#that is taken from a real exchange i had last night

[ceasarslegion]

the internet: its cultutral appropriation to draw socky the sockpuppet from 2 minutes of screentime in hit comedy special Inside as white and heres a list of every user who has done so so you can ask them why they want all black people to die

real life: hi im your brown coworker and i agree that taxes are not the problem its that the government is going about taxes all wrong and to prove that im about to say the n word and several other derogatory slurs directed at immigrants in front of you

"hey man hows it going" moments are funny but what about the circumstances where both the internet and irl are riddled with landmines at the same time

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[vantetaes]

SPOILED BRAT 🫧🥂

SUGARDADDY!CONNIE! X SPOILED!BLACKFEM!READER

SUMMARY!!! connie tells yn no

WARNINGS!!! overstimulation, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, implied ‘age gap’, mentions of drug dealing, sex 18+!!

you’d been together with connie for a 6 years at this point. the two do you did everything together. he always made sure you were straight no matter what.

you’re his woman. his pride and joy. his headache.

just today: he’d taken you to brunch to help recover for your god awful hangover acquired by spending the night before taking shots of don julio with your friends. he took you to the hair store, buying you new bundles for the season change, then payed for the install. taking you to lunch after your hair was done. deciding you were getting tired of walking, you requested one last lap around the mall, which ultimately ended with connie wanting to see your nails a different color and a new set of lashes.

you’ve been gifted birkins, 24 karat bracelets, trips out of country just because, and even receiving a maybach for getting through your first year of college. everything you ever wanted, he made sure you got. no if, ands, or buts.

bouncing on the tippy toes of your pretty pink chanel slippers. the fresh white pedicure compliments the white lettering on your shoes. your eyes glaze over the stores extensive amount of new products. you wonder in awe as connie walked behind you, carrying your bags while his face is buried in his phone.

“oo! they have the two piece i’ve been wanting!” only hearing the paddling of your shoes, connie barely has time to look up before you and a PINK store associate were talking about the newly released thong set.

“you want it?” he asks simply, hand caressing the small of your exposed back.

“no i already have too much!” you shake your head, your fresh set of lashes batting against your face as you eyed the clothing. connie’s hand flags down the worker from earlier.

“can we get all if the color for this set, medium.” he places a few hundreds in the woman’s hands before she scurries off to fulfill the purchase.

“thank you, baby.” you giggle , giving him a small kiss on the cheek. the strawberry scented lipgloss leaves a transparent pink path on his face. which stays there. before you could bring up the fact that you were eyeing one more thing in the store, connie’s ringtone went off. he peers down before gazing back at you. placing a quick kiss to your lips, he slides away.

“give me one second, baby.”

he basically stormed out of the store, face twisted up.

from your view through the glass it looked like someone fucked something up. connie’s tattooed had runs across his head, sighing into the phone before shaking his head a final time, hanging up.

once he returned, the worker rushes a few bags over and the left over money from the exchange.

“keep it. ♡︎, let’s go.” he takes the bags carefully before heading for the exit. his tone was firm but still gentle enough that you didn’t feel offended.

-

finally back home, washing every piece of clothing you got today, you noticed your fiance was a little quieter than usual.

changing into something a little more comfortable, you walk out into the large penthouse living room.

“what’s wrong?” you quiz. his head shoots up from its resting position on his hand to shake his head.

“nothing princess. just some stuff i have to go handle in a few, you good?” he asked concerned.

“yeah you’ve just been like.. preoccupied away from me all day today! i just want some attention. can i come with?” the long red fur lined robe moved swiftly against your exposed brown skin as you did your little begging dance.

“whatchu’ mean i’ve been ignoring you? and not this time, princess. it’s something real important and i can’t risk some shit happening to you. we not finna do this.”

your motion stops as you stare a little dumbfounded. no? no?? jokingly sticking your acrylic inside your ear, wiggling it, pulling your finger back out to check. he got used to the dramatics years ago.

“what do you mean not this time, connie?” you only used his government when you were mad at him.

connie leans back in the leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he watches you from across the room. he’s always been the one to say yes, to pull strings, to make things happen. you’ve always reveled in that—his power, his ability to hand you everything you could ever want, no questions asked. but this time, the look on his face is different.

“not. this. time.♡︎.” he says, his tone firm, his jaw tight.

“you’re joking?” you say, voice sharp, tinged with indignation. a small flabbergasted smile making its way into your face slowly.

he shakes his head, slow and deliberate.

“i’m serious, ♡︎. i can’t do this. not this time.”

for a moment, you’re stunned, the words hanging in the air between you like a challenge. then, like a flame catching kindling, the fury ignites.

“can’t ?” you spit, laughing abruptly, your voice rising. “or won’t?”

he doesn’t flinch. that only makes it worse.

“you’ll do everything else-” you continue, pacing now, your anger spilling out unchecked.

“-you’ll risk everything for everyone else, but the one time i ask for something that matters to me, suddenly it’s a problem?”

“♡︎, it’s not like that.” his voice is calm, measured, and it infuriates you more.

“then what is it like, connie? hm? you basically ignore me all day and now you wanna leave me here?” you shout, spinning to face him.

“because to me, it looks like you’re picking and choosing when i matter.”

he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. you know he hates this side of you, the part that lashes out when things don’t go your way, but right now, you don’t care.

“im saying no because it’s not safe. you don’t see the bigger picture.” he says, his voice hardening slightly.

“don’t give me that fucking bullshit!” you scoff, crossing your arms.

“you think i don’t know what you’re wrapped up in? you think i don’t know how you make all this happen?” you gesture around, the designer bags, the jewelry, the life he’s built for you.

his silence speaks volumes, and it only fuels your rage.

“yn. im being polite with you. please don’t start this shit. and watch your fucking mouth, mama. im being calm.” his eyes growing more irritated and narrow. laughing in his face, you turn on your heels, walking back to the bedroom. disappearing down the lengthy hallway. you could hear the slow pads of connie’s feet following after you.

“fine! fuck you! didn’t wanna fucking go anyways.” you huff under your breath, slamming the tall room door behind you.

the man immediately flings the door back open, pointing to the bed.

“sit down. im not fucking asking you.” his jaw clenched tight.

finding yourself crawling onto the white king sized bed, sitting on your knees. the lacey black lingerie set underneath the red fur peeking through.

“what in the hell is wrong with you today, princess?” his voice is growing agitated and upset.

avoiding his gaze, you can only play with the hem of your clothing, ignoring him fully.

“yea we not about to do this shit.”

before you had a chance to react, he was on the bed, pushing your body backwards, and hovering above you.

“why you actin like this, baby, hm?” you couldn’t help but to melt looking at his eyes. everything about how close he is to you is just turning you on. ignoring him again, he’s starting to get fed up.

“im gonna ask you one more time and after, i don’t wanna hear about it.” his right hand held both your hands in front of you and his left was on the outside of your thigh. you could feel his warmth.

“just want attention, daddy.” you mumble, face whipping to the side. his hand shoots up to fix your chin back his direction.

“uhn uhn, speak up.” gently shaking your head side to side, he’s looking at you gently still.

“i want attention. why are you being such a fucking bitch con?”

immediately regretting your choice of words, the man rears up off your body, fixing his shirt and pants. you rush to sit upright, closing the robe, watching as the man put his shoes on.

“baby, you know i didn’t me-“ you start. he just laughs, walking through the open door. chasing behind him, anxiety creeping up your neck.

“baby, im sorry.” your voice barely above a whisper, watching as he grabs his cars keys, then he’s out the door.

-

“just calm down, im sure he’s fine.” mikasa chats on the other end of the phone call. you’re using your other phone to repeatedly dial connie’s number, all chances failing.

“what if he’s not though? he wont even answer!” the salivas getting caught in your throat to think he’s upset with you but who else to blame?

“drink a glass of wine and relax! i just talked to him, he’s fine.” you hear onyankopon on the other side of the line.

“what? how? what did he say?” you couldn’t help but to shove all the questions down his throat.

“chill chill. he’s fine, he said he’s heading back home now. go relax, ♡︎.” the man said on the other end of the line.

“okay thank you, i’ll see you guys later.” the phone beeps off.

making your way to the kitchen, you grab a wine glass. hand skimming over the wall collection you and connie built over the years, you pull out a red wine from italy you got last summer. pouring a generous amount, you decide to just bring the bottle to the living room. waiting for the man to walk through your doors.

cuddled underneath a large white blanket, halfway through a movie, you make it more than halfway through the bottle, unfortunately still slightly sober from anxiety.

until the sound of keys being turned broke you from staring off into space.

he slides in, immediately kicking his shoes off and placing them on the rack. he removes his jacket, hand wiping off some lint from the inside off his shirt. your body jerks into a standing position, blanket laying at your feet.

“baby-“ you start.

“room. now.” he doesn’t even look up at you, he just begins to walk down the hallway. shuffling confused and worried behind him, he turns on a single lamp on his side of the bed.

“lay down.”

crossing your arms, standing firmly.

“not until you tell me where you went and why i couldn’t go!” your lips pull into a line and your eyebrows furrowed.

“lay the hell down. if i have to say it again i swear to god you’ll hate me afterwards.”

still standing firm, you’re unmoved and unwilling. fed up, he walks over to you, his height towers you, throwing you over his shoulder. he tosses you onto the bed, yanking off your robe in the process.

“you want attention? strip.” he begins “and if i have to repeat myself this time, ♡︎, you won’t leave this bed tomorrow.” his jaw gripped tight, words spoken through gritted teeth, he was 100% serious.

without hesitation, you pull the set off with ease. he smiles before digging in his nightstand. pulling out two pairs of fuzzy pink handcuffs and your sleep mask. plopping everything down beside you, you feel his strong hands pick up up from under your arms, pressing your back against the cold bedframe. he reaches behind him, grabbing the supplies. cuffing both your arms to the posts, he gives you a small kiss before covering your eyes.

“connie why are you doing this?” voice unable to hold water, you were a mix of turned on and scared. you knew how he could treat you when he was this angry.

his hand goes back into the nightstand, all you can hear is him place it down beside you. the rattling from his belt being undone causes a reflex in your lower region, clamping your legs closed to gain some kind of traction. you can hear the laugh come from your fiance.

“don’t worry baby, you’re about to get all the attention you wanted.” the sound of his belt buckle hitting the ground followed by the sound of him removing his pants.

before you could try to listen for anything else, all you feel is his lips pressed against your pussy and his hands keeping your knees spread. his tongue licks long strides up and down, from your entrance to the throbbing, swollen bud. his lips pucker around your clit, giving it a few gentle tugs and licks. his hands move close to your core, squeezing every inch of your thighs, humming into your warmth.

“oh- shit con.” moaning, you start to feel a little vibration start to happen. “what’s that-“

he put the vibrator flush against your clit, using his tongue to pump slowly in and out of your clenching hole. flailing against the restraints, you can’t help but to cry out for him.

“please- please daddy, fuck me. im sorry i swear, please.” you feel him pinch the inside of your thigh, causing you to flinch a little.

“don’t tell me what the fuck to do. im gone take you how i want you.” he goes back to abusing your pussy, face covered in your slick and his spit. he’s always been obsessed with eating you. removing one of his hands from your leg, he begins to use his long slender fingers inside while he took turns sucking your clit and then replacing it with the vibrator.

you can’t see anything but little stars floating across the darkness of your eye covering. the intense feeling in your abdomen building up. his fingers slide in and out agonizingly slow, tongue writing love spells on your swollen bud.

“shit connie im gonna- oh fuck!” your body begins to shake as you release. that doesn’t stop him. he continues, his mouth attached to you, unable to pull away.

“that’s my girl. give me some more of that shit, come on baby. this what you wanted right?” his mouth forms an o-shape, licking at the swollen bud while humming. you try to force your knees together, only for him to pin you down into a middle spilt. every inch of you was being sucked, licked, and bitten.

he pulls the vibrator back out, hooking his fingers into you, teasing your g-spot while his other hand switched modes on the wand.

“pretty ass pussy baby. she so wet for me, didn’ even have to do much. yeah, i feel it. make a mess, cum all over my fingers baby.”

the mix of the vibrations, connie’s fingers slowly fucking your hole, and the way he talked to you, you came undone. again. body shriveling up in overstimulation, you can only feel him turn the vibrations off, hoping to be done with this whole thing. you’re already fucked out and a mess.

“fuck baby, youre so filthy for me. but i don’t think im satisfied, ma.” you shake your head a little, knowing that you fucked up. repositioning a pillow under your butt, the man reattaches his lips, going slower than he ever had. mouth frozen in an o shape, you couldn’t help but to cry out.

“it’s too much daddy, be nice!” you cry, eyes brimming with tears, feeling as his warm, wet tongue slowly circles your swollen clit.

“mm- mm.” he offers in a hum, extending his arms up to play with your nipples, tugging gently at them. it seemed like his tongue never stopped moving, sometimes slipping into your clenching hole to collect more of your wetness. the burn in your stomach was intense. you could barely breathe, only pushing out large exhales of air, moans strangled in there alone the string of ‘please’s and ‘fuck’s.

he was eating you like it was a competition and he wanted that fucking gold.

“again, again, connie oh- fuuck.” you’re now full blown crying. the orgasm shaking your body beyond control. the man gently pulls away, softly running his hands around your body. his hands remove your blindfold, wiping some of the fallen tears. the readjustment to light wasn’t too bad but once you saw his face, he just gives you a look.

“im- fine.” you choke out, tears still rolling. he laughs a little, wiping your face before standing and using his should to wipe his.

“im giving you two minutes.”

you swore those two minutes went by quicker than a hellcat in atlanta traffic.

he was now pinning your knees to your ears, dropping his throbbing cock inside you slowly, bottoming out. you let you a cry, in pure bliss. he pulls out quickly, slamming back into you. the sound of sex filled the room.

“pussy so fucking good. taking that shit so good.” he throws his head back, mercilessly pounding into you. he pulls out of you slowly, before pushing back into you. your hands grip at the chains of the handcuffs, bracing yourself for the man’s abuse on your hole. the veins of his cock rubbing the inside of your gummy walls. without warning , you’re squirting all over his dick, making a mess of the bed in the process.

“daddy! i’m sorry!”

“it’s too late for that shit now. let me take these off you.” he reaches up, undoing the cuffs swiftly before tossing them to the side. thinking youre free, you try to roll off the bed, only to be caught by him.

he tosses you over onto all fours, grabbing your arms from your side so your face down into the mattress.

“you know i love you right?” he asks, gripping both your wrists firmly behind your back.

“yes baby i know.” you say, head tilted to the side.

“good cause im about to treat you like i dont.”

slamming into you, he’s relentless. the tip of his cock abusing your poor cervix, digging completely into you. large hands grab hold of your breast, chest stuck in a heavy breathing pattern.

pounding into you, not letting up, you know he’s pissed. trying your hardest to pull away to give yourself so slack, he yanks you back into his length by the wrist.

“nah whatchu’ running for? this what you wanted right? you wanted me to fuck you like this, huh? you gone take this dick.”

he could feel you clenching around him, the slick dripping from your abused hole to to your ass. he could feel how close you were.

“ooo shit, let that shit go baby. imma fucking cum.”

your hands dig into his arms instinctively, eyes rolled to the back of your head, saliva spilling from the sides of your mouth in euphoria. it was so much yet you never wanted it to end. babbling nonsense and hitting connie with the palms of your hand, you release over him, again.

he delivers a few more thrusts, violating your cunt, sopping up every second of being inside you until he’s filling you up.

pulling away from his position, your body lay unmoving.

“was that enough attention for you?” climbing to your side, his large arms pulls you on-top of him. placing gentle kisses to your head, he rubs his hand along your back, giving you a small massage.

“im sorry.”

“shh, it’s all fine now baby.”

connie cleaned the both of you up, tossed the sheets in the wash, replaced them with new sheets he bought while out, and even prepared a small dinner. sitting on the couch, both heads in a silk bonnet, watching love island.

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

inspo pics

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

HAT-TRICK

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: a little bit suggestive at the end, and English not being my first language.

• summary: Jude Bellingham has been a bit distracted on the field. Maybe what he needs is a little motivation to get back on track, or so his girlfriend thinks...

a/n: make a request!

Jude Bellingham has always been astute, focused, and relentless on the pitch. Since joining Real Madrid, his star had only risen further, making him one of the most talked-about young talents in football. But lately, something had been off. His last few matches were... well, soft by his standars. He hadn´t been himself—no hunger in his tackles, no fire in his eyes, and it didn´t go unnoticed. He sat in the living room, staring at the highlights of his recent match on his phone. His touches hadn´t been sharp, and his focus had wavered at crucial moments.

It wasn´t something massive, no one will call it a slump, not yet at least. However, he could do it better, he knew it, his team and coaches knew it, and of course, she knew it too.

His girlfriend was sharp. She knew him better than anyone, and while some fans and the media were baffled by his recent performances, she had a good guess. He was distracted. He wasn´t driven the way he used to be, and she had an idea why.

That evening, they were together sat in their apartment, the Madrid skyline glowing in the background. She was quiet, scrolling through social media mindlessly, occasionally glancing at him. She could see the frustration in his eyes—his confidence shaken, his usual swagger dimmed. He didn´t need a pep talk; that wasn´t his style. No, he needed something more direct, something to light a fire under him again. An idea had been dangerously lingering her mind, maybe it was a little bit cruel—for both of them, really, nevertheless, she had a good feeling and decided to test it.

She leaned into him on the couch, her hand touching his bare chest. Jude, sensing the shift in her energy, smirked and reached out to pull her closer. His hand slipped down to her ass, clearly intending for things to heat up.

But she had other plans.

She caught his hand and pushed it away gently but firmly.

Jude blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. "What´s that about?" His fingers brushed her thigh, teasing.

She slid away, folding her arms over her chest. "If you want to touch me, you´ll have to score a hat-trick."

Said out loud, the idea sounded even more ridiculous, and for a moment, she feared it would sit poorly with him. However, she knew what her boyfriend was like when challenged: stubborn, enthusiastic, firm, and determined. There had been countless times when the two of them had competed or made bets over simple things in exchange for something silly. Neither of them backed down from a challenge, but maybe this was going too far. Anyway, her words had already reached Jude's ears, and it was clear she had caught his attention; his posture changed, and he appeared taken by surprise.

At first he laughed, but then seeing that she wasn´t, his smirk faltered. "A hat-trick? Are you joking? I´ve got more than enough goals to deserve touching you."

She smiled, and decided to continue with her idea. "No. I´m actually dead serious." she said changing turning on their TV as if nothing.

Jude leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "You know I could make you change your mind right now, don´t you?"

Her resolve didn´t waver. She pulled away just enough to lock eyes with him, a teasing smile on her round lips. "Try me. But I´m not budging."

He narrowed his eyes, frustration growing in him, still half-expecting her to crack a smile and let that ridiculous thing go. "So are you joking or not?"

She raised an eyebrow and started walking towards their bedroom. "You´ll see."

Jude sat there for a moment, stunned. He was used to her playing games like this, however, they weren´t about something that serious, but the idea... it stuck in his head. As the night wore on, he made a few more attempts to touch her, playfully teasing, expecting her to give in. But each time, she stood her ground, deflecting him with the same challenge: not until you score a hat-trick.

By the next morning, his frustration was palpable. He tried one last time before training, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing himself to her back, and his lips to her neck. "You sure about this, babe?"

She turned in his arms, still kind of sleepy, a knowing smile on her face. "Go score some goals, Jude."

Jude let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. He loved her playful side, but this was a new level of torment. She was using his natural competitiveness against him. What´s more, the game was seven days from today.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “You want a hat-trick? I’ll give you a bloody hat-trick.”

She just smiled against the pillow.

Sadly, she wasn´t able to attend the match that day. Work had gotten in the way, so she was stuck at home watching it on their TV. She had written to him, of course, as she always did when she couldn’t go to the Bernabéu to see the match, wishing him good luck with a couple of white heart emojis and a four-leaf clover. Then, taking advantage of the moment, she had half-joked about not being able to see his "attempt" at the hat-trick in person, but part of her wondered if her challenge would actually work. Not going to lie, she was kind of nervous. He could see him vibrating through the screen with tension every time the camera focused on him.

However, she probably was the most anxious since Jude was animatedly talking to his teammates, as he always did before a game. He wasn’t nervous at all, on the contrary, the memory of her challenge, the way she had teased him all week, stirred something deep inside him. It was no longer just a game; it became something more personal the moment he saw his girlfriend's messages. He hadn’t been bothered at all; on the contrary, he had put his phone away after glancing at the screen and smiling mockingly—surely the same smile she had worn when sending the message.

When the game started, it was clear something had changed. Jude was moving with an intensity that hadn´t been there in the past few matches. His touches were sharp, his passes precise, and he was pressing harder than ever. The commentators noticed it immediately and the crowd was roaring.

Jude left his girlfriend glued to the screen, watching in awe as he ran through the field. It didn´t take long before he found the back of the net, a clean strike from just outside the box that made her jump up from the couch.

But he wasn´t done.

By halftime, he had already scored two goals.

Jude´s third goal was pure instinct—a deft finish after weaving past two defenders and slotting the ball into the bottom corner. Hat-trick. The Bernabéu erupted, but Jude´s attention went to the nearest camera, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He couldn´t hold back his smirk, his chest heaving from the effort of the match, as he pointed directly at the lens and mouthed: "It´s your time to pay, gorgeous!"

She burst out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. He had done it. Her heart filled with pride and joy and she could not stop smiling.

Jude got home later that night, his energy still buzzing from the game, dropped his bag by the entrance and called out, "Babe?"

From the living room, he heard her voice, casual but with a teasing edge. "Hey Jude. Just finishing some work." That was an absolute lie, she had been ogling some clothes in a shopping web minutes before she heard the keys.

Jude smirked, knowing better. His footsteps echoed as he approached her, spotting her on the couch with her laptop open, her legs folded. She glanced up with a small smile, playing it cool.

"So... how was the match?" she asked innocently, her eyes flickering mischievously before she returned her gaze to her screen. “I got caught up with this and I couldn’t watch it.”

He chuckled, looking down at her. Of course she had been watching the game. She always did it. Always. “You know damn well how it went. Haven't you been teasing me enough this week?” His voice was low, his words dripping with confidence.

She shrugged, her fingers tapping the keys, but he could see the slight twitch of her lips, the subtle way her body tensed as he loomed over her. “What? Did you manage to finally score?” she asked playfully.

Jude moved around the couch, towering over her now, his hand gently closing her laptop. She looked up at him, her pulse quickening. There was a glint in his eyes that made her stomach flutter.

“I—,” she tried to say.

But tired of her never ending teases, Jude closed the distance, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was electric, igniting a fire that had been building all week. He slid his hands to her waist, letting himself finally feel her and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as their mouths moved in perfect harmony.

She responded eagerly, god how much she had missed his hands around her body. She let her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him nearer. As their passion escalated, he lifted her off the chair, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the nearest wall, their bodies melting together.

“I think we should celebrate properly” Jude murmured, his lips trailing along her neck, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

She moaned nodding and with a triumphant grin, Jude captured her lips once more. “You know,” he said catching his breath. “I bet I can make you cum three times.”

[earthchica]

On The Run

terry richmond x black, fem! reader

summary: Terry is hired by Mara, your queenpin stepmother, to track you down in exchange for intel on his cousin Mike's killer. But once he see you, he becomes captivated and torn between his task and his feelings. When he uncovers the real motives at play, the question remains: will he save you or abandon you to danger?

warnings: light smut 18+, lapdance, kissing, dirty talking, angst, violence, slight AAVE, queenpin, guns, mention of blood, on the run, nicknames [ baby, baby girl, sweetheart & more ] words: 4k

note: This had been in drafts for a while lol, I know I used the picture already, but he looks so good. I hope you enjoyed it; there may be some errors.

songs darling nikki by prince grip by normani just us by DJ Khaled, SZA

-

You've been running away from the web of the notorious queen pin Mara, aka your stepmother, for almost five months now. She killed your father and took over his family business, which rightfully belonged to you, and she still hasn't stopped looking for you.

To keep a low profile, you haven't stayed in one place for too long and have used different names, jobs, and identities. During your escape, you traveled to at least 20 other states and met some great people who knew your father; they provided you with tools to survive and taught you how to fight, use a gun, and protect yourself.

You are currently in New Orleans, where you've taken a job at a strip club and changed your appearance and name to Nicole, though everyone calls you Nikki. You're friendly and kind to everyone, but you never get too close to anyone—though tonight, that might change.

You adjusted your honey blonde lace front wig in the mirror and breathed deeply to steady your nerves for the upcoming performance. The locker room smelled of perfume and hairspray, a scent you had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

Your bold makeup was flawless—smoky eyes, long lashes, and deep red lips that matched your crimson lingerie. Standing up, you admired your hourglass figure in the full-length mirror.

The push-up bra lifted your ample breasts, while the thong connected to the bra emphasized your wide hips and short legs. You ran your hands down your sides, smoothing the delicate lace.

Despite the confidence your appearance gave you, you couldn't shake the constant undercurrent of fear. How long before Mara found me here? Would tonight be the night I had to run again? You ask yourself that all the time.

A sharp knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. You froze, your heart racing. "Who is it?" You called out, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

"It's just me, love. Candy," A voice came from one of the other strippers. "Um…you're on in five,"

"Oh! Thank you," You replied, releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, adjusted your wig, and headed to the main floor.

The club was dim, hazy with smoke, and pulsing with the rhythm of the music. You entered the crowd, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

As you approached the stage, you saw him—the mysterious man who had been coming here all week. He sat alone at a table near the front, his intense greyish-blue-green eyes fixed on the stage.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed he had gotta cornrow braids that made him undeniably fine; you had fallen for his strong features and full lips.

The opening chords of "Darling Nikki" by Prince filled the air, your cue to take the stage. You sauntered up the steps, your wide hips swaying in time with the music. As you wrapped your hands around the pole, you locked eyes with the mysterious man.

His gaze was magnetic, drawing you in. You began your routine, your body moving fluidly to the provocative lyrics. You spun around the pole as you twirled around the pole.

You felt his eyes following your every move. You arched your back, running your hands down my body, your fingers grazing the lace of your lingerie.

The music pulsed through you, guiding your movements as you danced for him. You slid down the pole, your legs spreading wide as you hit the floor.

His eyes widened slightly, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. You crawled towards him, your hips swaying hypnotically. The rest of the club faded away; it was just you and him.

"What's your name, handsome?" You purred, your voice low and sultry. He leaned forward, his muscular arms resting on the edge of the stage.

The beautiful man paused momentarily, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "It's…TJ," he said, his voice rich and resonant, flowing with a warmth reminiscent of aged whiskey poured into a crystal glass.

It had a soothing, almost inviting quality. He glanced at you expectantly before continuing, "And yours?" His gaze was steady, a mixture of curiosity and intrigue illuminating his features.

You rolled onto your back, lifting your leg high in the air. "Nikki, sweetie. So…TJ," you said, running your hand along your thigh.

"I've seen you watching me all week. What brings you here night after night?"

TJ's eyes traveled the length of your body before meeting yours. "I think you know, Miss. Nikki. Just enjoying the show, and maybe something else."

"Wow, really? Interesting," You drawled, rolling your hips as you pushed yourself up to a standing position. "Most fellas are throwing out all kinds of lines, but you playin' it cool."

TJ's pretty eyes never left yours as he leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk on his lips. "I ain't most fellas, mama."

You strutted closer to the edge of the stage, your movements fluid and sensual. "I can see that. You got that look about you like you've seen some thang."

"Could say the same about you," TJ replied, his voice low and smooth. "Pretty girl like you, dancing' in a place like this. Bet you got stories to tell."

You chuckled, bending down to meet his gaze. "Oh honey, you ain't even ready for my stories." You said softly. "Try me," he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

You ran a finger along his jawline, feeling the rough stubble beneath your touch. "Maybe I will if you stick around after my set." TJ caught your wrist gently, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"You ain't gotta worry 'bout me leavin, darling Nikki'," TJ said, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly. "I've been waiting all week for this moment."

You leaned in closer, your lips barely grazing his ear. "Well, ain't you just the patient type? I like a man who knows how to wait for what he wants."

The music faded, signaling the end of your set. You pulled back, giving TJ a wink before sauntering off the stage. You could feel his eyes burning into your back as you went to the dressing room.

Once inside, you took a deep breath, your heart racing. Despite your better judgment, something about TJ drew you in. You quickly freshened up, changed into a short black dress, reapplied lipstick, and brushed your hair.

When you emerged, TJ was waiting by the bar, and you ordered a drink, and he offered you a toast. "Preciate you, boo," you said, taking a sip.

The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat.

TJ leaned against the bar, his eyes roaming over you. "So, Miss Nikki, you gon' tell me what a fine thang like you is doing in a place like this? 'Cause I can tell you ain't like these other girls."

You took another sip of your drink, savoring the burn. "What makes you say that, TJ? Maybe I'm just tryna make a livin' like everybody else."

TJ chuckled, the sound profound and rich, making your heart flutter. "Nah…you got that look in your eye. Like you runnin' from something Or somebody."

You felt your heart skip a beat but kept your face neutral and cleared your throat. "You sure think you know a lot about me, considering we just met."

TJ leaned in closer; his cologne smelt so damn good that you had to bite your lip. "I'm good at reading people. It's what's kept me alive this long."

"Oh yeah, really, huh?" You challenged, arching an eyebrow with a light smile. "And what exactly have you been doing, that's got you worry 'bout stayin' alive?"

TJ grinned, revealing a perfect set of pearly whites. "Now that's a story for another time, baby girl. Tonight, I'm more interested in hearing about you."

You laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. "You sure know how to sweet talk a lady, right? But I ain't spilling my secrets to anybody, no matter how fine they look."

TJ's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Aight, aight, I see how it is. How 'bout private dance?" he asked with a smile, and you smirked, considering his offer.

"Alright, big spender. Follow me." You led TJ to one of the private rooms in the back, your hips swaying with each step. Once inside, you gently pushed him onto the plush velvet couch.

"Now baby, you just sit back and enjoy the show," You purred, dimming the lights. As the sultry beat of "Grip" by Normani filled the room, you began to move.

Your body was rippled to the rhythm, hands sliding down your curves. You turned your back to TJ, looking over your shoulder as you slowly unzipped your dress.

"Damn," TJ breathed, his eyes glued to your every movement. "You finer than frog hair split four ways."

You chuckled, letting the dress fall to the floor, revealing the beautiful black lineage that highlighted your curves. "You got a way with words, don't you?"

You straddled his lap, grinding your hips against him, and you could feel him hardening beneath you. "Mmm, somebody's excited," you teased, running your fingers through his cornrows.

TJ's hands gripped your waist as you rolled your hips slowly and sensually, feelin' his grip tightened on your waist. "Shit…you gon' be the death of me," he groaned, his voice husky with desire.

"Oh baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet," You purred, running your hands down his chest. You could feel his heart racin' beneath your fingertips.

You stood up, turning your back to him as you bent over, giving him a perfect view of your ass. You looked over your shoulder, catching his hungry gaze.

"You like what you see, handsome?"

"Shiiit," TJ breathed, adjusting himself in his pants. "You know I do, baby girl."

You straddled him again, this time facing away from him. You ground your hips in figure eights, feeling' his hardness pressed against you. TJ's hands roamed your body, caressing your thighs.

You continued to grind against TJ, your movements slow and deliberate. "You like that, baby?" You purred, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Mmm…yes," TJ groaned, his hands gripping your hips tighter. You chuckled as your body undulating to the rhythm. You ran your hands down your sides, over your breasts, down your stomach.

TJ's eyes followed every movement, his gaze hungry. "Damn, girl," he breathed. "You finer than frog hair split four ways," You smirked, stepping closer.

"You already said that, baby. You runnin' outta lines?" You teased, and TJ grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Nah. I got plenty more. You just got me, girl."

You laughed, the sound low and sultry, pressing your ass against him as you started to twerk. Your cheeks clapped against his lap in time with the beat.

"Sweet Heaven," TJ muttered. "You shakin' that thang, shaking that ass for me" You looked over your shoulder, giving him a wink.

"You like that? Want some more?" you whispered in his ear, brushing your lips softly against his ears. "Yes," he breathed, eyes glued to your ass.

You stood up, turnin' to face him again, and bent over, puttin' your hands on his knees as you shook your chest in his face. Your breasts bounced against his chin, and TJ's breath hitched as he struggled to stop himself from what he was about to do next.

His phone buzzed, reminding him of his purpose for being here. You looked into his eyes, already locked on you, and you grew confused by the change in his expression.

The door swung open with a smash that echoed like thunder in the small room. My heart dropped, and you whipped around to see your half-brother, Myles, striding in with an intensity that could slice concrete.

Two bodyguards flanked him. "Good job, Terry," Myles said, his voice calm and composed despite the intensity in the room. You got off TJ—or Terry, whoever the hell he was—and put your dress back on.

"Hello, Y/N… it's so great to see you again, sister," Myles says bitterly. Your heart begins to race as fear crosses your face, and you look between Myles and Terry in disbelief.

You tried to escape, but Terry grabbed you by the arm. You looked up at him in fear and pleaded, "Please don't do this! They're going to kill me. You don't know-."

"Hand her over, Terry. You're working here; it's done," Myles said, moving in closer, but Terry was hesitant and still looked at your pleading eyes.

"What do you plan to do with her?" Terry asked, looking at Myles with his jaw clenched. Myles laughed as he glanced between the two guys behind him.

"Why does it matter to you?" he replied, puzzled. You were looking between Myles and Terry, your heartbeat racing and struggling from his grip, and Terry's eyes frowning.

"A deal is a deal. You want Y/N; I need that fucking information now." Terry said, raising his voice. Myles pulled something from his jacket and tossed it onto the ground.

"There, now give me her; I'm not about to ask again," Myles demanded, stepping closer while his bodyguards braced their guns. Terry appeared conflicted.

You couldn't wait for him to decide whether to help you. So, you bit his arm, punched him in the gut, and made a run for the other door to the dressing room.

You escaped, quickly grabbing your bag before you bolted toward that exit door, your heart racing still like a wild stallion, and chaos erupted behind you.

The sound of gunshots rang out, sharp and jarring, slicing through the air like a knife. People screamed, their voices blending into a cacophony of panic.

You could feel the chaos vibrations pulse through the floor under your feet—like an earthquake of fear. Finally, you skidded to a halt outside, breathless and wide-eyed.

You ran and ran until suddenly, a hand clamped over your mouth from behind, pulling you into the shadows of a dark alleyway. You fought against it instinctively, adrenaline surging through your veins.

"Relax, it's me, Terry!" Terry hissed urgently, his breath warm against your ear. His grip tightened momentarily before he loosened it slightly.

He said it like you should be happy.

You shoved him away and punched him in his jaw, and Terry grunted in pain. Terry asked, "Fuck, what did you do to make going through all this trouble over just you."

"You should know since you were hired to find me," You snapped, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "Don't play dumb now, not after all this."

Terry's eyes narrowed, searchin' your face like he was tryna solve a puzzle. "I swear. I was hired to find a girl who ran from her family. Knew nothin' 'bout any of this. This is some next-level shit."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, so now you wanna act like you don't know? You think I'm gonna fall for that…I know my psycho stepmother hired you. Fucking bitch killed my daddy and took over his business. Now she wants me dead, too."

Terry's eyes widened slightly. "Damn, that's some heavy shit. I swear on everything, I ain't know none of that." you stared at Terry, your mind racin' as you tried to understand what he was sayin'.

"You didn't know, huh?" You asked, crossing your arms while looking him up and down, and Terry winced. "So what are you…shitty…bounty hunter from Craigslist?"

"You know what…" Terry grunted, his breath coming out in short gasps. "I'm not trying to get caught up in no family drama with psycho killers. This way above my pay grade."

You noticed the dark stain spreading on his shirt, realization hittin' you like a ton of bricks. You covered your mouth, "Shit, you have been shot!"

Terry looked down, seemin' surprised by the blood. "Dammit," Terry grunted in pain, his face contorting as he pressed his hand against his side.

He muttered something under his breath, stumbling slightly as he turned away from you. "Where you goin'?" You called out, your voice echoing in the dark alley.

"Away from you," Terry growled, his voice strained. "This whole situation's more trouble than it's worth." You reached out, grabbing his arm.

"Hold up, you can't just walk away. You need a doctor, Terry. You're bleedin' bad." You said softly, and he yanked his arm away, wincing at the movement.

"No doctors. They ask too many questions." Terry grunts; you can see the blood seeping through his fingers, staining his shirt a deep crimson.

"Then let me patch you up, " you said, moving before him. Terry's eyes narrowed as he studied your face. You could see the internal struggle playing out in his expression.

"Look… I get you don't trust me, and I don't trust you, but maybe we can try; both of us need each other right now," you assured him, raising your hands in a calming gesture.

Finally, Terry let out a long, heavy sigh and nodded, his jaw clenched tight. "Alright, then. Fine. Follow me." Both of you moved through the city's shadows, Terry leading you down a maze of back alleys and narrow streets.

The neon signs and distant sirens faded away as you both delved deeper into the forgotten corners of the urban sprawl. Finally, you stopped before a dilapidated brownstone, its windows boarded up and its facade crumbling.

Terry fumbled with a set of keys, his hands shaking slightly from the pain or blood loss - maybe both. He managed to get the door open and ushered you inside.

The interior was a stark contrast to the building's exterior. It was clean, if sparse, with mismatched furniture and a few bare necessities scattered about.

Terry collapsed onto a worn leather couch, his breathing labored. "The First aid kit's in the bathroom," he grunted, gesturing towards a door on the far side of the room.

"It's under the sink."

You hurried to retrieve it, your mind racing with questions you knew better. You rushed to the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

The first aid kit was right where Terry said it'd be, and you grabbed it, hurrying back to the living room.

Terry had removed his shirt, revealing a muscular torso and a few tattoos. The gunshot wound was on his left side, still oozing blood.

"Alright, big guy," you said, kneeling beside him. "This is going to hurt, but I gotta clean it first," you added, and Terry nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

You poured some antiseptic on a cloth and started cleaning the wound. He hissed in pain, his muscles tensing under your touch. "So," You said, tryna distract him from the pain. "How'd a fine thing like you get mixed up in all this mess?"

Terry chuckled, then winced. "It's a long story, sweetheart."

"Well, we got time," You replied, focusing on the wound. "That bullet's still in there. I'm gonna have to dig it out." You said, grabbed a pair of tweezers.

You sterilized the tweezers with some alcohol, your hands shaking slightly. "This is gonna hurt like hell, Terry. Are you ready?"

Terry nodded, his jaw clenched tight. "Do what you gotta do, baby girl." Your heart flutters at the nicknames, and you take a deep breath and start probin' for the bullet.

Terry's body rigidified, and a low groan escaped his lips. You could feel the sweat beading on your forehead as you concentrated and tried to be gentle.

"Almost got it," You murmured, more to yourself than to Terry. "Just a little bit… there!" You pulled out the bullet, droppin' it into a small dish with a metallic clink. T

Terry let out a long, shaky breath. "Damn, girl," he panted. "You got steady hands. Do you do this often?"

You chuckled, applying pressure to the wound. "No…now hold still while I patch you up, " you said, working on cleaning and dressing the wound and stitching him up.

Terry watched you intently; his eyes were clouded with pain, but there was a mixture of something else there: lust and curiosity. You finished patching up Terry's wound, securing the bandage with medical tape.

"There," you said, sitting back on your heels. That should hold for now, but you really should see a doctor." You said, taking a breath, and Terry flexed his side gingerly, testing the bandage.

"Where'd you learn to patch up bullet wounds like that?" Terry asked, and you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as you packed up the first aid kit.

"Let's just say I've had practice," you said with a light smile, and he returned. "Thanks," Terry said softly, his hand touching your arm.

"I mean it. You didn't have to help me after everything." Terry said gently, and you nodded, finally meeting his eyes. "It's fine! If you don't mind, I need to change out of this dress, and I'll be on my way."

You stood up and paused when Terry's hand tightened on your arm. "Wait," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You can't go out there alone. It ain't safe."

You scoffed, pulling your arm free. "My life ain't been safe for a long time. I can handle myself." You turned to face Terry, your eyes searchin' his face for any sign of deception.

All you saw was genuine concern and maybe something else, a spark of interest that made your heart skip a beat. "Look," Terry said, his voice low and deep.

"I can't let you walk out that door knowing what's waiting for you out there. You need protection, and I can offer that," Terry explained. Of course, you hesitated.

"And what makes you think you can protect me any better than I can protect myself?" you questioned, and Terry stood up slowly and towered over you.

His broad shoulders blocked out the dim light from the single bulb overhead. "Because I know things, I can help make you disappear. And right now, that's what we both need."

You chewed on your bottom lip, considerin' his words. The smart thing would be to walk away, to disappear on your own like you'd been doin' for months.

But somethin' about Terry made you want to stay. "Okay." Just as you said that, you felt Terry's hand on your shoulder, gently leaning down towards you.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours. Terry's kiss was surprisingly gentle, his full lips soft against yours. You found yourself leaning into it.

Your hands reach up to caress his cornrows. The tension that had been building between you both finally broke like a dam bursting open.

Terry's strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his body. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin and smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the metallic tang of blood.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, asking for entrance, and you granted it with a soft moan. As the kiss deepened, Terry backed you up against the wall, his body pressing into yours. One of his hands tangled in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back. His lips left yours to trail hot kisses down your neck, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Mmm," Terry murmured against your dark brown skin, his voice low and sexy. "I've been wantin' to do that all week. Watching you up on that stage, movin' like you do… you had me mesmerized."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tracing the muscles of Terry's back. "I… I thought it was all an act," You admitted softly. "That you were just playin' a part to get close to me."

Terry pulled back slightly, his intense eyes searching yours. "No! That wasn't an act. I was hooked when I saw you up on that stage. Couldn't take my eyes off you."

His thumb caressed your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch. "But… your job. You were hired to find me," You whispered, still struggling to reconcile everything.

"Yeah, I was," Terry nodded, his expression serious. "But I didn't know the whole story. And the more I watched you, the more I realized there was so much more to you than what they led on."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "I saw the fire in your eyes when you danced. The way you carried yourself with such strength and grace. And I knew… I knew I had to know you."

Your heart raced at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest as you gazed up at Terry, your heart pounding. His words had stirred something deep inside you, awakening something.

You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. "You don't know what you're gettin' yourself into," You whispered, your voice husky with desire.

"They won't stop coming for me. Am I worth all the trouble ahead?" You asked, and Terry's eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Baby girl, I think you're worth every bit of trouble and then some." His words sent a shiver down your spine. You tilted your head back, exposing your neck to him.

Terry took the invitation, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. His hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Terry," You gasped, arching into his touch, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Do you want me to stop?"

You bit your lip, deep in thought. Every instinct told you to run and protect yourself, but how Terry looked at you made you feel like the most precious thing he had ever seen. It was as if he was determined to protect and cherish you.

It made you melt. "No, don't stop, Terry, please don't stop!"

Haha cliffhanger, I'm so mean, lol part 2??

[buckets-and-trees]

Sweet, sweet Aspen. You have been a very bad girl. This soft!dark guy, your boss, caught you doing something wrong—something that could easily get you fired—but he decided maybe, jussst maybe, he should keep your indiscretion, and your resulting punishment, between the two of you. After all, he’s been dreaming about filling you with his cock for ages 😏

(I picked this GIF because it looks like he’s saying, “On your knees.” lolll)

well, dearly beloved sister ho, you know we were thirsting over a particularly ... inspiring gif.

I don't think you anticipated your ask to spawn THIS, but... here we are! THANKS FOR POPPING MY ANDY CHERRY!

Title: I'm Your Man Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 3k Summary: You've spent weeks working to pull off the perfect night for Andy Barber's big charity event. A rush job, but you worked meticulously and diligently over six weeks to coordinate the biggest event of your career to date. You weren't the only one with a plan for the night.

Content Warnings: extortion, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT, spitting, oral - male receiving, spanking, vaginal intercourse, breeding kink, unprotected sex

Logistical Notes: A NAUGHTY submission @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge. Prompts incorporated are in bold.

Additional Notes: I didn't want to write a summary. There's only enough plot here to smut you up. Dividers by @rookthornesartistry and @firefly-graphics.

You sit up straight when you hear the door to Andy’s home office open behind you.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he says as he strides across the room and takes a seat in the leather executive desk chair.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Barber,” you reply. Every part of your body is tired – tired in a good way from the long day of work – so you were eager to get home, soak in your tiny tub, and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend, but it hadn’t been an incredible inconvenience when he’d asked if he could speak with you before you left.

“Tonight was exquisite, you did well,” he doles out the praise, and you try to quell the blooming in your chest. In the six weeks working with Andy Barber to plan the charity event you’d just executed for his foundation you had seen that he wasn’t one to casually compliment, hard to impress. You had taken more and more satisfaction out of each meeting, email, or text exchange as you consulted and then presented him with options for the event when he had fewer and fewer notes, knowing you had cracked his taste and gained his approval. He’d been your toughest client to date, but by far one of the most rewarding as he had excellent taste.

“Nearly perfect,” he adds.

Your smile falters ever so slightly, and suddenly your chest floods with a chill. “Nearly perfect? I’m sorry, sir, what didn’t live up to your expectations?”

This was far from your first event, you had built an incredible portfolio over the years, and you knew you were finally ascending to be one of the best event coordinators on the eastern seaboard – you had received an email request from a goddamn Vanderbilt to plan a wedding for them in a year and a half that you were going to respond to and accept in the morning. You weren’t arrogant, but you’d worked damn hard and knew you were good.

“You.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I – what?”

“Only one misstep tonight.”

Your brain flies back through the evening, reviewing every moment, raking through trying to determine what you could have possibly missed.

“I’m very particular about what belongs to me, and I cannot abide theft.”

Your jaw drops.

“Empty your bag.”

Now your whole body is buzzing with incredulity. You shake your head.

“I know what’s in there.”

You almost didn’t take this job when it landed in your lap. He was the reason you knew you should have said no. There were whispers about his reputation, his real businesses. But you took the initial consultation because the pitch was more money than you’d made over the last three years. Then when you’d met him, he’d been so normal, so nice, maybe a little charming, and up until this moment you had convinced yourself there was no way any of those rumors had been right.

But before you even put your hand in your bag, you knew you were wrong to have thought he wasn't all those awful things.

Not one, not two, but three Rolex watches nestled in the bottom of the main pocket. Watches you'd never seen - wouldn't even have known where to find them.

You scoop them out and drop them on his desk, eyes burning with tears. “Why?”

“Yes, why? I was already giving you a fat paycheck. What a shame when I had just given your name to the Vanderbilts’ social secretary for their son’s wedding a few days ago, I’ll have to reach out and let them know.”

“No,” you breathe.

“I’ll have to discreetly let everyone in my network know it’s better not to invite someone in their home with such light fingers.”

Your breath hitches and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle an almost sob, trying to hold back the onset of tears. “Andy, no, please.”

His smile softens. “There we are,” he coos, “you finally called me Andy like I’ve told you to so many times.”

He leans forward resting his arms on his desk.

“Now, if you go upstairs, be a good girl, put on what I left for you in my room, and wait for me, maybe I can make all of this little misunderstanding go away.”

His steel blue eyes are hard, they demand an answer.

You cock your chin up wishing you could say no, wishing you could even scowl at him, but aside from the heat and hurt in your eyes, you know you can’t do anything more without risking further ruin, so ultimately you let your chin drop and nod, resigned to the impossible power this man wields.

“Now we’re back on track for a perfect night, sweetheart. I’ll be up soon.”

You don’t know how long he makes you wait, using the promise of soon as another show of his power, but long enough that your knees hurt from sitting back on your heels in a submissive, kneeling position with your head lowered, hands folded in your lap, and back to the door as the card in the white box left for you had instructed.

Also in the box had been a set of exquisite black lace and silk balconette bra and cheeky underwear. That they fit you like a glove had been both humiliating and alluring.

Even though Andy was the reason you almost said no to the job, even though he was the humiliating reason you were in this position – extorted into a nearly naked state, no question of what was to come – he was also the reason you took the job.

Dread pooled in your stomach, but along with the dread and humiliation, there were rivulets of shameful desire.

You had taken the job for the money and for how quietly charming he had been. He had never outright flirted with you, but he always left you with the question of whether he was. You worked hard for him because it felt good to win his approval. He praised you and you had preened under his intense blue eyes every time. You had forced yourself to keep everything professional.

All for nothing since you were in the farthest position of professional now.

When you finally hear him enter the room, your sit up straight again.

He tsks and says, “Head down, sweetheart.”

Andy comes around to stand in front of you. You see his perfectly polished shoes, the perfectly tailored trousers. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. He runs his thumb over your lips, circling them.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

You do.

He leans closer, then spits in your mouth, and you blink in surprise, a surge of humiliation running through you, but his grip on your jaw is powerful, so you don’t move away.

“Close your mouth but don’t swallow.”

He moves back from you then, and he begins to silently undress. He had already taken off his jacket, but he doesn’t hurry as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, the buttons down his chest, and then shrugs it off his shoulders. He places it nicely on a plush armchair on the side of the room. Next he sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes and socks.

The way he doesn’t watch you but does all of this in your line of vision, knowing you have to watch, is another move meant to communicate who is in control of this situation. Still holding his saliva on your tongue is starting to become uncomfortable. Your instinct is to swallow, but you don’t know what disobedience may mean with Andy, so you fight the urge, not wanting to tempt any more of his darkness.

He stands and takes the shoes and socks to a large closet off to the side of the room, and when he returns, he stands directly in front of you again, takes your jaw in his hands again.

“Show me,” he says.

Your eyes watch his face you open your mouth, showing him the pool of saliva.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs. You hate the small bloom in your chest those words immediately invoke again. He spits into your mouth for a second time, then with a caress that is too tender he urges you to close your mouth. “Swallow.”

You do.

Andy unbuckles his belt, unbuttons the top of his fly, then unzips and pushes down the waist of his trousers with his briefs, and reveals his hard cock for you.

He’s big.

You had gotten yourself off to the thought of him a few of times late at night alone in your bed, most recently a few days ago, and you hated that you had since you were now here like this, forced on your knees in front of him.

Your core is pulsing with heat at the sight of him though – bigger than you had fantasized, and bigger than any man you’ve been with previously. You know he’ll fill you in a way that will ruin you for other men. You want and dread it.

“Take me in your mouth, sweetheart,” he commands.

Instead of forcing his cock into your mouth, this is more possessive, having you submit yourself to pleasing him of your own accord. You know every way he’s manipulating you.

“If I have to tell you one more time,” he trails off, leaving the end open for your imagination.

You plant one hand softly on his hip and wrap your other hand around his shaft, leaning forward to take him in your mouth. As you push forward, he groans. He won’t hold back when he’s pleased with you – he never has, he knows it affects you. His hands go to either side of your head. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sucking him, bobbing up and down his length, and for a while he lets you control the speed and the depth, but his hands let you know he can and will control this when he wants to. After the first couple of minutes, he makes this clear when you push back to take a breath and wipe the mix of your spit and his pre-cum dripping out of your mouth and his hands firmly prevent you from moving off him. Instead, he pushes you down slowly – more slowly than you had been pumping – and doesn’t stop until your nose hits his lower abdomen. You try to push against his hips, and he pushes his hips forward with you still anchored on his dick. Your eyes well up.

“So pretty,” he says, “imagined you like this, but you’re more gorgeous than I thought you would be.”

Something in your chest melts. You wish he wouldn’t say things like that. It makes you weaker – weaker for him. He pulls back just an inch or two, then pushes his length into your throat again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, my perfect fucking girl.”

You whimper, and the tears spill over.

His right hand moves away from your face and around behind him. He’s quick, and when you can see his hand again, it’s to discover he’s taken his phone out of his back pocket. He takes photos of you, angling the phone a few different ways. Then he tosses the phone onto the chair where he’d laid his shirt.

Then he resumes his small, concentrated rutting, only easing out just enough to make the thrust back in worth it for him. As he does, he groans, swears, wipes tears from your cheeks, and the moment before it’s too much, he finally pulls you off him.

You fall forward, gasping for deep lungfuls of air, but he’s already putting a hand under your arm and hauling you up.

“Get on the bed,” he instructs, man handling you with surprising ease, doing most of the work your weak and aching legs can’t do to hoist you up onto his Alaskan king bed.

He’s immediately up as well and behind you, the last of his clothing stripped off. His fingers quickly undo the clasp of your bra and pull it off your shoulders and toss it away. He pushes you forward, toppling you down to the mattress. He slaps your ass, and you gasp and jerk. He brings his hand down on your round flesh again, with another sting, but the second one has you moan, and he lets out a satisfied, “Yes,” before giving you a third slap, the hardest, and you moan again, but this one more guttural, and you’d be mortified if you weren’t shocked over the way it translated to pleasure so quickly to your brain.

Then he yanks the lacy underwear roughly down and off your legs, tossing it away as well. He pushes between your legs behind you, splitting your legs open, and his fingers seek your cunt.

He hums in approval, “So wet for me. Ready for me.”

You huff and pant.

He leans over your back, pressing you down into the mattress. “Are you eager for me?”

“Andy,” you whine.

“Say it and I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart.”

You don’t want to. You bury your face in the covers.

He slaps your ass again, and you yelp.

“Admit you want me to fuck you.”

Another slap.

Another.

“Yes,” you finally concede.

“To breed you.”

You gasp, but he’s already hauling you further up the bed, and he drapes himself over your back, arms caging you in on either side of your body. His legs push yours apart as he leans down to press kisses over your shoulder blades, at the base of your neck, along your spine. He uses one hand to guide the thick head of his cock to your leaking entrance. He doesn’t care to stretch you. “Take me in your cunt, sweetheart, it’s mine.”

The only mercy is that he slots himself in slowly.

You press your hands up against the headboard and concentrate on taking deep breaths, on trying to relax your walls completely, because he’s entering you, in you, filling you, unrelenting invasion and it’s pleasure and pain and too much and not enough because every moment of more fullness is exquisite and you can’t even think about holding back the sound he’s pushing out from your diaphragm, up your throat, and out of your mouth, because that’s how it feels as he's filling you.

Once’s he’s fully inside of you, he presses his mouth right next to your ear. “I’m going to fill this pussy with my seed.” He anchors one hand on your hips, then begins pull out, only so he can start thrusting back in. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

You’ve never had an orgasm only from vaginal penetration, but the way he fills you as he fucks you, and at this angle, making you almost forget to keep breathing, you wonder if this is how you’ll go, strung out as his cock punishes you with the pleasure, but then his hand works around beneath you and his fingers quickly find your swollen and aching clit. You cry out, and one of your hands reaches back to cling to him, fingers clutching into his hair. He nips at your neck, chuckling darkly.

“My pretty girl, my good girl, taking my cock so well, you close?”

An immediate, “Uh huh,” is all you can manage.

“Then let go,” he commands, pinching your clit harshly.

You see stars, and you cry out for him.

Hearing you scream his name and feeling you clench around him is all he needs, and he pumps his cum into you, saying more dirty, filthy, possessive things, but you don’t know what the words are, because you’re completely lost to coherency.

He sinks his full weight on top of you when he’s completely spent.

Both of you are silent while you come down, heartrates returning to normal.

You wait for him to say whatever he’s going to torment you with next, but he doesn’t speak.

After more long moments, he finally pushes up enough to turn you from your front to your back. He cups your jaw again and strokes his thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches at the intimate gesture in the aftermath.

“Aw, why are you crying now, sweetheart?”

No, you didn’t want more tears, and not these - the soft tears. You try to look away, but he forces your face back to look at him.

“I would have slept with you if you’d asked, Andy, why did you have to do it like this?”

“Because this is so much more than that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to just sleep with you, and I needed you to know from here on out that you’re mine. I own you. I’m very particular about what belongs to me. I didn’t want you to have any illusion that there’s a choice here.”

He brushes the tears off your cheek.

“I’ll have my men move your things here in the morning, and we’ll elope in a few weeks. I’m closing the deal on a resort in Lake Como, doesn’t that sound perfect? We’ll tie the knot and then spend our honeymoon there – we can stay all summer if you want.”

You hesitate.

“No one else is gonna take care of you like I do. Now I asked you, ‘doesn’t that sound perfect?’”

“Yes, Andy,” you whisper.

“Of course, it does.” He finally kisses you – and it’s dangerously soft. Warm lips engulfing yours, insistent, sucking your bottom lip between his. You whimper, and he licks his tongue into your mouth, lapping you up. He rolls over with you, putting him back on the mattress with you on his chest. He holds you pressed to him with one hand, the other hand securing your head so you can’t escape his kiss until he’s done kissing you.

It isn’t until you think you might pass out from how breathless you are that he finally breaks off the kiss. He shifts his pelvis up against you, his cock hardening again. “And I was serious about you carrying my child. But first you’ll ride my face until I’ve made you cry for a good reason, and then I’ll fill you up with more of my seed. You’re not leaving this bed the rest of the weekend.”

ARE YOU OKAY? AM I? DO WE EVEN CARE IF WE'RE OKAY?

read: -> THE MORNING AFTER

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[isak-dot-gov]

Breaking Point

Pairing: (Platonic) Uconn wbb team x Manager!Reader

Word count: 1508

My Masterlist :)

.................................................

The sun had set hours ago, casting the campus in soft hues of blue and purple as the last traces of daylight slipped away. Inside the UConn basketball facility, the lights were still on, illuminating the court and the offices where the team’s dedicated manager, you, sat hunched over a desk cluttered with schedules, practice plans, and game itineraries. Your fingers flew across your laptop, finalising details for the next week’s practices, making sure every tiny element was in place.

You had been doing this for hours—days, really. Balancing all the responsibilities of being the team’s manager was a full-time job in itself, but you never complained. You loved the team, loved the feeling of being part of something bigger than yourself. Every game plan, every practice schedule was a chance for you to make their lives easier, more organised, to ensure they could focus on playing and winning.

But tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of everything seemed to press down on your chest a little harder than usual. Your eyes were heavy, your brain foggy from lack of sleep. You couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a real break, the last time you had eaten something that wasn’t a quick snack between tasks.

As you rubbed your temples, trying to push through the mounting exhaustion, you heard footsteps approaching. The team had just finished a late-night practice, and a few of the players—Azzi, Paige, and Aaliyah—walked over, towels draped around their necks, sweat still clinging to their skin.

“Still working?” Paige asked, her tone light but concerned as she glanced at the stack of papers on your desk. “You’ve been at it for hours.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, just trying to make sure everything’s ready for next week. There’s a lot to get done.”

Azzi frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing in on the dark circles under your eyes. “You need to take a break. You’ve been running yourself into the ground lately.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, brushing off their concern. “Really. I just have a few more things to finish, and then I’ll be done.”

Aaliyah stepped closer, her brow furrowed with worry. “You’ve been saying that for days. When was the last time you actually did something for yourself? Ate a real meal? Slept more than a few hours?”

Her words stung a little, not because they were harsh, but because they were true. But there was no time to think about yourself right now. The team needed you. They relied on you to keep everything running smoothly, and you couldn’t let them down.

“I’ll take a break once I’m done,” you muttered, turning back to your laptop, trying to dismiss the conversation.

But Paige wasn’t having it. “Come on, seriously. We appreciate everything you do for us, but you can’t keep going like this. It’s not healthy.”

You felt your pulse quicken at her words, a strange mix of guilt and frustration building up inside you. You knew they were trying to help, but the thought of stepping away, of not getting everything right, sent a wave of anxiety through you.

“I can’t stop right now,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “I’m almost done, I just need—”

“You need a break,” Azzi cut in firmly, crossing her arms. “You’re not helping anyone if you burn yourself out.”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to argue anymore without snapping. “I’ll be fine. I just need to finish this.”

The team exchanged worried glances, but reluctantly stepped back, giving you space. They could see you were overwhelmed, but they also knew you were stubborn when it came to taking care of the team. They’d have to try again later.

Once they left, you exhaled, trying to refocus. Your hands trembled slightly as you typed, exhaustion making it harder to concentrate. But you pressed on, determined to get everything perfect. The team depended on you for this, and there was no room for mistakes.

But then, in your haze of exhaustion and stress, something slipped.

You didn’t notice it at first. You finished typing up the practice schedule, sent it off, and leaned back in your chair, rubbing your tired eyes. But as you scrolled back through the document to double-check the details, your heart dropped.

The times were wrong.

The schedule you had just sent out—the one for the entire next week of practice—was completely off. The gym had been booked for the wrong hours, and now it would overlap with another team’s time slot. There was no way to fix it without completely reworking the entire plan, calling the facility to reschedule, contacting the other team…

Panic began to rise in your chest, a suffocating wave of anxiety crashing over you. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring as the weight of everything you’d been holding together started to unravel. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, pounding in your ears. This mistake—it wasn’t something small. It was huge, and it would mess up the team’s entire week of preparation.

You couldn’t let them down like this. Not after everything you’d worked so hard for. Not when they were counting on you.

But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You tried to type, tried to fix the mistake, but your fingers fumbled over the keys, and the screen swam in front of you. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you gasped for air, your chest tightening as the panic took hold.

You were spiralling.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the haze. “Hey, what’s going on?”

It was Paige. She must have come back to check on you. Before you could even respond, she was at your side, her eyes widening in alarm as she saw the state you were in.

“Guys! Come here, quick!” Paige called out, and within seconds, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika rushed over, their faces filled with concern.

You were shaking, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you tried to explain what had happened, but the words wouldn’t come out. Your chest felt like it was caving in, and you couldn’t think straight. The room felt too small, too overwhelming.

“I messed up… I messed up everything…” you choked out, tears spilling down your cheeks. “The schedule… it’s all wrong. I’ve ruined everything for the team…”

Paige crouched down beside you, her voice calm but firm. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, alright? Just breathe.”

Azzi knelt on your other side, her hand gently resting on your back. “You’re not alone in this. We’re here. We’ll fix it together.”

You shook your head, the panic still gripping you tightly. “But I—”

“Shhh,” Aaliyah interrupted softly, crouching in front of you, her voice gentle. “You’ve done so much for us. You don’t have to carry all of this on your own. We’ve got your back, just like you always have ours.”

Nika handed you a water bottle and knelt beside you, her voice soothing. “Take a deep breath, alright? In and out. You’re not going to fix anything by pushing yourself this hard.”

As their words slowly broke through the panic, you focused on their presence—on the warmth of their hands, the softness in their voices. Gradually, your breathing slowed, the tightness in your chest easing as you tried to ground yourself.

Paige gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve been going non-stop for too long. We can handle a mistake. You’re allowed to be human.”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “I just… I didn’t want to let you down.”

Azzi smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You could never let us down. You’re the heart of this team, and we need you to take care of yourself just as much as you take care of us.”

Aaliyah nodded in agreement. “Exactly. You’ve been doing more than enough. Let us help you.”

The weight that had been pressing down on your chest finally started to lift as you realised they were right. You didn’t have to be perfect all the time. The team loved you for who you were, not just for what you did for them.

With their support, you slowly stood up, still shaky but feeling a little steadier. Nika handed you a towel to wipe your face, and Paige slung an arm around your shoulders.

“Now, we’re gonna get you out of here,” Paige said firmly. “You’re taking the night off. No arguments.”

Azzi nodded, a playful smile on her lips. “Yeah, we’ll fix the schedule in the morning. Right now, you’re going to rest.”

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t argue. You let them take care of you, just like you had always taken care of them. You weren’t in this alone, and that realisation brought a sense of relief you hadn’t known you needed.

As they led you out of the gym, you knew you would be okay. You had your team—your family—by your side. And together, you could face anything.

......................................................

[my-castles-crumbling]

date - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 551

"Reg, can I borrow you phone?" James whispered to the man sleeping next to him, voice still rough with sleep.

Regulus, who was curled into James's chest, let out a groan of assent, moving closer into James's body. He smiled softly, placing a small kiss on Regulus's curls.

They weren't anything official. Not that James didn't want that with every fiber of his being. But he knew that Regulus struggled with the concept of being loved, with letting people in and being open and vulnerable, and he was willing to wait as long as it took for the fantastic man in his arms to be ready for the love he was bursting to give him.

So he went slow. Indeed, their first real date was last night. After weeks of hookups and heated exchanges when their friend groups went out together, Regulus had finally agreed to being taken out to a restaurant, and James had had to physically restrain himself from bringing Regulus to the fanciest restaurant in all of London. Or, really, flying the man to France or Italy, and wining and dining him there. Because Regulus deserved the world.

They'd fallen into bed after, as they had before, but it had felt more intimate. And, waking up now, James didn't want to pop the bubble by getting up, or even moving. So he allowed Regulus to cuddle into him. But he was bored, and his phone was in his pants pocket, and his pants had been discarded across the room.

Typing in the passcode (0311) he allowed Regulus's phone to unlock, hoping that Regulus at least had Candy Crush or something on his phone, so he could keep quiet and enjoy the man in his arms.

But before he even began to search the (very organized) apps, he let out a small gasp, his face breaking into a huge grin, and he turned to Regulus, shaking the man awake. "Reg! Reg, what is this?"

"The fuck, Potter? It's early!" Regulus grumbled. And normally James would have left him alone, but this was decidedly more important than the beauty sleep of a man who was already stunning.

"Reg. Am I you phone background?"

Immediately, Regulus's eyes popped open, and he looked very awake, like he'd been up for hours. "No," he said defensively, ignoring the evidence James was waving in front of his face.

"I am!" James said gleefully, grinning from ear to ear. "Reg, that's some boyfriend shit, right there! You- you like me, don't you?"

And instead of arguing, Regulus just turned a deeper shade of red, avoiding James's eyes, snatching the phone from his hands and turning away.

James knew he had about five seconds before Regulus got to in his head. Before he became angry and upset. So, whispering in Regulus's ear softly, he murmured, "Be my boyfriend, Reggie. Please?"

And turning again to face James, Regulus's eyes grew weary. "I..."

"Please? I've wanted you to be for ages," James whispered, not above begging.

The other man's mouth flickered into a small smile. "Alright."

And, laughing, James leaped out of bed, tripping to grab his pants.

"What are you doing?" Regulus asked, clearly confused.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, James snapped a picture of a very annoyed-looking Regulus. "Changing my phone background," he smiled.

[lostloveletters]

Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun. 

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon. 

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother. 

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him. 

You smiled. “Me too.”

[pandapetals]

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas Day! You and Logan exchange gifts.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, holiday vibes, logan being a softie

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

a/n: It’s the last one shot and i am sad. It’s been so much fun writing for christmas. I hope everyone gets logan under their tree this year.

divider credit: @saradika

The mansion was silent, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow from the night’s storm, the world outside hushed and peaceful. You woke to the sound of Logan’s soft snoring beside you, his hand resting protectively on your hip, even in sleep. Smiling to yourself, you carefully slipped out of bed, pulling on your robe as you padded downstairs to put the finishing touches on his gifts.

You’d thought long and hard about what to get him, wanting each gift to be something meaningful. A leather tool roll, perfectly sized for his motorbike tools, so he’d always have something useful on hand. A bottle of his favorite whiskey, because you knew he’d never buy the fancy stuff for himself. And your personal favorite—a beautifully framed vintage map of the Canadian wilderness, detailing the rugged terrain of the land he loved so much. But the most important gift, the one that had taken you months to finish, was a small wooden box filled with letters, each one tied neatly with twine.

Each letter was for a different moment, a different feeling. One for when he felt alone, one for when he felt angry, one for when he doubted himself. Every letter was written to remind him how deeply he was loved, how much he mattered. You’d poured your heart into every word, hoping that he’d feel the weight of your love whenever he needed it most.

By the time you’d finished arranging everything under the tree, you heard the soft creak of the stairs and turned to see Logan coming down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hair even more wild than usual. He was wearing his old flannel shirt over sweatpants, looking gruff but endearingly soft, as if he hadn’t quite woken up.

"Mornin', darlin’," he mumbled, his voice rough, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting by the tree.

"Merry Christmas, Logan," you whispered, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth as snowflakes drifted softly outside the window.

Reluctantly, you pulled back and gestured to the pile of gifts. "C’mon, let’s open these."

Logan chuckled, eyeing the gifts with a raised brow. "You went all out, huh? I didn’t know we were doin’ this whole… gift thing."

You laughed, nudging him down onto the couch and settling beside him. "Just open yours. I think you’ll like them."

He started with the tool roll, his rough hands carefully unwrapping the leather. He ran his fingers over it, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This… this is real nice," he muttered, a little shy. "I’ll definitely use it."

Next, he picked up the whiskey, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the label. "You got me the good stuff, huh? You spoil me," he said with a smirk, though there was a flicker of genuine appreciation in his eyes. But when he unwrapped the framed vintage map, he went completely silent, his fingers brushing over the contours of the familiar landscape.

"I figured… you could hang it in your office, or keep it somewhere special," you murmured, watching his face closely.

Logan swallowed, his gaze lingering on the map as if he were lost in the memories of those wild places. "This is… perfect," he whispered, his voice rough. "Thank you."

There was one gift left, and you hesitated for a moment before handing him the small wooden box. His brows knit together as he looked down at it, curiosity and something else—a softer emotion—flickering across his face. He lifted the lid and saw the bundle of letters, each one tied with care, each one addressed to a moment he might need a reminder of your love.

"For when you’re feeling… well, you know," you said softly, your fingers nervously fidgeting as you watched his reaction. "Each one is for a different time. I just… wanted you to know that I’m always here, even if I’m not right next to you."

Logan took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the box of letters. His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his expression steady, but you saw the glint of tears in his eyes. He lifted one of the letters, his fingers trembling slightly as he ran his thumb over your handwriting, the careful loops and lines you’d written with so much love.

"No one’s… no one’s ever done somethin’ like this for me," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t… I don’t deserve this, or you." His voice was barely more than a whisper now, vulnerability laid bare in a way he rarely allowed.

You reached up, cradling his face with your hands, gently brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Logan… you’re wrong. You deserve so much more than you think." You smiled, the love in your eyes soft and steady. "You’re the best gift I could ever ask for. Just you… exactly as you are."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the warmth of your hands. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, almost desperate, like he was afraid to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t quite say. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, "I love you, sweetheart."

You smiled against his lips, pressing one last kiss to his mouth. "I love you, more. Merry Christmas, Logan."

After a long moment, Logan reluctantly pulled back, his gaze soft but intent as he reached for a small, neatly wrapped package on the coffee table. He handed it to you, looking almost… shy.

“Go on,” he murmured, clearing his throat and looking away, trying to cover up the faint blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… not much, but I thought you might like it.”

Curious, you tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a leather-bound book with intricate gold detailing on the cover. You sucked in a breath, your eyes widening as you ran your fingers over the title embossed in gold.

Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy—this was a rare first edition.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How… how did you even find this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the glint of pride in his eyes. “Got my ways,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured it’d mean somethin’ to you.”

Carefully, almost reverently, you opened the book, feeling the delicate weight of the pages between your fingers. But as you turned to the first few pages, something fluttered out—a piece of paper, folded neatly and tucked between them.

You glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. “I, uh… slipped a little somethin’ in there,” he admitted, his voice barely above a grumble. “Wrote it myself. Might be rough around the edges, but… well, it’s for you.”

With trembling hands, you unfolded the paper, your heart racing as you read the words written in his unmistakable handwriting. It was a short poem, raw and unpolished, each line laced with sincerity.

Didn’t think I’d find somethin' that felt like home,

in the rasp of your laughter, in all the things left unsaid,

in the quiet that ain’t lonely ‘cause you’re in it.

Darlin’—you’re the reason I keep holdin’ on,

the reason a scarred heart like me starts thinkin'

he might be worth somethin' after all.

The words weren’t flowery or grand, but they were him—every line filled with honesty, with a depth he rarely shared. Your vision blurred as you read it again, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Logan…” you whispered, looking up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “This is… it’s beautiful.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking both relieved and embarrassed. “Didn’t think I’d hear that word used on anythin’ I wrote,” he muttered, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Figured you’d laugh it off.”

“Are you kidding?” you said, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it tight. “It’s perfect. It’s you, and that means more to me than anything else in the world.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze holding yours. After a long, lingering silence, Logan reached behind the couch and pulled out one last gift, this one wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a bit of string. He handed it to you, his eyes a bit softer. 

“This one’s… well, it’s somethin’ I worked on myself,” he said, almost bashful. “Thought it might help you with… y’know, all that writin’ you do.”

Intrigued, you carefully unwrapped it, and as soon as you saw the vintage typewriter nestled inside, your breath hitched. The old keys gleamed, meticulously polished, and there was a faint scent of oil and leather from where he’d restored it with his own hands. Every piece, every detail, looked lovingly cared for.

“Oh my god, Logan…” you whispered, running your fingers over the smooth metal, feeling the weight of each key under your touch. “You… you did this yourself?”

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. It was in pretty rough shape when I found it, but I thought… well, I thought you might like workin’ on somethin’ like this. Somethin’ that’d make all those stories you’re dreamin’ up feel a little more real.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed. He wasn’t just giving you a typewriter—he was giving you the chance to chase your dreams, to bring your words to life in a way that was uniquely yours.

Without another word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. “You… you have no idea how much this means to me,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long, tender moment, he just held you, his cheek resting against your hair. When he finally pulled back, there was a glisten in his eyes he didn’t even try to hide.

“Guess I did somethin’ right, huh?” he murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as his thumb brushed across your cheek.

“You did everything right,” you replied, your smile soft and unwavering. Leaning in, you kissed him—slow, deep, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude you had into it.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Couldn’t ask for a better one.”

You smiled, your hands still laced with his. "Here’s to all the Christmases to come," you whispered back.

[aniqua]

error: 0v3rr1d3 | yandere!qimir x cyborg!reader

✧content: 18+ mdni, f!reader, smut, angst, death, blood, character death, flashbacks, flashfowards, existentialism?, unreliable narrators and crazy epiphenies, drowning, osha going through the ringer, p in v, cockwarmth, blowing, creme pie, worshipping qimir, second fiddle feelings

✧note: it's been real fun to make qimir a loser, robot fucker.

✧word count: 6.2K

✧series masterlist

“You promised that we would go.” You’d spent the last thirty minutes pressing Qimir to explain the change in plan.

“That was before yesterday's incident,” Qimir sighed as he arranged boxes. The day prior to this exchange, Qimir spent his time in a sticky sweat as he ran through the city for some outside help. With you resting on his back, you were relegated to hearing his terrified breaths that were a result of your condition. It had chosen to be at its worst that day and although you spent the end of the day in a better condition, you didn't miss the way Qimir looked as you clugged onto his arm as he walked you home with a fixed hold on your hand that didn't even budge when you slept with him that night. 

“I'm better now,” you told him. "That was the first time that ever happened anyway," you defended with crossed arms.

“You hoping to go for a second time?” he asked sarcastically.

He was closing up the shop earlier than most days for the festivities that were to be indulged in that night. You looked on without your usual offer to help--not like he'd accept. The entire week ranged from uneventful to horrendous at its worst but the highlight of it for you was supposed to be to celebrate the planet’s two moons aligning like the planet did every year. Despite this, Qimir was giving you a last-minute rejection that you were refusing to stomach this time around.

“I’ll be fine,” you tried appealing to his unquenchable desire to nurture. “And if not, you'll take care of me like you always do. Hm?”

Qimir fought hard to ignore that he loved the way you spoke. It pleaded to the nights he spent thinking of every way he could make you better. He was fighting to keep you a permanent painting in his home and refused to lose to simple battles like hereditary curses.

However, for all the pride he felt in his chest, Qimir set a box down and walked toward you. His hazy eyes gave you a once-over just as he took your tender face in his hands. He said, “I'm not taking that risk.”

Your frown deepened as you pulled your face out of his hands for the comfort of the cold air, “Why don’t you let me do anything?” He could see the way your brows upturned in vulnerability with your wet eyes to match as your pupils went wider. If he could, he would have taken you right then and there for how malleable you looked.

“I don't do it out of enjoyment. But I'll put your health first every time. Even above what I want," he was pretending to play the good guy like he wasn't a shut-in who would have stayed home during the festivities actually long before your time.

“And above me?” you challenged. 

“[Name],” he sighed.

“You’re cursing me to live like this,” you pressed him at his weak spot.

“Cursed?” he laughed bitterly to himself. He brought his hands to his hip as he gave you a stare that reminded you of the initiating stance of a predator. “I’ve done everything to make sure you even live past the next moon alignment--”

“And if I have to live like this then I'd rather be dead,” you spoke with unwavering declaration. Months of quietly obliging with the occasional treat to keep you at bay only made your desertification more apparent to you.

"Careful," he murmured with a still face that was so unreadable. He backed you into the counter just to further cage you with both of his arms on both sides. You looked up at him as you pressed further into the counter to avoid meeting his chest. The edge of the counter he held onto bent at his grip as you spent most of your time grasping at fleeting courage.

“It's not like you get a say in that either," he told you. If you were so struck by the painful beauty of his face at such an odd time, you would have let out a meager cry in surrender.

After getting his fill, Qimir stepped back from you to retreat upstairs. It was expected that you’d spend the rest of your time downstairs to blow off steam before returning to the living room begrudgingly for dinner. Qimir hadn’t exactly made it to the front door of your home before he remembered that he needed to lower the shutters over the shop for this special weekend in case some got too excited. It was when he returned to the ground floor that he no longer saw you there. You disappeared as if he never met you, to begin with.

He called your name and watched his voice echo in real-time. That's when he knew he was alone. Once his call bounced back he nearly lept over the counter and went sprinting out the door.

By the time he'd burst through the doors and the shop's bell jingled, you already had a head start to the streets as you tried making it to the fairie. Two tickets weighed your bag down as you cut through the roads with as much force as you could among those who were already starting festivities. The way the shops were decorated with ribbons and flags would have been beautiful if you couldn’t hear the growing distant call of your name in the distance.

As you carried on fighting you picked up your pace hoping that a miracle would come through before Qimir would catch up to you but your prayer wasn’t even sent before you felt your strength waning until the wind blew out your candle and had the ground swallow you. You should have known better than to exert so much after being given only a day of recovery but you assumed that your passion would make up for your health. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough because you went collapsing like the first drop of truth in the middle of the street. You could hear Qimir calling your name and the low hum of the crowd in surprise.

A week passed where you didn't speak to Qimir and you thought it would help in the tension brewing but the distance felt treacherous. Every day that passed leading up to the seventh day would be you waking up on the outskirts of the planet in a cabin that once belonged to him but was passed down to his acolyte. The last thing he said to you as he passed you over to Osha before his journey to find a better solution for your illness was he thought it would suit you better to behave. Instead of a private farewell that should have been exchanged kisses, the journey to the cabin was silent. 

Far from it was Osha to question her master but it didn’t help how little in detail she was given before he appeared on her doorstep asking her to watch over you. She was given half of the truth while you were given the whole lie that Osha would sooner drag you back to the cabin before you'd make it past a few trees. 

Before your arrival, she chose to spend her time training until their next operation but instead of a new Jedi to target, Osha was assigned to babysitter while being left entirely in the dark. Still, she trusted Qimir when he said to guard you with her life as he went off.

From your perspective, the specifities of what Osha was told were unclear but you weren’t willing to try to pry when your last act of disobedience landed you concession from meeting the ground and unwanted attention that could have ended with the wrong people asking the right questions. So, in your time of vacationing–you told yourself this to lighten the mood–you didn’t even ask about Qimir until a few days after a week had come and he still hadn’t returned for you. This concerned you so you went running your mouth to Osha since it was all you could do to keep yourself calm and not fear that he had finally abandoned you for an easier problem to fix.

“Have you heard from him?” you asked.

She shook your head. “I can still feel him," she admitted as she ate.

You didn't know each other well but you wanted to press further even if it meant her frustration. “Anything else?” you said. 

“Look, you’ve been asking me the same question for three days. He’ll be fine," she put her spoon down and looked up at you. "You’ve seen how he disappears for weeks just pop back up. It’s no different now."

You fiddled with your thumbs as you said. “So this is normal?” You didn't have the slightest clue as to what she meant.

“What," she laughed in disbelief "Qimir hasn’t fucked off for weeks to you?"

If you had any type of distance from him, you would have laughed with her but you hadn’t so you said the truth.

“No,” you confessed. “He’s never gone more than an afternoon away,” you said. “Which is why I’m so nervous because that last time he came back he didn't look good.”

That admission had Osha questioning how well you truly knew him.

“What took you so long?” Osha asked Qimir as he held onto his bag.

“I’m back now,” was all he was going to say but the look Osha gave him made him feel stupid. “Came across some trouble on the way back so I had to stall. I’d hate for anyone to be following me to lead them to here.”

“So you stole that," she stated the obvious while nodding toward his bag that looked packed with some things that were none of her business. 

"It doesn't matter--"

Osha wasn't in the mood to banter as they stood a few paces from the cabin in the dead of night. "You let three weeks go by for her. It felt like she was gonna start chewing glass if you didn't show up tonight,” she said,

“Nothing, she’s not used to,” he said as he rifled through his bag to straighten a few things out. Maybe that's why he didn't realize that he and Osha were talking about two different things.

“So she’s home a lot huh,” she met him where he was in the conversation. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It keeps her safe.”

“From you?”

Qimir swallowed.

“Whatever happened to no romance to keep this exact thing from happening,” she threw the rule back in her master's face while gesturing at his lover fast asleep in the cabin. “You bring danger to your doorstep every time you come back home so there's no point in keeping her there?” If only she knew the other half of the problem to chastise him for that as well.

Osha watched him with judgemental eyes with the complete silence in between them. Leave it to her to be the one to hold a mirror up to Qimir as he would conceive of a flawed plan. She was ready to ask him if it was worth it. Interrogate him about having you put your life in a strange form of witness protection all in the name of a lonely man who couldn't just let a bird go. That was until some was rustling nearby. The kind of twig snap that didn’t come from a small animal but a clumsy vulture. Osha and Qimir both turned their heads to the sound as they already had a grasp on their lightsabers. They waited with held breaths in the quiet night.

Even though both moons illuminated the forest, something felt off with the way the area had gone motionless. Qimir would have left the idea alone if you weren’t inside. 

The hum of a lightsaber that wasn't theirs was the warning shot that set everything into motion. They almost didn't see it coming but were even more surprised to find seven Jedi that had been tailing him since they got the first tip-off of his movement when he'd jumped from another planet with a fortune's worth of medicines and no clear explanation.

When you woke up, at the sound of a cry, you couldn’t chalk up the thud coming from the outside to the result of an interesting passerby.

So you stirred out of your comfort zone and started for the exit of the cabin when you said Osha's name and she didn't respond. She was a late sleeper. 

As you came out of your sleep your fresh ears were finally registering the growing sound of a fight. Your hands carefully pushed the doors of the cabin that led you to a cold night. Although the stars and moon were the only things that were keeping the beyond from looking pitch black, it was still a horrifying sight to look into the abyss and see two red lightsabers spinning in self-defense.

When your eyes landed on Qimir for the first item in three weeks, your thoughts were interrupted as you got tunnel vision. He was fighting for his life in a dance between him and Osha against the Jedi. Yet all you could see was him as you burst through the cabin doors and went running after the only certainty you had even when this was the first time you’d ever seen him use the force.

“Qimir!” You cried. You threw all the arguments that you had with him aside and went racing with nothing but your heart in your hands.

Qimir looked up first as he saw you coming down from the hill. “Go!” he said.

It was rare to see him look so scared and even rarer to be the result of anyone but you so you stuttered in your tracks. Your hesitance was caught who was determined to make sure no one could testify to them breaking their mantra of never attacking first. As he immediately locked eyes with you, you started for the other way hoping to at least lighten the load of attacks on Osha and Qimir even if it was by one person.

You didn’t look back once as you went cutting into the woods like a shot call. Your feeble state lets an onslaught of rushing adrenaline fuel your heart enough for it to pump your system faster. The forest stood by and watched as you kept looking back in fear until you dove behind a fallen tree to catch your breath and adjust from the dizziness in your head. You knew you couldn’t run for long even high off of your need to fight.

It was hard to miss the sound of footsteps as they steadily grew until they felt close enough to be your own shadow. So you fisted a large rock in your hand enough to bleed and threw it as hard as you could in another direction. Just as the beast went chasing after his own tail you began blasting off in the other direction until you broke through a clearing that was the edge of the cliff.

It’s not something your mind registered in the darkness until you heard the sound of unrelenting water. You made the effort to stop but you were seconds too late as the dirt slid just enough to lose your footing and go diving through the air. Crashing into the rushing water felt nothing like liquid and more like solid ice. 

Your land was only cushioned by the rapid water that would have been your savior if it didn’t send you along with the river to hit every rock and broken log on your way downstream. It was siphoning off your adrenaline to leave you to fend for yourself. 

Your hands kept closing and opening as you tried to reach for something to stop the tornado. The tiring fight to find someway to steady yourself ended up with you carrying a belly full of water in a blind panic each time the water hit your face. This repeated as you were repeatedly baptized by waves until the water in your belly was enough to have you sinking to the bottom of the river.

When Qimir washed up on the shore onto the shore, he was choking on everything but the items at the bottom of the river and the dirt embedded into the water. You were right beside him as he shivered from the wind that made the water unbearably cold. However, you didn’t need to shiver to maintain your body heat since there were goosebumps rising from your skin as you layed motionless beside him. It wasn’t like you couldn’t feel the biting chill of that night. It was just that you didn’t have any strength left to go running after heat. 

At least that’s what you thought of it as, until you weren’t looking up at the night sky of the night but rather at the pitch back of your eyelids that were too heavy to open even as you fought for days to try. You existed in a state of in-between where your body was still but your mind was still active at times as it came and went like running water.

So you meandered in this state of being as the world moved on. 

Throughout the swift passage of time you stayed frozen as you could only listen to the voices of anger, guilt, and resentment give you a description of events through a tinted gaze that explained the past and present.

You were there against the shore of the rushing river and heard every cry of anguish as Qimir cut through bones and blood in the heat of his anger. The red screams of the attackers splattered against the bark, foliage, and rocks of their surroundings until all that was left were parts scattered across the woods like chicken feed. Osha looked on entirely stunned as she tried to resuscitate you. She saw in real time how her master had burned every lesson in dignified death he taught her in exchange for a punishment that was tenfold the crime.

For you, when the feeling of the ground was replaced by the cold surface of a healer's bed, you still refused to wake up. You heard the promises and threats he made as he went to every length he could to pull you back to the world of the living until you sank back under and remerged to him bringing you back home place to figure out what deal he had to make to bring you back to life. 

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” his voice was barely louder than the machine that kept track of the rhythm of your pulse. “Osha’s here.” You wanted to tell him to come back and stay with you since you liked the way he fixed your hair and played with your hands when he thought no one was there.

It was hard to tell the exact amount of days that passed without the rare clue you got from the conversations you overheard. You remained in the dark for most things but didn’t miss the inevitable march toward unshakable madness that Qimir experienced in your presumed absence.

You heard the apologies he gave you with promises to fix you until you memorized each promise like a blessed hymn. He found a permanent place in your room to reside until you would come to expect the sound of him rising and finally sleeping.

“Qimir,” Osha’s voice had come through from the upstage. “I think it’s time,” she said. If he said something, you didn’t hear it. “You’ve done your best during all these months but it’s time to consider the best option,” Osha told him.

“The best option is to bring her back,” he was unwavering in the way he spoke even if he sounded weak.

“How?” The silence that followed was loud enough to make it clear that he didn’t have the answer. “We must know when to move forward. Just like you taught me,” she said.

“Then move on.” He was stern. “Don’t let my dedication burden you,” he hissed. “You no longer need to be my acolyte.”

“Your dedication is making you driving you insane,” she punctuated each word as she tried to hide the crack of her voice. “She is practically dead but you’re throwing me aside–”

“Until her heart stops beating she is my responsibility!” It was no mistake how different things felt in your absence but it surprised you how clear he had made his decision. “I suggest you find yourself a new master.”

That’s how you replayed it all in your head. Years after your baptism and months after your crucifixion Qimir had finally married his two ideas into a solution that he was hoping to work. A wise man would never ask him how he did it since it wasn’t through his own hands but after mounting a few bodies and twisting a few arms, every failed part of you was replaced by pieces from the android parts he had collected. A task that blurred all ethics that only Qimir was willing to cross. All he waited for was the day you’d wake up. He let weeks pass by hoping that he’d find you sprung forth and lively. 

You were still partially droid which he didn’t understand so through the period of holding his breath and getting lost in the bottom of his bottle, you were coming through every single memory you had, especially of him, and processing them for analysis in the part of your brain that was connected to your past processor. You returned to every instance as human and every close encounter as android.

You had been given time to reflect on the incoming memories as they passed through you. And when you had come to believe was how ungrateful you were. To not see the unwavering love of Qimir even after he had been abandoned to build your future from scraps until you were nearly resurrected. It all would have gone well if you had not gone running to see what you had forgotten. Now that you had seen it, it was entirely understandable Qimir's aversion to it. You had crossed the river and drowned over and over again as your memories played on a loop like a punishment from purgatory. It wasn’t under your control as your system tried to learn and relearn how to escape death until it came to the conclusion that the best possible outcome would be to not only accept the love you were given but to understand it and reciprocate it in its totality.

“Osha! Osha!” Qimir called from her as he was being held back by the Jedi that were swarming his hideout in Kashyyyk.

His mistake was reaching out to Osha after so much time of silence thinking she’d help him get to the bottom of what was wrong with you this time. Desperate people find faith in the strangest places and he was no exception as he thought she, even with hesitance, would help him find out why he’d done everything right but you refused to power on like all those other times. 

Osha ignored his shouts as she looked up at you erected perfectly still enough to build a coffin around you. It felt wrong at first to appeal to the Jedi to apprehend and make an example of her old master but as months went on and she slowly ventured back to the light, a sickness wouldn’t leave as she felt that Qimir was likely still home jumping from healer to architect as he tried to bring you back like a lunatic. 

She hadn’t seen him in a year but it felt more like a decade as she saw how long his hair had gotten when he was seized. The smile he gave her when he thought they were all alone wasn’t devoid of years of stress but it had a slight familiarity to it that almost made her go back on the plan. If Qimir wasn’t so busy with everything that had to do with you, he probably would have picked up on the presence of others closing in on him from the shadows of the trees.

The once enthusiastic acolyte wasn’t there to see the multiple iterations of you as an android so she would never be a true believer in the miracle. Conceivably, she wouldn’t have led the Jedi to Qimir’s home if she knew. Yet, she didn’t and she likely never would. All Qimir had given her to work with when she returned was scattered and disassembled android parts with you decorated in new parts that only had their backstories told by roomers. To her, this was inhumane.

“How could you?” she turned and said to him as he violently thrashed against the restraints the Jedi gave him.

“Osha, don’t!” he could already see that she was preparing to reach for the panel that controlled your station to shut it off. There was some apparent hesitancy as his hands danced around the button that would lead to the computer to begin to power off and terminate all systems including itself.

“No! N-no! STOP!”

The cries of your lover were tormenting to even the creator of the anguish. The pain in his voice was so concentrated that it could not be ignored by any of those who were there to witness it. It was exactly the call to heaven that woke you up out of your processing and had you open your eyes for the first time since you had glitched so poorly that he took your battery away. In wide-eyed disbelief, Osha froze as she saw your eyes start to open and take in your surroundings. 

To you, she didn’t look much older but instead younger from her naivete of what she had brought herself into. You saw him make an effort to step back. From across the room, the two Jedi who held onto Qimir and the three who guarded the two were just as confused as to what they were witnessing. It wasn’t like machines hadn’t been brought together with flesh before but to see someone rise from what appeared to be death would give pause to anyone. Qimr above everyone else looked like he was staring into the many eyes of an angel for the first time in his life.

The atmosphere in the cave went motionless as you took your first step down from your chamber as a cyborg for the first time. By then, you had already come to a conclusion. With the wisdom of your humanity and the calculation of your machinery, you had decided everyone was a threat to your new goal. Your feet took another step forward to Osha so she said your name in disbelief. 

Before she had pushed out the last part to it, you took her blaster and put a hole through the heads of two Jedi without much effort from your self-defense protocol.

Your attacks sent everyone scrambling as you were already holding Osha at gunpoint by the time they realized that you were just as much of a threat as they thought Qimir was.

“Please,” you spoke only to Osha “tell them to leave and I will spare their lives and yours.” The cold, metal barrel made a circle indicating the target that was her temple. You didn’t have the heart to kill her but you wanted her to believe that you would. 

As much as Osha was already regretting not just returning to the shadows and never agreeing to work for the Jedi, this case was out of her hands the moment she went running to authority to get some sort of retribution on your behalf.

It didn’t matter though because the unexpected face-off between the remaining Jedi and a hostage gave Qimir the perfect window to steal a lightsaber and begin fighting against three opponents like he once taught Osha to do.

He twisted and landed a kick that slammed into a tree. While that one recovered, he held his own against two lightsabers. All the while, Osha was forced to watch the series of events that would lead her to run back into exile.

It was uncomfortably quick work he made out of the fight. With ease, he reminded his former acolyte about what she missed so much about being under his guidance. When the last body dropped you finally let go of Osha. 

“Osha,” Your still expression even raised suspicion in Qimir because of how ambiguous it was as you looked at her. “You are a dear friend.” You stepped forward. “But we should never cross paths again in your lifetime,” you said as you carefully placed her blaster in her shake hands. 

That’s when you turned Qimir. His pupils were blown as he watched you come closer until you took his hand. He was certain that he was dead until you brought his hand to your face and closed your eyes to feel him. 

The image before Osha was an unfair reward for her unwavering dedication up until that point. She’d put everything into venturing to the dark side and was betrayed by a heart that had found someone to beat for. She would have never guessed that her master was heaven-struck all those years ago but there was nothing she could have done about it even if she was given a vehicle to travel through time. Sure she had a new master but the realization that things were different still hurt the same.

The apologetic look that Qimir and you gave just as you reunited diluted her blood as she had to sit in the choice she made. There was nothing more or less to say as you left her surrounded by dead Jedi as the both of you disappeared like the origins of a folktale. 

She let out a scream at some point.

You looked out at the windows of the ship that Qimir managed to secure in the aftermath of your flying your planet. The wealthy smuggler who owed him a favor was the type to live on the ship she gifted. It was your new home now as you searched for another part of the galaxy to hide in until you were ready.

You walked into the control room with the tips of your hair wet from the humidity of the shower. The pitter-patter of your footsteps approached the ship pilot into the control area. He felt your hands slowly slide from his back to his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around his neck until you were resting on his neck while looking out at pools of stars and asteroids. This is how it was in a soothing simplicity.

When he turned around and placed you onto his lap, your upgrades readjusted when your heart picked up. You looked at him with the same wildness that was directly reflected the kind in his.

“Qimir,” you said as you played with his hair.

“Hm?” he was tolling picking between looking at your lashes curtaining your eyes or watching your lips say his name.

“I want,” you paused to get a good look at the face you missed seeing for too long.

He leaned forward in raw anticipation. It caused you to shift as you stayed in place on his lap. You don’t think he noticed how ardent his focus was. “What,” he swallowed. “What do you want?”

As you thought of how you should word your request, his patience dissipated as he chose to kiss feverishly you and pull you closer by your waist. His soft lips were in stark contrast to how roughly he took your lips.

“Let me,” you tried to speak between the moments he would catch his breath to kiss you further. “Be,” you said into his lips, “your acolyte.” 

He stopped to watch on in surprise as you played with the hem of his shirt like you hadn’t thrown him across the universe and back. As you were taking off his shirt he was still dazzled by your request.

Like an admirer of a painting, you placed your cold hands on his hot chest to commit the feeling of his skin to memory. Qimir heard his heart pop in his ears. Your hand continued to travel until you were able to find yourself in his pants “Please,” you implored as your hand pulled out his cock and your lips pouted in a plea.

It was unmistakable to you that he was heavens away from where you were as you spoke to him but you still continued to slip out of his lap to sit in between his legs as he remained seated. The way you looked up at him as you took your time to stroke his member made him moan not only for desire but from the sheer ecstasy of your presence. You opened your mouth and found a place at the tip of his cock. 

Your head gingerly traveled further down as you felt every vein until as much of him was in you. Qimir felt you suck as you pulled back and it was divine torture. With each bob of your head, you fondled his balls in one hand and stroked the rest of his member that you couldn’t take.

He threw his hand back as his hands seized the armrest of the seat. Each time your tongue circles the slit of his tip, a groan slipped out. His precome was dripping as he gradually got hard enough for it to feel painful. The noises you made as you blew him filled the control room all the while the leather of the armrest tore the cushion contents spilled out. You pulled back for a moment a brought a trail of saliva from his blooming tip to your pink tongue. Nevertheless, he thirstily eagerly guided your return to the back of your head to pick up speed from where you left off. 

His words were incoherent as you saw his legs shaking. It was evident that he was reaching his end when his locked eyes burst open as he was begging for air. He let out a heavy load into your mouth as you gaggled.

Ever the impatient man, Qimir was already bending you over in front of the window just as you were catching your breath. The robe you had secured around yourself after a shower already dropped to the floor as he lined himself up to your pussy and pushed himself into you with such consecrated desperation.

He crashed onto your back as he wrapped his arm around your waist to prove you weren't nothing but an apparition. For each time he pulled out and pushed back in, he stayed spilling sweet words into your hair. He was trying to take his time to savor the way your walls held onto him so tightly but it was nearly unthinkable by the seventh kiss. 

You felt him slapping in and out of you as your pitiful babbling could on grew in volume. Your processor was working to keep your pulse viable. The sounds of your ass beating against his wet balls were disorienting as you secured your hands onto his hold around your core for support.

“Teach--" You couldn't focus as your breasts bounced along with the rhythm. “Teach me.” Qimir could hear the hunger in your voice. You started pushing back harder so the tip of his member could faithfully bruise your cervix. 

Qimir lifted one of your legs and held it in place on the panel to angle himself better. The sound of you continuously saying “please” for so many reasons pushed him to drill you stronger as come trickled down your legs before he had even climaxed for the second time.

“Why?” he asked as he held your face up by holding onto your throat. It wasn’t a challenge but rather a question as to why you wished to go running into this one risk.

You couldn’t answer him as your knees were becoming wobbly from the stimulation until he had to hold you up himself to keep you satisfied.

“Come on,” he encouraged. “Stay with me a little longer.” He said as he kept pounding into you. You could feel the warmth running from your hot head journey down your body and striking every foreign part of you with lightning. You poured over him as you mewled. Your ending came like a waterfall as your juices further lubricated his thrusts to keep him chasing euphoria. By then you were completely spent, calibrating, and just holding onto him to relish the sounds of his gasps.

Once he came inside of you and let his sticky shot leak out through the in-between of the skin of his cock and your folds, you turned around to see him. In the fervor of the aftermath, you pulled into him, with your bare breasts against his chest.

“Give me a chance,” was all you told him with your head against his chest. You wanted to collapse no matter how well-adjusted you were as he kept cockwarming but he held onto you and wiped your sweaty face.

“You don’t need that.” Qimir had a slight blush on his face as he was catching his breath along with you. He intertwined your hand with his and was spiraling up to the cosmos. “I’ve already given it to you. Let me show you the power of two destined souls,” he said.

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Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

 “This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

 “I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?” 

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong. 

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest. 

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head. 

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.” 

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house. 

“Ava!” 

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister. 

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died. 

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement. 

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore. 

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again. 

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face. 

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

[jointherebellion215]

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone. 

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.” 

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond. 

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word. 

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his. 

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?” 

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.” 

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food. 

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption. 

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!” 

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing. 

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind. 

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap. 

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves. 

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends. 

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.” 

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly. 

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.” 

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you. 

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.” 

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted. 

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

[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

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Cover Me

Request: I got a request in my inbox for this fic. A Channie bias had sent an anon request wishing for a reaction. They had shared that they had lost their parents and they are an only child with no one, so there were times they felt alone and wake up feeling empty. I was editing the fic and accidentally posted it- and then deleted it because it wasn't finished thus leading me to lose that inbox request- so I'm really really hoping that they can see this either on my page or due to a repost or something. Because I just want to say that I know in times of suffering words rarely do anything to actually help. But I do know that words can create scenarios that provide an escape- even if just for a few minutes. So I'm hoping this can create that pocket of peace for you; and hopefully bring you a smile. Because I'm more than sure wherever your parents are now that they're smiling; and would love to see you smile back. <3

Chan x Gn!Reader Angst (Established Relationship)TW: Mentions of Death and Loss

I sort of wanted to make this kind of based off the song "Cover Me" by SKZ. When Rockstar was first released, I remember pressing play right at 12am when it dropped- and when Cover Me played I began to cry. Even without understanding the lyrics at the time I could hear the vulnerability of a searing kind of sadness. And it immediately became one of my all time favorite songs- if not tied for favorite along with Hellevator. Pain is a universal thing- but each and every person's experience with pain and grief is a unique experience. And even just through the sound of the song I think it was touched on beautifully. Because in those times everyone looks to be covered...So if you're the kind of person who like to relate stories to music- then I'd recommend giving Cover Me a listen.

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The night enveloped your apartment, thick with silence and shadows.

It was a quiet yet constant reminder of what you’d lost - your parents, their laughter, the warmth of their hugs. Their words. Lectures. Things you may have taken for granted in the moment but wished more than anything now you could be a part of once more.

Being an only child, that ache felt sharper, more isolating than it would be for most. Especially on mornings like this, the weight of loneliness is suffocating. And it didn't help that you had barely been able to get to sleep the night prior.

You had woken up today with a heaviness in your chest, a reminder of the emptiness that followed you like a relentless shadow. In a desperate attempt to escape it, you turned on your phone, scrolling through your playlists until you landed on Stray Kids.

Chan’s voice, the soothing anchor in your sea of sorrow, filled the room as you pulled up an old livestream.

As you listened to him laugh, joke, and share stories with fans, a bittersweet smile tugged at your lips.

In real life or online, he had a way of making everything feel lighter but even his comforting presence couldn’t always chase away the ghosts of your past.

More often than not they just provided a temporary escape.

In the midst of his laughter, you felt tears well up and blur your vision.

You missed your parents terribly today. You wanted them to be here, to share in the little things in life, your favorite moments - the way the moon shone outside, how it painted everything in silver, the memories that had been exchanged in moments that you had never known were going to be your last.

You felt the loss like a physical weight, the ache in your heart mirroring the brightness of the moon outside.

You choked on a sob, wishing someone would hear your cry, wishing for that warmth, that comfort that embrace that acted as a panacea to the worries of life.

And just as you thought you’d crumble under the loneliness, you felt a familiar warmth envelop you. You hadn't even heard him come home. but now Chan was there, arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin rested softly on your shoulder.

"I heard you crying," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with concern. "What’s wrong, love?"

The warmth of his presence grounded you, and you leaned back into him, seeking the comfort of his body against yours. "I miss them so much today," you confessed, the words spilling out in a rush. "It hurts."

He tightened his hold, his fingers tangling gently in your hair. "Thats only normal." he said, his voice filled with empathy. "I’m right here, love. Know that I'm here."

You turned to face him, the moonlight illuminating his features, making him look ethereal. His eyes were soft yet filled with understanding, and it felt like he could see right into your heart.

"I don’t know how to cope with this sometimes," you admitted, your voice trembling. "Some days are harder than others. And I don't know why some days I don't think about it at all. Why can't all days be like those days?"

He brushed a thumb across your cheek, catching a stray tear. "You’re allowed to grieve. And it's not a linear thing. You'll have those ups and downs. Just know that whenever the pain feels too much, I’ll be here to help you carry it. I'll always be willing to help you carry it."

As you leaned into him, the tears continued to fall, but this time, they felt lighter. The vulnerability in the air was palpable, but so was the warmth of Chan’s love. His presence was a cure, easing the sharpness of your sorrow.

You settled into the rhythm of his heartbeat, the soft rise and fall of his chest soothing your racing thoughts. "You make me feel less alone."

Chan nodded, understanding the depth of your feelings albeit a few simple words. "I’ll always be that someone for you. You’re never alone, even in your darkest moments." His voice was steady, a reassuring anchor amidst the storm.

Then he kissed your forehead softly, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. You felt the tension begin to ease, his soothing presence wrapping around you like a protective blanket.

"Let’s watch the stars together," he suggested, pulling you up gently; then leading you toward the backyard.

You stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You settled into the grass, Chan sitting beside you as you gazed up at the stars. "Look at how beautiful they are," he said, pointing out constellations. "I'd like to think that maybe your parents were allowed to hang some up for you as a lasting gift, hmm?"

You took a shaky breath and spoke. "I think they would have gifted me moonbeams..." You said quietly, looking at the full moon that lookes so fat and bright- as if you could reach out and grab it. "They always knew I loved the moon."

You laid back and Chan laid back with you in the grass, the blades tickling the back of your neck as a soft breeze blew past.

In the quietness, you heard Chan start to hum softly- and then sing.

"Dari ireoke nunbusineun bamen..." (On nights when the moon shines this bright)

You closed your eyes and let Chan's voice travel through your ears.

"Why do I feel so lonely in this night? Saebyeokbarameun mabeobilkka?" (Is the dawn breeze magical?)

In that moment, surrounded by the stars and moon wrapped in Chan’s voice you let your tears fall silently.

It hurt. With every beat of your heart you felt that strain.

"Yeah, I tried to hide away from all the sorrow and pain. But little did I know that I was going insane. The sun will always be there waiting after the rain."

And this moment only made you realize ever so much that the pain of loss would never fully fade.

"I can't take it anymore, what should I do?."

Your tears were hot as Chan intertwined his fingers through yours. Squeezing them lightly.

"Oneureun moreun cheok nungama jwo..." (Today, pretend not to notice and close your eyes)

You opened your eyes looking up at the silver moon. Wondering if they could see you, hear you. Acknowledge that pain you were harboring.

"So cover me now."

Please. Please.

"Cover me now."

You swallowed continued to stare at the moon and let your eyes trace over the stars as well. Leading you to the person beside you.

"Dari ireoke nunbusineun bamen.Nuga jeo bicheul garyeojugil oechyeo." (On nights when the moon shines this bright. I cry out, hoping for someone to cover that light)

His eyes were closed, a few tears of his own falling; letting you know that he felt for you too. That someone was out there, willing to help with that burden of pain.

A burden you had long since gotten tired of carrying.

"Bami eoneusae kkeuchi naneun najen Ttaseuhan bicheul naerijjoeneun bicheul."  (During the day, when night finally ends. I accept the warm light shining down)

A burden you no longer had to carry alone.

Since you had finally found your cover.

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[delicatebarness]

the hard launch

Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky have been secretly dating for a few years, and it's finally time to tell the world.

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 725

Masterlist | Support: Ko-Fi

A/N: I love them. - Please feel free to leave feedback, you know I love hearing your opinions. - B

Tags: @princesscore-angel | @msanimeotaku181

Everything Tags: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The world knew James ‘Bucky’ Barnes as the brooding, captivating actor who brought characters like The Winter Soldier, to life on the big screen. However, the world didn't know that the man behind the character had been holding a secret close to his heart.

To that same world, you were known as the singer-songwriter whose voice melted hearts with lyrics that spoke of hidden sorrows and forbidden love. Your latest album has taken the world by storm. It climbed to the top of the charts, with each song more poignant than the last. Yet, behind your public persona, you lived a secret life: one shared with Bucky Barnes.

You had met Bucky at a charity event– a glitzy Hollywood soirées, filled with flashes toward fake smiles and whispers behind champagne flutes. You had agreed to perform your latest single, your voice called to Bucky like a siren’s call. The pair of you talked, laughed, and exchanged numbers as a professional courtesy. However, as the weeks turned into months, your text messages turned into late-night FaceTime calls, which shortly turned into stolen weekends away.

The relationship was a guarded secret, known only to a select trustworthy few. There were suspicions, of course, throughout the tabloids and your respected fanbases. As things between you and Bucky grew more serious, paparazzi photos of Bucky slipping out of your apartment at odd hours, and mentions of his eyes lit up when your songs played in the background of interviews. 

But, neither one of you confirmed anything, you relished in the intimacy of your private world. 

That was until, your new single, “End of the Line” was about to be released. A heartfelt ballad about a secret love, cherishing stolen moments, and the bittersweet beauty of hiding. You suggested to Bucky that should star in the music video, but at first, he hesitated. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked you, his brow furrowing as he held your gaze. “This is a big step.” 

Taking his hand, your fingers interlocking with his. “I am, Buck. We’ve been hiding for so long. I want the world to see our love. Plus, the song is ours, it’s about us. Who else could bring it to life the way you can?” 

The way your passion for music mirrored his own for acting, he saw the fire in your eyes. And, he agreed. 

~

Directed by a close friend to you both, who already knew your secret, the shoot was an exercise in restraint and release. Set in a secluded cabin, surrounded by nature, the scenes were tender. They were filled with longing glances and gentle touches. Your real emotions poured into your performances, the chemistry you shared with Bucky was undeniable and electrifying. The camera captured your unspoken love as you danced in the moonlight, and shared whispered secrets.

During one intimate scene, he whispered, “Are you nervous about how they’ll react?” 

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “A little, but we’ve come this far together. No matter what happens, we’ll still have us.” 

He brushed a strand of hair from your face as he smiled down at you. “Till the end of the line.” You echoed his words softly back to him. 

~

Shockwaves were sent through your fanbases when the video was released. The cinematography was stunning and raw, unfiltered emotion haunted the song. Your secret was out, and it captivated the world. Instead of the scandal you had feared, the response was overwhelmingly positive. 

Fans and critics alike praised the authenticity of your love and the bravery you both had shown by sharing something incredibly personal to the world. 

~

The ‘hard launch’ was a success, and as you stood on stage at your next concert, you sang the song live to a crowd for the first time. The crowd erupted in applause as Bucky appeared on stage behind you. Turning in confusion, your voice trembled slightly with emotion as the love of your life ran toward you. 

The second he reached you, he took your face in his hands and pulled you into a kiss. Right there in front of thousands, sealing your love in the spotlight. He whispered against your lips, “I love you, till the end of the line.” you smiled, repeating the words back to him as tears of joy streamed down your face. 

---

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