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foliosgirl · 1 month ago

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Going to read this tomorrow

with you, anywhere will be my home

author’s note: hiiiiiiiii. it’s been a minute, huh ? i’ve honestly been sitting on this for 2 weeks 😅 but happy i’m able to finally get this out for yall ! think of it as a v-day treat 🥰 i love this universe i built with folio and reader and have so many ideas for them lol as always, please enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! and requests are open btw, i’m in a rut and am not sure what people wanna read :) title a translated lyric from bts’ song home

pairing: nick folio x reader

word count: 2.2k

cross posted on ao3

cw/tw: miscommunication 🤥, fluff fluff fluffffff, first time saying i love you, nick is so smitten with reader it makes me sick, 18+ minors do not interact

It's almost a no brainer when Nick decides to ask you to move in.

It makes perfect sense. You're always together when he's home, switching between one place or the other, and it just makes a lot more sense than having your own separate spaces. He doesn't want to be separate anymore. He wants to know that when he's coming back from tour he's coming home to you, in a space you both share and make your own.

There's only one hiccup to this no brainer decision - he hasn’t even said I love you yet. Neither have you.

It's only been 9 months. Not a full year yet, but Nick thinks by month one he was fully in love with you. He might've been from the jump. You were the only person he thought about, the only person he yearned for. Which is crazy to think, because Nick's sure he's never yearned for a single person a day in his life. But it's different when it comes to you.

You're who he sees when he thinks about the future. When he plans out the rest of his life, coming up with every single possibility that could happen between now and then, you somehow manage to be in every single scenario. At first it was jarring, you popping up into his future daydreams, but now it's comforting.

If you asked him right now to spend the rest of his life with you, he'd say yes before you even finished your sentence.

So why hasn't he said it yet? Hell if he knows.

It's not that he doesn't think you love him because deep down he knows you do. Can see it in the way you look at him, in the way you smile, in the small gestures that you make. He stares at you just the same, smile way too big that it hurts his fucking face, and those same small gestures.

You love him the way he loves you.

Which is why he's decided that when he asks you to move in with him, he's just going to say it. No more silent looks and shared smiles when saying goodbye. Nick doesn't think he can go another day without telling you that he loves you. It's corny, but he needs you and just about everyone in a hundred mile radius to know immediately.

So, he'll tell you tomorrow. Easy.

...

Not easy.

Nick never thought he was much of the anxious type, yet here he was pacing outside your front door. He felt hot, hands clammy as he stared at the only thing separating the two of you. He has a key. He can let himself in. Yet, he can't seem to get himself to do it.

Because he knows once he goes in, there's no going back.

He isn't scared of your rejection because he knows that's not the likely outcome. He knows you love him. He thinks he may be a bit scared of what comes next. This is probably the most serious relationship he's ever been in, and he doesn't want to fuck that up. He doesn't think that he would, intentionally at least, but the what if of a hypothetical fuck up has been eating at him for hours.

His eyes flutter shut as he takes in a long deep breath before he finally braves unlocking your door.

His hand shakes as he twists the handle and he mentally swears at himself to fucking calm down, it’s just you, everything’s fine, but when he finally sees you, it’s like the world stops for just a moment. You look up at Nick from your couch, book in your lap, and the smile that spreads across your face makes Nick relax for maybe a split second.

"Hey baby."

"Hi."

He doesn't move, just stares at you from where he's standing, and your expression turns from happy to amused, arms crossing over your chest.

"Babe?"

He blinks. "Yeah?"

"...Whatcha' doin?"

"Um." His face burns at the sound of your giggle at his unusual behavior, but truthfully he doesn't know how to act right now. "Standin'."

"Oh yeah?" You arch a brow at him, more laughter escaping. "Why don't you quit standin' and come sit with me? I missed you."

He'd been gone a few days, out in California to put down some tracks for the new album. He'd just gotten home the day before when he decided he was going to ask you to move in with him because he couldn't stand coming back to an empty home. Nick blinks at you again before he smiles, warmth spreading across his chest as he looks at you seated on the couch.

This is what he wanted to come home to. He wanted to come home after a tour, or after a few weeks in California laying down some drums, to you reading your book on the couch.

"It was only a few days." He hums out and makes his way towards you, flopping himself down beside you.

"I always miss you when you're gone." You shrug before pouting at him. "Did you not miss me?"

His heart speeds up, pounding against his chest and he immediately shakes his head. "I wasn't saying that I didn't-"

"I was just messing with you," You cut him off with a laugh, face softening as you looked at him. "What's goin' on? You're acting weird."

Nick chews on his bottom lip before moving his gaze to the muted television, shoulders going up into a shrug. " 'm not acting weird."

"Yes, you are."

Okay. He is. He knows it and he knows you know it, but he just isn't sure what to say. How do people bring this up? Hey, I'm in love with you. Let's live together. It seems easy enough to say in his head but the second he gazes at you again, his words fall short.

So much for easy.

"I..." Nick starts and then sighs, sliding a hand down his face. "You ever have something to say, but just don't know how to say it? In my head it's so easy but every time I try to get the words out, I lose everything I even wanted to say."

Your face softens. "What happened?"

"What?"

"Something happened when you were gone." Your eyes narrow. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." He mumbles out, eyeing you for a moment. "I just... realized something, but I don't know how to tell you."

"Oh."

For some reason, the detached tone in your voice makes his stomach turn. You shift on the couch, moving your eyes away from him as you look to the side. It's silent between the two of you now and Nick hates it. It's never felt this awkward before. Uncomfortable. He fucking hates it.

"Babe-"

You cut him off. "...Did I do something?"

"No." He's quick with his response, shaking his head quickly. "Fuck. No, you didn't do anything."

His stomach turns at the way you don't respond and wrap your arms around yourself, your arms being some form of protection. From him. Fuck. That's definitely not what he wanted to do. He shakes his head again, eyes pleading as he reaches out for you.

"You didn't do anything."

"Well, it sure feels like I did." You laugh, strained, and Nick swallows down whatever lump was building in his throat. "This feels awfully like a break-up, Nick."

"What?" His voice comes out a lot louder than he expected, and he hates the way his heart breaks beneath his chest at the sad look you finally give him. "I am not breaking up with you. That is not what's happening."

"Then what's happening, Nick?" You whine out, lips dipping into a frown. "You're being weird and saying you have something to tell me but don't know how to tell me. That sounds a lot like I want to break up with you, but I don't know how to tell you."

Nick pauses for a moment, eyes scanning over your face before he breathes out a quiet "Fuck," and shuts his eyes.

He messed up - majorly.

All he had to do was just fucking tell you that he loved you and this would've been all avoided, but instead he had to go and do whatever the fuck this was.

"Babe, listen to me." His eyes open to find you still staring at him, your frown somehow much deeper than it was moments ago. He hesitantly reaches out, silently asking if it was alright to touch you. You nod. He's gentle when he slips your arms away from yourself, finally able to slide his fingers in between yours. "This... I'm not breaking up with you, okay? I'd be fucking crazy to do that."

You don't say anything, just stare at him with that same sad look. He sighs.

"What I realized is that like," He pauses, searching his brain for the right words. "I like coming home to you. After a short tour, or a long one, it feels... good to know that once I'm off that plane, I'm coming back to you."

Your eyes soften momentarily. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles, small and a bit timid, and continues. "Then it made me realize that I'd really love to have a place to call home, you know? Instead of doing all this back and forth. It's fine if that's what you want to keep doing, but I think I'd really like to have a home... with you."

The silence ringing between you two makes his stomach turn. You stare at him, wide eyed and mouth open and the nerves from before come back because he thinks he may have fucked up, but then your hand squeezes his. He can see the tears welling in your eyes now and he watches you blink them away.

"...With me?"

"Yeah?" He's nervous, not sure how to take your response. "If that's okay? Like I said, we can keep doing what we've been doing. Back and forth between here and my place if that's what you want, I don't mind-"

His words are cut off by your lips, a bruising kiss suffocating whatever he wanted to say. His eyes widen for a moment before they flutter shut and he finally kisses back, before chuckling softly against your lips. You sniffle.

"Are you telling me you want to move-in together?"

Nick notices the first tear that falls when he pulls back, reaching a hand up and brushing it away with his thumb. His timid smile grows at the feeling of you nuzzling into his touch.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Are you sure?" You actually sound nervous, staring at him with wide eyes as you asked.

"Of course I'm sure," He doesn't have to think twice, words falling from his lips with ease, "I love you. I want this, if you do."

It takes him a second to realize he had said it, and feels slightly embarrassed at the butterflies filling his stomach at how easy it was to say. His face flushes as your eyes widen more, lips parting as the weight of his words dawn on you.

"...You love me?"

His stomach turns again, and he nods slowly. "Yeah?"

"How long?"

"I think I loved you from the start." He replies sheepishly, cheeks burning at the wide smile you give him.

You blink away your tears again, leaning more into his palm that's still rested against your cheek. "I think I have, too."

Your words are soft, almost inaudible, but he hears it. His stomach turns and he can feel his heart pounding against his chest. His entire face burns and his ears are probably red, too, but fuck it. He doesn't care.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." Your wide smile falls into something softer, much smaller, and he swears your eyes twinkle as you hum out, "I love you."

Nick doesn't know what to say besides smile at you, cheeks immediately hurting at how wide it's stretched across his face. "I love you, too."

"And I really want to live with you." You rush out. "I've been thinking about that too but I was worried I was moving too fast. Didn't want to scare you."

"Honey," He starts with a chuckle, "I think you could've asked me two weeks in and I would've straight up said you know what? Hell yeah."

You laugh, all thick with emotion and fucking beautiful that Nick can't help but lean in and press his lips against yours again. Your arms raise to wrap around your shoulders to bring him closer to you and he can't help but make a noise, a happy sound, and deepen the kiss. You pull away first this time, forehead resting against his.

"So, we're doing this?"

"Yeah. I think we are."

The two of you smile at each other in silence and Nick wishes nothing more than to bask in this moment a little longer. He doesn't know if he's ever felt happier. Knowing that you love him right back makes him feel things he wasn't sure he's ever felt before. It's in that moment, with the way you're staring at him like he hangs up the fucking moon and the stars, that he's going to ask you to marry him someday.

And it makes him feel damn good knowing that you'll say yes.

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foliosgirl · 1 month ago

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I never wanted to be a stripper as much as I wanted today🫠

Fahrenheit | Nick Folio | One Shot

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Nick Folio X Stripper!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. for a good amount of money you can make any wish come true.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). environment exposed to illegal activities, nudity, explicit sex, oral sex, alcohol consumption.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

Rounds on a Carousel.

Rising and falling to the rhythm of a song that felt like it had just escaped from one of those delicate music boxes, the kind with a beautiful, elegant ballerina at its center. A nostalgic sensation, an almost childlike memory. This wasn’t your life, nothing about it resembled yours, but it was just as exhilarating.

Neon lights painted the club in shades of red and purple, reflecting off every surface like an electric fever pulsing to the beat of the music. The bass made the floor vibrate beneath your high heels, an intense heartbeat dictating the rhythm of the night. The air was a dizzying mix of sweet perfume, expensive alcohol, and the heat of eager bodies pressed against the edge of the stage.

The slow pulse of the music wrapped around your hips as you moved along the pole, becoming one with it. Practiced and deliberate, slow and sensual, every movement was a calculated tease as your body coiled around the steel like the most dangerous kind of serpent. Between glances, you met the famished, mesmerized expressions below the stage. You ran your fingers along the cool metal, feeling the stark contrast against the heat of your skin. Your body already knew what to do. Every muscle, every curve, every drop of sweat beginning to form was a silent invitation. Eyes were locked on you, but you didn’t need them to know you were in control. The air was thick, charged, nearly suffocating—exactly as it should be.

Men were like servants at your feet.

When the night fell and you stepped onto the stage, control over them was handed to you effortlessly. They would do anything you wanted. They didn’t think, only surrendered to the illusion of a woman feeding them just enough to swell their fragile egos, making them believe they were worthy of your attention. Needy men craved exactly that—a mere scrap of confidence—so that, without hesitation, they would throw themselves at anyone daring enough to take advantage.

And once they were entangled, thoroughly deceived, they offered you an ocean of opportunity, perfect for draining them dry before the show was over.

That was the most entertaining part of your job.

With a slow motion, you spun around the pole, hair slipping over your shoulder like a veil of temptation. The lights caught the satiny sheen of your skin as you arched your body, a dangerous game between strength and softness. Your fingers gripped the bar firmly, and with precise momentum, you lifted yourself, legs wrapping around the polished metal. Gravity became an irrelevant detail as you slid down, every inch of skin illuminated under the flashing lights.

Heat coursed through your body as you leaned back, forming a perfect line that highlighted every curve at just the right angle—pure provocation without a single word. The beats of the music merged with the hitched breaths of those watching, captivated by the rhythm of your movements.

Your tongue met the cold steel as you dragged your damp lips across it. Flickering red lights, heat seeping from your pores, your veins burning with the rush, and the smoke drifting through the stage cast a spell over every entranced gaze. With your back against the pole, you slid down slowly, spreading your legs as you reached the floor—a privileged view for the most generous among them tonight.

As you descended, your feet touched the ground with the lightness of someone who knew exactly the power they wielded. Your gaze roamed the crowd, a silent promise to whoever dared to hold it. The atmosphere burned, thick with desire and admiration.

This was what you did. You dominated.

And in that moment, the whole world was yours.

The deep pulse of the music seemed to sync with your steps, like an extension of your own desire to command that stage. The heat of the club pulsed around you, charged with lust, but something was different now. A gaze.

You felt it before you saw it. An invisible weight pressing against your skin, igniting a burning spark that shot down your spine. When your eyes drifted over the crowd, he was there.

Seated in the shadows, surrounded by smoke and darkness, yet still completely exposed. He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. His gaze was unwavering, so intense it seemed to devour you right then and there. Like a man crawling through a desert, starved and parched, aching for the unattainable. He wanted to drink you in with his eyes.

Your chest rose and fell in a different rhythm now, deeper. A crackling energy licked at your skin as your dance shifted subtly.

No longer for the crowd. Not for the applause. For him.

Your fingers traced over your own skin, slipping between the lace barely covering your chest as you turned around the pole, as if marking the path he longed to touch. Your movements slowed, deliberate, more enticing. Your leg extended with practiced grace, the curve of your hips accentuating every detail he absorbed as if he were a condemned man facing his final temptation.

And he remained there, motionless, mesmerized, as if the rest of the club had disappeared. As if nothing but you existed.

When you arched your body against the pole, tilting your head back, you knew you had him exactly where you wanted. His gaze burned your skin like an unspoken promise, a raw desire vibrating between the two of you, like a stretched wire on the verge of snapping.

You smiled. Slow. Provocative. Like a queen granting a mere mortal a glimpse of paradise.

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched. And in that moment, he knew. He was already yours.

The water slid down your throat, cooling the heat still burning beneath your skin, but the sensation didn’t last. The bar was empty now, the low music vibrating against the walls like a distant echo of the spectacle that had unfolded hours before. The customers were gone, the staff too, and you were about to leave as well—until a deep voice, right behind you, made you freeze.

"I want to pay for your time."

The glass halted midway to your lips. Your heart pounded, a mix of surprise and indignation burning your face before you even turned around.

"I'm not a prostitute!" you shot back, your cheeks burning, fingers tightening around the glass.

He smiled. Slow. Confident. The kind of smile that made your skin prickle before you even understood why.

"I know," he murmured, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "But I want to pay for your time. I want you to dance for me. Just for me."

You hesitated, still feeling the blood thudding in your throat. He didn’t look drunk, nor desperate. Just determined.

"I only have tonight in the city," he continued, leaning over the counter, close enough that his woody scent mixed with the smell of alcohol and the leather of his jacket. "I’m leaving with my band tomorrow. Don’t deny the request of a man you might never see again."

You wetted your lips without realizing, nibbling on the corner of your lower lip. Your eyes scanned him, the relaxed way he waited, as if he already knew you’d say yes. And maybe he did.

"My time is expensive," you said, crossing your arms, trying not to show how much his gaze disarmed you.

"Good," he tilted his head, a burning glint in his eyes. "I don’t mind giving you everything I have."

The silence stretched between you, heavy, charged. An invisible current connected you, an unspoken challenge in the air.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heels and walked toward the stage. The echo of your heels against the floor reverberated through the empty bar, each step a promise. You climbed the steps slowly, the tips of your fingers grazing the cold pole, and let out a controlled breath.

The music started again. And this time, the dance was only for him.

The bass throbbed through the floor, the air, your blood. His. The pole was your anchor, but with each note, each spin, you detached a little more from reality, diving into the dance like someone surrendering to a forbidden ritual.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He was there, transfixed, hypnotized, as you painted an unspoken invitation with your body.

Your skin glowed under the red light, a damp sheen that made him swallow hard. The movements started slow, precise, a play of shadows and curves that ignited desire with the patience of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Every sway of your hips, every glide along the pole, every arch of your spine made it clear: this wasn’t just a dance. It was a spell. And he was falling.

You stepped down from the pole without haste, bare feet on the stage, your body undulating to the rhythm of the music. His eyes followed you, but at some point, he was no longer just a spectator. You pulled him into the performance without him even realizing it. Your scent was intoxicating. A mix of sweat, perfume, and desire pulsing through your skin. He felt it when you drew closer, when your breath brushed against his, when the tips of your fingers ran lightly along your own thigh, as if tracing the path he wanted to take.

Your eyes were flaming abysses. Red. Blood-filled pupils reflecting the fever of that moment.

Slow, feline, your body danced in the space between the two of you, unhurried. You made him feel your presence before even touching him, your warm breath caressing his skin, the burning promise in the way you moved around him, as if marking the territory that already belonged to you.

The first touch was subtle but electric. His fingers trailed down your nape, tracing the path of a desire on the verge of exploding. And he didn’t resist. His face drew closer, lips grazing the exposed skin of your shoulder in a slow, hot, torturous drag. The tip of his tongue traced an invisible path along the curve of your neck, descending as if savoring you before committing the ultimate crime. He slid his lips over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, your stomach, while your hands tangled in his hair—pulling, guiding, demanding more.

Lost in a battle for control that didn’t exist, seeking escape in the dark desire of a night that might become just another memory by morning. You didn’t care about any rules at work when you let him go all the way. Free of your shorts, he pushed your thin panties aside and lost himself even further at the sight that had tormented him all night.

Leaning back, you watched as he descended, his mouth capturing your swollen lips with absolute hunger. A low sigh escaped your lips. His tongue moved back and forth with a slowness that felt more like torture, then captured your clit and circled it counterclockwise, never breaking eye contact—his gaze possessed by something wicked.

Gasping, your back arched involuntarily when he pushed two fingers inside you. He alternated between deep thrusts and slow, teasing sucks, his tongue painting strokes of electric pleasure that surged through your entire body. Your skin tingled, as if hundreds of needles were taking turns deciding which would torment you first.

Heat. Sweat trickled down your neck, bearing witness to your feverish state, made evident only by the loud moans that drowned out the music in the background. He punished you with quick thrusts and slow sucks, leaving your mind hazy with so much skill that you questioned where the hell a man like him had even come from.

You inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling like you were fighting against a tide dragging you under.

He locked his fingers around the top of your slit and sucked your clit as soon as he felt your body tense. He didn’t want you to come yet, and you obeyed like a good girl.

When he climbed back up, his breath ragged, eyes locked onto yours, there was a moment of silence. A single instant where only the sound of desire filled the space.

Then, your lips met.

The kiss wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t soft. It was fire. Sparks igniting the air the second your mouths clashed, teeth scraping, tongues warring in a game where both of you wanted to lose. You drowned in the heat, in your own taste, in the way his hands gripped your waist and dragged you closer into his lap, aligning you perfectly before slamming his cock inside you in one swift motion—like there wasn’t enough space in the world to keep you apart.

A cry tore from your lips when his thickness stretched your pussy, but even the burn of it was intoxicating, and with every thrust, you felt arousal drip between your thighs.

He groaned into your mouth, hands firm as they explored your curves, capturing your breasts, gripping your thighs, claiming every inch of you and silently begging for more.

You opened your eyes for a fleeting moment and saw only red on the ceiling of the club. Only fever.

Only a stage that no longer belonged to you. Nor to him. But to both of you.

Each bounce stole the air from his lungs, and you made sure to arch your ass higher, dropping onto him harder, faster, as his hands refused to leave your body even for a second. He played with the piercing on your nipple, smirking at the contrast of cold metal against sensitive, rigid flesh, spurring your hips to grind against him even more.

Slowly, you both rose from the floor, his solid body pressing against your back as your face rested against the metal pole. Bracing yourself, you felt his chin on your shoulder, his fingers gripping your thigh as he positioned you—his cock pushing inside again, still slick, yet struggling against your tightness.

Your legs trembled, your moans turning hoarse. The pressure of your walls squeezing around him made him sink his teeth into your shoulder. It was painful, dirty, forbidden—anyone could walk in at any second—but the thought only fueled you, making you clench even harder.

You wanted all of him. You wanted to provoke him, to make it hurt even more.

With another deliberate squeeze around him, you heard his moan deepen, his fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back. When your gaze met his burning irises, he silenced you with his lips, a furious kiss dripping with intensity as he pounded into you harder.

Your body burned so much your legs could barely hold you up, both of you panting as your bodies moved in sync, slick with sweat. For a brief second, sliding over his cock reminded you of the way you gripped the pole every night—how intimately you knew it, how it was a part of you. Just like he was now.

He plunged into you without shame or hesitation, devouring you with the hunger of someone who had been waiting far too long for their favorite meal. He dedicated himself to everything at once, and you had never felt so desired, so touched, so thoroughly satisfied in your entire life.

The light filtered through the thin curtains, tinting the room with a soft golden hue. The air still carried a trace of perfume and sweat—a silent reminder of the night before.

You woke slowly, stretching lazily on the unmade bed. A yawn slipped from your lips as your fingers ran through your hair, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. Sitting up, your feet touched the cold floor, and you walked to the bathroom to begin your morning ritual.

The shower water cascaded over your skin, washing away the warmth of sleep—and perhaps something more. Perhaps fragments of the night, blurred in your mind like echoes of a fever dream. You dressed without hurry, brewed a strong cup of coffee, and leaned against the small kitchen counter, trying to stitch together the loose threads of memory.

The scent of coffee pulled you further into wakefulness. The hot liquid slid down your throat, and it was only then—when your eyes drifted over the room—that you noticed.

An envelope.

It was there, next to your bag, on the nightstand.

Your stomach sank.

Slowly, you approached, fingers hesitant as you picked it up. The moment you opened it, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs.

Fourteen thousand dollars.

The crisp stack of bills felt heavier than it should.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the money, feeling your heart hammer violently in your chest.

It really happened.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

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