#i feel the magnetism of the Old Life pulling at me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldfades · 2 months ago

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★ '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 ♡

#jb5 #nfl fic #nfl football #nfl lb #nfl imagine #joe burrow bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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d-z20 · 3 months ago

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The Agent Next Door part 2 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You've not seen Rio since you moved back into your apartment, but a prank leads to you two going on a proper date which ends well. Very well indeed. -OR- You guys go on a date and end up fucking all night because you've missed each other so much

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fingering (R & Rio recv), strap on (R recv), oral (Rio recv), switch Rio & reader

Words: 2.4k

A/N: The voice of the people asked for smut, so smut you shall receive. I've kept it light for this part to establish more of a relationship and then there's a darker theme in the next part.

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 3 | Master List

Fire Drills and First Dates

The days after staying with Rio feel oddly quiet. You’re back in your own apartment, and though everything is fixed now—the door, the shower—you find yourself missing her presence. You hadn’t realised how much you’d grown used to having her around—her sharp wit, her teasing smiles. You’ve only exchanged a few texts since she’s gone back to work, and each one leaves you wanting more. It’s silly, you think, how you’re craving her company. It’s not like you’re avoiding her, but you haven’t had a proper excuse to run into her yet, either.

That is, until one evening when you’re lounging in your pyjamas—an old, baggy tee and some basketball shorts—when the shrill sound of the fire alarm pierces the air. You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling to grab your phone, keys, and—out of pure panic—a spatula that was on the counter. You bolt for the door, clutching it like it might somehow help.

The hallway is already filled with a few confused neighbours milling about, but it’s Rio you nearly crash straight into.

She’s in a sports bra and shorts, hair mussed like she’s just rolled out of bed. “Well, well,” she says, her grin wide and teasing as she eyes you up and down. “Didn’t realise we were dressing for the apocalypse.”

You look down at yourself, realising just how ridiculous you must look in your mismatched, oversized tee, clutching a spatula like a weapon. "Oh, so you're a fashion critic now too, are you?” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “And in case of emergency pancake flipping, I’m clearly prepared.”

Rio laughs, the sound echoing down the hallway. “Pancake flipping? Were you planning to defend us from the fire with that?”

“Hey, you never know,” you retort, waving the spatula in the air. “Could be a very specific kind of fire.”

Before you can respond further, the building manager appears, looking exasperated. “False alarm, folks. Some kids pulled it as a prank.”

Rio gives you a sidelong glance, smirking. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Speak for yourself,” you say with mock seriousness. “I risked life and limb to look like this.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she turns to you, stepping closer. “You know, we haven’t actually spent time together since you moved back into your place,” she says, her voice softer now, a hint of something else in her eyes.

You raise an eyebrow. “Was that your way of asking me out, or...”

She huffs a laugh, reaching out to tug lightly at the hem of your tee. “How about we go on a real date, then? Somewhere that doesn’t involve fire alarms or broken doors.”

You grin. “I’d like that.”

—

You meet at a small bar a few nights later, dressed up for once, but there’s still an easy, casual air between you. The place is cozy, with dim lighting and an impressive drink menu. Rio’s leaning against the bar when you walk in, looking effortlessly stunning in a tailored black suit with a sleek blazer and matching trousers. Her hair is neatly styled back, accentuating the sharp lines of her outfit. The deep neckline and confident stance make her presence magnetic, and you can’t help but stare. Her eyes light up when she sees you, extending her arms to embrace you in a quick hug.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite neighbour,” she greets, flashing a smile. “You clean up nicely.”

You had chosen a soft, striped blouse paired with wide-leg pants that cinch perfectly at your waist. The relaxed fit feels comfortable yet polished, and the delicate necklace at your collarbone, paired with a few understated rings, brings a subtle touch of elegance. You catch Rio’s approving gaze as she takes in your look, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Thanks,” you say, sliding onto the stool next to her. “Figured I should leave the spatula at home this time.”

She laughs, leaning in a little closer. “Probably a wise choice.”

The date flows effortlessly. You banter back and forth, teasing and flirting like it’s second nature. You tell her the story of your worst first date, and she counters with a tale about a stakeout that went horribly wrong, involving a coffee spill and a suspect with an unfortunate penchant for karaoke.

At one point, she leans in, lowering her voice. “You know, I was worried we’d have one of those awkward first dates where we run out of things to talk about.”

You smirk, taking a sip of your drink. “Rio, you broke into my apartment and saw me half-naked. I think we’re past awkward.”

She chuckles, her eyes sparkling as she reaches across the table, taking your hand. “Fair point.”

The night ends with you walking back to her place, the conversation never once faltering. The city lights cast a soft glow over everything, and when you reach her door, she pauses, turning to face you fully.

“So,” she says, her tone a little lower, more serious. “Do I get to kiss you goodnight, or would that be too forward?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Well, you did promise me a real date. I think that earns you a real kiss.”

The moment her lips meet yours, it’s like everything else fades away. She pulls you closer, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. It’s soft at first, but then she deepens it, her tongue teasing against yours in a way that has you breathless. She presses you back against her door, and you can feel her smile against your lips when you let out a soft, involuntary moan.

“Since you left, all I’ve been able to think about was doing this again,” she murmurs, her voice rough and low, filled with that same intense need that always leaves you breathless.

You smirk, pressing closer, letting your fingers trace the line of her jaw. “Oh, I noticed,” you tease, your own voice coming out softer, more vulnerable than you intended.

Rio’s response is a low throaty chuckle that turns into a deep, searing kiss. It’s urgent this time, no hesitation, like she’s trying to make up for every second you weren’t together. Her hands are already tugging at your shirt, her touch firm and possessive. You don’t waste any time either, and start undoing her blazer, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you.

The two of you stumble back into her apartment, her hands never leaving your body as she guides you through the door. You push her up against the wall first, fingers threading into her dark hair, tugging slightly. She groans against your mouth, and you can feel her grin as you take control, sucking at her lower lip before trailing kisses down her neck.

"Bedroom, now," you whisper against her skin, and she doesn’t argue, practically dragging you to the bed.

The second you reach the mattress, she spins you around, pushing you down firmly before climbing on top. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as she looks down at you. "I love it when you try to take control," she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement as she straddles your hips, her hands sliding under your shirt.

You arch up, letting her peel the fabric away, but before she can continue, you flip her over, pinning her wrists above her head. She lets out a surprised laugh, a glint of delight flashing in her eyes. “Oh, taking charge now, are we?” she taunts.

You lean down, nipping at her jaw. “You got a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” she breathes, her voice catching as you kiss your way down her neck. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you grind against her, both of you groaning at the sensation.

It’s not long before she reverses the position, pinning you to the bed with a smirk. “My turn,” she says simply, and her mouth is on you again, hot and insistent as her hands slide lower, making quick work of your pants.

You lose track of time, caught in a fevered rhythm of give and take. It’s heated and frenzied, the two of you constantly switching who’s in control, neither willing to yield completely. Her hands roam your body with a knowing touch, exploring every curve like she’s memorising you all over again. You respond in kind, your fingers gripping her hips, nails digging in just enough to leave a mark.

She pushes you back against the mattress, pinning you there with a smirk that turns into a hungry kiss. You gasp into her mouth as her fingers slip lower, finding you already wet and wanting. The first touch makes you arch up into her, a strangled moan escaping your lips. Rio takes her time, working you with slow, deliberate strokes until you’re trembling beneath her. She watches you with hooded eyes, clearly enjoying the way you fall apart under her touch.

But you don’t let her stay in control for long. With a quick movement, you roll her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head, your lips trailing down the line of her throat, sucking at the delicate skin. Her breath hitches when you move lower, slipping your hand beneath the open blazer to reveal the smooth expanse of her stomach. You kiss your way down, taking your time until you reach the waistband of her pants. Her hips lift, silently begging, but you pause, teasing her just like she teased you.

“Patience,” you whisper against her skin, loving the way her eyes darken with desire. You take your time, fingers tracing the waistband slowly before unfastening her pants with deliberate slowness. You tug them down inch by inch, letting your knuckles brush against her thighs, teasing her as her breath catches in anticipation.

You gaze down at her, taking in the sight of her matching green lingerie. “Did you put this on just for me?.” You ask, pulling the thin strip of fabric covering her pussy to the side, making sure your knuckles brush over her clit as you do. You bite your lip at the sight of just how wet she was, letting out a low moan as you try to compose yourself.

When you finally take her in your mouth, her reaction is immediate—a deep, guttural moan that sends a shiver down your spine. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as you work her over, the taste of her intoxicating. She comes undone beneath you, her entire body tensing, back arching off the bed as she gasps your name.

You barely get a moment to catch your breath before she flips you over again, her mouth crashing down on yours in a heated kiss. She slips her hand between your thighs, her fingers finding your most sensitive spot and circling there with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure builds quickly, leaving you breathless, moaning into her mouth as she brings you to the edge and then pushes you over.

“Fuck, Rio,” you cry out, your whole body shaking as you come apart, clinging to her.

She grins, looking utterly smug, as she kisses you again, this time slower, more intimate. “I could do this all night,” she murmurs, and you believe her.

It’s a cycle of heated kisses, whispered praises, and a desperate need to touch and taste each other. You take turns pinning each other down, exploring every inch of skin like it’s the first time, making good on every unspoken promise from the last time you were together. The bed creaks beneath your movements, sheets twisted and tangled around your bodies.

At one point, you find yourself straddling her hips, guiding her hands to your waist as you rock against her strap. She looks up at you like you’re the only thing she wants in the world, and the intensity of it makes you falter for a second. But she steadies you with a firm grip, thrusting up against you, making you cry out as you ride the waves of pleasure.

You both end up tangled in the sheets, panting and laughing in between gasps and moans. You soon find yourself on top of her again, pressing kisses down her chest whilst you curl your fingers inside her, your name falling from her lips in a way that makes your heart stutter. It’s messy and passionate, filled with half-formed words and needy whispers, other fantasies from your mind playing out in real-time, surpassing even your most vivid daydreams.

By the time you collapse beside each other, the room is filled with the smell of sweat and sex, and the only sound is your ragged breathing. She pulls you into her arms, still catching her breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You good?” she asks, her voice soft now, almost tender.

You nod, curling into her side, feeling the beat of her heart beneath your palm. “Yeah,” you murmur, a lazy smile spreading across your face. “Better than good.”

She laughs quietly, pulling the covers up over both of you. “I’m glad to hear it, sweetheart. Why don’t you get some sleep now, hmm?” she says, her fingers tracing circles on your back.

You don’t argue, letting your eyes flutter shut as you sink into her warmth, feeling more at home than ever.

—

The next morning is slow and blissful. You wake up tangled together, her arm draped lazily over your waist. When you stir, she presses a kiss to your shoulder, mumbling a sleepy “Morning, sweetheart,” that makes your chest flutter all over again.

You smile, turning over to face her. “Morning. Did I keep you up last night?”

She smirks, eyes still half-closed. “Worth it.”

You both spend a while just lying there, talking about nothing and everything. Eventually, you get up, pulling on one of her shirts that’s much too big for you, and pad into the kitchen together to make breakfast.

It’s domestic in a way that surprises you—easy and comforting. You’re cooking pancakes while she makes coffee, the two of you moving around each other like you’ve done this a hundred times before. When she hands you a mug and leans down to steal a kiss, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“Brunch at home,” she says, raising her mug in a toast. “The best kind of date.”

You clink your mug against hers. “Here’s to many more, then.”

Rio grins, pulling you in for another kiss. “You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, you know.”

And for the first time, that thought doesn’t scare you at all.

remember to like and reblog if you enjoyed <3

Part 3

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hotvintagepoll · 9 months ago

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LAST POLL OF ROUND 6

Propaganda

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is.

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

Lauren Bacall:

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

youtube

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

youtube

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

#lauren bacall #ingrid bergman #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 6

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kryllia · 24 days ago

Text

Strings of Obsession

Yanndere guitarist x reader

art from pinterest

The spotlight bathed the stage in a warm glow, illuminating the band as they launched into their opening number. My eyes were drawn to the lead guitarist, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with effortless grace. He was a whirlwind of energy, his grin infectious as he poured his heart into every note. When his eyes met mine across the crowd, he faltered—just for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before his smile grew sharper, almost predatory.

His name was Eli. After the set, he approached me with a mix of boyish enthusiasm and something darker. “Did you like it? Did you have a favorite part?” he asked, his golden eyes locking onto mine like a hunter cornering prey. There was a magnetic pull to him, and I felt myself nodding along, unable to look away.

Over the next few months, Eli wove himself into my life with deliberate precision. He invited me to every gig, insisting I sit front and center. He’d send me voice memos of riffs he wrote “just for me” and pouted if I took too long to reply to his texts. It was flattering… but it was intense.

One evening, after a performance that left the room thrumming with energy, Eli dragged me to their cramped rehearsal space. The air was thick with the smell of old amps and cigarette smoke, and I perched on a sagging couch as they played. Every time Eli nailed a solo, he’d glance at me, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Did you hear that? All for you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with unspoken meaning.

His bandmates – Liam on bass and Noah on drums – teased him relentlessly. “Dude, you’re gonna write her a whole album,” Liam snorted, strumming his bass absentmindedly.

Eli didn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes glinted as he looked at me. “Maybe I already have.”

"Oh good maybe it will be new hit dude. Maybe I can add some my own love songs." Noah thinks about new album and watching you.

Later that night, as he walked me home, his arm draped possessively around my shoulders, a group of guys passed us on the sidewalk. One of them lingered a moment too long, his gaze sliding over me appreciatively. Eli’s grip tightened, his knuckles brushing against my arm in a silent warning.

“You’re cold,” he said abruptly, slipping his jacket over my shoulders. His voice was low, almost tender, “You look better in this than I do,” he murmured, but his eyes stayed locked on the group until they disappeared around the corner.

From then on, Eli’s possessiveness deepened. If someone at a gig so much as smiled at me, he’d appear at my side, his arm around my waist, announcing himself as “her boyfriend” in a tone that left no room for debate. He’d kiss my temple, murmur how much I meant to him, and shoot venomous glares at anyone who dared linger.

One night, after a particularly packed show, Liam offered me a ride home while Eli packed his gear. As I started to follow Liam out, Eli appeared in my path, his expression dark.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low and taut.

“Liam offered me a ride,” I said, confused by his sudden tension.

“I’ll take you home,” he said flatly. His hand clamped around mine with a strength that made my heart stutter. Liam raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest, leaving me alone with Eli’s smoldering presence.

The walk was tense, Eli unusually quiet. When we reached my doorstep, he turned to me, his expression raw with emotion. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” His voice was low, trembling. “Promise me you’ll always stay with me.”

The words didn’t feel like a plea—they felt like a threat.

Days later, Eli invited me to his apartment. It was cluttered but cozy, an intimate window into his chaotic world. But when he led me into his bedroom, my breath caught. The walls weren’t just covered in posters of bands—they were covered in pictures of me.

Photos I didn’t remember posing for. Photos from angles I couldn’t have noticed. Some were printed from my social media, but others… others were taken when I wasn’t looking.

“I wanted to keep you close,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something unyielding. He stepped closer, cupping my face with calloused hands. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Say you’re mine.”

I stammered something, my mind racing for an escape. His grip tightened—not painful, but firm enough to send a shiver down my spine.

Over the following weeks, Eli became omnipresent. He’d appear at places I hadn’t told him I’d be. His texts came in waves—affectionate, frantic, demanding. His gifts became lavish: jewelry, custom-written songs, a notebook filled with sketches of me.

Then came the darker moments. His frustration when I spent time with others. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he saw me with Liam.

The breaking point came one night at a café. Liam and I were discussing a project when Eli walked in. His presence was like a shadow overtaking the room. He slid into a chair uninvited, his gaze fixed on Liam with quiet menace.

Liam left quickly, leaving me alone with Eli’s simmering anger. “Why him?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“We were just working—”

“You could’ve asked me to help,” he interrupted, leaning closer. His hand found mine, his grip vice-like. “I don’t like sharing you.”

When I tried to pull away, his fingers tightened. “Eli, you’re hurting me,” I whispered.

His face crumpled in remorse, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I just… I love you so much. Too much, maybe.”

That night, I received a text from him: “You’re mine. I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

The next morning, I woke to find my apartment filled with roses. Hundreds of them. My phone buzzed with another message: “You deserve the world. And I’ll give it to you—even if it kills me.”

A knock sounded at the door. My heart raced as I approached, but I knew who it would be.

Eli stood there, a bouquet in one hand and a knife in the other. His smile was heartbreakingly tender, his eyes glowing with devotion.

“Let’s make it official,” he said, stepping inside.

#yandere #yandere male #yandere blog #yandere boy #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere Guitarist #Yan!Guitarist #Yan!Guitarist x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader

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myromanempiree · 6 months ago

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Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Azriel x Reader

word count- 1.1k

Summary - In the books, its usually the male getting jealous after a fresh mating bond. I don't see enough of the female getting jealous.

a/n - I read a lot of Azriel angst today, @azrielbrainrot 's "I laugh like me again, and she laughs like you" hurt so good. (go read it!) But I decided to write some fluff,because its good for my heart, and I needed to get back into the swing of writing and wanted to learn how to write smut. So this is kinda messy.

c/w - p in v, tooth rotting fluff, jealousy, fem reader

Again, he was talking to Elain again.

He was helping her work in the garden of your shared home, which he had asked her to do after learning your favorite flowers. Even though you knew it was just Azriel being his usual self, unable to let someone do work by themselves even when he asked for it, you still couldn't help but want him all for yourself.

Perhaps it was the freshly accepted mating bond, only about a month old. Yes, thats what's it was. Just some base, lesser instincts, not at all jealousy. No, not that.

Your piercing stare seems to garner the middle Archeron's attention, who excitedly waves you over. You walk through the garden, moving like a magnet to Azriel. Arm looped in his, your face buried into his bicep.

You ignored the conversation, focusing on your mates warm body. Eyes still hostile, gazing at Elain.

Everything seemed to be generally running smoothly until she touched his arm, your mates arm. There was nothing adherently flirtatious about the movement, she was simply thanking him for hauling heavy bags soil, but it still irked you.

In fact, it irked you enough to elicit a low growl from your throat. The Archeron's eyes light with amusement, a small smile on her pink lips. Your mate looking rather taken aback.

"You two should probably go back inside, Im almost done." Elain said, clapping her hands together. "Alright, help yourself to the pastries in the kitchen when you're done.' Your mate said kindly.

Then Azriel placed a scarred, warm hand on your back, guiding you inside of your cottage

"Love? What was that?" Your mate asked, a gentle smirk on his stupidly kissable lips. When you didn't answer he gently pulled you closer to him by your hand and small of your back. "Love?" He repeats.

You flush in embarrassment, looking at his shoulder, a shadow dancing along with Azriel's amusement.

You huff, moving past him, causing a soft laugh to escape his lips, following you to your shared bedroom.

After you hear the door click, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist, a firm body against your back. Azriel's warm breath dances across your skin as he buried his face into your neck.

"Answer me." He cooed softly, nuzzling his nose against the skin, his fingers drawing uncoordinated patterns on your hips. "Love?" Azriel began, kissing your skin. "Love of my life, sweetheart, darling, lovely. What happened?"

A silence enveloped the room, only for a few seconds before you whispered. "She touched your arm..."

You regretted it as soon as the words escaped your mouth, as soon as Azriel let out a deep, rumbling laugh that sent a heat to your core. The heat intensified as he moved his hands down to your thighs, kissing your neck.

"It didn't mean anything, my love..." Azriel began, "I know...I just—" you said softly.

"Were you jealous, little love?" His devilish smirk warm against your neck. And a soft nod of your head causes it to only widen. "You have nothing to be jealous of. You're the only one for me, only you." He mumbled truthfully, "A touch on the arm won't change that."

You still seemed a little wary, a little jealous. Azriel could feel it through the glimmering bond he had absolutely cherished since the moment he felt it. He slowly turns you around, picking you up in his arms. A soft, squealed "Azriel!" leaving your lips.

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" He said, laying you onto the bed, kissing along your collarbone, a soft sigh escaped you lips. Urging him forward, "That would be nice."

He grinned again, moving his calloused fingers up your thighs, dancing across the slightly dampened cloth of your panties. He began moving it aside to slide two of his thick fingers into you, eliciting a soft gasp as he continued.

Azriel's fingers curling inside you felt beyond heavenly, you squirm under him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he moved. He slowly kissing in between your breasts, humming contently and he scissors his fingers.

His thumb pushed against your clit, a breathy moan escaping you. "There we go..." He purred, "Such a good girl." You let out a soft squeal as his warm mouth attached to a pert nipple, "Azzie! Mh—...fuck, I'm close."

His mouth curved around your nipple, giving it one last flick of his tongue before finding the spongey spot inside you that made you see stars.

Azriel groaned, his forehead digging into your cleavage as you come down from your high. He slowly removed his fingers, causing a soft moan to leave your lips.

He gently kissing your lips and moved to bring down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. You hum and move to bring your mouth down to it, before he catches you. "No can do, pretty." He mumbled, smudging the pre and your cum along his length, before slowly insisting himself.

Even after almost a year of being together, the stretch still burned. You hissed softly, moving to get your fingers in his hair. Her gently placed a hand on the inside of your thigh, massaging softly. "Breathe, pretty. Deep breaths. Follow me.' He mumbled, guiding you in breathing,

"Just like that, love." Azriel cooed rewardingly, moving to test a soft thrust. When you didn't wince, he nods to himself, clasping his hands along you hip and thigh, holding you steady while he does all of the work.

You let out a soft whine, burying your face into the crook of his neck as taking in deep breaths as you slowly make love. He pressed gentle kisses along your hairline, his thumb stroking your hip reassuringly, the murmuring praises.

The room filled with pants, the rustling of wings, skin slapping together and the slight creaking of your shared bed. And as you both approached the edge together, a loud moan escaped your lips, and a mumbled curse from Azriel.

The couple sat in a cozy silence, before Azriel gently placed his head on her chest. "Did I prove you wrong?" He asked teasingly. "Mhm..." You lazily mumble, stroking his hair, a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

He then removed himself and moved to clean you up, scooping you into his arms and walking to the bathroom, perching you onto the counter. He dampened a cloth, gently wiping away your mixed cum and kissing your thighs.

After cleaning up, you both dress on another, and you mumble a soft apology for being jealous. "You're alright, it was cute.' He teased, kissing your forehead and guiding you to the kitchen to get water.

Elain sits at the table, a crumbly pastry in hand, and a small grin on her face, before extending the pastry box to the pair, with mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Croissant?"

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #Azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #acotar fanfic #azriel #Azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel fic

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p0orbaby · 3 months ago

Text

I’d Rather Go Blind Than Let You Down

summary: the baby is here, that should calm leah down, right? right?

warnings: hospital setting

a/n: someone asked for some more panicky leah so here it is. first part here but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 1.3k

It’s a boy. A boy. Your boy. You can hardly wrap your head around it, the reality of him. He’s only been in the world for forty minutes, and already it feels like he’s upended every law of physics. Six pounds and change, but impossibly heavy in the way he roots you to the earth, demanding you stay present, stay still, stay here. His hair is a downy mess of dark brown fluff, sticking up in little uneven tufts that remind you of how Leah’s fringe used to look after her under-12s matches: matted and wild, all effort and energy. His hands—God, his hands—are the size of fifty-pence pieces, delicate and wrinkled, each finger curled tightly into its own little fist. He’s perfect. Absolutely, inexplicably perfect. And you’re completely terrified.

The hospital room smells like cheap soap and distant disinfectant, undercut by the faint, sticky sweetness of some long-spilled juice no one bothered to properly clean. It’s a symphony of beige: beige walls, beige curtains, beige linoleum. Even the bed looks beige, although it’s probably just worn white, like an old t-shirt washed too many times. Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s shoes squeak with rhythmic persistence, and you vaguely wonder if they’re pacing, as you had earlier, wearing an accidental track into the polished floor.

Leah is sitting in the uncomfortable armchair by the bed, which is upholstered in that scratchy material designed to withstand decades of spills and bad decisions. Her elbows rest on her knees, her fingers steepled against her lips in a half-prayer, half-facepalm, as if she’s mid-negotiation with some higher power. She hasn’t spoken much since the baby was born. Not because she doesn’t want to, you think, but because the enormity of it all has rendered her mute. She looks pale, unsteady, as if someone has shaken her up like a bottle of fizzy water and forgotten to twist the cap back on properly.

The baby makes a soft, snuffling noise against your chest, pulling her attention like a magnet. Her gaze darts to him and then flicks away just as quickly, as if looking directly at him for too long might somehow blind her. She hasn’t held him yet. She hasn’t even really touched him, save for one trembling fingertip brushed against his impossibly tiny foot when the midwife first handed him to you. It wasn’t avoidance, not exactly. More like reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.

You’re exhausted in a way that doesn’t feel real, like your body’s moving on autopilot while your brain drifts somewhere between sleep and shock. Your limbs are heavy, molten, but there’s also an odd lightness to you, a weightless, dizzying awe at what you’ve just done. You gave birth. You. You. Somehow, you survived it—hours of pain, pushing, panting, the raw animalistic chaos of it—and now you’re here, holding this impossibly small, impossibly fragile life in your arms. You’re not sure how you’re even still upright, let alone conscious.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask, your voice soft, careful, as if you’re coaxing a wild animal out of the brush.

Leah’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and glassy, like a deer caught in headlights. “Hold him?” she echoes, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “Me?

“Yes, you. Who else?”

She blinks, her hands flexing and unflexing against her knees like they’re warming up for a solo on Britain’s Got Talent. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea”

“Leah, he’s your son”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice climbing into that higher, defensive register that comes out when she’s trying to convince herself more than you. “I know he’s my son. But he’s just so… small. And… fragile. What if I—”

“You’re not going to drop him”

“I might!” she says, alarmed by her own hypothetical. “I might drop him. Or…or hold him wrong. What if I hold him wrong and, like, dislocate something? Babies are delicate! Like…like soufflés”

You blink at her. “Did you just compare our child to a soufflé?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, I’m not exactly… maternal, am I? I’m not one of those people who looks at a baby and just… knows what to do. I’m more of a… ‘panic and Google it’ kind of person”

“That’s fine,” you say, adjusting the baby slightly in your arms as he makes a soft, snuffling noise. “Most parents are ‘panic and Google it’ people. It’s basically the default”

Leah doesn’t look convinced. She’s rubbing her hands together now, the way she does before a big match, but this isn’t a match. There’s no referee, no whistle, no rules, no second leg if she screws this up. Her gaze darts back to the baby, then to you, then back to the baby, like she’s trying to memorise the mechanics of holding him without actually doing it.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” she blurts out suddenly, the words spilling out of her in a rush. “What if I’m a terrible mum and he grows up hating me and we end up one of those families where no one talks and we all just sit around at Christmas in complete silence, eating dry turkey and resenting each other?”

You stare at her. “That’s… a very specific fear”

She shrugs, her leg bouncing up and down anxiously. “I’ve seen it happen”

“Leah, you’re not going to be a terrible mum”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. And you love him. That’s pretty much the most important part”

She frowns, her brow furrowed like she’s still not quite buying it. “Love’s not enough. Love doesn’t teach you how to… to… change nappies or… or know what all the different cries mean”

“Love doesn’t teach you that,” you agree, “but practice does. And you’ll get there. We both will”

Leah’s eyes flick back to the baby, who has now fallen into a soft, twitchy sleep against your chest. Her expression softens slightly, but the fear is still there, a tightness around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asks quietly.

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “He’s a newborn, Leah. His likes and dislikes are limited to ‘milk’ and ‘not-milk.’ He’s not going to sit there judging your personality”

She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks even more stricken, like she’s just realised she might have to win over this tiny person who doesn’t even have fully developed motor skills yet.

You sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “Leah, listen to me. You’re not going to drop him. You’re not going to dislocate anything. And you’re definitely not going to ruin Christmas twenty years from now. You’re going to be great. I promise”

She hesitates, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “What if I mess up?”

“You will,” you say simply. “We both will. That’s part of it. But messing up doesn’t mean failing. It just means you’re trying”

For a moment, she just looks at you, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, absolution, a manual for parenthood that doesn’t exist. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s not a confident nod, not by any stretch, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

You smile, holding out the baby toward her. “Then take him”

She hesitates for one last second before leaning forward, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the baby from you. She holds him like he’s made of glass, her arms stiff and awkward, but she’s holding him. She’s doing it.

And then the baby lets out a tiny, contented sigh, and Leah freezes, staring down at him like she’s just witnessed a miracle.

“He…he’s so… little,” she whispers, her voice filled with something like awe. “And warm. Why’s he so warm?”

“Because he’s a baby, not a lizard”

Leah lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. For the first time all night, she looks calm. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe, maybe just for a moment, that she can do this.

That you can do this. Together.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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sidthedollface2 · 9 months ago

Text

Something Old and Something New

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Rhys sister)

Summary: Rhys tells Azriel to back off Elain and find release at a pleasure hall. Instead, Azriel finds you, Rhys' younger sister.

The Princess of the Night Court becomes Azriels rebound. What could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, ANGST, hurt/no comfort, cheating? (not really tho you'll see), smut (p in v, oral, fingering) no use of yn, nicknames, drug use, alcohol.

A/n: I’m back from vacation and decided to do this one shot in between crown fit for a god. I really don't like using yn (its me not you) so every one of my fics will have a nickname but its still x reader. I’m sorry in advance if this hurts you. Anyway, enjoy. :)

“You will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”

Azriel hadn't slept in weeks. The weight of his shame suddenly became too heavy for his illyrian shoulders. You weren't supposed to be this magnetic and he wasn't supposed to stick around this long. He told himself it was just going to be a quick fling, someone he could spend the night with and try to forget about her.

But you had always been in his company. Ever since you became of age he thought you were stunning and entirely too good for him. You were afterall Rhysands younger sister. The female version with equal power and even more beautiful. Graceful when needed, mostly among people of importance, and always polite and kind like a princess should be. You were a Princess for the people, earning the citizens trust and walking among them like each and every person was your friend. It was no secret why they preferred your company to their High Lord.

Your amethyst eyes were now engrained behind his very own eyelids, everytime he closed his eyes for the night, they shot wide open. The image of you under him all those nights and the soft moans as he took you to bed in the shroud of darkness. He really didn’t know how it happened, mostly, he blamed it on the alcohol. One night after Ritas was all it took for him to be obsessed, seeking you out when his loneliness threatened to consume him.

Azriel’s panting mixes with your own moans as he pumps himself inside you. The delicious drag of his thick cock leaves you breathless under him. His touch is gentle as he cups your cheek, his hazel eyes never leaving yours as he imagines forever in your arms. “You're so beautiful. Can’t believe I get to have you.” He coo’s as he trails soft kisses down your neck, nipping and biting your flesh, careful to not leave any marks. Your hands card through his dark waves, back arching off the bed when his lips attach to your pebbled nipple.

Kissing and biting at the fullness of your breasts, soothing away the love bruising he left on them previously. His scarred hands feel like silk when they roam the soft curves of your body, lighting a fire within you with each and every touch. Knees dig into the bed as he grips your hips, still completely sheathed inside you. He moves your body against his, matching the velocity of his thrusts. Deeper and deeper. One arm wraps around your waist while the other rubs tiny circles on your clit. His eyes never leave your beautiful face as his favorite part comes to life right before him. Your head is thrown back, mouth agape as pleasure builds in the pit of your stomach. “Oh fuck Az, don’t stop.” Azriel’s eyes sparkle with wonder as you fall apart beneath him. Toes curling as the force of your orgasm takes over all your senses. Azriel follows soon after. His pace stutters as your name falls from his lips with a groan. Spilling his seed into you with slow thrusts, ensuring each drop doesn't go to waste.

“You were so good for me baby,” he smiles as he peppers your face with kisses. Azriel pulls out with a hiss and you giggle into the covers when his toned ass walks to the bathroom. You pout adorably when he returns wearing a pair of low hanging pants, and a warm cloth in his hands. “None of that love. I’m all yours and very willing to give you seconds and thirds,” he waggles his eyebrows and nestles between your legs. No shame or embarrassment from neither of you as he gently cleans you up. In between his gentle wipes he places a loud kiss to your core, “so fucken pretty.”

“Pink or Red?” He asks, looking through your assortment of panties, imagining how you'd look wearing the lacey ones. “Black.” Is all you reply and Azriels grin widens when you pick the lacey ones.

He insists on helping you get dressed, pinching your butt and digging his fingers in your sides, making you giggle. You swat his greedy hands away. knowing it's just an excuse to keep touching you. “I’m not going to let you help me next time, all you do is tickle me,” you joke, knowing very well you couldn’t keep him away if you tried. “Fine. I won’t tickle you next time,” he says, crossing his arms with a sly grin on his handsome face.

“You said that last time, and the time before that too.”

“Then you should know what to expect. Now come to bed, and snack with me.” Azriel moves to lay on the bed and opens the covers. Patting the space next to him with the palm of his hand, beckoning you next to him. You don’t have to be told twice, because this was without a doubt your favorite part. Like clockwork Azriel requested all your favorite snacks and without hesitation the house delivered.

Like a true Royal he fed you ripe grapes from the vine, watching intently as you parted your mouth for the sweet berry. Azriel licked his lips when your mouth wrapped around the fruit, making you chuckle as you pulled it off the stem. “When you said snacks this is not what I had in mind. I was thinking more like dessert.”

“You just had dessert baby,” he teased with a shit eating grin as he gestured to his cock. You couldn’t help the snort that escaped from the back of your throat, causing you both to burst into fits of laughter, giggling like children. Who knew the shadowsinger belly laughed so openly. Something he only did with you. Once your laughs died down Azriel indulged you with a sweet treat. Again offering to spoon feed you, taking every chance to lick frosting off your glossy lips or fingers.

By the end of the night you couldn't believe how sore your cheeks were from laughing so hard. Azriel had this charm about him, and you couldn’t get enough. You draped your arm over his toned stomach. Head nestled against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his strong heart, a melody you loved to fall asleep to. He held you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair, “Goodnight baby,” he whispered.

“Night Az, I love you.”

Silence.

Azriel didn’t sleep that night. Neither did you. You didn’t expect him to say the words back, because he’d shown you he loved you in his actions alone. But his coldness afterward was unexpected. He laid still under you. No longer stroking your hair, or rubbing small circles on your back. It was like all the air had left his body yet the rhythm of his heart increased, hammering against his chest with the ferocity of a freight train. If he felt your saddened tears fall on his chest he didn’t mention it, too caught up in his thoughts to console you.

But now all his thoughts were of you and how quick your love had turned bitter when he didn't respond after you had said those three words to him.

He was an idiot. Because he did love you. At the very sight of you his heart beat wildly in his chest. He wanted to spend every waking moment holding your hand and kissing your perfect lips. Fall asleep with you in his arms only to be awoken by your feminine beauty. But Rhysand was unaware that you two were in a relationship. Were you in a relationship? He never asked. Wanted to. But he didn’t. He couldn’t imagine a day where Rhys would accept him as your lover. Rhys had been furious that he wanted to sleep with Elain, threatening him to no end. He couldn't imagine the anger if he were to find out that he turned his efforts to you instead. There were only a few things Azriel was scared of. Rhysands fury if he were to ever find out he’s been sleeping with his sister. And losing you. Those sort of went hand and hand didn’t they.

You woke up alone the following morning. Thinking that your confession was too much for the shadowsinger. And perhaps you were just one of his many conquests added to the long list of females that warmed his bed. For as long as you knew Azriel he only had casual flings, nothing of substance. No one he introduced to his family. It made you feel stupid. He made you feel stupid. Hoping that you were the one he could call home. Someone he could envision spending the rest of his life with. You could forgive him for not saying ‘I love you’ back. That didn’t stop you from loving him and that didn’t mean he didn’t care about you. Because surely he did right?

Right?

It wasn’t just that though, you had overheard Azriel tell Cassian sleeping with you was a mistake and that choosing you to be his rebound hadn’t worked out for him. “She said she loved me. It’s just all wrong. This wasn’t how I wanted things to go between us-” You didn’t bother hearing the rest of the conversation. Azriel’s words left your heart gaping, a wound so large you were afraid no one could mend it.

You had missed the importance of his following words, how Azriel wished he had done things right with you. Courted you the right way, with flowers and lovely dates to the finest eateries. Taking things slow at first, holding hands and sweet kisses under the moonlight. You didn’t hear Azriel explain that you had become more than he ever expected, more than just a rebound. He wanted a life with you. Now and forever, just you two and the family he always wanted.

You’d both move into a beautiful house just along the Sidra where you’d spend hours decorating every room to your liking. He’d soon marry you in front of all his family and friends, wearing the finest gown that glittered brighter than the night sky. During the mating frenzy, because of course you were his mate, he’d be sure to fuck a baby into you. And if his seed didn’t stick he wouldn't stop until your scent shifted to one of a pregnant female. He just hoped that Rhysand would give his blessing.

Now everytime Azriel tried to seek you out, you were nowhere to be found. Like you had just vanished from the Night Court, even though the other members had interactions with you. You suddenly had no time for Azriel. The citizens of Velaris saw you less and less and when they did, your time spent was cut in half. Your joyous laughter no longer echoed the halls of the House of Wind, instead Cassian and Nesta’s not so secret sex romps were becoming more frequent. You had changed your entire schedule to avoid crossing paths with the shadowsinger.

You no longer spent your mornings having breakfast with Rhysand and Feyre, instead you woke up earlier than usual and held your morning breakfast in the library.

“Why are you having breakfast here and not with Rhys?” Azriels hazel eyes took you in as he neared, noticing your tense shoulders. Closing the book in your hand, now finished with your chapter, you stand and gather your items into your bag, “was just catching up on some reading.” You don’t meet his gaze, the sight of him too painful for your heart to bear. “You haven’t been training with Cassian either,” he continues. “Or shopping with Mor. You haven't exchanged books with Nesta and,” Azriel towers over you, his breath fanning over your cheek at his closeness, “you haven’t warmed my bed.” Your eyes finally meet his, a look of desire in his warm eyes as his hands come up to cup your face. A glance over his shoulder has you pulling away from his touch as Elain enters the library, her soft voice dancing along the walls, “Hi Az.”

He ignores her completely, doesn’t even spare her a glance. But your eyes travel from her to him and back again. You see the fondness she has for him in the flush of her cheeks and the way her voice sings as she calls his name.

Memories of their subtle interactions come crashing into your mind. Her shy gaze whenever he walked in the room. The slight brush of fingers when they crossed paths, his lingering gaze when she exited a room.

He’s not yours, and you're not his. Never was, never will be. It dawns on you then that all the soft touches and lingering glances were never sincere but simply a ploy to get Elain jealous. Everytime you made love to him you gave a part of yourself, hoping he would accept you with open arms and an open heart.

You had hoped you were the only one in his life that made him throw his head back, eyes closed shut in ecstasy. But it's clear now when he closed his eyes he saw Elain riding him instead, not you. She was who he really wanted and you were just a placeholder. The rebound.

He knows you well enough to tell when you're about to fall apart and now is one of those instances. It clicks for him now why he hasn’t seen you. Azriel catches your arm before you dart away, his touch gentle yet firm “you're avoiding me.” He says, worry etched all over his face as he attempts to pull you into his chest. “I’ve figured it out so you can stop pretending to care about me now.” A tear escapes your waterline and Azriel reaches to thumb away the hurt that he's caused.

You don't give him the chance as you swat his hand away and turn to make your exit. He’s panicking now watching you practically run away from him, as you hurry to get away from his presence.

A wound so intense suddenly opens within his heart. With no other option but to just blurt out the first thing that comes to his mind to keep you close. “I adore you!” he says breathlessly and waits for you to run into his arms so he could kiss you silly. When you turn around to confront him, Elain comes up from behind him and wraps her arms around his middle in a tight squeeze. A picture perfect couple you think to yourself, her innocent personality and bubbly nature a lovely contrast to his tall, dark and handsome. Azriel can’t pry her arms off him in time to chase after you before you rush out of the library, traces of your scent still lingering in the air.

You run and run you're not sure for how long, just long enough till your tears are dried tracks along your soft cheeks. You find yourself in the arms of your brother, clutching his shirt in your closed fist as you loosen the cries that held your throat hostage. “Hey hey, what's wrong?” he coo’s pulling away just enough to see the heartbreak etched in your pretty face. “Send me away please Rhys, I am begging. I never ask anything of you, it doesn’t have to be forever, just a few months.” Your shoulders are shaking violently as you continue to wail into his chest, the intensity of your cries cracking the high lord into submission. “Are you sure, love? I can fix-”

“No! There's nothing you can do.”

Rhys nods, winnowing you to a secret cabin that sits along the border of The Night Court. “Just tell me this. Are you in any danger?” he asks, “because I know Azriel and Cassian or even myself will-”

You wince at the mention of Azriels name, “I’m not in any danger, brother.” You assure him as you settle on the couch in front of the hearth, pulling a warm throw over your body and curling in on yourself. “Good, that’s good. I’ll talk to Kallias. He has someone he wants you to meet. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hosting you for as long as you need.” Rhysand takes one last look at you, studying how unhappy you look, hoping you can confide in him your troubles, whatever they may be. You lay bundled under the comfort of the blanket, your glossy eyes staring into the flames of the fireplace. It’s heat providing a comfort you wish was someone else's.

Azriel enters your room frantically searching for you, but he gasps and stumbles back when he sees Cerridwen packing your belongings. “Where is she?” he asks, his voice tense and panicked as he grips her by the shoulders. “I’m afraid I don’t have that information.”

“Why are you packing her stuff then?” He starts shaking her shoulders, as if it would quicken her answer. “She’ll be visiting the Winter Court and Rhysand requests her favorite items to be sent to her.”

You were running away from him, when all he wanted was to run toward you. Azriels world shattered completely. If you weren't here to live beside him then he had no interest in living. He had been too complacent in being in the now and not once had he initiated to be something serious. Now he was left with longing.

That same night Rhysand made accommodations for you to stay in the Winter Courts Palace. Kallias and Vivienne were more than happy to have you stay with them. They were quite eager to introduce you to their son Kit. Hoping that with time you’d become great friends. Kit was the spitting image of his father. His white hair styled to perfection, with not a single strand misplaced. Chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw, pouty lips with Icy blue eyes to match his cool demeanor. His eyes trailed your beautiful curves as he bowed, taking your hand within his, placing a tender kiss to your delicate knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Princess.”

Your violet eyes met his and for a moment his pretty face made you forget about your heartbreak. Kit extended his elbow to you and without a second doubt you linked your arm with his as he led you to see the beauty of his Court.

You spent the next two weeks in the company of the future Heir. Kit remained a respectful host. Introducing you to his closest friends, a welcomed change of personalities compared to your friends from home. Each evening he’d join you for dinner. Offering a different restaurant each night in hopes to expand your palate in order to get a feel for your favorite foods.

During your brief stay you opened up to him and told him of the situationship you had with Azriel. You explained to him what you overheard Azriel say and how stupid he made you feel after you confessed your love for him. “I finally saw the way he looked at her and it broke me more than it should have, because I remember when he looked at me the same way. I heard him tell Cass that I was just the girl he picked to get over her. I never meant anything to him. Yet this whole time it had been real for me and I foolishly fell in love with him.”

“Oh sweetheart, you deserve to be someone's first and only choice. You’re a Princess of The Night Court, if anyones the stupid one It’s him for not seeing how incredible you are.” With the end of his sweater sleeve, Kit wipes away a stray tear that escaped your waterline. His gentleness is a stark contrast to the ice flowing within his veins. “Besides I hear there's a handsome Prince looking for a warm heart to thaw the coldness in his soul,” he smirks playfully, rocking on the heels on his feet, a look of innocence in his crystal eyes. Your sweet giggle transcends into his favorite song and he makes it a mission to hear it often.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel was tearing himself apart from the inside out. By the third day of being plastered and starting fights with innocent bystanders; Rhys had pulled him off missions until he sobered up enough to function. All that did was give him a larger drinking window. He visited every winery and brewery in Verlaris, sometimes even forgetting how he got there in the first place. Drowning in bottles of liquor till he could barely stand, let alone fly or walk or do anything for that matter. Tonight was different from the past two weeks, as he decided to smoke his problems away, alcohol no longer providing the high that made him forget.

The strain for tonight was Mirthroot laced with Amnesia Haze, a hallucinogenic that could either make your deepest wish a reality or make you completely forget your life's problems.

Azriel couldn’t remember how he got up the steps to the house of wind. He couldn’t remember lots of things as of late. One thing he’d never forget though, was your scent and the way you made him feel. So when he opened the door to the house and your sensual perfume hit his nose he almost fell to his knees with relief.

You were finally home. He could explain himself and tell you that he loved you and that you meant the world to him. Azriel followed your scent like it was second nature. His shadows excitedly rushed up stairs towards your bed chambers, leaving him slightly confused because you were sitting at the kitchen Table.

Your hair was long in flowy waves down your back, a little longer since the last time he saw you. It hadn't been that long had it? It didn’t matter, all he wanted was to hold you in his arms again. Keep you safe in Velaris where you belong. Azriel slowly approached you, his breath shaky as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Vi?”

Violet, the nickname you were given for your stunning eyes with various shades of purple and blue. Your eyes met his and you smiled, “Hi Az.”

“Gods I missed you,” he admitted as he pulled you up from the chair, enveloping you in a warm embrace. You were slightly startled at how tight he hugged you. Inhaling your scent deeply as his nose nuzzled against your neck. “I’m so sorry, for everything. Please forgive me?” Azriel cupped your face between his scarred hands, angling you to look up at him. His pupils were large and dilated, a gaze mixed with sorrow and lust. Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Az? What are you talking about?”

“Come here, I need to tell you something.” Azriel lifted you onto the kitchen counter, earning a small yelp from your lips. He settled between your knees, making your thin night dress pool around your hips. His hands remained on your exposed thighs, rubbing them softly to keep you warm. His eyes never strayed from yours, like he couldn't believe you were actually here. “I made a mistake and should have never let you feel like you were the wrong choice. I don’t care what Rhys says anymore. I want you.”

His hands inch closer to your center, a silent request to touch you as the other brings your lips to his in a steamy kiss. You nod into the kiss, giving him permission to touch you. Azriel pulls your panties to the side, easily coating his fingers in your arousal, groaning when he feels how wet you already are from his kiss alone.

Your breath catches when he slips his fingers inside and curls them in a come hither motion. “Oh gods Az, I’ve dreamed of this moment,” you pant into his mouth, needing more of him, anything he's willing to give you’ll take. He then rubs tiny circles on your clit, making you throw your head back so hard it slams against the cupboard in a loud thud. White flashes behind your eyes as your orgasm crashes over you, a giddy smile plastered on your face from the pleasure he's given you.

You hop off the counter, eager to return the favor. Palming his cock, you notice he's barely hard, a groan escapes his mouth as you fumble with his belt. You pull Azriels pants down along with his underwear, pooling at his ankles, his cock still not fully erect. Your small hand grips him at the base, making him hiss. He sways side to side, eyes closed as he concentrates on getting hard, something he's never had to do before. You pump his shaft. Once. Twice. And then you wrap your lips around his cock and suck, the warmth of your mouth excites him and he stands at attention, finally. “So the rumors are true,” you coo.

“Fuck baby, your mouth feels so good. I Fucken love you.”

Wait. What rumors?

“Azriel?”

Azriels eyes fly open. You're standing in the doorway, shaking like a leaf in the wind with a hand over your mouth. Sobbing loudly into your hand, tears blurring your vision as they escape your waterline. Heavy drops fall to the ground and the only sound heard is the unmistakable ‘pop’ as the female on her knees releases Azriels cock from her mouth.

Azriel blinks rapidly, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the haze he's in. He looks down to the female, stuffing his cock back in his pants as she's scrambling to get up.

“Elain?” he chokes out her name, tears welling in his eyes as he stares at her, devastation in his wide eyes as he realizes what he's done. What he did to her thinking she was you. His eyes turn to meet yours again, but he only catches your dress billowing as you turn around and run. Your loud wailing echoing in his ears like a hammer to a church bell.

“Vi wait! Please. It’s not what you think!” He yells, rushing past Elain as he sprints after you, needing to reach you before you winnow away. His heavy footsteps pound against the tile floors, waking up the rest of the inner circle. Just as you're about to reach the knob Azriels arms wrap around your middle, pulling your back to his chest. You both crash to the ground from the force of Azriels tackle. His back meets the hard floor in a loud slam, cushioning your fall. “Let me go!” You plead, kicking and clawing at his arms that are tightly wrapped around you. “Sshh, baby please. Listen to me.” his voice cracks as he tries to calm you down, “I love you, I love you so much. I thought she was you!! Please believe me!”

Your voice slices through him, like a dagger to his already bleeding heart. “I hate you!” You scream out in anger, venom lacing every word as it hits its mark. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

Darkness envelops the entire room, It’s cold mist threatening to devour anyone who so dares to defy its power. “Azriel, release my sister before I sever those hands off your body.” Rhys stands at the bottom of the stairs, his power bouncing off him like flames of a fire. The rest of the inner circle gathered around him, watching in horror as both males stood off in a staring contest. It’s Azriel who wavers; finally releasing you to shuffle away from him.

Azriel sits on his heels, a subtle submissive pose showing respect to his High Lord. “Rhys, I’m sorry. I’ve been in love with your sister for some time now. Too cowardice to tell you or her,” Azriels gaze falls on you. “I’ve been a mess since you left. Masking my pain with alcohol and drugs, which is no excuse. But tonight I took a hallucinogen, and,” his chin wobbles as he tries to hold back his tears, “I made the biggest mistake of my life. I know I’ve lost you, and you will never forgive me. However, I need you to know, in front of everyone, that I have always loved you. I will always love you.”

Azriel lowers his head. The flood of emotions finally pulled him under the surface, drowning him in his own misery. Fat heavy tears break from his eyes; landing in scattered drops along the floor beneath him. This pain is all consuming, torturous in its own vile way. Tearing at his heart shred by shred, a disastrous mess all by his own hands. A lonely scarred heart to match his scarred hands. Hands that once held the most precious gem, a rare Violet beauty; now only hold the memory of a lost love.

When Azriel lifts his head to see your face for the last time, he’s once again too late. Fear latches onto his ankles like a heavy chain, anchoring him to the bottom of the sea. You’re gone. His darkness driving away your bright light, leading you into the arms of someone new.

Part 2 (Something Borrowed)

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar #winter court

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wh1msic4lwasab1 · 10 months ago

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ﻣَﻠَﻜِﻲّ.

synopsis: arab royalty a/u, you’ve been betrothed to a prince from a kingdoms just miles away, but you two don’t seem to get along so well…at first

tags: alhaitham x reader, angsty in the start, vulgar, explicit, cunnalingus, fingering, penetration

wrd cnt: 1.3k+

a/n: click title for a song that i love, ( title translates to “royal”)

As you stepped into the grand, ornate foyer of Alhaitham's estate, your anxiety spiked. You had never felt so out of place in your life. The arranged marriage, a convenience for both your families, had been a shock to your system. Leaving behind your country, family, and friends had been a hard pill to swallow. You knew Alhaitham for years, your kingdom and his had a strong alliance, hence your betrothal making the utmost sense. Well, that is if anyone had bothered to tell you about it til a few days prior to the ceremony.

You throw your things to the floor, watching him stand so casually, his life remaining still while yours was pitted.

“What am I doing here. Why can’t I just stay back? No one in the Kingdom will have to know.”

Alhaitham, standing by the fireplace, raised an eyebrow. "You're here because our families deemed it necessary, Princess. We both know the arrangements.”

Your eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that. You don't get to address me like we're old friends."

He smiles, his dark eyes glinting. "Well we were once, no? We're married now, whether we like it or not. You might as well get used to it."

The tension between you two was palpable, you feel the weight of your unresolved emotions. You had never intended to marry anyone in a matter of politics, especially not prince Alhaitham, who seemed to embody the very essence of arrogance.

"You have no idea what I've sacrificed for this farce, do you?" you spat, your anger boiling over. "I left behind everything that mattered to me. And for what? To marry some pompous prince who thinks he's above me?"

Alhaitham's expression darkened, his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. "You think I wanted this? I'm a prince- a gentleman, not some lovesick fool. I have duties, responsibilities for one day I shall be King. This marriage was as much a convenience for me as it was for you."

“For me? What the hell are you talking about- the only convenience I have now is a new carriage that’ll only take me to ridiculous dinners and stuffy tea parties!” You spout about in anger, slowly approaching him with your eyes casting a ferocity that wasn’t just the reflection of the flames from the fireplace.

“I was sold to you like a brood mare- what convenience do I have your majesty?!”

The air was heavy with animosity, the space between you cracked with tension. Your heart raced as Alhaitham took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours.

“Then leave. Leave now and you’ll never have to attend a ridiculous dinner, any stuffy tea parties, or ever have to look at this pompous prince again. I give you my blessing dear.”

Everything inside you told you to turn around and drag your feet out his castle, to hear your wedding dress trailing behind you as you forbade yourself to look back. Everything inside you except the rapturing feeling that dwelled inside your stomach, urging you to soak your heart in it: let it coat every atom of your body.

As his words came out, you couldn’t help but feel magnetized to him. His tone was calm, while his words harsh; beckoning you to swallow them like a pill.

“Well? Why aren’t you running princess?” He says, his finger grazing your cheek, watching you breathe heavier and close your eyes at his touch, brows wincing as his breathe hits your face.

“Shut up.” You say, or rather whisper, his lips feeling so close to yours you might faint.

Suddenly, he grasped your face, pulling you into a fierce kiss. The anger and frustration melted away, replaced by a burning desire you couldn't deny. His lips devoured your, tongues clashing in a frenzied dance.

You could felt your senses reel as Alhaitham's hands roamed your body, stripping away your lavish dress and undergarments with an efficiency that left your breathless.

You were naked, exposed, and yet you felt no shame for he had rid himself of garments as well under your touch. The anger and resentment had given way to a primal attraction that neither of you could ignore.

He broke the kiss, his chest heaving, and spun your around. Your hands slapped against the warm cloth stitched onto

the burgundy couch that stationed itself before the fireplace; Alhaitham's fingers delving between your thighs, his touch sending shocks of electricity down your spine.

He kissed the nape of your neck, swinging your braided hair to the your side to give him more space to leave his lovely marks upon your flesh.

Desire crackled through the air louder than the flames behind you, bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time. Alhaitham's hands explored every inch of you, his fingers teasing your sensitive spots, handling you and figuring out exactly what you liked as if it was as easy as breathing. You both surrendered to passion.

As his lips traveled down your spine, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. You could feel the heat building between your thighs as his hands reached around touch you more. His fingers teased your nipples, sending shivers down your spine. You turned to face him, pulling him into a passionate kiss. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath your touch. He pushed you down onto the couch, his mouth moving lower and lower until he reached the apex of your thighs.

Slowly he’d kiss you closer and closer to where you really needed it.

“Look how desperate you look princess, this is far from running you know.” He says with pride.

Before you can even respond with an insult or deflecting, his tongue flicked against your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned his name as he continued to lick and suck, his fingers slipping inside you to add to your ecstasy. You suddenly didn’t take his comment to offense.

The sensation was overwhelming, and you bucked your hips against his face, desperate for more.

He moved up to kiss you, making you taste your own arousal.

“Such a naughty thing you are…where’s all that anger? It was sorta cute”.

You could feel the ache of desire burning within you, anger now turning into wanting nothing more than to have him inside you.

"Fuck me," you whispered, the words barely audible.

Alhaitham's response was a low, menacing chuckle. "Oh, I will."

He slipped his cock up and down your folds, his tip prodding your glistening hole, still soaked with his spit. Slowly he’d enter you, watching your face contort as let out a small gasp as you felt him fill the empty space in your walls.

“Just relax okay? I’ll take care of you.” He assured.

He thrusted into you, slowly getting you used to his cock pounding against your pussy with a ferocity that left you gasping so much. The sounds of your lovemaking echoed through the silent rooms, a primal symphony that drowned out the doubts and fears. He hovered over you, eyes locked into yours and back at the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your tight hole, milking him for all it’s worth.

It wasn’t long before you came together, bodies entwined, feeling a spark of connection you couldn't explain.

It was as if, in this moment, your union was more than just a convenient arrangement. It was a union of flesh and blood, of sweat and desire.

As you both collapsed onto the couch, spent and exhausted, you gazed up at Alhaitham's face, his eyes gleaming with a newfound intensity.

"Maybe this marriage won't be so bad after all," you said; voice husky.

Alhaitham's smile was wicked, his teeth glinting in the fading light. "I told you, Princess. We'll make this work."the story

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #prince alhaitham a/u #alhaitham scenarios #al haithem #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham smut #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact #marriage of convenience #angst

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chibinasuu · 2 months ago

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Kid x Reader ― first snow; regret

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― @gothmommie tags: sfw, angst with happy ending, GN!reader, no use of y/n

First snow used to excite you.

It used to bring you joy, and wonder, and peace. You used to love how magical it looked when the landscapes around you were gradually blanketed in white as the snow piled up.

But that was before. Now, first snow only brought guilt, and bitterness, and regret, along with the memory of the unforgiving stare of the love of your life. The coldness of his normally fiery eyes rivaled the freshly fallen snow as he abandoned you, mere minutes after his defeat at the hands of the Red Hair Pirates.

You had sobbed on the ground as the green grass around you turned white – a sight no longer magical – but you didn’t blame him. It was entirely your fault that you kept the fact that you used to be an apprentice on the ship of your Captain’s biggest foe a secret.

When you heard about Kid’s plan to confront Red-haired Shanks, you had warned him not to go through with it. Of course, Kid being Kid, he did it anyway. When things had predictably escalated, you had gotten down on your knees in front of your old mentor and begged him to spare your crew.

The Emperor had let you all go with the cost of your Captain’s left arm.

The memory of that day a year ago haunted your mind as you trudged across the snowy terrain along the coast of Ringo.

You were in Wano because you had heard a rumor that a Poneglyph may be hidden in this country somewhere. You were under no banner now, but it didn’t mean that you were giving up on finding the One Piece.

Well, call it chance, fate, or just mere coincidence – you couldn’t explain how you ended up coming across the Victoria Punk, docked at a small cove near the border of Hakumai.

And there he stood. Your Captain. Your former Captain, you had to remind yourself. Your former best friend, your former… lover.

Before you could feign ignorance and run away, the metal of your belt buckle vibrated and you felt yourself being pulled by a magnetic force that was all too familiar. Kid set you down in front of him, on the deck of your former home.

The two of you could only stare at each other, neither knowing what to say after a year of not seeing each other.

“I could recognize you from miles away.” He finally said.

“What the hell are you doing here, Kid?” You asked.

“It’s none of your business, isn’t it?” He scowled and retorted defensively, “You’re not part of my crew anymore, I don’t have to tell you shit.”

“Ouch, Kid.” You could feel hot tears pricking your eyes at his sharp words, “You didn’t need to drag me up here just to tell me that.”

You turned away, intending to get off the ship as fast as you could. You were about five steps away when Kid’s gruff voice stopped you in your tracks.

“No, wait!”

You had never heard such desperation in his voice before.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” His voice was low when he continued, barely audible, “I didn’t mean what I said – and did – a year ago either.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, second-guessing if this really was the same man you knew. Kid had never once apologized for anything for as long as you had known him.

As you faced him again, you studied his beautiful scarred face. His brows were furrowed, red-stained lips pressed into a thin line. You waited patiently as he hesitated, opening and closing his mouth indecisively. His next words were like an arrow to your heart.

“Kicking you off the crew was the biggest regret of my life.”

He looked away, face tinged red from the cold and embarrassment, “I… wasn’t in my right mind at that time. I was blinded by rage, and I did the stupidest thing I could possibly do.”

“I was a mess for weeks after that – you can ask Killer.” He chuckled humorlessly, “I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I was angry all the time.” At your raised eyebrows, he added, “Well, I mean, even more so than usual.”

“Fuck. You drive me crazy, y’know?” He ran his hand through his messy hair as he breathed out your name, the sound like music to your ears, “I just… couldn’t stop loving you. And believe me, I tried. This whole damn year, I tried to forget you, but I just couldn't.”

You knew it couldn’t have been easy for a man like Kid to admit everything he just said.

Your feet moved on their own accord, carrying you towards him. You threw your arms around his neck, no longer able to fight back the urge to be close to him.

“I've missed you, Kid.” You confessed softly into his ears.

His grip around you tightened. His metal hand was frigid even through the clothing on your back, but you didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about my past with Shanks.” You said. It was your turn to apologize now.

“It wasn’t my intention to keep that from you – it just never came up. And when you decided to target him, I tried to tell you, I swear, but you just… wouldn’t stop and listen.” You sighed exasperatedly, “You and your one-track mind really vex me sometimes.”

In the quiet that followed, you leaned back and gazed into his amber eyes.

“I may have regretted not telling you about Shanks, but know that I never regretted asking him to spare your life, Kid.” You firmly said, “His crew would’ve annihilated us back then. I only did what I did because I love you and I didn’t want to see you get hurt. And even then, you still lost an arm, so…”

Your words trailed off, suddenly nervous of how he would react to your audacious remark. You knew that deep down, he knew that your words rang true – he was just too damn proud to admit it.

But instead, Kid stayed silent. He just leaned forward and touched his forehead to yours, basking in the closeness he had craved since the day he thoughtlessly made you step off his ship.

After a while, he finally answered your earlier question about what the hell he was doing here, “We’re raiding Onigashima tomorrow to take down Kaido. There's no way in hell I'm letting Straw Hat and Trafalgar take all the glory.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. Another stupid, reckless plan. And yet, when he asked if you would fight by his side, the word naturally fell out of your mouth,

“Always.”

Snowflakes dropped from the clouds above as you held each other in a warm embrace. Despite wandering around Ringo for days, it was your first snowfall in Wano.

You breathed in the cold air and the familiar scent of Kid that you’ve missed oh-so-much.

The first snow that landed on your entwined bodies, blanketing the wooden deck in white, felt like forgiveness, and reconciliation, and new beginnings.

a/n: i know i said this is a drabble event but i've never written for kid before so i got too excited, got carried away, and this ended up being around 1k words 😅

anyway, it’s december and officially the start of my holiday event!! thanks to everyone who have requested so far, i’m really excited to write all of them! i'm still accepting submissions so please send in your requests if you're interested <3

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

↳ main masterlist

#eustass kid #eustass kidd #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x you #eustass kidd x reader #eustass kidd x you #eustass x reader #eustass x you #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #op fanfic #chibinasuu fics

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katiascraft · 3 months ago

Text

˚⋆𐙚｡“Pueden más que el amor y son más fuertes que el Olimpo” | FC43𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

Parings: franco colapinto x argentine!female!reader.

Sipnosis: Dating Franco Colapinto as an Argentine university student is like riding a rollercoaster with your best friend: exhilarating, unpredictable, and occasionally terrifying. And was also never part of her life plan, but somehow it feels like it was written in the stars—or perhaps on a chaotic karting track. From laughing at his chaotic personality to sharing mates in the pitlane, their relationship is a blend of silliness, deep connection, and shared Argentine pride.Their bond is a mix of unfiltered laughter, deep admiration, and that unmistakable Argentine fire. From awkward family dinners to heartfelt moments away from the spotlight, their chemistry shines in every interaction. Here’s how their love story unfolds, the chaos they bring to the F1 paddock, and why she’s become the favorite WAG for her wild energy that matches Franco’s unhinged antics.

Your bond is bigger than love and stronger than the Olympus. ᯓᡣ𐭩

Now playing: “11 y 6” by Fito Paez.

Word count: +3k.

Warnings: dialogues in Spanish but translated. Language. Argentinian slang. Just fluffy fluff I’m not good at writing smut but I guess I’ll have to try someday. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Face claim: Tuli Acosta.

Author’s note: okay i'm stuck with this trope. I AM SORRY NOT SORRY ACTUALLY. but i hope you like it and enjoy it <3. MAYBE it doesnt make any sence but IM TRYING. There will be mentions of artists/people from Argentina if you wanna look them up. Don’t forget to like, reblog or comment! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

A Bond Beyond Words

From the beginning, you instantly had this electric connection. At 16 years old everything is intense but not at this level you thought. It's an indescribable feeling. almost as if you were two magnets pulled together by fate. Franco, with his unshakable optimism and cheeky smile, is the perfect foil to your grounded but equally fiery personality. Growing up together since you were kids, realizing when he was gone in Italy how much you loved him, how traveling during the summer breaks was heartbreaking knowing you couldn't see him until the next recess of the year - 4 months in the future. And when you get to university it gets a little bit more tricky but you try to make it work. No one in the world was more than worthy of your sacrifice studying anywhere at any time just to spend even a few hours with him on the other side of the world.

One night, after a long day of university classes and Franco’s sim racing practice, you decide to call each other. Where he was, it was winter, where you were, it was still summer. He was freezing and you were too hot. When he answered you could see him getting cozy on his bed with the heat on and the hoodie you bought him at a Tan Bionica concert you attended last year. You loved that band. You wanted to cry in that moment of how much you missed him. When he saw you on the other side of the world, in your home, surrounded by books and the sunset illuminating your gorgeous face, he wanted to cry. He missed you like crazy. You looked so beautiful, he only thought about kissing your whole face. You were drinking mate and eating facturas while studying on your balcony in Buenos Aires city. He missed his country so much, especially you and his family. While talking about your days you see his sister in the background that has arrived from paddle practice. His little sister Martina joined the conversation. He felt so full at that moment. How natural it was for you to blend with his family. How deeply and vulnerable and intimate that was to him. He trusted you blindly.

“Sabes que?, [you know what?]” Franco says, getting comfy on his bed, a little sleepy, his voice deep, “yo sería un desastre en la facultad. Como haces para memorizar todo eso?” [i would be a disaster at university. How do you do to remember all that stuff?]

“Probablemente no soportarías ni cursar 2 horas en esta materia o en ninguna en realidad,” [probably you wouldnt last a day] you reply without looking up in a smirk. “Pero lo bueno es que no lo necesitas. Y además, estás demasiado ocupado manejando a más de 250 km por ahora así que” [but good thing is that you dont need to. You are too busy driving cars at 250km per hour so] you finally meet his gaze through the screen. You hear him giggle between his sheets and pillows. He looked so cute. You heart felt so happy and full in that moment. You couldn't be more in love with him.

“igual,” his voice softer, “Sos incredible amor. Like... verdaderamente increible. Que puedas balancear tu vida con el estudio y mi locura de agenda, mi terrible talento en la cocina—” you giggled at his comment flustered". [You are amazing love. The fact you can balance your life between my agends and your university schedule, and my terible talent for cooking-]

You interrupt, smirking. “Y terrible asador. Muy decepcionante la verdad. Esperemos que no se filtre a la prensa porque te van a cancelar por decepción a la patria.” [you are the worst at cooking barbecue. Very disappointing for this country]

He laughs, resting his head on the pillow wanting to rest it on your chest and give you a tight hug. Distance was absolute shit. He couldn't wait to see you again in 2 weeks in Las vegas. “Bueno bueno ya se entendió. Pero posta, no se como haces y/n. Tengo mucha suerte de que me ames y me elijas y me soportes.” [alright alright. But for real, I don’t know how you do it. I’m really lucky that you love me and choose me and that you keep up with me] His eyes were hearts and his smile was bright. You blushed by looking at him. You adjusted the laptop. “Te amo fran” you knew, and he knew what those words ment. “Y la verdad que es fácil soportar esto, Franco. Porque sos el amor de mi vida. No importa los malabares que tenga que hacer para que esto funcione. Se que vos harías lo mismo en mi lugar. Ya quiero verte. Que sigas persiguiendo tus sueños. Cómo podría no amarte amor? Te admiro muchísimo, loquito. Estoy muy pero muy muy orgullosa de vos. Me encanta verte brillar y ser feliz. No importa lo que tenga que hacer, lo haria mil veces más si puedo verte ser lo que siempre soñaste y ver como te brillan los ojitos de felicidad” [and ti be honest, it’s so easy to keep up with you. Because you’re the love of my life. It doesn’t matter how much juggling I have to do just to make this work. I know you would do the same for me. How could one not love you? I admire you so much. And im really proud of you. I love to see you shine and be happy. It doesn’t matter what I have to do. I would do it a thousand times if I can see you be the thing you dreamed about and see you shining]

“Te amo boluda, me haces llorar” [I love you, you make me cry] he said teary and even dropping a few tears making you giggled completely down for that man. But how could you not? He is the most amazing person you know.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername made a post

liked by francolapinto, landonorris, yourbff, marcolapinto, and others.

yourusername: me reporto desde el mundo universitario triste y lleno de estrés para decirles que estoy bien pero quisiera estar como franquito la verdad (te extraño mucho @/francolapinto 😭)

[here I report myself from the university world very sad and stressful to tell you I’m okay but I would really like to be like franco to be honest (I miss you so much franco)]

view more comments

francolapinto: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

francolapinto: no podes hacerme esto no ves que recién me levanto y ya estoy llorando otra vez 😭😭😭😭 lo que te extraño lpm [you can’t do this to me. Don’t you see I just woke up and I’m crying again? I miss you so much god]

↳ yourusername: fran 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

francolapinto: Veni dale no seas mala no hace falta que estudies yo te mantengo!! [come with me. Cmon don’t be mean. You don’t need to satisfy I can spoil you!!]

↳ yourusername: ya tuvimos esta conversación 🙄 [we already had this conversation]

↳ yourusername: déjame ser independiente así después soy yo la que sea millonaria en nuestra relación let me spoil you babygirl 🫦 [let me be independent. So I can be the millionaire one and spoil you baby girl]

↳ francolapinto: hace falta que me expongas públicamente????? Te recuerdo que tu Instagram es público!!?!?! [is it necessary that you expose me? Do I have to remind you your Instagram is public?]

↳ yourusername: upsi

marcolapinto: Venite a casa reinita que te cebo unos mates mientras escuchamos María. Dale que aprobas!!! 🕯️[come home queen that we will drink mate while listening to Maria becerra. You’re gonna do good!]

↳ yourusername: 🏃🏻‍♀️

user366: I must say you are GOALS wtf ur so pretty wtf wtf

user890: FRANCO CAN U FIGHT??????

anibalcolapinto: ❤️

landonorris: hola mujer bonita, cuando vuelves al paddock? Che boludo quiero un mate

↳ franstan: omg not again

↳ y/nstan: the no rizz guy is back

↳ francolapinto: DELETE THIS

↳ georgerussel: I’m sorry bro he just a kid

↳ francolapinto: kid las pelotas [he is not a kid]

lewishamilton: my fav couple

↳ yourusername: KABSKXOHWJSODNS WTF LEWIS TE AMO WTF WHAAATTTTTTTT

↳ francolapinto: conmigo nunca te emocionas así ????? [you never get this excited about me]

↳ yourusername: ACASO SOS 8 VECES CAMPEÓN DEL MUNDO??????? Y TE LLAMAS LEWIS HAMILTON?????? [are you an 8 time world champion called Lewis Hamilton?]

↳ maxveratappen: he is a 7 world champion

↳ yourusername: OMG MAX I DRINK RED BULL EVERYDAY 🧎🏻‍♀️

↳ francolapinto: I can’t take you out anywhere 🤦🏻‍♀️

landonorris: WHY I AM BEING IGNORED GHOSTED BURRIED ALIVE ??????

↳ oscarpiastri: bro

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Chemistry and Admiration

Their chemistry between you two is palpable, and it’s the kind that makes people stop and take notice. You don’t just laugh together— you challenge each other, push each other to be their best. And to be fair, that's what makes you both so obsessed with one another. The love you felt for each other was like a drug.

At the Williams hospitality building, during practice days your older brother playfully teases Franco about a mistake he made during his last race.

“Boludo, que paso en la curva esa? Te dormiste para frenar. Cuando quieras te reemplazo, en los kartings siempre ganaba yo” [bro, what happened in that corner? You slept on breakers. Whenever you want I can replace you. I always used to win in go karts in our time, anyway] you rolled your eyes at his tease. He was the reason you met franco in the first place back in summer 2019.

Before Franco can reply, you jump in. “dejate de joder. No te das cuenta que la skills de pro se las reserva para ganarte al truco?” [fuck off. Don’t you realized that his pro skills are reserved to win you at truco?]

your brother laughs, but Franco takes your hand under the table, squeezing it. He was laughing as well. Your brother can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Later, when you were finally alone, he says, “gracias por cuidarme y defenderme incluso cuando la cago y merezco que tu hermano se cague de risa de mi en mi cara” [thanks for protecting me and defending me even when I fuck up and I deserve your brother making a joke out of me] he says funny and exaggerated. You laugh, shaking your head.

“Para eso estoy fran, la única que se puede meter con mi hombre soy yo misma” [that’s what I’m here for. Me and only me can joke around about my boyfriend] you reply teasing, making him giggle but bring you closer by your waist planting a kiss on your lips. “ a veces te odio” [sometimes I hate you] he joked in your lips making you giggle once more like all the time you are together. “creo que asi funciona, no?” [that’s how it works, right?] you told him to stroke his hair with your fingers wrapped in his arms. You looked at him innocently making him laugh and kissed your cheeks with a million little soft and full of love kisses.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

francolapinto made a post

liked by yourusername, anibalcolapinto, espn, alexalbon and others.

francolapinto: pese a algunos errores obtuvimos un gran resultado. Gracias a todos por bancar como lo hacen,están sorprendiendo al mundo! Orgulloso de ser de donde vengo 🇦🇷 momento de festejar y enfocarse en la siguiente carrera! Vamoooosss

[even tho we committed a few mistakes we got a solid result. Thank you everyone for the support, you are surprising the world with your passion! I’m so proud to come from where I come from. Time to celebrate and then focus on the next race. Let’s go!]

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yourusername: mi país mi país mi país 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

yourusername: podes parar de ser tan perfecto???? Dios lo que te amo 😍 [can you stop being so perfect? God I love you so much]

↳ francolapinto: vos sos perfecta mi amor te amo gracias por apoyarme y acompañarme siempre [you are perfect my love. Thank you for your support always]

↳ yourusername: siempre juntos [always together]

↳ francolapinto: siempre [always]

williamsracing: vamos franco!!! was a pleasure to have you @/yourusername !!

↳ yourusername: my pleasure!! You guys are so cool!! Next time we need to play some duki songs! You’ll love them!!! Great to work out!! Like a bad bitch!!! 🤪🥵

↳ williamsracing: 😳

↳ wandanara: you soy una bad bitch!!! Te adoro nena!!! [I am a bad bitch! I adore you girl!]

↳ yourusername: OMG WANDA TE AMO

↳ francolapinto: el crossover del año [the crossover of the year]

↳ yourbff: y vos porque no la estás escuchando gritar me voy a quedar sorda [you wouldn’t believe how loud she is screaming because of this. I will be deaf qny sec]

↳ francolapinto: she’s just a girl

↳ yourusername: girls just wanna have fun!!!!

dukissj: flow carbon el tuyo amigo [serving looks bro]

↳ francolapinto: gracias jefe aprendí de vos [thank you boos. I learned from you]

↳ dukissj: a ser el mejor de todos los tiempos? [to be the best one of all time?]

↳ francolapinto: a ser un novio gansta [to be his gangsta lover (Emilia mernes: novio gangsta)]

↳ yourusername: te amo mi novio gangsta 😍

↳ emiliamernes: 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

↳ dukissj: 💀

landonorris: if I comment will I still be ignored?

↳ oscarpiastri: bro

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

University Chaos and Long-Distance Struggles

Franco is your biggest cheerleader just like you are of his. He always remembers your exam dates - you didnt know how but he did - always making sure to send you a good luck message and asking how it was whenever he can take his phone back after a really busy day at the simulator. Long distance is not easy at all but somehow you make it work. You know that when you two see each other again it will be all worth it.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername uploaded a story

[transcription: fisically here]

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francolapinto: mentalmente pensando en mi y en cómo te podría hacer sentir si no estuvieras del otro lado del mundo [mentally thinking about me and how I could make you feel if you wouldn’t be on the other side of the world]

yourusername: POR QUE TENES QUE HACERME ACORDAR DE ESO CON LO QUE TE EXTRAÑO FRANCO COLAPINTO [why do you have to do this to me knowing how much I miss you?]

francolapinto: definitivamente necesitas de mi magia para relajar, estás muy estrasada bb [definitely you need my magic to help you relax, you’re so stressed babe]

yourusername: te odio [I hate you]

francolapinto: 😇

francolapinto: cuando vengas tráeme 10 paquetes de don satur dulces y otras 10 saladas. Y pan dulce!!! Sin fruta y con chips de chocolate [when you fly here could you bring 10 packs of sweet don satur cookies and 10 salty ones? And brin pan dulce!! Without fruit I like it with chocolate chips]

francolapinto: NO ME DEJES EN VISTO FLACA [don’t leave on read girl]

yourusername: ESTOY ESTUDIANDO FLACO [im studying bro]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Chaos in the Paddock

When Franco made his way to F1, you became an instant hit among the other drivers and teams. Unlike the polished, camera-ready WAGs typically seen in the paddock, you're refreshingly candid, often seen wearing jeans and an oversized Boca Juniors or the Argentinian national team of football jersey. Your style was just relax and at some point not giving a fuck about royalty and money and status. You felt so much more beautiful with your vans on and baggy clothes.

But you didn't only stand out because of your “so different” style. Reality was you were as unhinged as your boyfriend. You became the favorite WAG on the internet and the paddock as well. You were sweet to all of the fans and received all of the gifts for Franco you could take in your hands. Always sharing mates with everybody who wanted to join. Taking pics to social media and being hilarious roasting your boyfriend in front of the world. But that was just the way you showed love to each other. It was your code secret language. After the jokes vanish, only love remains between you two. Everyone was obsessed with your interviews just as any fan of the sport. People loved you because you read everything on social media regarding not only your boyfriends but the rest of the drivers. You became an f1 wag voggler on your instagram stories.

All people at the paddock loved you. You were always there for everyone and anyone who needed a hand at anything. You liked to listen to people when they needed to. Franco knew he had the best comforting person in the world next to him and that made him feel really proud of himself.

Also, you became a sensation when you started taking to races your pomeranian son called “polito”. You joined Alex and Kika at wags and mothers of dogs. You loved being part of the gang to be honest.

All of the drivers' girlfriends were so welcoming and fun to be around. You always felt scared to not fit in his world or this world. You were a really private person but you pushed that aside the moment franco got into f1. You wanted nothing but supporting him and if that came along with being not so private anymore you’d take the risk anyway. And so far it worked out perfectly. You feel really comfortable with the life you have now. What scared you it didn't anymore. You were happy.

One infamous moment happened during a race weekend. You were caught on camera yelling at Franco over team radio after he missed a breaking point in practice. Of course, it went viral.

“¡Qué hacés, boludo! Are you driving or playing Mario Kart?!” You were so competitive as well. You grew up watching and being involved in karting. You desperately wanted Franco to do more than good and that pressure and anxiety also made you iconic for people watching at home.

The radio went silent before Franco’s sheepish voice replied, “Sorry, babe.”

The fans dubbed you the “Queen of Roasts.” Even Lando Norris couldn’t resist chiming in on media after the race:

“Franco, mate, you’re getting roasted harder than my starts.”

To which Franco replied teasing him, “At least I have someone to roast me, Lando.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername made a post

liked by bizarrap, francolapinto, yourbff, dukissj and others.

yourusername: Era mi crush y ahora está conmigo, amor platónico. 'Toy robando, qué afortunada soy. Nunca tuve un novio tan hegemónico. Nadie me hace sentir esta satisfacción. Espero que mi padre nunca escuche esta canción 🎶

[he was my crush and now he’s with me. Platonic love. I’m really lucky I got him. I’ve never had such an hegemonic boyfriend. No one makes me feel this good and satisfied. Hope my dad doesn’t listen to this song]

tagged: dukissj, francolapinto

view more comments

emiliamernes: se juntaron nuestros novios gansta ‼️ [our gangsta boyfriends reunited!!]

francolapinto: yo te quiero presumir. nunca nadie me ha querido así 😍 desde que la conocí le cure la cicatriz por que ella es mi novia gansta 😍 [I want to show you off to all the world. No one ever loved me his way. Since I met her I healed her wounds because she is my gangsta girlfriend]

↳ yourusername: TE AMO

user752: omg OMG they are so cute 😭

User1: I must confess I don’t like her at all

user67: clout chaserrrrr zzzzzz

yourbff: que fácil me cambias por ese chiruzo 😔 [you replaced me so easily with that muppet]

↳ yourusername: nunca te cambiaría MI REAL [I would never you’re my real one]

↳ yourbff: nunca nadie te va a amar como yo [no one ever is gonna love you like I do]

↳ francolapinto: ??????? Queres que compitamos? [are you proposing a competition?]

↳ yourbff: como te gusta arruinar momentos felices 🙄 [how you love to ruin good moments]

↳ francolapinto: ya perdiste xd [okay, you already lost]

mariabeccera: con lo que te quiero diría que VOS sos la verdadera NENA DE ARGENTINA bonita [in my opinion you are the real it girl of argentina, babygirl. I love you]

↳ yourusername: dm asap

↳ francolapinto: inviten [invite me]

↳ rei: 🤨

bizarrap: el príncipe y la princesa de argentina 🇦🇷 [the prince and princess of argentina]

↳ yourusername: te amamos gonza ❤️‍🩹

y/nstan: where’s the no rizz at all guy?

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Other Drivers Weigh In

The F1 grid is both entertained and baffled by your relationship. Max Verstappen once remarked, “They’re like a Netflix comedy special. You can’t take your eyes off them.” in one interview. You became the sensation of formula one. It was odd but you followed along just having fun with it.

Charles Leclerc added in his interview after qualifying, “She’s the only person who can keep up with Franco’s energy. Honestly, she’s scarier than his driving.” making the reporter laugh.

Meanwhile, George Russel took every opportunity to tease them. After one race where Franco crashed out, G joked, “Bet she’s gonna give him a lecture in the paddock. Poor kid’s already sweating.”

Yeah we can say you were really passionate and Franco absolutely adored it.

In another race Oscar Piastri was asked about you as well “well, she is a really good teacher to be honest it's really nice to have her around”

“What did she teach you, oscar?”

“Che boludo, me das un mate? I don't remember what it actually means but something around mate” his accent made the interviewer laugh. Franco, who was being interviewed next to him, laughed so hard.

“It sounded amazing mate. I will tell y/n to congratulate you” he teased making oscar roll his eyes.

“And they are both a pain in the ass,” Lando said, coming out of nowhere on Oscar's mic, making everyone laugh.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Family Dynamics

Your families are an integral part of your relationship, and it’s clear that love and respect flow both ways.

Your parents were skeptical at first. A racing driver? That lives on the other side of the world? Really? But Franco won them over the first time he showed up at their house with flowers for your mom and a bottle of wine for your dad. He even attempted to join in on their family’s Sunday asado tradition—though his lack of grilling skills became a running joke.

“A esto le llamas asado?!” [this is what you call barbecue?] your father had laughed, shaking his head as Franco sheepishly handed over the tongs.

“Okay, okay, me dedicare solamente a correr, ya entendi!” [alright, I’ll stick to racing I got it] Franco replied, earning laughter from the whole family.

On the flip side, you’ve become a favorite among Franco’s family. His mom adores you, often calling to check in on your studies or sending care packages from home. His younger sister thinks you’re the coolest person alive and is always pestering you for fashion advice.

“creo que tu mama me ama mas que a vos”, [ I think your mom loves me more than she does love you] you tease one evening.

Franco grins, wrapping an arm around you. “No la culpo. Es impossible no amarte la verdad. Mira esa carita” [I don’t blame her. It’s impossible not to love you. Look at that pretty face] he said grabbing your face and squiz your cheeks playfully.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

francolapinto made a post

liked by yourusername, sangrejaponesa, bocajuniors, and others.

francolapinto: argentina, boca y mi mujer pero en el orden inverso 😇

[argentina, boca and my woman but the other way round]

tagged: yourusername, bocajuniors

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bocajuniors: gracias por venir franco! Te esperamos de vuelta! Vamos piloto! 🫡 [thank you for coming franco! We wait for you to come back! Let’s go!]

yourusername: 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦

yourusername: BOCAAAAA BOCAAAAAAA

user34: que hace la china acá???? 🚩🚩🚩🚩 [what is la china Suarez doing here??]

user54: que suerte que tiene esta mina [how lucky she is]

landostan: BEST WAG TO EVER EXIST

cavani: franquito te esperamos!!! Dale campeón!! [franco come back!! Let’s go champion!]

↳ francolapinto: LPM TE AMO

↳ yourusername: gracias por cumplirle el sueño al nene 🥹 [thank you for making the kid’s dream come true]

la12: chifla que te pasamos a buscar!

↳ yourusername: 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

↳ francolapinto: 🙃

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

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[transcription: he doesn’t like his smile but for me it’s the most beautiful smile in the world]

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francolapinto: boluda me haces llorar 😭 no me quiero ir mañana lpm te voy a extrañar muchísimo [baby you make me cry. I don’t wanna go tomorrow I will miss you so freaking much]

francolapinto: vos para mi sos la más hermosa del mundo [to me you’re the most beautiful girl in the world]

francolapinto: te acordas cuando me traías flores para cuando ganara las carreras? 🥹 sos la más linda del mundo. Siempre fuiste la más linda del mundo para mi [do you remember how you always brought flowers for me at the race kart just in case I won? You’re the prettiest]

francolapinto: podes salir de la clase y venir a darme un abrazo? Estoy sensible [ can you get out of that zoom meeting and come and give me a hug?? I’m sensitive]

francolapinto: te amo mucho [I love you so much]

francolapinto: TE NECESITO MI MUJER 😭 [I need you my girl]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Moments of Quiet Connection

Behind the loud laughs and teasing, there’s a deep, quiet love that anchors your relationship.

After a particularly tough race weekend where Franco didn’t finish, he’s unusually quiet. Back in your hotel room, you find him sitting on the bed, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting beside him. “Queres hablar, Fran?” [do you wanna talk?]

He sighs. “Siento que decepcioné a todos. Al equipo, a los fans… a vos” [I feel I let everyone down. The team, the fans… you] his voice shaky and his eyes teary.

you take his hand, squeezing it. “Franco, no decepcionaste a nadie. Y Menos que menos a mi Fran. Está bien equivocarse y tener días de mierda. No siempre se puede ganar y hacer todo bien. Es mejor darse contra la pared mil veces que ganar siempre. Lo que paso hoy solo te va a hacer más fuerte. No te presiones, ser perfecto es aburrido. Ya vendran dias mejores. El talento está en vos y eso es todo lo que importa, si?” [franco you didn’t let anyone down. It’s okay to commit mistakes and have shitty days. It’s not about winning all the time and be perfect. Better is to lose so you can learn from it and keep growing. I know the better days will come. You have talent and that’s all that matters okay? You’re good my love]

He looks at you, his eyes glassy more than before. “Solo quiero que se sientan orgullosos de mí. Que te sientas orgullosa de mi, no quiero decepcionarte” [I just really want them to feel proud of me. I want you to be proud of me, I don’t wanna let you down]

“Amor, estoy mas que orgullosa de vos, no digas eso” you say, voice steady. “Desde el momento uno. Todos los días de mi vida. Me explota el corazón de orgullo por vos franco. ¿Viste dónde estás? Este es tu sueño y lo lograste. No hay sentimiento mas grande que sienta que el que siento cuando te veo en ese auto. Cada vez que te pones ese traje y tu nombre sale en la pantalla. No tenes idea de lo orgullosa que estoy de vos y de lo que te admiro y te amo” [babe, I’m more than proud of you. Since day one. Have you seen where you at now? This was you’re dream and now it’s your reality. There’s not a bigger feeling in me than the one I feel every time I see you get in that car and drive, every time you fit yourself in your suit. You don’t really know how proud I am of you and how much I admire you and love you fran] his face now with tears. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug hiding his face in your neck looking for comfort that you gave for sure.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

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francolapinto: feliz cumpleaños a la persona más hermosa que la vida me presento. Gracias por existir y encargarte de hacerme el hombre más feliz del mundo, cuidarme y asegurarte de que estoy bien. Gracias por apoyarme en esta locura de carrera que elegí. Gracias por entender y no juzgarme, por escucharme y limpiarme los mocos cuando lo necesite. Por ser tan empatica y amorosa. Nunca dejes de ser quien sos y de brillar más que el sol. El mundo tiene mucha suerte de conocerte, de que hayas nacido, de que ames como amas. Gracias por ser la mejor mamá que nuestro hijo polito podría tener jamás. Para mi sos la mejor del mundo. Tu calidad humana supera cualquier estándar. Te amo con todo mi corazón y/n. Espero que tengas un día lleno de amor y risas. Y que te den los mil abrazos que yo muero por darte pero no puedo. Gracias por aceptar las bases y condiciones de mi vida y aun así hacer que lo difícil parezca tan fácil. Gracias por subirte a cada avión y estudiar en los hospitalities. Gracias por las flores que me llevas desde que nos conocemos. Quiero que seas la más feliz del mundo porque es lo minimo que te mereces. Gracias por ser lo amorosa que sos con toda mi familia, con mis amigos, con cualquier persona que se te acerque. Sos increíble. Te amo te amo te amo te amo. Ya quiero abrazarte. Prontito nos veremos mi amor. Feliz cumple

[happy birthday to the most beautiful person life brought me. Thank you for existing and taking care to make me feel the luckiest man alive, looking after me and make sure I’m okay. Thank you for supporting me in my crazy career. Thank you for understanding and not judging, for listening and be the shoulder to cry on. Thank you for your compassion, sympathy and warmness. Don’t ever stop being so you and shining more than the sun. The world is really lucky to have you in it. We are all so lucky you were created, born, and by the way you love. Thank you for being the best mum our son polito could ask for. To me you are the best in the world. You human quality as a person breaks any standar. I love you with my whole heart y/n. Hope you have a great day filled with love and laughter and the million hugs I’m dying to give you but I can’t. Thank you for accepting me and making the longs distance shit be so easy. Thank you for the flowers you always bring for me. I want you to be the happiest in the world because that’s the minimum you deserve. Thank you for being so lovely with my family and friends and any person that meets you. You are magical. I love you. I want to hug you so bad. We will meet soon again my love. Happy bday]

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yourusername: FLACO 😭 lo que te amo no lo puedo ni expresar. Gracias por amarme como lo haces. Con vos soy la mas feliz del mundo ❤️‍🩹 [I can’t not even express how much I love you. Thank you for loving me the way you do. With you I’m the happiest in the world]

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‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

How Franco Talks About Her

Franco is unabashedly in love, and it shows in how he talks about you —whether it’s to his family, teammates, or the press.

During a team dinner, his engineer jokes, “How does she even deal with you, Franco?”

Franco grins, not missing a beat. “She’s the only person who can out-chaos me. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

In interviews, his admiration for her is evident.

“She’s my anchor,” he says, his voice tinged with pride. “I can have the worst day on the track, and she’ll find a way to make me laugh or remind me why I love racing. And the way she balances her own goals? It’s inspiring. I don’t know how she does it, but she makes me want to be better—on and off the track.”

Everyone was in love with him. But fortunately, he was only yours.

And you were the best team of the paddok.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The Future

Though your lives are hectic, you’re already dreaming of the future. Over mate on a quiet Sunday morning back in argentina, Franco muses, “un dia, cuando todo esté sentado, me encantaría quetengamos una casita acá cerca de mis papás y tus papás. Para estar tranquilos. Podriamos darle un hermanito a polito tambien. qué te parece?” [one day, when everything it’s already settled, I would love to have a house here close to our parents. You know, a place where we can relax and be ourself, what do you think?]

You look at him, your heart swelling and smiling widley. “Obvio que sí. Pero yo decoro, tu depto si no fuera por mi podria ser una sala de enfermeria” you tease. [of course I would love to. But I will take care of designing and decorating because if it wasn’t for me your apartment could be a nurse room]

“dale,” he says, grinning. [deal]

Your love is a testament to the beauty of finding someone who matches your energy, celebrates your victories, and holds your hand through the challenges. For Franco and you, life isn’t about the finish line—it’s about enjoying every chaotic, beautiful lap together.

Your love is bigger than love itself and stronger than the olympus and everyone could see it.

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hope you liked it guys! if you have any ideas just send them straight into my inbox! thanks for reading. Feedback is always very welcome!

mwak mwak mwak 💌 -cate

#my work!🧉#works by cate :)#franco colapinto x femreader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto #fc43 fic #fc43 x reader #fc43 x you #fc43 imagine #fc43 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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puffins-muffins · 4 months ago

Text

Control - The Beginning

Pairing: Jax Teller x Female!Reader Word Count: 7,300 Summary: You return to your hometown as a successful defense attorney to represent SAMCRO President Jax Teller, the former love of your life, in a murder trial. Years after your painful breakup, unresolved feelings resurface, and the lines between your professional duty and personal desires blur. Warnings: 18+ only please, cursing, cheating, mentions of parental death. A/N: So, this is my first Jax/SOA AU-ish fic. This establishes Jax & Reader's beginnings as teens/young adults. Feedback is so greatly appreciated! Beta'd by just myself, all mistakes are my own. I am also new to posting like this so apologies now if I've missed anything. We'll learn as we go. Please be kind.

Jax Teller leaned against his bike in the Charming High School parking lot, his leather kutte draped over his broad shoulders. With a lean, muscular build, he exuded an aura of danger on two wheels. His sandy blonde hair was a tousled mess, falling just below his ears and framing his face in a way that highlighted his rebellious charm. One flash of his boyish, crooked grin sent girls swooning, but when you walked past, you didn’t even glance his way.

Curiosity piqued, Jax straightened up. “Hey,” he called, his voice smooth yet laced with cocky confidence. “You too good to say hi?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“I’m Jax Teller.” He starts. “You’re Jimmy’s daughter, aren’t you?” his eyes narrowing slightly as recognition dawned. “I saw you at the clubhouse a few weeks ago when your old man patched into our charter.”

You shrugged, barely reacting. “Yeah, that’s me. So what?”

Jax smirked, intrigued by how unimpressed you seemed. “Just surprised I haven’t seen you around more,” he said, stepping a little closer. “You’re not into the whole MC thing?”

You quickly glanced him up and down, a playful glint in your eye. “Not really my scene.”

Jax tilted his head, genuinely interested. “That why you won’t give me the time of day, huh?”

You shrugged again, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “Maybe you’re just not as charming as you think you are.”

His grin widened. Most girls would’ve melted under his attention, but you? You gave as good as you got. He liked that. “You might be right, but that’s not going to stop me from trying, darlin’,” he replied, adding a flirtatious wink. “Can I take you somewhere?” he asked, gesturing toward his bike.

You scoffed, glancing down at his bike and then back at him, your tone teasing. “With you? On that? No thanks. I only ride with my dad.”

“Alright, Pep, another time then,” he said, his tone light and flirtatious, making you bite back a smile.

“Pep?” you asked, confusion furrowing your brow.

“Pepper,” he explained, grinning widely. “You’re kind of spicy, and I like that. I think that nickname suits you.”

After rejecting his ride, he hopped on his bike, strapping on his helmet, ready to leave. “We’ll see how long it takes before you’re begging me to give you a ride.” he said, his voice dripping with innuendo.

You flashed him a smirk, determination in your eyes. Cool, calm exterior. “Oh, don’t hold your breath, Teller.”

But inside, a rush of conflicting emotions surged through you. His words caused your stomach to flip. The easy banter was just a front; beneath it lay the undeniable pull between you, and you felt it tugging at your heart. As you watched him take off, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d be craving that ride sooner than you’d like to admit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that first encounter, it was like a slow, steady burn between you and Jax. At first, you made it a point to keep your distance, though it was impossible to ignore the magnetism between you. He’d always find an excuse to talk to you in the halls, leaning against lockers like he owned the damn place. You’d roll your eyes, give him sass, but there was always that spark — the kind that lit up the air around you both.

Then came the day he convinced you to ride with him. He pulled up to your house one Saturday afternoon, engine rumbling beneath him, and shot you that devil-may-care grin. “C’mon, Pep. You’ve been avoiding this long enough.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, one hand on your hip. “I told you, I don’t do rides, Teller.”

But there was a challenge in your voice, and Jax heard it loud and clear. He just revved the engine, making it purr, his gaze never leaving yours. God, he was cute. “One ride with me. You don’t like it; I’ll never ask again. Please.”

You didn’t respond right away, but the way your heart thumped in your chest betrayed you. Something about Jax made you want to push your own limits, and this was no different. Relenting, you grabbed the helmet he offered and swung your leg over the bike behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. His body was warm and solid beneath your hands, and you could feel his heartbeat through his leather.

The bike roared to life, and before you knew it, you were speeding down the back roads outside town. Wind whipped through your hair, the world a blur of color as the adrenaline pumped through your veins. Every time Jax took a sharp turn, your grip on him tightened, but soon you weren’t holding on out of fear, you were holding on because you didn’t want to let go. The rumble of the engine, the feel of the wind, the pure freedom - it was intoxicating. And the way Jax handled the bike, confident and effortless, only added to the rush.

He’d glance back at you every now and then, smirking when he saw you weren’t just holding on anymore; you were leaning into it, craving more of that wild thrill. And with every ride, it became more than just adrenaline. It was the way he made you feel when you were with him, completely invincible, like nothing in the world could touch you.

The weeks turned into months, and a montage of memories built up between you two. Sneaking out at night, the hum of his bike your only soundtrack as you wrapped yourself around him, laughing into the wind. Bonfires by the old quarry, where he’d pull you close with that cocky grin, his touch always gentle with you. Late-night rides to nowhere, where you’d hold him a little tighter, whispering sarcastic comebacks into his ear even as your heart betrayed you, racing faster with every mile.

Then there were those unexpected moments, the quiet ones that caught you off guard. Like when you found yourselves perched on the roof of Teller-Morrow, cocooned in your own little world. In those instances, a different side of Jax emerged—one that was introspective and thoughtful. He would often pull out a notebook, jotting down his thoughts and feelings, exposing a vulnerability that stood in stark contrast to his tough exterior. As he lit a cigarette, you would lean into him, savoring the warmth radiating from his body. You’d tease him playfully, the banter punctuated by that same smile tugging at the corners of your lips. And when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, your gaze would linger on him just a little too long.

It wasn’t long before you realized something had shifted. The thrill of the ride was more than just the speed and adrenaline. It was the way Jax’s hand would find yours when you weren’t paying attention, the way he’d look at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It was the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes softened when he saw you, the fire and sass he loved to tease but never tried to tame.

One night, after a long ride along the coast, the two of you sat by the edge of the cliff, the ocean crashing beneath you. Jax was beside you, leaning back on his hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You know,” he said after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, “I didn’t think you’d ever actually give in.”

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Give in to what?”

He grinned, that playful glint in his eyes. “To this. To riding with me. To… us.”

For a moment, you just looked at him, the sunset painting his features in warm, golden light. You couldn’t deny it anymore. The exhilaration wasn’t just from the rides, it was from him.

“I guess you’re not the worst company,” you admitted, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

He chuckled softly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Yeah, well, you’re my Pep. No one else like you.”

And that’s when you knew you had fallen, not just for the rides, but for the boy who had made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t expected. The boy who saw through your sarcasm, who called you Pepper because he liked your fire, and who made your heart race faster than any ride ever could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Senior year was a whirlwind. While you were focused on your classes and keeping up with your honor roll status, Jax was slipping further away from school. He barely showed up anymore, spending most of his time at the garage or with the club. There were days when you’d catch glimpses of him, riding in with Opie, that familiar roar of their bikes, the MC patch on his back more of a constant presence than his textbooks.

You had always known Jax was different, more interested in bikes and the MC life than anything school had to offer. But now, it felt like he was already halfway out the door while you were still trying to figure out where the future would take you.

The contrast between the two of you was glaring. You were getting acceptance letters from universities across the country, each one congratulating you on your achievements. It felt surreal, but there was this gnawing ache every time you thought about leaving Charming — leaving him. You had spent the last couple of years with Jax as your constant. The idea of being somewhere without him felt like cutting away a part of yourself.

One afternoon, you met Jax at the garage after school, where he was elbow-deep in the engine of a Harley. He looked up when he heard you approach, wiping his hands on a rag, that familiar grin stretching across his face. “Hey, Pep,” he called, dropping the rag and walking toward you, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “How was your day? Ace another test?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, nudging him playfully. “Actually, yeah. I got into Berkeley.”

Jax’s face lit up with pride. “Damn, look at you. That’s huge, babe.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you affectionately.

You leaned into him, inhaling the familiar mix of leather, grease, and smoke. “Yeah… but it’s kinda far, Jax. And I don’t know if I want to go that far. I was thinking maybe San Fran or even Fresno. Somewhere closer.”

Jax looked at you, brow furrowing a bit as he leaned against the workbench. “You’re gonna throw away Berkeley for Charming? Why?”

You shifted, feeling the weight of your answer before you even said it. “Because of you,” you admitted, voice soft but steady. “I don’t want to be miles away from you, from everything I know, my dad. I want to study law, stay close, and—”

He cut you off with a kiss, pulling you closer, his hand resting at the back of your neck. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft but conflicted. “You’re too good for this place. You’ve got this big, bright future ahead of you, and I don’t want to be a reason you hold yourself back.”

You searched his face, trying to understand where this was coming from. “You’re not holding me back, Jax. I want to be near you. Law school, everything — I can do that here.”

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his long hair. “I don’t have a plan. Shit, I’m barely gonna graduate. I’ll probably work at the garage, help with the club… I don’t know where I’ll end up, but it’s not gonna be college, that’s for sure.”

You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I don’t care about that. I care about you. You don’t have to have some perfect plan. We’ve got time to figure things out.”

Jax smiled softly, but there was something behind it, a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear. He pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours. “You deserve more than just ‘figuring it out.’ You deserve everything. And I don’t know if I can give you that.”

You held his face in your hands, making him look at you. “You’ve always been enough for me, Jax. Always. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

Jax only kissed you, this time slower, deeper, like he was holding on to something he was afraid to lose. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. “I could never tell you to go. I just… I don’t want to hold you back.”

You kissed him back softly, the noise of the garage fading into the background. “You won’t,” you promised.

But even as you said it, there was a part of you that knew things would never be that simple, not with the club, not with the way Jax was already tied to a world that didn’t leave room for easy choices. Still, in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and the world at your feet, you believed that somehow, you could make it work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years into undergrad and everything felt different. The late-night rides and stolen moments that used to bring you and Jax together now seemed like distant memories. You were buried in textbooks and case studies, drowning in deadlines and long hours at your internship. The law classes were brutal and balancing your workload with everything else left you running on fumes. You’d chosen a college about an hour outside of Charming, far enough to give you space but close enough to keep Jax in your life.

But even with that proximity, things were… different. The once easy connection between you and Jax felt strained, pulled thin under the weight of time, distance, and the lives you were both living now.

You were sitting at a small table in a coffee shop near your campus, your laptop open and legal notes scattered everywhere. Your phone buzzed, a text from Jax lighting up the screen. Hey, been trying to call. Busy?

You stared at the message for a moment, guilt swirling in your chest. You had seen the missed calls earlier, but your study group had gone long, and then there was work. You typed out a quick reply: Yeah, sorry. Studying. You okay?

His response came fast. Yeah, just haven’t seen you in a while. Miss you.

That simple sentence hit harder than you expected. You missed him too, desperately. Lately, it felt like missing him was all you did. You weren’t the same girl who had spent nights riding on the back of his bike, laughing into the wind. Now, you were someone constantly pulled in a dozen directions, and Jax was being swallowed up by the club. He was taking on more responsibilities with the Sons, more rides, more late nights. And you knew what came with that lifestyle - the danger, the temptations. You’d heard about other women. Nothing concrete, but the rumors alone were enough to keep you awake at night.

You texted back, I miss you too. Maybe I can come by tomorrow?

Yeah. I’ll be at the clubhouse. Be good to see you.

The next day, you drove back to Charming, your stomach knotted with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You parked outside the clubhouse, a place that used to feel like a second home, but now felt distant — like you didn’t quite belong in Jax’s world anymore. You walked inside and immediately saw him at the bar, his back turned as he talked with Opie.

“Hey,” you called, and he turned, that familiar smile lighting up his face as he saw you.

“Hey yourself!” he said, walking over to wrap his arms around you, a tender kiss placed on your lips. The feel of him, solid and warm, instantly melted some of the tension inside you. For a moment, it felt like everything could be okay, like you were still those two kids who fell in love years ago. But as soon as he pulled away, reality slipped back in.

He led you back to his clubhouse room. Both of you sitting on the bed, his hand resting on your leg as if to anchor you both. You made small talk, catching up on each other’s lives, but the conversation felt stilted. There were gaps now, things unsaid between you, like the life he was leading in the club, the hours he spent with them, and the stories you heard but never wanted to ask about.

“School’s killing me,” you admitted. “I barely have time to breathe, let alone come back here. It’s just... a lot.”

Jax nodded, but you could see the distance in his eyes, the frustration he was trying to mask. “Yeah, you’ve been busy. I get it.”

You sighed, looking into his eyes. “Do you? Because it feels like… I don’t know, like we’re both living these separate lives. When’s the last time we spent more than an hour together?” There was always this heightened tension between you two now.

Jax’s jaw clenched, and he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know, I know. But it’s not just you. I’ve got a lot going on too, with the garage, the club and everything…” he trails off.

“And what does ‘everything’ include?” you asked, your voice quieter, a trace of the hurt you’d been holding back slipping through.

He looked at you for a long moment, eyes shadowed with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “What are you asking?”

You hesitated. This was the conversation you’d both been avoiding, but you couldn’t pretend anymore. “I’m asking if there’s someone else, Jax. I’m asking if the club has taken more than just your time.”

His expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it - regret, maybe. “There’s no one else, Pep. Don’t be ridiculous.” He snapped. “But this life… it’s not easy. And you’re not here as much. I’m not saying that’s your fault, but it’s how it is.”

You nodded, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Yeah, I get it. You’re right. We’re both busy, and it’s hard. But we’re growing apart, Jax. And I don’t know how to fix that.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t know how to fix it either.”

There it was — the raw truth neither of you had said out loud until now. You still loved each other, deeply, but it was like trying to hold on to something that kept slipping through your fingers. The connection that had once felt so unbreakable was fraying at the edges, and neither of you knew if you could tie it back together.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you like it always had. For now, in this moment, you could pretend that everything was okay. But deep down, you both knew that things had changed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another year had passed, and your relationship with Jax was hanging by a thread. Between the LSAT’s, your paralegal job, law school applications, you were constantly thinking about the future. A part of you still wanted that future to include Jax, despite all the cracks.

The tension between you two had been building for months. He’d invited you to a big MC party, but things between you were so fragile that you weren’t sure if going was the best thing. The law firm you worked for was in the middle of a huge case and you didn’t think you would be able to get away from the piles of research you had in front of you. Just as you were grappling with whether to go, your phone buzzed, Jax’s name lighting up across your screen.

Hey Pep, you coming to see me, or what? ;)

The pull between duty and heartache twisted in your chest. The case you were working on was critical, your future in law depended on it, and yet, a part of you longed to see him, to feel connected again. But you couldn’t ignore the creeping sense that you no longer fit in his world. The MC lifestyle felt more alien with every passing day.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. I’m slammed with work right now… not sure if I can make it.

The moment the message left your screen, a wave of anxiety hit you. Would he be disappointed? Relieved? Part of you wanted him to push back, to make you feel like you still mattered enough for him to want you there.

A few seconds passed, then your phone buzzed again. His response appeared almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for your message just as eagerly.

You’re always slammed with work. But this is important to me. Come on, it’s just one night. I miss you.

Your heart clenched. He was good at that, making you feel guilty for choosing anything that wasn’t him or the MC. You read the message repeatedly, feeling the weight of his words.

"I miss you."

It was what you wanted to hear, but at the same time, it left you more torn than before. School, the case, it all seemed so distant now. Your mind flickered back to the last time you'd seen him, the strained goodbye, the unsaid things between you two. Maybe one night wouldn't change anything, but what if it did?

The screen dimmed as your phone idled, but you couldn't take your eyes off the words, wondering if you could keep walking this fine line between your past and your future.

You typed out ‘I'll try’ and stared at it for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. It felt like a compromise, a way to keep one foot in each world without fully committing to either. But as you sent it, a pit formed in your stomach. You knew deep down that it wasn’t just about this one night—it was about all the nights before and all the ones that could come after.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.

That's my girl. I’ll be waiting for you.

His words sent a familiar warmth through you, but there was something bittersweet about it too. His girl. You weren’t sure if you even belonged to him anymore. Jax had a way of making you feel like nothing had changed, like the years apart hadn’t put a canyon between who you were and who you’d both become.

You sighed, glancing at the stack of case files on your desk. The logical part of you said you should stay, focus on the case. But another part, the one that still longed for the way things used to be, pulled you towards him. Like always.

You decided to work for another hour, hoping the mountain of research would drown out the thoughts of Jax and then head to the party. But time slipped away from you and when you finally glanced at the clock, a surge of panic shot through you. You were hours behind. Cursing under your breath, you threw everything into your bag and bolted out of your dorm.

The drive to Charming was long and familiar, each mile pulling you back to a life you’d tried so hard to leave behind. You hadn’t heard from him; you knew you were hours later than you planned, and he probably thought you weren’t coming. You decided to surprise him at this point, to see his face when you showed up after all. Maybe you could feel like you still belonged in his world, even if only for one night.

The roar of motorcycles echoed faintly in the distance, a sound you knew all too well. You parked a little way down from the clubhouse, your heart hammering in your chest as you walked toward the sounds of the party.

The parking lot was crowded with bikes, the familiar smell of leather and gasoline hitting you as you approached the entrance. The music was loud, people spilled out from the doors, laughing and drinking. You weaved through them, feeling the weight of old eyes on you, some curious, others familiar.

As you stepped inside, the chaos of the party washed over you. It was everything you remembered - loud, wild, and unapologetically SAMCRO. You scanned the room, looking for him, the anticipation of seeing him again made your heart race.

As you navigated through the crowded room, the air thick with smoke, alcohol, and the unmistakable roar of laughter and loud voices, you couldn't help but notice the women, Crow-eaters as they were not so affectionately referred as, draped over several members. They were scantily clad, their bodies pressed close to the bikers, and you felt the sharp sting of being out of place. Their boldness, their ease in this world, it was a stark contrast to the careful, controlled way you lived your life now.

You tugged at the hem of your jacket, suddenly hyper-aware of the more conservative clothes you wore and the way you didn’t fit in. You were polished, buttoned-up, and in a crowd like this, it made you feel like an outsider. The club girls knew their place, their roles in the MC hierarchy clear, but you used to think you belonged here. Now it felt foreign, like you were intruding on a life that had moved on without you. You weren’t one of them, and as much as you tried to pretend this night was about reconnecting with Jax, the reality was painfully obvious. This just wasn’t your world.

When you finally spotted him, it wasn’t the reunion you imagined. There he was, in the corner, alone with another girl, a girl too close for comfort. She was laughing, her hand on his chest, and his expression wasn’t one of protest.

Your stomach dropped. You’d heard rumors swirling around for a while, whispers you hadn’t wanted to believe, but this? This was undeniable.

You stormed over, heart pounding. “What the hell, Jax?”

He looked up, startled and shocked, and you saw the guilt flash across his face. The girl backed off immediately, sensing the tension, but it was too late. The damage was done.

“Pep, wait—” he started, but you weren’t having it.

“Wait for what? For you to finish whatever this is?” You could hear the anger and hurt in your voice, and it took everything not to lose it right there in front of everyone.

Jax stood, frustration mixing with his own guilt. “Shit, Babe - It’s not what it looks like. She’s no one, I swear—”

“Then why was she all over you?” You could feel your hands trembling, the betrayal sharp in your chest. “Do you even care anymore, Jax? Or am I just holding on to something that doesn’t exist?”

He stepped closer, grabbing your arm gently. “Of course I care. Pep, you know I love you and I’m not screwing around.”

You wanted to believe him, but that image of him with her was now burned into your mind. Still, as you stared into his eyes, the same eyes that had looked at you with love for years, you found yourself softening. Maybe it was out of habit, maybe it was out of hope, but you nodded, letting out a shaky breath, not wanting to do this with an audience. “Jax, this can’t happen again.”

He nodded quickly, pulling you into his arms. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I swear.”

After the confrontation, he had come to you, apologizing, trying to explain away the situation as a misunderstanding, a mistake. And in that moment, you wanted so badly to believe him, to let the history between you two be enough to erase the pain of what you’d seen.

You stayed and he held you close that night, whispering promises that felt hollow. His arms around you were familiar, but they no longer felt like home. You could feel the space between you two, even as he lay beside you, his breath steady as he fell asleep.

You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. Everything about this night, this life was a far cry from what you had imagined your future would look like. It didn’t matter how many times he apologized or promised to change. Something between you had shifted, and no amount of love was going to fix it. You knew deep down, as you lay there in the dark, that this had to be the end.

It wasn’t just about the girl he flirted with or the way he had laughed with her like you didn’t exist. It was about the path you were on, the future you were fighting for. It was about who Jax had become and who you had grown into. Jax had chosen this life, and in exchange, never fully choosing you. The club would always come first, and that realization cut deeper than anything else.

Your heart felt heavy as you got dressed quietly, careful not to wake him. The thought of leaving without saying goodbye tore at you, but you knew this had to be done. You had to walk away before the weight of staying crushed you.

You leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his lips, your hand resting on the side of his face, memorizing the feel of him one last time. His lips moved slightly under yours, and for a moment, you thought he might wake, but he didn’t. Part of you was relieved, saying goodbye right now would have been too hard.

Standing over him, you took a deep breath, knowing this might be the last time you’d ever see him like this, your Jax - peaceful, vulnerable. Your eyes lingered on him before you turned and walked out of the room, your heart breaking with every step.

The drive out of Charming felt endless, every mile putting more distance between you and the life you once knew. It gutted you to leave him behind, but deep down, you knew it was the only way to save yourself. You had outgrown this world, and it was time to let go of the one person you thought you’d never lose. As you merged onto the highway, the sun barely beginning to rise, you wiped away the tears that had silently fallen. This was the end, and even though it hurt like hell, you knew it was the right choice.

It had been a few weeks since that night and the heaviness in your heart had only deepened. You spent countless hours wrestling with the decision to end things with Jax. The memories of laughter and love felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the harsh reality of your lives drifting apart. Tonight, you’d finally decided you were going to have the talk - the one that would sever the last ties binding you to him.

As you gathered your things, the clutter of books and notes on your desk only reminded you of the life you were trying to build apart from him. The stack of law books felt like a barrier, protecting you from the emotional storm you knew was about to hit. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words you would say.

Just as you were about to walk out, a firm knock echoed through your small dorm. You paused, quizzical. You weren’t expecting anyone, and a twinge of anxiety twisted in your stomach.

“Hey,” came the gruff voice from the other side, and your heart dropped. It was Jax.

You opened the door, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. He looked pale, his normally vibrant eyes clouded with something heavy. His usual confident demeanor was replaced by an unsettling vulnerability, and it sent a jolt of panic through you.

“Jax? What’s wrong?”

He stepped inside, his presence both comforting and terrifying. “I—” His voice cracked, and he took a moment, visibly struggling to find the right words. “It’s your dad. He… he’s gone.”

The world around you seemed to tilt on its axis. “What do you mean, gone?” you stammered, heart racing. “What happened?”

His gaze dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach churn. “There was a deal that went south. He got caught in the crossfire. They got him to the hospital, but it was too late.”

Shock flooded your body, a cold wave that left you feeling numb. “No. No, this can’t be happening.” You stumbled back, your vision blurring as tears threatened to spill over. Your father had always been your rock, the steady hand guiding you through life, it had always been just the two of you. “What do you mean caught in the crossfire? He was just… he was fine. I just saw him!”

Jax stepped closer, his expression pained, his own tears threatening to spill over. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept the reality he was laying before you. “You don’t understand. This is… I can’t… I don’t even know how to process this.” The words tumbled out, a desperate plea for understanding that fell flat.

He reached for your arm; his grip firm yet gentle. “Please, let me help you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

The warmth of his touch ignited a swirl of conflicting emotions within you. He was the last person you wanted to turn to, yet in that moment, the desperation for comfort overpowered everything else. You felt so fragile, and the thought of facing this tragedy without him was daunting.

He cupped your face and in that moment, it was like the ground dropped out from under you. The room spun, and suddenly, everything—the fight, the tension, even your plans to leave Jax, seemed insignificant. Your dad was dead, and the club, the same club that had taken so much from you with Jax, had taken him too.

You collapsed into Jax’s arms, your tears soaking his shirt as you clung to him. And just like that, all your plans shattered. You weren’t thinking about law school anymore. You weren’t even thinking about breaking up with him. All you could think about was the fact that your dad was gone, and Jax was the only one who could understand the weight of that loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jax made it through your father’s funeral, now bound together by grief, but even in the depths of your sorrow, it was a fragile connection. He had become your lifeline, holding you close as you navigated the crushing waves of loss. The club surrounded you, providing support in ways you hadn’t expected, ensuring that you wanted for nothing as you buried yourself in your studies during your last year of undergrad. You moved through life on autopilot, the world around you fading into a blur as you focused on school, pretending that everything would somehow work itself out.

As the months passed, acceptance letters from several schools filled your mailbox, a testament to your hard work and determination. But the joy of those accomplishments felt overshadowed by the grief that still clung to you like a heavy fog. Each letter was a reminder of a future you were hesitant to embrace. You were torn, unsure of where to go. Part of you wanted to stay close to Jax, to the familiarity of Charming, while another part yearned for a fresh start, a chance to break free from everything that haunted you.

But while you clung to Jax for comfort, the distance between you was palpable. You knew he was there, physically present, yet your relationship had become stagnant, a shell of what it once was. Jax provided a familiar solace, but it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had formed. The love that had once burned brightly now flickered like a candle, struggling against the grief that surrounded you both.

Everything came to a head one night at the clubhouse. As you paused outside Jax’s door, your hand froze on the doorknob, heart racing at the faint sound of laughter inside - his laughter. But he wasn’t alone. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open, and everything seemed to freeze around you.

There he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt half unbuttoned, lips locked with some woman you didn’t recognize. Her laughter mixed with his, a sound that shattered your world once again. Time felt suspended as the reality of the moment set in.

“Jax!” The sound of your voice echoed painfully in the room, causing their laughter to halt abruptly. His eyes widened in shock, but they quickly filled with shame as he processed your presence. The woman beside him blinked, confusion dancing in her eyes, but you ignored her, shaking with betrayal as you stared at him. You didn’t even recognize him anymore.

“Shit! Pep, I—” he started, his voice thick with regret, but the words evaporated in the tension that filled the room.

Anger boiled within you, raw and relentless, as you stepped forward, heart racing. “You said you loved me! You promised you’d do better!”

He shifted uncomfortably, guilt etching deeper lines on his face. He couldn’t meet your gaze, knowing he had fucked up royally. The realization of what he had done hung heavily in the air, a small part of him recognizing that he had sabotaged your relationship out of fear. Fear of feeling stifled, of the stagnant love that no longer felt like home to him either.

When he reached out to touch you, desperation tinged with shame, you yelled. “Don’t! Don’t fucking touch me!” The slap was swift, fueled by raw emotion, landing with a force that surprised even you. The sound echoed in the room, sharp and definitive, as Jax's head snapped to the side, his face flushed with the imprint of your anger. The room seemed to hold its breath, and everything inside you unraveled.

The warmth and safety Jax once provided had turned cold. You could see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to undo this betrayal.

That’s when Opie appeared, his expression a mix of sadness and empathy. He stood silently, a protective barrier between you and the pain. Without saying a word, he placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you as everything inside you threatened to collapse. Jax remained quiet, his shame on full display, knowing he had lost something precious but feeling powerless to reclaim it.

“I’ll take care of her,” Opie said quietly, his voice steady. He didn’t need to say more; Jax knew better than to push. The hurt in his eyes was evident, but it was too late for apologies.

“Pep, please,” Jax finally managed, his voice hoarse, but it lacked the strength of conviction. His eyes were desperate, but beneath that desperation lay a deep-rooted acknowledgment of his failures, the realization that he had successfully pushed you away.

“Stop,” you snapped, tears streaming down your cheeks, anger morphing into deep-seated sorrow.

He stood there, paralyzed, unable to find the words that could ever justify this.

Opie stepped forward, his presence a comforting weight, trying to navigate you out of the room. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

You turned away from Jax, feeling the ache of loss settle in your chest like a stone. Only a silent farewell passing between you. It was done. You and Jax were over.

As Opie led you away, the weight of everything crashed down on you. You had lost your father, and now, Jax too – his love that once brought you to life felt distant, unreachable. The noise of the clubhouse disappeared into the background, leaving you in a world where the only constant was your grief, and you didn’t know how to move forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving Charming felt like tearing a piece of your heart out. You had chosen the best law school you could, deliberately picking one as far away from California as possible. It was a decision that both terrified and relieved you. You needed to escape the memories, the grief, and, most of all, Jax.

As the day of your departure drew closer, the reality of it settled in, leaving you with an emptiness that clashed with your determination. You packed your things meticulously, each item a reminder of what you were leaving behind. But as much as you wanted to flee from your past, a part of you still ached for closure.

So, you agreed to meet Jax for a final goodbye, knowing it was something you both needed, even if it felt hollow. You chose a secluded spot in the park where you used to share lazy afternoons, a place where laughter once rang in the air. But today, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words and lingering sadness.

Jax was already there when you arrived, leaning against his bike, arms crossed, looking every bit the man you'd fallen for. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence felt thick, filled with all the things you couldn’t say anymore.

“So, this is it,” Jax finally said, his voice quieter than usual. There was no edge, no teasing, only rawness.

You nodded, unsure of how to respond without unraveling. “Yeah, it is.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair, the same way he always did when he didn’t know what to say. “I get why you’re going. You need to do this.” Jax replied, his eyes searching yours for something - understanding, perhaps, or forgiveness. “It’s just… hard to believe you won’t be here.”

You swallowed, your heart tightening in your chest. All you could muster was a simple nod of understanding.

For a solitary moment, it was like time rewound, and you were back to being the two of you, before everything got complicated. Before the weight of the club, the violence, and the grief. It would have been so easy to fall into his arms, but you held yourself still, knowing that this moment wasn’t about holding on, it was about letting go.

Jax straightened, stepping closer, his blue eyes still searching yours. “I wanted this life for us, you know? A real future.” His voice broke, just slightly, and it hit you harder than you expected.

“I know,” you whispered, your own emotions threatening to spill over. “But that’s not where we’re headed anymore.”

He reached for your hand, his grip firm but tender, as if it was the last connection keeping you from drifting apart. “Just… promise me one thing.”

You looked at him, your throat tight with unshed tears. “What?”

“Don’t forget about me, alright? Even if I’m just a memory, don’t forget.”

The weight of his words settled deep inside you. You could promise that, but you weren’t sure how much of Jax would be left in you once you stepped onto that plane. Still, you nodded, because in that moment, it was the only thing you could give him.

“Goodbye, Jax.”

His jaw clenched, and he pulled you into a hug, strong and secure. The scent of leather, smoke, and something distinctly Jax, washed over you, making you dizzy with the realization that this was truly the end. And when he let go, you didn’t look back.

As you walked away, each step felt heavier than the last, there was no turning around. Not now. You had to let him go, even if part of you never would.

Part 2 - The Reunion

#jax teller #jax teller x reader #soa #sons of anarchy #samcro #charlie hunnam #jax teller fic

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