#the bane of all neighbors lives | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldfades · 1 month 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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lizzy06 · 5 months ago

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Atsumu Miya x Reader Fic Recs!!

(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Inarizaki Fic Rec Masterlist

A Debt Repaid✨ by matchumu (oneshot, sibling love)"Just keep the money." Atsumu repeats. "Don't think of it as a charity. Just think of it as a debt repaid."It was Miya Atsumu who bought the first Onigiri Miya store. [COMPLETED]

a world without you by my side by farozaan (oneshot, happy ending, waking up in alternate au, time travel) He wanted just a single day without his brother all around him. That would be paradise. Miya Osamu makes a wish and regrets it. [COMPLETED]

shrimply in love ✨ by @caelivir (oneshot, fluff) atsumu wholeheartedly prayed that you forgot how you first met, and for a while he believed that you did. that is until he finds the literal token from that day.[COMPLETED]

MSBY! Soulmate x Reader by @watevermelon (oneshot, fluff, slight angst to fluff, mutual pinning)You knew all about his personality, whether through the rumor vine or the numerous warnings your friends gave you. But there was no avoiding it - he was your soulmate after all .[COMPLETED]

The Boy Next door by @quirrrky (neighbors, humor, enemies to lovers, fake dating, friends to lovers) Your new neighbor is everything you’ll never ask for. Your life starts changing for better and for worse when Miya Atsumu rents the apartment next to you. The most unfortunate part? Everything about him. With his annoying good looks and equally irritating charm, how can you not resist the boy next door? [HIATUS??] <this is a lovely fic but has not been updated in a while, but I am still putting it up here !!>

In Screaming Color✨ by moonmayhem (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)A soulmate AU where, if you dye your hair, your soulmate's hair changes as well. [COMPLETED]

an epilogue of sorts by mooshys (oneshot, fluff, humor)Atsumu wants to prove that he definitely knows his way around the kitchen by opting to cook dinner for you to celebrate your one year anniversary together. Thing is, he needs a little help if he wants to impress you tonight.[COMPLETED]

Shower Friends ✨✨by just_j(fake dating, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst)The dorm you live in has co-ed bathrooms. Why that’s even remotely a good idea is beyond you; and recently, your precious shower time is being interrupted by a certain blonde haired setter for the volleyball team. And when he lies to his teammates that he has a girlfriend, somehow you get roped into his scheme to convince them he does. [COMPLETED]

A Genius mess by @mimi-cee-hq (oneshot, fluff)Atsumu insults you, the quietest girl in his class. But as he gets to know you, your few words often leave him blushing.[COMPLETED]

(un)loving miya atsumu✨✨ by alicemitch09(angst, Unrequited love, Jealousy, Happy ending)You were 9 when you first met the Miya twins when you moved to Hyogo. The two boys would eventually turn to be your closest friends, as much as rascals the two can be. you loved one twin more than the other - a love that was more than friendship. Sadly, Atsumu obviously loved your big sister more. Of course he did, she was everything you were not.[COMPLETED]

incomplete song ✓✨ | angst, post break up | one shot | by @tooruluv

Hecklin' ✨by Airomi (fluff, humor) according to your experience, bothering someone so much that they fall in love. [COMPLETED]

Call You Mine [Miya Atsumu X Reader] by tsumusamu(friends to lovers, fluff, angst, mutual pinning)Being in unrequited love with your best friend sucks. It's even worse when the friend you're in love with is Miya Atsumu. [ONGOING]

That's My Girl by wttcsms(oneshot, smut) Atsumu Miya gets jealous.[COMPLETED]

Jealous atsumu ✨ by @etherrreal (oneshot, fluff, comfort)atsumu swears he’s not the jealous type, until the pictures you post with his brother prove him wrong.[COMPLETED]

little changes ✨by kuroopaisen (enemies to friend to lovers, past roommates )Miya Atsumu is the bane of your existence. but, that means different things at different times of your life.[COMPLETED]

Mind Boggling Pt 1, Pt 2✨ by @seokiloquy (soulmate au, fluff, humor)At particular times (Once a year/ certain age/ hours/ or randomly) soulmates swap bodies for some time.[COMPLETED]

“These Words” by @myhaikyuuthings (oneshot, soulmate au, angst)soulmate au your soulmates last words ever said are on your body, they turn red when said, first words ever said to you are on another part of your body, they turn gold when said.[COMPLETED]

with our fates tangled together by @chunhua (oneshot, angst to fluff) soulmates are bound together by a red string.[COMPLETED]

Unexpectedly yours by @love-nishinoya-yu (Soulmate au, oneshot) You have the same tattoos.[COMPLETED]

nice receive✨ by @tsumusamu (oneshot, fluu, humor) eight months into your relationship, atsumu takes you to meet his family. things don’t go as planned, but of course, everything ends up alright in the end anyway. alternatively, miya atsumu adores you and his family thinks it’s easy to see why.[COMPLETED]

I’m Here, So Sleep by @dokifluffs (oneshot, fluff, comfort) Warnings: anxiety towards school and life, overthinking, insomnia. [COMPLETED]

Set the Bar High by BeansNCornbread(enemies to lovers, fluff, smut, angst)A college AU where you work at an off campus bar and when Atsumu finds this out, he never leaves you alone. Classic enemies to lovers storyline with serendipity, snide comments, and a whole lot of sexual tension.[COMPLETED]

you're not the one✨ ✨ by heartcondemned (fake dating, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst) How to make your lifelong crush jealous and like you back? Easy.Fake date one of his friends. [COMPLETED]

So...What do Ya say? by @yourstarvic After finding your fiancé you have been with many years cheating on your best friend. You tried to confront them but they never showed up…So what do you do? You drink at the bar trying to figure out what to do. And who else there to help you if not the good looking stranger you met at the bar? [COMPLETED]

Email Me Why✨ by @yourstarvic(oneshot, fluff, humor)Atsumu needs to come up with the perfect email to go on a date with his captain's little sister. [COMPLETED]

You okay? by @yourstarvic (oneshot, angst) It's your wedding day, atsumu is sad. [COMPLETED]

lazy texter by myhugelove (fluff, humor, online friends to lovers) a short fic in which a schoolmate who is not on his phone much suddenly becomes great at texting when it comes to you. [COMPLETED]

you found me✨ by Amy_stark117(fluff, angst, eventual smut)Miya Atsumu had his life goals set - volleyball, fame, and success. Nothing could stand in his way. You threw all that out the window, simply by sitting next to him in class. [COMPLETED]

7 Reasons by Channelei(mutual pinning, fluff, humor)in which you realize why you fell in love with your hot headed, over-confident, cocky, arrogant asshole of a best friend.[COMPLETED]

then the moment came by @justauthoring (oneshot, soulmate au, loosely based of silent voice) It just never was the right time. Not then, not later, until it suddenly is and everything’s… different.[COMPLETED]

Diligence ✨by kaientai (friends to lovers, childhood friends, requited unrequited love) Diligence requires the courage of a fool who wouldn't think twice before walking into an open flame, and in the span of a few months, your childhood friend Atsumu proved that he truly is one of the biggest fools to date. [COMPLETED]

Forget me,too ✨ by @saintobio (oneshot, angst, hurt/comfort, past lovers) after a series of broken promises and unresolved arguments, perhaps all atsumu needed is to hear you say good bye for one last time.[COMPLETED]

sweetner ✨ by flying_raijin(fake dating, fluff, angst, humor)you're just being petty. Faking a relationship with the first guy in sight after the love of your life dumps you out of nowhere? [COMPLETED]

How He Shows You Affection by @jayeray-hq(oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

He’s My Best Friend by @jayeray-hq(oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

White noise ✨ by 1keshi(childhood friends, friends to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst) you force a therapist to listen to the story of how you fell in love with your childhood friend, because what else are you supposed to do? [COMPLETED]

A Bit Yours ✨by Declaraso (fake dating, enemies to lovers, humor) Atsumu's clumsy with words. You think he's a jerk. But for some reason, you both agreed to go through such a stupid plan.[COMPLETED]

The Breaking Point✨ by melremade(smut, oneshot)They say there’s a thin line between love and hate. When it comes to Miya Atsumu, it might as well be a brick wall topped with barbed wire and surrounded by a minefield. [COMPLETED]

Perfect Union by wttcsms(oneshot, fluff, smut, friends to lovers)[COMPLETED]

Laws of Motion by miyachondria (friends to lovers, slowburn)First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage -- according to every other person.[ONGOING]

(1) One Missed Call by satorini (teetorini)(smut)You work for an anonymous phone sex business on campus, and you would have never guessed that your first client would be the Atsumu Miya—most popular guy on campus who sits three seats ahead of you in calculus. And you're pretty sure he doesn't even know you exist. [ONGOING]

One Day by flying_raijin()When you get asked by Vogue Japan to be the star of their "Day in the life of a Pro Volleyball player" video, you agree because you don't think there's much that could go wrong. Unfortunately, your boyfriend is an absolute menace, and decides to act as such for the whole world to see.[COMPLETED]

FWB by flying_siphonophore(fluff, smut, angst, mutual pinning)What comes after a kiss that shouldn't have happened in the first place?[COMPLETED]

lovestruck, watching over you by strawberricream(fluff, mutual pinning)in your second year of high school, you catch atsumu’s eye. he tries to get to know you when he realizes that it didn’t take much work to open you up. in your third year together in the same class, he realizes that the hard work came from elsewhere.[COMPLETED]

Storm Chaser by sunmoonstarsrain()Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it's impossible to tame a storm.[COMPLETED]

A Second Chance by Gremlin_Lord (Unplanned pregnancy, angst, fluff) Atsumu broke up with you 3 years ago. But fate had other plans and decided to reunite the two together with your kid along. [ONGOING]

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justaaveragereader · 1 year ago

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Slashtober🔪||Jigsaw!Wooyoung

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Dom!Wooyoung, Sex Machine, Restraints, Toys, BDSM, Sub!Reader, Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Control, Voyeurism, Wooyoung Has Cameras In The Readers Home, Masterbating, If I Missed Anything👀….Lemme Know!

Slashtober Masterlist

The second to last to arrive was none other than Jung Wooyoung. The absolute bane of your existence. With the laugh of a hyena, and the mockery of a clown, he was the one person you couldn’t break no matter what. It didn’t matter how many times you greeted him, how nice you were to him, he was just a constant arrogant jerk. You would’ve thought he was in highschool with the way he acted. He was so obnoxious, he knew how to get under your skin and poke at you. He always greeted you with that fake smile, waving his hand wildly so you couldn’t miss him. He reminded you of that one kid in class that you just wanted to hit with a pencil box due to his constant need to piss off not only the teacher but the entire class. Living right next door to you, he went out of his way to irk you. The most irritating part about it? He knew he was hot shit. He was the one person who knew the effect he had on people. His ego was constantly inflated.

“Hey! Hey!” You yelled out, trying your best to get Wooyoungs attention over the loud leaf blower, it was well past 9:30 pm, why he decided to leaf blow so late? One reason, because he’s Jung Wooyoung.

With his headphones over his ears, he danced slightly as he blew the leaves, the street lights being the only form of lighting for him. Deciding you were fed up, you march right over to him. Tapping him on his back, with a slight jump he turns, cutting the leaf blower off. Throwing you his signature smile.

“Why good evening neighbor!”

“Cut the shit Wooyoung, it’s literally night time. Can’t this wait til the morning?!” You semi yell, loud enough so it would annoy him, but low enough to where it wouldn’t awaken any of your neighbors.

“Princess if you wanted to spend some time with me that’s all you had to say.” He says lowering his leaf blower, taking his headphones off, and letting them pool around his veiny neck. Making sure to smile at you through hooded eyes. Ooh he knew what he was doing. Letting a hand run over your face, you let out a groan, clearly annoyed by his antics. Jabbing his chest with your finger you cut your eyes at him..

“Spend time with you my ass. Save the leaf blowing for the a.m. Jung Wooyoung.” Taking your finger off his very firm chest you turn around, marching back to your home. With a stupid grin on his face he calls out your name, you stop half way, turning around to look at him.

“If you want me that’s all you gotta say, Princess!”

Flipping him off you angrily march into your home. Clearly annoyed at his stupid handsome face, that matches horribly with his dumb actions. You decide the best way to blow off some steam is to pull out your hand dandy rose toy. Maybe that was your problem, it had been 3 weeks since Mingi had basically thrown you on display for the neighbors to see. With Wooyoung trotting around at all hours of the night you couldn’t have that slip up, you didn’t want ammo for Wooyoung to use against you.

Throwing the toy on your bed, you make yourself comfortable against your pillows, searching on your phone for some porn to get you in the mood, yet all you can think about is Wooyoung, his eyes, the way his veins bulge from his arm, how his eyes crinkle in the corner when he laughs, how his hands have the perfect amount of bulging veins, the image of his bulging hands choking you makes you drop your phone. Oh no, no, no, you completely want to fuck your annoying neighbor. Letting out a whine you lock your phone, kicking your pants off, letting your panties pool around your ankles. You have one person and one person only on your mind right now. Letting the images run through your head, you are going to make sure you put your rose toy to perfect use. Little did you know while you were bringing yourself to complete bliss, orgasm, after orgasm, you had given your annoying neighbor a front row seat to your pleasure cruise, fueling that blood lust within him, all he wanted to do was play with you.

As your eyes cracked open, you tried to move your arms, the realization of not being able to, takes a minute to load into your brain. As you open your eyes further. You wince at the bright red led lights in the room. Since when did you get these lights in your home? Trying your best to move, bringing your hand up to wipe the sleep out of your eyes, suddenly you are blocked. You are not able to move even your wrist. Eyes shooting open, taking in your full surroundings. You are strapped to a cool table, your warm skin immediately warming the table up, with your wrists tied to each side of you, with your feet up on the table with your ankles being strapped down. You quickly turn your head trying to soak in what is all around you.

“Oh my god. Oh My God!” You slightly yell out, not believing where you are. The red led lights are almost blinding to you. Trying to find any way out, even suddenly a deep voice fills the room.

“Rise and shine Princess.” Voice clearly being distorted, that nickname runs a chill down your spine. Trying to shut your legs, you close your eyes so hard the corners of them crinkle.

“Where the fuck am I?” You semi yell out, trailing off at the end of your sentence due to a door opening, all you see is a pitch black hallway, you can make out a figure of someone standing there. Was this person going to watch you? You see their pearly white teeth in the dark hallway, causing a chill of fear to shoot through you, turning your head away, you try to find something else to focus on.

“You know we always enjoy the show you put on for us.” The disfigured voice says. You can hear a chipper undertone to their tone despite it being distorted.

Your eyes shoot to the figure with its teeth still on display, you can’t see their eyes but you know they are there.

“Wh-what show?” You stutter out, trying to sound as brave as possible. Just when you thought the smile on the figure's face couldn’t grow any bigger. You watch as their eyes trail to the right of your body, a white screen with static comes to, you are shocked by what you see. On four different small screens there you were. One screened showed when you were getting your spine rearranged by Mingi, another screen when you were getting fucked by God knows what in your bedroom, the other when you were getting fucked by the three masked men, and the other when you were playing with your rose toy, silently moaning Wooyoungs name. Heat rises to your neck. You are embarrassed, yet turned on. To see your face in such bliss numerous times. Remembering each way one of them fucked you, remembering the way Woos veins bulged when he was holding the leaf blower. Your eyes continue to grow wide with each movement in the videos. The figure in the hallway soaks you in, watching you feverishly. Drifting his eyes down to your pussy, he watches the way it clenches around nothing, the way your arousal beads, dripping down slowly.

“What a slut.” He mutters out, clearly amused by what he sees. Stepping back, he leaves the door open. Your eyes are still never leaving the screens. It never dawns on you that there are cameras in your home, taken back by the fact that you can see a 4k version of you getting your shit railed by various people. You try your best to shut your legs, trying to get any sense of stimulation on your neglected cunt just as you are getting fed up, the figure walks back in with his head low so you can’t make out his face, you can see bits of his face, his nose is so sharp, you can’t make out much due to the red lights distorting his face. You do catch a beautiful side profile of him. You can see streaks of makeup on him though. Making his way around the table you see his hands rise, he is blind folding you. Trying your best to shimmy out of the restraints, you want to feel whoever is above you, their hands, their hands could choke you and you’d be grateful for it. Keeping your head straight you don’t even try to put up a fight because you know you want this. You wanna see how far this person is going to take you, are they going to bring you past the tipping point like Mingi? Are they going to rough house you like the masked men?

“Such an obedient girl, princess.” Putting the blind fold over your eyes, it was lace, while it disfigured a lot of things in your view, you could still make out certain things. You could see the person above you, hovering over you. You could still see the red lights.

“Such an obedient girl, I might just reward you.” Wooyoung whispers out, voice laced with need yet you can still hear a playful hue to his tone despite it being disfigured. The thought of you being rewarded made your heart beat fast, how would you be rewarded? With the options being endless, you gulp, nodding your head to the person above you.

Stepping away Wooyoung leaves the room, you can hear his steps fade away, your nerves are eating you up. You aren’t sure if he is even going to come back. When you hear a loud boom, like he’s moving heavy equipment. You hear the wheels to something moving at a fast pace down to the room you are in. Craning your neck you try to make out what you see, all you can make out is that the figure is right by your spread legs, hooking something up in the room. Biting your lip you lay back down, trying your best to calm your nerves. While excitement and anxiety can often be mistaken for the same feeling, you know the feeling in your body is something that you need itched.

While you are lost in your mind, you feel something cool brush against your folds. The sudden intrusion makes your body jump slightly. Looking down you squint your eyes behind the blind fold trying to piece together what is sitting below your feet, he leaves the room once more, grabbing more things before he returns. Standing on the side of you, his hard cock by the side of your face he lets out a small groan looking at your body, your breast out with your nipples hardened, your glistening cunt spread open, with your mouth slightly gaping ready for whatever Woo was going to give you.

“Are you always this cock hungry?” The sudden sound of the distorted voice takes you by surprise, making your body slightly jump, you have no shame, it had been weeks since you last saw Mingi and you needed a release, the rose only could do so much.

“Y-Yes.” You whisper out, shivers riddling your body, yet the fire that ignited in your core was fully in a blaze. Letting out a chuckle, Wooyoung presses his hardened cock to the side of your face, your mouth dropping open further. He grabs the side of your face pressing his hard length into your warm cheek. When your ears hear a loud click, a loud moan leaves your throat immediately. You feel something fill your warm cunt. Clicking the remote twice more the speed picks up, the pace going steady. Grabbing your face once more he unzips his pants, pulling his hard cock out.

“Be a good girl and open your mouth.”

Removing your teeth from your lip, the thrusting of the dildo between your legs has your body slightly moving up and down on the table with each thrust. Trying your best to open your mouth as wide as you can so you can take Wooyoungs cock in your mouth. Rubbing the tip around your lips, your tongue hungrily looking for his cock, licking up as much pre cum as you can, you kiss his length before he taps the head of his cock on your tongue. Pulling back he tucks himself back in his pants. Clicking the remote once more. The machine moves faster in and out of you. It dawns on you that he’s not going to actually give you what you want. This is a reward for him, not for you. Pulling away from you, he pockets the remote to the sex machine, stepping back.

He places nipple clamps on your hard nubs, hitting another small remote, sending a small electric current to your nipples making your back arch. You let out the loudest moan yet, the sound not even daring to bounce off of the walls. Grabbing the side of your face he rubs your cheek against his hard length again. Cocking his head back, the heat of your skin, mixing with the sweet sounds you were making, had his cock throb with need. Hitting the remote once again another shock gets sent to your nipples. Your jaw dropping at the feeling. Pulling back your pussy lips, he wedges a vibrator between them, positioning it so it’s right on your clit, testing the remote he hits a button, the vibration startling you, making your legs tense at the feeling. Your mouth drops open once again, taking in this new sensation.

“God, you are such a slut truly. Always so cock hungry. If I had knew you were like this I could’ve fucked you sooner.”

Letting out a small laugh, he pushes away once more, hitting his remote so it shocks your nipples again. As he pulls back you hear the sound of his shoes exiting the room.

“Please, please!” You quickly shout, you aren’t even sure what you are asking for. Maybe it was for a harsher grip on reality? Or maybe it was for permission to cum?

“Keep begging baby, it does something to me everytime.” He groans out, continuing to exit the room. Gripping his cock harshly, right before he exits the room he speaks to you one final time.

“Scream as loud as you want, baby, no one can hear you but me.”

Making his way to his office, with various screens, one watching all the various rooms in your home, the other with views to all the others neighbors homes, and then biggest screen of all the one with your naked body on it, while the sex machine fucks a dildo in and out of you. Hitting the remote the clamps shock your nipples again, your body jolting at the feeling once more. Letting out a loud moan you clench your fists. He teeters you on the edge of an orgasm each time, just as he gets any sign that you are going to cum he cuts it, or changes the pace.

Your body is riddled with sweat, and arousal drips down your ass, the sex machine continuously thrusts a dildo in and out of you, a squelching noise fills your ears each time. Clenching your toes, you feel the vibration of the vibrator between your legs with the timed shocks to your nipples. Your body feels a billion things at once. Just as you think you are about to cum he stops everything all together, giving your body a couple minutes to cool down before he starts having the equipment pick up pace once more.

Taking his cock out of his pants, he spits on his hand, wrapping his hand tightly around his hard cock, giving it two quick pumps, letting out a small moan of his own, he tries to match the pace of the sex machine that’s thrusting in and out of you. He can see your slick covering the piece of rubber, taking him to an even higher feeling he pauses his hand. Not trying to blow his load already, he can hear the sounds of your moaning dancing in his ears. It fills a void in him that he never knew he needed, ever since he moved in you had always been a brat to him so to see you so submissive and so willingly giving yourself to him it sparked the match in him.

Deciding enough was enough, he wanted to reach an orgasm just as bad as you did, constantly bringing himself to the edge just to stop and halt the activities, he cuts on everything at once, at high speed. The sex machine fucking you at a inhumane pace, turning the shock levels up on the nipple clamps, and cutting the vibrator on a high pulse pattern he cuts the microphone on so you can hear him jacking off to you. Biting his lip he lets out a small groan which you completely miss due to your loud screaming. Tears are soaking the lace blindfold, your mouth constantly in an O formation, while your throat feels so dry from all the moaning you’ve been doing.

His hand tightly wrapped around his spit soaked cock, he cuts the microphone back on, you can hear the sounds of him stroking himself once more. A tingling sensation spreads out through your body, whoever this was, was enjoying himself just as much as you had been.

“You can count how many restraints are holding down your body. Every time you cum, that’ll be one restraint I remove from your body.”

Letting out a loud moan, you bite your lip trying your best to focus on an orgasm before he slows down the machine once more, sending a slight shock to your nipples. Your body is dripping with sweat now, the cool room is now heated.

“Ho-How am I su-supposed to cum, wh-when you keep teasing m-me.” You huff out.

Letting a sadistic smile grace his face, you can still hear the wet noises of him pumping his cock.

“We are playing my game, princess.”

Your legs shook, as they are held up and open, you couldn’t help but let out a loud groan, toes continuously curling. The warm air in the room hitting your warm dripping cunt, as the sex machine slid the dildo rapidly in and out of you. The leg restraints from the table made it impossible to close your legs. As your body writhed in pleasure, Wooyoung sat behind the large screen watching you be denied of an orgasm over and over again. The sheer look of pleasure and desperation coursing through your body was enough to bring him to his own pleasure.

You blink yourself awake, in your own bed. Looking around your…. bedroom? Sitting up slowly, you blink the sleep out of your eyes. Was it all a dream? Were you truly losing your mind? Gathering yourself you slowly rise out of bed, wincing at the aching between your legs, your limbs feel so sore. Rolling your shoulder out, you make your way to the bathroom, getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. Cutting the sink on you splash some water in your face trying to gather your thoughts, trying to gather yourself. You bend down to splash more water when you see a piece of paper taped to the wall behind you. Turning around quickly you peek your head out of the bathroom, trying to see if someone besides you was there.

Quickly snatching the paper down, you open the inside of it, written in red ink you read out loud…

“How about we play another game soon?”

Tossing the paper on the floor, you quickly look around your home, trying to find if there is any sign of anyone else here. As you walk in a disarray of panic, trying to find who or what put that paper in your home. Wooyoung watches you with a huge smile on his face. Your state of panic makes him giggle. Cutting the screen to different angles of you in your own home freaking out, he walks out of the room grabbing his leaf blower, making his way towards his lawn. You are still running around filled with worry. As you hear the annoying sound of Wooyoungs leaf blower. Quickly making a beeline for outside. Bare foot, completely in your pajamas you run straight into Wooyoung, catching him “off guard” cutting his leaf blower off, his eyes take in your frightened state you are out of breath trying to explain to Wooyoung what happened in your home.

“And, and this paper Woo! It came out of nowhere! I swear Woo you gotta believe me, it wasn’t there when I walked into the bathroom. Please, please believe me.”

The sound of you begging makes his body do a slight shiver, biting his lip and nodding his head listening closely to you. Putting his hands on your shoulders, you feel your body heat up, his hands on your body feels so familiar, looking up at him with tears in your eyes.

“How about I go see this paper and scope out your home to see if anyone is in there. Does that sound okay?”

As he finishes his sentence out of his peripheral vision he sees the window to your bedroom slide open, he knows it’s Hongjoong making his way out of your home with the paper. Nodding your head just as you are about to turn around,Wooyoung grabs you back trying to buy Hongjoong more time to make his way down from your window. Shrugging off his long sleeve button up he pulls it over your shoulders. Pulling it tightly around you.

“You are out here in your pajamas, no socks, and no shoes, despite our Tom and Jerry feud I don’t want you to get cold.

Just then it dawns on you that you are in your pajamas, the cool breeze nips at your skin. Pulling his long sleeve closer you nod, smiling at him, you both turn around and make your way towards your home. Letting you walk in first, Wooyoung insists on wiping his feet saying he will be with you in a second.

“What the fuck took you so long?” Wooyoungs whisper yells at Hongjoong.

“Oh fuck off, like you could’ve did any better.” He whispers harshly to Woo. Rolling his eyes, he and Hongjoong start to bicker, when your voice calls out to Wooyoung, he can hear your footsteps coming close to him.

“S-Sorry! These pesky bugs! Didn’t want any coming into your home.” Wooyoung says loudly, loud enough so Hongjoong can hear, letting out an annoyed huff. Hongjoong begins to make his way back to his home.

Walking behind you, before Wooyoung closes the door, he flips off Hongjoong.

“Alright Princess, where do you want me to look first?” His deep voice rings out, a smile sketched on his face. Your body shivers at the way he calls you princess, like you’ve heard it before.

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usermischief · 2 months ago

Text

♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale ♚ Tags: canon divergence, getting together ♚ Words: 2883

ao3

---

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

---

Click.

Cursing softly under his breath, Stiles flicks the light switch up again. Down. Up. Down. Up. “Fucking hell.” Stiles massages the bridge of his nose. His stupid light. Everything else – even exorcising this damned place – worked out beautifully. Which is a miracle. Thanks to the residual demon, who infested this place after the previous owners fucked around – and found out – with a Ouija board in the late 50s, this house has been in a nightmarish state. Every inch of this place was a deathtrap. Rotten wood. Broken stairs. A ceiling, roof and second floor so unstable, a gust of wind could cause everything to collapse in a heartbeat.

Stiles spent more than one night in a tent in front of the house.

A bark cuts through the silence of the house, startling him out of his thoughts. Drawing his brows together, he looks past the stubborn ceiling light to the second-floor landing. The puppy he’s found under the house, white fur crusted with dirt and blood – aptly named Bobak, Bo for short – and who has refused to leave Stiles’ side ever since he fed him for the first time, is staring at him almost expectantly. Although some dog owners most likely won’t be happy about his lifestyle – flipping and clearing out haunted houses and constantly moving around – Stiles refuses to give Bobak away. Bo might not be the cuddliest or most social of dogs, he still makes Stiles’ life less, much less, lonely.

Bo barks again.

Stiles quirks a brow. “What? It’s not dinner time yet.”

Wagging his tail, Bo bounds down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last two steps. He catches himself, jumps up the front door once before all but flying around Stiles’ legs then, finally, making a mad dash out of the backdoor and into the yard. There, he keeps zooming around, causing colored leaves to fly into the air, and barking his adorable little head off, too big ears fluttering in the wind. He’s going to miss Bo’s floppy ears once he’s grown into them.

Before Stiles can follow him, there’s a knock on the door. He glances up at the clock, narrowing his eyes once more as it passes the current bane of existence – maybe he should just get an electrician this once – and turns to the front door. It’s not late, per se, but darkness is setting in, and people are still keeping their distance to this place. So, he isn’t usually expecting anyone to swing by, even less since his closest neighbor lives around a mile away, but the person he never imagined to come over is Derek Hale.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles swings the door open.

“Hey.” Derek’s smile seems strained. To be honest, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else – not unlike the first time they met at the only diner in town. Well, met might be stretching it. That day, Derek couldn’t finish his lunch fast enough, even Sally was surprised by his precipitate behavior. So much so, she commented on it while serving Stiles his food.

He had chalked it up to Derek sensing something about him the same way Stiles clocked him as a werewolf the second he laid eyes on him – aside from noticing that the guy is a walking and talking Calvin Klein advertisement. Instead of avoiding him, however, Derek kept showing up all over the place. It seemed accidental, but Stiles has dealt with enough supernatural creatures and grew up with a sheriff that he can recognize stalking behavior when he sees it.

Derek’s never been lurking around here, though.

Well, not until today, that is.

And Stiles’ heart is having a field day with it, which is rather unfortunate with Derek’s supernatural hearing and all.

Stiles manages to clear his throat about thirty seconds into the terribly awkward silence. “Hey.” He sounds like an idiot. He feels like one too. “Can I- do you-” Bo interrupts him with a slew of excited barks, zooming through the hallway and back out again, sending more leaves flying around; it gives Stiles a few seconds to gather himself. “You wanna come in?”

“I bought dinner,” Derek says at the same time.

They both stare at each other, and the silence makes Stiles’ neck grow uncomfortably warm.

Luckily, Derek cuts it short. “I’d love to.”

Stiles steps aside and gestures for Derek to come in. This is happening. He’s not entirely sure how or why, but it is, and Stiles is not about to complain. The last time a hot guy walked into his home was – when? Stiles doesn’t really remember. Which is sad, honestly. Sure, he’s been aware that both his social and love life have sailed off a cliff once he started dictating his life to ghost and demon hunting, but now, watching Derek stroll into his kitchen, he realized for the first time how bad it’s really gotten in the past four years.

“Looks good,” Derek remarks, almost curious in the way he’s taking everything in. “You did an excellent job keeping the old charm alive.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles leans against the large doorway leading to the kitchen. “You’ve been here before?”

Derek shrugs as he puts the bag with the takeout on the dinner table. “Teenagers and haunted houses.”

“Werewolves too?”

If Derek is surprised that Stiles knows, he doesn’t show it. Instead, an almost cheeky grin curls around his lips. “Werewolves especially.”

Stiles snorts and crosses the room. “I expected you to be smarter.” He glances at Derek, smirking briefly, and steps in front of the only cupboard he uses. The good thing about moving around so much is that he never collects any clutter. As a teen and college student, things looked very different. Two boxes, a couple of suitcases and his backpack fit into Roscoe anyway. Now that Bo is traveling with him, he’s got to figure out the new logistics.

“How’d you do it?” Derek asks as he takes the two plates from him.

Their fingers brush, either on purpose or entirely accidental. Stiles doesn’t know, but the touch sends a tingle through his whole body. A good tingle, great even, and Stiles hates to realize how touch starved he really is.

Stiles opens the fridge, scowling a little as he’s greeted with emptiness. He really needs to go grocery shopping. “Very carefully,” he replies and grabs two bottles of beer. “And lots of research." Once he's figured out where to look, finding pictures of old houses isn’t that much of a struggle. Often, he meets the previous owners, who either think he’s suicidal or are very happy to help.

Derek watches him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “The demon or the house flipping?”

“Ah.” Stiles sets the bottles on the table and leans against the edge. “That’s why you’re here.”

Derek merely watches him, eyebrows climbing higher as his expression turns more and more expectant. An alpha after all. He’s probably used to people jumping at his command.

It might be fun to let him stew for a little longer. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“I just did.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh, “I meant ask me about why those werewolf senses are tingling whenever you’re around me.” He cocks his head to the side and decides to put himself out there, for once, “unless, of course, there are other reasons for that.” He’s got Derek in his house already and considering that he leaves as soon as it is sold, there’s no harm done, no awkward darting around each other needed in case he’s rejected. Two months tops, and he’s out of this town, where everyone knows everybody, and nothing ever stays secret.

Derek’s lips twitch.

Good. So, Stiles didn’t exactly imagine the lingering looks whenever they, clearly not entirely accidentally, ran into each other absolutely everywhere. In a town with less than 100 people, it’s impossible to hide anyway.

“Tingling?” Derek echoes, more amused than in disbelief.

Stiles lets his head fall back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Derek’s gaze drops to his neck then back up again. “You’re a poor conversationalist.”

“And you’re dodging the question.”

Stiles clicks his tongue, rolling his head to the left to look at the werewolf again. “Geez, D, you can’t just ask people why they’re making you feel weird.”

A flicker of annoyance dances over his features, either at the nickname or his refusal to give him the desired reply. Still, Derek props his hands on the table and leans closer, one eyebrow raised. “I can if I consider them a danger to my pack and territory.”

Fair point.

However, “I literally exorcised this fucking demon.” Although nobody has died in this house in almost a decade, Stiles considers it future deaths prevented.

Derek taps a finger against the table, allows red to bleed into his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushes away from the table and faces the werewolf, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. Although Derek didn’t outright threaten him, Stiles is fully aware that this evening could easily turn into his last if the big bad alpha considers him too dangerous, which would very much be the exact opposite of how he’d prefer this evening to go. He sighs. “I was possessed by a nogitsune when I was sixteen.” Stiles doesn't miss as Derek’s expression return to stoic, listening, waiting. He sees the way his shoulders tense, the way something in his eyes shift, ever so slightly. The moment of truth, always and forever. "It did some weird shit with my body, cracked my mind like an egg, hence the whole-” he waves his hand around. “Thought I could do something good if I can pierce the veil, you know?” It makes him feel less guilty about the shit the nogitsune did while using his body like a meatsuit.

But that’s something nobody else needs to know about.

Derek straightens.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Stiles chuckles, playing pretend. Dealing with demons is one thing. They’re very capable of murder, more so than ghosts, but depending on their strength and rank, they need time – time to get into your head, time to fuck with you. They have to chip away their target’s defenses. Knowing and being prepared for a demon makes dealing with them a lot easier. Plus, if he’s learned anything from his own possession, it’s how to keep things out of his mind. Werewolves are a different beast entirely. If they want someone dead, all they have to do is pin them down and rip their throat out.

Derek pushes away from the table and all but stalks closer to him, narrowing the small distance the table offers. “Of course, I could.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. It’s one of the few things Stiles could repair from the old furniture, so, luckily, Derek keeps his claws in check.

Stiles swallows drily and rips his gaze away from Derek’s hand, locking eyes with him again. “Awfully confident there, buddy.”

His words are met with a near predatory glint in the hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes, at that. Easy to get lost in.

Focus.

“You don’t scare me.”

Derek stops directly in front of him. They’re nearly chest to chest, and although Derek isn’t necessarily taller than him, Stiles feels weirdly small. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way he is holding himself, the way he is looking at him – as if Stiles is a rabbit cornered by the big bad wolf. Red bleeding into his eyes accentuates the whole predator predicament.

Fucking werewolves, seriously.

“Cute,” Stiles comments anyway, uncrossing his arms and straightening his shoulders and spine. “Still not scared, though.” They’re probably both aware that’s not entirely true, but he’s never been someone to back down from a challenge. “You gotta do more than creeping around in the bushes and stare at me with your alpha eyes.” Especially since the latter is actually pretty damn hot, which isn’t exactly helping the situation.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Derek informs him in a casual yet amused tone.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, big guy.”

Derek chuckles, letting his head fall forward as he does so – and Stiles can’t help but watch his mouth move. It’s fascinating. Every time he’s seen Derek, the guy has been scowling. Stiles didn’t think he could chuckle, much less laugh.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Beautiful even.

His heartbeat picks up when Derek locks eyes with him again. “You’re not very attentive.”

“Oh, really?” Now, that is just plain rude and so uncalled for. “How do you think I’m finding these demons? By paying very close attention to details. So, I am attentive. I’m actually the most at-”

Derek kisses him. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. He just does, and his lips are so soft and warm, their touch makes Stiles’ stomach twist with anticipation. Derek moves his hands and cradles his cheeks, thumb tracing a slow, ever so gentle line along his skin. All of Derek’s hard edges are replaced by something tender and raw.

Stiles’ heart stutters in his too tight chest, and his mind blanks, every single thought swept away by the warm lips pressed to his own. He melts against Derek, pressing closer as he curls his fingers around Derek’s bicep and his eyes flutter shut. A soft, almost helpless sound escapes his throat as a warmth floods through him, followed by a kind of ache Stiles doesn’t quite have a name for. They both settle deep inside of him, spreading into every part of his body. His entire body lights up with a want he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, a need for closeness more than just desire.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles moves with him, desperate to hold onto the kiss just a little bit longer.

Derek regards it with a soft chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips.

The sound alone makes Stiles wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t, clears his throat instead. No words come, which in itself is quite the curiosity, and Stiles is almost relieved at the sound of paws hitting the wood. Here to interrupt any possibility of an awkward silence. Stiles glances over his shoulder, watches as Bo enters the room and sniffs the air. It’s probably best to be upfront.

Once more, he clears his throat. “I’m not staying.” He crouches down and can’t help but smile when Bo bumps his head against his leg, demanding attention. “At least not forever. Until the house is sold, and I found the next… target, I guess.” He runs his fingers through Bo’s soft fur as he tries to ignore the way his heart aches at the thought of leaving.

For the first time in years.

Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t know Derek; not how he is as a person, that is. He only knows superficial stuff. What happened to his family, that he’s a werewolf and that he owns the only garage in town, and that he doesn’t need to crawl under cars or get car grime and oil all over himself because he’s loaded. So, he’s either doing it for fun or for the people living in this town… or both. Derek seems to be a good person, but so is Stiles, and Stiles won’t lie — he’s not only a handful, he’s also not particularly nice. Many people called him an asshole. They’re not entirely wrong.

“I’m not asking you to stay,” Derek says as he slides onto the chair at the head of the table, very clearly indicating that he’s not planning on leaving soon. “But maybe I can convince you to come back.”

Stiles blinks up at him, scratching Bo behind his ears. “You don’t know me.”

“Yet,” Derek adds and looks down at him with a smile.

This fucking guy is going to give him a heart attack before Stiles has figured out his favorite color. Aside from that, it dawns on Stiles that he may have misjudged the guy. “So, you stalked me because you like me.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turn the slightest shade of pink. Adorable. “I never stalked you.”

Bo barks.

“He says you’re a liar.” Stiles raises to stand and pulls a chair out. “I think you followed me around, but didn’t know how to approach me.” Smirking, he sits down as Bo uses his chance to curl up under his chair.

Instead of replying, Derek opens the bag of takeout and pulls out only the best of Sally’s diner. His ears turn just a shade darker.

Stiles props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on his lips. He totally could get used to this.

#sterek #eternalsterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:sterek #I'm still fighting my writer's block #like a mad woman #it's getting better #but fucking hell #writing is still so hard 😭

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juqtier · 1 year ago

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☆◞: IM ALWAYS JUST A DOOR AWAY ✧ SPENCER REID

SPENCER REID X FEM READER

SUMMARY: when you moved in to your new apartment, you never imagined your neighbor, spencer reid, would be such a nightmare. he wasn’t your favorite guy. in fact, you hated him. unfortunately for you, you can never seem to escape him. the universe clearly has other plans for you two.

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption in some chapters, angsty, arguing, spencer is kind of (definitely) an asshole, kissing, cursing, somewhat darker plot points as story progresses (this is my first ever full story fanfic! so it might be bad…) this will also be 10 parts so yayyy

GENRE: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

⋆·˚ ༘ *

chapter 1 : a nightmare..

✎Was it even possible to hate someone so much that even the thought of them made your blood boil?

You never thought that was even possible. You were always trying to see the best in people, even if they were rude to you. That all changed when you moved next door to Spencer Reid.

Spencer Reid

The bane of your existence.

You had moved into your first apartment alone, with the help of your parents loaning some money and your waitressing job, when you had the unpleasant experience of meeting him.

God, he was so stuck up and pretentious. Getting to know him might have been your biggest regret.

The first day you met him, he immediately gave you an attitude.

You weren’t all that familiar with this area, so you took it upon yourself to try and make friends with the neighbors.

As you walk up to the door and knock, you become excited at the potential of a new friendship.

Behind the door, you can hear a quiet, muffled voice and some shuffling before it’s opened to reveal a rather tall man looking down at you.

“Yes?” He sounded a bit annoyed, yet you continued your introduction.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor! My name is-“

“Cool, I’m really busy, and if it isn’t important, don’t bother me.” The man quickly shuts the door.

You were so puzzled and quite upset.

Who just shuts the door on someone’s face like that?

-‘๑’-

However, after some time, you forgave it. Everyone has bad days; everyone is very busy at some point. Maybe he was just overwhelmed, right?

That was until you saw him again, in the parking lot of the apartments.

You found out his name was Spencer Reid from some other neighbors. This only made you more interested in getting to know him, or at least being civil with each other.

You were getting out of your car after returning home from work when you saw him coming down the stairs to the parking lot. Trying to be friendly, you waved and smiled.

“Hello!” Your expression was bright and kind, as always. Something Spencer never seemed to return. He visibly rolled his eyes at you, rushing to his car.

Did I do something wrong? Did I say something to offend him? Do I have something stuck in my teeth

Your thoughts ran wild, doubting every interaction you have had with anyone before. Were you just annoying? You barely had a conversation with the man; how could he find you annoying?

Maybe he just sucked?

-‘๑’-

For months, your interactions were the same. You’d attempt to be friendly, and he’d quickly (and quite rudely) shut you down. You had convinced yourself he was just a busy man until you were proven right. He just sucked.

Friday, 10:49 pm

Music played throughout your living room as you unwinded on your couch. The weekend had just begun, so you decided to finally relax. Work had been extra shitty today, and you felt you deserved a break. You sat on your couch, reading a book, as your favorite songs played when you heard a knock at the door.

Who could be knocking so late?

Placing your book down and quickly turning the music off, you rush to answer the door.

As it opened, you'd never been more confused to see Spencer Reid standing in front of you.

“Uh, hi? Is something wro-”

“Can you turn the music down?” He seemingly snaps, not even letting you finish your sentence.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to have it so lo-”

“If you’re going to blare your music, you shouldn’t have such terrible taste.”

You were taken aback. You were used to the interruptions, the eye rolling, even being completely ignored. But now, he was just being plain rude.

“What? I said I’m sorry.. What’s your problem?”

You were almost about to snap at him. It took all of your power to not rip into him, calling him every name you could think of.

“My problem? My problem is that ever since you moved here, I can’t get even a moment of peace. Some people have jobs and commitments.”

What the actual fuck?

“Holy shit, Spencer. I’ve done nothing to you, but all you’ve done is be an asshole to me!”

Your anger and frustration seemed to boil over in that exact moment, not caring if you hurt his feelings anymore.

“Actu-”

“No, let me talk for once. I don’t know where you work or what you do to make you think you are so morally superior to me, but fuck. You are so fucking mean.“

He seemed shocked at the sudden outburst, as you only ever showed him your bright and bubbly side. His eyes widened slightly, not expecting the blow-up.

“You don’t get to talk down to me because you’re in a pissy mood. So leave me the fuck alone.”

With that, you slam your door in his face and quickly turn around. Your fists clench as you storm to your room and flop onto your bed, letting out a groan of frustration.

God, he was a nightmare.

-‘๑’-

PT 2

a.n : sorry if this sucks or is boring! i’ve never wrote a story like this before but i hope it’s okay!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #juqtier writes… 🐈#cm imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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committingwarcr1mes · 1 month ago

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there are a lot of things in arcane finale that i don't understand, find stupid, ridiculous and simply strange, but the biggest one is z&p conflict and how it was absolutely easily and indifferently hushed up. like you bent this line during whole season 1, the act 1 of season 2 was a peak of it, it was amazing and, which is more important, realistic. piltover exploited, suppressed and baned zaun for like all the time, they have a conflict running through generations and it cannot be that easily resolved. ok maybe z&p united against noxus might be realistically and reasonably, but even after that they could never just forgive each other and forget everything that was going for all those many many many years. no need to talk about zaun, i just don't get why they that readily get away with every crime committed against them, the generations of terror and murder. for piltover it is also kinda strange, like they all are raised with idea of zaun being inferior and second-rate and people here are filthy, despicable and evil by nature, and i'm sure that at least some part of them is convinced that helping them is zaun's sacred duty. they cannot pass all these preconceptions in a day, not even in a year, not even in a century. like it's a massive peace of their society, mentality, history, and one battle cannot erase all of it.

what makes me angry even more, is that piltover looks like the one who's the savior there. i just know very well how it is when your culture and language are being erased, when someone always tries to rewrite your history and simply blur you out as an independent nation. the lands of your country are used as a battlefield for centuries, their conflict becomes your conflict, no matter if you want it or need it or not, because you're always under their oppression, and after THEY are the winners, THEY are the injured party, them them them it's always about THEM. they perceive you as some kind of subhumans, appendage to their territory, they come to your country, behave disgustingly, make fun of your native language, of how people here are interacting, etc. i get it, i live in a small dependent country that for last 3 years is under permanent threat of war, because the neighboring country continues to interfere with our politics even after we finally separated from them. so it is absolutely unfair to zaun that piltover seizes laurels again, because, as it was shown, PILTOVER covered the evacuated people, PILTOVER armed them, PILTOVER led the operation. and after that they got the forgiveness they don't deserve AT ALL, because they are guilty of all zaun's suffering and destitution and because they are the one who LET NOXUS IN

piltover is the source of all evil and it deserved to burn to the ground, period. actually i'd rather see both piltover and zaun get destroyed, but not this bullshit, no, absolutely no. piltover doesn't deserve any chance for forgiveness and condescension, and certainly not because they put the end of the war they started by themselves

you just cannot imagine how much i hate piltover and after this stupid finale especially

#piltover and zaun #fuck piltover #arcane zaun #arcane critical #arcane season 2 #arcane finale #jinx arcane #vi arcane #caitlyn arcane #arcane

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hlficlibrary · 1 year ago

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HL Fic Library 🩷 Non-Traditional Omegaverse Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

💜 War Of Hearts by BoosBabycakes / @boosbabycakes28 {E, 80k}

They are the bane of each other's existence, they never pass off an opportunity to remind the other of how annoying they are. Who would have thought that polar opposites could compliment each other so well?

A story about two boys, one looking for patience and trying to be strong enough to stand up for himself, and one struggling with self-discovery and strength, where facts, reality and becomings hit him in the face, and suddenly, everything that's ever been important to him is in play.

💜 What I Have With You (I don't want with anyone else) by @lululawrence {NR, 73k}

Louis smiled. “I’m sorry for how I ran away last night.”

“It’s totally fine. I’m sorry I did all that. I never asked if you were okay with it, and I really should have.”

Louis didn’t know how to respond to that. “I mean, I wasn’t really telling you no before that. How were you to know I’d be fine and then… not.”

“Well, if I had asked you first like I should have, then I would have known your boundaries.”

“How can you know my boundaries when even I don’t?” Louis scoffed. “Shit.”

Louis hadn’t meant to say that much to Harry. It’s not like he was embarrassed by who he was, but he still didn’t really talk about it openly either.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Louis shook his head and kept his eyes trained on Harry’s chest. The shirt was old enough he could see the ghost of Harry’s tattoos through it.

“It’s a long and complicated story that is also very boring, so I don’t think you actually want the answer.”

Or Louis is an asexual alpha, Harry is his aromantic alpha friend and possible roommate, and faking a relationship might be exactly what they need to get their families and friends off their backs.

💜 Little by Little by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {E, 65k}

Harry Styles is an omega who works at the London Planetarium, has lived in the same flat for ages, and is happy enough on his own. When he gets home from his first (horrible) attempt at dating in years, a new pregnant neighbor knocks on his door after smelling his cooking. He and Louis quickly become close, but their friendship gets complicated when Harry begins questioning who he is and what he likes.

Or Harry discovers figuring out who you are is more complicated than a potato metaphor.

💜 Take Me Down Slow (Don't Let Me Go) by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 26k}

Louis has always felt different. Not necessarily on the outer realm of societal norms, but pretty damn close to the edge. As an Omega, he’s supposed to want certain things; to want to raise a family, to want to build a life with a partner, and to want that partner to be an Alpha.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

OR the one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything.

💜 Iron Hearts, Fire Souls by hopelesswriter / @getmesometacos {E, 26k}

"Lou..."

“I know, Harry! I know what you’ll say, we can’t right? We can’t help each other’s needs? We can’t be what the other needs? But fuck, what about what we want?! And I say we because you’ve been saying yes to all of our dates and you've been flirting back all this time and-“ He took a deep breath. “And there is nothing that I want more right now than to kiss you.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are two single and unmated Lawyer Alphas that have to share an office and even though they shouldn't be that attracted to each other's scents, it sure isn't a big deal, right? I mean, what could go wrong?

💜 No Easy Love (Could Make Me Feel This Way) by @allwaswell16 {E, 17k}

There’s never been anyone for Harry but Louis. He had always thought their love would last forever, despite society’s pressures on an alpha/alpha relationship. When Louis breaks up with him and moves to Chicago, he’s suddenly left behind to pick up the pieces of the life they once shared. Instead of moving on, he finds reasons to keep Louis in his life and in the process begins to piece together what went wrong.

Or an Alpha Louis/Alpha Harry au where they get a second chance to make things right with the love of their life.

💜 I'll Call You Mine by @kenniewen {T, 13k}

"Harry isn’t superstitious, doesn’t knock on wood, or wish on shooting stars, but his position on ‘love at first sight’ becomes increasingly wishy-washy as his mind begins to comprehend blue, blue, blue. He feels his heart constrict and tongue go dry. The man before him is the most beautiful omega he has ever seen in his entire life."

Or: A self indulgent Omega/Omega fic with a teacher/single parent of favorite student trope.

💜 Woke Up Feeling Knotty by @jaerie {E, 7k}

Beta Louis has a kink for knotting and the secret aesthetic porn blog he runs about it is more than proof. When he accidentally finds out his alpha best friend Harry is one of his biggest fans, he knows he has to come clean after everything that has already happened between them. Harry just might be willing to help him out anyway.

💜 All at once, this is enough by @lunarheslwt {G, 7k}

“Could you help me…to make a nest?” His question was whisper soft, not daring to look at Louis’ face as he asked. For a few seconds, nothing but silence ensued. And then- “You want me to help you make your nest?” Harry’s blush deepened as he meekly affirmed, “yes.” The lack of response straightaway from Louis, and the way he had questioned the request, had Harry’s stomach churning uneasily. Why did he ask that? You don’t ask your friends to build you nests, what the fuck Harry. Louis must think him to be such a twit- “I’ll help.”

Or, Harry, overcome with burn out, wants to nest but he has never nested before, doesn’t know how to. Louis, his best friend, is only happy to help him make a nest and be there for him. Along the way, they find something more.

💜 Milk & Honey by @kingsofeverything {E, 7k}

Breastfeeding twins is no easy task, so Harry joins the local M.O.M.M. (Male Omegas Make Milk) support group.

💜 Where I'm Meant To Be by Halos_Boat / @halohamilton {E, 6k}

Harry and Louis have been sleeping together casually for a while. As two Alphas they never wanted to define it as anything more.

When Louis helps Harry out with his rut so he can get it done in time for his exam, they're forced to face feelings they were habouring for a while.

💜 Sweet Dreams That Leave All Worries Behind You by @tommokat {T, 5k}

Harry’s getting his in ears secured and watching while Zayn and Louis mess with Liam’s microphone when the idea hits him. He slept perfectly last night; there was no chance for feelings of loneliness to creep in while he was wrapped up in Louis’ arms and scent and sheets. Which means if he can continue to—yes, this is perfect. Harry grins to himself and starts on his plan for tonight.

💜 Chew You Up Like Candy by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 {E, 4k}

As it turns out, the internet can also be used to find people that like the same things as you. However unusual they may be. Or in Harry’s case, the things he thinks he might want to try.

Which is how Harry has now found himself laying on his back, fully naked, and strapped down to a bench. With an intimidating looking fucking machine positioned right between his spread legs.

And completely at the mercy of the prettiest Alpha Harry’s ever seen.

So really, this is all the internet’s fault.

(Or the one where Alpha Harry falls down a Reddit hole, that leads him to discover a few new kinks he never knew he had. It also leads him to Louis, an Alpha unlike any other Harry’s ever met. Louis’ more than happy to help Harry explore his new interests).

💜 And I Want More by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes {E, 3k}

Hearing Harry talk about knotting dildos makes Louis’ cock twitch. And fuck did it get hotter in here? Wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand he pulls Harry’s drawer to retrieve said dildo. It’s pink and glittery and honestly, Louis would expect nothing less from his best friend. A dazed smile forms on Harry’s face as soon as he wraps his fingers around it.

“Alright well, I should leave you to it. I’ll hang around on campus until your heat passes,” Louis informs Harry.

Harry’s eyes are open now, but they’re not looking at Louis, instead, they’re focused somewhere further south. He follows his gaze and immediately blushes when he notices what has caught his best friend’s attention. Louis’ erection is tenting in his sweatpants, a wet spot of precome darkening the fabric of his pants.

“Oh fuck.” It’s all making more sense now. All the heat he’s been feeling, the sweat. Louis is going through heat too.

💜 when we're finished saying nothing by @disgruntledkittenface {M, 3k}

Louis has barely woken up when she realizes that Harry is still mad from the night before. The silent treatment that Harry prefers when she’s like this isn’t going to achieve anything, so Louis gets up to apologize only to find out there’s more going on with her mate than she thought. That’s when her instincts take over.

An alpha/alpha AU inspired by Written All Over Your Face.

💜 dark rings of white noise by unwept / @peachade {M, 3k}

A culmination of emotions rise in him, he is a solar flare bubbling with indignation and shame and desire, three heavy emotions clashing together, threatening to explode in him and make a mess of his insides, ruin him and call the aftermath as art when he is more aftermath than art.

💜 Change of Plans by @haztobegood {G, 2k}

Harry and Louis plan to visit their families over Christmas. Sometimes, plans don't work out.

💜 When you're good to mama (he surprises you) by @sadaveniren {E, 2k}

“I hate your dick,” Harry sniffed.

“I know, baby.”

“Fucking magic beta dicks. Should have mated a damn alpha.”

aka Harry's pregnant with his sixth kid

💜 we don't fight fair by @hellolovers13 {E, 2k}

“What, you think I'll just roll over for you now?”

The smirk on Louis’ face was almost devilish. “Yes,” He breathed against Harry’s lips, cocky and sure, like it was a fact of life.

It sent all kinds of shivers through Harry. God, but he wanted to. Wanted Louis to have him right against this wall, let everyone see how he fell apart under him.

But not tonight.

Harry fixed his posture, standing up straighter and trying to get himself under control. “I don't think so, omega.”

Or: Nothing like a little chase to start off Louis' heat.

💜 Hanging Around by @homosociallyyours {G, 1k}

As a gay alpha loving alpha, Harry spent a lot of his life expecting to be single forever. Meeting Louis changed that, and after moving in together Harry realizes that he has the urge to nest. It's not a typical thing for an alpha to do, but Harry has never thought of himself as typical. Then again, neither is Louis.

💜 I got me an appetite, now I can taste it by @enchantedlandcoffee {E, 1k}

"Haz, are you sure about this? I don't want to hurt you, love." Louis asked, hovering over Harry's chest.

"Lou..." The omega whined, bringing his hands to the alpha's butt in an attempt to bring him closer. "You won't hurt me."

"Are you sure?" Louis asked again, staying rooted in his position until he was sure he wouldn't hurt the omega.

"I'm sure," Harry whined, moving his hands to the top of Louis' thighs. "How about this? If I'm uncomfortable in any way, I'll tap you twice, like this, okay?" The omega demonstrated the movement for Louis, tapping twice on the alpha's upper thigh.

OR Louis and Harry try something new in the bedroom.

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lawsofchaos1 · 11 months ago

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Malec Promptlet: Royal AU

Asmodeus is the High King of Edom, a brutal and immoral overlord.

Edom conquered Idris two years ago after a long and protracted war, ended by the public execution of the King and Queen, Robert and Maryse Lightwood.

Alexander Lightwood, the Crown Prince and High General, is spared by Asmodeus, but only with the intention of having him serve as a living symbol of Idris' defeat by becoming the personal servant of Edom's own Crown Prince, Magnus Bane.

Prior to the war's end, Alec was able to send his siblings to safety in a neutral country across the sea, DuMort, even though he had to all but beg his sister and his shield-brother, Jace, to go. Alec had known that they were losing, the magic of Edom too powerful to fight much longer, and he'd played every emotional trick he could to make sure Jace and Izzy left their country and him behind. Max would need both of them with him to survive as a legitimate blood heir of a fallen kingdom.

Alec hadn't expected to survive himself.

But, when Asmodeus demands he bend the knee in the same room as his parent's bodies, Alec understands the trade at hand - his dignity for his remaining people's survival.

It's an easy decision for Alec to make.

The journey from Idris to Edom is hard, but Alec holds fast and eventually they make it to Edom's capital and he is thrown to the mercy of the Crown Prince's household. Every so often Asmodeus trots Alec out for some public humiliation, to prove Edom's superiority in front of visiting rulers wondering whether to take the offered treaty terms or risk negotiation, but for the most part everything is ... fine.

Magnus, as it turns out, is a kind master and Alec has no complaints.

As the seasons turn and begin to repeat, Magnus and Alec grow to be friends, confidantes even, though Alec is never truly able to forget the precariousness of his situation. Magnus desperately wants to be more, but he also knows that Alec doesn't have the power to say no, so he contents himself as they are.

Magnus dreams of Alec being confident enough in their firm friendship and trust to perhaps want to be together as well, dreams even more secretly of the two of them ruling one day together as fully equal partners.

(Alec refuses to admit, even to himself, that he often dreams of similar tidings.)

One night, however, Asmodeus calls Alec to serve him in his private rooms with a group of counselors and visiting officials from their southern neighbor. Magnus sadly watches Alec go, knowing exactly why Asmodeus wants Alec tonight of all nights. Negotiation begins tomorrow on a trade treaty, and watching Idris' fallen prince kneel to an enemy king is a powerful reminder of what it can cost to refuse Asmodeus' wishes.

Magnus goes to sleep, wishing futilely he was able to help without making things infinitely worse, hoping Alec will be well and whole in the morning.

It seems like his head has just touched the pillow when Magnus is woken up, suddenly and shockingly, the embers of the previous evening's fire providing just enough light to see by. Jolting up, heart racing, Magnus' mouth drops open to see Alec kneeling prostrate at the side of his bed.

Alec is frantic, broken apologies mixing in with barely intelligible explanations of something Magnus can't even begin to understand, so frantic and terrified is his friend. Magnus doesn't know what to do because Alec is shaking and trembling, and, even in those first days when Alec had thought he was to be executed and his people punished at the first mistake he'd made, he'd never been like this.

Magnus tries to comfort him, making calming sounds and promising that everything will be okay, but Alec doesn't seem to hear him. Alec won't rise and Magnus hates it because this is how servants react to his father, so he slips to his knees at Alec's side.

Thanking all the gods that Alec doesn't flinch at his touch - Magnus doesn't know what he would do if Alec did - the story finally comes tumbling out, Alec still refusing to meet his eyes.

Asmodeus and his retinue had been drunk, but Alec is well enough used to that. The casual slurs and violence they throw his way are what Alec has come to expect when he is called to serve the King.

(Magnus is livid at this unthinking confirmation. Alec is too quiet, too resigned to complain, has never mentioned this to him before - though Magnus had certainly suspected - and Magnus can do nothing but seethe helplessly as Alec mentions it as though it is nothing.)

But something had changed midway through the evening - there'd been a new horror lurking in the glint of Asmodeus' eyes. He'd grabbed Alec the next time he'd been close enough and forced him on his lap, laughing and wondering to the crowd exactly how well the Crown Prince of Idris would warm his bed.

Alec had panicked.

He keeps apologizing to Magnus and Magnus has a sudden, horrified image of Alec having grabbed a knife and slit his father's throat and the two of them having to run to escape charges of attempted regicide (because obviously Magnus isn't letting Alec run away by himself), but Alec keeps going and finally Magnus understands what had happened.

Alec claimed himself to be Magnus' bed slave instead- the only thing the King would have accepted as a reason for Alec to say no. Alec has no rights of his own in Edom. Only if Alec already belonged to Magnus, a possession that would irritate Magnus if someone else used it, could he refuse.

But Asmodeus won't hide this.

Asmodeus will think it hilarious, and Magnus heart stutters in his chest because he can't deny it without condemning Alec to the executioner's block now that it's been said.

Everyone will believe that Magnus cares not for consent and has chosen to use a former Prince and defeated enemy in the basest way possible.

And he cannot deny it.

But Magnus swallows his horror and holds Alec to his chest, running his hand soothingly across Alec's back until the trembling subsides and his exhausted friend is nearly falling asleep in his arms.

Tomorrow will be one of the hardest days of Magnus' life, but he will do anything to spare Alec from his father.

Anything.

[Insert Happy Malec Ending]

#lawsofchaos rambles #malec #shadowhunters #promptlet #angst with a happy ending #implied dubious consent #Only implied - it does not happen #and the implication is not between malec

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frostbitebakery · 1 year ago

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Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

I got tagged by the wonderful @imrowanartist and @cacodaemonia 💜

Watch Obi-Wan go through the seven stages over his skincare routine. Don’t worry, Obes, that alive looking gentleman in the background has had weirder crushes he won’t admit to. You still have a chance. 🫶

STILL NIGHT 1, FOLKS

In Cody’s humble opinion, he spends too much time staring at the ceiling of his apartment.

There’s a louder than usual-for-the-past-two-hours thump coming from his office/guest bedroom/storage.

The living room ceiling could use a new coat of paint.

“Arm?” Wolffe yells from Cody’s bedroom.

He should do some dusting first.

Gurgling.

He definitely should dust first. He can’t even remember the last time he dusted the tops of his bookcases.

“Leg,” comes the guttural reply eventually.

He really should take a day off and deep clean, Cody thinks, fingers clenching in the blanket he keeps on the couch for when he needs to hide from the world for just a minute.

“…h…elp?”

“Coming!” Wolffe sounds far too gleeful. All the highly unprofessional comments about his patient looking— “So gross!”

That.

“Cody, get your ass in here and hold the leg in place.”

Wolffe genuinely cares about people’s wellbeing, Cody can attest to that. But somehow his brain to mouth filter got turned off while growing up. Maybe Cody had dropped him one too many times. They’re not that many years apart in age. Cody had been a kid as well when he accepted the role their father inadvertently pushed him into.

“Lower your goddamn voice,” he yells back, “before I get complaints from the neighbors.” He throws the blanket off himself and rolls to his feet to help caring for the zombie in his guest bedroom.

——

No pressure tagging: @adiduck @elwenyere @meebles @merlyn-bane @bluemaskedkarma @cacodaemonia (if I may request some linework when you have some? My soul needs soothing)

#zombobi (zombie-wan)#codywan #freak in the excel sheets Cody #last line challenge #my wips

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ciginatree · 8 months ago

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This Place is Haunted - Ricky Olson x fem!reader

Summary: When a group of friends decide to perform a seance in one of the most haunted spots in eastern Pennsylvania, things take a dark, bloody turn.

Content warnings: language, gore, death, Ouija board/seance, mentions of sacrifice, murder, suicide, child death; fluff

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to finish! Thank you all for being so patient, it turned out a lot longer than I expected and took a long time to edit. Shout out to my sister for being my beta tester. Enjoy!

This story is a complete work of fiction portraying the likeness of a real person or persons in a fictional situation.

Ricky POV

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, breaking the silence in the van. At my feet is a backpack stuffed with flashlights, gloves, a first aid kit, candles, and to top it off: a Ouija board. I had dabbled in the paranormal before, I live in a haunted house for fuck’s sake, but I had never thought to take it this far. I mean, breaking and entering into the most taboo spot in this part of Pennsylvania? There’s no way in hell it can end well.

“Seriously, Rick? You’re gonna back out now? This was basically your idea,” Angelo groans.

“Yeah you literally won’t shut up about this place and how much you’ve been wanting to ‘check it out’,” Balz emphasizes with air quotes, momentarily taking his hand off the wheel.

“I didn’t mean I wanted to actually break into the place!”

“Whatever man it’s too late you’re not getting out of this van.”

I sigh, sinking into the seat of the car, accepting my fate. I look down at my watch: 11:13 pm. The only people out in this podunk town now are druggies and night shifters. Moving here from Seattle was a drastic change, a welcome one, but drastic nonetheless. I left my hometown to join the band a few months ago and I have to say, I got some nasty culture shock.

“Wait, why are we going to Chris’s? I thought he wasn’t coming,” I say as we turn onto the familiar street.

“He’s not. Y/N is,” Balz remarks smugly.

“What?!” Y/N has been helping out with some of the more local shows since before I joined the band, she’s Chris’s neighbor so we’ve gotten to know her pretty well outside the shows too. And it’s no secret to the band that I’ve developed a bit of a crush on her. I groan, dragging my hands down my face and slumping into the seat. Goddammit I really can’t back out now. Balz pulls into the driveway and honks twice. A few seconds pass before Y/N exits her house. She turns around and locks the door before bounding down the steps towards the van. She slides open the door and settles into the window seat to the left of me, giving a quick greeting.

“Oh Y/N, that seat belt is broken, you'll have to sit in the middle seat,” Balz says looking in the rearview mirror. Bullshit. I meet his gaze in the mirror, glaring at him briefly. I know exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh. Ok.” Y/N replies nonchalantly, sliding over into the seat next to me. I scoot over a bit so she has room to buckle. I meet her gaze, giving her a small smile before looking out the window. Balz pulls out of the driveway and starts heading down the backroads towards the abandoned house. I feel stiff. I can sense her right next to me, our knees practically touching. I try to keep my breathing steady to not give myself away. “So…what exactly is the story behind this house?”

“Why don’t you tell her Ricky? You’re the one who’s obsessed with the place,” Angelo jokes. My cheeks heat up a bit and I pull my lips into a tight line. I neutralize my expression and turn towards Y/N to respond.

“Long story short, a bunch of culty shit happened in the 1960s. Sacrifices, mania, suicide; that sort of thing,” I mutter out quickly.

“C’mon you can do better than that. Seriously, give me the details,” Y/N looks at me, eyes full of curiosity.

I sigh, exhaling through my nose. “The Banes family moved into the house in 1962, the house was newly built. Emily Banes, the mother, started getting into the occult and paranormal pretty soon after they moved in. She believed there was some sort of spirit in her house that she needed to please, she basically worshiped it. In ‘63 she gave birth to Henry, who was born with his limbs all twisted up. The doctors did their best to fix him, but it didn’t work too well. Emily believed that the defects were because the spirit was angry with her, but the truth is she took thalidomide during the pregnancy to help with morning sickness which caused a malformation of Henry’s skeletal structure. About a month after he was born, she ritualistically sacrificed him in the living room in an attempt to ‘please the spirit’. She buried him in the wall and claimed he died from the defects,” the car is dead silent now as I continue,.”Emily went manic, blaming her husband, Robert, for Henry’s death. She tore into the wallpaper and brick, ripping up her fingers trying to find her baby. The neighbors found her roaming the neighborhood at night muttering to herself and digging in their bushes. She ended up stabbing Robert 34 times in his sleep before tying an old curtain around her neck and jumping off the balcony that overlooks the front room. The house has been lived in a few times since then, but has been abandoned for decades. Rumor has it that if you light candles in the shape of a pentagram in the living room, close your eyes, and listen you’ll hear a baby shrieking faintly in the walls.”

The silence was thick in the car, suffocating as we drove over the gravel backroads. I bite my lip, pushing the lip ring with my tongue as I wait for someone to speak.

“Jesus,” Y/N finally breathes out. I look over and her eyes are wide with shock. “We’re seriously doing a Ouija board here in the middle of the night?” There’s more than a hint of fear in her voice.

“Don’t worry, Rick will protect you, won’t you Ricky?”

I roll my eyes at Angelo’s jab before turning my attention back to her. “Seriously though, it’ll be fine. I’ve got a pocket knife if things get tough.” I tap my pocket, smiling.

She chuckles, “Oh boy, ghosts watch out Ricky’s got a pocket knife.”

I laugh as the van slows to a stop. The run down house looms into view of the window. Taking a breath I grab the backpack in front of me before sliding the van door open and hopping onto the gravelly, dirt filled terrain.

***

Glass crunches under my feet as we enter the house. A curved staircase shadows the entryway, what’s left of the musty carpet hanging loosely on the wooden stairs. I follow to the right of the staircase, the grained wooden floor of the front room coming into view. It’s littered, the sharp odor of urine assaults my nose and my chest heaves. I bring the sleeve of my sweater to my face and cough into it, holding it there in a feeble attempt to mask the smell. “Oh my god, I can taste it,” I wheeze.

“Christ!” I swivel around in time to see Balz coughing and swatting frantically at a cobweb caught on his face. I laugh maniacally into my sleeve as he hacks up half his air supply. When he’s regained his composure I sweep my hand out in front of me, gesturing for him to lead the way. Shuddering, Balz smacks my arm out of his path glaring as he speed walks past me. I snicker, falling into step behind him with Y/N behind me, and Angelo bringing up the rear.

Dust sparkles in the rays of our flashlights, the wood protesting beneath us. I sweep my flashlight over the area, taking in the decay. Clink. I aim my flashlight down in front of me, searching for what I kicked. A slim cylinder, caught in a notch of the wooden floor. A needle. Like I said, druggies. I swipe it over to the wall with the toe of my shoe and continue into the room.

“Woah, is that…?” Y/N’s flashlight points up, the light bending off the ancient crystals of the chandelier. The broken light casts a speckled spotlight onto the twisted iron railing lining the balcony that overlooks the living room. The mangled railing leaves a gaping hole; a mouth filled with rotting iron teeth and a gruff wooden tongue. Mutilated shards of metal angle down the overhang, beckoning us to join it in death, just as Emily had.

“Yeah.” I say simply. I try not to imagine what her body would’ve looked like swinging below the chandelier. I slip the backpack off my shoulder with a jangling thud and crouch down to remove the supplies. Y/N brushes dirt and leaves away from the gear with the side of her shoe, taking a seat across from me. Legs crossed and hands folded under her chin she watches as I set up the seance. I pull out the candles and the Ouija board, furrowing my brow I rummage through the fabric. “Shit, I forgot a lighter.”

“Here,” Angelo paces back from the chipped wall he was inspecting, plunging his hand into his pocket to remove an old lighter. I take it from him, stowing it away in my hoodie.

“Thanks. Balz get over here!” Balz whips his head away from the dusty window and trods over to us. “Ok, here’s how this is going to work. We’re gonna set up a pentagram with the candles and us, the Ouija board, and the final candle will be in the center. Do not blow out any of the candles once we have started the seance, do not taunt the spirits, and absolutely do not end the session or remove your hand from the puck without saying goodbye. Or I will kill you. Got it?” Everyone murmurs some form of acknowledgement, looking around at each other. “Good. Everyone grab a candle and start setting up.”

The candles aren’t fancy, just small unscented tea candles found at the convenience store on Main Street. My back shivers and I take a breath as Y/N sets down the last point of the star. She, Balz, and Angelo rejoin me in the center as I unfold the board, placing the planchette in the center, and the final candle at the head of the panel. “Ok. Everyone turn off your flashlights.” Clicks echo throughout the room, and we are blanketed in an inky darkness. I stand up, withdrawing the lighter from my pocket and flick the metallic gear once, twice, the third time sparking a flame to life. Warmth dances across my fingertips and illuminates a burning orange under my face. I walk the perimeter of the star, igniting the candles one by one until the only one unlit is in the center of our little group. I tilt the flame, charring the pure wick of the final candle. Extinguishing the light in my hand I return the lighter to Angelo and cross my legs, filling the final gap on the sides of the Ouija board. Y/N sits fidgeting with the hem of her shirt to my left, Angelo to my right, and Balz across from me. I bring one knee up to my chest, folding the other beneath me. I grin in the lowlight. “Alright, let’s begin.”

Each person in the group places the first two fingers of their right hand on the planchette. We drag the puck along the perimeter of the board in three stalking circles, thinning the veil between worlds with each scrape of the cardboard. The planchette comes to rest in the center of the alphabet and I hesitate. “Shit, what are we even going to ask?”

“Probably should have thought of that before we started,” Balz hissed.

“Ok, ok just-” I sigh. “Hello?” Silence. I glance around, the flames stand still as unmoving soldiers. A lighthouse to whatever could be lurking here. I feel a chill skate along my back and I repress a shudder. A thud sounds from the back of the house and we whip our heads around, holding our breath. A small creak follows, then nothing. We all wait, turning back to stare at the unmoving puck expectantly. Nothing. “Must’ve been a rat or something. Somebody else try asking something.”

Y/N inhales, biting her lip before speaking. “Um, is… are there any spirits here? God I feel stupid.”

“You’re fine, let’s just wait a minute. See if something happens,” I tell her, eyes remaining fixed on the board. We wait, silent, for thirty seconds.

“Holy fuck!” Angelo panics suddenly. The planchette twitches, dragging itself with a scraping sigh along the board. “Is anyone moving it? Rick, are you moving it?”

“No, I’m not moving it! Now shut up!” The deformed heart shaped piece advances slowly towards the left of the board before coming to a rest. B. My heart is pounding in my ears, filling the silence between us all as the planchette resumes its movement. A. Another drag, quicker this time. B. One last scrape. Y.

“Baby?” Y/N whispers.

“Damn. Baby? Like the baby, like the one in the walls?” Angelo hisses.

“Are we talking to Emily Banes?” I ask, ignoring both Angelo and Y/N. The planchette moves swiftly across the board. My eyes widen, startled at how quickly it responded. It barely stops at each letter before jolting to the next one. D.E.A.T.H.

“It’s not even answering the damn questions!” Balz exclaims. The planchette hasn’t stopped moving as it spells out another word. D.E.C.A.Y.

The puck whips wildly as it spells, possessed by an unseen force. My fingers tingle as my arm jolts to accommodate the movements of the piece. S.H.I.F.T.

“Ricky, I don’t like this. I- I don’t feel good,” Y/N pants out next to me. 3. I turn my head to look at her. Fuck. Her face is flushed and strained, her head bobbing slightly as her eyelashes flutter. P.D.Q.L.Q. At this point it’s spewing letters faster than we can register. W.K.H.K.R.X.V.H.

“I’m calling it. We’re done.” I say shortly.

“Dude, we’ve only been doing this for like 5 minutes,” Angelo argues.

“I don’t fucking care, we’re done!” I shout across the board. “Circle the board three times and say goodbye.” But the second we try to move the planchette it plants itself in the center of the board. “What the fuck?” I push as hard as I can with my two fingers. The flames are flickering like flags in a hurricane, and the top point blows out and another creak sounds from behind us. I smack everyone’s hand off the planchette before curling my fingers around it and ripping it from the board. I stand up, hurling it across the room with a shout. It clatters into the wall before ricocheting and skidding across the floor. Momentary silence. Perplexed breathing huffing into the empty space.

“Now what?” Balz hesitantly asks. I look around at everyone, silently questioning.

“What if we explore the rest of the house?” Angelo proposes. I look at Y/N, raising my eyebrow slightly. The color has returned to her face, but she looks unsettled.

“Sure, might as well,” she shrugs her shoulders. Balz and Angelo move to blow out the rest of the candles, gathering up the Ouija board. I turn to her as they walk out of earshot.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to,” I don’t want her to feel pressured into doing this, but curiosity is sprouting steadily in me.

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” she gives a small half smile, but her eyes look uneasy. I nod warily, walking to the backpack to pack up the rest of the supplies. We decide to leave the candles where they are to cool off.

“What if we split up?” Balz suggests, side eyeing Angelo with a glimmer in his eyes that I don’t really like.

“Yeah, I’ll go with Balz, you two go upstairs and look around,” Angelo replies, grinning evilly. Figures.

“Sure, works for me. Everyone meet back at the candles in 30 minutes?” Everyone agrees, and I pull two flashlights out of the backpack. Angelo and Balz click their lights on and start walking towards the back of the house, down the corridor towards the kitchen, leaving me alone with Y/N. I hand a flashlight to her and tilt my head towards the staircase. “Let’s go.”

We make our way to the musty set of stairs together, the wood damp with rot. I take the lead in case any of the stairs give out. The planks creak and moan with every step of our feet on the curled carpet. When we reach the top I look out over the banister, pointing my flashlight down into the room and I sense Y/N step beside me as she peers down past my shoulder.

“Jesus, that’d be a nasty fall,” she mutters, “Shall we?” She sweeps her flashlight dramatically over to the end of the hallway.

My mouth twitches up in a half smile. “We shall,” I respond just as dramatically. We laugh, making our way to the last door of the hallway. I nudge it open with the end of my flashlight, coughing at the unsettled dust. It’s a bedroom. A metal framed bed sits in the left corner, opposite from a closet with sliding wooden doors. I walk over to the bed, inspecting the stained mattress that lays upon it. Crouching down, I direct my beam of light under the bed. I wrinkle my nose at the empty beer cans and stand up.

“Hey, Rick? Can I ask you something?” I turn towards where Y/N is inspecting the dirty, steel framed window.

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Why’d you guys invite me?” I pause.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this kind of seems like a guy’s trip sort of thing, so why was I invited?” I bite my lip, toying with the ring as I try to think of what to say. I sigh, folding my arms and averting my eyes, a heavy knot forming in my stomach.

“Balz and Angelo think I have this… I dunno, a thing for you or something. So I think they invited you to try and get us to spend time together,” I mumble quickly, toying with the sleeve of my hoodie.

“A ‘thing’? What, like a crush?”

I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks as I stammer out a response. “I guess? I dunno, it was their idea.”

“Do you have a crush on me?” She takes a few steps towards me and I can feel the humiliation burning me alive. “Do you like me like that?”

I lift my eyes to look at her fully, expecting disgust written all over. However, she looks curious with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. I search her face before giving a small answering nod, nerves eating away at my stomach. Before I can say anything else she grasps the front of my sweater, crashing our lips together in a messy kiss. I inhale sharply before closing my eyes and leaning into her. My heart swells and beats like it’s trying to escape my chest and I bring one hand up to cup the back of her neck as the other snakes around her waist, pulling her into me. She tastes heavenly. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss as our lips move against each other softly. Finally, we break apart, gasping for air.

“I like you too,” she whispers. I break into a smile, huffing out a breathless laugh before pulling her back into me. I kiss her passionately, groaning at the soft noises she makes against my lips. I brush my tongue against her bottom lip, pushing it into her mouth when she parts them. She gasps and threads her fingers into my hair, tugging softly. I groan, squeezing her hip as I lick into her mouth and work my tongue against her own.

I stumble us both backwards until my calves hit the bed and I sit down, tugging her down beside me. Not caring about how filthy the mattress is, I wrap my arms around her again, dipping my head down to kiss and suck her neck. I caress just below her jaw, sucking and gnawing at the tender skin, reveling in the way she tilts her head back. I pull away, grinning, and in the moonlight streaking through the window I can see the forming mark. I rest my forehead against her own, massaging her cheek with my thumb. “Be mine? Please?”

She pecks my lips and I can feel her smile into the kiss. “Of course,” she chuckles lightly. I smile, pressing one last kiss to her cheek and sighing before checking my watch.

“Shit, it’s been almost half an hour we should get downstairs,” I clamber off the bed, grabbing my discarded flashlight. I take Y/N’s hand and lead her out the door when we hear a bloodcurdling scream. Balz. I freeze, squeezing her hand, and peer around the corner, praying to god that this was some sick prank he was pulling. Peering out I see a man, thin and tall dragging Balz by his ankle into the living room. There’s a dark trail following beneath his body and it’s then that I register the knife. Adrenaline shocks through me and runs my blood cold. I eye the front door gauging how fast we could get there. My head snaps back down to see the man on all fours, drooling, and scrambling for the staircase, Balz groaning on the floor long forgotten as he clambers right towards us. His hand hits the bottom step and I backpedal as fast I can, yanking a terrified Y/N with me back into the bedroom, making a beeline for the closet.

I slide the wooden door closed as quietly as I can. Circling one hand around Y/N’s mouth, and the other around her waist, I back us up into the closet as far as we can go. Moonlight bleeds in through the wooden slats and spills onto the floor before us. I can feel her hyperventilating against my palm and a lone tear drips onto my wrist. Without saying a word I turn her around and pull her into my chest, stroking her hair as I shush her gently.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry you got dragged into this. Baby, I need you to calm down, or he’ll hear us,” I whisper shakily into her temple. I try to remain calm for her sake, but I’m sure she can feel my heartbeat rapidly pounding in my chest. I can feel her near silent tears staining my neck as she bites down on my hoodie to muffle her breathing. I lower us down to a crouch, minimizing our appearance. Y/N clings to me harder, shaking, eyes shut tight against my neck. I keep one hand on the back of her head for comfort and bring the other to the pocket of my jeans, drawing out my pocket knife. I flip it open slowly, looking down to adjust my stance.

My heart drops and my breathing stutters to a halt. The moonlight is gone. My gaze trails up to see a bony figure, staring through the slats of the closed door. My grip tightens on Y/N’s head and I press her further into my neck. She tenses, holding her breath with me. A croaking, throaty chuckle rises into existence.

The motherfucker is laughing on the other side of the door. Deranged. That’s the only way to describe this corpse of a man. The laughing melds into a gurgling cough, the fit ending in a deep, guttural groan. “I know you took my baby,” he sing-songs in a hoarse moan. His gaze is at the wrong angle to be looking at us. He’s talking to the goddamn door itself. “You put him in the walls.” He giggles before giving a wet sniff. He trails his wet knife across the slats like a child playing a xylophone. A drop of blood oozes off the knife and in between the slats of the wood. Balz’s blood. It drops off the grain and dribbles next to my foot with a soft patter. I jerk my leg towards my body and stare at the crimson droplet in horror.

I snap my gaze back up in time to see the man slam his head into the doorframe, the force of it rattling the sliding doors. “I KNOW YOU TOOK MY BABY, GIVE ME BACK MY BABY,” he bellows, repeating each phrase with every bash of his head. Y/N jumps, gripping the back of my jacket so hard I think it might tear. Through the slats I can just make out the outline of a syringe sticking out from the crook in his arm. He cracks his skull against the wall once more before stumbling across the room to the window with a low groan. “Why’d you take my baby?” he sobs, before smashing his head through the glass with a shriek.

Now that he’s away from the door I jump up, bringing Y/N with me. She’s trembling, her eyes red from tears. “Ok, on the count of three I’m going to open the door, and we’re going to run like hell to the front door, got it?” Another crash followed by an unearthly howl and glass shards tinkling to the floor. She shakes her head frantically, eyes wide.

“No, no, no, no, no. He’s right there he’ll get us-”

“Hey, it’s ok I’ve got you, I promise,” I grasp her shoulders and plant a quick kiss to her forehead, sliding my hand down to clutch hers, the other one gripping my knife in front of me. “One… two… three!” I slide open the door and hurdle out of it, Y/N right behind me. I fling my arm out to turn the corner out of the room, when I’m suddenly wrenched backwards, Y/N’s hand leaving mine as I stumble. The force of it all sends the knife flying out of my hand and into the hallway. I whip around to see Y/N on the floor, the man gripping her by her hair. She cries out, sending elbows and fists backwards as she tries to regain her footing, but the man is just out of her reach.

“Get the fuck off her!” I shout, diving at the man. He yells, letting go of her to claw at me. I punch at his face blindly, landing any hit I can. “Y/N, go find Angelo!”

“What about you?”

“Go!” The word ends with a wheeze as a hit to the stomach knocks the wind out of me and I slump to the floor. The man starts after Y/N again and I scramble up, tackling him to the ground just outside the door. I look over to see her reaching the staircase before I’m hoisted up roughly by my arm. Up close, the man is more rancid than I could have previously thought. There are missing patches of hair, replaced by gummy scabs; his pupils are extremely dilated, the surrounding whites cracked with streaks of red. His lips are chapped and bleeding and his sallow face has numerous cuts from the glass he smashed himself through, the blood smeared across his puckered face.

He slams me into the wall and I gasp as my head rebounds off of it. He chuckles leaning in close to me and I can smell his putrid breath. He mumbles croaky nonsense into my face and I bring my knee up to his groin. He lets go of me with a grunt and I punch him again as he stumbles back towards the railing. I heave against him with a final shove and his foot slips, catching the empty air between the disconnected pieces of mangled iron. He tumbles backward over the edge and I feel myself lurch forward. He’s caught my wrist.

My heart falls to my stomach as my feet leave the ground. I lock eyes with the man as an iron bar catches him, sliding through his spine and out his stomach with a gurgling choke. But I don’t stop. I pass the iron bars and freefall over the banister and past the mouth that caught the man in its teeth. For a moment it’s peaceful. Until my head cracks against the floor and my entire body goes numb. My vision blurs and I can just barely see the man skewered above me, hanging like a repulsive, mounted beast. Like Emily.

I hear Y/N scream my name through the fuzzy haze before everything fades and I’m falling once again into darkness.

***

Beep

I slowly wake to the feel of sheets over me, a steady light beating down behind my eyelids. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I blink my eyes open, shutting them again quickly at the burning of the sterile white lights. I try again, blinking and squinting as my surroundings slowly come into focus. I could hear the steady beeping of machines, each short sound stabbing my skull like a knife. There’s a warm weight on my hand, and I anchor myself to it. I turn my head slowly, gasping sharply at the splitting pain. My whole body aches, I feel like I can’t move.

I pant from the effort it takes to turn my head, tilting my eyes down and I see her. Y/N. Her hand is wrapped around mine, her head resting on our conjoined hands. Her hair cascades down on the hospital bed, her breath fanning gently across my fingers. She doesn’t look hurt and my chest heaves a collapsing sigh in relief. I attempt to curl my fingers around her hand, but pain shoots through my arm the second I try to move it. I hiss in pain, dissolving into a coughing fit that feels like it’s going to tear me open. Y/N snaps her head up, standing to lean over me. The light blurs around her, giving an angelic effect I wish I could admire more, but the strain in my eyes prevents me.

“Hey,” she says softly. Her voice sounds tired, trembling slightly. “How… how are you feeling?”

“I feel like shit,” I rasp. She brushes a piece of hair back from my face.

“Yeah, falling from a balcony will do that for you,” she chuckles nervously. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a while now. Um, they said you have a couple fractured ribs, most likely a concussion, and a hell of a lot of bruising. They gave you an IV and some pain meds,” she gestures to the needle sticking in my hand. She takes a shaky breath and her voice breaks as she talks. “Scared the fuck out of me, Ricky.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes. I’m exhausted; mentally, physically, emotionally. I just want to go home. Y/N laughs shortly, sniffing wetly as she wipes the tears that fell from her own eyes, before brushing away the one that fell down my cheek.

“Don’t apologize, you saved my life.”

I gasp a stuttering breath as my eyes widen, muscles tensing. “Balz- oh my god what-”

“He’s ok. He’ll be ok.” She interrupts, placing a hand out to steady me. “He had to have surgery, so he’s recovering in a different room. Angelo’s alright too. I found him barely conscious and dazed in the kitchen before you fell. He’s a little beat up but there’s no sign of a concussion or other injury. He’s in the waiting room right now.” I slump back against the pillow, relieved once again. I take a deep breath and try not to think too hard about everything.

“Do you… need anything?” She asks quietly. My gaze darts to her lips before resettling on her eyes.

“Kiss me. Please,” I whisper desperately. “I just-” She cuts me off by softly pressing her lips to mine. I close my eyes and melt into her. Her cheeks are still wet from her tears and I wish I could move my arms enough to wipe them away. She squeezes my hand before pulling away just a bit, her lips brushing mine as she speaks.

“You can rest now, it’s ok. We’re all ok.” She kisses my cheek and sits back down in the chair she had pulled next to my bed. I can feel my eyes drifting and dozing as she takes my hand again, kissing each finger as I drift back to sleep. I squeeze her hand the best I can, knowing she’ll be here when I wake up.

Tag list: @rumoured-whispers @thewarmisice @black-damask-1999 @skulliecadaver-blog @bloody-delusion-expert

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