.✦ ݁˖WELCOME TO MY OFFICE 🖨️
.✦ ݁˖about me: you can call me morya or cloud| July baby | black/Jamaican| she/her|
.✦ ݁˖interests : sinners,it : welcome to derry, the Jackson 5, ,sorry to bother you, the Pitt,Superman (2025), marvel, editing,film/writing.
.✦ ݁˖who/what I write for : currently obsessed with all the characters from sinners mostly smoke x annie and Sammie x Pearline, honestly I’ll write anything that’s in my interests.
Could we possibly get another Hallorann fanfic? 👀 🤍
I’m sooo glad you asked!! 🙂↕️🤍
Warnings: MDNI 18+ not proofread
your eyes dart to the doorknob slowly twisting open, 1 am…not bad considering what his job puts him through
He locks up and sighs trudging into the doorway
“Rough day baby?”
“Mhm” he sits beside you on the couch and pulls you on his lap “you make it so much better though, lord knows…”
You laugh and place kisses down hallorann’s face to his neck
“wanna get to bed?”
some of the tiredness left his voice as he fumbled with your shirt “nah, right here’s fine with me”
He’s so attentive!! you don’t even need to use your own words. not that you could
“Where’s your head sweetheart? You with me?”
You weren’t, it would be impossible when he’s fucking you this good, this deep
you can only moan out incoherent pleas if pure lust as you feel him kiss your forehead
Hallorann grinned looking down at you
“I could just check…” the notion of him combing through your mind right now made you shy. You already looked needy, biting back moans and rolling your body against his. That paired with your thoughts would leave you looking downright pathetic.
“but I think I have an idea, I mean look at how your pulling me in. You needed this more than I thought,” he pulled out almost all the way before thrusting back in
“my poor baby”
you whine and cover your face at his teasing
“c’mon lemme see that pretty face”
you held on to him, each stroke making you more dizzy than before
“I know baby I know, don’t have to do anything but take it”
He also knows what to say in a crisis…Derry isn’t the ‘safest’ place. He wants you to know he’s got you.
“Baby I know what I saw!” you fold your arms in disbelief that he would question if you really did see an old woman holding a red balloon sitting in the park smiling unnaturally wide
“you know what,” you grab a newspaper and start to put it up to the window “while i’m tryna explain myself to you, she could’ve got someone to follow me” your eyes scan the table for tape.
Hallorann keeps his cool. Trust that he believes you but telling you that there’s an evil entity in the town he brought you to live in isn’t the smartest idea right now.
He takes the newspaper from your hands and sets it back down
“so you’re just gonna let your wife get stalked and maimed by the smiling lady?!”
“Listen” he pulls you closer by your waist “breathe”
you roll your eyes still feeling like you aren’t being taken seriously.
“I’m not saying you didn’t see that, what I’m saying is when you’re with me it’s nothing to worry about”
“This isn’t military stuff baby…” you start to tear up “it’s weird here! Haunted-“
“have some faith in me my love”
So when would it be a good time to bring up the clown that’s obsessed with your man?
The Chow Family Market always smelled like fertilizer, flour dust, and peaches. Summers in Clarksdale made the wood floors sweat, the ceiling fans hum, and your brother Bo yell at anybody who moved too slow.
“Stack them apples tighter,” Bo barked from behind the counter. “Ain’t nobody buyin’ bruised fruit.”
You rolled your eyes, smoothing your apron. “You gon’ holler at me all day or you gon’ do some work of your own?”
Bo shot you a look. “Watch your mouth. You still my baby sister.”
You smirked. “Ain’t nobody callin’ me a baby but you.”
Before Bo could snap back, Sammie Harper stepped through the back door carrying a crate of potatoes. Sweat ran down his neck, shirt sticking to his chest, curls messy from the heat. He set the crate down and wiped his brow.
“Afternoon,” Sammie said softly.
Bo grunted. “Them potatoes go in the far bin.”
Sammie nodded, but his eyes flicked toward you. Just a second. Barely a breath.
But enough to warm your cheeks.
Bo noticed.
His brows snapped low. “Why you lookin’ over there for? You got work to do.”
Sammie flushed crimson. “Yes sir.”
He hurried off, and Bo muttered under his breath, “I don’t like that boy lookin’ at you.”
You crossed your arms. “Ain’t nobody lookin’ at me.”
Bo snorted. “You blind or you lyin’?”
You ignored him and moved toward the back aisle where Sammie was sorting the potatoes. He kept glancing up like he was trying not to.
“You okay?” you teased.
He nearly dropped a potato. “I— yeah. I’m good. Just tired.”
“I ain’t bite,” you said, amused. “You jump every time I say hi.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “That ain’t it. I just… your brother’s real serious.”
“You scared of Bo?”
Sammie’s voice dropped to a shy whisper, “A little.”
You laughed, soft and warm. Sammie looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.
He rearranged a few vegetables just to have something to do with his hands. “Your brother don’t want me talkin’ to you.”
“Lucky for you,” you said, taking a step closer, “I don’t need permission to talk to nobody.”
His eyes widened. A slow smile crept across his mouth—nervous but happy.
“You always this bold?”
“Only when I want somethin’.”
“And what is it you want?” Sammie asked, voice going low.
You didn’t get to answer.
Bo stormed in, hands on his hips.
“What’s this?” he demanded. “You botherin’ her?”
Sammie jumped two feet back. “No sir! I wasn’t— I mean — I was— uh — potatoes—”
Bo pointed at him. “You touch my sister without my say-so and I’ll—”
“Bo,” you snapped, stepping between them, “he ain’t done nothin’.”
Bo glared. “Don’t mean he won’t.”
Sammie swallowed hard.
You placed your hands on your hips. “I’m grown.”
“You ain’t that grown,” Bo shot back.
“Bo,” said a soft voice behind him. It was Grace your sister-in-law with your neice Lisa quietly watching . “Leave them be. Poor boy look like he’s gonna faint.”
Bo turned his head. “He should faint!”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Bo, hush.”
Bo huffed and stomped off toward the front of the store, muttering something about “no man good enough.”
When he was out of earshot, Sammie exhaled so hard his whole chest deflated.
“I think your brother hates me.”
“He hates everybody,” you said. “Don’t take it personal.”
Sammie smiled again, faint but sincere.
“I… I wasn’t lyin’. I like talkin’ to you.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck.
“And I like talkin’ to you,” you whispered.
His eyes softened. “Maybe when Bo’s not watchin’, I could… walk you home after your shift?”
Your heart thumped. A beat you could feel in your fingertips.
“Maybe,” you said, pretending you weren’t already excited. “If you don’t mind dyin’ by my brother’s hand.”
He grinned, shy but bold in the same breath.
“For you? Might be worth the risk.”
You laughed, and Sammie looked at you like the sound was the sweetest thing in Clarksdale.
From the front of the store, Bo yelled your name again.
Sammie winced. “I should get back.”
“Tonight,” you whispered, “behind the store. Walk me home.”
Sammie’s smile bloomed full and bright.
“Yes ma’am.”
He went back to work, shoulders straight, step lighter, cheeks pink with quiet hope.
Bo glared at him from across the store like a man guarding Fort Knox.
Grace nudged her husband. “Bo, that boy’s sweet.”
“I don’t care if he’s sweet,” Bo muttered. “He ain’t courtin’ my sister.”
Grace snorted. “Bo Chow, she’s gonna fall for whoever she wants. And you best get over it.”
Bo grumbled something that sounded like “over my dead body.”
Meanwhile, in the back aisle, Sammie glanced at you again—this time with a spark in his eyes.
And you smiled right back.
Whatever Bo thought…
it was already too late.
Note: For more content, follow me on https://www.tumblr.com/sammyquarius
𓏲 ࣪ ˖ one - shot. jude bellingham x reader. 18+. groupie x celebrity. smut and little angst. cheating (jude is). reader is a playgirl. dry humping. riding. yearner!jude. ◞ seducing men like jude is a part-time job for you
the stadium lights are blinding, a neon haze that turns the pitch into a stage, but you don’t care about the roar of the crowd or the tactical formation. you’re here for one reason: jude.
you’ve spent the last year perfecting the art of the chase—flickering between hotel lobbies and vip lounges, catching the eyes of men who think they hold the world in their boots. for you, these high-profile encounters are just stories waiting to be written in the dark, a collection of fleeting moments with the famous and the untouchable. but jude is different. he isn't just another name on a guest list; he’s the obsession that keeps you up at 3 a.m.
the air is thick with the scent of damp grass and expensive cologne as you lean against the railing of the player’s tunnel. you look impeccable—a calculated, effortless display of allure that usually leaves athletes stumbling over their words. when he finally trots onto the pitch for the warm-up, the sound of thousands of voices vanishes for you. he looks lethal in that england kit, his focus absolute, his movements sharp enough to cut through the tension in your chest.
as he turns toward your side of the pitch, you catch that brief, intense flicker of recognition in his eyes before he turns back to the ball. the game hasn't even started yet, but you can feel it—the thrill of the hunt, the promise of a dangerous night, and the silent realization that tonight, you are the only thing that matters in his peripheral vision.
the game is a blur of motion and color, but for you, the world has narrowed down to a single frame: the way he commands the pitch. every time the ball finds his feet, the stadium seems to hold its breath. you watch the muscles in his legs coil and release, his grace under pressure nothing short of mesmerizing. he isn’t just playing football; he’s performing, every touch calculated, every turn a display of raw, magnetic power.
he is devastatingly beautiful, his presence radiating a confidence that makes the thousands watching feel like he’s playing for them alone. you track the sheen of sweat on his skin, the intense, hooded look in his eyes as he scans the field, and the way he brushes his hair back with a quick, impatient flick of his hand. it’s an effortless kind of attraction—the way he holds himself, the authority in his gestures, the way he celebrates a goal with that familiar, iconic stance that stops your heart in your throat.
you find yourself ignoring the rest of the match entirely. you don’t care about the score or the opposing team; you are feeding on the sight of him. his talent is intoxicating, but it’s his sheer, unapologetic allure that has you completely hooked. he’s lethal, elegant, and impossibly desirable, and with every passing minute of the game, the desire to have that focus—that intensity—turned entirely on you becomes a physical ache. you aren't just watching him; you are studying him, cataloging every detail, waiting for the moment when the final whistle blows and you can finally make your move.
you know the rhythm of this game better than anyone. as the final minutes tick away, you don't stay to watch the celebration on the pitch; you’re already moving, slipping away from your seat before the crowd can even think about surging toward the exits.
your heels click softly against the cold concrete of the stadium’s bowels, a sound drowned out by the muffled roar above. you aren't just another fan; you move with the kind of practiced, unbothered confidence that makes security guards look the other way. a knowing nod, a strategic flash of a pass you didn't technically earn, and you’re weaving through the labyrinthine corridors. you navigate the maze of staff, photographers, and media personnel, your presence so seamless it’s practically invisible.
you find your spot—that golden, restricted passage where the players have to pass before they can retreat to the sanctuary of the dressing room. it’s a tight, industrial space, smelling of stale air and adrenaline. there’s a small group of journalists nearby, clutching their microphones like weapons, but you’re positioned just perfectly, tucked into the shadows of a reinforced door frame.
your heart is drumming a chaotic rhythm against your ribs, not from nerves, but from the thrill of the maneuver. you’ve played this scene out a dozen times before, but this time feels heavy, electric. you adjust your jacket, catching your reflection in a darkened glass panel—you look cool, collected, and entirely intentional. the stadium is echoing with the final whistle now, and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching sends a jolt of static through the air. he’s coming. you lean back, crossing your arms, waiting for the exact moment the tunnel lights reveal him, knowing that when he walks past, you won't be just another face in the crowd. you’ll be the only thing he stops for.
the tunnel erupts in a cacophony of echoes—cheers, footsteps, and the relentless flash of cameras. when he emerges, he’s still buzzing with the adrenaline of the win, his england jersey damp against his skin. he handles the journalists with a practiced, charming ease, answering questions with that low, melodic drawl you’ve replayed in your head a thousand times.
then, the chaos shifts. he starts moving down the line, signing shirts and posing for quick snaps. your pulse is a frantic drumbeat, but your exterior is a masterpiece of cool. as he gets closer, the air around him feels charged, almost heavy.
when he finally reaches you, the world seems to sharpen into high definition. you extend your hand, offering the photo and a pen, your movements slow and deliberate. he stops. his eyes dart from the paper to your face, and then back again—a flicker of genuine, unguarded surprise crossing his features. it’s as if he didn't expect to find someone quite like you tucked away in this sterile, industrial corridor.
you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into his space, and deliver your line with a voice that is honey-smooth and perfectly measured. "you were incredible tonight, jude," you say, your smile soft and knowing. "i’ve been waiting all match for this."
the effect is immediate. the effortless, public-facing composure he’s maintained all night wavers. his eyebrows knit together for a split second, a look of fleeting disorientation, as if he’s trying to place why you feel so familiar, or perhaps, why you don't feel like the rest of the fans at all.
but then, the tension breaks. he lets out a short, surprised laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks at you properly, really seeing you. he doesn't just scribble his name; he takes a moment, his gaze lingering, his smile turning warm and unmistakably curious.
"thank you," he says, his voice a little lower, a little more intimate than it was for the others. he’s clearly a bit thrown off, off-balance in the best possible way, but he holds your gaze, completely disarmed by your presence. "i appreciate that. truly."
he hands the photo back, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a fleeting, delicious second, he doesn't pull away. the game is over, but the real show is just beginning.
you hold his gaze just a second longer than necessary, your expression shifting from simple admiration to something far more intimate, far more dangerous. you let your eyes trace the line of his jaw before locking back onto his, a slow, deliberate play of power.
"i'm a huge fan," you murmur, your voice dropping into that sweet, velvety register that makes him instinctively lean in, even if just by a fraction of an inch. "but i think we both know that goes without saying, don't we?"
the air between you hums with the unspoken. you watch the flicker of realization cross his face—that you aren't playing by the rules of a normal fan interaction. you aren't asking for a selfie, you aren't begging for attention; you are setting a trap, and he’s realized, a second too late, that he’s already halfway inside it.
"thank you, jude," you say, your voice barely a whisper, soft and lingering.
without waiting for him to find his footing, you pull your hand back and pivot, turning your back to him with the grace of a predator who knows exactly when to walk away. you walk down the concrete corridor with a measured, rhythmic stride, your hips swaying just enough to hold his attention, your posture perfectly arched.
you can feel his eyes on you—heavy, intense, and utterly bewildered. he’s standing there, frozen for a heartbeat, his hand still lingering in the air where he had just signed your photo. he’s not used to being the one left behind, and he’s certainly not used to someone leaving him speechless in a tunnel full of people.
as you reach the turn of the hallway, you pause. you don't stop walking, but you tilt your head back over your shoulder, offering him one final, knowing smile—the kind that promises everything and gives away nothing. you see his lips part, a silent question forming on his tongue, but you’re already rounding the corner, leaving him anchored to the spot, completely unsettled by your sudden, intoxicating disappearance.
the silence in the corridor after you disappear feels heavier than the noise that preceded it. jude stands frozen for a beat too long, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where you just were, his mind rewinding the last thirty seconds.
"who was that?"
the voice of a teammate—sharp, amused, and laced with curiosity—cuts through his daze. jude blinks, his focus snapping back to the reality of the stadium tunnel. he looks toward the other player, a faint, perplexed frown creasing his brow as he shakes his head, his fingers subconsciously rubbing against the spot on his palm where they’d brushed against yours.
"i have absolutely no idea," jude replies, his voice steady but betraying a trace of lingering disbelief. there’s a strange, kinetic energy still prickling his skin, a lingering sense of being completely caught off guard by someone he didn't even know existed a minute ago.
the reality of his situation hits him then. he’s surrounded by a throng of waiting fans, cameras are still clicking, and the line behind him is growing restless. he takes a deep, grounding breath, forcing his composure back into place. he has to finish this—the jerseys, the pens, the relentless parade of faces—but every name he signs and every handshake he offers feels mechanical, forced, and hollow compared to the electricity of that brief, strange encounter.
he keeps glancing toward the corner you rounded, his eyes searching the shadows, his mind busy trying to reconcile the professional footballer he’s expected to be with the man who just had his world momentarily tilted off its axis by a girl who didn't even leave her name.
the satisfaction is a slow burn in your chest as you settle into the designated area near the training pitch. a few days have passed, but the look on his face in that corridor hasn't faded from your mind. you know how this game is played—persistence is just another form of seduction. you’ve secured your spot among the media crew, dressed with an effortless, casual chic that screams 'off-duty' while still demanding every ounce of focus from anyone who happens to look your way.
the air is crisp, filled with the sharp sound of cleats hitting the turf and the rhythmic thud of footballs being kicked across the field. you aren't trying to hide; in fact, you’re positioned exactly where he’s bound to see you.
as the players emerge from the facility, spilling onto the green in a wave of motion and chatter, you don't track them. you don't even scan the group. you just watch the pitch, your posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.
the recognition is instantaneous.
as jude jogs toward the center of the pitch, his conversation with a teammate abruptly dies in his throat. his head snaps toward the sidelines, his stride faltering for a split second before he regains his rhythm. his eyes lock onto yours, and you can practically see the jolt of surprise—and something deeper, something far more intense—hit him. he doesn't break eye contact. even as he starts his light warm-up drills, he’s constantly checking back to your position, his movements suddenly carrying a different kind of energy. he’s not just practicing anymore; he’s performing, and the stage is now small enough that he knows you’re the only audience member that actually counts.
he doesn't wave, and he doesn't smile—not yet. he just stares, his gaze dark and unreadable, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re a hallucination or the most dangerous thing to happen to his training routine. you lean back, enjoying the way his focus has completely shattered, knowing exactly why he can't look away.
the training session is a masterclass in unintentional chaos, and you are the reason for it. it’s amusing—delightfully so—to watch a man who usually operates with such clinical, machine-like focus on the pitch turn into someone who can barely track the ball.
every time the ball rolls near his feet, his eyes flick toward the sidelines, checking to see if you’re still there, if you’re still watching. he’s lost his rhythm, overthinking his touches, and stumbling over his own feet in ways that would usually earn him a stern look from his teammates. his coach is already starting to notice, barking out orders to "stay focused" and "get your head in the game," but jude just wipes the sweat from his forehead with his jersey, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and pure, helpless fascination.
you sit there, perfectly still, enjoying the quiet power of it. you aren't shouting his name or waving like the other fans who are hovering in the distance. you just watch him with that same calm, enigmatic smile you gave him in the tunnel. the more you ignore his attempts to catch your attention, the more desperate his efforts become. he tries to show off, launching a long-range pass that misses its mark because his focus is pinned on you, not the teammate he’s supposed to be hitting.
it’s intoxicating to hold that kind of sway over someone so iconic. he’s essentially fighting a losing battle against his own distraction. he’s clearly agitated, running a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with exertion, and every few minutes, he glances over—searching for a reaction, a sign, anything.
you see the exact moment he gives up on pretending. he stops mid-drill, hands on his hips, his gaze locking onto yours with a intensity that burns through the distance between you. he isn't even trying to hide it anymore. he looks tired, frustrated, and completely under your spell. you tilt your head slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes, letting him know that you see him seeing you. he doesn't look away, and for a moment, the entire training ground seems to fade into nothing but the two of you, leaving him exposed, unraveling, and absolutely hooked.
as you stand up, brushing off your clothes with deliberate, languid movements, you can see the exact moment his composure snaps. he’s supposed to be listening to a tactical instruction, but his eyes track your every movement—the way you stand, the way you adjust your bag, the way you turn to walk away. he doesn't even wait for the whistle.
he mutters something hasty to his teammate, a vague excuse about the facilities, and peels away from the drill. he isn't walking; he’s hunting.
you’ve already calculated your path. you head toward the quiet, sterile hallway that leads back toward the players' lounge, knowing exactly where the acoustics are best for an encounter. you aren't running, but you aren't lingering, either. you want him to have to work for it.
you hear the sharp, rhythmic slap of his boots against the floor behind you—he’s moving fast, his breathing heavy from the training intensity. just as you reach the corner, his hand catches the frame of the door, his frame blocking the path. he’s flushed, his hair damp and chaotic, his chest rising and falling with a tempo that has nothing to do with fitness.
he stops when he sees you, leaning slightly against the wall, trying to catch his breath. his eyes are wide, searching yours, his professional veneer completely stripped away.
"you," he breathes, the word a mix of accusation and awe. he looks back toward the pitch, then back to you, clearly aware of the risk he’s taking by being here. "you were watching. all of it."
you don’t give him the satisfaction of a direct admission. instead, you lean back against the wall, crossing your arms, and let a slow, mischievous smile curl your lips. you look him up and down—the grass stains on his kit, the raw, unpolished energy of a man who just risked his coach’s wrath for a glimpse of you.
"you seem distracted, jude," you say, your voice soft, honeyed, and dripping with playfulness. "if you’re going to be this bad at your job, maybe you should have stayed on the pitch."
he lets out a low, breathless laugh, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. he steps a fraction closer, invading your space, the heat radiating off his body almost overwhelming. "i think we both know that wasn't my choice," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "you’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?"
you tilt your head, feigning innocence. "am i? i was just watching the best player on the field. is that a crime?"
he brushes a hand through his hair, his eyes dark with a mix of frustration and hunger. he knows he’s trapped, and the way his pupils dilate tells you he wouldn't have it any other way. he’s completely yours to toy with now.
"what do you want?" he asks, his voice barely a tremor in the quiet hallway.
you take a slow step toward him, closing the remaining distance until you're inches away. "i think you already know the answer to that, don't you?"
a low, raspy chuckle escapes his throat, but it lacks any real conviction. he shifts his weight, leaning one arm against the wall right beside your head, effectively boxing you into the corner. he’s trying to hold onto his defenses, but the way his gaze sweeps over your face—searching for any sign that you’re bluffing—gives him away.
"i have a girlfriend," he says, the words clipped and defensive. he says it like a shield, but his eyes tell a different story.
you don't even flinch. instead, you let out a light, melodic laugh that echoes against the tiled walls, a sound that clearly unmoors him even further. you reach out, your fingers tracing the edge of his training jersey, letting your hand rest lightly on his chest, right over his racing heart. you can feel the frantic rhythm beneath the fabric—it’s the fastest it’s been all day.
you look up at him through your lashes, your expression dripping with amused confidence. "do you really think i’m naive, jude?" you whisper, your voice a soft, challenging taunt. "because if that were true—if you were truly as settled and content as you want me to believe—you wouldn't be standing here in a deserted hallway, hiding from your coaches, completely out of breath, just to find a girl you barely even know."
you take a deliberate step forward, forcing him to lean back further against the wall. you’re so close now that you can smell the faint, clean scent of his shower gel and the musky reality of his sweat.
"men like you don't chase things they aren't hungry for," you continue, your voice dropping to a smooth, dangerous low. "you didn't come here because you're happy. you came here because you were desperate to see if i was as real as you thought i was."
the amusement drains from his face, replaced by a raw, intense focus. he doesn't pull away; he doesn't even try to lie again. he just watches your lips, his own mouth slightly parted, his breathing hitching as the weight of your words settles between you. the air in the narrow space is suffocatingly thick, and for the first time, he looks absolutely terrified of how easily you’ve dismantled him.
the distance between you vanishes until you are merely a heartbeat away. you can see the precise moment his resolve shatters; his eyes drift from yours to your lips, and he leans in, an instinctive, magnetic pull he no longer has the strength to fight. his posture softens, his hand inches toward your waist, and his breath hitches—he is fully prepared to cross that line, to let the world outside this hallway cease to exist for the sake of one kiss.
you let the anticipation stretch, thick and intoxicating. you can see the pulse at the base of his throat thumping in time with your own. he’s leaning into you, his eyes closing, fully surrendered to the inevitable.
and then, you move.
with a fluidity that feels almost cruel, you slide out of his space just as his lips are about to find their target. the air feels suddenly cold where your warmth had been. he stumbles slightly, his hand grasping at empty air, his eyes flying open in a mixture of confusion and raw, electric shock. he’s left leaning against the wall, chest heaving, looking as though he’s just been jolted awake from a dream.
you don't run; you walk away with that same slow, rhythmic elegance that has been haunting him all afternoon. you don’t look back until you’re ten paces down the hall, your footsteps echoing sharply against the concrete.
when you finally pause, you turn just enough to glance over your shoulder. your expression is cool, composed, and utterly triumphant. his eyes are still locked on you, burning with a frantic, desperate intensity that says he’s completely hooked.
you tilt your head, a soft, parting smile touching your lips—the kind that promises you’re both the prize and the problem.
"bye, jude," you murmur, your voice lingering in the quiet corridor, light as a feather but heavy with consequence.
before he can find his voice, before he can move or call out to stop you, you turn the corner and vanish once more, leaving him standing there in the silence, utterly dismantled.
for the next few days, the training ground becomes a theater of his internal war. jude is no longer the clinical, effortless phenom the team relies on; he is erratic, his mind a thousand miles away from the tactical drills and the coach's whistle.
every time a ball rolls out of bounds, his eyes immediately scan the sidelines, searching the crowd for a flash of your silhouette, a familiar tilt of your head, or the memory of your perfume lingering in the air. he is haunted by the phantom of that touch, the way you dismantled his excuses, and that final, lingering "bye" that seems to echo in his ears during the dead silence of his hotel room at night.
he finds himself asking, without really asking, questions that reveal too much to his teammates. he’ll pause mid-pass, frowning at the turf, wondering: who is she? is she just another face that drifts through the VIP lounge, or is she something else, something intentional? he replays every word you said, analyzing your tone, trying to decipher if you were playing a game or if you were testing him—or worse, if you were right about him all along.
the mystery of you has become his newest obsession. he starts to over-analyze his own life, looking at the life he’s built—the media obligations, the relationship, the relentless expectations—and seeing it through the lens of your dismissive, amused smile. he is a man who is used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the pace of the game, but now, he feels like the one being marked, shadowed, and systematically picked apart.
he catches himself staring off into the distance during team meetings, the coach's voice fading into white noise as he tries to piece together the puzzle of you. he isn't just distracted; he is unraveling. he’s burning with a need to find you again, not because he’s looking for a signature or a photo, but because he needs to know if the power you hold over him is real—or if he’s finally lost his grip on the only world he’s ever known.
every time he closes his eyes, he sees that hallway. he feels the phantom heat of your proximity. and as he laces up his boots for the next session, he knows with a sinking, exhilarating certainty that he’s not looking for a ball anymore; he’s looking for the next time you decide to show up and break his composure all over again.
few days after,
the press room is a buzz of low-frequency chatter, the glare of stage lights reflecting off the water bottles on the table. jude is slouched slightly in his chair, his usual professional mask firmly in place, answering standard questions about the team’s form with practiced, mechanical efficiency. he looks tired, the weight of the last few days of internal conflict showing in the slight tension around his eyes.
then, the moderator points to your section. "next question, front row."
you lean into the microphone, the metallic click of the equipment echoing through the room. "jude," you begin, your voice smooth, melodic, and instantly unmistakable. "considering the pressure of this season, how do you manage to keep your focus when the game takes an unexpected turn?"
at the first syllable, jude freezes. the pen he was fidgeting with drops onto the desk with a sharp clack. he goes rigid, his head snapping toward the audience. for a fleeting, desperate second, he convinces himself it’s just a trick of his mind—a cruel auditory hallucination born from days of obsession. he tells himself there are thousands of people in this city, and it’s impossible for you to be sitting in a room full of accredited press.
but then, the cameras shift, and the view clears. he locks eyes with you.
the air leaves his lungs in a sharp, audible exhale. he is visibly rattled, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable crimson. he doesn't just look surprised; he looks completely blindsided, his composure disintegrating in front of a dozen live cameras. he grips the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white, his gaze locked onto your face as if he’s trying to confirm you’re solid, real, and actually standing there.
the room falls into a sudden, heavy silence, the other journalists glancing between the two of you, sensing the strange, electric shift in the atmosphere. jude’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. he’s struggling to reconcile the professional reality of the press conference with the chaotic, intimate reality you’ve built between you.
he stares at you, paralyzed, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that the entire room—and the thousands watching online—can almost feel. you hold his gaze, unblinking and perfectly serene, while the man who is supposed to be the most composed player on the pitch looks like he’s just seen a ghost—or the one person he’s been terrified to face.
he clears his throat, the sound rough and forced. he forces his shoulders to drop, dragging his eyes away from yours to stare blankly at the microphones, his fingers gripping his water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white.
"it’s... it’s about perspective," he manages to say, his voice a fraction deeper than usual, straining to keep the tremor out of it. "sometimes the things you least expect are the ones that test your discipline the most. you just have to find a way to... to stay grounded."
it’s a generic, safe answer, but his eyes keep darting back to you, betraying every word. he’s sweating now, a thin sheen on his forehead that the stage lights catch. he’s failing, and he knows it.
you offer him one last, slow smile—the one that sits right on the edge of a secret—and then, without waiting for the follow-up, you tuck your notebook under your arm. you rise with that same fluid, predatory grace, your heels clicking against the floor. you turn your back on him, walking toward the exit of the press room with an air of complete indifference, leaving him mid-sentence as he tries to finish a thought that has already completely evaporated from his mind.
he watches you go, his head tracking your movement until you’re forced out of his line of sight by the heavy double doors. the moderator tries to move to the next question, but jude isn't there anymore. he’s staring at the door, his jaw tight, his leg bouncing nervously under the table.
the moment the moderator utters the words, "that concludes the conference," jude doesn't wait for his pr team to gather the equipment. he stands up with a sudden, sharp motion, muttering a frantic apology to his teammates and the staff.
"gotta go," he says, already moving, his strides long and urgent as he pushes past the photographers and security personnel.
he bursts out of the press room, his eyes scanning the corridor, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. he ignores the calls of the staff behind him, his only focus the sound of those retreating heels. he doesn't know what he's going to say when he catches you, he doesn't know why he’s chasing you again, but he knows one thing for certain: he’s done playing the game by your rules. he’s finally going to corner you.
you’re walking down a dimly lit service hallway when the sharp, heavy rhythm of his gait catches up to you. he’s fast, his chest heaving as he rounds the corner, and before you can even register the sound, he’s blocked your path, his hands bracing against the wall on either side of you. he looks frantic—the kind of look he never wears on the pitch.
"what is this?" he demands, his voice low, sharp, and laced with pure, unadulterated confusion. "how are you here? why are you here? why are you... everywhere?"
the questions spill out of him, tumbling over one another. he’s looking at you like you’re a riddle he’s terrified he won't be able to solve, and for the first time, his professional armor is stripped completely bare. he isn't just asking; he’s pleading for an explanation, for some sense of order in the chaos you’ve introduced to his life.
you don't look intimidated. in fact, you look amused. you watch him with an unhurried, languid gaze, leaning back against the cool tiles until your shoulders brush his arms. you let the silence stretch for a moment, enjoying the way his breathing hitches as he waits for an answer you have no intention of giving him—at least, not yet.
you reach up, your fingers grazing the collar of his jacket, and you smooth it down with a slow, deliberate touch. he flinches at the contact, his eyes tracking your hand with hungry, desperate focus.
"jude," you purr, your voice like liquid velvet, cutting through his frantic energy. you look up at him through your lashes, a teasing, lopsided smile playing on your lips. "breathe."
you let your hand trail down to his chest, feeling the wild, irregular thrum of his heart—a rhythmic betrayal of his composure. you run your thumb over the fabric of his shirt, a small, circular motion that seems to snap his focus entirely to your touch.
"you’re spiraling," you whisper, the sweetness of your tone dripping with a mock-sympathy that only pushes him further toward the edge. "why are you so desperate to understand me? maybe you should spend less time asking questions and more time enjoying the view."
you lean in close, just enough for him to smell the scent of you, your breath feathering against his jawline. he’s frozen, trapped between the urge to back away and the impossible gravity that keeps him locked in your orbit. you tilt your head, a glint of triumph dancing in your eyes as you watch him struggle to regain his footing, completely at the mercy of your game.
"you're so tense, darling," you tease, your voice barely a breath. "do you always get this worked up when you don't know the final score?"
he lets out a sharp, incredulous huff, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that’s almost painful. "is this it?" he asks, his voice dropping into a low, strained register. "is this just your thing? you show up, you haunt the corridors, you get into the press rooms... do you do this with everyone? is every athlete, every celebrity just a target for your little games?"
you don't pull away. instead, you let a soft, melodic laugh escape your throat—a sound that is light, dismissive, and utterly infuriating. you reach up and trace the line of his jaw with a single finger, your touch light as a feather but heavy with implication. you feel him shudder under your contact, the rigid line of his shoulders slackening despite himself.
"you're overthinking it again, jude," you murmur, your eyes sparkling with playful mischief. "why does it matter if i've done it before? does it make what's happening between us right now any less real?"
he stiffens, his grip on the wall tightening. you’ve hit a nerve—he hates that he wants to know, hates that he’s jealous of the idea of you playing this game with anyone else, but more than anything, he hates how little he knows about you. he’s completely paralyzed by the desire to keep standing here, to keep hearing your voice, to keep deciphering the mystery that is you.
"you're impossible," he breathes, his gaze dropping to your mouth and staying there, his frustration warring with a magnetic pull he can no longer deny.
you tilt your head, a triumphant, secretive smile playing on your lips. you can see the conflict raging behind his eyes—he wants to walk away, to go back to his life and the safety of his routine, but he’s rooted to the spot, entirely addicted to the chaos you bring.
"i'm not impossible, jude," you whisper, stepping just a hair closer, letting your chest brush against his. "i'm just the first person who hasn't played by your rules. it’s quite a thrill, isn't it?"
he doesn't answer, he can't. he just stares at you, his breathing shallow, looking like a man who knows he’s walking into a fire but has lost the will to turn back.
your hand drifts down, your palm pressing firmly against the center of his chest. you can feel the frantic, irregular thudding of his heart—a physical manifestation of the complete power you hold over him. you lean in, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, and you let your breath hitch as you speak, your voice a low, honeyed secret that sends a visible shiver down his spine.
"next time, jude," you whisper, the words heavy with promise, "i won't be in a crowd. i’ll be waiting. just for you. and if you’re brave enough to come find me, i’ll finally show you exactly who i am."
the air in the hallway seems to vanish. you pull back just enough to catch his gaze, a wicked, knowing smirk playing on your lips. he’s completely paralyzed, his mouth slightly parted, his breathing ragged. the sheer audacity of your invitation, combined with the way you’re dismantling his defenses, leaves him reeling. he’s trapped in a labyrinth of his own desire, and you’ve just handed him the map to the center.
you don't wait for a reply. you give his chest one final, lingering caress before slipping out from beneath his arm. your exit is swift and silent, your heels clicking against the floor with a rhythmic finality that echoes in the cramped space.
you don't look back this time. you round the corner, leaving him alone in the dim light of the corridor.
behind you, jude doesn't move. he stays pressed against the wall, his hands falling to his sides, his chest still heaving with the ghost of your presence. he’s utterly spellbound, a man who knows he has just been marked. the weight of your words hangs in the air, a siren song that has already decided his future. he is standing in the silence, his heart racing, realizing with a terrifying clarity that he isn't just hooked—he is completely and irrevocably yours.
the shift in jude is visceral, and it doesn't go unnoticed by the people around him. his life, once carefully curated and balanced between high-stakes football and his public relationship, has begun to fracture under the weight of the unknown. that anchor he used to hold onto—his girlfriend—has become nothing more than a blurred background noise, a static frequency he’s tuned out entirely. his thoughts are no longer occupied by tactical maneuvers or his future career; they are exclusively yours.
he spends his nights staring at the ceiling of his hotel room, the silence amplified by the maddening loops of your voice in his head. why are you everywhere? who are you really?
the confusion is a physical ache. every time he sees a shadow in a corner, or hears the faint click of heels in a lobby, his entire posture shifts. he’s constantly on edge, his eyes scanning every room he enters with a frantic, desperate intensity. his teammates have stopped joking about his mood; there’s a new, sharp irritability to him that makes even the coaching staff tread carefully. he’s lost his rhythm, and for a player who prides himself on total command, this lack of control is terrifying.
he is obsessed. he finds himself scrolling through social media, searching for any trace of you, any photo that might have caught your face in the background of a stadium event. he’s hunting for a name, a history, a clue—anything to make you tangible instead of this ethereal, dangerous force that has dismantled his reality.
during training, he’s a ghost of his former self. he’ll go for minutes at a time without touching the ball, his focus shattered by the mere possibility that you might be watching from the sidelines again. he’s no longer looking for his teammates’ runs; he’s looking for you.
the realization that he is "condemned" settles into his marrow. he knows he’s setting himself up for disaster, that seeking you out is a path that could jeopardize everything he’s worked for. but the pull is too strong. you’ve become the only thing that makes his pulse race, the only thing that makes the world feel real. he’s not just waiting for the next match; he’s waiting for the next move in a game he knows he’s already lost.
he’s no longer playing football for the fans or the trophies. he’s playing, waiting, and breathing entirely for the moment you decide to reappear and finally unveil the secret you’ve been keeping from him.
the match had been exhilarating, the kind of night where every pass clicked and the stadium’s roar still hummed in his bones. jude slumped into the back of his waiting car, the interior dark and quiet, a sanctuary after the blinding lights of the pitch. he leaned his head back, closing his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath of pure, adrenaline-fueled relief. he wasn't thinking about you—not for the first time in hours. he was just a man enjoying the aftermath of victory.
"home, please," he murmured to the driver, his voice thick with exhaustion.
the engine purred to life, and as the car began to glide away from the stadium, a subtle shift in the air caught his attention. it wasn't just the scent of leather anymore; there was something else—a faint, intoxicating trace of your perfume that hit him like a physical blow. his eyes snapped open.
he turned his head to the left, his gaze cutting through the dim cabin light.
you were there.
you were draped against the seat with an effortless, feline grace, the shadows playing over the curve of your collarbone and the soft fabric of your dress. you looked even more breathtaking than usual, your makeup flawless, your hair falling in loose, artful waves. you didn't look like a fan, or a journalist, or a stalker; you looked like a predator who had finally cornered her prize.
jude froze, his entire body going rigid. his heart, which had been slowing down to a calm, post-match rhythm, instantly spiked into a violent, erratic thud against his ribs. he couldn't speak; the breath had been stolen from his lungs. he just stared at you, his pupils dilating in the dark, his professional composure shattering into a thousand pieces.
the irony of his thought process—the fact that he’d finally managed to push you out of his mind for just a few hours—vanished as he realized you hadn't been playing a game of hide-and-seek anymore. you were playing for keeps.
"how..." he started, his voice cracking, barely a whisper. he didn't even know what he was asking. he just knew that seeing you there, in the private, confined space of his car, felt more dangerous and more exhilarating than anything he’d ever experienced on a pitch.
you didn't move, you just watched him, that same enigmatic, seductive smile playing on your lips—the one that had haunted his dreams for days. you held his gaze, unblinking, the silence in the car growing heavier and more charged with every passing second. you had found your way into his inner sanctum, and the look in your eyes told him exactly what you intended to do with him.
the darkness inside the car becomes absolute the moment you reach over and hit the switch to raise the privacy partition. the soft hum of the city outside is instantly muffled, replaced by the heavy, suffocating silence of your own private space. jude is trapped, pinned between the back door and the invisible line you’ve drawn in the air.
he’s staring at you, his eyes dark and dilated, reflecting the faint ambient light from the streetlamps passing by. his breath is coming in short, uneven hitches, and his hands are gripping the edges of his seat so hard his knuckles are stark white. he looks completely undone, the man who commands thousands of screaming fans now reduced to a state of absolute, paralyzed anticipation.
you lean into his space, your movements slow, deliberate, and predatory. you lock eyes with him, your gaze no longer playful—it’s fierce, possessive, and daring him to break. you don't say a word. you just hold that look, letting the tension coil between you like a wire pulled to its breaking point.
then, with agonizing slowness, you shift your gaze to his lips, then back up to his eyes, before biting down softly on your own lower lip. you hold it there, a teasing, mocking smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. you aren't just playing with him anymore; you’re dismantling him, piece by piece, savoring the way his jaw tightens and his resolve crumbles.
you lean even closer, until the space between you is electric. you can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rises and falls in rhythm with your own heartbeat. you let out a soft, low chuckle—a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph—and tilt your head to the side, your eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and pure hunger.
"you thought you were done with me after the match, didn't you, jude?" you whisper, your voice a low, raspy challenge. "you really have no idea how this ends, do you?"
you watch him swallow hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. he looks like he’s caught in a waking dream, terrified that if he moves, he’ll wake up and find you gone. he’s completely at your mercy, and he knows it—he’s just waiting to see how far you’re going to take this tonight.
he opens his mouth to speak, likely to demand an answer or perhaps to protest—but the words die on his tongue the moment your hand settles against his thigh.
your touch is slow, deliberate, and maddeningly light. you let your fingertips trace the firm muscle beneath his tailored trousers, your hand moving with a possessive, rhythmic heat that sends a visible tremor through his frame. he gasps, his head falling back against the headrest, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second as his entire body reacts to the sensation.
when he opens his eyes again, the confusion is entirely gone, replaced by a raw, dark hunger that has finally overridden his last shred of hesitation. the professional footballer, the public figure, the man with a girlfriend—they all vanish. in this enclosed, dimly lit space, there is only the man who is becoming utterly, irrevocably addicted to your touch.
he leans into your hand, his own fingers coming up to hover near your waist, trembling as he fights the urge to grab you. he’s completely anchored to you now, his pulse visible in the frantic, rhythmic throb at the base of his throat. he tries to lean away, but the movement only brings him closer to your gravity, and he lets out a broken, ragged sound that’s half-protest, half-surrender.
"you have no idea what you're doing to me," he manages to choke out, his voice thick and strained. he reaches out, his hand hovering uncertainly before he finally grips your wrist, his fingers firm but not pulling you away. instead, he keeps your hand exactly where it is, pressing your palm harder against his leg, grounding himself through you.
he’s breathing so heavily the glass partition is starting to fog. he looks at you not with suspicion, but with a terrifying, desperate need for you to continue. he’s no longer fighting the current; he’s drowning in it, and he’s realized that he doesn't want to be saved—he wants you to keep pushing him further until there’s nothing left of his old life at all.
"you're not just playing anymore, are you?" he whispers, his gaze locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. "tell me you're not just playing."
you lean into his personal space, the scent of your perfume overwhelming the sterile air of the car. your voice is a low, deliberate purr as you look him dead in the eye and murmur the lines, letting the weight of the words strip away the last of his resistance:
"that’s okay baby…, do what you please. i have the stuff that you want. i am the thing that you need."
the effect is immediate and devastating. as the words leave your lips, jude’s entire posture collapses inward, all remnants of his public life and his existing relationship incinerated by the sheer intensity of the moment. he lets out a ragged, desperate sound, his hand tightening over yours on his thigh as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear the moment he lets go. he’s no longer thinking about consequences, about the paparazzi, or about the life he’s supposed to be returning to; he’s entirely consumed by the intoxicating, dangerous reality you’ve built for him.
he looks at you with a hunger that’s borderline frantic, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips as he leans into your touch. he’s lost—fully, completely, and willingly lost—and he doesn't even try to fight it anymore. he presses your hand further against his skin, his breathing shallow and erratic, clearly signaling that he has abandoned any last-ditch attempt to uphold his moral defenses. you have pushed him over the edge, and he has finally stopped trying to climb back up.
jude freezes, his breath hitching, his eyes snapping shut as the cold realization hits him with brutal clarity: it is already far too late. he is trapped, not by the walls of the car, but by the undeniable fact that he is completely ensnared in your heart, and there is no longer any path back to the man he was before you.
as you lean in, the space between you vanishing, you begin to press slow, searing kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck. the sensation is instant and all-consuming, an electric shock that bypasses his mind and speaks directly to his nerves.
his resolve evaporates completely. he tilts his head back, surrendering to the overwhelming wave of heat, his hands trembling as he grips the leather of the seat to stay tethered to the earth. he is entirely possessed by the feeling of your lips against his skin, utterly powerless to resist, and desperate for nothing more than to lose himself in the beautiful, dangerous trap you have set for him.
he doesn't hesitate; his hands slide to your waist, his grip firm and desperate as he pulls you onto his lap, positioning you squarely over his hips. the power shift is complete. he bows his head, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps against your skin as he pleads with you, his voice barely a whisper against your throat.
"don't stop," he begs, the words muffled and thick with need, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as he urges you to keep going. "please, keep going."
you pull back just enough to look down at him, a soft, mocking laugh escaping your lips as you run your fingers through his hair. you trace the line of his jaw, enjoying the sight of him—so undone, so utterly at your mercy.
"does it feel that good, jude?" you tease, your voice dripping with playful cruelty. you lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "you know, you’re almost a little pathetic like this."
you watch his reaction, seeing the way his eyes darken with a mix of shame and even deeper, more frantic hunger. he doesn't pull away; instead, he clings to you tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.
you continue trailing slow, burning kisses along the column of his throat, feeling the erratic, desperate pulse beneath his skin. as you settle closer against him, the friction of your dress against his trousers shifts, and the lack of a barrier between you becomes instantly, unmistakably clear.
jude freezes, his hands splaying against your back, his eyes widening in the dim light. he lets out a sharp, choked intake of breath, his entire body going rigid as he registers the unfiltered heat radiating from you, pressed directly against him.
"you're not wearing..." he stammers, his voice barely audible, raw with a mix of shock and pure, sensory overload. he looks at you, his gaze searching your face, stunned by the realization that you’ve come to him like this—completely unshielded and ready.
you pull back just a fraction, arching an eyebrow as you meet his blown-out pupils with a look of cool, triumphant amusement. you let a low, throaty laugh escape your chest, the sound vibrating between you.
"is that a problem, darling?" you murmur, your voice dripping with honeyed malice. you lean in closer, pressing yourself fully against him, making the reality of the situation impossible for him to ignore. "does it feel good to feel me, jude? tell me, how does it feel to know exactly what’s waiting for you?"
you begin to move against him, slow, deliberate shifts of your hips that send shockwaves of sensation straight through him. the friction is intense, and as you rock against him, he feels the undeniable, unmistakable heat and dampness of you soaking through the fabric of his trousers. it’s an exquisite, maddening sensation that strips away his final reserves.
jude’s head falls back against the upholstery, a low, guttural moan escaping his throat that he can no longer suppress. his hands grip your waist so tightly his knuckles turn white, his body betraying him as he loses the battle for composure. he can’t hold back the pleasure, the sheer intensity of the contact leaving him breathless, his hips instinctively mirroring your rhythm in a desperate, frantic search for more. he’s completely undone, entirely surrendered to the exquisite torture of feeling you against him, his mind blanking out until there is nothing left but the raw, electric pulse of the moment.
"i need you," he gasps, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate hunger as he pulls you closer, his hands shaking as they move to the waistband of his trousers. "i need to feel you—everything."
you lean back, watching him with a predatory, triumphant smile. you reach down, your movements slow and deliberate, and begin to undo the fastening of his trousers. his breath hitches, his entire body arching as he waits for you to continue. you lean into his ear, your voice a dark, low whisper that pushes him over the edge. you murmur things so illicit, so deliciously wicked, that he loses the last shred of his restraint.
he is completely undone, his eyes unfocused and drowning in want, his body trembling with the intensity of his desire. he is yearning for you with a frantic, uncontainable ache, his pleas becoming incoherent as he realizes there is no version of this night where he doesn't give you exactly what you want. he is utterly subjugated, a captive to your touch, and as you continue, he stops trying to stay anchored to reality—he only wants to sink deeper into the beautiful, dangerous trap you've set for him.
you don't waste another second. you take him, guiding him directly into your heat, the sudden, overwhelming sensation causing him to let out a broken, guttural sound that vibrates through the entire interior of the car. he is completely stunned, his eyes wide and blown-out, paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the friction and the way you’ve claimed him.
he looks down at you, his breathing turning into sharp, desperate gasps, his hands clenching into the leather of your dress as his entire world narrows down to this single point of contact. he looks utterly overwhelmed, his composure completely shredded by the reality of how perfectly he fits.
you hold his gaze, the atmosphere in the car thick and suffocating. you bite your lip, a mocking, triumphant smirk playing on your features as you savor his reaction. you lean in, your voice a low, teasing taunt against his ear.
"you’re so big," you whisper, the words dripping with a mix of cruelty and pleasure. "it feels so good to have all of you, doesn't it?"
the look on his face is one of pure, raw subjugation. he’s completely caught, his hips twitching instinctively, unable to pull away and unwilling to stop. he is utterly at your mercy, yearning for the movement, his entire body trembling under the weight of the sensation you’re forcing him to feel.
the air in the car is heavy, charged with the scent of his arousal and your own. jude is completely shattered, his head thrown back against the headrest, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a series of broken, desperate moans. the friction is all-consuming, and he can feel every inch of his length buried deep inside you, the sensation so intense it leaves him shuddering.
"god, it feels so good," he gasps, his voice trembling and raw, his hands clutching your hips to keep you pressed firmly against him. "it’s insane... please, just don't stop."
you maintain the rhythm, slow and torturous, enjoying the way he writhes under your control. you lean down, your voice a dark, velvet whisper against the shell of his ear, punctuating your movements with stinging, suggestive remarks. you tease him about his lack of resistance, about how easily he’s fallen, and about exactly what he’s become since you entered his life.
every word is a lash that drives him further into his own pleasure. he’s completely addicted to the dynamic, his body arching into yours with a frantic, primitive need. he is so far gone that the concept of consequence has been obliterated; there is only the heat, the rhythm, and the terrifying realization that he has become nothing more than a plaything for your amusement. he begs you, over and over, his voice a frantic prayer of desperation and lust, pleading for you to continue until there is nothing left of him but the sensation you’re providing.
the moment you groan his name—a low, melodic sound that vibrates against his chest—the world around him seems to tilt on its axis. hearing his own name on your lips sends a fresh jolt of adrenaline through his system, shattering whatever tiny barrier of restraint he had left. he is no longer just overwhelmed; he is completely and utterly undone.
he feels the absolute, suffocating intensity of you settled on his lap, your weight perfectly distributed, and the sensation of being buried deep within you becomes his entire reality. he looks at you, his eyes dark with an intoxicating blend of worship and ruin, completely captivated by the power you hold over him. he realizes, with a dazed, frantic clarity, that he is completely at your mercy—he is subjugated by the physical friction, by the way you look at him, and by the sheer, electric vulnerability of being this connected to you.
"my god," he breathes, his voice barely a coherent sound as he leans into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more demanding. he is drowning in the sensation of you, his hands trembling as he holds you close, his entire body responding to your rhythm with an almost violent need. he’s lost to the pleasure, fully aware that he has surrendered his control to you, and he is terrified, yet thrilled, by how much he craves the sensation of being trapped in this exact, agonizingly perfect moment with you.
you continue to ride him with a slow, deliberate cadence, the friction between you becoming an agonizingly beautiful torture. you lean down, your hair brushing against his jaw, and as you grind against him, you whisper into his ear with a voice thick with playful, dark intent.
"it’s just so incredibly large, jude," you murmur, your tone dripping with a mixture of praise and mockery, "i can barely take all of you."
hearing you acknowledge his size while you’re this deep inside him is the final catalyst; he gasps, his head falling back as the sensation rips through him. he’s completely subjugated, his muscles locking, his breath hitching in his chest. he feels the tension coiling tight in his core, the pressure mounting with every movement you make. he’s on the very precipice, his body trembling, his hands digging into your skin as he clings to you, desperate to hold onto the sensation even as he feels himself beginning to unravel.
every time you whisper those words, the intensity surges, the friction between you feeling like a live wire. you keep teasing him, trailing your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, your voice a constant, taunting melody in his ear about his size, about his need, and about exactly how good it feels to have him trapped like this.
the constant reinforcement of his own desire, paired with the overwhelming, tight sensation of being inside you, pushes him to the very edge. he’s completely subjugated, his back arching, his breath hitching into jagged, shallow gasps. he’s losing his grip on reality, his internal rhythm spiraling out of control because of how much he wants you.
"you’re killing me," he manages to choke out, his voice thick and desperate, his pupils dilated to the point where his eyes are nothing but black pools. he feels the familiar, building pressure in his core—the unmistakable surge of his release drawing near—and he knows he can’t hold it back much longer. he’s entirely at your mercy, his body betraying every last defensive thought he had left, as he clings to you, waiting for that final, shattering moment of surrender.
jude’s control finally shatters completely. his hips begin to buck against yours in a frantic, losing battle, his face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "i can't... i'm going to—i'm coming," he gasps out, his voice cracking with the strain of holding on for as long as he possibly could.
you don't pull away; instead, you press yourself harder against him, pinning him down and locking your gaze with his. "don't you dare stop," you command, your voice a sharp, commanding whisper against his ear. "do it inside me. i want to feel every bit of it."
the words are the final trigger. he lets out a ragged, desperate cry as he finally surrenders, his body going rigid as he explodes within you. the sensation of his release is electric, and it pushes you over the edge as well; you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as you shatter right along with him. you hold onto him tightly, both of you lost in the blinding, heavy heat of the moment, anchored only by the intense, rhythmic pulsing that binds you together. for those few seconds, nothing else exists—no reality, no consequences—only the raw, shared aftermath of what you have just done to him.
you disentangle yourself from his lap in one swift, fluid movement, your dress sliding back into place as if the scene you just created never happened. you reach into the neckline of your dress, pulling out a small, folded scrap of paper. with perfect timing, the car rolls to a smooth stop—you have reached your destination.
you slide out of the car, the cool air hitting your skin, and you turn back to face him through the open door. he is still entirely undone, his hair disheveled, his trousers still unfastened, his chest heaving as he stares at you, completely unable to process the transition from the intensity of the moment back to the quiet of the street.
you lean into the car, your voice cool and sharp, slicing through his daze. "you should leave your girlfriend, jude," you say, a faint, mocking smile touching your lips. "she’s not half the freak i am, and we both know it." you hold his gaze for a second, watching the realization dawn on him, before adding, "if you make the right choice and call me, you’ll know where to find me."
with that, you drop the paper onto his seat and walk away, leaving him behind in the stillness. as he finally manages to lower his gaze, his hands still trembling, he looks down at the scrap of paper. there, written in your handwriting, is your number.
the silence in the car feels deafening as the engine cuts out, leaving him in a state of sensory shock. he stares at the empty space where you were just sitting, the scent of you still clinging to the leather and to his own skin. the gravity of what just happened begins to settle in: he has just betrayed his girlfriend—someone he was supposed to be committed to—with a total stranger. he doesn’t even know your name.
yet, as he looks down at the slip of paper with your number, a cold, startling truth washes over him: he doesn't care.
the guilt that should be crushing him is nowhere to be found, drowned out by the lingering electric pulse of what you did to him. he runs a hand through his messy hair, his heart hammering against his ribs, not with regret, but with a terrifying, addictive longing. he realizes with a jolt of clarity that he hasn't just been physically overwhelmed; he has been completely dismantled. he is entirely under your spell, and the idea of going back to his normal life, to his girlfriend, feels like a pale imitation of the reality he just tasted with you.
he clutches the paper in his fist, his knuckles white, his breath hitching as he stares at the number again. he is no longer just a guy who made a mistake; he is a man who has found something dangerous, something he knows will ruin him, and yet he knows, with absolute, hollowed-out certainty, that he is already entirely yours.
summary: you had been stressed with finals week, after your last final of the day, the one Sammie has been helping you study for, all you wanted to do is have your boyfriend praise you and give you attention. it seems like he’s busy on the game though, unless you distract him.
warnings: word count 4.3k, a bit of pouty, impatient reader! smut, thigh riding, p in v, teasing, masturbation, praise, needy!blackfemreader, pet names, dirty talk minors do not interact
a/n: i’m annoyed with myself how long it took me to get this out tbh (quite literally get this outttt of my drafts neowwwww) but i hope you enjoy it my lovelies, enjoy !!
this past week, you have been studying your ass off for finals, you were zoned in on your studies, and sammie helped you study for your chem final, quizzing you on vocab and practice questions. today was the day you took it, and you were confident; you studied everything you possibly could from the semester.
the classroom was crowded. the air heavy with suspense and the scent of number 2 pencils. you took a moment for yourself a steady breath to ground yourself. you remember all of sammie's practice questions all the reviews you did and the all-nighters you pulled. you moved through the final with confidence, you were focused as you had a pen and pencil, the scratching of the pen was the finality of your exam.
once you left there was a weight that was lifted off. the drive home was a relief. your mind finally able to take a break.
as you entered back into your shared apartment with sammie, you didn't hear much of anything, just the door you opened creaked. the apartment always had a soft glow to it, a peaceful and warm feel.
sammie doesn't hear you, how could he hear you when he has his headset on, door closed and talking to his friends. you sigh taking your shoes off and placing your purse on the holder.
you made your way upstairs into your shared room and as you entered the room you saw him, on the edge of the bed, his elbows leaning on his knees, he's hunched over a bit. wearing a black t-shirt and some plaid red and black pants, he looked comfortable, you thought. his headphones are on, just the one on the right pushed past his ear so he can hear what's going on around him.
you never got tired of looking at him, not really, he looked concentrated, his head turned to you as he heard the bedroom door open.
he looked at you briefly giving a light smile.
"hey baby, how was the final? he asked in a low smooth voice.
you give a light smile as you reply "I'm confident, baby, i believe i did good, all that shit you questioned me on was on the final.
he is nodding, but he isn't really listening. You can tell because you see and hear the PS5 controller clicking rapidly.
his head turns back to the game just as fast, talking in the mic "damn nigga, relax, I'm playing, don't worry about me, what you need to do is loot up, i got my shit."
a soft smile tugging at your lips as you headed toward the dresser, as you gather some comfy clothes, you leaned over to Sammie, pressing a sweet kiss on his cheek. he looked up as his eyes were bright and he caught your hand, gently pulling you closer, you knew what he wanted; he wanted a real kiss, and that is what you'd give him.
and just for a moment, the game was forgotten when your lips danced, until you heard his friend through the headset.
"nigga, i don't wanna hear all that mackin in my ear!" his friend yelled on the mic.
you rolled your eyes playfully and chuckling lightly, sammie grinned a bit shy, you leave him to play his match, making sure you had your clothes out before you headed to the bathroom.
as you head to the bathroom, turning the warm water on, the steam began to fill the room, fogging up the mirrors, giving it that sauna feel you loved. stepping into the shower felt like your own therapeutic time, the shower felt as if it was washing away all the stress of the exams that are now finally over, the late-night study session and all the tension that has been building up during this finals week, finally being released.
you started with your unscented soap, followed by your favorite body wash. any self care process was a time you cherished, the tension gradually leaving your body as the water ran down it.
once you were done, feeling all fresh and clean, you stepped out and patted yourself dry. back in the bedroom, Sammie is screaming at his friends. as you enter the bedroom the cool air hits your skin and you grab your lotion and light perfume and begin to moisturize.
after spraying your perfume you got into your nice, soft lounge clothes.
feeling all fresh and clean, you climbed onto the bed, crawling behind Sammie and draping your arms around his chest, leaning your chin on his shoulder. you can feel him smile, he tilted his head and pressing a sweet kiss on your arm.
you whisper into his ear, the ear that has the headset pushed to the side, that isn't covered by his headset.
"baby, how long you been on the game for?"
you watch his fingers moves on the controller, as he talks "uhhh, not long baby just a couple hours"
you nod as you hear his response, his focus remained locked on the screen, you leaned in and press a loving kiss on his neck, lightly whispering, "I've been missing you".
you hear his breath hitch, the clicking and movements of the controller slow down, he falters only for a moment, as he tried his hardest to focus on the match he was playing.
you take notice that he hasn't completely been swayed from the game, you need to switch things up, you sigh scooting over to sit right beside him, pulling one knee up to your chest and the other hanging at the end of the bed.
you wait a while because you know when he says "he's only been playing for a couple of hours," it's always way longer than that, he just wanted to continue playing.
so you stay patient and watch.
a small pout begins to form on your lips, as it's been a while now. 2 hours to be exact, and all you have been doing was watching him play and talk to his friends, you watch his avatar running and shooting with his friends, you loved video games too, you played them yourself, but you wanted his attention.
even when he is locked in, you can't help but admire and adore him, how the focused glow of the screen highlights the sharp lines of his jaw and makes his eyes sparkle more than they normally do. he looked fine as hell.
you look at him his face concentrated and contour and you smile he looks handsome as hell, and you let him know that too.
"you're so handsome," you murmured, your voice low but you know he would hear, as your nails scratch the back of his neck lightly.
he lets out a breath "thank you, baby".
the tension in his shoulders drop a little
he hears your tone the looseness in your voice, the need.
you drape one leg over his legs and kiss his ear, whispering things into his ear.
he covers his mic with hand.
"baby, chill" his voice low, strained a bit like he is holding back, he pleaded lightly but his eyes were still on the screen.
that isn't what you wanted, you wanted him looking at you.
"want you, bad" you murmured quickly and pressing a soft kiss onto his ear, knowing that would get some reaction.
you hear a groan escape him, his grip on the controller tightens, you don't hear what his friends are saying but you hear them talking and laughing through the headset, it seems like his homeboys demanded his focus, he moved to concentrate, he scoots away from you, creating a gap you didn't like.
that stung, a deep pout forming a bit of hurt claiming you.
"fine, have your game then not your girlfriend who wants and needs your attention." you say
he goes to speak to you but instead he responds to his friends saying "guys. guys move round back i'm coming, that motherfucka who killed me, he's hiding in that building let's get his ass"
weeks of exhausting finals and studying, you didn't want him as a tutor anymore. you didn't just want his presence, you wanted his true undivided attention. his arms around you, you wanted to sit on his lap and ride him, you would take anything at this point.
you wanted his cock in you or in your mouth, you didn't care, you want his hands on your face, his lips on yours, you wanted to be touched. you wanted to hear him say that he was proud of you and all of your hard work. you wanted his cock in every way, your stomach doing flips, and your soaked just at the thought, your pussy pulsating with need.
if he was so busy, you have to find another way to draw it out of him or deal with it, find the release you were looking for; you have to raise the bar to get him to break.
so you try again but this time it would be different.
as you make your way back to him, your chest pressed to his back, you watch him play the game and kiss his neck, but this time your hand was moving, caressing his chest, and your hands slowly make there was to his waistband
"he-hey baby what's-" he tries to question, but you aren't having any of it
"shhh, keep playing the game like you were before, keep talking to your friends, since you wanna be on the game so bad". you tell him sternly whispering in his ear , as you lick the shell of his ear.
he inhales, clearing his throat trying to ignore the feeling of your hand going down his pants and feeling the outline of his dick.
you rest your head on his shoulder as you watch him play, while your hand makes his way into his boxers.
he moves the mic away from his lips turning his head to you "b-baby, cmon this ain't fair i'm playing the-"
"and continue to play" you smile pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.
you wrap your hand around him. around the base of his dick
you hear the inhale he takes as he moves the mic back to his lips, hesitating to speak as you begin to move your hand slowly around his, feel the heft in your hand, you can feel him throbbing just a bit, and you can't lie that it puts a smile on your face.
he hasn't said a word, but you hear the muffled voice of his friends talking on his headphones.
you feel his chest inhale sharply has your hand begins to move faster.
"baby, i think your friends are talking to you answer them, think you need to move in the game you have been afk for a minute"
his breath shudders, you kiss his ear, the one that isn't covered by the headphone.
"l-last round guys" he announces in the mic he says clearing his throat trying to mask the noises he really wants to let out.
you smile, you continue to stroke him faster, feel him completely hard now and you ask him, you know just to tease him and get on his nerves
"last round, already?? there is three more to go, keep playing baby, play for me" you whisper, giving light kisses on his ear as you feel a little spot of pre cum forming on his tip, you move it around the head of him and he groans.
"uh- t-they are one me, the enemy is close- b..by" he lets out a weak call out to his friends.
"all i wanted was some time baby, but you were busy playing the game" you say as before you lick his ear "wanted time but you were busy on the game talking to your friends"
he nods, trying to turn his head over his shoulder to reach your lips and kiss you. you move back just a bit, not all the way, just enough that he can't reach your lips anymore, as they remained puckered, he frowns.
you put your hand under his chin and redirecting his focus back on the screen.
his hips jerk slighty trying to meet the thrust of your hand.
you won't let him cum. not like this. you just wanna get him started, you want him close.
you loosen the grip on your dick and get off the bed, moving in front of him, slowly going on your knees.
his eyes are practically begging you not to, you can tell by the way his eyebrows scrunch up. but you know from how he was throbbing in your hand and how he his breath quickened, you know he wants it.
you smiles as you caress his thigh, leaving sweet kisses on his thighs as you look up at him.
a devious smile on your face.
you hold him at the base of his dick and stroke lightly, as you kiss the tip and you feel the throb in your hand, his head down now looking at you, as your eyes lock you move forward your mouth completely swalling him, he groans, not talking as his hands barely move on the controller and his eyes are closed.
you slip out of his mouth and he sighs, a whine leaves his mouth. his mic still on. you looked at him and then turned back to the tv to see his avatar barely moved from where you last saw it.
"what? you done playing?" you ask innocently
his jaw clenches. and take a frustrated sigh, dick hard as hell throbbing as he clears his throat and talks into the mic
you stand up and straddle his thigh kissing his ear that isn't covered "mmm baby, tell me im a good girl". as you kiss his ear. "i wanna hear it, i've been missin you and i come home and your on the game, not paying attention to me"
sammie lets out a heavy exhale as he is having a hard time listening to his friends on the game, and you in his other ear, whispering to him how much you need him, and his dick, how badly you ached for him.
you begin to grind on his thigh.
"baby, please i missed you too i just-" his words die in his throat as he feels the wetness between your thigh.
“sammie i need you, please” you plead, kissing his neck
you lift your knees and grind on his thigh, you feel the flex of his muscles and you gasp, causing your back to arch and grind more. He throws his headset off and turns the game off, his hands immediately grabbing on ass.
“i got you baby, you need to use me? go ahead” he kisses you, his lips meeting yours and moving your hips against his thigh.
“you just couldn’t wait could you?” your hand slips around his dick, stroking him.
your head drops with your mouth parting, gasping.
“take these panties off” sammie groans as he is already pulling them down for you and you lift your hips, removing your soaked panties.
now your bare already wet clit is making contact with his flexed thigh and you hiss “ooou shit”
“mmmm, you’re so wet baby, these panties soaked and you just all wet for me”
all you could do was nod as you felt the pressure building up inside of you.
“stop that nodding shit, you wanted my attention so now i’m giving it to you, talk to me, answer me baby,” he says with a smile on his face as he move your hand from his dick, replacing his own hand.
“nnnggghh, i don’t know what you want me to say!” you whine as your hips move sloppier.
a devious smile creeps on his face “bout that final. how was it tell me what you remember?” he asks seeing the pout on my face
“no, t-that’s too much work” tears prick into your eyes. this was not a part of your plan. you did not want to think right now. you wanted to fuck.
“you’re my sweet. smart girl right? you got it” his sweet voice encouraging you as always
you don't answer as the words die from the pressure being stirred in your lower belly. your hips moving on there own. sammie watches you and sees that you are close, he places his hands on your waist, seeing that you aren't truly listening to him.
"baby, i want you to answer these questions for me, while you grind on me, you don't have to pleasure me right now this about you. can you do that for me?" he asked with a light smile on his face and his dick that throbbed.
"yes i can, please i'll be good, but i wanna please you too" you promise as you kiss him.
you hiss as he lifts you to straddle him fully now, your knees on the sides of his waist as he makes you hover over him lining you up with him.
"please-"
his hands find your clit as he rolls it "shhh, how does surface area influence reaction rate?"
your eyebrows furrow as he traced circles on your clit, your hands find his shoulders, you clench, you take his shirt off, and take your own off, throwing them somewhere behind you.
"what?" you ask confused on why he is asking your chem questions right now. at a time like this. where you are practically dripping on his fingers down to his dick.
"you heard me pretty, how does surface area influence reaction rate?" he asks again as his neck cranes to look up at you, watching your face
"uh, by increasing the surface area of reactant molecules, we increase the space or point of contact that the molecules have avaliab-"
he moves your hips down, as he eases only the tip into you, he knows what he's doing and he's getting a rise out of it.
"gimme" is all you can say. no, no, not say beg.
"finish the answer" he simply tells you as he is looking down at only his tip that has entered you.
you think quickly on what you were saying "um, ummmm, oh oh that the molecules have available to interact, that causes an increase in the rate o reaction!"
you know the answer is right and you want your reward.
you slam down onto him.
he groaned, "fuuucckkkk, baby," his hands immediately wrapping around you, caressing your back.
the sounds were obscene you heard how wet you were and you just didn't care.
"fuck, baby slow down, question fa-fu-for you, h-how does a -catalyst speed up a-ch-emical reaction?." sammie chokes out trying to focus on his question and the feeling of him inside you.
he holds your hips down making you sit down on his dick, taking him fully, you stay there for a moment needing to adjust to him.
"i wanna fuck, not answer questions i already took my final already" you whine kissing him, trying to lift your hips that he has pinned down to him"
"ffuck ! ok okayyy! uh a catalyst-" shit what do they do?? "umm they speed up a chemical reaction by f-finding an alternate pathway with a lower activation energy?' you answer, you answered as a question, not as confident in yourself.
sammie looks at you, his eyebrow quirking up and head tilting a little. "you sure? you don't sound so sure baby?
you lean your head on his shoulder, trying to level your body to get some friction and you hear the chuckle that leaves him
"baby, you sure that's the right answer? you ain't sound so sure?" he questions again, as he pecks your neck
he knows you get silent when you're thinking so he gives you a minute.
"okay okay!" you never liked feeling rushed, mixed with the pressure of him in you and him questioning you, its overwhelming.
"it finds the alternate pathway but with a higher activation energy?" you aren't sure, you just wanted to move at this point.
he lifts you up. holding you in his arms until your back meets the bed and he leaves your briefly but quickly returns. his dick filling you up deep inside. as is on top of you.
"ffuuck!" you exclaimed
"what did i say about second guessing yourself baby?" he looks you in your eyes as if he isn't fucking the shit out of you.
"not to" you quickly answer "i'm sorry, i'm sorry"
a smile finds his lips as his hips never stopping meeting yours, "i love you baby, my smart princess and i know you did good on your final, you were right the first time about the lower activation energy. never doubt yourself"
"you are so beautiful, so smart, fuck baby you feel so good" he praises you as he pound into you, causing your breast to jiggle just a bit but all you could truly hear was the praises he was whispering in your ear and the squelching sound he was making your pussy sound.
"s-sammie shhiit, i love you, i'm- mmmm gonna hngh!!, gonna cum baby!"
"i love you too, that's my pretty girl" he growls, as he spreads your legs wider and panting with need.
"mmmfucck, baby," you whine, with tears streaming down. your senses feel overstimulated, your clit, the sounds and sammie groaning in your ear.
"you gonna cum?, yeahhh, you bout to cum ain't you?." he growls with a grin on his face.
the pressure and pace is fast.
"you feel so good baby, this that smart pretty pussy feels like huh?" he mumbles under your breath, his tone has changed, its not even talking to you, he's talking to her. your pussy
"making all those noises cumming for me" he whispers.
"mmmphh" whimpering as you take everything he gives you "i feel you, you are so deep."
he kisses you, "c'mon, cum for me, you 're so messy look at all that." as he has one hand near your head, he takes his other hand and his finger makes his way towards your clit again. causing you to throw your head back in pleasure.
"you wanted my attention, baby, now look at yourself can't even take it," he pants.,
he wasn't far behind himself "shhiitt" he groans as his hips finally begin to slow down.
his lips meet yours again, and his lips meet your hairline causing you to smile.
"t-thank you baby" you manage to say as are catching your breath, he gives a weak nod, slowly pulling out of you.
"anytime baby," he says as his back hits the mattress, and he lies beside you.
"even on the game?" you ask with a playful smirk.
sammie chuckles, shaking his head, letting out a huff of breath. "even on the game" as he lightly kisses your forehead.
you give him a knowing smirk and press a final kiss on his cheek. you move closer to lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat. as you guys lay there for a while, catching your breath. the room was in a comfortable silence.
until you heard it ???
a faint, tinny tiny sound, it sounded tiny, muffled person almost.
you lift your head off of his chest, trying to listen to what the sound could be. as you tap sammie's bare chest, needing his attention on the matter, he peeks one eye open, looking at you, he mumbles, "what is it?". with a sense of relaxation in his voice.
with nothing else to say, you look around the room and get up from the bed and stare at the floor, no, no not the floor, what he threw on the floor, you pointed a shaky hand to his headset on his. sammie sees your face and grows concerned, as he gets up and looks at what you are pointing too.
you hear the muffled voices you thought sounded like angry smurfs were his friends he were talking to when he was playing the game.....on his headset.
you slowly look at him with a horrified expression on your face, and whisper, "sammie.. do you think they heard? did you ever mute?
sammie practically stared at the headset like it was a live grenade. "only one way to find out" he looks at you and picks up his headset, pressing one side to his ear and the mic to his mouth.
"yoo?" he says into the mic. wondering.
the sudden burst of his friends talking all at one. "we heard every damn thing since we've been playing." one of his friends say.
your eyes widen and you cover your mouth in embarrassment. wishing the floor would swallow you up right then and there.
sammie's jaw drops as he drags a hand over his face. "then why" he groaned into the mic "didn't y'all just leave the voice chat?!"
you hear one of his friends yell "well maybe you fucking forgot, but you are the party leader!!", he informs sammie "your avatar has been running into a wall the entire time, and we have called your phone and screamed for y'all, we ain't need to listen to the porno so we just turned our mics down and screamed until you guys would hopefully notice!"
one of his friends eric voice chimed in with a laugh "nigga y'all nasty as fuck, talking bout some chem, nahhhh y'all doing anatmoy and shit."
you groaned as you took a pillow and stuffed your face into it, wanting to hide. sammie turned his headphones off and returned to you, shaking his head and lying down.
you felt the bed dip just a bit as his body hit the bed, letting out a sigh as he shook his head, he looked over at you as your face was hidden in the pillow, he let out a bit of a chuckle.
"well at least they got a show" sammie joked shrugging his shoulders.
you turn to him slowly and smack him with the pillow, as you hear his full-hearted laugh pulling from him.
a/n & taglist:
i don’t know whyyyyyyy, this shii took me forever and a day! i was soo annoyed i stayed up at 3am adding more stuff to the end..i think that’s my problem 😭. but y’all let me know what y'all think.
lmk as always if you'd like to be removed or added to my taglist in the comments !
Grocery Store owner Husband Bo Chow x Baker Wife black!reader
summary: You are starting to get a bit overwhelmed and drained with all the orders coming in and Bo helps you relieve that stress. Having you lean back on the counter and getting a taste
warnings: 3.5k words, fem reader, Bo chow is in fact an eater, fingering, oral, fem receiving
a/n: i think i did better with the smut this time but idk, i do like this one and tbh this was going to be straight smut w no plot but i had to give just a lil something, hope you enjoy!! <33
“they should call you sugar, cause you’re so sweet to me” ~ft Tyler the Creator
Cinnamon and nutmeg aroma wafted throughout your bakery.
The warm aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through your bakery, a smell you never got tired of. But today was long and draining; you were behind a couple of orders and didn’t get to take your lunch break today. Today was just heavy.
You were just tired, drained really. You and Bo, are shop owners, both business people, always busy. You were the baker, you prided yourself with the work you’ve created, pies, cakes, and some of the sweetest treats people, including yourself, have ever tasted. Yet, you were falling behind, like five orders behind, 1 order of a customized birthday cake, 1 batch of cupcakes and 2 orders of sweet potato pie. The demand was becoming too much, and what surprised you is that you were behind; you always prided yourself on good time management, and now you feel like it's slipping away.
You and Bo worked right across the street from each other. He had his grocery store, with produce and fresh goods at “Chow’s Market”, and you were in your bakery with flour on the counters, frosting in bags to pipe, and your demanding schedule never changing. This past week, you’ve been very tense with all the work overloading you.
Bo was quick to notice. Every morning you left the house early, but sometimes when he would feel you leaving the bed, he’d offer to stay and help you at the bakery, taking calls and helping you with the orders, but you always denied it. You felt he had his own store to manage, his own deliveries to check, and you knew you didn’t want to burn him out.
You walked to the chilled fridge to grab a fresh sheet of dough for the sweet potato pie one of your customers ordered, and you dusted some flour off of your apron. You sprinkled a little bit of flour on the counter, then you brought the bowl filled with sweet potato puree on standby, you will be using it soon.
You sprinkled a light coating of flour onto the baking counter, you grabbed the heavy bowl of dough ad poured the floured surface so it wouldn’t stick to the counter. You grabbed a rolling pin and started to roll the dough into the desired shape, so you create it into a circular shape.
You then grabbed a brush and dipped it into the egg wash, you glance at the bowl with the puree, making sure it is room temperature, needing to make this pie perfect for your customers. You placed the back of your hand on the bowl, and the temperature was perfect.
You then placed the dough you rolled out onto the pan, making sure its In the pie pan correctly you grab a fork and begin digging into the dough light to get those nice lines, you are crimping the dough, after you that brush a light coating of the egg wash onto the crust, gliding along the dough will make the dough when it is all done a beautiful golden brown sweet potato pie.
You genuinely loved to bake, it was therapeutic for you, getting your mind off things as you worked was what you did, but baking has always given you peace and time for yourself. But lately, it was starting to become more of a chore than something you really wanted to do. It’s mainly because you were just overwhelmed and overworked.
You hear Bo’s voice in your head now telling you “Business is booming, it’s a good thing, Suga” and you would agree the success both of your business have made was great, But you also didn’t have to work with how much money Bo was making alone from the grocery store was enough this was something you wanted to do, to pass some time.
Because you two have been working, you more than him, you and Bo haven’t had much time for each other. No late night cuddles, no lazy weekends, especially Saturday mornings, and the one thing you really missed that you wouldn’t admit….was the sex, just quick meaningful hello’s and goodbyes, what what you two shared. To say you were sexually deprived would be a stretch, maybe. But nevertheless you missed your husband in every way. You love your job, but sometimes you just needed a break.
As you pour the sweet potato filling into the crust evenly, you tap the pan on the counter to make sure the filling is all even. You grab the oven handle, opening it, feeling the warmth. You slide the pie onto the oven rack and close it back up. You wipe your apron once again and walk back to the counter to begin the second sweet potato pie.
As you are rolling out the second batch of dough, you hear the bells on the door; someone has entered
A customer you assume, and so as you work, you greet, not even looking up at the customer, the greeting becoming second nature once you hear the chime of bells at the door
“Welcome to the Sweet Spot bakery,” you said, clearing your throat, your eyes trained on making the perfect circle for your pie to go into the pan as your hads move. “We are also out of red velvet and out of blueberry muffins today, but anything else I can get you, I’d be glad to, the menu is on the counter if you need a moment to—“
You were immediately cut off.
Warm hands were on your waist. Fear struck you
You shrieked, thinking an intruder might come in and as you pull away with the rolling pin your hand is ready to be used as a weapon. You pivot on your feet turning around quickly
Your eyes meet the one you love
“Bo?!” you gasped, huffing out air, the tension from your body draining from your shoulder and quickly replaced with relief that you were safe.
Bo had his hands up in surrender with a light chuckle escaping his lips, “Seriously, honey?
“It ain’t funny Bo, you almost ruined my pie! I ain't know it was you coming in, I thought you were a customer or-“
He didn’t let you finish he traps you between him and the counter, tucking you back against the counter, his arms securely around your waist, as he leaned down, kissing your neck right where you loved.
He murmured sweet nothings against your skin, his breath on your neck sent shivers down your spin causing you to squirm. “It’s only me darlin’, and this pie could wait”
You shake your head “No baby, it can’t wait Bo, I have to finish crimpin the crust and get this in the oven, don’t want it staying out here too long, and I’m already so far behind. 5 orders behind, these are two orders, lucky I’m getting this done” you huffed.
He chuckled lowly, a sound that seemed to vibrate your whole being, “That’s what I figured” His hands intricately untied your apron, easily undoing the knot, he moved the apron from around your neck and letting it hit the floor with a light thump.
“How was your day?” he asked, which caught you off guard a bit but you nodded. His hands massaging the small of your back “Busy huh?” he saw the way your eyebrows knit and jaw clenched from the first moment he walked in, he saw the stress evident on your face and he knew that you couldn’t keep working like this .
“Did you get a chance to take a break for your lunch, during your lunch break? Maybe step out for a moment and eat that sandwich I packed for you?" He asked
You stilled for a moment, avoiding gaze and wiping some of the icing from cakes you sold earlier off of the counter. “Of course, Bo, took about a half-hour” you lied smoothly, though if you were anyone else you wouldn’t even believe the lie you told.
He released his arms from you and, turning you to face him, his eyes just a bit serious, a knowing warmth to them
“Ah, so you did now? He asked with his eyebrow arched while looking at me. “Cause I might have heard from Mrs. Miller- who came by to get some eggs from me, that she stopped by here around one, and my wife was too busy rolling out dough and stirring batter to even look up, she said couldn’t take her lunch because “the poor lady was overloaded doing multiple things at once”
Damn, that nice old lady you thought
You sigh with a light nod “Ok, alright, fine, I skipped it. I just had a lot of orders, and people came in today. “Business is booming, remember?” you repeat the words he always said to you, back to him
“I remember,” he said with his voice dropping into a growl and his hands returning to your hips as he caresses them. “And if the business is booming, if that is cutting into my wife taking care of herself and taking a break when she needs to, and I told her that she doesn’t even need to work. Then it ends today”
He didn’t let you finish he traps you between him and the counter, tucking you back against the counter, his arms securely around your waist, as he leaned down, kissing your neck right where you loved.
“When I came in you look like you could practically fall asleep standing up, honey,” he said gently, his lips brushing your forehead
You leaned into his touch, the sudden proximity of Bo was always a calm place for you, you leaned into his chest, inhaling his scent, the mix of cologne, clean clothes, and fresh, earthy smell of produce.
“Five minutes, Bo, just five minutes,” you whisper into his soft shirt, “Just five minutes.”
“Five minutes of real time” he corrected quickly, a soothing rumble right near your ear. He didn’t move, he just held you there, letting you melt in his arms as you needed it.
“You can’t pour from an empty cup, darlin’, you’ve been giving everything to this baby and there’s nothing left for you,” he says
You hear the truth in his words, truly
He held you and eased back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes, lovingly searching yours, “I missed you today, been missin' you recently, you’ve been working real hard more than usual. I came straight here after I stocked the store up, and just had to remind you that you are the sweetest thing in this whole shop.”
You chuckle at his words
He leans in softly kissing you, reassurance, when your lips met, they danced and washed away all the stress, you instantly responded, your arms sliding up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you.
This was what you needed, what you craved, your husband and the break that has been along waited.
Bo broke the kiss, his breath ragged a bit. His hands drop from your face. “You gon ahead and put that pie in the oven, baby, and I’m right here.”
You nod and grab the pie, walking over to the oven, feeling the heat return as you open it and place it next to the other sweet potato pie.
Instead of going to the sink to clean up, you went to the next section of the counter, where you reached under the counter for a large bag of almond flour, a stick of butter and some eggs, the ingredients for the birthday cupcakes
It clicked for Bo as he saw the ingredients. He watched for a moment and looked at you in disbelief. He walked over to you, his movements straightforward, and he placed his hand over your stopping you from tearing the bag of flour open.
You let out a sigh.
Before you could even turn around, Bo was on you in an instant, kissing you
He lifted you up and set you on the clean counter. You clung to him as he kissed your forehead
“Bo—” you whisper as you pull away
“Enough,” he said sternly, leaving no room for an argument. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around you again. He kissed your neck and whispers in your ear “That pie was the last thing you were making. You may be behind, but you didn’t take a break today either. The pies are the last thing you are making; you are done for the day.”
He kissed your ear tenderly “I’ve been missing you, bed feeling empty when you leave. I need my wife back” he whispered
“Bo, please there is so much work to be done you know I’m behind on orders” you tried to insist
“I don’t care” he whispered back, lips brushing your skin. “I’ll call some of your other bakers to come in, they’ll do the rest.”
You felt your fight fading, the protectiveness and love, combined with the need for him, was too much.
You kissed him and before you knew it he had your panties in your hand. And dress bunched at your hips.
You gasped
“Bo- what if someone sees?” you ask a bit frantically looking at the door, realizing he closed the blinds
“It’s late ain’t nobody coming in here” He stated with ease
“I-I usually get some late customers sometimes” you try to explain
“No one is coming in when you have the sign at the door closed” he kissed you, kissing you like he need it to breath and his hand lingering on your inner thigh.
He broke the kiss and dropped to his knees, his hands cupping your hips and pulling you to the edge of the counter as he looked at you
You glance nervously towards the blinds, which were down, the street was dark, all the signs were closed, and the lights were switched off.
“ Bo, you sure what if someone sees, I should lock the door?” you whispered you heart pounding “We can’t do this here the door is still unlocked
“I locked it darlin', the sign is closed.” He looked at the door, then back up at you, his eyes focused and pupils blown. “The only person I'm worried right now is about you, focus on me”
He kissed the inside of your thigh, you slowly leaned back on the counter, breath panting in anticipation
He watched you for a moment until his face drew closer to your wet core, the heat of his breath fanning was the last warning before you felt his tongue and lips on you.
Your mind was practically going blank, all the orders you had to do, the cupcakes, dissolved you’re your memory.
You were almost immediately overwhelmed. Bo was relentless, his touch his presence and found, his lips and tongue moving eloquently, he was worshipping you, healing your exhaustion.
“B-B-o” you whimper and your hands cling to his hair
“It’s ok baby, use me” he says
He ate like he was eating one of your baked goods. Well, technically he was eating one of your goods and one of his favorites at that, your pussy, his finger started rubbing your clit. This caused your back to arch off the counter.
You kept your hand tangled in Bo’s hair
“Oh- gosh, baby.”
“Please, baby.. You are doing so good”
“mmm…sshhiittt..”
You turned your head, closing your eyes and Bo pinched your thigh. “Eyes down here, Suga, keep em on me..watch me eat” he growled, pulling back from you “told you I was missin’ you, ain't no orders to be made around here, only you and your pleasure, let me worry about that”
You watched him
He dove back in, not missing a beat, he used his fingers and mouth now at that same time. You were in a daze, smellin your pies baking in the oven and feeling your legs shaking trying to pull away from his torturous mouth
“Don’t go runnin from me, just let go, im here, baby right here” his sultury words pouring out into your ears as he made full eye contact with you. The eye contact, the smells. They where sending you over the edge and you didn’t know how much more of it you could take.
Bo wrapped his arms tighter around your thighs making sure you weren't running away from his mouth and he watched your face contour
Bo watched her as if she was an angel from heaven, he did always say you tasted angelic, he saw your eyes starting to flutter and breath becoming more erratic.
He looked up at you soulfully, you, his wife, the one who worked too much and never really knew when to take a break, now coming down from all her stress.
“C’mon baby let go, no more worries right?”
You look at him nodding rapidly with tears filling your eyes “yes..no-no worries, thank you baby.”
“say it one more time fo me”
“no more worrying, I need you”
“mhm, im right here baby, im right here”
He let out a groan, the vibration adding another sensation to you, you are pulling his hair and clinging to the counter, you are frantically bucking into his mouth as fast as you could, not fast enough
“that’s it baby” he said
Bo held you like you were everything
You moaned, movements becoming more erratic as you cover your mouth as you look at him trying to lower your voice, its not like anyone could hear you but still, worrying about others. Bo saw and took your hand and intertwined it with his, he wanted to hear you
Your legs shaking against his head, quivering and unstable, your moans louder, tensions from your shoulders disappeared “Baby! Please i- I can’t, I’m gonna cum i-!” your eyes roll back
“Mhm, give it to me” he muttuered against your core never letting go until you made a mess over his face, you rode it out on his mouth, Bo licks his lips and fingers”
You panted as you came, taking your time to catch your breath. He released your clit from his mouth and kissed your thighs, slowly raising back to kiss you.
“You ok, honey?” he asked, looking at you making sure you are still with him
You nod “mhm, much better..thank you”
“I’d never get tired of my favorite smells, your cooking and baking and your pussy”
You couldn’t help but slap his chest, playfully chuckling a bit “you are too much”
“I like the taste of em too,” he says with a smirk and kisses your forehead
“oh yeah?” you ask with a teasing tone
Bo nods and walks to where there is a little bit of sweet potato filling in the bowl and grabs a spoon, tasting it, with a slight nod of approval of the taste. You watch him as you fix your dress
“Bo what are you-?“ before you could ask, he was in front of you, fingers finding your pussy again and pushing his finger in, collecting your juices, and bringing it to his mouth, causing you to gasp
He moans at the taste of you as he holds the spoon he tasted the sweet potato with and tasted you with his finger
Bo’s nodding as he looks you in your eyes, “I’m tellin’ you, baby, sugar ain't got nothing on you, you really are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted”
The exhaustion and stress you felt earlier is no longer so heavy, as you lean into your husband’s arms. Your husband chased away the stress from earlier. You smiled and pressed your lips onto his, tasting yourself a bit
You two were happy, the smell of you and the sweet potato pie filled the bakery, two of Bo’s absolute favorite things.
a/n & taglist
idk if y'all like Bo like that, and also lmk who wants to be added or removed from a taglist!!
𑣲⋆ otw! era michael jackson x reader ⠀₊⠀ ׁ⠀ word count — 658
summary : one of the jobs that comes with being a boyfriend, according to michael, is being a taste tester for his girlfriend’s notoriously bad cooking
includes : fluff, kissing, established relationship, etc.
m. list
california, 1979
the kitchen was filled with the clattering of silver pots and pans on the stove while the blur of los Angeles heat and noise— honking and cheers leaked in from the open living room window.
your hair was tied back and your long polkadot dress brushed against the wooden floors barely as you worked in the kitchen.
to say that you knew what you were doing however..
your boyfriend’s voice pulled your attention as it spread across the small apartment flat.
“baby!” he called, “the movies almost on!” his voice said in that familiar gentle and breathy tone.
michael revealed himself from behind the wall, his deep set brown eyes lighting up when he found you.
the sleeves of his striped yellow and black sweatshirt were rolled up, revealing the smooth skin of his arms beneath as they rested on the sides of his black jeans.
“there you are,” he smiled as he stepped closer, his eyes flickering to the events on the stove.
his smile faded slightly while confusion took over his face, his gaze turning back to you.
if there was one sentence anyone could identify you as, it would be that you were certainly not a great cook.
that didn’t stop you from trying anyway. after all, practice is what makes perfect.
he leaned slightly against the counter.
“is this what you’ve been doing the whole time?”
you nodded, your smile still existing faintly on your lips.
“i’m trying out a new mac and cheese recipe i saw in the newspaper,” you clarified, stirring the pot.
michael hummed.
“really? you didn’t like the one from— what was it.. the betty crocker cookbook? i thought that was your favorite one.”
“when i attempted it though, it looked and tasted nothin’ like it was supposed to.”
your boyfriend let out a soft laugh under his breath, his hands finding the sides of his face.
“i don’t think thats the book to blame, baby.”
you shot him a look, causing for him to only laugh harder as he rose from against the counter and stepped behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders.
“i’m just joking, you know that.”
as his head leaned down beside yours, his voice had practically been a whisper in your ear, his hands moving to your waist.
you wouldn’t admit it out loud that you knew that michaels words were true.
even if you do recall best to your memory that you’re sure you followed that recipe word for word.. that obviously wasn’t the case— although you just couldn’t exactly pinpoint where things went wrong.
you didn’t concern over it, either.
because you had your boyfriend— Michael, who was kind enough to volunteer to taste your cooking.. something you wouldn’t even do yourself.
surpassingly and nonetheless fortunate, michael hasn’t gotten sick yet.
you scooped out some mac and cheese with the wooden solid spoon and blew on it for a few moments before offering it over your shoulder to the man behind you.
you watched as michael ate it without protest and chewed silently with no sudden disgust flickering over his expression.
“how is it?” you asked expectantly after he finished swallowing.
Michael leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.
“it’s good..” he smiled, pausing. “but maybe.. we could order in?”
your expression darkened almost instantly, michael’s hands around your waist tightening slightly.
“no—baby, it’s just this once,” he added quickly, his voice apologetic.
“you said that last time too.” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned around. “did you think i forgot?”
he laughed, shaking his head, pulled you closer and gently untying your hair from the loose hold you had it in.
“cmon,” he said softly. “we’ll order something good.”
you brushed a strand behind your ear, no longer in the mood to argue.
Hiiiii this is my first time requesting something from you. But I would love a fic of doctor! y/n x patient Jackie where he was unfortunately injured by doctor y/n takes real good care of him and bonded closely enough to eventually fall in love with each other despite Jackie’s messy situation that got him there in the first place.
. .˚ ⋆Nice Try.. ⋆. .˚
pairing: Paitent!Jackie Jackson x Nurse!Reader
Summary: Jackie was involved in an incident, and now he has a broken leg. After undergoing surgery, you are his nurse, tending to his injuries during his stay in the hospital.
Heads up ⋆ pure fluff, flirting, bubbly-ish reader, mentions of divorce
word count: 2.4k
Inglewood, California —— Centinela Medical Hospital ---- June 27th, 1984
6:54am
Another early Summer morning in California, you were on the way to the hospital to start your morning shift. The beams from the sun kissed your freshly showered skin. Work had started being a little more exciting the last couple of days, given you were assigned to Jackie Jackson.
You stepped inside the bustling hospital lobby, greeting your co-worker stationed behind the front desk.
"Heyaa Y/N, Goodmorning, Jackie is asking for you."
"What? he's up? at this time of the morning?" You handed her your clock-in card, softly giggling.
"Yeah, up and ready to see YOU." she said punching a hole in your card and placing it in the 'IN' slot.
"Well he needs to wait, I need some breakfast first.."
You both shared a laugh as you began walking away, departing with a wave goodbye. Her voice rang through the spacious hall calling out to you.
"Well don't leave him waitin' too long!" She called out to you while you were walking away. You quietly giggled to yourself again headed for the stairs that led to the hospital basement.
Many of your other co-workers had already arrived and were taking time before officially starting their long 8 hours. You greeted your fellow morning shift co-workers with warm smiles on the way to your locker.
Looking down, you smoothed down your white nursing uniform, clearing any small wrinkles. On the way to the basement cafeteria, you clipped your name tag on your breast pocket.
You simply grabbed a hashbrown patty and a small cup of orange juice, something quick and easy because you didn't want to keep your beloved patient waiting.
After breakfast you headed back towards the lobby set for the elevator. On your way up, the elevator stopped to pick up someone on a different floor. It was your work friend, Evangeline.
"Hey..goodmorning," her tired voice greeted you, slightly perking seeing you.
"Hey Eva, long night?"
"Absolutely. I'm about to head out though. Your little friend was asking about you this morning."
"Lord Jesus, you're the second person to say that, I've only been here for 20 minutes." You leaned against the wooden cabin wall. "I hope someone brought up his crutches. I sent a request order yesterday."
"They are, they are outside his room." The elevator finally reached your floor with a ding. With a wave goodbye, you stepped out the elevator, never looking back. You continued down the quiet hall, hearing hushed conversations and low murmurs from the patient televisions.
Approaching Jackie's room, you placed a hand on the doorframe, then swung your body to peek in. He was propped up in the medical bed, looking out the giant window before your entrance drew his attention.
"Good morning!" you said, stepping into the room.
Jackie's face immediately lit up, seeing that pretty face of yours.
"Good morning, baby." His eyes chase you as you travel across the room to grab your stethoscope.
"I hear you were in distress this morning," You turned to face him, raising one of your eyebrows. "Why keep bothering these folk about me?" You walked back toward his bed, sitting on the side. His left leg was elevated inside a cast.
“I'm sorry, I was just missin’ you.” He was too smooth for his own good. The exact reason why he was laying in this hospital bed.
You rolled your eyes before replying, deciding not to further entertain.
“Any pain this morning?” you said lightly tapping his cast.
“No sweetness, someone came by to give me my meds this morning.”
With a nod, you slid the stethoscope ear tips in your ears.
“Sit up, Jackie.” you murmured, your voice becoming hushed. “Deep breath.”
He sat up, leaning closer than he needed to as you slipped your hand under the back of his shirt. You pressed the diaphragm on his upper back listening for his breathing.
“Again.” You could see him staring at you through your peripheral, a stupid smile on his face.
You removed your hand from his back and moved to his chest. His hard sculpted body was warm against your finger tips as you traveled towards his chest. You once again listened, this time for his heartbeat.
Your gaze met his, a smile spreading on your face. You removed the pieces from your ears and wrapped your stethoscope around your neck.
“Your heartbeat is awfully fast,” You teased him, rising to your feet. “I need to call someone in here?”
“No baby, you got me all worked up.” He said sitting back against the pillows.
Playfully rolling your eyes, you walked towards the door.
“Dont get comfortable,” You paused grabbing the crutches propped up outside his door. “We goin’ on a walk.” you said, revealing the crutches.
Jackie pressed his lips into a straight line, he didn’t like going on his daily walks, he wasn't used to walking with crutches, it slowed him down.
“Aww poor baby,” offering a fake pout while walking towards his bed. You grabbed his hands, helping him out the bed, you offered support while he positioned his crutches under his arms. His grip was strong on your shoulder, lingering longer than it needed to.
“You were just happy a second ago, what happened?” You lightly pulled away, walking backwards toward the door, letting him come to you.
“I don’t really like these.” Jackie said fidgeting with the crutches before trying to make his way towards you.
“I know, that's why your last pair mysteriously went missing. I'm gonna find out who took them for you.” You said raising a fist at him.
He finally made his way over to you, slowly picking up pace. You both continued out the hallway, you adjusted your pace to match his faltering one. He was quiet while trying to focus on maneuvering his temporary fix.
“You’ll get better with time, you're gonna need these for a while.” You said staring ahead into the empty hallway. Sunlight was drowning you both in golden hue continuing down the long walkway.
“How long do you think exactly? Y’know my brothers are touring soon..I don’t want to miss..”
“Boy..you are in no condition to tour!” You said folding your arms. “You just got run over, you think you gonna be prancing and gyrating all over these stages..? No. At least, not right now.”
Jackie let out a chuckle.
“Gyrating?” He said looking at you.
You hummed at his confusion.
“Yeah. I saw you during the Triumph Tour.” You eyed him up and down before he looked away continuing to laugh.
After a while of letting him practice, you headed back to his hospital room, letting him take his time. Offering small sayings of encouragement as he continued to progress. You helped him back into the bed. It was acts like this that he deeply appreciated from you, being taken care of despite what he is going through and why. You elevated his leg again, he enjoyed every touch from you. Every single one is soft and filled with care. Jackie sighed finally getting back reacquainted in his comfort.
The rest of your morning was spent in and out of his room. While handling your task, JAckie kept himself busy watching television or reading the stack of magazines on his bedside.
_________________
11:26am
This time you walked into his room, you had a lunch tray of food for him, it was also your time to sneak away and grab a snack.
“You gonna behave if I send someone to look after you while I go eat?” You said placing the tray on his bed.
“I could.” He smiled, reaching for the tray.
“See you in a bit.” a warm smile on your face before walking out the door.
Jackie watched you until you weren't visible, he loved the way that uniform hugged your body, or the sound of your pretty voice greeting him in the mornings. Something about you… had him so intrigued it made it almost want to stay in the hospital longer.
______________
Over the next couple days you would continue the same routine with Jackie, the two of you growing closer. Today when you started shift, he wasn't awake this time, you peeked in his room to see that handsome face, his features softened by his unconscious state.
You stared longer than you needed to, a smile spreading on your face. You snapped out of your trance hearing the elevator ding down the hall, just another nurse that worked on your floor.
You offered a smile as she walked past, trying to make yourself seem less suspicious. Looking back at Jackie, you decided to enter the room anyway, figuring you’d get his meds ready for when he does wake up. You quietly walked towards the other side of the bed, targeting the cabinets by the window. You took a double take noticing a opened manilla envelope with a paper lying next to it. Your eyes cut to him then back to the paper, your curiosity overpowering the guilt you'd feel snooping in his business.
Walking closer, all your nursing morals going straight out the window. The words on the paper finally become visible, divorce papers..filed against him. You raised an eyebrow, your eyes cutting to his sleeping figure.
You hum in acknowledgement, learning something new, guess he was in deeper trouble than you thought.
He began to stir in his sleep causing you to quickly turn your back, returning back to the cabinet.
“Goodmorning, beautiful lady.” His usual soft voice laced with morning huskiness. You quickly turned, making brief eye contact before turning back grabbing the pill bottles.
“Goodmorning, Jackie.” You walked to his bedside, taking your usual seat next to him.
“Any pain?” gesturing toward his knee.
He shook his head, a big smile on his face. You giggled at him furrowing your eyebrows.
“What are you so happy about?” taking the lids off the bottles to provide him his last dosages.
“I just woke up to this beautiful sweetness this morning, I just have to be.”
You couldn't resist the smile that began to intrude your face. Shaking your head you passed him his cocktail of pills.
“Youre getting discharged today.” Your voice dropped to a softer tone, offering him some water.
Jackie hummed, chasing his pills with the water.
“I know,” he said, placing the cup back in your hand. “Can we go for a walk, I wanted to talk to you.” he grabbed your hand.
“Of course.” you said, grabbing the crutches against his bedside.
Jackie was doing way better with these crutches these days, eventually he stopped complaining..after giving your fair share of scoldings.
“You gonna miss me once you leave?” you said, holding your hands behind your back.
“No, I wanted to ask you something.” He looked towards you, continuing to make his way down the hall.
You hummed waiting for him to continue.
“I want you to come to my house, to take me for my walks, like here.”
“That's the physical therapist job, cutie.” You tilted your head to the side, catching his gaze.
“I might need extra help y’know? Some encouragement.”
You let out an uncontrollable giggle, he can’t be serious…you didn't want to be a part of his lady drama.
“Jackie, be serious. Don’t you have a wife at home?”
Jackie went silent for a moment, the clicking of his crutches echoing the hallway.
“She visited yesterday, actually,” he turned to look at you again, his smile faltering. “We are getting a divorce.”
You looked down at the ground, pretending to process this information. “Sorry, to hear that Jackie,” You folded your arms. “But you know why, right?” you raised your eyebrows.
“Yeah.” he murmured, shame drowning out his voice. “But, think about it, baby.”
____
SO, you did just that. That day Jackie got discharged, the whole process was long, but he was out by 12:00pm. While stripping his hospital room clean, you came across a note he had left behind on the bedside table. His name, address and house phone number was left on the note in bold.
“silly.” you chuckled to yourself, slipping the note in your breast pocket.
It was something that lingered in your mind constantly, wondering if you should actually indulge in that mess. You got off work early that day, deciding to go home and shower. Stripping off your uniform, you pulled out the small note, staring at it again.
A conflicted hum broke the silence in your room as you placed it on your dresser.
Days passed and Jackie’s house never received a call from you. Everyday you’d walk past his old hospital room, stealing quick glances with the familiar room. You let the note sit there as it collects dust. Everyday you would walk past it. While you watch television, you'd catch your eyes falling to the crumbled white note. Eventually you got tired of him living inside your head, it was driving you crazy.
That night you decided that you were finally going to call him. Fresh out the shower you stood at your home phone wearing panties and a bra, your hand lingering on the handle.
“This is stupid.” you mumbled, finally picking up the phone, pressing the digits on the card.
The phone was pressed to your ear hearing the ringing, anticipating whether he was going to pick up or not. The phone cord was tangled up in your fingers, your lips pressed into a straight line.
“Hello, Jackie Jackson speaking.” His smooth voice digitally compressed.
“Jackie?” you simply replied back.
It was silent for a moment before you heard him chuckle on the other end.
“Hey sweetness, I thought you were never going to call me.”
“mmm I’m sorry, I got a little busy at work.”
“uh huh, with what?”
“People like you.” you both shared a laugh before it went silent again.
“What you need, baby?” His voice broke the silence.
“You still want me to come over?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m off this weekend. What time works for you?”
“Anytime works, babydoll.”
You sighed. An uncontrolled grin grew on your lips, falling for his flattery.
“What are you wearing?” he spoke again.
“Tommorrow? Oh I do-”
“Right now.” he cut in.
You paused, rolling your eyes, looking down at your scarcely clothed body.
“MY uniform.” your words dragged in sarcasm.
“Mmmm, I like that, a lot.” His words were dragging along, he was clearly tired.
Heyy...so im trying appeal my Jermaine fic that got hidden, but idk if tumblr is really gonna put it back so....should I just repost it? idk that seems really lame, anyways hope you enjoy...bye bye
this is what played in Smoke’s head when Stack said “a pretty lady needs help with her car” and Smoke set his eyes on you for the first time at the auto shop.
as your heels clicked on the gravel floor towards the shop and he eyed you up and down.
man was gone ever since and Stack knew that. (Stack just smirking like he cupid himself)
i’ve seen your ask and i’m deff putting it on my to do list 🤍🫧 !! but i wanted to request something myself, hehe.
i don’t see very many beyonce writers sooooo i wanted to request something for her.
maybe some richwife!beyonce spoiling her girlfriend?!? it doesn’t have to be that though, i’ll eat up any yonce headcanons you write.
wishing you a wonderful and safe day. :)
- k 🫧
hiii kai kai!! OF COURSEE i can whip that up for you. i miss writing for yonce.. most people on my tumblr don’t know (besides you and a few others ) that on wattpad i used to write for her! now that im not really active on there anymore i rlly miss it. so this is actually perfect.
here you go <3.
╰───⌲ WIFEY!BEYONCE HEADCANNONS!
WIFEY!BEYONCE who makes sure she keeps you kept and spoiled in every aspect of you two’s relationship. she sends you gifts to your doorstep almost every other day. she takes advantage of fake “holidays” all the time. you’ll get flowers on your doorstep; with a notecard saying “happy national pretty girl day,” or “happy national girlfriend day”. at this point you always expect some kind of gift on your doorstep.
WIFEY!BEYONCE who takes pride in seeing you wear the gifts she bought you, she’d instantly point out if she saw you wearing a bracelet, necklace, shoes, purse, pants, or top that she bought you. she’d instantly compliment how it either went well with the complexion, and undertone of your skin. or how it brought out your eyes, or how it made you glow, before giving you a sloppy kiss on your lips.
WIFEY!BEYONCE who favorite kind of gift to give you is lingerie, she loves the pretty little sets she buys you. majority of the time it’s pink, since she knows how much you love the color and she also loves how well it looks on your body and on the floor.
WIFEY!BEYONCE who although she loves spending her money on you, she knows that the best give she could give you is quality time. She loves nothing more than to rent out a restaurant so the two of you can have quality time alone. or rent out a aquarium, and pay for a personal guide so you two can enjoy a immersive experience.
i was gonna try add some explicit headcannons but i could find a way to add it.. maybe i’ll do a pt 2.
i have no idea how to describe it but anythingggg M’baku 🤸🏾♀️ he is so underrated
all i can think about is him sitting in that throne, could be needy reader? and she wants to take him on the throne 🫣
sorry it’s so short! i rewrote it so many times bc i didn’t like how i wrote it previous times but here you go!
“shit ‘baku!” you moaned as the muscular man repeatedly bucked his hips up into you, creating a intoxicating rhythm. “‘s too much, please!” a look of faux sympathy fell upon mbaku’s face, “‘s too much hm? but you were just begging to take me? now all of sudden it’s too much?” his tone aroused you even more, and made your cunt more gushier.
you whimpered as you rode him, the feeling of his lengthy and girthy base rutting into you and his mushroom tip hitting your spot over and over was starting to unravel you. a pool of heat in your stomach was beginning to gather, “y’close hm, intle?” he asked, cocking his head to the right as he drove his hips up into you more, each thrust growing rougher and faster, the pace turning rougher.
you nodded, as you felt yourself get closer your mouth fell ajar. and low gasps and whines fell out of it. mbaku’s large calloused hands reached up to your chest and began to palm your pretty brown tits, his fingers kneading and pulling your dark brown nipples.
your brain was beginning to get mushy just like your pussy. your mind only focusing on reaching your peak. “you look so pretty like this.” he cooed softly, lifting his torso from the throne with slow, deliberate grace before leaning into you, his lips brushing against your neck in a warm kiss. he trailed kisses up and down your neck, which made your pussy pulsated, a shiver crawling up your spine. you let out a pornagraphic whine.
“i’m gon’ cum!” it seems that at your declaration, the muscular man’s pace got faster. if that was even possible, and his fingers pinched + pulled your dark brown nipples which brought out a moan as your reached your peak. you squeezed him tight creaming so hard that you lost your breath. mbaku bucked his hips into you one last time before stilling and letting every drop of his semen into your puffy and overstimulated pussy.
intle means pretty in xhosa! atleast i hope; i used google translate.. and i know sometimes google translate doesn’t give accurate translations so i hope thats what it means!!
but i had so much fun writing this !! ignore errors ,
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
Ditzy!reader has such a praise kïnk like omg girl we get it😭😭
Smoke knows you have that confidence in you, you just need a little reassuring! Sometimes he’ll give you a good pep talk before going into a place, lift your chin up and fix something about your outfit he saw wasn’t right. He’ll say something like “Don’t overwork that pretty mind ‘f yers. Ain’t shit you can’t handle.” Or he’s giving acaress of his hand on your cheek, or giving your thigh a squeeze. And after you say what you need to properly your eyes are immediately looking at Smokes for approval. He doesn’t mind though, give you a little curt but pleased nod that makes you wanna fall on top of him and roll around in his warmth while you giggle.
Or when he’s drilling his meaty length inside your sopping walls, your head pulled to the side with hearts in your eyes. Salvating at the sweat dripping down the side of his face that you want to lick up, you’re mewling out, “Is good ‘Lijah, it’s hck- it’s good?”
He lets out a grumble of curses, damned at how sexy you look all fucked out and needy. Pretty pussy clamping down on him like your aching for his cum, his lips fall to your neck, your chin, leaving sloppy kisses on your lips while he gives you slow sledgehammer into your heat. Crown of his head pressing that special spot you love so much.
“Course it is darlin- fuuuuck me, yer wonderful princess.”
It only makes you moan louder, creaming his length as he holds you close, letting your nails claw down his back as he doesn’t stop railing you, only fucking your through it. Pushing your curls back as he’s got your head inbetween his bicep.
He groans, thrusting his cock into you faster, dirtier, “Shit, you can take this baby, can’t you? You’re my good girl, aintchu? Don’tcha wanna make yer husband cum?”
