#enemies to fuckers

[enemiestolovershoe]

I'd like to read an enemies to lovers (or fuckers😀) story with Folio. I'd try to write one by myself but got stucked. I have no ideas and it got so boring at a certain point😕

Just Pretend

Nick Folio x enemy!ruffilo!reader

Summary: Y/N and Nick Folio, longtime enemies, share an unexpected night that blurs the lines between hatred and passion, forcing them to confront their true feelings.

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), enemies to fuckers to lovers, unprotected p in v, swearing, alcohol and weed use, let me know if i missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

The roar of the crowd outside the venue was deafening, but inside the tour bus, it was a cozy kind of chaos. You had been tagging along on your brother Ruffilo's tours for years, but this time, things were different. This time, you weren’t just his sibling hanging out backstage—you were officially part of the crew as their photographer.

The guys in the band had welcomed you with open arms, treating you like family. Noah was a laid-back source of constant laughter; Jolly had an almost brotherly protectiveness about him, and Nicholas made sure you were always in the loop, a constant conspirator in his antics.

All except Nick Folio.

From the very first moment you were introduced, he had been… cold. Polite, sure, but with a distinct undercurrent of disdain. He didn’t even try to hide it. And so, like clockwork, every exchange with him ended in tension or a biting remark.

“Hey, Folio, hold still a second,” you said, camera poised in hand as you stood backstage before the band’s soundcheck. You were collecting candids for their social media feed, and Folio—drumming sticks in hand, absently tapping out a beat on his thigh—was an ideal subject.

He glanced at you, clearly unimpressed. “Is this absolutely necessary right now?”

You lowered the camera slightly and raised an eyebrow. “It’s kind of my job, so yeah.”

“Right. Well, maybe take pictures of someone who wants their picture taken.” He gestured toward Noah, who was sprawled on a couch nearby, unbothered.

“Maybe try being a little less—”

“Less what?” he shot back, cutting you off, his tone sharper than your camera lens.

“You know what? Never mind.” You huffed and pivoted on your heel, snapping a quick candid of Noah instead.

“Wow,” Noah said from the couch, grinning up at you. “Tension so thick I could cut it with a knife. Should I be worried about you two killing each other?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead,” you quipped, casting a pointed glance at Folio, who muttered something under his breath and walked away.

Later that evening, after the show, the bus hummed with post-gig energy. Jolly and Nicholas were sitting at the small dining booth, sorting through setlists and chatting about tomorrow’s itinerary. You had your laptop open, editing the photos from the night, when Noah flopped down on the couch beside you.

“So,” he began, voice dripping with curiosity, “what’s the deal with you and Folio?”

“There is no deal,” you said, focusing on your screen.

“Come on,” Noah pressed. “You two are either mortal enemies or secretly in love.”

You shot him a look. “Definitely not the second one.”

Noah grinned, undeterred. “I don’t know. Enemies to lovers is, like, a classic trope. You’re already halfway there.”

“Not happening,” you replied firmly.

From across the room, Folio chimed in. “Trust me, Noah. She’s the last person I’d go for.”

You felt your face heat up but refused to look at him. “Right back at you.”

Nicholas glanced up from the table, amused. “Why do you two hate each other so much, anyway?”

“It’s not hate,” you said quickly. “It’s just… strong mutual disinterest.”

“Strong mutual annoyance,” Folio corrected.

“Strong mutual agreement that we’ll never get along,” you added.

Jolly shook his head, smiling faintly. “You two should probably figure it out. We’ve got, what, six more months on the road together?”

“Oh, joy,” Folio deadpanned, grabbing a water bottle and retreating to his bunk.

You exhaled and turned back to your screen, refusing to let him ruin your mood. But as you scrolled through the photos, you paused on one of him mid-performance. The way his focus bled into every movement, the passion in his expression—it was captivating, even if he wasn’t your favorite person.

Noah leaned over, peering at the screen. “You’re staring at Folio’s photo.”

“Shut up, Noah.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, his grin widening.

You shoved him lightly, but your thoughts lingered on the image a little longer than you’d like to admit.

You were just settling into your bunk, sighing at the blessed comfort of your pillow, when the curtain whipped open without warning.

“Not happening,” Nicholas announced, grinning down at you like an older sibling on a mission to ruin your peace.

You groaned, rolling over to glare at him. “What now?”

Noah appeared beside him, holding up a bottle of cheap whiskey like it was a trophy. “Drinking time!”

“You’re kidding me,” you muttered. “I just finished hours of editing, and now you want me to drink… this?” You pointed accusingly at the bottle.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Nicholas said, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. “It’s family time.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep later,” Noah added with a grin. “Another Fourteen hours of driving. You’ll get your beauty rest.”

Grumbling under your breath, you slid out of the bunk and followed them to the back lounge. The door swung open, and the familiar chaos of the bus’s “living room” hit you: Jolly and Matt were already there, and of course, Folio was sprawled on the couch with his ever-present phone.

His eyes flicked up as you walked in, and his expression soured instantly. “Oh, great. Just who I was hoping to see.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you dropped onto the couch between Noah and your brother Ruffilo.

Folio’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he muttered, “Perfect,” and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Jolly, seated at the small counter with another whiskey bottle and a lineup of mismatched cups, started pouring. “Let’s get this going,” he said, handing the first cup to Ruffilo and then making his way around the group.

You took your cup hesitantly, eyeing the dark liquid with skepticism. “Why does it always have to be whiskey?” you asked, grimacing after your first sip. “Can’t we just smoke a joint?”

“Or,” Folio said, cutting in with a raised eyebrow, “it could be both.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out two pre-rolled joints, holding them up like an offering.

The room broke into laughter, except for Ruffilo, who narrowed his eyes at you. “Wait a second. Since when do you smoke sis?”

You froze for a split second before shrugging casually. “Oops, I guess?”

“Oops?” Ruffilo repeated, his tone heavy with older-brother judgment. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you replied, unfazed. “You’ve done worse.”

Noah snickered from your left. “She’s got you there, Ruff.”

“She does not—” Ruffilo started, but Jolly cut him off with a raised cup.

“Let it go, man,” Jolly said. “We’re here to relax, not get into a family drama.”

Ruffilo muttered something under his breath but didn’t press the issue.

You laughed, taking another sip of whiskey. 

Matt, perched in the corner with his own drink, gestured toward Noah. “You’re awfully quiet for the guy who brought the whiskey.”

“I’m conserving my energy,” Noah replied with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Nicholas regaled the group with a story about their worst soundcheck in recent memory, complete with dramatic impressions of the tech crew. Matt jumped in with corrections, adding just enough dry wit to keep everyone laughing.

But as much as you tried to focus on the banter, your attention kept drifting to Folio. Every sarcastic comment he made, every smug look, grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. At one point, he interrupted Noah mid-story, correcting him about a setlist detail, earning a round of groans.

“Folio,” you said, leaning back against the couch, “do you ever get tired of being that guy?”

“Do you ever get tired of being this annoying?” he shot back without missing a beat.

“You’re both insufferable,” Ruffilo muttered, downing the rest of his whiskey.

Nicholas chuckled, nudging you. “You sure you two don’t secretly love each other?”

“Absolutely not,” you said quickly.

“Never,” Folio added at the same time, his tone as sharp as yours.

The group burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You knew the teasing wouldn’t stop anytime soon—not with this crowd.

The hours flew by in a haze of laughter, music, and the warmth of shared intoxication. The six of you were a mess of empty cups, lingering smoke, and bad jokes, none of which made sense anymore but were hilarious in the moment. Matt was the first to call it a night, mumbling something about needing to be “semi-functional” in the morning. Jolly and Ruffilo followed soon after, Ruffilo slapping Noah on the back in a half-drunken show of affection before disappearing toward his bunk.

That left you, Noah, and Folio.

“Can I go to bed without worrying that you two are going to kill each other?” Noah yawned, rubbing his eyes as he stretched lazily.

You smiled at him, your earlier annoyance fading. “Yeah, go to bed, Noah. We’ll be fine.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but decided to take your word for it. “All right… but if I wake up to a murder scene, I’m blaming both of you.”

“Goodnight, Noah,” you said with a chuckle, waving him off.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled, disappearing through the door.

And then there were two.

The air grew heavier as silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hum of the bus engine and the occasional tap of your thumb against your phone screen. You’d pulled out a game to distract yourself, but the tension between you and Folio was almost palpable.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, leaning back lazily with one arm draped over the backrest, watching you like he was waiting for something.

After a few minutes, you gave up pretending the game was holding your attention. You glanced at him, hesitating before speaking. “Do you… uh… have another joint, maybe?”

Folio raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the question. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” you replied, your patience already wearing thin.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Because I’ve never seen you smoke before, Y/N. And I don’t want to be the oneresponsible when you pass out or freak out.”

Your jaw tightened at his tone, his words igniting the familiar irritation that always seemed to surface when he spoke to you. “Okay, Folio, listen. It’s definitely not my first time smoking weed. There are a lot of things about me you don’t know. And I am not a lightweight.” You crossed your arms, holding his gaze with a defiant glare. “So, I’ll ask again: do you have another joint or not?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your response. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out another pre-rolled joint.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” he said, handing it to you.

You took it with a smirk, your first one of the night. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he muttered, leaning back again. He pulled out his own joint, lighting it with practiced ease before taking a slow drag.

You lit yours as well, the familiar scent filling the air as you inhaled deeply. For a while, neither of you spoke. The smoke curled lazily around you both, creating a strange sort of intimacy in the otherwise empty lounge.

Folio broke the silence first. “You don’t seem like the type,” he said, his tone casual but curious.

You exhaled a puff of smoke, raising an eyebrow. “The type to what?”

“Smoke,” he said simply, gesturing toward the joint in your hand. “Or… I don’t know. Just let loose like this.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “See, that’s the problem with you, Folio. You think you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, really?” he replied, his smirk returning. “Like what?”

“Like…” You paused, taking another drag as you thought. “Like the fact that I’ve been smoking since college. Or that Iused to be in a band before I got into photography.”

Folio’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You were in a band?”

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guitar and vocals. We weren’t great, but it was fun.”

“Why’d you quit?” he asked, his tone a little softer now.

You shrugged, looking down at your joint. “Didn’t love it enough to make it my whole life, I guess. Photography felt… right. Like it was what I was supposed to do.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Makes sense.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the lack of sarcasm in his voice. For once, he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the earlier tension starting to fade. And then, emboldened by the alcohol and weed coursing through your system, you found yourself asking the question that had been nagging at you for months.

“Why do you hate me so much, Folio?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Folio froze, his joint halfway to his lips. For the first time that night, he looked completely caught off guard.

“I don’t—” he began, but you cut him off immediately.

“Don’t start with that bullshit,” you snapped, your voice firmer than you expected.

“Let me speak, please,” he said quickly, raising a hand as if to calm you down. There was a note of seriousness in his tone that caught you off guard. “I don’t hate you, Y/N. You have to believe me.”

You blinked, your irritation giving way to confusion. “Then why are you always so mean to me? Why do you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me?”

Folio sighed, dragging a hand down his face before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The usual smugness in his expression was completely gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Do you remember that house party seven years ago? The one where your brother introduced us?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded slowly, your mind flashing back to the memory. “Yeah… I remember.”

“Well,” he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “Nicholas caught me staring at you.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “Okay…?”

“I was mesmerized by you, Y/N,” Folio admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. But Nicholas pulled me aside and made it very clear that you were strictly off-limits.”

Your mouth parted slightly, the pieces beginning to fall into place.

“So, what? You just decided to hate me because my brother told you to back off?” you asked, your tone more incredulous than angry.

“No,” Folio said, shaking his head. “I didn’t decide to hate you. I tried to. I thought if I could convince myself you were annoying, or difficult, or—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “If I could convince myself you were someone I didn’t want to be around, then maybe I could get those feelings out of my head.”

He leaned back, exhaling deeply as he met your gaze. “It didn’t work. But it made things easier… or at least it felt like it did at the time.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling from his confession. “So, this whole time… all the bickering, the snarky comments… that was just you trying to push me away?”

Folio nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes. “The truth is, I’ve never hated you, Y/N. I never could.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. You had spent so much time believing that he genuinely couldn’t stand you, and now… this.

Folio shifted nervously under your silence, his earlier confidence clearly shaken. “Look, I know I’ve been a complete asshole to you, and you probably don’t want to hear any of this, but—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward, your heart pounding in your chest, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was sudden, instinctive, and completely out of character for you. But as soon as it happened, it felt right—like something you’d been holding back for far too long.

For a moment, Folio didn’t move, clearly caught off guard. But then, almost hesitantly, he kissed you back.

Folio’s hands found your waist as he quickly pulled you onto his lap, not breaking the kiss. The motion made you gasp against his lips, but he didn’t let up, deepening the kiss instead. His grip was firm, almost like he was afraid you’d slip away, and the heat between your bodies was impossible to ignore.

After a few moments, Folio pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath. His eyes searched yours, dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your stomach twist in anticipation.

"I’m sick of pretending, Y/N," he murmured, his voice raw and quiet, as if it hurt to say it out loud.

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of emotions flooding you. But instead of overthinking it, you let your instincts take over. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice steady despite the butterflies wreaking havoc inside you.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Folio leaned in again, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. This one was more desperate, more certain, and you found yourself melting into him.

His hands roamed your back, sliding under your sweatshirt, and his fingers brushed your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your hips moved of their own accord, rocking slightly against him. The friction was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips when you felt how hard he already was beneath you.

"Fuck, Y/N," Folio groaned against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as you kept moving. His lips trailed down to your jaw, then your neck, where he bit down gently, eliciting another gasp from you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. "I need you, Nicky," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper but loud enough for him to hear.

He pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and filled with desire. "Fuck," he rasped, his lips curling into a smirk. "I thought you’d never say it."

Your cheeks flushed, but you smirked right back, emboldened by his reaction. Without breaking eye contact, you grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving your upper body bare to him.

Folio’s eyes widened for a moment before they darkened further, his gaze drinking you in. "No bra?" he said, his tone teasing but laced with lust. "Naughty girl."

You shrugged, your smirk not faltering. "Remember, I was dragged out of bed."

His grin widened as he leaned forward, his lips brushing over your collarbone. "Lucky me," he murmured before his hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

Not wanting to be the only one undressed, you tugged at the hem of his hoodie. "Your turn," you whispered, your fingers curling under the fabric.

He chuckled softly but obliged, pulling the hoodie off and tossing it aside. Your breath hitched as you took him in, his toned chest and arms on full display.

"Like what you see?" he teased, his grin cocky as he caught you staring.

"Maybe," you replied, feigning indifference, though the heat in your gaze betrayed you.

"Uh-huh, sure," he teased back, pulling you closer until your bare chest pressed against his.

Your lips met again, the kiss growing more intense, and you couldn’t stop your hands from exploring his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. His hands mirrored yours, roaming your back and hips, pulling you even closer as the tension built between you.

After a few minutes, your hands wandered lower, trailing down his sides to the waistband of his sweatpants. You hesitated for only a moment before undoing the drawstring and slipping your hand inside.

The low groan Folio let out when your hand brushed against him sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but smirk against his lips.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his head tilting back slightly as you started palming him through his sweatpants. His grip on your waist tightened, and his breathing grew heavier, matching yours.

Folio groaned, his head tilting back as your hand worked him. "Okay, okay, you need to stop," he panted, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly to still your movements. "Or else I’m gonna bust already," he added with a breathless laugh, his cheeks flushed.

You smirked, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to his jaw. "Isn’t that the point?" you quipped, your tone light but sultry.

He gave you a pointed look, his lips quirking into a crooked smile. "Yeah, well, I’d rather make you feel good first. Thatokay with you?"

The low rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine, and you nodded quickly. "Yes, please," you whispered, your voice soft but laced with need.

"Good girl," he murmured, his smile turning into a smug smirk as he gently nudged you backward.

You found yourself lying back on the narrow couch in the tour bus, the cool leather a sharp contrast to the heat building between your bodies. Folio knelt between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and panties. With one smooth motion, he tugged them down and discarded them somewhere on the floor.

Everything about his movements was quick and deliberate, leaving you a little breathless. He placed his hands on your thighs, parting your legs with a firm yet gentle motion. The hunger in his gaze made you swallow hard, heat flooding your cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softening. The concern in his tone was genuine, cutting through the tension just enough to make your chest tighten in a different way.

"Yeah," you said, nodding.

He raised an eyebrow, his hands giving your thighs a reassuring squeeze. "I need to hear you say it, baby," he urged gently.

Your lips parted as you took a steadying breath. "Yes, Nicky. I’m sure," you replied, your voice steady this time.

His lips quirked into a soft smile at your words. "That’s my girl," he murmured, and before you could respond, he dipped his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh before moving to exactly where you needed him most.

The first touch of his tongue drew a sharp gasp from you, your hips jerking slightly in surprise. "Fuck," you breathed, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair.

Folio chuckled against you, the vibrations making you whimper. "God, you’re so wet for me," he groaned, his voice muffled but filled with awe.

"Mhm," you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Just for you."

"Good," he murmured before diving back in, his mouth working against you with a fervor that left you dizzy.

Every flick of his tongue and every graze of his lips had you unraveling faster than you thought possible. Your moans filled the small space, mingling with his groans as he seemed entirely consumed by the task of driving you wild.

Your legs trembled as the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, and with one final flick of his tongue, you came undone with a cry, your back arching off the couch.

Folio didn’t stop right away, easing you through your high until you were a quivering, breathless mess beneath him. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and gave you a cocky grin.

"That was fast," he teased, leaning back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You let out a breathless laugh, covering your face with one hand as you tried to catch your breath. "I know. I surprised myself," you admitted, still trembling slightly.

His grin widened, and he reached out to tug your hand away from your face, pinning it gently against the couch. "Don’t hide from me," he said softly, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled up at him, your chest still heaving. "Come here, drummer boy," you said, your tone teasing but full of want. "And fuck me already."

His cheeks flushed, the pink spreading across his nose, but he smirked anyway. "You don’t have to tell me twice," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

He stood up, his movements fluid as he quickly discarded his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. You couldn’t help but stare, your lips parting slightly at the sight of him.

"Like what you see?" he teased, catching your expression as he climbed back onto the couch, hovering over you.

"Maybe," you replied, your voice soft but teasing.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you deeply. His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and tenderness, and you melted into him, your hands roaming the expanse of his bare back.

Folio hovered over you, his body pressing against yours as he lined himself up at your entrance. His eyes searched yours one last time, his voice low and rough. "You ready, baby?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I’ve never been more ready," you whispered.

With a slow, steady motion, he pushed himself into you, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your nails dug into his shoulders as the stretch took you by surprise, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped.

"God, Folio," you breathed, your voice trembling. "You’re so big."

He froze for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours. "You need a minute, baby?" he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. "No, keep going," you murmured, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. "I need you."

His gaze darkened at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you deeply as he began to move, starting with slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of him filling you in a way that left you breathless.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained. "So tight, baby. Fuck."

You whimpered in response, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even closer. "Don’t stop," you gasped, your voice breaking. "Right there, Nicky. Yes, yes, right there."

His pace began to pick up, his movements growing more confident as your moans spurred him on. "Good girl," he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with praise. "Taking me so well. So wet for me."

Your body responded to every word, every thrust, and soon you were clawing at his back, your moans growing louder with each passing second. "Faster," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "Please, Nicky, faster."

"Anything for you," he groaned, gripping your hips as he began to move with an almost punishing pace. The sound of skin against skin filled the small space, mingling with the symphony of your moans and his deep, guttural groans.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his lips brushing against your neck as he buried himself deeper. "You feel so fucking good."

"Harder," you moaned, your head tilting back as your body arched into his. "Please, Nicky, fuck me harder."

He didn’t hesitate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "So fucking perfect."

You felt the tension building again, your body teetering on the edge. "I’m close," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "Don’t stop, don’t stop."

"I’ve got you, baby," he groaned, his voice rough as he kept his relentless pace.

With one final thrust, the coil inside you snapped, and you cried out, your body shaking as your orgasm washed over you. Folio groaned loudly, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

"Fuck," he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. With a few more thrusts, he pulled out, spilling himself onto your belly. His head fell to your shoulder as he caught his breath, his body trembling slightly against yours.

You both lay there for a moment, panting and trying to come down from the high. Finally, Folio pushed himself up, his eyes meeting yours with a soft, almost shy smile. "You okay?" he asked, his voice still a little breathless.

"Yeah," you replied, your own smile tugging at your lips. "That was…"

"Incredible?" he finished for you, his grin turning playful as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

"Exactly," you agreed, laughing softly as he stood up.

He grabbed a box of tissues from the corner of the bus’s living room and cleaned you up with gentle care, his fingers brushing against your skin.

As he tossed the tissues into a nearby trash can, you smirked up at him. "If you hadn’t pretended to hate me all these years, we could’ve done that seven years ago," you teased, your tone light but tinged with a hint of seriousness.

Folio’s expression softened, and he climbed back onto the couch, pulling you into his arms. "I know," he murmured, his voice quiet. "I’m sorry, baby."

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

After a moment of catching your breath, you and Folio slowly began to gather yourselves. He handed you your underwear with a small, sheepish grin, and you both slid them back on in a comfortable silence. The air between you had shifted—it was no longer filled with tension, but something warmer, more intimate.

You laid back down on the couch, and Folio immediately joined you, pulling you into his arms. His hand rested on your hip as he held you close, the rise and fall of his chest soothing as you nestled against him.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the tour bus and the faint sounds from outside filled the space. It wasn’t awkward, though—it was comfortable, peaceful even.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and a little uncertain. "What does this make us, Nick?"

He stilled for a moment, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell under your cheek as he took a deep breath. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice gentle but firm. "But I do know one thing—I’m done pretending, baby. I’m done acting like I don’t want this. Like I don’t want you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but there was still a sliver of hesitation in your chest. You tilted your head to look up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. "How does boyfriend and girlfriend sound?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a split second, your heart raced, fear creeping in as you braced yourself for his answer. But then, Folio’s lips curled into that signature smirk of his, and the look in his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache.

"I’d love that, baby," he said simply, his voice steady and sincere.

A wave of relief washed over you, and a smile spread across your lips as your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. "Good," you murmured, your voice lighter now, playful even.

Folio leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his hand reached for a nearby blanket draped over the back of the couch. He tugged it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before pulling you even closer.

"Let’s cuddle a bit before we have to get back to our bunks," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. "The guys don’t need to find out about this just yet. And your brother…" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Your brother would kill us both."

You laughed quietly, nuzzling closer to him. "Agreed," you said, your voice warm with amusement.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your back as you basked in the warmth of each other’s presence.

But what neither of you considered was how the haze of the moment—combined with the earlier hit of weed and the lingering exhaustion���would catch up to you. Slowly but surely, your eyelids grew heavy, and you felt yourself slipping into the pull of sleep.

Folio’s breathing evened out beside you, his arms still securely wrapped around your frame as he dozed off. Neither of you noticed the scattered clothes on the floor or the fact that the blanket barely covered your entwined bodies.

And as the tour bus rumbled quietly down the road, you both drifted off, blissfully unaware of the consequences waiting for you when the boys inevitably discovered the aftermath of your night together.

The next morning, you were startled awake by a loud, familiar voice cutting through the quiet hum of the bus. Still tangled in Folio’s arms, you blinked groggily, your brain struggling to catch up as the realization hit—you’d fallen asleep in the lounge area.

Noah’s voice, brimming with disbelief and amusement, echoed through the small space. "I fucking told you!" he practically shouted, the smirk on his face audible in his tone.

You and Folio both jolted upright, your hearts racing. Folio instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around you as you both turned to see Noah standing a few feet away, his grin widening as he took in the scene before him.

Before either of you could say a word, Noah’s commotion woke another person—the one person you’d hoped wouldn’t notice.

Your brother, Ruffilo, groaned loudly as he climbed out of his bunk, rubbing his eyes and looking thoroughlyunimpressed. "What the hell are you yelling about this early, Noah?" he grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

Time seemed to slow as Ruffilo’s footsteps grew louder, each one bringing him closer to the back lounge. Your breath caught in your throat, and you glanced at Folio, whose wide eyes mirrored your own. Even Noah looked momentarily alarmed, his grin faltering as the gravity of the situation hit him.

When Ruffilo finally stepped into the lounge, his gaze landed on you and Folio still tangled together on the couch, the blanket doing little to hide the obvious intimacy of your positioning. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his jaw clenched as realization dawned.

"Folio," Ruffilo said slowly, his voice low and simmering with anger. "Don’t tell me you fucked my sister last night."

Folio froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he managed a weak, "Uh… I didn’t fuck your sister last night?" His voice wavered with uncertainty, and you resisted the urge to groan at his terrible attempt at lying.

Ruffilo’s gaze snapped to you, and then back to Folio, his face reddening with fury. "I’m going to fucking kill you," he growled, his voice rising with each word. "Both of you!"

Taglist: @courta13

[punkrockmlchael]

English

Masterlist | Gareth Emerson Masterlist

Gareth Emerson x Fem Cheerleader!Reader

Enemies to Lovers (Fuckers)? (Both Gareth and Reader are 18+)

Warnings: 18+ mdni, Verbally Fighting (Degrading Name Calling and Lots of Swearing), Mentions of Family Issues/Problems, Sexual Tension, Plot with Smut, Smut: Oral (Male Receiving, he’s a head pusher! And he face fucks you..), Cum eating, Slight Fingering, Unprotected Sex, PinV, Sex in the old cheer closet, Submissive Gareth, Dominant Gareth (he's both in this okay you'll see, baby boy has issues), afab reader

Synopsis: You're one of the Star Cheerleaders at Hawkin's High who's actually had quite a tough life, though you never admit it to anyone who's not close to you. You show up everyday with a smile on your face despite your problems at home. However, the fact that you're a cheerleader is something Gareth automatically hates about you. He hates popular kids, and anyone he thinks had it 'better' than he, the freak, did growing up. So when you get partnered to work with him for an English project you can't help but just go off on each other, true colors coming out.

Word Count: 5.1k

Your English teacher was definitely a teacher that believed group projects were the highlight of high school. Each semester you'd walk into the room with your name next to a new one, and so far you've been pretty lucky with who you've been partnered up with, you couldn't complain.

So when you walked in on the first day of the last semester, you searched the board for your name and the name next to it. You stopped in your tracks and shook your head in disbelief, reading the name next to yours.

Chrissy, the cheer captain and one of your best friends, stood next to you, almost running into you when you decided to stop so abruptly to read the board. She followed your gaze and cringed for you.

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry... you're partnered with... the freak!" She said, trying to hold back a giggle. You shook your head and groaned softly, looking around the room.

You and Gareth absolutely hated each other, and to this day you're still not sure why. Every interaction you've ever had with this boy has been filled with glares, scoffs, and swear words back and forth.

He hated you and you hated him.

You eventually found Gareth in the back corner of the room, sitting close to the windows; his gaze on the trees outside of the window. You walked over to him, taking a seat next to him. You glanced your eyes over towards him, taking in his appearance.

Black band tee, red flannel vest with pins scattered about, black skinny jeans, skull and bones chain around his neck and rings on his fingers. His brown messy curls sat just above his bright blue eyes, freckles dusting across his face.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think that he was attractive.

When you took a seat next to him, Gareth looked up at you, taking in your appearance. Your green and white cheer uniform clung perfectly to your body, showing off your curves in all the right places. Your long hair fell down your back, curled perfectly with your sparkly white cheer bow pinned in the back of it.

Your outfit was enough for him to come to one conclusion: you're still a cheerleader and he still doesn't like you... in fact, he despises you.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Not a fucking cheerleader. Just, don't get us an F this semester, okay?" He asked, looking back up at the board in the front of the room.

"Whatever, you fucking ass." You growled back, your blood boiling. "I hate you."

"The feeling is very much mutual."

Once the bell rang to signal the start of class your teacher stood at the front of the classroom, explaining your assignment for the semester. "Okay, class. One of the main things to do will be analyzing all of these short stories together as pairs. Now, back to the one we most recently looked at. What do you think the minor character represents?" She asked, looking around the room.

You sat quietly, looking at the notes you had written in your notebook regarding that specific short story. When no one answered you raised your hand slowly, smiling a little when the teacher nodded at you. Gareth's eyes darted towards you and he snickered a little, waiting to hear your explanation for this.

You took a deep breath and started your monologue.

"I personally struggled with the representation of this character for a while, and it took myself a good couple read throughs to come up with what I believe the character is representing. I personally believe this character is a representation of death—and not in the literal sense but more in the figurative sense. Our main character doesn't lose anyone close to him in death during this story, but he does lose one thing: his childhood. This minor character is only mentioned briefly, and he brings about a sense of childlike wonder to our main character, reminding him how it was to see life through the eyes of a child, be free and not have a care in the world. But soon after we don't see that minor character again, the main character has turmoils and responsibilities that catch up to him... he's not able to see the world through the eyes of a child anymore. He just loses his innocence." You clear your throat a little, leaning forward in your seat, your arms resting on top of your desk before you continued. "And I personally believe that this is also a metaphor that we can take into our everyday lives, for instance in middle school you are still able to look through the looking glass of life set on the child's viewfinder but once you reach highschool every thing just... changes. The friends you had may drift off, everyone having different responsibilities and turmoils of their own, some people don't share those turmoils and challenges while others are an open book, showing those challenges off to everyone. I believe that's the point of the character. To show that at some point, your childhood dies, and unfortunately, it happens at a different point for everyone."

The teacher smiled wide, listening to your response. She nodded her head along and agreed. The students in the classroom all smiled and nodded as well, silently praising your answer.

Gareth looked at you, taking in your answer. He was both impressed and taken aback by your response, though he would never admit it to you.

He sat back in his own seat, crossing his arms over his chest before he watched you carefully, trying to pick you apart piece by piece—physically and mentally. His eyes scanned up and down your body as you repositioned yourself back in your seat. Your skirt crept up your thighs ever so slightly, exposing more skin than Gareth had ever seen on you. He stared slightly, watching the white fabric sit higher and higher on your thighs with every move you made before he snapped out of it.

"I bet you didn't even think of that yourself," Gareth muttered under his breath after a while, looking at his own notebook.

"Jealous that a cheerleader had the answer and you didn't?" You smirked, your eyes not looking at him. He scoffed.

"Like I said, you probably cheated to get that answer. There's no way you came up with that in your own."

You shook your head, looking at your notes again. "Whatever, you dick." You mumbled.

"Bitch." He said under his breath.

The class went on slowly, and you just wanted it to be over so you could finally head home for the day, and get as far away from Gareth as humanly possible.

The bell rang and everyone sprung from their seats, heading towards the door. You packed up your backpack with your book and notebook, trying to get out of the classroom as soon as you could.

Gareth walked over towards you and smirked, wanting to start shit.

"Nice answer. You're so dumb, there's literally no way you came up with that answer on your own. I bet you only came up with half of that answer, if that." He said, moving closer to you.

"I really just think you're jealous that you weren't able to come up with that answer on your own, you fucking ass." You nodded, your eyes meeting his. You pushed past him, hitting his shoulder with yours as you walked by.

"Hey, what the fuck?" He yelled, looking at you.

You turned around and smirked at him, flipping him off with both of your hands before you kept walking towards the front of the building to the doors.

Giving him not one, but two fingers was a bad idea. His anger was through the roof at this point, there was steam coming out of his ears.

He walked after you quickly, yelling at you as he did.

"What the fuck is your problem, you slut?" He yelled, speeding up to catch up with you.

"What the fuck is your problem, you dick?" You asked, continuing to walk away from him.

Gareth followed after you and cornered you outside. He placed his hands on the wall beside you, trapping you against the cold, brick wall.

"What the hell, you can't just act all smug and then walk away." He growled, staring into your eyes.

You looked back into his eyes with a smirk plastered on your face. "I'm pretty sure I just did," you said, innocently.

His anger grew at your innocent act.

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that? You're not even that pretty anyways." He scoffed, looking at you. His grip on the wall beside you grew harder as did his anger towards you. Your stare at him however was unfazed by his words and actions.

"Yeah, I know that. Thank you. Believe me, I hear that everyday. There is nothing you can say that I haven't heard a million times already. Too ugly, too dumb, too talkative, too annoying, too sassy, too much of a freak. You're fighting a losing battle." Your stare intensifies as you cross your arms over your chest, your back fully resting on the wall behind you now.

"Well, if you're not pretty and everyone thinks you're annoying then why are you a cheerleader? You sound pretty useless to me." He spit back, trying to get a reaction out of you. But he didn't, you stood your ground.

"Yeah, I've been told I'm useless since I was born. Like I said, nothing you say will hurt me." You stepped closer to him, getting into his face. "My childhood died at the ripe age of 10, when did yours die?" You whispered to him, your breath hitting his face.

"Yeah right." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure your childhood is still alive. I bet your parents love you and probably treat you like a fucking princess." He shot back, moving his face even closer to yours, now only inches separated you.

You glared at him, moving back to lean against the wall. "Not that I owe you a fucking explanation or the time of day for that matter; but I haven't seen my parents since I was 15. They got a divorce, my mom moved away and my dad eventually went to jail. I live with my aunt and I only do cheer so she can get me out of the fucking house. It's an outlet for me that allows me to forget about my fucked up life and childhood for as long as I can." You moved closer to his face again. "Any other insights you want to know about my perfect life, Mr. Fucking Cocky?" You shouted in his face.

Gareth felt bad now, and though he didn't want to admit it... he sympathized with you on your story and situation. But, he was such a hot head that he wasn't going to let you 'win' this argument.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't explain why you're always such a bitch to me. All the fucking time." He yelled back, moving his body closer to yours. He was, at this point, pinning your body to the brick wall behind you with his.

You laughed coldly, looking up at him. "I actually have never done anything to you. Every time the cheer team and the jocks are attacking you and your friends I actually stick up for you guys... God only knows why. And, I thought maybe being partnered together for this assignment was a way to actually see how you are and what you're like; I really did kind of want to get to know you. You do seem like you've had it rough and I wanted to get to know the real you, although, it seems like I already have. I'm the type of person where if you burn your bridge with me—it's gone. You were a dick to me, so I'm a bitch back to you. Congratulations, Gareth, another one bites the dust!" You shook your head and stared at him. "I actually thought you would be a nice and genuine person but hey, maybe I am a stupid cheerleader because I believed you had a heart." You poked his chest as you spoke the last words, glaring at him.

He stared back at you, taking in your words before trying to find his own to retort back. "I'm the dickhead? I have no heart?" He scoffed, looking you up and down. "I thought you were just some basic, stuck up cheerleader and I can see now that I was right. You're probably too dumb for your own good."

"Clearly your childhood isn't dead yet if you still need to win every fucking argument and get the last word in every time. It's like they say in middle school... if a guy makes fun of you and teases you, then he must have a crush on you." You smirked slightly, leaning in closer to him. "Well, if this is how you treat me, then, baby boy, you must be whipped over me." You leaned back against the wall again, waiting for his reaction. "Need some attention from a girl, huh?"

"You wish," he mumbled. "You think I'm just some... weakling like you who's never been with a girl? Well, you have it all wrong. I've been with plenty of girls before; I've kissed girls before and felt them up."

"So have I. You aren't special."

You response was not something he was expecting, jealousy boiling inside of him. "Oh, I'm sure you have." He said sarcastically, "and just how many? One? Two?" He leaned in closer, whispering in your ear, "just how easy are you?"

"Judging by the jealousy in your voice even if my answer is one it's still probably more than you have." You smirked, looking at him. "You've kissed? And felt up? What, did you squeeze a boob and that was it? Or, did a girl actually let you see her naked?"

"How fucking dare you." He growled, moving closer to you. "You talk a lot of shit. You're just some slutty cheerleader." He snickered. "You probably go behind the bleachers and fuck every guy that gives you any form of attention."

You moved your face close to his, your breath hitting his lips. "Wrong again, baby boy. You're giving me attention right now, and I'm not pulling you towards the bleachers now, am I? Although, I'm curious... you talk a big game, able to back yourself up?" You asked, glancing down between his legs before looking back up at him.

He raised an eyebrow at you, feeling your eyes on him. He readjusted his t-shirt, trying to pull it down to hide himself. He stood in front of you, trying to think of a reply to your previous response. "Stop looking at my dick. God, is that all you think about when you look at me?" He snapped, looking at you.

"It's pretty hard not to look at it." You replied, knowing that you have won this fight.

"Shut up." He yelled back, "stop looking at me like that!" He said, his voice breaking slightly as he said it.

"Aw, what's wrong? Has a girl never looked at you like this before?" You asked, batting your eyelashes. "Really, you should take it as a compliment." You added, running your hands up his chest.

He shook his head, his eyes staring at your hands as they move up and down his chest. "Get off of me," he whispered, his breathing catching in his throat.

"I can get you off instead," you winked, moving your face closer to his. Your lips ghosted over his, your breath hitting his lips. "Or, do you not want that?"

He stood there, frozen, staring at you. Your hands on his chest, your lips almost touching his. He wanted it and he wanted you. He moved to look back at your face, his dark, lust filled eyes meeting yours. He leaned in closer, trying to touch his lips to yours.

"Admit I won," you said, looking into his eyes. "Admit I won, admit you want me and, admit you're a dick."

"Yes," he whispered, looking at the ground.

You grabbed his face gently, placing your hand under his chin to move his face to look you in the eyes. "Say it."

"Y-you're better than me." He admitted, looking at you. He released his grip on the wall next to you and stood in front of you, you released your grip from his chin and he leaned in closer.

"That's not what I said. I never said you were better than me, just that I won this round."

"Just, shut up and kiss me." Gareth mumbled, looking at you. "Please, just.. shut up and kiss me, now." He pleaded, looking at you.

"Talk a big game, but need to beg for what you want, huh?" You smirked, leaning closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and closed the gap, kissing his lips roughly.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands immediately going to your hips, squeezing them tightly. He stepped closer to you, pinning your body to the brick wall with his, shamelessly grinding up against you.

You moaned softly, licking his bottom lip with your tongue, wanting entrance into his mouth. He opened his mouth, allowing you the entrance as his tongue fought with yours for dominance. After a while, he finally gave up, letting you take the lead of the intense kiss.

Your hands made their way up to the base of his neck, playing with his curls gently. He pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at you. "Fuck," he mumbled. He looked around quickly, scanning his surroundings.

"What? Afraid someone's going to see you with a cheerleader?" You teased, kissing his lips again. He pulled away and shook his head.

"No," he mumbled, catching his breath. "I want to fuck you but I can't really do that in public," he corrected you, looking at you.

"Hm," you said, thinking for a second. "There's an old cheer closet we can go to; that's basically what the cheerleaders use it for now, to hookup with boys we find hot," you mumbled, leaning closer to him.

"You find me hot?" Gareth asked, getting a little red in the face.

"Yeah, but don't let it go to your head. I'm a dumb cheerleader, remember? It doesn't matter what I think," you replied, leaving kisses up and down his neck. He groaned, tightening his grip on your waist.

"Cheer closet. Now." He growled, releasing his grip on your waist.

You smirked, placing a soft kiss on his lips before you walked back into the school, with Gareth trailing behind you at a short distance. He didn't want to let everyone else know he was going to fuck you in a closet, but, the thought of that did sound amazing to him.

You went down the hall to a section of the school that's a bunch of supply closets for sports, looking around again to make sure no one was actively using the closet. You opened the door and looked at him, motioning for him to go inside. He walked past you, smacking your ass with his right hand before he walked inside, waiting for you.

You jumped when his hand met your ass, looking at him with a darkened look. You slid a scrunchie off your wrist onto the door handle to let any other cheerleaders know that someone was... using the closet before you walked after him, locking the door from the inside.

"You girls seriously have a closet to hookup in?" Gareth asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall. You shrugged, setting your bag down on the floor.

"Hello, we're whores," you said, looking at him.

"Are you actually though?" He asked softly, looking you up and down.

"I pulled you into here, didn't I?" You asked, stepping closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and connected your lips to his again. He wrapped his arms around your waist, one hand moving down to your ass. He squeezed your left ass cheek roughly, shoving his tongue in your mouth again, this time winning in dominance.

He pulled you closer, grinding against you before he pulled away from the kiss. "You pulled me in here willingly," he said softly, looking at you. "Why?" He asked, pushing a strand of your curled hair behind your ear.

You shrugged, looking up at him. "I think you're reading too much into this," you sighed, running your hands down his chest and stopping at his belt. "If you fucking read into stuff this much in English class we would be able to get an easy A," you mumbled, undoing his belt.

He bit his lip and watched you finesse his belt and jeans before you pulled them down gently, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him.

"Hey, I do my work," he argued, watching you as you pulled his pants down around his ankles. "And, I'm actually a straight B student, thank you very much." He added.

"Save it," you mumbled, tugging his boxers down. His erection sprang free, and you looked up at him, smirking a little. "So, you can back up your big talk, huh?" You asked, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock gently. You squeezed it gently before you pumped it a couple of times, looking up at him.

"Fuck," Gareth groaned, throwing his head back against the wall of the closet gently as you worked on his cock. "Shit, maybe you are a whore," he said, groaning again as you licked a thin strip up his cock.

"So I've been told," you shrugged, licking the tip of his cock before you wrapped your lips around it, bobbing your head slightly.

He moaned, moving his dominant hand to the back of your head, collecting some of your curled hair in a fist before he pushed your head down more, causing you to gag on his cock. He moaned louder, looking down at you as you bobbed your head, working his cock in and out of your mouth.

"Such a pretty whore," he grunted, moving your head more with his hand. "Taking my cock like a good little girl and choking on it for me? Such a good girl," he said, making eye contact with you. You moaned around his cock, his words adding to the pooling heat in your panties. He grunted a small laugh, looking at you as he kept moving your head for you. "You like that, huh?" He asked, "you like it when I call you a good girl?" You moaned again, your eyes rolling back in your head slightly as he continued to fuck your face.

You kept bobbing your head, moving your hands to his thighs gently to help stable yourself. You gagged on his cock again, groaning around him. The vibrations from your mouth made his moan, throwing his head back again.

"Fuck, you're good with your mouth. You can tell someone off with it and you're so good at using it on a cock," he groaned, closing his eyes. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he added, thrusting into your mouth again.

You moaned around him again, looking up at him. His eyes were closed tightly and his eyebrows furrowed as he bit his lip roughly. His curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, small beads of sweat running down his temples slightly.

Seeing him like this, come undone because of your mouth, made you whine around his cock. Seeing him turn into a puddle because of your mouth, it made more and more heat pool to your panties. You moaned again, digging your nails into his thighs as you bobbed your head. He made one last thrust into your mouth and groaned, his body spasming slightly as he came into your mouth. The hot, white liquid spilling into your mouth and onto your tongue.

You swallowed it all, pulling away from his cock as you licked it clean, looking up at him with a wink. He sighed, looking down at you as he released his grip on your hair gently. "Fuck," he breathed, looking at you. He helped you to your feet gently, kissing you roughly, groaning when he tasted himself on you. "Bend over," he growled. "Turn around and bend over. I need to see if you can take this cock in your pretty little pussy as well as you can take it in your mouth."

You moaned, facing away from him before you bent over, pushing your clothed core against his already re-hardened cock. He groaned, moving your panties to the side slightly, rubbing his fingers up and down your slicked folds gently.

"Jesus, you're so fucking wet," he mused, pushing two fingers into you gently.

You whined, biting your lip as you moved back towards him more. "Yeah, because of you," you groaned, closing your eyes at the feeling. "You're such an arrogant fucking dick, but somehow, you make me so wet beyond belief." You added, choking out a loud moan as he pumped his fingers in and out of you gently.

"Perfect, that's just the way I like it," he smirked, removing his fingers from your core. He repositioned his cock at your core and pushed into you slowly, groaning as he felt your warmth engulf him. His hands found your hips as he pulled out of you, only to thrust back into you roughly. You moaned, jumping slightly.

"Fuck, Gareth," you groaned, biting your lip as he kept thrusting in and out of you roughly. "God, fuck, you're such a fucking dick," you said, tears brimming your eyes gently as he thrusted. "You've only ever been a dick to me because I'm a cheerleader. You're so caught up on stereotypes and really you're just—a fucking asshole." You babbled on, moaning and groaning as slammed in and out of you.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled, groaning as he thrusted more. "I'm a dick. I'm an ass. I'm the worst person to walk the planet. I'm a freak. I'm a loser. I get it," he sighed, tightening his grip on your hips so hard it would definitely leave bruises.

"What did I ever do to you?" You choked out, looking back at him with teary eye. He looked up at you, seeing your face as he paused his thrusts, staying buried deep inside you.

"Honestly? Nothing," he replied, feeling guilty and stupid. He leaned over your back, moving his face closer to you. "You just, I guess I was just... jealous of you. And your friends. And the life I, well, the life I thought you had," he added. "I'm sorry, okay? Really, I truly am." He said, looking at you. "And, I know that that doesn't really help, I understand I was a complete dick to you. And I probably ruined your high school career. And that I probably messed up every opportunity I could have possibly had to be with you." He rambled on, looking into your eyes with deep regret and sorrow. "But I'm so fucking sorry; you didn't deserve anything I did to you. You're so beautiful; you have the prettiest smile I think I've ever seen, your eyes are this ridiculously awesome color that I can't even describe, your body is fucking amazing. You're literally.. the prettiest girl I've ever met."

You sniffled a little, listening to his words. You looked down and gently pulled away from him, instantly feeling the loss of him not inside you. He sighed, releasing his grip on your hips. "I really fucked up, didn't I?" He asked, watching you stand up.

You turned to face him and walked towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck gently. "Do you mean that?" You asked, looking at him. "Like, all of that? Do you mean every word you just said?" He nodded, resting his hands on your waist.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

"Just, promise you mean it and that you'll change?" You asked softly, kissing his lips gently. He sighed, kissing you back. He picked you up gently, resting his hands under your thighs. He pushed up against the wall as he slid back into you gently.

"I promise," he grunted, resting his forehead against yours as he thrusted slow and deep inside of you. Your arms moved his biceps, helping to support yourself.

"Then, I forgive you," you moaned, looking at him. He smiled a little, kissing your lips sweetly as he continued to thrust slow and deep, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. "Fuck," you moaned again, resting your head against the wall behind you. "Look, I really hate to break up this whole lovey-dovey, apology, soft and sweet session we had going on, but, I'm really about to cum," you groaned, sighing as you felt the familiar feeling pool up in your lower stomach.

He smiled, leaving soft kisses on your neck. "Then cum for me, beautiful," he mumbled against your neck, picking up the pace of his thrusts slightly. He hit your sweet spot on a deep thrust and you moaned loudly, clenching around him before you released around him, breathing deeply.

"Fuck, Gare," you whined, digging your nails into his biceps. He groaned and thrusted a couple more times before he released inside of you, riding out his high with a few good thrusts.

He sighed, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he held you up against the wall, cock still buried inside of you, twitching slightly.

"You really forgive me?" He asked, looking at you with soft eyes. You looked back at him and smiled a little, pushing his messy curls out of his face.

"If you'll always fuck me like this? Hell yeah," you teased, kissing his lips softly.

"No, I mean it," he asked, pulling away from the kiss gently.

You looked at him, resting your forehead against his. "Let's just get through this English project, please. I need to graduate," you said softly, looking at him. "Maybe it's best we just, put everything behind us and start over," you suggested.

"I think I'm up for that," he said softly, kissing your lips again.

"You're still kind of a dick, though," you mumbled against his lips. He smirked against your lips, sighing.

"Take it or leave it, baby," he mumbled. "You're still kind of a bitch."

"Hm, take it or leave it," you mumbled back, kissing his lips with a small smile on your face.

[badasserywomen]

I love my two murder tanks

[astronnova]

SOMEONE GET HIM OFF THE MIC!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP HIM

comm'd by anonymous for @ectoplasmranch's ywlma fic!

[the-bar-sinister]

I think I really prefer the term "rehabilitating' for a villain who's going through a character arc and becoming a better person, over 'redeeming'.

Not only does it take away the culturally christian connotations that "redeeming" has, but rehabilitating also better shows the context of, you know, actually putting in the work and effort to overcome their problems.

From now on, for me, it's not a "villain redemption arc" its a "villain rehabilitation arc."

[windybluebelles]

In an au where the batkids (minus Cass cause I couldn’t do that to her) are all chill with murder and only don’t because of Bruce’s no kill rule, they have 24 hours where they are allowed to murder anyone they want.

Who are they killing?

My thoughts are:

Dick is on a fucking mission to kill DeathStroke. Just doesn’t like him, many reasons.

Babs and Jason team up to kill BlackMask (Barbie gets rid of the defences, Jason actually does the shooty shooty pow pow 💥)

Cass doesn’t want to kill anyone, she’s done it before, shockingly didn’t enjoy it very much.

Steph kills the joker.

Tim, maybe Ra’s? Maybe Lex Luthor? I can’t think of anyone good.

Duke aims to get rid of most of the corrupt police force. Might help Steph kill the Joker? He has good reason to want him dead but I don’t think he’d actually be able to go through with it himself.

Damian would kill no one because he is a young child who doesn’t want to. He is healing from the cult he was raised in.

And they all team up to kill condiment king /j

I didn’t want Barbara and Jason to be th wines killing the joker, Jason could’ve done that himself if that’s what he wanted. It feels cruel to make them kill him for themselves as opposed to making someone else do it, Steph does it because Joker’s victims are three people in her team that she cares about and respects (fuck whatever they were doing with her and babs in some comics) she wants to avenge them.

Babs and Jay killing Black Mask is basically mostly just them paying back Steph. Steph kills the guy who ruined their lives, they kill the guy who ruined hers. We chill?

[the-dragon-hearted]

Part 1

There is a universe, somehow, where everything aligned just perfectly and left four desperate children on Silco's doorstep. A universe where Piltover is just a bit more ruthless: where Vander's connections aren't trustworthy and where his foolish sentimentality wins.

Vander's arrested, in Vi's place. He's so proud of her for trying to do the right thing - but he'll not make a sacrifice out of Felicia's daughter. The violence in the streets has to stop and Piltover won't stop until it has someone to blame for the theft. So the Hound becomes a sacrificial lamb.

But remember, his agreements are flimsier, and the trust between enforcer and undercity is as thin as the razor blade Mylo keeps in his pocket. The gold-trimmed enforcers aren't happy with a Hound dressed in wool - they want the girl. The one Jayce identified. Some pink-haired snot-nosed filthy brat. The thief. The terrorist.

They labeled her a terrorist: Vi. For a near-harmless explosion in a district she would've been beaten in, just for the grime in her hair.

And the Hound won't have that.

For the second time in his life, Vander's knuckles are stained with enforcer blood and the undercity begins to burn. Vi's next to him, eager to fight, but scared. She's just a kid after all. Always eager. Always scared.

Claggor, Mylo, and Powder come running as they limp back to the Last Drop. Powder's too busy crying into Vi's shirt to pay much attention to the screams outside. Reinforcements are just a few minutes away. The rats of the undercity retreat to spare themselves from the brutality beneath an enforcer's heel and the streets grow quieter and quieter. They all know how to slip away when the time demands it, but this is more than sneaking through the sewers and waiting for the storm to pass.

The enforcers, the council, Piltover: they'll keep coming. The blood on Vander and Vi's hands ensures that much. And they don't want him -

He looks to where Vi is hugging Powder back, a: "Sorry Powpow," being breathed. "Didn't mean to scare you -"

He can't let that happen. He can make himself the bigger problem - the biggest threat and that will buy the kids time and give those rich bastards a victory.

But then... it'll just be them.

Claggor's strong, Mylo's sly, Powder's clever, and Vi is brave. They're all tough as nails and they'll make it. At least until this underbelly starts ripping itself around. Vander's a smart man who knows what will happen in his absence, the cannibalistic tendencies of desperate people who need scapegoats.

And Vi's already willing to play the martyr. She proved that much. No, if he leaves he needs to leave them with something. Anything. Something that's as willing to fight for their future as...

That's when he gets the terrible idea. Right around the same time he hears the tell-tale racket of enforcers running down cobblestone. He grabs a bar napkin, and Claggor bars the door. He fumbles messily around for a piece of graphite or a damned pen.

Vi pushes Powder behind her and grabs a half-empty bottle from a table. There's a shatter as she arms herself with razor glass. These kids are well versed at making weapons, they have to be.

They'll only get better at it if he finishes this note. He's signing their lives away to a different demon. There's no guarantee they'll live long enough to give him the note. It's a terrible idea -

"I'll never betray Zaun's children"

Powder's climbing behind the bar with him, clinging to his leg. Mylo climbs over the other side, fiddling with a collection of rusty steak knives. Claggor's grabbed a chair and broke it, two wooden beams in either hand.

Suffocating in the streets is better than dying on a bridge.

"Take this," he gives it to Vi before slipping on his knuckles. "Find Silco. Ask around, and he'll find you."

"What?" it's a challenge from her. She's ready to fight to keep what she has.

She doesn't realize that every fight comes with a loss. And eventually, it's going to take everything from her. Once you bloody those knuckles you never stop - not really.

But not today. Today it'll only take him, and hopefully, she'll remember what they talked about. She'll remember that despite this shitshow - he's proud of her for finding a peaceful solution. He's proud of her for putting down those fists.

But there was no way in hell he was going to let her go.

"Take care of each other," he orders slipping on his other gauntlet. Mylo and Powder stare at him with wide eyes. Claggor's lip is trembling.

"Remember. Remember, to look out for each other!" he orders.

"No!" Powder seems to understand now as Vander pulls the bracings away from the door. She scrambles over the bar with a muffled wail. Mylo stops her right as Vander throws the door open.

"Vander!" Vi screams, but the hound is loose.

He's in the streets and he's set about making these fools remember why they follow the light. Why they fear the undercity so badly they chase its children to sate their fury. Dark things live in the undercity. Zaun's children are raised in air so heavy it turns their lungs to iron. Her streets sharpen their teeth and build calluses over their knuckles until the only thing they feel is the warm crimson in their wake.

Vander had hoped he'd never do this - be this. But jaws shatter under his fist faster than glasses fill with his whiskey. He's good at this. Always has been. The kids slip away - he knows that much.

Everything else is a bit of a blur. He glimpses Ekko, once, on the rooftops. The boy heads after the other four and Vander is thankful for that. Benzo didn't survive the first wave... he doesn't have much chance to reflect on that because there's another enforcer in his grip and a new scream in the air.

He buys the kids plenty of time. Too much time.

Enough time for all of Zaun to hear the news: the Hound's fighting back! Five enforcers are dead! Six! Ten! Enough time for Vi and Mylo to find their informants.

Silco isn't exactly a subtle name. He's well hidden, that's true, but a familiar blond limped his way over to one of the abandoned warehouses after Vi kicked the shit out of him. Word on the street is that he's in with someone named Silco. Doesn't mean much to the informant or to Vi.

It's enough. They slip into one of Zaun's many industrial districts just as Vander finally falls.

Piltover's attack dogs got him - they would eventually, he knew that much. A wild hound is fierce but numbers always win. Part of him's happy to die on familiar cobblestones. Better than the cool stone of prison - better than anything Piltover had in mind for him. This way, the kids would know what happened to him. They wouldn't do anything stupid.

Well... they'd probably still do some stupid things. He coughed out a laugh, blood hacking out of his lungs as it all began to fade. Good. They deserved to be a bit stupid. They were kids...

Just kids.

Hopefully, Silco remembers that...

Silco? Oh, Silco remembers. He'd been making a plan revolving around that. Kids are foolish. Kids are loyal. Children are painfully easy to manipulate and kill. Children are easy to make disappear.

Killing Vander and his children was quite literally on his upcoming schedule. It was going to be a glorious sort of revenge, making Vander watch it happen - helpless to stop it as he drowned in his own pacifism. It was going to be inhumane. The final nail in Silco's old coffin.

So pardon him for taking a moment to stare at the victims delivered to his doorstep. Half of him wants to laugh. The other half feels like he's been shoved back into that damn river.

The children only stare back, wide-eyed and curious. Scared too... haunted in some wonderfully poetic way.

"Can I help you?" Silco demands cooly after his disbelief has been satiated.

The pink one steps forward, naturally. She's Vander's little favorite, his poster child: basically a replica. Taking charge is probably laced in her veins.

She hands him a napkin.

"He told us to come here," she breathes, and it almost sounds like a prayer.

Silco cannot focus on anything but the napkin.

"Well... not here," the wily boy in the back disagrees slowly as he gives a scathing glance to a dead mouse in the corner. "He told us to find you."

Silco watches them carefully and then unfolds the napkin. If this is a trap it's ridiculous and definitely not Vander's idea. Perhaps these children are simply suicidal - or stupid.

He reads it.

Pauses. Reads it again.

He glances to that pink one again: Violet. Felicia's daughter. The other one is to her right, clinging to the elder's bruised knuckles. Powder... right?

Mylo. And Claggor.

Vander's children.

Vander's children!

He reads it one more time.

"It is kind of messy," Claggor's sheepish tone contradicts his appearance sharply. "He was in a rush -"

"I can read it," Silco snarls. He whirls around and plunges further into the bowels of the warehouse.

The children follow, blindly. Because they were told to. They follow the devil into his den because Vander told them to.

Why Silco let them, he'll never be able to explain. Never. Why he didn't finish was Vander started: destroy all remnants of their old life, including those damned children - he'll never say.

He can't. Because Vander sent him his children and a note. It changes nothing.

Except it changes everything.

[thedailydeedle]

[raedear]

if malta inspires me to write anything it'll be Joe's ongoing war with the fucking pigeons outside his favourite cafe. one pigeon in particular he'll name Little Boots, both because the pigeon annoys him, but also because Joe has always enjoyed himself annoying booker by calling Napoleon nicknames he never held in real life and he sees no reason to stop now that booker's decided to be a bastard about things. he and little boots deserve each other. little boots has to stop shitting on Joe's shoes in an effort to steal Joe's imqaret though before Joe does something they'll both regret (Joe will do nothing to this pigeon but plot darkly. Nicky will listen patiently and absolutely not laughing behind his eyes, Yusuf, how could you ever accuse him so?). ultimately Joe will lean over their fragrant glasses of Maltese coffee for a kiss and little boots will be victorious in stealing the last sticky end of his imqaret, but tomorrow - tomorrow, Joe will get him.

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

college be like “here’s a little poem about a snake teehee! what did you think about it? :3” and then five hours later im balls deep in jstor tabs trying to decide whether waiting your turn in line at the water fountain is more of a catholic guilt thing or a class struggle thing

[luckyagain]

you're telling me some curly haired fucker tied him down at 18 and I JUST HAVE TO MAKE PEACE WITH THAT?!??!?!?

[elifield69]

[psychicdisaster]

Why is TDLOSK so... sad? I am taking physical damage from the last few arcs.

[the-bar-sinister]

captivated by his complete break with reality, and his growing list of crimes.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Screen Time is Bad for Your Brain

VOX x READER(PLATONIC) Summary: Vox is desperate for information about Alastor and is running out of options. So he turns to the only person in Hell who might know and that comes with...costs Warnings: NONE For the lovely @gerascophobicmuch (sorry if the username is wrong) REQUESTS OPEN!

In the depths of the underworld, where chaos reigns and power is both coveted and fleeting, there existed a peculiar alliance - or perhaps more aptly, a rivalry - between two formidable figures: Vox, the technological tyrant of the Hellish airwaves, and Y/N, the enigmatic overseer of a secrets nestled in the murky heart of a bog-like district.

Vox, with his penchant for the latest in infernal technology, ruled over his domain with a metallic fist. His domain buzzed with neon lights and the constant hum of screens displaying his broadcasts to the denizens of Hell. He craved information, but not just any information - he craved the instantaneous, the digital, the easily manipulable. It best served his purposes after all.

On the other hand, Y/N was a creature of subtlety and cunning. Their library, hidden within the shadows of the swamp, was a sanctuary of ancient tomes and whispered secrets. Y/N was the keeper of these mysteries, a being who danced on the fine line between chaos and neutrality. They dealt in information, but unlike Vox, their methods were more traditional - ink on parchment, whispered rumors, and clandestine meetings. It had been their trade since before their death.

Their paths collided not out of coincidence, but out of the inherent nature of their roles as overlords of their respective domains. Vox, always hungry for fresh knowledge to manipulate, sought to tap into the vast reserves of secrets hidden within Y/N's library. Meanwhile, Y/N, ever the collector of stories and knowledge, found Vox's reliance on technology distasteful and saw him as a threat to the delicate balance they maintained.

Their relationship was defined by a delicate dance of banter and manipulation. Vox would send his lackeys to negotiate access to Y/N's collection, offering promises of power and influence. Yet Y/N was not easily swayed. They would meet Vox's advances with a sharp wit and a cunning smile, always keeping their true intentions veiled behind a facade of somewhat passive aggressive friendliness. Distasting Y/N’s adept parries to his lackeys, Vox decided to take matters into his own metal hands. He always did a better job anyway. The neon-lit confines of Vox's domain buzzed with a frenetic energy as he paced back and forth, his metallic shoes tapping impatiently against the polished floor. He needed information - crucial, damning information that could shift the balance of power in Hell between himself and Alastor. But try as he might, his usual sources had come up empty-handed, leaving him with only one option: Y/N and their infernal library of stolen secrets.

With a begrudging sigh, Vox clenched his fists, steeling himself for what he knew would be a less-than-pleasant encounter. He despised the idea of relying on Y/N, of stooping to such lows to get what he wanted. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Vox had never been one to shy away from doing what was necessary to achieve his goals.

Summoning all of his resolve, Vox made his way through the winding corridors of Hell, his mind racing with thoughts of the bargain he would have to strike with Y/N. He hated the idea of relinquishing one of his precious secrets, of allowing someone else to hold power over him. But he knew that in the cutthroat world of Hell, sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

Vox's form flickered into existence within the dimly lit confines of Y/N's library, the faint glow of his neon visage casting eerie shadows on the ancient tomes that lined the shelves. Vox sauntered into the swamp surrounded library, the glow of his blue neon accents casting an otherworldly sheen. The library was a broken down building, made of marble and accentuated with embellish statues and markers long dirtied by th terrain.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Vox purred, his mechanical voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "The elusive Y/N, surrounded by dusty old books. Don't you ever get tired of living in the past?"

Y/N glanced up from their desk, the candlelight barely illuminating their haunting figure. Dressed in a 1940s beige dress, they looked right out of the Shining in the boggy domain. A sly smile playing across their lips. "Ah, Vox. Tell me, do your screens ever whisper secrets to you like these pages do to me?"

Vox chuckled, the sound reverberating through the library like distant thunder. "Oh, they do more than whisper, my dear Y/N. They shout, they scream, they broadcast the truth to all who would listen."

"But do they tell the whole truth, or just the truth you want them to tell?" Y/N retorted, arching an eyebrow.

Vox's grin widened, the flicker of his holographic eyes betraying a hint of mischief. "Why settle for the whole truth when you can have the version that suits your narrative best?"

Y/N chuckled, shaking their head. "Ah, Vox, always the pragmatist. But remember, there's more to power than what can be displayed on a screen."

"Indeed," Vox replied, his tone tinged with mock sincerity. "There's also the power of a well-placed secret, wouldn't you agree?"

Y/N's mouth twitched in amusement. He was sucking up…he wanted something. "Ah, but secrets have a funny way of finding their way into the light, don't they? And when they do, it's always fascinating to see who's left standing in the aftermath."

Vox chuckled, the sound reverberating through the chamber. "Oh, I appreciate secrets, my dear Y/N, just in a more... efficient manner. Why waste time leafing through dusty old books when I can access the information I seek with a simple click of a button?"

"Efficiency is overrated," Y/N retorted, waving their hand dismissively. "There's something to be said for the thrill of the chase, don't you think? Besides, not everything worth knowing can be found in your precious digital archives."

Vox raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "Oh? And what, pray tell, do you have that I couldn't possibly find in my vast network of data?"

Y/N's smirk widened into a knowing grin. "Ah, but that's the beauty of it, isn't it? Some secrets are meant to be kept hidden, known only to those who are clever enough to uncover them. And trust me, Vox, you'll never find them in your cold, sterile world of technology."

Vox chuckled, the sound echoing through the chamber like the distant hum of machinery. "You may have a point, Y/N. But mark my words, one day I'll crack open those dusty tomes of yours and uncover every last secret hidden within."

Y/N's laughter mingled with Vox's, the sound echoing through the library like the ringing of bells in the night but then they turned a sort of deathly calm. "Oh, Vox, you can certainly try. But remember, not all secrets are meant to be revealed. Some are best left buried in the shadows, where they belong."

Vox gritted his teeth, forcing himself to maintain a semblance of composure in the face of Y/N's taunts. "Cut the pleasantries, Y/N," he growled, his voice tinged with impatience. "I need information, and I know that you're the only one who can help me."

Y/N's smile widened into a smirk as they leaned back in their chair, steepling their fingers beneath their chin. "Oh, I'm well aware of my... unique position in the grand scheme of things," they replied, their tone dripping with amusement. "But what makes you think I'd be willing to help you, Vox? After all, we're not exactly the best of friends."

Vox clenched his fists, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. He knew that Y/N was toying with him, reveling in the opportunity to hold power over him. He had tried to play it cool, starting out with some banter as a power play; that failed. But he had no other choice - he needed the information, and he needed it now.

"Fine," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "What do you want in exchange for your precious information, Y/N? Name your price, and I'll pay it."

Y/N glow eerily in the candlelight and glow of the talking screen, a small smirk widening into a malicious grin as they leaned forward. "Oh, Vox, you're so predictable," they chuckled. "But I'm afraid that this time, the price is quite steep. I want one of your secrets - something juicy, something scandalous. And trust me, Vox, I won't settle for anything less."

Vox's heart sank as he realized the gravity of Y/N's demand. He hated the idea of relinquishing one of his secrets, of allowing someone else to hold power over him. But he knew that he had no other choice - if he wanted the information, he would have to pay the price. Y/N extended her hand with a sheet of paper, eyes glowing a deep dusty gold as Vox signed his name on the contract in front of him. The ink melted into a black puddle on the page, sealing his promise to her.

With a heavy sigh, Vox nodded his head, his resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Fine," he growled, his voice tinged with resignation. "You'll get your secret, Y/N. But mark my words - one day, I'll come for what's mine, and when I do, you'll regret ever crossing me."

And with that, Vox turned on his heel and stalked out of the library, leaving Y/N alone with their thoughts and the tantalizing promise of the secrets yet to be revealed. But deep down, he knew that his bargain with Y/N had only sealed his fate, setting into motion a chain of events that would reshape the very fabric of Hell itself.

[were-wolverine]

fucking goddamnit. every time i get back into the x-mcu the cherik brainrot starts eating away at me again. i can’t escape them. gahhhhh

genuinely how am i supposed to be normal about them. every fucking scene they are in together looks like they are holding back from declaring their undying love for each other. what the fuck