.

"where the hell did the person get this picture from anyway?" mina zooms in the picture, observing the masked and capped heads of the rumored couple. noting that the height difference is similar to ochako's and katsuki's. "is somebody out to get you, ochako?"

ochako raked her mind for any possibility she's been in kyoto with katsuki. "have i ever been to kyoto, actually?"

izuku looks back at her and swallows the katsudon down. "don't look at me like i know where you are all the time."

"you're supposed to be my best friend in this situation."

"i am your best friend." izuku shrugs, "but whatever happens in kyoto, stays in kyoto, i guess," and casually sends mina into hysterics.

ochako misses when izuku was a shy, stupid mess around her.

⸻

her patrol ends a lot peacefully than anticipated. not that she wanted it to happen, but she was fully expecting to have reporters shoving themselves into her personal space and asking unwanted questions.

maybe the rumor wasn't as big as social media platforms made it out to be? it wasn't a bad assumption until eijiro and hanta bombarded her with an interrogation halfway through her patrol because they apparently heard about the rumors through fans?

and they resorted to asking her instead because katsuki was leaving them on seen? ochako had to be honest with them. it might be true that it was her and katsuki in that picture (because it really did look like them but that's besides the point), but they are definitely not dating.

she doesn't remember being affiliated with katsuki in any other way aside from being friends, so it couldn't be anything serious.

the image was taken ages ago, too (cleared up by a thread under that very tweet, which doesn't really help anything). only hilariously posted today for some reason. people were that bored, ochako guesses.

she shuts her locker after changing to her casual clothes. hell class agency wasn't strict with dress code so it helps to go back to a regular person after hero work, or at least what the girls demanded izuku and katsuki to implement as one of the house rules during the making of their agency.

getting ready to go back to her apartment, ochako checks her phone for updates on their group chat. it seems the europe team is back, and the girls initiated a welcome home party at mina's place. ochako now knows whose bed she'll be crashing onto for the night.

"if it isn't my rumored girlfriend."

not his. that's for sure.

ochako stumbles upon katsuki at the main hall on her way to the elevator. "what are you doing here?" she asked. it's 6pm, an hour past since she clocked out for her second to the last shift of the week.

the hall is eerily quiet with them being the only people sucking the oxygen in the entire room. she hadn't been expecting to see him again this early. as much as ochako was aware, europe team didn't need to head to the agency once touched down to japan. they're very much permitted to go straight to a three-day break before adjusting back to their usual shifts. plus, there's a party going on.

then again, katsuki wasn't a party person. leave it to eijiro to probably pop out of nowhere and drag his ass to mina's apartment. except eijiro already clocked out ages ago.

katsuki deadpans, "not even a welcome back? you wound your boyfriend, cheeks."

ochako stared at him like she's looking at a literal alien, whose head was shaped like a goddamn toe.

katsuki snorts and lifts up a hand to pinch her cheek. ochako wonders if europe air infected his brain somehow, "welcome back to japan, i guess. have tsu and tooru headed home already?" she notices he arrived at the office empty-handed. he could've gone straight to the office after dropping off his baggage at his apartment. if it seemed he wasn't here for izuku nor eijiro, what is he doing here then?

"yeah, off to pinky's." he stuffs both his hands inside the front pockets of his comfy-looking black hoodie. wait, since when did he steal her backpack and sling it over his shoulder? "you going home? let's grab dinner. i'm starving."

so, this is happening now.

they sat down in a pub, a few blocks near the office. as suggested by ochako since katsuki asked her what kind of food she wanted. mapo tofu would totally hit the spot right now, and it just so happened the guy who asked her out was craving the same thing.

she opened the conversation about the type of food they had overseas as they waited for their orders. ochako knew katsuki wasn't usually fond of small talk, but it surprised her to see him actively respond to any curiousity she had about their trip.

"y'know, if you're this curious, you should'a tagged along," he raises an eyebrow at her, while she furrows her brows and bashfully looks elsewhere. "there's always a next time."

"right."

for any average person, this will be considered as a date. not because it's a man and a woman sitting at the same booth together. no, no, no. but because, of all seats available, katsuki chose the one right next to ochako. this woman even remembers the way this man pushed the cushioned, wooden chair a bit closer to her before he sat down. she could've been hallucinating too, however, the way their shoulders always collided was enough to confirm she wasn't hallucinating.

is this a date? god, please give ochako an answer right now.

but what's gonna happen once she finds out it is a date?

"ain'tcha a bit stiff over there?" she jumps at katsuki's remark. her eyes landed on his on reflex, and she found him in a white oversized shirt that hung over his shoulders snugly. that hoodie looked good on him, dang. it's a bit hot in this pub, considering it's a public location. maybe that's what pub stands for?

she's so famished it's distracting. "you look nice."

... ochako.

seemed to be having way too much fun, katsuki snorted a laugh and turned away from her. ochako was clearly tired as she slumped in her chair and pouted at his reaction. "for someone who got off an airplane, you're awfully energetic."

"my bad." he composes himself and wipes a tear. "sorry 'bout that, cheeks.

"just missed you, is all."

...

...

"wh-"

"two orders of mapo tofu-"

ochako remembers how to breathe.

now what in the world just happened?

the waiter placed the orders on their table as ochako examined her situation. look, between friends, saying you missed them is normal. missing your friends is normal. is she friends with katsuki? yes. does she also miss katsuki? yes. but has katsuki ever been open with his emotions like this? no. has he ever said to anyone, anyone at all, that he missed them? no. was ochako the first one (at least of her knowledge) to be told by katsuki that he missed her?

yes.

alright. this has got to be a date.

he pushes a plate of mochi before her. she looks up at him. "that's yours," katsuki says, "my treat today."

'today'??????????

ochako is on a fucking date.

"thanks." she sends herself back to earth. "guess i owe you one?" and flirts? she guessed?

"sure, but i'll pick where to go next," the fucker smirks at her.

"not somewhere expensive, though. i'm saving up." this is going well.

"alright. how you feel 'bout the ramen shop across the street?"

"okay."

"then my turn after."

"have something in mind?"

"there's this garbage movie i wanna see. let's shit on it."

ochako bites her lip from smiling like an idiot, "sounds like a fun date," and slips on her words.

"'course it is. i'm fucking amazing at planning anything."

she turned to him as he gulped his glass of water. he set it down with a smirk.

"even dates."

it's been over thirty minutes and ochako finds it hard to wrap around her head that she's having dinner with katsuki and smoothly planning their next after-shift dates. no. how in the world did the conversation lead to this anyway?

has katsuki bakugo always been this smooth?

"you need to stop hanging out with kaminari," she blurts out in disbelief and she's pretty sure she's a lot pinker than usual. the man dared to laugh at her.

"i take it's working."

no.

what's working?

what's going on?!

what the hell is this tension brewing between them right now?

ochako spiralled over dinner, until she remembered the elephant in the room. her eyes widened after recalling whatever happened at lunch break. katsuki was so good at flirting that it slipped her mind that these two have a dating rumor and the next thing he does after seeing her is flirt with her?!

all this was happening way too organically!

"kyoto?!" she shouts, grabbing his shoulder for dear life. "have i ever been to kyoto?"

i nEvEr BeEn To OoVoO JaVeR- WHAT A STUPID QUESTION, OCHAKO!

"i'm not your stalker, cheeks. how in hell would i know all the places you've been?" the woman inwardly smacks herself in the face, and she does not like how amused her literal boss looked.

oh, my god. this is also her boss. jesus fucking chr-

"why?" ochako wished he would keep his mouth shut for a hot minute and let her think. "wanna go there, again?"

her eyes widened the size of saucers at his question. the bowl of mapo tofu in front of her now forgotten. "you know something?"

katsuki blinked. ochako sputtered as he turned his whole body in her direction. he looked so serious for her liking that she wanted to turn back time to three minutes ago when they were play-flirting.

"i'm sorry. it's just the picture in the post looked real and mina and deku sounded so sure it was us on there. also, deku was cryptic all of a sudden. i really have no idea if i ever been to kyoto. let alone being there with you. you know, because i don't think we hang out that often? just the two of us? this is the first time i hung out with you actually-"

she feels a gentle squeeze on her right hand over the table and sees it's katsuki's hand. "you're blabbering like a machine gun. calm down."

being told to calm down by katsuki bakugo sure is something.

"i had a dream like this before." ochako just lets herself blabber at this point.

"what?" he lets go of her hand.

"you being nice to me."

katsuki had to laugh. "you fucking dream 'bout me?"

ochako shifts in her seat and goes back to her food. she needs that mochi now. "except you're nice to me. it's hard to think it's actually you, or it being a dream since it sounds nightmare-ish."

he snorts and settles his arm around her chair behind her. she notices he already finished eating. ugh, men. "harsh. you should be aware of how much i tolerate you, cheeks.

"it's obvious how sweet i am to you."

ochako choked on her food, which merits a laugh from katsuki. it's literally happening again. there should be something that shifted in europe. there has to be. was he lobotomized?

"can we go back to kyoto, please?"

"pleading now? that's cute, but i just got out of a plane. can't afford another god-forsaken trip."

"that's not what i meant!"

katsuki roars in laughter much to her embarrassment. the pair have now caught the attention of the other patrons of the pub, recognizing the two heroes. hearing various whispers made ochako uncomfortable and had the whim to take her mochi to-go while forcing katsuki to get the bill already.

it would've been an actual nightmare if reporters went and ambushed them.

so here they were. aimlessly walking down the pavement, side-by-side. so close they might as well hold hands. perhaps not aimlessly as ochako notices this is the way to her apartment. he's walking her home.

"lemme just get it outta the way," katsuki begins. ochako listens.

"ashido posted that picture."

"a-"

"she's the one that took it, too."

ochako was beyond baffled but let him continue. it still didn't explain what happened before, during, and after that photo, but she's sure gonna get mina for whatever this was.

"anyway, listen to what i'm about to say. carefully." katsuki stops in his tracks and avoids her eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. "i ain't gonna repeat all this so your loss if you don't pay attention." ochako could've been hallucinating but she saw the way his ears tinted in red underneath the streetlights. katsuki's blushing.

"our agency went to kyoto for all might's birthday. where'd we get the time to do all that? i don't fucking know," he huffs. "i confessed to you that night we left all might's apartment together.

"how we ended up alone together was kirishima and ashido's 'slick ass' plan. that's how pinky ended up taking a photo of us together. i wasn't plotting to confess to you that night, fyi. it happened anyway." katsuki takes a second to check on ochako's reaction. to put it positively, she's short-circuiting.

that's enough confirmation that he had her full attention. "if you're wonderin' if those two idiots know i confessed to you, they do. izuku, too. for some idiotic reason." her own best friend knew. noted. "the reason you don't remember is you got hit by a kid with the most fucked up quirk i could not make up.

"a selective memory loss quirk."

ochako's fingers grazed through her hair and pulled it from the scalp. there was absolutely no way all of this was true. then again, katsuki is anything but a liar. ochako was actually thankful she got this bomb of information from him. if it were anyone else, she wouldn't believe all of this.

"anything that happened that day? wiped from your brain. even those times we planned anything for all might's birthday."

that's not important anymore. "who was the kid?"

"what?"

"did you find the kid?"

"yea?"

"can this be reversed?" ochako wanted to wipe the kid from the face of the earth but that would mean contrasting everything she fought for in the war during their first year.

"nah," katsuki gently takes her hands off her scalp and smooths her hair. "the kid's a spoiled brat. his parents didn't sign the waiver to reverse his quirk on you so you're stuck not knowing."

"but did i ever give you an answer?" ochako was almost pleading.

a corner of his lips tugged upwards. "no. you didn't."

now ochako hates herself.

"you avoided me the rest of the night."

oh god.

"so bad that you collided with that kid in the hallway and you made the brat incredibly fucking upset, he used his quirk on you. then you were unconscious until the ride back here."

ochako wants to die. "none of you helped me remember?"

"y'think i want to relive and explain to you the most vulnerable moment in my life the following days it happened? i think fucking not!" katsuki was beet red. "do you have any idea how awfully embarrassing that was? confessed, didn't get an answer, got fucking avoided, and cockblocked by a stupid little 8-year-old. all in one night."

ochako realizes something. "is that the reason why you suddenly avoided me for a whole month?" all that and he reverted back to normal around her.

for about a week.

"yea, then i got izuku's help organize the mission on europe because i needed to be away from you."

tears welled in her eyes. "i'm sorry, bakugo."

"it's not your fault, uraraka. it's the situation i hated." he lifts a hand to wipe a tear that escaped down her cheek. he pinches her. "still couldn't stand to look at you without getting mad.

"doesn't change the fact how i missed you a fuckton. i had to be in fucking paris of all places, with that dumbass kaminari makin' smooching noises with his dumbass girlfriend."

ochako was finally smiling. "did you ask mina to post that picture?"

"hell no. that nosy bitch is always up on my business. she demanded i make a move on you yet couldn't wait before i land on japan."

"that sucks. i wanted a private relationship, too."

katsuki smirks a-fucking-gain and leans closer. "what's that supposed to mean?"

fight back, ochako. fight back. "wait, if mina hadn't done all that, would you have never told me anything?" she changes the subject, inching back to keep a platonic distance for now.

she watches him heave out a sigh. "no idea, do I still wanna inform you how much i wanna gobble you up whenever i see you? dunno." maybe that was too much information. then again, this whole conversation had been a surge of stark mad info everyone but ochako knew about.

"i'm not asking for a response," katsuki notices her uneasiness. "i get this is a lot to take in. and you know what? i ain't gonna risk another dumbass accident happening to you.

"just know how much you mean to me."

somehow, the mere fact that katsuki bakugo has been in love with her this entire time and, quite frankly, fumbled hard after confessing might be the most mind-boggling fact of the night.

they shared the silence that engulfed them. ochako wasn't sure what to say. this was the first confession she ever experienced in her life. was he even confessing? was he just letting her know? will she avoid him again after this? was the way he flirted with her earlier did the trick somehow? and then it hit her.

ochako tilts her head, "aren't you supposed to be my boss?" katsuki raises an eyebrow at her sudden question. "yea?"

"this is a weird power dynamic, mr. bakugo."

and this is a weird way to flirt.

"we've been long-time friends before i became your boss, cheeks. the hell are you talkin' about?" ochako giggles and waves a hand at him, before gesturing at him to continue their walk back. "you into stuff like that? didn't know you were kinky, damn."

she hits him.

and slides her hand down to his, slipping her fingers between the gaps of his and keeping her pinky hover. she hopes katsuki can't hear how her heart thumped up her throat from the nerves. "i still have a lot of questions."

he gives her hand a squeeze. "i'll answer 'em."

maybe not from the nerves. she huffs, remembering the goddamn elephant in the sidewalk. "and we need to do something about the rumor mina started." she sees katsuki giving her a look from her peripherals. "you're courting me, okay! i didn't answer yet. plus, i did say i wanna keep my private life quiet.

"but i am interested in you. do i feel the same before i had my memories wiped? i'm not sure. i can't remember," she laughs. "i did miss talking to you when you started avoiding me, and i missed your presence even more when you guys left. so i'm really happy you stopped by the office tonight."

she turns to him with the brightest smile that rivaled the sun and how it reflected it's light at the stars.

"i missed you too, bakugo."

"aw, fuck," katsuki manages as he melts down to a squat on the asphalt, covering his face with one hand with the other still squeezing in ochako's grasp.

"wh- what's wrong?!"

"you're so fucking cute." his voice muffled inside his palm. a tint of red spread all over his face down to his neck and it's all ochako's fault.

her smile widens, "c'mon, get up! i still have work tomorrow." the sky has already gotten pretty dark. it must be so late.

"no. i'll call in sick for you tomorrow." he rises up to his feet and drags her down the street. "lemme intrude your apartment for the night, 'kay?" he looks back at her with a mysterious glint on his eyes and ochako did not like it.

"hUh?!" she pulls back. "no! we're not doing that! and don't just decide my sick leaves on your own!"

"cheeks, i just wanted to squeeze you in my arms. why are you resisting so much?"

she stares at him.

he smirks at her

she frowns.

"pervert."

"FUCK OFF!"

katsuki did nothing more than squeeze ochako inside his arms in her bed that night.

[assmaster-8000]

OKAY NOW THAT IM FINALLY FREE PREPARE FOR MY ASKS TO STEADILY FLOW IN BECAUSE YOU GET ME™️ was having thoughts about waking up to cécile thanks to your artwork (other things were going on that didn’t involve sleeping anndkss) but idk something about the softness of that vs him is just…it does something to me okay

also having thoughts about him fighting the urge to look at you in a certain way while you interact with gael

also having thoughts about taking advantage of him being off duty

and your tags on my fic meant sooo much to me, thank you again I’m so happy you liked it, talking to you about him made me think how important picking up on his body language would be for your mental sanity, and you’d have to be damn good at it too

no literally!!!! waking to cécile KILLS ME BECAUSE OF THAT ONE ASKKKK 😭😭😭👊👊👊👊

nsfw mention in the last paragraph

WHAT DO YOU MEAN CÉCILE DOESN'T SLEEP THE WHOLE NIGHT BECAUSE HE'S TOO ENAMOURED BY THE VULNERABILITY YOU'VE SHOWN HIM BY FALLING ASLEEP IN HIS BED AND THE VULNERABILITY YOU'VE PRIED OUT OF HIM FOR EVEN LETTING YOU BETWEEN THE SHEETS?????? OR MAYBE HE'S SCARED AS IN SO VERY SCARED OF THE WAY YOU'VE DESTROYED HIM BEYOND REPAIR BECAUSE NOW THAT HE'S HAD YOU HE'S GONNA KEEP WANTING YOU TILL HE HAS ALL OF YOU AND THAT THOUGHT IS MORTIFYING TO THE CLOSED, HOLLOW HEART OF HIS??? OR MAYBE HE HASN'T SLEPT NEXT TO SOMEONE IN SO LONG THAT THE FEELING OF YOUR BODY IS TRULY FOREIGN TO HIM AND HE CAN'T HELP BUT LEARN ALL OF YOU EVEN WHEN, OR ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE ASLEEP????????????? WHAT THA FARRKKKKK i think the first night with cécile is gonna be 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 because he's denied you for so long that he just... snaps. he snaps and he'll have you no natter what. but after the sex, after the passion? he's angry, shocked— scared. what have you done to him? and he has to get up early in the morning because he can't stand the thought of you seeing him like this past the lust BUT HE STAYS ANYWAYS UNTIL YOU WAKE UP. IM SICK. IM FUCKING SICK. RAVENSTAR DEVS ARE YOU HAPPY TO SEE ME CRY?? CÉCILE IS ALL DRESSED AND CLEANED UNTIL YOU WAKE UP AND KNOWING ACTS OF SERVICE IS SEWN INTO HIM, HE MIGHT HELP YOU FRESHEN UP BEFORE HE GOES OFF TO WORK. HE'LL SAY IT'S BECAUSE HE DOESN'T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN YOU TWO WITH YOUR ' GRAVE INABILITY FOR DECORUM' AND MAYBE SO BUT CÉCILE, FOR ALL HIS CUTTING FORTHRIGHTNESS, HAS THINGS HE CAN NEVER ADMIT. SO HE'LL ALLOW HIS GAZE TO LINGER ON YOU BEFORE HE GOES BACK TO FIGHTING OFF AN UNBIDDEN DESIRE (DESIRE? LUST? NEED? HE DAREN'T THINK OF THE OTHER DIRTIER WORD BEGINNING WITH 'L')

ahem. pardon my french i got a little carried away! also a certain way goes so many ways here LOL i think for the most part he'd just be looking at you like you're a roach buzzing around gael. his master is a respectable and noble man and you're... you 🤨🤨🤨 unfortunately he can't let his face do all the talking because believe it or not, gael doesn't want his bodyguard to stare murderously at his guest.

the other way is the one that screams with conflict. again i really have to know what cécile thinks of his love for mc in relation to his love for gael because i have no doubt that even when you reach the end goal and become cécile's world, gael is still gonna mean so so much to him. at that point, would he sacrifice everything else for you? yes. but he knows the world includes gael too and it's a part of him nothing, and i mean nothing can heal. what im trying to say is; does cécile feel even more pained, looking at you when you're standing right next to his master only in name, now? can he stand to look honestly at gael when the bane of existence and the recipient of all his need makes things so fucking difficult? he has never been on gael's level, and for good reason.

he has no right to ask for gael's forgiveness nor understanding - even though gael would forgive him in every life time like jesus willingly kissed judas - but he can't help but... need to know. just this once, the loyal hound strays and he's sorry. he's so, so sorry. please know (yes, i know) that he did not go willingly (of course you did, and it's okay), that he will always love gael (i have no doubts about that, but it's about time you have a love to call your own, now - a master and a pet only for you).

and he can't help it, the smaller feeling crawling underneath his skin. that the exact same master he loves so dearly could treat you better than cécile could by miles— gael could sweep you off your feet, and cécile wouldn't even be angry.

also sorry but 'taking advantage of him' while he's off duty snapped me out of my angsty mindset and immediately got me huffing like a dog. heartbreak time over, we're pulling cécile into a bathroom stall to suck that dick till it's blue and black before sending him off again 🤷

[vagabond-umlaut]

Fall Versus Foliage

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Geto Suguru Makes His Debut; Takes Place Between Star Plasma Vessel Incident & Death Of Haibara; Fluff, Very Little Angst, Humor & Drama!! Contains Spoilers. Canon-Compliant. [Geto's Already Spiralling Here.] [I Hate Canon.]

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns

Your Best Friend is Gojo. Gojo's Best Friend is Geto. Your Mortal Enemy is Geto.

"Oi, you six-eyed cellar spider! Where the fuck you hidin', huh?"  

Wrenching the shoji door open, you charge onto the backyard of your home, wading through the tall grasses overcrowding your so precious lawn. Somewhere from behind, someone calls your name in an overly frantic tone— paying them no attention, you proceed forwards, wrath coursing through your arteries and veins– colouring your vision with a furious shade of red.  

Honestly speaking, this isn't how you envisioned your weekend going. You were under the impression you might be able to get some indeed very much needed rest these two days— maybe with some fun too in the mix, given how you invited your friends to this tucked away home you've in the countryside.  

Then again, you never envisioned someone gobbling your Neapolitan ice cream– the entirety of it– did you, now?  

"Hey, Gojo," you holler once again, eyes roaming in search of the bane of your existence, when you suddenly stop at the sight before, only to increase the speed of your attack within the next instant. "Oi, Satoru!" you yell, clenching then relaxing your fists as you march towards that messy mop of white hair partly obscured by the tree trunk its owner's leaning against, "You gone deaf or— huhhh? What the fuck is this??" 

Were anyone from your family there right now, you'd have received an earful for such a horrendously unladylike language— you shove every thought of your stick-in-the-mud family members out your mind into the lake nearby, opting to focus on the masterpiece before instead. 

Though you're much too unsure, which of them two the masterpiece is.  

Must it be the striking painting staring back at you, the woman's eyes carrying fondness yet mystery in their depths while her lips curve in a visibly coy smile, sweet yet cryptic?  

Or must it be the striking painter snoozing beside his work, tiny quiet snores leaving him while his head lolls to the side, those black shades sitting tad precariously on his nose? 

A muted exhale leaving, you force your shoulders to slump down and relax, your hands reaching forwards to carefully pluck his glasses off– only to still and tense up, registering the presence of another person.

Very intolerable. Very obnoxious. Another. Person.

Suguru offers you an easy smile from where he's propped up against the tree beside Satoru's, an open book lying in his lap. You manage a barely civil smile in response, gritting out, "Why the hell are you here, huh? Never took you to be my 'Toru's watch dog... Senpai."

Even if the boy does detect the disrespect in the term of address you throw in as an after-thought, he makes no comment on it– wearing a smile as placid as before, and replying, "Never took these lawns to be out of bounds for me either— but here are we. Thinking things only to be proved wrong later on. Funny little coin—"

"I'm rather good at reading people," you cut him off, eyes narrowed in a glare as your teeth clack against each other in your attempts to rein in your bubbling irritation and rising volume: Satoru's asleep; he must not be disturbed at any and all costs– "and I think Ieiri-senpai prefers your company to Iori-senpai's when she's smoking. Why don't you go, have a smoke with her, yeah? They're in the other wing of the house."

Or, perhaps, in the same wing of the house adjoining these very same gardens— but you don't add that. With the fewest words spoken, you want Suguru to be gone the quickest, the farthest from Satoru— who seems too delicate, too vulnerable, too breakable in such a state— an uncomfortable shiver slithering down your spine on noticing that tiny scar at the back of his neck, you drag your attention away from him— to the second boy watching you: visibly delighted; tangibly intrigued.

You will your annoyance to be doused: your best friend's asleep; 'Toru Must Not Be Disturbed— his best friend leisurely flips over to another page, though his eyes drift to the new page only for a moment before returning to study you— albeit without the sliver of interest his hawk-like gaze always carries when settling on a hapless girl doomed to be his prey for the night— you observe this with an inward sigh of relief.

Be it for you or for Satoru, you never quite like those who try to come between the two of you friends. You suppose, the white-haired boy is not very fond of such folks either. That pathetic boy who tried to give you an equally pathetic rose in your third grade, still carries remnants of the thrashing your friend had given him on hearing your complaint – you know, the white-haired boy is not very fond of such folks either.

Suguru chuckles softly. "You..." he pauses for a little, seemingly in the search for the right words, then resumes, "You're not good in dealing with feelings, are you? Especially not where it concerns people close to you, right?"

It takes you two seconds before the meaning behind his words spring to life. You clench your fists to keep yourself absolutely rooted there, vision growing red yet again.

"Are you trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me, Geto?" you query quietly, nails digging deep crescents into the skin of your palms. Suguru's face morphs into an unrushed grin, smug and ugly. You reckon one of your nail's finally broken the skin of your left palm.

The Curse Manipulator shrugs. "That depends on what—"

"Being mean to you isn't me not knowing how to handle my emotions or some shallow shit like that," you cut him off, unclenching your fists and letting the air brush over the red-hot indents in your palm, "Being mean to you is me wanting to be; and you better not be expecting me to change that anytime soon, 'cause I won't–" A barely-heard mumble on kikufuku makes you pause. Throwing a sideways glance at the boy mumbling, you return your focus to the other boy, eyes fixed in a hard stare.

"I hate you and I'm so not the type to be polite with someone, only to bitch about them later on, behind their back— so I'm gonna continue hating you to your face— and I don't care what you might have to say on this, so you better save your breath, yeah?"

A moment of tense silence follows your question, broken not too long after by the black-haired boy's incredulous statement, "I never meant that to refer to myself. I was speaking on your feelings for–" He grows silent suddenly, eyes darting to Satoru for a brief second, before they return to you. Cheshire cat grin back in every bit of its dastardly glory.

"Feelings for someone close to you translates to your hatred for me– hm?" he says, throwing a momentary glance at Satoru yet again, grin unbudged, "You are one very weird girl, you know that?"

"Oh, yeah?" you snap back without missing a beat, "You might not be knowing this— but anger and hatred are equally valid feelings as any other— and regarding the matter of you being someone close to me?" you let out something between a scoff and a sigh, shaking your head, "You're one of the five other faces I see from my age group, at school everyday. Of-fucking-course, you're someone close to me. I'll be kind of upset if— Have you ever been told, your grin is low-key terrifying?"

Your genuine question earns one very hearty laugh from Suguru– it grows tempered soon enough, however, when you pointedly glance at your sleeping friend then shoot the other boy a glare. Sharp. Mad.

The latter smiles at you, shaking his head. "You're really one weird girl —perhaps the weirdest of them all..." he says, wiping a tear away from his eye, shoulders still shaking from his subdued laughter– "However, I can't help but wonder..."

You shift your weight to one foot, the other tapping an impatient tune on the ground as you stuff your hands into your jacket pockets. Smile dimming to grow a touch of honest curiosity, he asks, "You say, anger and hatred are valid emotions, but don't you feel they might burn you from the inside out, consume you and every bit of your life, leave your world in smoke and ash— don't you feel ashamed when you're feeling those? Helpless– miserable when your anger and hatred tears at your insides? Teasing you, taunting you— cursing you?"

It takes you few moments to grasp the entirety of Suguru's question; and when you do, you can't help but feel sorry for him— Though you know better than to offer something as trash as sympathy to another.

Not when it cannot retrieve the lost, resurrect the dead.

Not when it cannot remove the scars– seen and hidden.

Not when it cannot... let your 'Toru sleep without reliving the sight of millions of maggots swarming over him, weak, dying, dying, weak— YouNeedToMakeGetoLeaveNOW—

You fake a yawn, flexing and extending your legs, one at a time.

"Jogging, fencing, complaining, being mean, napping— these are my usual go-to's whenever I feel too overwhelmed by negative emotions," you answer, features made into one of nonchalance then add, almost as a mumbled after-thought, "or when any emotion confuses me too, to be honest. Kicking the wall or the source of your distress helps me too, yeah."

"So... violence is always an option, hm?"

A chuckle moves to fall past your lips— you push it back– misgivings standing where humor should be– when you catch the way Suguru's eyes gleam in the shade granted by the drifting clouds— though that gleam doesn't seem to be gleaming to you. One might accuse you to be unfairly prejudiced against him— but you know you aren't letting a smidgen of those biases tint your vision now.

You know that gleam in his eyes is anything but funny. Anything but light. Anything but good—

The Curse Manipulator rises from his slouch on the ground, sending you another of his easy smiles, though it no longer feels as harmless as it used to, earlier. Your feet move a few steps towards Satoru— in response to your instinct to shield the boy or your desire to be within his comforting aura— you're not very sure, which.

Suguru's smile grows, gaze flitting from his classmate to you. "Thank you for inviting us here. All of us really needed this break after... what happened last year," he says, volume dropping to a whisper, "Thanks a bunch, kid."

You just nod your head in response, fighting the urge to rush to your friend's side— the other boy lets out a muted chuckle, feet moving a couple steps away from you, before he stops and points at the piece of drawing lying before Satoru, held down by a stone paperweight. It is the one you gifted him, many years back at a beach, you recollect.

A tad too tickled statement startles you back to the present.

"Your 'Toru's made his 'sweetness' the subject of that portrait there... think, he fancies her or something?"

Not sparing said portrait a glance, you frown up at him. "But it seems to be of an older woman, Geto. Are you trying to suggest Satoru sees me as someone older than her age?"

"Maybe," he shrugs. You observe him for a moment before looking at the fast asleep boy again— dread and dejection filling every small bit of your body, slow yet so steady—

Satoru sees you as someone much older than your age. Satoru never tells you, he'll be drawing your portrait— but he has told that bastard best friend of his, everything. Said bastard best friend keeps being a hindrance, putting a spoke in your and Satoru's eons old friendship— not to mention those way too disturbing vibes he was giving off some time back— Bloody hell, Satoru also ate your ice cream up, didn't he?

"You seem to be overwhelmed with emotions, kid," the black-haired boy comments, still standing in the same place as he was, watching you attentively with hints of a smirk, "What are you planning to do?"

Honestly? You don't know. You're mad. You want Suguru to leave you two by yourselves for some time. But, you don't know how to— okay, no, wait–

Kicking something never not solves your issues... Besides, all of your friends– yeah, even this bang-haired asshole, keep themselves away whenever you and Satoru fight, so...

Stamping down the glee blooming in your heart, you throw Suguru a very unimpressed glance. "What can one ever expect me to do, eh?"

And that's the last thing you utter, before you stomp right up to your best friend, and ignoring the tiny flicker of regret, deliver a sharp and well-aimed kick to his leg— eliciting a yelp from your poor 'Toru– but, at the same time, kicking your oh-so-splendid plan of protecting your friendship, off as well.

[But, in case this plan fails? Something, the sweet half of yourself is a bit too sure, will happen— Shut the fuck up, you goody-two-shoes!!—

Simple!! You'll buy Satoru three– no, five– tubs of that Neapolitan ice cream. Offer to complete his homework, plus massage his shoulders as an apology for hitting him. And pout at him, trembling lips and big teary eyes and all that jazz, and—

Gojo Satoru will be best friends with his sweetness in no time, again!]

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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Masterlist

Satoru calls his future S/O sweetness, but trust me when I say— Suguru's S/O will be the sweetest of them all. Stay tuned for the next oneshot in this series, my loves!!! 🥰