#embroidered shirts enjoy

[goodbyelore]

Homemade gift for a friend.

I forgot to take my own pictures but that was for the better because he sent me very nice ones 🥰

[bolognamayhem117]

Today and last night was a complete nightmare for my family. Scrawled this dumb idea to self soothe while I was calling the social security office and insurance providers. Enjoy. Yes. I forgot his bite mark. Oh well.

Anyway, I heard Fangs has been repairing his stuff for ages because he has little and that shirt might be what he was buried in. And we know he embroiders... And we know he doesn't know wtf to do with kindness... And I KNOW my Tav didn't like the butthole at first but certainly felt for the poor fuck....

Please. Stop pulling threads out of your sock. It's gross.

[sometimesanalice]

That’s My Girl

Summary: Bradley has been looking after you for longer than he can remember. You’ve always been his favorite person. So when some guy makes an unwelcomed move on you, that last thing he’s going to do is just sit back and watch it happen.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6.7K

Warning: language, male chauvinism, allusions to smut, some angst with a happy ending

(author's note: this is a fic is set in the 'Like I Can' universe, however it can be read on it's own!

In hindsight, Bradley should have known how rowdy the crowd at the Hard Deck was going to be tonight.

Sailors fresh off a several months long deployment were always a boisterous bunch. But Sailors fresh from a deployment during San Diego Fleet Week were a different thing entirely.

The bar is packed and humid, even with the doors and windows opened for the Pacific breeze. Penny’s old air conditioning unit might be on its last legs because Bradley’s shirt is sticking to the skin of his back. He’d nearly lost his mind when he’d seen that bead of sweat work its way down your neck and between your breasts when you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek and told him you were getting a refill and asked if he wanted anything.

Bradley really hoped you’d be up for leaving soon. He wouldn’t mind taking a dip in the pool at your apartment. Or better yet, getting you to join him for a cool shower.

It wasn’t the just the deep v of your tank top- or those sweet little embroidered flowers along the edges of it- that hand his fingers twitching to touch you. Although he liked those too.

It was that damn bow.

When Bradley had picked you up from your apartment earlier this evening and seen you wearing that, he’d given you a wolf whistle so loud it had caused your neighbor’s dog to start barking.

He’d taken advantage of your surprised laugh to back you up against your front door to get his mouth along the column of your neck. He’s always been a big picture kind of guy. And he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he was tugging open that bow between your breasts with his teeth.

You’d all but sighed his name as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Bradley.

And just as he’d reached your collarbone, you’d pulled him back up to your mouth like you were going to kiss him and murmured Later against his lips before slipping past him, like the menace that you are, leaving him to chase after the trail of your perfume.

You knew what you were doing, that was for damn sure. He’s always been a sucker for a bow. And for you.

Bradley had more than appreciated the extra sway you’d put in your hips just for him as you walked down your hallway towards the elevator. He’d grinned to himself as he set off after you, because at the end of the night, his girlfriend would be coming home with him.

Earlier in the evening, Coyote had been fast to claim the cluster of tables that some Butterbars had left to close out their tabs, most likely onto their way to the next stop of many for the night. It was lucky timing, because there’d been a nonstop steady stream of people making their way into the unofficial designated Naval watering hole for Fleet Week. There was a mix of civilians, Naval regulars who are stationed at North Island, and the visiting Sailors dressed in their uniforms on liberty. Bradley wasn’t sure how many more bodies could be packed in until some of the worn wooden shingles of the bar started popping off.

The lively and loud atmosphere of Fleet Week was something that Bradley had typically enjoyed in the past. He liked seeing people cut loose and laugh as they swapped stories with their friends and families. And he’d been happy to do his part to add to the good times, having been pulled to the piano twice already.

Over the years he’d built up a curated collection crowd-pleasers for occasions just like this. Part peacocking, part coping. While he’s never been the type to shy away from being the center of attention, he’d also found it was easier to breathe in the spotlight. Because with everyone’s eyes on him, it was impossible to feel alone.

So much has changed for him since getting permanently stationed in San Diego. And all for the better. That loneliness was a thing of the past, because now when he played, he was surrounded by all of his favorite people

But Bradley still ends his impromptu sets the same way he always has, with Jerry Lee Lewis. Only now he gets to sing it directly to the girl who’d given him the sheet music to the song in the first place.

The same one, he’s realized, who hasn’t returned back from getting her refill yet.

Bradley takes a quick glance around the corner of the bar they’d laid claim too. Bob, Fanboy, and Payback were lounging against the side of the pool table chatting up some of the visiting Sailors, since there wasn’t enough room to actually play a round without taking someone out with one of the cues. Coyote was leaning over the jukebox flipping through the albums with a pretty civilian who was out with her friends that he’d met and was clearly trying to impress. And Jake and Nat were seated with him at one of the tall round tables taking about the new Top Gun students, where your chair next to him was still empty.

Everyone was accounted for, except you.

There are so many people packed around the edges of the bar that it takes him a moment to find you. He thought maybe you’d been held up by Penny or Jimmy or some other familiar face, but he doesn’t recognize the man who standing way too close to you. But the firm press of your lips tells him everything he needs to know.

He sees the next moment playout as if it’s in slow motion. Watching as you attempt to take a step back, only for the guy to wrap his hand around your wrist to keep you from moving away. Bradley sees you glance down at that hand on you, and back up at the stranger. He knows that look in your eyes as you shake out of his grip. You aren’t just annoyed, you’re pissed.

Bradley slams his beer down and shoves his stool back.

He hears Jake curse behind him, “Oh, shit.”

Chair legs screech against the wooden floor as his friends hustle to follow after him, but he doesn’t wait for them to catch up.

There’s a trail of spilled cocktails and beers in his wake as he unapologetically weaves through the tightly crammed bodies that separate him from you. If anyone has an issue with him later, they can put a refill on his tab. But right now, his only goal is getting to you.

He doesn’t slow for a second. He just struts right up and steps in between you and the other man.

“Do we have an issue here?” he rasps, folding his arms over his chest.

Bradley takes the guy in with a hard glower. The name tape on his uniform reads Wilson. A LTJG, based on his shoulder boards, from one of the visiting ships. The man is big, but Bradley is bigger. And he outranks him. The guy might not know it yet, but it was just another thing he was planning on making crystal clear.

You put a hand on his tense shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

“It sure as shit doesn’t seem fine.” He doesn’t take his glare off of Wilson. “I think it’s time for you to go now.” He jerks his chin towards the front door.

“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” the other man drawls, sending him a wink. The implied innuendo makes Bradley’s jaw clench. There wasn’t anything “friendly” about the way he’d been using his size to keep you trapped at the bar.

The guy is trashed. There’s a blankness behind his eyes that Bradley doesn’t like the look of. He must have pre-gamed before going out because Penny and Jimmy weren’t ones to overserve.

“No, what you’re doing is paying your tab and leaving this bar.” It’s an order.

“Bradley.” You say his name like a warning. “I’m handling it.”

You pull on his shoulder, but he shrugs you off.

“No, kid, I’m handling it for you.” This asshole was Bradley’s problem to deal with now. He’d tapped in the moment he’d seen the man touch you.

“I see.” Wilson’s gaze bounces back and forth between the two of you, an oily grin appears on his face. “You’ve already got someone for tonight lined up. Damn, you didn’t waste any time did you, sweet thing?”

Anger flares hot and bright in his stomach.

“You better watch your mouth,” Bradley spits, pointing a threatening finger.

The bar around him blurs around the edges, but the man in front of him only gets sharper in focus.

You step around him and tug on his arm. From the corner of his eye, he can see you shaking your head at him. “Bradley, stop. I told you, I’ve got it.” Your voice is clipped, tight. “Let me take care of it.”

He knows you want for him to let it go. To back off. And he’s about to- for you- because you want him to. But then he sees the guy’s eyes drop down to the exposed skin of your chest- to that bow between your breasts- and smirks.

It’s a look so filthy that even Bradley feels dirty. He operates out of instinct. Stretching his arm in front of you, he purposefully pushes you back behind him to where he knows Seresin is standing close by, trusting that his friend will move you out of the way.

“A barrack bunny like you must know her way around. I don’t mind another man’s sloppy-”

For a moment, Bradley isn’t at the Hard Deck anymore. He’s standing in Jason Cameron’s kitchen, where the smell of weed and cheap alcohol and Axe hung heavy in the air.

Bradley’s fist flies on its own.

He barely registers the moment his knuckles connect with the other man’s jaw. He doesn’t see the man stumble backwards into the table behind him. He doesn’t hear the surprised gasps or the sound of glass breaking or the thud as the man hits the floor. There’s only the color red and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

When he shakes off the memory and returns back to his body, he’s almost surprised to see the broken bottles on the floor and not shards from a sliding glass door.

The next few minutes are a flurry of chaos as Wilson’s friends come and scoop him off the floor to make their exit. From the looks of irritation on their faces, it seems like this might be an all too frequent occurrence. He makes a mental note to try and look up the man’s supervising officer. And if he can’t find them on his own, he’ll ask Mav to help.

He can feel dozens of eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Bradley takes a moment to apologize to Penny. He avoids looking directly in her eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment he’s sure is there. The adrenaline is still coursing and sparking through his body. He needs a moment to work off his anger and get his head back on straight before he comes to check on you. But he knows you’re in good hands with his friends.

Without being asked, he rights the table and stools on his way to the supply closet to grab a broom and dustpan. He takes his time meticulously picking up the bits of broken glass off the ground before he sweeps the rest of it up as he waits for his heartrate to settle back down.

When he’s done, he spots Nat and Jake sitting at the bar top and heads towards them. But for the second time tonight, you’re not where you should be.

“That was some left hook, Bradshaw,” Nat says, pinning him with a flat look over the top of her drink.

He ignores the comment. “Have either of you seen my girlfriend?”

Jake lifts his hand up at about your height. “About this tall? Great smile? Dating a man that’s clearly punching?” He chuckles to himself. “No pun intended.” Those dimples of his are more grating than usual.

Bradley’s hand flexes in irritation. His quick fuse is on its way to being lit again.

“Seresin,” he barks, low on patience, “Where’d she go?”

The other man lets out a low whistle and shares a look with Nat. “She left out the side patio door like ten minutes ago. Looked like she was about to spit nails too.”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles under his breath. He turns to Phoenix. “Did she really look that pissed?”

She shrugs. “I’m surprised she didn’t punch you, I probably would have.”

Bradley’s mouth drops open. “For what? For defending her?”

All he did tonight was stand up for you when someone crossed a line and tried to get physical with you. He wasn’t ashamed for doing it, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“But did she want you to do that?” she asks, deliberately.

He doesn’t understand why Nat is giving him a hard time about this.

“That’s my girl and that guy wasn’t listening.”

Nat lifts a pointed eyebrow at him, “Sounds familiar.”

Bradley forces out a breath. “That was different and you know it.”

“All I’m saying is I think she was making herself pretty clear, but you chose not to hear her and did what you wanted anyways.” His teeth clench together as a rock lands hard in his stomach. “And from the sound of it, she wanted to handle it her own way.”

“Yeah, but…” You’re his, he wants to say, but holds back at the risk of sounding like the jealous boyfriend Nat thinks he’s being. Except he wasn’t being jealous, he just wanted to protect you.

“No buts, Rooster. You fucked up.”

Nat has always been a straightshooter. It was one of the things he’s always appreciated most about her, that and her keen ability to read people. He trusted her judgement. And if she feels this way, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with it, then the chances are very high that you do too.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, ‘shit’. Now go fix it.” She pats his shoulder once, and then gives him a shove to the side door they’d seen you leave from.

It’s cooler outside.

The ocean breeze feels good on his hot, sticky skin. Bradley feels like he can breathe a little easier without all those people milling around him.

You’re not hard to spot. To anyone else you’d a solidary figure facing the ocean, but he’d know the shape of you anywhere.

From what Seresin said, Bradley had figured you’d be half way down the beach. He’d been planning just to follow the trail of steam to find you. But you’re still as a statue with your arms wrapped around yourself as you stare out at the inky waves.

The noise from the bar is muffled inside the walls of the Hard Deck, but still slips out from the windows that are cracked open and follows him as he walks towards you. The sand shifts beneath his shoes with every step he takes. The tunes from Penny’s jukebox get carried away on the wind and are replaced with the gentle roar of the waves as he approaches you.

The days are getting longer and dusk is rolling in. The sun is hanging low in the sky. Not quite set, but well on its way. He’d love nothing more than to pull you into his lap in one of the Adirondack chairs to watch the last glimmering moments of golden hour with you in his arms. But knows that’s probably not in the cards for tonight.

The two of you have had fights before. Usually over stupid, inconsequential things. Arguing with you feels different now than when it did when you were just friends. Now that you’re his girlfriend, it feels like there’s more at stake. He knew he’d never forgive himself if he fumbled the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Bradley wants to skip over this part to where the two of you are back on the same page. He wants to skip to the part where he gets to see your dimples and hear you laugh.

He stops just a few feet behind you. He knows you know he’s there, in that uncanny way you’ve always been able to sense him. The minutes tick by as he stands there and waits for you to acknowledge him. Or to turn around and shoot him that withering glare of yours. He’d take anything other than your silence.

But you don’t.

You give him nothing, which is almost worse.

It feels like a standoff.

He folds first.

“Sweet girl,” Bradley says, with a resigned sigh.

He doesn’t miss the way your whole body tenses at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Rooster.”

The way you say his callsign lands like a punch in the gut.

You’re only standing a few feet away from him, but it feels like the two of you are miles apart.

“C’mon, kid, that asshole is gone now. Come back inside.”

“Seriously?” you laugh bitterly, still refusing to look at him. “You’re seriously going to ignore me right now too? I said I don’t want to talk right now.”

He feels his jaw tick. “Look, I’m sorry,” he starts, still not feeling sorry in the least, “But-”

You put a hand up and whirl on him, shaking your head in disbelief. The thunderous look on your face would have a lesser man taking a step back, instead Bradley steels his spine and digs his feet into the sand.  

“I really don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at you,” you fume. “Not even in high school when you got in that stupid fucking fight at that Homecoming party when I had to take you to the hospital.”

He presses his lips together firmly. There was a time and place for a conversation about that night, the one where he’d earned the scars on his face, but it wasn’t here and now. It was a secret he’d kept to himself for nearly two decades, the only other person who’d known the full story was his mom. But telling you about it now would only make things worse.

You continue, like a freight train without brakes, “And you’d been drunk then. Not that that excuses anything. But you’ve had, what? Two beers tonight?” When you lift your eyebrows at him expectantly, he nods curtly in confirmation. “So tell me what the hell just happened in there?”

He swears that sharp flash of your eyes could cut glass.  A lick of heat bursts behind his sternum. Hot and fierce.

“He wasn’t backing off,” Bradley grits out, trying to summon the patience he doesn’t have. “What was I supposed to do? Give him a pat on the back and let him keep hitting on my girlfriend?” You scoff and he feels his pulse kick up in his throat. “I have always had your back, and I will always have your back.”

Bradley doesn’t understand why you don’t seem to understand that he’d do anything for you. He’s been looking out for you since your bike handlebars had iridescent tassels streaming from them, and if he has his way he’ll be looking out for you until his number is up.

“But that’s the thing, Rooster! You didn’t have my back in there,” you argue, stepping forward so you’re toe to toe with him. Your use of his callsign again chafes against his ears like sandpaper. “All you did was manhandle me out of the way to get at him and throw fists. I mean, Mav and Hondo would have let it slide if they’d been there to see that. But what about Cyclone? Would he? Why would you put your career at risk like that? What were you even thinking?”

You’re looking at him like you don’t know him, and he hates it. Because you’re the person who knows him best.

He runs a hand through his hair in agitation. He’s been trying to tame his temper, that caged animal that paced within the confines of the ribs in his chest. But his anger and frustration has been feeding off of yours, meeting it measure for measure.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking,” Bradley explodes, flinging his arms out to the side. “I’m not going to stop and make a damn pros and cons list while I watch some asshole being disrespectful and getting physical with you. It’s not going to happen, kid.”

“And I told you that I had it handled!” you exclaim.

The sound of the waves gets lost in the way both of your voices are raising with each and every parry in the verbal fencing match you’ve found yourselves in. This has escalated quicker than he ever could have expected, and all he wants is to find himself back on the same page with you.

“How am I the bad guy in all of this right now?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m not mad about you wanting you to be there for me, I’m mad about how you went about it. You literally pushed me out of the way and passed off to Jake, like my voice and feelings in that moment didn’t matter to you. Like you didn’t care about what I wanted. You have never treated me like that before.”

Guilt makes his stomach churn.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he replies. It’s an uncomfortable truth.

That dark period after his mom died and how he’d treated you still haunted him sometimes. When he’d try to set fire to all the bridges around him, including his friendship with you. He hadn’t been worth knowing back then, but you’d never given up on him. He remembers it like it was yesterday, he’s never forgotten it. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, it was one of the many things that played out behind his eyelids like a highlight reel of all his worst moments.

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. He sees the moment it clicks for you because the fire that had been blazing behind those eyes he knows so well transforms into something softer. Something sadder.

“Bradley, I’m not going to hold onto something from when you were eighteen and hurting and heartbroken.” Your voice catches with emotion. “But tonight? Tonight, you made me feel small. And you’re the very last person I thought who’d ever make me feel that way.”

He can’t even enjoy hearing you say his name again, because you look so disappointed in him. The two of you stand there staring at each other, searching each other’s eyes as the waves rolling in along the shore fill the silence.

The way your lower lip wobbles steals the fight right out of him. All that righteous indignation that had been whirling in his chest is gone quicker than it came over him at the sight of the tears welling up along your lower lash line.

He’d let you down back then. And he’d let you down tonight too. He feels like he’s broken a promise to you, one he’d made with himself a longtime ago. Bradley wants to be the man whose shoulders you could lean on, the one you trusted to bet there to support you. He never thought he’d be the guy who makes you cry.

Bradley says your name tenderly. Every single letter of it is precious to him because you’re the most important person in the world to him.

The single tear that escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your face cracks his chest wide open.

He holds out his hand for you, but you half-heartedly bat it away.

“No, I’m still mad at you,” you say, feebly. It’s unconvincing at best.

“You can be mad at me, kid,” Bradley murmurs, “But just let me hold you.”

He needs to know that you’ll still let him. That you still want him.

Bradley reaches out for you again and this time you let him pull you into his chest. And when you thread your arms around his torso and hold him just as tight that knot in his stomach loosens. He rests his chin on your head and releases a sigh. With you in his arms, he feels like his feet are finally back on solid ground.

He knows he owes you an apology, a real one this time. He knows that he’s fucked up, he understands where he went wrong. But he can’t shake the feeling that he feels like he’s missing something, that there’s another reason playing into why you’re so upset.

Every one of your quiet sniffles twists the knife that’s lodged itself between his ribs just a bit more each time.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there wrapped up in each other, as he runs his hand up and down your back. There’s more to discuss, but he doesn’t rush you. He’ll hold you for as long as you need him to.

When you pull away, only far enough to look up at him, he takes the opportunity to gently cup your face in his hands. His thumb skims along the line of your jaw, your eyes are still watery.

“Sweet girl, why are you crying? I know you. Why does it feel like there’s more to this than just me being an idiot?” he asks, quietly. It still feels so fragile between the two of you.

“Because I l-like you so much. And I know you meant well, but I hated what happened tonight.” You wipe angrily at the fresh tears that streak down your face, like you’re irritated at them for them falling without your permission.  “My ex used to pull that kind of bullshit all the time and I always hated the way it made me feel.”

His hands fall from your face.

Your confession surprises him. “Jack?” Bradley asks, his eyebrows pulling together. You nod. “I thought you said he was fine? That the break up was mutual because things got stale between the two of you.”

It’s times like this where he’s reminded of just how much distance there between the two of you over the last decade before you moved to San Diego. Of how much of you he’s missed out on. All the little moments that made up someone’s life. There was only so much an email, or a text, or a call could do.

You sigh, heavily. “I’m realizing now that there were a lot of things I put up with Jack because I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

Bradley’s fingers flex involuntarily where his hands are resting your hips. He doesn’t know what to make of that admission.

“You got to give me more than that to work with, kid. Help me to understand.”

You run you hand along his forearm soothingly, like you can sense his unease. He slides his thumbs through the loops of your jeans, fixing himself to you.

“Jack was really good about wanting to show everyone that he was a good boyfriend. And he was- for a while.” You pause, pressing your lips together. “But there were a few times where we’d go out and he’d make a scene, like what happened tonight. Except instead of someone being an actual asshole, it’d be someone who’d started up some polite small talk with me as we waited in line. And it always became a bigger thing than it needed to be. Then afterwards, he’d make it seem like he was defending my honor or something, even though he knew I didn’t like the kind of attention and all the looks that came with it afterwards. But Jack was always about Jack, and he liked the hero edit his friends would give him.”

You look away from him towards the ocean, the sunset paints you golden. Bradley knows you’re collecting your thoughts, so he waits. When you’re ready, you turn back towards him. There’s a different kind of hurt reflected in your eyes, one that tells him tonight has opened up old wounds for you.

“He’d say all the right things around other people, but when it was just the two of us alone, I never got that side of him. At the time I believed he was saying them because he meant them, but I can see now that he never really showed me that he meant them. I took his words at face value and settled for them.”

You give him a self-conscious shrug. Like you’re embarrassed. But your big heart was one of the things he loved most about you, and he hated the idea that someone had been careless with it before it made it into his safekeeping.

Bradley swallows hard. That tonight reminded you of the low points in your past relationship is hard for him to hear. And knowing why, makes it even worse.

“I think, more than anything,” you continue, your voice much quieter now, “I’m just mad that I let myself get lost in that for so long. Like I knew I needed more and that I wanted more, but I kept putting him ahead of myself when he wasn’t doing that for me.”

You thread your fingers between his and squeeze them lightly. He squeezes yours back.

“But you, Bradley, say the right things and mean them. You show me how important I am to you, with or without an audience. No one has ever made me feel as special as you do. Like, you don’t buy me red roses because you think you should-”

“Wait,” he doesn’t mean to cut you off, but his mind has snagged on a critical detail, “I thought your favorite flowers were tulips?”

A soft smile coasts over your pretty face. “They are.” He loves the warm way you’re looking at him right now, tender and fond. “And that’s what I’m talking about. You show me all the ways you know me because you care about me and want to make me happy. You don’t treat me like I’m an accessory in your life. I mean, I didn’t feel like I could even hang art on the walls of the apartment I paid half the rent for without Jack having an opinion on it. And here you are letting me bring over kitchen towels and plants for you, and we don’t even live together yet.”

Yet. Such a small word, but it means so much to know that you’re envisioning the same future with him that he sees with you.

“I like that you do that. I want you to do that. I appreciate the way you show me you’re thinking about me too.” Bradley runs his thumbs over the back of your hands. “Although, I’d rather be the one buying them,” he says, only partly teasing.

You made his house feel like a home. He hadn’t had that in so long. He wanted you to have things there in his condo that you also liked and made you happy because he wanted you to stay. He couldn’t wait for the day the two of you shared one address instead of two.

“Does that mean I should return the throw pillows I found for you?” He spots a wink of your dimples. “They’re soft, but firm enough that you won’t hurt your neck when you inevitably fall asleep on the couch even though you claim you’re just ‘resting your eyes’.” He never wants you to stop teasing him.

“No,” Bradley chuckles. “They sound perfect, but you’re going to let me Venmo you for them.”

“Ok, fine,” you agree. Almost reluctantly.

God, he loves you.

He leans in to kiss you. Once. Twice. Soft, sweet.

Bradley lets go of one of your hands to settle on your lower back and press you closer to him, until there’s no space between your two bodies. And brings the other one, with your fingers still tangled with his up against his chest. Before resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like that tonight.”

“Thank you, I forgive you.” You set the hand not entwined with his on the side of his face, your thumb sweeps across his cheek. “But I need you to hear me when I say that I can hold my own just fine, Bradley. I know you want to have my back and look out for me, but please, just not like that. Even if your heart is in the right place, ok?”

He nods. “I hear you, sweet girl. It’s not going to happen again. I promise.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. And then lifts the one still in his up to his lips, and drops a kiss to the back it.

“Plus, you taught me how to throw a punch, remember? I’m pretty sure I broke a guy’s nose one time,” you grin.

“Atta girl,” he says with pride. It’s so much lighter between the two of you now. He takes a couple step back, letting go of you and giving you a not-so-subtle onceover. “Ok, hot shot, show me what you got.” Beckoning you over with both hands.

“I’m not going to punch you, Bradley.”

“C’mon, kid, show me how it’s done.”

You shake your head at him in amused disbelief. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No ma’am.” He taps his finger on his abs. “Let’s see it.”

You roll your eyes at him fondly. Then you hook your thumb over the top of your fist, just like he showed you all those years ago. And you ever so slowly, ever so gently press your perfectly aligned fist into his stomach. It could hardly even be considered a graze.

He doubles over with an overexaggerated oof and then tilts his head up at you and winks with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.” The sound of your laugh fills his lungs.

It’s the same sound when he’d toss you into the pool when you were twelve. It’s the same sound when he’d spin you on the big tire swing when you were fourteen. It’s the same sound when he twirled you around the dance floor when you were nineteen at your mom’s second wedding.

There’s not just a glimmer of your dimples anymore, the full force of them hits him right in the chest.

“Speaking of punching,” Bradley says, straightening back up. “Hangman thinks I’m punching up.”

“Oh, does he? Interesting,” you hum. Your eyes shine in amusement.

He grins. “He’s not wrong. You’re way out of my league.”

You softly shake your head at him. “I’m just right for you. And you’re just right for me.”

He couldn’t agree more, but you don’t give him the chance too because you’re threading your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to yours. With you in his arms and his lips on yours, he feels whole. You weren’t just right for him, you were perfect for him. And he’d never stop trying to be the perfectly right man for you.

No one’s ever had him, not like the way you do.

You’d always had a special place in his heart, but now the whole thing belonged to you. It was yours for the taking. He knew it would be in good hands with you, and he wasn’t going to stop proving to you that he was the one to be trusted with yours.

“Do you want me to take you home or do you want to go back inside?” He asks against your lips.

You kiss him again. “Let’s go back,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You owe me a dance, you know.”

He drops an arm over your shoulder. “I do?”

“You do.”

“Well then, lead the way, sweet girl.”

After he twirls you around on the crowded makeshift dancefloor of the Hard Deck, you let him take you home. Where he apologizes to you again, but this time on his knees with your thigh thrown over his shoulder. And twice more in your bed for good measure.

But not before he got his teeth on that little bow of yours.

He never stood a chance against it.

𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Bradley is about to line up his next shot at the pool table when Jake saddles up and nudges his shoulder.

“Looks like your girl has an admirer.” Hangman points with his beer bottle, directing Bradley’s gaze to the bar where someone is chatting you up.

He recognizes him from the most recent batch of Top Gun students. To call him overconfident would be an understatement. The guy is clearly as full of himself on the ground as he is in the sky, based on his body language as he monologues to you, all puffed up chest and cocky smiles.

If the guy had any common sense, he’d see that you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. It’s written all over your face.

“So it seems,” Bradley agrees, rests a hip against the table.

He’d noticed the guy checking you out. But it was pretty ballsy of the aviator to be leaning into you the way that he is, considering the two of you had arrived together and that Bradley had been the one tasked with doing some demonstration trainings with them earlier in the week.

The man makes some big gestures with his hands, he’s clearly reached the part of his story that’s meant to impress you. Bradley chuckles to himself when he sees the less than subtle roll of your eyes.

“Are you going to go all Rocky Balboa on his ass?” Jake asks with a knowing smirk.

You must feel their eyes on you, because you glance over in their direction.

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’ll be there if you want him to be.

Bradley lifts his eyebrow in a silent question. You give him a slight shake of your head and he nods.

“Nah, she’s got it.”

He sees the moment the guy fucks up and oversteps, because your eyebrows shoot up. You’re his sweet girl, but he knows the other guy is in for it when look that promises the best kind of trouble settles over your face.

His favorite menace.

Bradley watches on as you lean over the counter and ring the bell with enthusiasm.

A cheer goes up throughout the bar. He brings his fingers up to his lips and lets out a loud whistle.

You look rightfully smug as Penny points out the wooden sigh strung up between the beer taps to the confused Top Gun student whose bank account will be hurting in the morning.

“Damn. I forgot the kid is a straight hustler,” Jake says, clearly impressed.

“She sure is,” Bradley grins, still looking at you, “It’s a good thing she likes you or you’d be screwed.” He pats Jake’s shoulder reassuringly, before pressing the cue into his hands.

You return a few minutes later, with a tray of frothy, freshly poured beers for everyone wearing an all-to-pleased grin that lights up the whole bar.

He waits until the beers are safely on the table before threading a finger through your beltloop and tugging him to you.

“That’s my girl.”

Bradley tilts your face up for a kiss. It’s not his best work, you’re making it difficult for him since you’re too busy smiling.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Disclaimer: my writing playlist included Cassandra, The Prophecy, and Castles Crumbling. So legally I cannot be held accountable for any angst hangovers.

Thank you for reading!

If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!

You can read more of my stories here!

taglist:

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[husbandhoshi]

[9:47 AM] *suggestive

the first thing you learn about seungcheol is that his towels are embroidered. csc, they read, in gold thread on absurdly plush bath towels.

(actually, the first thing you learned about him was that he's a good kisser. you learned this the hard way, outside the bar, after all your friends had gone home and it just was you, him, and his tongue in your mouth.)

as a rule, you try not to learn anything about your late night escapades, but, evidently, you have already failed.

it's easy to notice his bathroom looks much bigger than it did last night, now that all the lights are on. he has not one, but two, matching rugs, and the sconce lights make the marble countertop look like it's made of water. nestled in the corner is a little tray with all his cologne lined up end to end—armani, dior, chanel.

you pick up the silvery one on the end and smell the cap. (yes, this one. he was wearing this one last night, right in the space where his collarbone met the base of his neck. you had kissed him there, and he had asked you to go home with him. creed, aventus, it says.)

he even has the drunk elephant moisturizer, although it looks criminally underused. it sits among a small pile of skincare that looks like it costs twice your monthly paycheck, if you had worked overtime.

you have to remind yourself you're not here to snoop through rich people's bathrooms, as fun as that sounds.

seungcheol was a quick fuck (and a really good one at that), but you already feel like you've overstayed your welcome.

the plan—in and out. you hate the sticky, too-warm goodbyes, the small talk at the kitchen table, the unexpected rattle of a roommate coming home. worst of all, they never want you as badly in the morning as they did the night before.

but the plan has already gone to shit. you woke up practically spooning him and your little bathroom detour cost you ten minutes. and it's almost 10, which is what he has his two-hundred dollar alarm clock set to.

you shut the bathroom door as quietly as you can, hoping to make a quick getaway. but it's here, caught in the waxy overcast from the huge windows, where, for the first time in your life, you almost want to say fuck the plan.

"morning," seungcheol hums, propping himself up on the bed. you take one look at him, shirtless and sweats slung low, and you lose the plot entirely.

yesterday, when you had met, it looked like he was made in some kind of factory for hot men—starched white shirt rolled to the forearms, hair perfectly gelled, and a fat breitling watch hugging his wrist. and yet, as you watch him blow a cowlick out of his eyes, he seems even more attractive, which you would have never thought possible.

"someone's eager to get outta here," he says, enjoying the way you avoid his eyes. "don't tell me it was that bad for you."

you smile nervously. what you can remember about last night is that it was anything but bad. the whole thing makes your face feel hot—you are no prude, but he sure makes you feel like one.

"is that what it looks like?" you answer. you realize you can't find your shoes. you think he threw them somewhere last night, between the memory of his hand up your dress and yours in his hair. he kissed his way up your legs and you forgot you even had shoes to worry about.

"almost, if you weren't checking me out just now."

damn. guilty as charged. you can't help it. things feel too good to be true.

first, you learned you got fucked by a million dollar dick last night. now, instead of kicking you out like any other one night stand, he's acting decent, maybe even more than decent. and he has the tits of a god.

seungcheol sees your face wrench up in puritanical shame and he laughs.

"well, if you have time in your busy, busy schedule," he starts, with a grin that makes you dizzy. "i'm making breakfast. and i would love to eat it with you."

suddenly you don't know why you ever had a plan in the first place. you watch him attempt to wink at you from all the way across the room and you think getting to know him might not be such a bad thing after all. maybe things are too good to be true, but you're willing to find out.

needless to say, the second thing you learn about seungcheol is that he cannot cook.

the third? he's an even better kisser sober.

[zweiginator]

college!patrick corrupting innocent reader……………… gawd

thinking about this but like. him bringing art in. needs his best friend to enjoy this too!!!

oh fuck because i'm thinking that patrick wants to teach you how to give head. the only problem is that he doesn't trust himself. he knows as soon as you're swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning around him with those big watery eyes of yours--he'll start fucking your throat. he can't control it and it makes him want to be the guinea pig so much fucking more. you're such a good little student; he knows you'd take it like a champ. but he'll be good.

you don't realize patrick has an agenda here. that he has strategically thought out everything he wants to teach you and put it in the order that makes most sense. it feels sleazy to him that he hasn't even seen your pussy. hasn't felt that velvety skin against his tongue, your silky wetness coating his fingers or his cock.

but he assures himself that waiting will make it better. and patrick doesn't tell either you nor art what's on his little agenda. he just tells you to come over around seven. shoots art the same text.

so you both wait outside his door. neither of you have knocked yet. you notice how art's cheeks are dewy and pink, a mixture of his proximity to such a beautiful girl, and remnants from the five mile run he just completed.

you introduce yourself.

art wipes his clammy hand on the back of his grey t-shirt and slips his palm into yours

"i'm art. it's nice to meet you." his voice is soft. he's handsome in a way that is different than patrick, but you can't quite put your finger on why that is. maybe a fundamental difference in their first impressions with you.

patrick was unabashed in his actions. aware of his effect on other people. willing and able to use his charisma to get whatever he wants in a way that borders on manipulative but couldn't quite be classified that way.

art has more trepidation. but he still has confidence in the way he carries himself. his shoulders are back, his posture near perfect.

"are you here for patrick?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"yeah," you answer, looking at the time. 6:59. you and art are very timely. "he told me to come over at 7."

art fumbles with his phone, pulling it out of his shorts pocket. it's hard to see with the glare of the late spring sun, but he shows you the text patrick sent him. it's verbatim what was sent to you, and you tell art this.

"weird. are you guys dating or something?"

you shrug. "no, i don't think. just hanging out."

art knows what that means. and he chews on the inside of his cheek. his jaw pops.

"how do you know each other?" it's your turn to ask questions.

"he's my best friend." art knocks on patrick's door for the third time before crossing his arms over his chest. you sense more urgency in the way art is acting. "we grew up together, played tennis all throughout childhood and here we are."

"patrick plays tennis?" you notice art's t-shirt and hat. it's on backwards, but it's embroidered with stark white lettering. stanford tennis. "i didn't know that." you feel small, realizing you don't know a huge part of patrick's life. naive to his hobbies and talents and his best friend. maybe you overestimated your role in his life.

art senses your disappointment in how your voice falters.

"he's not a very open person. hence why we're both here right now. dumbass probably sent me the text by accident." art kicks the door. "pat! open the fucking door, man! it's hot out here!" the veins in his neck tremble as patrick flings the door open.

"come in, come in." he ushers you both inside.

so he really did mean to text art.

he sits between you both on the couch and puts his arms around you and art. spreads his legs wide and lets out a deep sigh.

you and art look at each other, confused. but neither of you speak up just yet; perhaps its a subconscious nod to the fact that patrick is in charge here. a way to foreshadow.

"she's pretty, isn't she artie?" patrick turns to his best friend and you see him flush a deeper shade of pink.

"um, yeah. she is." art responds.

you swallow. both of their legs are spread wide, to the point where you barely have room to fit on the couch. it seems rude, but then again, maybe patrick is doing this on purpose.

"and artie?" he turns to you this time; his broad, strong torso almost obstructs your view of art behind him. "he's handsome. lots of girls think that."

you nod. "yeah, he is handsome." it's innocuous enough. and you wouldn't lie, of course not.

"what's the deal here, pat?" art says it breathily. like he knows patrick has a trick up his sleeve.

"we've been having some lessons." patrick says, only to art, as if you're not there. "i taught her how to kiss."

your breath hitches. is he going to tell?---

"and i taught her how to give a handjob, just last week. her first one ever."

"patrick this isn't my business." art shifts uncomfortably, watching the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick.

"but there's still a lot to learn for her." patrick continues, unfazed by the obvious discomfort in the room, the shifted mood that seemingly affects everyone but him. because again, he's in power. it's his prerogative. and here you both exist, at his mercy.

you're awfully quiet, but you stay that way.

"i want to teach her how to give a blowjob." patrick says it as he picks lint from his shorts, like it means nothing. and it makes you want to do it. to impress him and stay on his radar. not to be a temporary plaything.

so you lean into patrick and press a kiss to his neck, open-mouthed at the part that makes him shudder and melt. but he pulls away from you.

"not on me, sweetheart."

you look at him, bewildered. art shares the same expression, except his jaw is clenched and a pearly bead of sweat trembles over his browbone.

"on him."

art can't pretend he isn't intrigued. maybe he should put a stop to this. put his foot down and say no to patrick. except he wants it. and god, he hopes you want it to.

art looks at you, his lips parted and pink to match the supple skin of his cheeks.

patrick watches you two. has a look on his face that reads well what are you two waiting for?

you crawl over patrick's lap so you're leaning over his body. using him like a bridge. your hands grip onto patrick's thighs until you find balance. art sits up straighter, meets you in the middle so patrick has a perfect view of your profiles.

art cups your cheek and pulls your bottom lip with his teeth before sucking it into his mouth. you feel his jaw move, opening wide so he can envelope you in an open-mouthed kiss that sets your body on fire. patrick watches spit dribble down your chins in a messy meld of kisses, of tongues, of hands all over each other.

patrick grabs your wrist, the one that rested on art's jaw, and plants it square on art's erection.

neither patrick nor you expect the carnal groan that emits from art's throat.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

TF141 Scenarios and Headcanons

(Them interacting with the mini and pink version of Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley) Inspired by my previous post

Credits to @puff0o0 for this wonderful art that I requested and all the other art that's used in this post, she delivered and slayed. I genuinely love your art style because the textures looks like crayons were used and it's just so cute, thanks so much Puff <3

Pairings:

Ghost x Wife!Reader

Justice for Soap? Poor guy has been a victim in this entire set of scenarios.

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

❥ Simon bringing mini Ghostie for her to interact with the Taskforce again. Safe to say Soap got hit at the back of his head for even trying to make fun of the pink carrier (that you, his loving wife bought for the baby), while the little one was fidgeting with the red bow that decorated the front of the strap carrier.

❥ Ghostie didn't earn the nickname till the second time Simon brought her with him bringing the mask along and she proudly wore it. They actually went through the effort of getting her a tailored camo print uniform with a little patch embroidered with the words "youngest recruit" and "Riley" embroidered on the back of the shirt.

❥ Mini Ghostie keeping herself busy with the crayons and papers provided by uncle Gaz, drawing herself, her dad and the other Taskforce members then proudly showing it off to them after they're done being busy. (It earned a spot on the base's fridge, Price bought a magnet for that purpose alone because it was held up by tape for the longest time)

❥ A little visual for you guys provided by my favorite and beloved mutual @puff0o0:

❥ Ghostie and Gaz exchange drawings on a basis, more oftentimes it's funny faces that Soap makes. Soap saw them..

"I DINNAE LOOK LIKE THAT"

*Gaz raising a brow at him while Ghostie was giggling at Soap raising his voice*

❥ And yes, Gaz was responsible for the shrekified version of Soap that was on the fridge.

❥ Soap tried to draw something as an insult towards Gaz but it backfired and little Ghostie ended up loving it and taking it home to display it on the wall of her room:

❥ Gaz tends to be pursuaded by every little pout Ghostie gives him, probably the reason behind him being her favorite uncle. Ghostie made a drawing of Gaz once with an outlined heart around the picture, he now has it framed on his desk.

❥ Safe to say that Ghostie was amused by Soap getting hurt in any way possible, at first it started with her dad playfully punching the sergeant that made her giggle but then it slowly started to turn into her taking matters into her own hands and actually hitting uncle Soap herself. (Poor Soap)

❥ Little one constantly either slaps Soap or pulls on his mohawk. Yeah Ghost probably taught her that, she loves seeing her dad amused and giggles when she makes her dad chuckle. (Cue annoyed Soap noises)

❥ Uncle Gaz calls her "Boo" sometimes because he thought it was fitting and yes he took it from that one animated movie character, more likely sets his phone up and let's her use it to watch Disney movies because he's the only one who has Disney plus. (Frozen and Mulan were playing non-stop and now they all know the song "I'll make a man out of you" word for word)

❥ The idiots encouraged little Ghostie to chug a bottle full of milk as if she was chugging beer while cheering her on, Simon sipped on his whiskey not knowing he'd regret it later on, they all had to deal with a massive spit up because they made her drink too much and too quickly. (Soap had to wash that shirt 3 times before the smell of milk became more faint)

❥ Little Ghostie calls Price her grandpa and nobody's correcting her even if she genuinely thinks that Price is her dad's father. Price was definitely the one who had a uniform tailored for her but it was Gaz's idea.

❥ Believe it or not, Little Ghostie is loved by almost all of the recruits. Lieutenant Riley has a DAUGHTER?! He has a wife..? Yeah that was their first reaction. But ultimately they loved her because Little Ghostie was a sweet bundle of joy who loves giving flowers to female recruits and uncle Gaz.

❥ Despite all the bullying uncle Soap has been through, he still loves that kid to death and couldn't be more prouder when L.T. Riley and his wife chose him, Roach and Gaz to be godfathers.

❥ Speaking of uncle Roach, him and Ghostie get along really well. Even though there's not much of a verbal conversation going on, they still manage to cause chaos together. She likes to fidget with the makeshift antennas that come with the helmet of his tactical gear.

❥ Nobody can stand it when she's crying, she's not even loud, she's almost so quiet when she cries but gosh is it heart breaking. Especially for Gaz, Ghostie's teary puppy eyes looking up at him while her arms are in the air. "Uppies uncle, please" she hiccups.

❥ Gaz is the one always carrying her around, if everyone's being honest then I don't think she was ever down on her feet at some point unless she was playing around with the recruits.

❥ If Simon was being honest, he enjoyed the sound of Ghostie's feet thumping around base.

❥ Ghostie loves handfeeding her dad, she does it all the time. Technically she still has a difficult time using utensils so hands would do for now.

❥ Roach gave the little thing a sip of his coffee and she was practically bouncing off the walls. Yeah that wasn't a very bright idea.

❥ She was a late teether, Soap was the victim. Not only was she caught chewing on the strap of his tactical gear, Ghostie actually bit him with her baby teeth that were only halfway out when he tried to swat her away.

❥ Uncle Gaz and grandpa Price taking out the little one for ice cream so her need for sugar is satisfied and to cool her gums off.

❥ Ghostie's uncles taking her to the park/playground. (Gaz was the one recording)

❥ Soap got in trouble for teaching mini Ghostie how to curse, you weren't too happy about that because now your daughter is saying "bitch" endlessly in the wrong context.

A/n: I hope you guys liked it, I put a lot of effort into this and the last post. Please check out Puff's account if you don't know her yet, I promise she is the sweetest person and her CoD content is a big hit.

[uhbambii]

A Quiet Morning in the Dellamorte Villa

The dawn light crept through the gauzy curtains of the Dellamorte villa, painting the bedroom in soft golds and shadows. Rook stirred beneath the weight of the silk sheets, her hair spilling across the pillow. Her eyes opened slowly, the remnants of a rare, peaceful sleep fading as her gaze landed on the man beside her.

Lucanis Dellamorte, famed heir to one of the most dangerous families and a Crow through and through, lay sprawled on his back, his sharp features softened by sleep. His dark hair framed his face in messy strands, and his angular jaw was shadowed with faint stubble. Despite the peaceful scene, there was something distinctly Lucanis about the way he lay there—an awareness in his stillness, a subtle control even in his rest. He was never really unguarded.

Rook allowed herself a moment to admire him, a rare indulgence. The two of them were not exactly the sort of people who could enjoy idle comforts. But here, in the quiet of his villa, with no one watching and no knives in the dark, she felt safe enough to linger.

Sliding out of bed carefully, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Lucanis didn’t stir. Her lips curled into a faint smirk as her eyes caught sight of his discarded shirt from the night before. Why not?

She slipped the oversized button-up over her shoulders. The fabric hung loosely on her frame, brushing her thighs. It smelled like him—spiced wine and gourmand, danger wrapped in charm. She rolled the sleeves up her arms and padded silently toward the kitchen, a thought forming in her mind.

Muffins.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Dellamorte villa’s kitchen was absurdly lavish and well-stocked, for someone who rarely ventured home. Rook found the ingredients she needed with minimal fuss. She worked quickly, her Crow training making her as silent in a kitchen as she was in the shadows.

Rook stirred the flour in a bowl, humming softly under her breath, when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

She jumped slightly, spinning to see Lucanis leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was shirtless, his dark eyes glittering with lazy amusement, his hair still mussed from sleep.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have a knife in my hand,” she said, her tone dry but her lips curving into a smile.

“And here I thought nothing could catch a Crow by surprise,” he replied, pushing off the doorway to saunter toward her. “But this… cara mia, this is a sight I wasn’t expecting to wake up to.”

His gaze slid pointedly down to the shirt she wore, his shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal just enough to make his smirk deepen. “Is this your way of staking a claim? I didn’t realize you were so territorial.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, turning back to the bowl. “I was cold. And you’re lucky I’m feeling generous. I was going to make muffins.”

“Muffins,” he repeated, the word dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “I must still be dreaming. Rook, the infamous Crow, is baking muffins in my kitchen? What’s next—embroidering handkerchiefs?”

“Keep talking, and I won’t save you any.”

Lucanis laughed softly, his voice low and rich as he stepped closer. His hands settled on her waist from behind, his presence warm and undeniably distracting. “You know,” he murmured near her ear, his breath brushing her neck, “you’re whisking that flour like it’s a target, you’ve received contract on. If you want these muffins to be edible, you’ll need to be gentler.”

Rook tried to focus on her task, but the way his hands slid along her hips wasn’t helping. “And what would you know about baking?”

“More than you’d think,” he said, his tone smug. “The Dellamorte name didn’t always keep me well-fed, you know. I had to learn a few things back when I was going through training.”

She snorted. “You? Starving? Hard to imagine.”

“Hard to imagine you in a kitchen, cara mia. Yet here we are.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. Lucanis always had this way of disarming her, slipping past her defenses with that wicked grin and sharp wit.

He leaned closer, his hands tightening slightly on her waist as he teased, “Though I must say, this shirt looks far better on you than it ever did on me.”

“Are you going to help, or just stand there and flirt?”

“Why not both?” His voice was low, and before she could respond, he turned her to face him, lifting her effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop.

“Lucanis—”

He silenced her with a kiss, slow and deliberate, his lips brushing hers with maddening precision. One of his hands trailed up to tangle in her hair, the other remaining firm on her waist. The kiss deepened, his usual charm giving way to something more intent, more real.

When he finally pulled back, Lucanis lingered, his dark eyes locked on hers, warm and brimming with a familiar, maddening confidence. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down her arm, and a crooked smile played on his lips. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and rich, "you don't have to sneak off in the morning to make muffins. You could just wake me up. Though I can't promise we'd get out of bed anytime soon."

Rook raised an eyebrow, fighting the flush that crept into her cheeks. "And what exactly would you do, Lucanis mio, if I did?"

His grin widened, the kind of grin that usually preceded trouble. He leaned in closer, watching her carefully. "Oh, I can think of plenty of ways to make it worth your while. None of them involve flour."

Her lips twitched into a smirk, but she turned her face before he could see the warmth blooming across her face. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"I've heard rumors," he replied, stepping back just enough to grab the whisk from her hands. "But if you're sneaking around in my shirt to bake muffins, I must be doing something right." His eyes roved over her, slow and deliberate, lingering just a little too long. "It's a good look, by the way.”

Before she could reply, he stepped between her legs, settling his hands on her bare thighs. His lips hovered just above hers, close enough that her breath caught. "You could have stayed in bed," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise. "And I could've kept you... busy."

"Some of us like to start our mornings productively," she managed, though her voice was softer than she intended.

"Productive?" he teased, his eyes scanning hers as he spoke. "You're in my shirt, with no pants, making muffins in my kitchen. And here I was thinking you just wanted to drive me insane."

She smirked, leaning in just enough to brush her lips against his in a quick, teasing kiss. “Maybe I did,” she murmured, her tone as sweetly provocative as the look in her eyes.

Lucanis let out a low groan, his hands tightening briefly on her thighs before sliding up to rest on her hips. His forehead came to rest against hers, his voice a husky whisper laced with amusement. “Strega mia, one day you’re going to be the death of me.”

Her smirk widened, her hands slipping to his shoulders as she tilted her head playfully. “Is that a complaint?”

“Far from it,” he replied, his lips brushing against the corner of her mouth in a maddeningly light touch. “If I go, at least I’ll die happy—and very, very distracted.”

Rook laughed softly, pushing against his chest just enough to make him step back. “Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive Treviso of its most charming Crow just yet.”

“Il più affascinante, per favore,” he laughed with a wink, retreating only far enough to grab the whisk again. His gaze swept over her once more, lingering on her bare legs and the way his shirt clung to her. “Though if you keep parading around my kitchen like this, amore mio, I might be tempted to retire early.”

“Tempted?” she shot back, sliding off the counter and standing toe-to-toe with him. “I’d think you’d have better self-control than that, Amorino.”

He leaned in, close enough that their noses nearly touched, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. “With you? Self-control doesn’t stand a chance.”

She arched an eyebrow, fighting the grin threatening to break free. “You’re full of it, you know.”

“And yet, you tolerate it,” he quipped with a grin, echoing her earlier words as he turned back to the mixing bowl.

Rook leaned against the counter, watching him work, her smirk softening. Despite all his bravado and charm, there was something grounding about the way Lucanis moved in his own space, so at ease yet so attuned to her presence. She could feel it—the way he made her a part of his world without ever saying a word.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence as he gave her a sly glance. “Breakfast today, cara mia. Tomorrow… dinner?”

“Tomorrow?” she asked, feigning surprise. “You’re awfully confident I’ll still be here.”

Lucanis grinned, setting the whisk down and stepping closer to her again. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he murmured against her ear, “Oh, I’m very confident. After all, tesoro, I always get what I want.”

Her heart gave an unsteady flip, but she kept her smirk in place as she leaned back to meet his gaze. “And what is it you want, Lucanis?”

“You,” he said simply, his voice low and unguarded as his dark eyes held hers. Then, just as quickly, his lips curved into a devilish smile. “But I’ll settle for muffins… for now.”

Rook let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she pushed him toward the stove. “You really are trouble.”

“And you love it,” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned back to the batter.

She didn’t respond, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than she intended. Because, damn him, she did.

———————————————————————————

Is it possible to fall in love with my own writing???

IM EATING IT UPPPP!!!

———————————————————————————

[puckinghischier]

Boyfriend!Nico Headcanons

these pics are gonna get me everytime, i fear

just some soft nico thoughts floating around in my noggin. enjoy :)

-

- boyfriend!nico coming home from morning skate and tiptoeing into your room, careful not to wake you so he can lay back down and nap with you

- boyfriend!nico waking up about an hour later to an empty bed, huffing because you didn’t wake him up, only for you to walk in the room wearing one of his t-shirts carrying two cups of coffee, a grin breaking out on his face

- boyfriend!nico suggesting you both shower together, even though he showered at the rink, simply because he loves when you wash his hair (and so he can use your products so he can smell fruity like you do)

- boyfriend! nico asking girls that approach him when he’s out with the team or on the road where they get various parts of their outfits/jewelry because he can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in them, writing every store down in his notes app so he can take you there the next time you two go shopping

- boyfriend!nico who looks for you in the stands of every home game during warm-ups, needing to know you’re there watching before puck drop because he swears you’re his good luck charm, but also looking for any and every reason to impress you when he’s on the ice

- boyfriend!nico who buys you a custom jersey with his name and number on it, but with small four leaf clovers embroidered on each sleeve so everyone knows you’re his good luck charm, not the team’s

- boyfriend!nico who enlists jack’s help in surprising you with the golden retriever puppy you’ve been begging Nico to agree to adopting, making the poor kid drive three hours one-way to pick up the dog and then sneak the puppy into your shared apartment so Nico can keep you distracted and occupied, wanting to see your face when you open the door and the little furball comes running towards you

- boyfriend!nico who rushes through every post game interview he can because all he wants to do, win or lose, is go home and watch whatever current netflix show you’ve roped him into while eating whatever take-out you were in the mood for that night

- boyfriend!nico putting you on speaker in the locker room before games because the team overheard one of the pre-game pep talks you gave him earlier in the season, so now they all like to hear your encouraging words and how well you inspire each and every one of them to play their best (what jack refers to as your mrs. cap duties)

- boyfriend!nico who has to explain to his teammates why he can’t bring you along to every event the team has to go to because you have your own job and responsibilities, only for the team to whine and grumble about how nico hogs you and they never get to see you (just for him to facetime you halfway through the event so he can pass his phone around for everyone to say hi a few of them asking you to blink three times if nico was holding you hostage)

- boyfriend!nico who arranges for flowers and various treats to be delivered to your door every. single. day. that he’s gone during the season so you know he’s still thinking about you and he misses you, even if he only leaves for a day or two

- boyfriend!nico who listens to the playlist you’ve made for him anytime he’s traveling because he loves hearing whatever new song you’ve found that day that reminds you of him

- boyfriend!nico who begs you to take a bath with him because he’s so sore from a nasty hit earlier in the night and wants to just relax with you and your peach smelling bubble bath with one of your vanilla scented candles burning (but he’ll never admit he loves your sweet, scented candles)

- boyfriend!nico who will always trade a puck or a stick for anything that a fan brings as a gift for you, heart swelling seeing that the fans love you as much as he does

- boyfriend!nico who always wears a wrist full of friendship bracelets you make for him at warmups so he can trade them with the female fans that bring handmade bracelets for the players, so “they always feel included and welcomed at the games, despite what the grumpy old men have to say about it”

[miniversse]

I would like to request for husband Chan X wife y/n, where Chan comes home drunk attending an after party and gets all romantic and suggestive with y/n

⭑ “unresistible” ⭑

⭑ bang chan x female reader

⭑ content includes: non-idol bang chan, non-idol reader, mentions of drinking, drunk chan, established relationship (married), oral (f receiving), use of pet names (baby,honey,channie), releasing

⭑ note: let’s just say anon has taste because i had so much fun writing this. i hope you enjoy it!

⭑ minors dni

⭑——————————————————⭑

you lay in bed staring at the screen of your phone, waiting for a call, a message, a photo but nothing came your way. as you turn to face the empty side of the bed your husband should be laying on, you hear the click of a door and one lock, two locks. his heavy footsteps approach the bedroom.

“hey baby”…

you continue to face the wall, hoping to let him know that you’re bothered by how late he arrived home. he promised he would be back before midnight on a night out with his friends, but it’s well past midnight and you waited patiently for him. the alcohol reeks off his body as he walks to face you and he happens to wear one of your favorite outfits: a black shirt and black trousers that you bought him on your second anniversary. it had the first letter of your name embroidered on the top of the shirt with a delicate, golden thread.

“i’m sorry baby, i just-“ his words trail off, knowing there was no success in making excuses. you glance at his face, feeling a sense of guilt. he has worked hard all week, and only hangs out with his friends on fridays to spend the weekend with you. he also was unresistible, always carrying a romantic and suggestive look in his eyes.

“it’s ok channie, get washed up and we can discuss it tommorow”

he reveals a small smile, and turns to the bathroom, undressing on his way there.

he lets out a long “aaah” as he plops his head on his pillow, hair still wet and straight. you couldn’t resist playing with his dark strands and twisting them with your fingers.

“i missed you baby, i’m sorry for being late” his hands grab yours and he places a kiss on the inside of your palm.

“it’s ok honey, as long as you had fun”

“mm, it was ok. nothing beats the fun i have with you” you both laugh at his remark

“what type of fun? you’ve always made fun of me for being a workaholic”

“ ‘yknow, when we wind down, and i get to have you for the night” he expresses, words slurred and spoken slow. his fingers trace your shoulder blades, and he lowers the sheets to place a kiss on the trails his fingers left. you feel a shudder run through your body and he moves up, to look back into your eyes. he always looked graceful when he’d come back home drunk, face flushed and eyes lustful. you place a peck on his lips and retract your head, only to feel his hand on the back of your neck bringing you back and locking lips with you, intertwining tongues and whispering “i’m sorry” and “i miss you baby” repetitively. you feel his hand moving down to grab at your shorts, grinning as if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“you really want to do this now channie?”

“mhm, and why not? getting pussy drunk from you is better than any alcohol i can drink” and with that he dives under the sheets, pulling your shorts and underwear down, exposing your cunt to him. he trails kisses from your knees and down to your thighs, bringing them up to his shoulders. he hums in satisfaction before licking your wetness, letting a moan escape your parted mouth. his tongue explores you in all ways, curling inside your folds, rolling circles at your bud and flicking it.

“you’re so good baby”

“h-honey slow down, please” but he wouldn’t listen, rather he uses his fingers to play with your clit as he kisses and sucks your folds, leaving hickeys inside your thighs every so often. you grab at his, now damp, hair as your body prepares to release. your back arches and he pulls you back down, reaching your good spot countless times before you let out a final whimper of relief, your pussy dripping wet. chan let’s your sweet release coat his tongue and he swallows it, moving up to look at your sweaty face. he places a kiss on your forehead before grabbing napkins and helping you clean up.

you cuddle in his warmth, locking lips with him for what felt like hours. almost falling asleep in his arms, you gain consciousness of the situation again, laughing to yourself.

“how do i let you come home late and eat me out?”

“ ‘dunno baby, it seems like you can’t resist me”

you weren’t suprised he knew how your mind works. after all, he was your husband, and yours only.

⭑ TAG LIST

@captainchrisstan

@rylea08

@strayywayy

[littlejuicebox]

The Little Things

Summary: Sometime in Act 1, Astarion is beginning to realize he may like you more than he thought.

Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, feelings realization, sexual innuendo, in game spoilers

*

Astarion’s nice, simple plan is falling apart at the seams. He isn’t quite sure when it began or how you slowly wormed your way into his heart like the parasite wormed its way into his brain.

He thinks it must have started shortly after the night you two spent together in the clearing. Perhaps the day you drew his scars for him in the dirt?

You notice the little things about him, and it flusters him entirely. No one else has ever bothered to pay attention long enough to catch all the subtleties you seem to see without missing a beat.

*

You notice he makes tea but never drinks it. It tastes like dirty water on his vampiric tongue, but he loves the smell and the warmth. One day you bring him a cup of tea and urge him to try it.

“This one will be different, I promise.” You say, and you smile at him so sweetly it’s impossible to refuse.

He quirks a brow but obliges. One small sip reveals that this tea is palatable… in fact, it’s actually enjoyable.

“What’s in this? Better not be a sore attempt at poisoning me.” He murmurs with a playful smirk before taking another long sip of the warm liquid.

You grin and show him your finger, where the smallest pinprick can be seen.

Blood. Of course.

His face feels hot, like patches of warmth are spreading across his cheeks. It must be the tea.

“Clever pup,” He chuckles, “I— thank you.”

*

One day you’re simply walking by him in camp, returning from a quick foraging trip in the woods. He’s perched upon a stool, reading a book, and drinking the remnants of his morning tea you’d brought to him just over an hour ago.

It’s a lovely little treat every morning. He’s secretly delighted every time you bring it by.

You pause and smile, “Enjoying your book?”

He hums a soft yes and dog ears the page before clasping it shut to acknowledge you.

“Quite, darling. And you? Enjoying your… digging in the mud?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly as he examines the small basket of potatoes you’d procured from the earth.

“It’s not so bad,” You laugh, and then your eyes flicker to his book, “Oh, I almost forgot.”

You rustle through your bag and withdraw a thin strip of burgundy fabric, offering it to him.

Astarion takes the gift. It’s a bookmark. There’s a delicate letter A stitched in gold thread at the top of the small trinket. He’d spent a few hours last week showing you how to sew and embroider little details.

“I noticed you always fold the corners of the pages, and Gale is always grumbling about it when you return his books, so…” You shrug and smile again, “Plus, it’s a small thank you. For the sewing lessons.”

His face feels hot again. It must be the tea. Again.

“Ah, yes. I shall be sure to use it now, then. Don’t want to risk angering the wizard and getting us all blown up!” He jokes as he places the bookmark atop his book, mostly as an excuse to break away from your gaze, which is causing him to feel flustered. He doesn’t know why.

You laugh softly and step closer to him, “It’s not as good as your work.”

You absentmindedly take his hand and turn it, revealing the inner sleeve of his shirt. Your fingers trace along the cuff, admiring a piece of his own embroidery he’d done a few days ago.

“I saw you stitched these little flowers on your shirt the other day. Can you show me how to do that?” You ask, bringing your eyes back up to meet his.

He swallows. Your hand is still resting upon his wrist.

“O-of course, darling. Anytime.” He responds, still thrown. How had you noticed that? His skin tingles from where your fingers had grazed against him.

But it isn’t a bad sensation. He quite liked it, actually.

You grin and then hoist your basket back up before bidding goodbye and walking over to show Gale your harvest. Astarion is left befuddled and simply staring as you walk away.

*

That same night you’re by the campfire, and Astarion is showing you how to stitch small flowers on a scrap of cloth. You’re leaning over his shoulder, watching his work intently. The proximity is making his fingers fumble more than they usually would, but you don’t seem to notice.

“You filed your nails today,” You remark, absently, as you watch his skilled fingers work their creative magic.

He blinks and pauses mid-stitch.

His nails? You noticed the length of his nails?

“I wasn’t aware they were so obscenely long that it would be so obvious.” He responds, his nose wrinkling just slightly. Perhaps his standards of cleanliness and appearance had fallen in the wilds.

“Oh, it’s not that,” You reply, your tone almost dreamy as you continue to observe the rogue, “I just look at your hands a lot.”

Astarion’s finger slips and he pierces himself with the needle. He winces slightly as he withdraws the sliver from his hand.

“I— what?” He asks, pausing his work to assess you with wide, blinking eyes.

You hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. You’d been entranced and disarmed by the steady rhythm of his hands and the smell of Astarion’s freshly washed skin.

He’d started a new bar of soap today. You could tell because he smelled different when he returned from the river. You’d complimented the new fragrance and he’d stared at you for a moment too long, eyebrows furrowed. You worried you’d somehow offended him. And then he laughed and made some innuendo-filled joke about cleanliness being next to godliness.

He’s waiting for you to respond, the metal sliver of a needle held at rest between his thumb and forefinger.

“I…” You start, and you feel a blush creep across your face, “You have pretty hands.”

You finish the statement lamely and with a small shrug.

One, two, three beats of silence.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes are staring into your own; he’s thinking… deeply.

Before you process what’s happening, the rogue has already abandoned his project in the dirt and brought both his hands to cup your face, plunging forward to press a kiss against your lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, urgently dancing against your own.

You two hadn’t been physical since the night of the Tiefling party. He hadn’t propositioned you again, and you were far too nervous to attempt propositioning him. You are entirely caught off guard by his advances but eagerly receive his affections anyway.

When Astarion finally breaks away from you, his face is hot. He knows it isn’t the tea this time.

He wants to show you what else he can do with his pretty hands.

[alessiasfreckles]

birthday present part 1 (alessia russo x reader)

alessia only had one request for her birthday: you.

warnings: SMUT 18+, fingering (r receiving), edging, cocky lessi

a/n: anyone else obsessed with the idea of top!alessia? part 2 here! (also to my gf: maybe don't read this one)

--------

“That’s it, good girl,” she crooned, one hand on your hip, pushing you into the mattress, the other hand two fingers deep inside you. “Taking it so well for me.”

When you had asked Alessia what she wanted for her birthday, you thought maybe she’d say some jewellery, or some new shoes, or something like that. This wasn’t quite what you had had in mind - not that you were complaining, of course. You had bought yourself some lingerie, justifying the purchase as being a present for her really, knowing how much she’d enjoy the sight of you in it. It was blue and pink, with flowers embroidered on it, the same shades as her favourite Arsenal jersey. 

She smiled at the sight of you wearing her shirt when she got home from training. It was just long enough to hide what you were wearing underneath, but short enough that she could tell that you weren’t wearing much. Her eyes trailed up your bare legs, lingering at the hem of the jersey. She blushed when she saw the cake you were holding, her nose crinkling as she grinned.

“You made me a cake?” she asked, dropping her bag and coming over to where you were stood. 

“Yep! I hope it tastes okay, I realised that I mixed up the order a little but it looked fine,” you rambled. She let out a laugh, kissing you over the cake. 

“Let me just put this down,” you said, pulling away from the kiss and turning to go into the kitchen. She watched you leave, her eyes fixed to her name on the back of the jersey you were wearing.

When you came back she was sitting on the sofa, legs spread slightly. You could feel her blue eyes watching your every move, and when you approached her she patted her lap.

“Come here, baby.”

You complied readily, and she wasted no time before kissing you deeply, one hand on your waist, the other playing with the hem of the jersey. Her fingertips brushed the lace of the lingerie you were wearing, and she pulled away from the kiss, an eyebrow raised.

“What’s this?” she asked, hands moving to your hips under the jersey, fingers trailing along the edge of the underwear. 

“A present,” you replied with a grin. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” 

“Take this off,” she instructed, tugging on the jersey. “As much as I love seeing my name on your back, I want to see what’s underneath.”

You pulled the jersey off slowly, arching your back as you did. The blonde’s eyes were glued to your body, flitting back and forth between the lace covering your pussy, the way the straps came up over your hips, your boobs, fuck, when Alessia saw your boobs, she had to stop her mouth from falling open. Her hands came to rest on your waist, thumbs brushing up and down gently, under the straps of the underwear. 

“Fuck,” she said, struggling to think of anything else to say. “Fuck, baby. You look so beautiful. You got this for me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded shyly, preening at the way she was looking at you. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice low. The lingerie was embroidered with flowers, and she traced one on the bra, right over your nipple, nail dragging along the sheer fabric. You gasped at the sensation, and she smirked. She knew how attractive you found it when she was cocky, and she was going to use it. 

“You like that, baby?” she asked, dragging her nail over the fabric covering your sensitive nipple again. You nodded, feeling yourself get wetter, your clit already throbbing, desperate to be touched. She leant forward, kissing you again, tongue swiping along your lower lip. She bit it gently and pinched your nipple at the same time, making you whine into the kiss, your hips bucking forward. 

“Patience, baby,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you. Just want to have some fun, first.”

You huffed, but soon forgot why you were annoyed when she trailed kisses along your jaw, your ear, your neck. As she started biting and sucking just under your jaw, her hands slid under the lacy bra, thumbs brushing against your already hard nipples. She smirked against your neck as she felt you swallow back a moan. 

“Want to hear you, okay baby?” she pulled back, looking you in the eyes as she said it. 

“Okay,” you breathed. She’d barely even done anything and you already felt like a tightly coiled spring, like one little touch could set you off. 

“Good girl,” she smiled, pinching your nipples, watching your face as you let out a whimper. She went back to your neck and chest, leaving bruises and marks. She liked to leave them high up, in places they’d be seen, so everyone would know you were hers, but she also liked leaving them on your chest, between your thighs, on your hips, places where she knew she was the only one who got to see them. 

You leant back, giving her better access to your chest. She pushed the bra down and left a trail of marks along your breasts, before you felt her lips brush against your nipple. She blew cold air against it, watching it harden, smirking at the way you whined and your hips wiggled impatiently. You swore under your breath when she closed her lips around it, sucking, and when her hand brushed against the lace covering your clit you let out a moan.

“So wet already, baby? I’ve barely even done anything,” she said, and you rolled your eyes.

“You know that’s not true, you’ve been teasing me-” you started saying, but she cut you off, her thumb pressing against your clit, rubbing it through the lingerie. “Fuck,” you keened, hips desperately moving forward, trying to find more friction against her hand. 

Her thumb kept going, applying pressure against the bundle of nerves between your legs, rubbing in tight circles whilst you gasped and moaned. 

“Feel good, baby?” she asked, but she wasn’t looking for an answer. She knew you weren’t able to talk, too focused on the way she was making you feel, on the movement on her hand between your thighs. “Doing so well for me, such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You getting close, baby? You look like you’re getting close, your legs are starting to shake a little, can you keep going for just a little longer, darling?” 

Her hand slipped under the lingerie, two fingers easily sinking into your soaked pussy. You whined, eyes closed, unable to think about anything other than her fingers inside you. Her fingers moved fast, sliding in and out of you, and you felt your orgasm building. Your hand held her arm tightly, and she could tell that you were on the edge by the way you squeezed her arm, the way your mouth was moving like you were swearing but no sounds were coming out. 

Your eyes flew open when she removed her hand, your mouth open in bewilderment as she casually sucked her fingers clean. She leant back against the sofa, smirking at the look on your face. 

“Babe, come on, that’s not fair!” you protested, but she just shrugged.

“It’s my birthday, remember?” she said with a grin. You hmphed and crossed your arms over your still naked chest, and she kissed you on the cheek. “Cheer up, baby. If you’re a good girl for me I’ll let you come later, how does that sound? Plus, I have a surprise for you.”

You nodded, knowing that she would fuck you later whether you were good or not. And you wanted to know what the surprise was.

“Good. Now, how about that cake?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

----

part 2 here!

[eddiessluttywaist]

the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: romantic night at the trailer, based off of this prompt!

pairing: bf!eddie x gf!reader

word count: 1, 944 words

content/warnings: MDNI, fluff, kissing, lots of touchy feels, a lil smutty?

a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage! also would like to credit @carolmunson for this prompt and @mrsjellymunson for tagging me! I haven’t written for eddie in so long, and this was a great way to get back into it <3 thank you! hope you enjoy my contribution <3

You basked in the scent of Eddie’s bedding, how he was ingrained into each and every fiber. Every motion, every shift of the sheets, you could smell him. He had foolishly left you to your own devices in his bedroom (which was surprising since the last time he did that, you almost dared touch his Sweetheart) so you indulged.

You curled up in the sprawling mess of blankets and sheets then grabbed the small throw pillow you had embroidered for him and buried your face in it. It was a delicate, pretty, little thing that stood out in his room even with its DnD theme, but he loved it. He loved that you made it, that you put so much effort into it just for him, so he slept with it every night. Unfamiliar with the concept of purely decorative pillows, he didn’t realize most people tucked such things off to the side before getting into bed each night. So, it smelled like cigarettes, convenience store aftershave, and his shampoo. The scent filled you with dizzying affection, only pulling it away from your face to then hug it to your chest as he walked back into his room.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?” he asked as he blew into one of the mugs and then used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it down. He was planning on cleaning those cartoon-themed cups properly for some absurdly fancy hot chocolate you had brought back from your family vacation. He was even planning on making another case for not wasting it on him, but, of course, his attention strayed easily when you were in his bed.

When his gaze finally fell on you, a lazy smile quirked up one side of his mouth. The handles of the mugs hung off the curl of his fingers which rested against his hips now as he took in the sight of you. He tilted his head to put it at the same angle as yours, his favorite pillow in your arms. You were an unbelievably endearing sight. The love that filled him was fluttery and overwhelming.

“And who said you could hold my favorite pillow?” He teased, sauntering over to the bed.

“I made it,” you scoffed with a smile.

He hums lazily in response, that crooked grin still hanging around as he shoved at the clutter on his bedside table. He picked up a small notebook, brow furrowed as he observed it only to haphazardly toss it towards his dresser to make more room. It was that or your tub of Betty Crocker, and he knew better.

You stared at his forearms, drinking in the movement of the musculature underneath. The warmth of his bedside lamp made it even better to watch the lines and curves of his tattoos beneath its comforting, golden light. How could something so simple be so beautiful? Your focus then trailed to the perfect structure of his hands as the mugs slid down his fingers. The ceramic cups clinked against the surface of the old table.

“I think as the creator, I have some right to hold it too,” you continued to make your case while he crawled into bed with you, giving you that subtle mischievous look he always got when he was toying with you.

His strong arms wrapped around you to secure you closer to him.

“I worked very hard on it, y’know.”

Eddie let out an “Is that right?” kind of sound, the texture of his jeans scratching against the bedding. He pulled you into him with such a desperate need to squish you as close as possible as if he thought you might be leaving soon. Those brown curls tickled your jaw while he nuzzled the side of your neck, audibly breathing you in.

“And it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to embroider all that Dungeons and—”

He finally pulled back to cut you off, smushing his face against yours in a way that made you giggle. Eddie’s kisses were always lazy and sloppy this late at night, but you loved them that way. His lips were warm albeit a bit rough from all the anxious biting that he abused them with. A pleased hum left him and vibrated deep in his throat, his large hands encasing the sides of your face and his fingers tangling in your hair. His rings would probably tug a strand or two when he pulled them away, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

The way your body relaxed reassured him, and he slid his arms down to pull you in again so your stomach could be flat against his own. Then, he let out a small chuckle when he had to separate from you to pluck the throw pillow out from between you. Eddie placed it elsewhere with emphasized tenderness while you stared at those ruddy lips that you missed already.

“Pillow was in the way,” he murmured in a low tone, kissing you back as you pulled him in for a few more pecks.

“And here I was thinking you were starting to love it more than me.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that. You know that’s not true,” Eddie drawled, grinning over that unconvincing little pout you gave him.

He sat back on his legs to move the bedding out of his way, then pulled you forward by your thighs which he readily settled in between. There was nothing he wanted more than to be thoroughly pressed against you. It wasn’t even about sex, at least not always. He just loved the feeling of you being so close to him. The softness of your stomach against his taut abdomen. The plushness of your chest pressed against the flat planes of his own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way your bodies fit together too, but he’d melt into you if he could.

Eddie was the type to lean into you while you were walking together, ending up so close that his wallet chain would keep bumping against you. He always sought out your hand to hold or your shoulders for him to drape his arm across (which of course always ended up with him folding you into him so your face would press against a Hellfire symbol or band name, and he could settle his chin on the top of your head). 

“I don’t think I believe you.”

You crossed your arms, failing to keep up with your façade, especially with that smile and those dimples.

“Well then, my dramatic lil lady,” He spoke with that same theatrical cadence that he used during campaigns, his brow furrowed with determination. You groaned over the incoming mawkishness, rolling your gaze up to the ceiling and smiling to the point that the apples of your cheeks ached.

“I suppose I must convince you.”

His hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the center of your throat as he dipped down for another kiss.

“You’re so corny,” you laughed against his lips. 

“And you… taste like vanilla,” he sighed, laughing with you after.

“Mm, well, that is the work of Ms. Betty Crocker,” you smiled up at him, gently tapping his nose. “Speaking of…”

Eddie groaned, mentally cursing himself for even bringing it up as you squirmed out from underneath him to grab the container from behind the abandoned mugs. He watched you intently while you sucked a scoop of frosting off your finger. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky grin that he failed to conceal by biting his lip and then wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re a child,” you snorted, reaching out to tap some frosting onto the tip of his nose.

“And you’re devastating,” he countered in a voice so sickeningly saccharine with love that you wiped the frosting right back off. He caught your hand and sucked the sugar from the pad of your thumb before you could fully pull back.

“Who knew the local bad boy could be such a softie,” you teased softly, scooping some more frosting to feed it to him. Eddie playfully bit down just enough to make you laugh.

“I believe you mean ‘the local freak.’”

“Mm, tomato, tomahto,” you shrugged, lapping up some more frosting off your finger. His rich umber eyes seemed to glitter in the dull lighting, his pupils dilating. You looked up at him through your lashes when you felt his stare.

“We’re gonna have a problem if you keep doing that,” Eddie’s voice was rough even as he smiled over you.

“What?” you laughed, full of faux innocence. He just smirked. “No, what?”

“You know what.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you shrug, going to scoop some more frosting out when he snags the tub from you.

“Wh— hey!”

You already missed his warmth when he sank back onto folded legs, dipping his forefinger into the tub.

“You’re gonna get your rings all sticky,”

You blushed when that made him cackle, but you at least got the comfort of his body again as he hunched over you. His smile was tangible against the side of your neck, his hair tickling you again.

“Not the only thing that—”

“Eddie, shu-u-ush,” you laughed, and he flattened himself on top of you again, leaving tacky, sugary kisses on your neck while you pried the vanilla frosting from his hand. He gave up on keeping it from you, happy to have a free hand again to seek out your waist with.

Holding the container with one hand, you arched your other arm over him to scoop just one more—you swore just one more! —fingertip of frosting, but he was pulling back before you could even dip into it.

“Gimme that—”

“So rude taking things from me today,” you tutted, watching with a pout as he fed himself some of your treat.

“Have to have you all to myself,” he mimicked some toxic-alpha-dude-type bravado, but he couldn’t even get through it without chuckling at the end.

Eddie prodded at the dwindling supply of Betty Crocker’s then tossed the container back onto his bedside table. But you reached out to catch his wrist and brought his index finger to your mouth before he could bring it to his own.

He groaned, leaning onto one elbow while he gawked at you. His full lips parted at the sight of you, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you sucked on his finger. Damn.

“You never play fair.”

“And you like that,” you stated proudly once he slid his finger back out of your mouth.

“Course I do,” he grunted, sliding the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. “May have taken a few attempts to graduate, but I’m not that dumb.”

Your following giggle was breathy and fleeting as you sunk into the tension filling the room. You took in the growing heat in his gaze that tracked his thumb while it hooked your bottom lip. He mimicked opening his own mouth as you did so without even being asked, making him smile and drag his tongue over his lip. He slid his pointer finger down your tongue again, letting it trail down until he was holding your chin between his curled finger and thumb. Keeping your chin down and lips parted, he leaned in. The kiss was firmer—more determined—and desperate. He was putting every ounce of his desire into you, and this time you were the one melting. You felt like you were sinking deeper into that old mattress, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him with you.

[fanaticsnail]

Oh to wear killers and kids shirts🙈🙂‍↕️

Killer:

His blue shirt is so soft to the touch, each time you wear it, you feel each fiber of the cotton fabric slide against your skin and provide comfort in his absence. You drown in it, the stretching from his broad chest thinning out the material where his pectorals had weighed it down. The Jolly Roger is hand embroidered, from the fire-breathing commander, Heat, who's steady hand and flaming breath ironed on the insignia and surrounded it with soft cross-stitches.

If he catches you in it, while he's actively searching for it, he will offer you a deep, playfully mourning sigh and shake his head. He is going to enjoy taking it back from you someday, but for now? He enjoys seeing his partner swimming in his colours. It makes him proud to see you in it.

On the rare circumstances you opt to wear his patterned, black and white button-up, there's something about seeing you in it that makes him exceptionally feral. That's his 'nice' clothes. His 'pretty' clothes. How dare you look so good in it.

There is no rhyme or reason for how hastily he would not-so-carefully remove each of those buttons. Paying no attention to your cocky smile, as soon as he flings the material from your shoulders, his mask flies off and it's replaced by his lips.

Mouthing at your bare skin, leaving his purple hue of lip-paint littering your body in ovular marks, he can't control himself. Never wear this shirt, unless you want to unleash the side of Killer that reveals the name he was christened with. He is called 'Killer' for a reason.

Kid:

While Captain Kid does not often wear shirts, he finds the sleeveless tanks that he uses to work in his smithy often missing. Walking in on you sleeping in it, looking so peaceful and tranquil beneath the weighty fibers, he can't help but have a smirk split up his painted lips.

Careful not to disturb you, he would use his right hand to unclasp his furr lined cloak and drape it over your slumbering form and surround you with his comforting scent while you slept. The cloak retains his warmth remarkably well, aiding in coaxing you in to a deeper slumber. His smirk would soften to a smile reserved only for you, expressing all love and adoration that comes with being his partner.

Either that, or he'll yell a quick, "Oi! Take that damn top off right now! I need it!" which immediate snaps you up from your sleep. Your shocked expression would make him chuckle, your eyes rounded in fright and lips parting in shock. In lieu of tearing it off you and placing it immediately on himself, he would stomp over to you with heavy foot falls and plonk himself beside you.

"You look very cute, kitten. Ain't no doubt about that," he'd chuckle, stooping down and butting his scarred forehead against yours, "But I'm gonna need it back. Can't get iron filings on my chest again. That shit hurts."

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane

[beetlejuicyy]

Untouched

Part one • Part two

Bebe Gang AU

Pairing: Gang member! Bada x reader

Synopsis: makeup sex after the fight in part one

Warnings: smut

Note: hope you'll enjoy this one as much as part one!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bada was lying on the bed, patiently waiting for you to finish putting on your outfit. She was completely naked, one hand playing with a long strand of mixed black and blonde hair. The room was rather cold but she was feeling hot with anticipation. When you finally walked in the bedroom she licked her lips and bit at her lower one, looking at you from head to toe. You were wearing a skimpy police uniform. Uniform was an understatement. You had a navy blue lingerie on. A pleated mini skirt was barely covering your ass, exposing your panties whenever you walked. A harness hugged the curves of your bare body around your waist and thighs, a toy gun on each side of your hips. The top you were wearing was mostly the sleeves of a baby blue shirt, cut right above your chest. Bada’s eyes rested on your boobs for a while after looking up at your face. The cherry on top was the cap on your head with the police badge embroidered on it.

You walked towards the bed and she sat up, supporting her upper body on her forearms, ready to welcome you. She loved your body. But more than seeing it she loved to touch it. You got in the bed on all fours, crawling on top of her. You pushed her lightly back on the mattress and she gladly obliged. You were so beautiful. If only you had sat a bit lower, so that your weight could press against her aching cunt.

Dangling at your waist was also a pair of handcuffs. You took them and pulled her hands above her head, leaning down over her, your breasts in her face, almost touching her nose.

“Oh no, I’ve been arrested.” She said mockingly.

“You’ve been such a bad girl.” You said as you stood back, the warmth of your chest gone away from her. She looked at your face but she couldn’t really see it because of the cap. A hand touched Bada’s cheek in a gentle gesture. “I know everything you’ve done.” You continued. Her heart started to beat faster, panicked.

You weren’t on top of her anymore. She was at the police station and you were there too, a few feet away, talking to that guy from the other day. He said something and you laughed. She wanted to beat the shit out of him. Bada tried walking to you but other people stopped her. She was arrested. You kept leaning over the front desk, looking at that guy like you wanted to sleep with him.

Bada woke up in cold sweat. Her heart was beating rapidly and her sheets were a mess, as she had been moving in her sleep quite a lot. It was pitch dark outside. The clock read 2:32 AM when she checked it. Damn, she barely slept over an hour.

She went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and try to calm down. Her heart was beating almost ready to get out of her chest. She went back to bed, trying to fall asleep again but your face kept haunting her every time she would close her eyes.

It had been a week. More than a week since you had fought, more than a week since Bada hadn’t heard from you. Not that she reached out to you anyway. You were mad at her and, on the first few days, she thought she was giving you space. But seeing that you never reached back to her she started doubting herself.

Did you break up that day? Did you hate her? Millions of scenarios started running in her head. She had several attempts at writing you. But every time she would write a message she would end up deleting it. It sounded pathetic. Embarrassing. Clingy. She didn’t even know what to say. All she could come up with was “I love you” but that didn’t answer any of your questions. Bada had to expose herself, let you see the ugly parts of her too. She didn’t know if she was ready.

Realizing it was impossible to fall asleep, she decided to stay up and find something to watch. Maybe she would get tired and go to sleep eventually. Or maybe when the sun would rise she would find it easier. She only had evening dance classes that day so she could sleep as late as she wanted.

***

Bada had asked you multiple times to go to one of her dance classes. You never found the right day, as you schedules didn’t really match that well but today you decided to go. It was sad, that you only found time for it after an ugly fight and more than a week of not talking to each other. You girlfriend was stubborn. You didn’t expect her to come at your door begging. After all, you had your fair share of wrongdoings in the relationship. But it still hurt that she didn’t check up on you all those days. Not that you did, either.

You missed her. You missed her really bad. You missed her good morning and good night texts. You missed her random selfies. You missed her face, that pretty face you could stare at forever and not get bored. You missed her teasing you, taking care of you, loving you. You missed her touch terribly. Her voice cheering you up everyday. You didn’t know what to say and frankly a text would sound stupid no matter what you wrote her. So you decided to show up at the academy she usually had classes at. You only needed to see her.

The girl at the reception told you she had indeed classes that day, but you had to wait for another hour. You happily agreed. You weren’t there for class and it was fully booked anyway. As you waited in the lobby, people started coming one by one and you couldn’t help but hear some of their conversations. You knew Bada was popular, but hearing all those girls gush over her was making you a bit jealous. Some of the people there weren’t even that interested in dancing, they only wanted to see her. All that talk affected you that much especially because your relationship was in a very uncertain state. The fleeting thought of her replacing you easily – because she could have almost anyone she wanted – only contributed to your jealousy. You pushed it away, telling yourself you were there to see your girlfriend, even if those people had no idea.

You finally saw a familiar face when Tatter walked in, making direct eye contact with you. You greeted her with a gesture and she nodded in your direction, surprised. She seemed to be in a rush, the class would start soon. She almost dashed to the door. She stopped in her tracks with her hand on the door handle, unsure what to do. After a few moments of pondering, she turned around on her heels and walked back to you.

“Look, I know this is none of my business.” She said, sitting down next to you on the couch. You looked at her surprised. “But I feel like it would be unfair for you not to know, and I’m sure Bada unnie is too proud to tell you.”

“What… is it?” All the bad scenarios possible crossed your mind in a flash.

“A lot of people told her she should break up with you ever since you started dating.” Tatter told you. “They… don’t really think you should be around.” It was obvious she was trying her best to phrase things as gentle as possible. “She was asked to choose between us and you and she didn’t even want to hear it.” You had guessed a long time ago that not all of her friends liked you. “I don’t know if what I’m saying makes sense but she really cares about you. Maybe you don’t know but she fought with people for your sake so please fight for her too this time.”

Pretending that Tatter’s words didn’t make you happy would have been a big fat lie. You knew how much she cared about Bada and you were ready to ask her about how your girlfriend had been doing those days.

“What are you two doing here?” You were too concentrated on Tatter to notice that Bada had walked in. You looked up at her, feeling your heart skip a beat. She was wearing a white tight crop top that hugged her body and her long hair was falling down on her shoulders and over her chest.

“Y/n unnie was asking me about the bleaching process.” Tatter said cheerfully and you appreciated her composure because you were still at a loss of words. Your girlfriend looked so gorgeous in reality, you almost forgot.

“Hurry up, it’s late already.” She replied, obviously not buying her friend’s lies. Tatter stood up in a flash, waving shortly at you before leaving. Bada looked down at you under the black visor of her cap. “You can come too.” She said. It took all the strength you had not to hug her tightly.

“I’m here just to talk, I don’t want to disturb your class.” You said. It seemed like an eternity, the few moments you spent looking into each other’s eyes. Her presence right in front of you gave you that sense of serenity that you hadn’t felt in a while. “It’s ok, I’ll wait.” You smiled at her and she only nodded.

***

You waited for everyone to leave before you met Tatter who only gestured for you to go in the practice room, whispering some words of encouragement as she left.

Bada was indeed the only person left. She was sitting on the floor, back resting against the mirror. She seemed lost in thought because she didn’t even look at you when you came in but you knew that she was waiting. You walked up to her and sat down next to her awkwardly. You had fought before but never like this. You looked at her from up close, her beautiful side profile making your heart beat faster. She only side eyed you, grinning.

“You’re not very subtle.” She said.

“I missed your face.” You answered honestly.

“You could have called.” It was a simple observation with no trace of blame in her voice.

“You could have called.” You said it back and she smiled gently, acknowledging you were right as well.

“I don’t deal drugs, in case Tatter didn’t tell you yet.” Bada said. You raised your eyebrows, surprised how open she was.

“We talked about her new hair.”

“Sure.” She said. She put out her hand, palm extended in front of you. You took her hand, intertwining your fingers. It was a simple touch, but it made you feel butterflies in your stomach. “My problems with the police are mostly related to violence. Fights. Putting some people in the hospital. Disturbing the public order. I was also charged with illegal gun and cold weapon possession. I still have them at home though.” Her thumb started caressing your hand and you felt like you were melting under her touch. You leaned your head against her shoulder. You could smell her perfume mixed with sweat. Her lips got close to your ear as she whispered so only you could hear. “That’s what we actually deal with.” Your eyes widened in shock. You knew it wasn’t the place to be talking about this type of things so openly. “Do my friends deal drugs? Some, yeah. But I don’t get involved in that shit. Those fuckers framed me so easily because of that.”

“How did they do it?” You asked. Both of you slowly moved closer to each other, your bodies pulled together like magnets.

“They lied about wanting to forget the past, leave the area to us. Asked some of our guys to go out drinking. Of course a lot of us went, it was safer. I think they slipped some drugs when I wasn’t paying attention then called the cops.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked. She chuckled.

“You deserve more than a delinquent as a girlfriend.”

“But that’s hot.”

“Yeah, the concept might sound hot.” She rolled her eyes. “But it’s not something I want to involve you in. If those beasts see a pretty girl like you around they’ll go insane.”

You looked up at her, a hand pulling her face gently to look back at you.

“I thought you know how to fight.” She leaned down to press her lips against yours in a slow but hungry motion. You moaned quietly and she smiled against your lips. You missed the feeling of her lips kissing you so bad. You were touch starved, and she seemed to be just the same, judging by the way she was grabbing you by the waist and pulling you on her lap. “Baby… not here.” You managed to breathe out when you felt her slender fingers slip under your shirt.

“My place is closer.” She said.

***

You didn’t know how Bada managed to unlock the front door while her hands were all over your body. You pulled her by the hand and got in, taking off your shoes in a hurry. She found your lips soon enough, and you put your arms around her neck. One of your knees made its way between her legs, brushing against her core. She grabbed you but the thighs instead and pulled you up against the wall. Your legs held on to her waist as her lips moved from your mouth to your earlobe, biting and sucking at it. You moaned her name and she let out a hot breath that tickled at your neck.

“Did you say… you had cold weapons?” You managed to finish your question between whimpers as she bit and sucked at your neck.

“Mhm.” She hummed, too busy leaving marks on your neck.

“And do you know how to use them?” You continued, your hands were playing with her hair, as you wrapped it around your wrist.

“Mhm.” Her answer was the same, as if she didn’t hear your question. She didn’t pay much attention to it. She only played along , thinking it was just another one of your ways of using dirty talk to get yourself off. You pulled her by the hair, her head falling back, lips away from the warm skin of your neck. She looked at you with darkened eyes, almost annoyed that you ruined her fun. Her lips were swollen and pink.

“Do you?” You asked again.

“Are you into stabbing?” She asked sarcastically.

“Use them safely, I mean.” You said, looking away. This is how you always told her about your kinks. When you said you’d like her to slap you. Or spit in your mouth. Or choke you. Or tie you up. On a sheepish tone, looking away from her, as if you weren’t going to be a slut for her in the next five minutes. A cocky smile was plastered on Bada’s face.

“Come, let me show you.”

She carefully put you back on your feet and you followed her to her bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and, pushing away the clothes on the hangers, lightly kicked her foot against the fake floor. You watched carefully as she kneeled down and took away the lid with a creak. Under her clothes was hidden an array of guns, machetes and knives. Your eyes were stuck on a small but sharp knife with an intricate pattern on the handle.

“I knew you’d like that one.” She said and picked it up for you. You couldn’t help but notice how naturally she held it in her hands.

When she stood up you were suddenly very aware of her height and the fact that she was towering over you. She played with the knife in her hand a bit before putting its cold blade under your chin, lifting it and forcing you to look in her eyes.

“I hope you’re not too fond of the clothes you’re wearing.” She said and you bit at your lower lip, knowing exactly what she had in mind. She made a few steps forward, making you walk backwards towards the bed. You were breathing heavily in anticipation, fear building up inside you. “Sit.” She said when you took your last step and felt the edge of the bed touch your calves. You obeyed and sat down on the bed. She was still standing in front of you, even taller. The knife at your chin travelled down to your chest. You felt it scratch against your skin.

Bada took a moment to think about what she was going to do to you. You waited anxiously, not being able to read anything in her eyes. She suddenly pushed you against the mattress and climbed on top of you. The sudden move made your heartbeat fasten. The next moment she was cutting the top you were wearing with the knife, pulling at the edges so she could discard it faster. You whimpered when, instead of the cold blade, you felt her warm hand caress the skin on your chest down between your breasts and towards your abdomen where her palm pressed flat against your belly.

She looked extremely hot with the knife in her hand. You closed you eyes, melting under her touch. Soon enough you felt the coldness of the blade on your inner thighs. You were wearing a skirt and very thin tights underneath. The sharp blade slowly scratched down along your thigh easily ripping the already thin material covering them. The sound of ripping material filled the room as your girlfriend grabbed at your tights roughly and cut them along your legs, pulling them from under your skirt and discarding of them as well. You gasped, not expecting the change of pace in her actions.

You opened your eyes to look at her. While her hand was skillfully handling the cold knife over your arms and collarbone, your eyes were glued to hers, trusting her completely. She could see your pupils dilating and lips parting in a silent whimper whenever you felt the blade scratch slightly on your skin. The knife was now under your bra, between your breasts. With a sharp and powerful pull Bada cut your bra in half, your boobs freed from its support. As much as you liked what she was doing to you, you started wishing that instead of the cold knife it was her hot lips on your skin.

She seemed to be feeling the same way because her movements started to lack the precision and thoughtfulness they had before. She clumsily went down on your body, under your skirt and pressed the blade against the sensitive skin of your thighs before grabbing at your panties and ripping them off as well. You moaned her name, feeling her hot breath hit your sensitive cunt.

She dropped the knife on the floor and climbed back on top of you, kissing you roughly. Your arms welcomed her, grabbing at her T-shirt pulling her as close as possible. The pace shifted dramatically, as both of you were touching each other desperately. You grabbed her T-shirt and took it off and she followed, taking her bra off on her own before continuing to leave wet kisses down your body. You craved her naked body so your hands searched for the waistband of her pants. They were off in a moment and soon both your bared bodies were pressing against each other. You still had your skirt on though and when you tried to take it off on your own she grabbed your hand and put it away, not allowing you to.

She was messy. She was starved. It was obvious from the way she was sucking on your nipple. From the way she groaned when you pulled her by the hair and forced her to move down on you. From the way she had you pinned down every time you tried to take control or roll over so you could love her body in return. You didn’t mind it. On the contrary, you had been feeling so untouched all those days without her that now nothing seemed enough.

You got even more excited when she had you ride her strap, your skirt still on. She kept encouraging and praising you, as her hands gripped at your hips and boobs whenever she could. She told you how amazing you looked on top of her. How good you were doing. You could touch her freely now and she enjoyed it too much when you choked her, eyes rolling as both of your moans filled the room.

When Bada had enough of your show on top of her she did what she knew you liked best. She pushed your head against the pillows as her hands run over your back, slapping your ass maybe a bit too hard. You moaned loudly, arching your back even more as she fucked you from the back. She enjoyed spanking you as much as you did. Maybe even more. By the time she grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up, your back against her chest, you were a mess. She grabbed your face and covered your mouth with her palm, the strength and speed of her thrusts inside you getting more violent. You were still very much loud, even with her hand covering your mouth. Your lips hungrily parted when her thumb pressed against them and you sucked on her finger while feeling your orgasm getting closer and closer. Her other arm was keeping you tightly pressed against her, as her fingers were rubbing circles against your clit. Her grunts and hot breaths against your ear praising you were all that you needed to reach your climax.

You started shaking violently in her arms, feeling overstimulated. She let you go and you fell on the bed, breathing heavily, pressing your thighs together. She looked at you proudly as if she were an artist and you were her biggest masterpiece. After all, only she could create such a beautiful mess out of you.

When you managed to catch your breath you rolled on your back, looking at her eyes still drunk on sex.

“Take that off and sit on my face.” You said. She didn’t seem to expect it but you wouldn’t leave her unfinished. She climbed on top of you and your hands gently caressed her thighs making her shiver. “Don’t hover. Sit.” For someone who had been fucking you senseless only minutes before she was surely acting shy. It was always like this when she was on the receiving end. When Bada was in charge she was cool and rough but she could also be soft and spoiled when you pleased her.

Her hand found your hair and gripped it when your lips barely touched her core in a sweet kiss. She was so sensitive.

“Don’t tease me.” She moaned as the tip of your tongue ghosted over her folds. You weren’t going to. Soon she started moaning loudly as your tongue moved skillfully around her clit. Her hips moved naturally against your face and you moaned along with her, the sound vibrating inside her. She moaned your name and you let her ride your face as she pleased, helping her reach her orgasm in no time, feeling her thighs clench around your face.

She laid down next to you, her whole body feeling like jelly. She whined like a baby when you wanted to sit up and leave the bed.

“I’ll get us cleaned up.” You said. She grabbed you by the hand, protesting still. You couldn’t resist. Bada was always a big baby after sex. She quickly found her place in your arms, her face buried in your chest as you held her. “I told you having a delinquent as a girlfriend is hot.” You said and her nose nuzzled against your skin.

“You still have a lot to hear.” She mumbled, the feeling of you playing with her hair making her feel like home. “What did Tatter tell you?” She asked.

“That you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

“She’s right.”

____

tags: @lil-elliesgf @maraudersmyloves @thatonewh0r3

[mxltifxnd0m]

late night talking ✤ s. winchester

summary: neither you nor sam are tired, so you guys stay up and talk; [a part of season of the witch verse!]

pairings: established! sam winchester x witch! reader, sam winchester x gn afab! reader

word count: 3.4K

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, whole bunch of fluff, mentions of dead parents, a little bit of angst, reader is given nickname 'jinx', kinda edited, the title is inspired by the song by harry styles

a/n: ahh first fic for season of the witch verse! im legit so excited for this little universe and so i hope you guys enjoy it! also this was inspired by a really old fic i had written a long time ago :)

enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You could feel the cold creep into the bunker as the leaves on the trees surrounding the bunker turned red and orange as they fell from the branches. You were practically jumping for joy as you got to indulge in the cooler temperatures, being able to wear warmer clothing, enjoying hot drinks, visiting pumpkin patches, and adoring the warm spices and scents that the autumn season brought for the coming months before the harshness of the winter weather Kansas had. 

You and Sam came back from a day filled with fall festivities. You guys went apple picking in the morning before you went to the local farmers market that the town would have bi-weekly and walked around for a while, holding hands as the two of you strolled down the stalls of the local business owners selling their products.  Some food trucks were set up around the perimeter of the market, and one of them was selling hot cider and other warm drinks; despite your protests of you paying for the drinks, Sam had ended up paying for the hot ciders you ordered for the both of you with a cheeky grin. 

The farmers market was hosted at the nearby park, so the two of you sat down on a bench and people-watched while you guys sipped on the hot ciders that warmed your insides while you drank it. Before you knew it, it was late afternoon, nearing evening, so the two of you decided to pick up some dinner. You went to the cozy diner in town, and once the two of you were done, you picked up some food and pie for Dean before heading back to the bunker. 

Dean thanked you with a grin when he looked inside the bag of food you had given him and retreated into the “Dean Cave,” where you believe he spent most of his day just watching Netflix.  You shook your head and smiled to yourself before heading to your room to get ready for bed. 

It wasn’t late when you and Sam got back home. But the chilly October air lingered and had settled in your skin, so you quickly gathered your pajamas, which consisted of a gray woolen sweater (that definitely was yours and not stolen from Sam), black sweats, and some fuzzy socks that you had bought as soon the weather started to cool down because you learned the hard way that the tiled floor of the bunker was not kind to bare feet in the colder months. You took a hot shower before changing into your pajamas and made your way into your shared room with Sam. 

You leaned on the doorway of the room and couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face when you saw Sam already in bed and sitting against the headboard, reading the book he kept on his nightstand. He didn’t seem to notice you yet, Sam being wholly enraptured in the tale he was pulled into. You didn’t dare disturb him, so you took the time to admire him from your spot in the doorway. 

Sam was wearing a simple black long-sleeve shirt, but you could see the initials of your name that you had embroidered on the left cuff of the sleeve. Your smile grew when you realized he was wearing the shirt (among many other shirts and pants) that you embroidered your initials on for his birthday. At first, he hadn’t noticed them until Dean pointed them out one day when one of them accidentally got mixed up in his laundry. You remembered how flustered he got when he asked you about it, but he still wore the garments that you had given him. 

Your eyes trailed down to see what he was wearing for pants, but his legs were covered by the duvet. You could imagine that he was either wearing a thin pair of sweats or just his boxers and socks since he was the living embodiment of a furnace.  Your gaze flicked back up when you saw Sam absent-mindedly tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. That was when he saw you out of the corner of his eye, and your eyes met his. 

Sam smiled at you, saved the page he was on with a bookmark, and closed his book. “Hey.” He said softly. 

“Hi.” You kicked off of the doorway and made your way to the bed. Sam set his book on the nightstand and held his hand out for you to take. 

“Such a gentleman, Sammy.” You couldn’t help but gently tease him as you took his warm hand. 

Sam chuckled as he shook his head. “Only for you honey.” His hand guided you as you climbed on the bed and sat in his lap. Sam let go of your hand to rest his on your thighs as your palms settled on his broad shoulders. 

“Have fun today?” He asked as his hands slid up from your legs and to your waist. He snuck underneath your (his) sweater to rub at your skin soothingly. 

You nodded. “Very. Feels like it’s been ages since we had a proper date without Dean involved.” 

As much as you love Dean, you’re sure that he was sick of third wheeling with you and his brother since monsters decided that it was primetime to cause murder and mayhem. So you were dragged all over the country for the past couple of weeks helping the boys research and kill monsters. It was only until the last hunt that involved some ghouls that the three of you made it back to the bunker, and it seemed that the monster activity had quieted. That was a little over a week ago, and trouble with the supernatural seemed to die down, so the two of you decided to have an impromptu date today after recuperating in the bunker for the past couple of days. 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s happy that he didn’t have to see us ‘canoodling.’” 

“But you have to admit that it’s funny to annoy him by acting like an obnoxious couple.” 

Sam pursed his lips, but you could tell he was trying to hold back a smile, the twitch of his lips becoming more evident. “It’s a little funny.” 

You shot him a cocky grin. “Told you.”

“Whatever.” Sam rolled his eyes at you, but a smile broke on his face. 

“Your words are telling one thing, but your face is telling me another Winchester.” You said as you poked one of his dimples when he smiled. 

You let out a giggle when he tried to swat your hand away from his face and missed it. 

“Why do you always do that?” 

You shrugged. “Because I want to. And I love your dimples.” 

Sam would never admit it, but a slight blush formed on his face at your admission. Sam wasn’t used to the amount of affection in his relationships. He ducked his head down slightly, making some of his hair fall in his face. Before he could tuck the wayward strands behind his ear, you beat him to it. You brushed the hair back and rested your hand on his cheek, feeling the slight prickle of the stubble beginning to grow against your palm. 

You sent him a soft smile before leaning in and pressing your lips against his. You could feel him smile into the kiss before slowly moving his lips against yours. Sam’s lips were soft and warm as the two of you shared a sweet kiss. The two of you pulled away gently, not straying too far, having rested your forehead against his. You and Sam were in your own bubble, content with sitting in silence as you took solace in each other’s presence.

After a few moments, you gave Sam a quick peck on the lips before you moved off of Sam and towards your side of the bed. He let go of you, letting you get settled under the covers, before pulling you towards him, Sam tucking you into his side. Your head was lying on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and your arm was strewn across his chest while your legs tangled with his. 

Both of you let out satisfied sighs as you settled in each other’s embrace. You let Sam’s scent engulf you, and you nuzzled your head further into his chest. You could feel his hand resting on your arm and drawing random shapes on top of the sweater, trailing up and down as the two of you lay in bed together. 

“You know, my mom would have liked you.” Your voice felt deafening in the nearly silent room. 

You felt Sam’s hand stop on your arm, probably out of surprise that you brought her up. You didn’t talk about your mom, or your parents for that matter, often. 

“Really?” His voice was low, but you could hear the lingering curiosity in it. 

You shifted in Sam’s arms, propping your chin on his chest and looking up at Sam. You were immediately captured in Sam’s hazel gaze. They were a mix of emeralds and gold swimming together in the warm lighting provided by the lamp on Sam’s nightstand. 

You felt the corner of your lip twitch as you nodded at Sam. “Yeah, she was really picky with the partners I would bring home. She liked maybe two out of the ones she had officially met.”

“How many people did you bring home?” Sam’s brows furrowed, causing the tell-tale crease in between them when he got curious and asked questions. 

“Around five.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “Around five?” He parroted your words with a questioning tone, but a half-smile was on his face. You felt his hand on your back and traced up and down your spine. 

You huffed at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “Sorry, she met five of my partners.” You rolled your eyes at him. “But, you would have been the sixth.” you murmured. 

His smile dimmed, Sam’s hand stilling on your back. “What would she have said to you if she met me?” 

You smiled at the thought of your mother and Sam meeting. “Well, she would have immediately commented on the fact that you’re too attractive for your own good.”

Sam rolled his eyes at you. “Right.” 

“I’m not joking!” You couldn’t help but laugh and sit up. “My mom was an honest woman, and she let people know what she thought.” Sam’s arm was wrapped around your waist as he looked up at you from his position, lying against his pillow. 

“Mhm, okay. What else would she have said?” 

You could tell that Sam didn’t exactly believe you, but you moved on. “She’d be able to see that you’re adorable, considerate, intelligent, and empathetic. Mom had this thing where she could tell if you had good intentions or not by a gut feeling.”

“Did you inherit this from your mom?” 

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Maybe? It doesn’t work sometimes.” You thought back to your previous partners you had before dating Sam. 

“Well, let’s speculate. What do you think she’d think I’d have?” Sam sat up and rested his back against the headboard.

You purse your lips in thought before responding. “Mom would have said that you have only the best intentions when it comes to dating me.” 

Sam’s face softened. “I do.” 

“I know. That was the only time that it seemed to work for me.” You paused before the gentle smile that was on your face turned into a smirk. “But you would have lost brownie points by being a hunter.” 

“Yeah, can’t blame her.” Sam couldn’t help but agree with that notion, and he shook his head, chuckling. You let out a light laugh alongside his chuckling. You leaned back and tucked yourself underneath Sam’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

There was a lull of silence that settled between the two of you. 

Sam leaned over and kissed the side of your head before laying his head against yours. “Tired yet?” He murmured. 

You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. “Not yet.” You answered back just as quietly. 

“Have any stories about your mom? I know you don’t talk about her often, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” 

You shook your head as you reached over and grabbed Sam’s free hand. “It’s fine, I have plenty of stories about her.” You swallowed thickly. It had been years since she had died, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t hard to talk about her. 

“But, I remember when we had moved to California for a couple of months after Dad died, and she was able to rent out a beach house for the summer.” You smiled fondly as you began to remember your summer that year. 

“She refused to tell me how she was able to get a beach house, but we spent practically everyday outside and enjoying the ocean. Mom was even able to get us surfing lessons for the summer.” 

“Were you any good at it?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, I got pretty good at it after a couple of lessons. But she was terrible at it.” You laughed, your mind flicking through all of the times your mom fell when trying to stand up on the surfboard when trying to ride a wave. 

“You would think a seasoned hunter like her would have great balance, but I guess it didn’t translate to the water.” You smirked sadly. 

Sam laughed lightly at your words, squeezing your hand that was in his. “That sounded like a lot of fun.” 

“Mhm, it was.” You sighed. “She was the best.” 

“She sounded like a wonderful woman. I wish I could have met her.” 

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked up at Sam to find that his gaze was already on you. “So do I.” You murmured. 

Sam sent you a sad smile before leaving a small kiss on your forehead. He shifted down on the bed, pulling you down with him, returning to the previous position that the two of you were in earlier. 

You felt the warmth emanating from Sam’s chest as your cheek rested against it. You hadn’t let go of his hand as the two of you went back to lying on your bed, which rested on his stomach. You could practically hear the questions rattling around Sam’s brain as his fingers traced circles on your back. His ministrations were soothing and slowly lulled you to sleep. Your eyes eventually fell closed as your breathing began to even out. 

“Do you ever think we’ll have a life outside of hunting?” Sam’s question was hushed, but it caught your attention as your eyes snapped open, and you took in a harsh breath as you thought about your words.

“Is that something you want?” You looked up at him to see him looking up at the ceiling, his face pensive. 

Sam frowned slightly as he gave you a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know anymore. I’ve tried so many times, but hunting always seems to pull me back in.” Sam looked down at you with somber eyes, his once hazel eyes looking stormy and gray, his brain becoming a frenzy of thoughts filled with doubt and regret. 

“Stop.” You untangled your hand from his and took his chin in between your index and thumb. “I know what you’re thinking, and no it’s not your fault. I chose to come back into this life.”

Sam’s frown deepened. You knew that he blamed himself for pulling you into his world of crazy and despair. You huffed at him before getting out of his grip and straddling his lap once more. You grabbed his face and stared deep into his eyes. 

“You better listen closely Sam, because I’m only going to say this once. It is not your fault that I’m here and hunting. Yes, I was living a normal life, but let’s face it, being a witch doesn’t allow normalcy. I was going to get dragged back into the world of the supernatural one way or another.” You let one of your hands fall from his cheek to rest on his heart.  “It just so happened that you are a part of this world that had pulled me back in.” 

“But, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re stuck with me, Winchester, got it?” You sent him a toothy smile as you felt his heartbeat against your palm. 

Sam couldn’t help but also smile at the sight of yours. “Understood.”

“Good. And to answer your question. I’m on the side of optimism here, so I like to think that we will.” 

“Really?” Sam’s tone was filled with intrigue. It wasn’t every day that he saw you be optimistic, knowing that you had a realistic outlook on life. 

You nodded. “Mhm. I’m not a divination witch but, I have this feeling that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel and the two of us and Dean are going to get our happy endings. We just have to wait and see what happens.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “You think so?” 

“Call it a really intense gut feeling.” 

“So it’s a maybe.” Sam said sassily. 

You slapped Sam’s chest in retaliation as he chuckled. “Shut up, who’s the witch here?” 

“Hey, I was the one who had visions.” 

“Did you see that far into the future? Besides, where are those powers now?” You raised an eyebrow at Sam. 

Sam’s lips thinned before pressing them together. You smiled at him as he tried to think of a response, but you both knew that you had gotten him. 

“That’s what I thought.” You sent him a smug smile before pinching his cheek with the hand that was still resting on his face. 

Sam scowled at you before it turned into a mischievous smile. Before you knew it, Sam had flipped you on your back. You landed on the mattress with a sharp yelp leaving your lips as Sam hovered over you. You recognized the glint that was in his eyes, and before you could stop Sam, he started to tickle your sides, poking and prodding at them. You erupted into giggles as you tried to escape his hands. You were pushing at his hands as your legs flailed behind Sam’s giant form straddling you. 

Sam only stopped when you yelled out ‘Uncle’ and had the smuggest smile on his face as he pulled his hands away. 

“I hate you.” You breathed out, your chest heaving as you calmed down from getting attacked by Sam’s hands. 

“No you don’t.” Sam had moved to hover over you, now resting his forehead against yours. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Sam let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re impossible.” 

“Me, impossible? Never.” You couldn’t help teasing as you bit your bottom lip and looked at Sam. 

Sam’s lips were brushing against yours as he spoke. “Right.” He drawled out in a low voice, and you could feel yourself melting at the sound of the deep timbre of his voice. 

Before you could make another snarky remark, Sam pressed his lips on yours in a languid kiss. Your hands flew to his shoulders and slid up to rest on the nape of his neck as he deepened the kiss. You felt his tongue swipe at the seam of your lips, and you all but let the taste of him flood your senses. You could faintly taste the mint of his toothpaste, but it was all purely Sam. He kept the kiss slow, but it was filled with passion as he licked at your mouth and how your tongues intertwined with one another. But you could vaguely feel your lungs start to burn at the lack of oxygen they were getting, so you pulled away from Sam. 

You didn’t stray far, letting him rest his forehead against his as the both of you caught your breath. There were mirrored smiles on either of your faces. They were filled with content and love as you gazed at each other. 

“I love you Jinx.” Sam whispered. 

“I love you, my heart.” You whispered back at him. 

Sam left a lingering kiss on your lips before moving off of you, and the two of you settled back into each other’s arms. Sam’s arms were wrapped around your shoulder and waist as your face was squished against his warm chest, letting your legs intertwine with each other once more, the two of you fitting together like two pieces of an unsolved puzzle. The two of you eventually drifted off, dreaming of each other and the future that awaited you and Sam. 

[dolliethv]

Into you.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! story inspired by the song "Into You" by Ariana Grande, I hope you enjoy it xoxo!

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 3,6k

The deafening sound of the crowd at Wembley still echoed in your ears as the lights went out, marking the end of your final performance on tour. It had been a resounding success. There’s no better feeling than hearing thousands of people singing along to your songs, feeling that genuine connection that only true artists experience on stage. However, as the music faded, the reality behind the curtain pulled you back into a world where freedom was nothing but an illusion.

Adrenaline still coursed through your body as the crew surrounded you, congratulating you on the show. But amidst the laughter and praise, your personal assistant quickly approached with a serious look and a tablet in hand.

“You were amazing, as always,” your assistant began, though the tone of their voice hinted that the compliment came with bad news. “But there’s something you can’t avoid. Tonight’s event. Your team needs you to attend.”

You take a deep breath. There’s always something. A red carpet, a charity event, a fashion show... something that reminds you that your public life never rests. But this particular event makes you more uncomfortable than others. You know that your team has arranged for you to attend with a model, one of the men the tabloids have been pairing you with for weeks. Perfect photos for the paparazzi, fabricated rumors to feed the public's curiosity.

“Does it have to be tonight?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“It’s important for the brand, to maintain the narrative... You know how it is,” your assistant replies with an apologetic grimace.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. You know it all too well. This isn’t the first time you’ve been trapped in this kind of situation, and it probably won’t be the last.

Hours later, with the glow of Wembley still fresh in your mind, you find yourself inside a black limousine, on your way to the event. You’re dressed in an elegant purple silk outfit, characterized by its shine and smooth texture. The outfit has a sensual and glamorous style, with a cross-cut top that reveals part of your abdomen and a long, high-waisted skirt. The dark purple color adds a touch of luxury and sophistication. Your makeup and delicate jewelry, along with the violet bow tied at the back, complement the atmosphere and make you stand out at the presentation. Beside you, the model assigned to you for the night—a tall, attractive man—means absolutely nothing to you. Everything is a show. And although your face shows a perfect smile, inside, you feel more and more empty.

Upon arrival, the flashes begin to light up every corner. The cameras don’t stop firing. You pose hand in hand with the model, your bodies close together, simulating the intimacy that doesn’t exist between you. Your laughs are rehearsed, your gestures, calculated. It’s just another performance, but this time, the discomfort in your chest is more palpable than ever.

What people don’t know, what the cameras don’t show, is that Jude Bellingham is also at the event, dressed in a modern, high-fashion ensemble. The outfit includes a black suit with embroidered rose details and brand patterns. The avant-garde touch comes from the jacket he wears open, with no shirt underneath, and a white scarf wrapped around his neck. White sunglasses and sturdy black shoes complete the look, giving him an air of sophistication and modernity. Somewhere in the room, he watches the scene, battling his own instincts.

For months now, the connection between the two of you has been undeniable. Stolen moments at previous events, clandestine conversations in the shadows. There’s something between you that can’t be faked or forced. And although both of you are trapped in the fame game, your relationship has grown in secret. Jude loves you. More than he’s willing to admit out loud.

But tonight, seeing you so close to another man, smiling for the cameras as if you’re really enjoying it, makes his stomach turn. Trent Alexander-Arnold, his teammate and friend, notices the tension in Jude as they both watch from a discreet corner.

“Man, don’t get like this,” Trent whispers, trying to calm him down. “You know how this game works. It’s just marketing. Nothing more.”

Jude clenches his fists. He knows. He understands. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

And then it happens.

As you pose for the cameras, you try to subtly pull away from the model, wanting to break the contact and end the photo session. But the man, following the marketing team’s instructions, grabs your arm roughly, pulling you back to continue posing. The gesture is quick, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. The expression of discomfort on your face is clear, and though you try to hide it, the damage is already done.

From his position, Jude feels his blood start to boil. That jerk touched you in a way he shouldn’t have. Too rough. Too disrespectful.

“Did you just see that?” Jude asks through clenched teeth, staring at the model still holding your arm.

Trent notices it too and knows he has to intervene quickly.

“Jude, calm down,” he says, stepping between him and the scene. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

But Jude barely hears him. Every muscle in his body is tense, ready to disfigure that idiot's face. Rage blinds him, and all he can think about is protecting you. How dare he treat you like that in front of everyone?

Jude takes a step forward, but Trent grabs his arm firmly.

“No, Jude. Not here. Not now. This will only make things worse,” his friend insists. “Think about what will happen if you cause a scene. You know it won’t end well for either of you.”

Jude breathes heavily, but little by little, reason returns to his mind. Trent is right. Causing a scene here, in the middle of all those photographers and cameras, would only complicate things further. But that doesn’t mean he accepts it.

From a distance, his eyes meet yours. And in that instant, he understands that you’re fed up too. He can see it in your gaze, in the way your lips tremble slightly, holding back your frustration. Both of you are trapped in this game, and neither of you can take it anymore.

When the model finally lets go of you, you discreetly step away, walking toward a more secluded corner, pretending you need a break. Jude, still furious, watches you, making sure you’re okay.

“I promise this won’t last much longer,” Jude mutters through clenched teeth as Trent looks at him with determination. “I’ll find a way to get us out of this.”

Trent nods, understanding that his friend is serious. And although the situation is complicated, Jude has always been someone who gets what he wants.

As the event’s lights continue to shine and the cameras keep capturing perfect images, deep down, both of you know you can’t keep pretending much longer.

The vibrant music and murmurs of the crowd still echo in the air, but all you can think about is the scene you just lived through. When the model grabbed your arm with that unrestrained force, a flood of emotions washed over you. You feel trapped, as if your voice, once confident, is on the verge of being drowned by the pressure of the show. As you walk away from the cameras, a desperate desire to escape the world you’ve created pushes you forward.

Looking for refuge, you find an empty room at the end of a hallway. The walls are elegantly adorned, but the opulence can’t distract you from your vulnerability. You sink into a chair, feeling the tears start to well up in your eyes.

“Calm down, don’t cry...” you whisper to yourself, trying to keep your composure. “You can’t let this affect you.”

But the pressure of fame, the expectations, and the pain of being treated like an object overwhelm you. You hug yourself, recalling moments when you’ve felt strong and secure. That image the tabloids show of you, the perfect woman, is nothing but a mirage. It’s a constant performance, and tonight, the game has crossed a line you’re not willing to accept.

Meanwhile, Jude is elsewhere at the event, feeling his heart tighten. The anger still bubbles inside him, and despite Trent’s efforts to calm him, he can’t ignore the distress he saw on your face. The protective instinct he’s always had drives him to act.

“I’m going to find her,” he announces, his voice low but firm.

Trent gives him a warning look, but Jude is already in motion, his determination pulling him toward where he knows you’ve gone. Every step he takes is a reminder that he’s not going to let anyone treat you like that. The thought that any man, whoever he may be, could lay a hand on you and make you feel uncomfortable is unbearable to him.

When he finally finds you, the scene before him breaks his heart. You’re sitting, head bowed, trying to hold back tears. Jude can’t help but feel a wave of compassion wash over him. He approaches slowly, and when you look up, your eyes are filled with sadness.

“Baby...” he whispers, making his way toward you and wrapping you in his arms. “I’m here.”

The embrace is instantly comforting, a bubble of safety that seems to shield you from the outside world. You sink into his chest, feeling his warmth surround you. The pressure of your emotions begins to fade, at least a little. Jude holds you tighter, as if with that simple gesture he could erase your pain.

“I won’t let anyone treat you like that, ever,” he says, his voice thick with anger.

You feel your heart tighten in a strange way. Jude’s protective instinct is one of the things you love most about him, but it also makes you feel vulnerable. Still, at that moment, you need it. You wipe away a tear and smile weakly.

“I know... I just... I feel so overwhelmed sometimes,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper.

“You need a break,” Jude said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “This world can be overwhelming, but you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here with you, and I’ll always be by your side. Always.”

You take a deep breath, feeling how his words wrap you in a warmth you haven’t experienced in a long time. Fame, the spectacle—it can all be suffocating, but Jude is there, always ready to remind you of your true worth. In that embrace, you realize you’re not alone. You have someone who understands you and who’s willing to protect you, even in a world that often seems so hostile.

“Thank you, Jude,” you murmur, and your eyes shimmer with the tears you’ve been holding back. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t take it anymore.”

“You can always handle more than you think,” Jude says, leaning in toward you, his gaze intense. “You’re not alone in this. You never will be.”

Jude steps back slightly, making sure you’re looking at him. His expression is serious, but there’s a spark of determination in his eyes.

“I’m not going to let anyone make you feel like that again. I promise.”

You nod, feeling the weight on your shoulders lighten, if only a little. Jude has been your refuge, and in your heart, you know that together, you can face any storm fame throws at you.

“We need to escape,” he says, his dark eyes shining with a mix of determination and tenderness.

You look at him, still feeling the echo of your vulnerability, but a spark of excitement runs through your body. You nod, feeling that in his company, you could find the courage to leave everything behind.

As you walk together, Jude firmly takes your hand, guiding you toward the parking lot. But when you reach a luxurious black car, you stop in your tracks.

"Hey big guy, hold on a second, I can't keep up with you in these heels!" you said with fake frustration.

"Come on baby, you have to use those heels to your advantage, with those on we can finally have a face to face conversation, even though I'm still two heads taller than you" He said in a mocking tone trying to annoy you.

"Oh, don't tell me you're going to surprise me! You finally learned to drive, Mr. Twenty-one-year-old, sir? “ you ask, smiling playfully trying to divert the conversation a little by trying to make fun of him.

Jude looks at you, a little embarrassed.

“Uh... no. But I can try,” he responds, with a mix of confidence and nervousness.

You get in the car, and Jude takes the wheel, his hands steady but a little shaky. When he starts the engine, the car roars to life, and he takes a turn, but the car jerks violently, making both of you burst into laughter.

“Damn it!” Jude exclaims, trying to correct the movement.

You laugh uncontrollably, feeling the tension dissipate in the atmosphere of the backseat.

“In this context, the prince is supposed to rescue the princess by riding his horse, but...” you say, pretending to be deep in thought. “What happens if your ‘horse’ jerks around?”

Jude grins mischievously.

“I’m supposed to be the hero here, not the princess. I’m going to learn how to drive!”

Finally, after several laughs and a couple of attempts, he gives up.

“You drive!” he declares with frustration.

You take the wheel between laughs, enjoying the feeling of freedom as you drive away from the event and the crowd. As the city fades behind you, a new emotion takes over: the adrenaline of escape.

When you arrive at the motel, you and Jude exchange nervous glances, holding back laughter from the adventure. As you get out of the car, a biting cold greets you, and Jude, with a protective smile, drapes his coat over your shoulders.

“I don’t want you to get cold, okay?” he says, his voice soft.

You’re overwhelmed by the gesture and smile at him, though you blush when you notice he’s left standing bare-chested, showing off his muscles in the cold London night. Jude’s tanned skin glows under the motel lights, making him look even more attractive.

“Jude, that’s not necessary,” you murmur, laughing softly.

He smiles, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“You think I’m going to let you freeze while I’m standing here ‘shirtless’? It’s a matter of principle.”

You laugh, enjoying his boldness and the absurdity of the situation.

“You look like a Ken doll,” you say, looking him up and down.

“A black, sexier Ken doll,” Jude replies, laughing as you wrap yourself in his oversized coat.

As you approach the reception, Jude frowns, remembering they need to keep a low profile.

“Wait a second, we need to come up with something,” he says, searching through the car.

As you both rummage, Jude finds a hat he had forgotten about.

“Look!” he exclaims, pulling it out and putting it on his head. “This should help.”

You laugh at how ridiculous he looks in the hat, but you can’t resist the idea.

“And I’ll wear your sunglasses,” you say, searching the car and finding a pair of sunglasses Jude had left behind.

When you finally make it to the reception desk, a man in his seventies looks at you with curiosity. Jude tries to keep his composure, though he blushes a little at how ridiculous you both look.

“Hi, we have a reservation…” he stammers.

The receptionist, with playful smile, looks at them over closely.

“I won’t say anything about you, I knew you guys were a couple!” he assures them with a wink. His eyes gleam with complicity, as if he knows exactly who you are.

You exchange glances with Jude, trying to hold back laughter at how absurd you must seem.

“Thanks, we appreciate it,” Jude says, relieved.

As you head to your room, laughing and running, the receptionist calls out again.

“By the way, you two look adorable together. Have fun!” he says with a warm smile.

When you enter the room, Jude turns to you, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You know what? This is way better than the party. Now we’re in ‘our bubble,’” he says, spreading his arms as if inviting you into a world that belongs only to the two of you.

You walk over, laughing as you savor the moment.

“Sure, as long as you don’t try to drive the car again.”

The motel room is small, but its atmosphere is filled with a vibrant energy that hums in the air. You find yourself in a space that feels far removed from the world, where the worries of the outside fade away. The soft light filtering through the windows highlights your face, reflecting the smile you share with Jude, a smile born from the growing bond between you.

Jude falls onto the bed, his gaze fixed on you, while you snuggle up, keeping warm in his coat.

“How about we do something fun?” he asks, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Like what, a tickle fight?” you reply.

“No, something more intimate,” he says, moving a little closer.

You feel the heat rise between you, a mix of laughter and nerves. Jude tilts his head toward you, getting close enough to whisper in your ear:

“Do you have any idea how much I love being here with you?”

His voice is soft, like velvet, sending a shiver down your spine. When you look at him, his eyes lock with yours, and in that moment, nothing else exists but the two of you. Jude brushes his hand across your face, gently caressing your cheek.

“Every moment with you is special.” you murmur softly.

The romantic tension in the air intensifies as Jude smiles, savoring the closeness. He leans in a little more, and you cradle his cheeks in both hands, his lips nearly brushing your skin, but instead of a kiss, it’s a soft touch, a hint of what could be.

You both let yourselves be carried by the current of your connection. You play with the edge of the coat you’re still wearing, moving a little closer to him, feeling his warm body near yours. Jude smiles, his eyes twinkling with understanding.

“Did you know hugs are my favorite form of communication?” he says with a playful smile.

“And what if I give you one?” you ask, wrapping your arms around him.

Jude lets out a soft laugh, enjoying the warmth of your embrace. The way you're lying, with Jude almost on top of you but without crushing you, makes you feel completely wrapped in that hug. However, the laughter soon turns into something deeper; your bodies come closer in an embrace that feels like it could last forever. You can feel his heartbeat, and your own breathing quickens.

Suddenly, you start laughing, breaking the tension, and Jude joins in. You both sit up on the bed, still laughing, enjoying the lightness of the moment. He gently pushes you back, making you fall onto the bed, and out of nowhere, Jude bends down and starts giving quick kisses on your stomach, tickling you lightly.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” you say, still laughing as you readjust yourself.

“I never said I was a fair hero,” Jude replies, looking at you with that mix of tenderness and mischief that always makes you smile.

Then, he leans toward you, his face so close you can feel his breath. His gaze intensifies, and the outside world fades away. Jude strokes your hair gently, and you feel lost in those small gestures, those moments of intimacy that speak louder than any words.

“Do you want to play a game?” Jude suggests, breaking the silence.

“What kind of game?” you ask, intrigued.

“We could play a whisper game. The first one to laugh loses,” he says, smiling mischievously.

“I accept the challenge,” you respond, smiling back.

Jude leans in, his lips almost brushing your skin, and begins whispering in your ear, soft words that make your heart race.

“Bread with tomato and ham,” he says, just loud enough for only you to hear.

You try to keep a straight face, but you can’t help but smile; it’s so bad that it’s funny.

“You can’t do that to me,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter.

“What? You don’t like what you’re hearing?” Jude replies, moving even closer, his voice dripping with provocation.

“You’re such an idiot,” you exclaim, bursting into laughter.

Jude smiles triumphantly, and the two of you dive into a sea of laughter and games. You push each other playfully, trying to keep a straight face while having fun on the bed.

Amid the laughter, Jude leans in toward you again, this time more serious, and whispers:

“Sometimes, I wonder how it’s possible that we have this intense connection.”

You feel the weight of his words, and your gaze deepens.

“Maybe we’re meant to be together in some way,” you respond, feeling your heart race.

Jude smiles, knowing the night has evolved in a way neither of you had anticipated.

“It’ll always be our little bubble,” he says, his eyes full of promises. "I love you with my life" He looked into your eyes in such a sincere way.

"I love you babe thank you for absolutely everything" you said kissing his nose, a very intimate gesture that meant a lot.

You both look at each other, feeling like this moment belongs to just the two of you. The touch of hands, the shared whispers, and the echoing laughter are evidence of a connection that goes beyond the physical; it’s a bond that promises something special in every gesture, every laugh, every glance. The night continues, and in your world, anything is possible.

You spend the night in soft laughter that fills the room with genuine closeness, interspersed with slow kisses and touches that say more than words ever could. You draw closer to one another, letting the silence and the rhythm of your breathing blend with the sounds of the night, as intimacy wraps around you both completely, melting into a space where time seems to stand still. Without rush or hurry, you let your bodies and gazes connect, diving into a deep, warm closeness, as if the outside world no longer existed.