#Circle Line Cruises

[treasurechestqc]

Поездка в Нью-Йорк – это одно из самых интересных путешествий в США.

Поездка в Нью-Йорк с дочкой, мы мечтали очень давно и вот, наконец, это случилось, Vive New-York! От Квебека до нашего отеля Holiday Inn Express Jamaica в Нью-Йорке путь составляет 844км 9 часов пути. Но так как я работаю водителем то решил устроить себе отдых, и мы решили лететь самолетом. Я заказал недорогие авиабилеты в aircanada.com и полетели с пересадками из Квебека в…

[niallthebadboi]

[zo2mess]

Bliss In Vegas

Summary: The team landed a mission in Las Vegas, because what could possibly go wrong in the world’s most innocent city, right? Fast forward through a whirlwind of chaos, and somehow no one got hurt… but you woke up in bed with Adrian, nearly naked, and two ring pops on your fingers.

Warnings: 18+ Brief smut, hand stuff, spit stuff, alcohol consumption, crude language, I guess that’s it? (Morning breath! I’m so fucking sorry, it was all I could think about when I was writing this. Just ignore it exists for a while O_o)

Word count: 4.4k

Masterlist of my works

Note: Adrian in tighty whities with beer all over him made me incredibly feral and ready to finish this little thing I started few months ago. Eh, it is something I guess? I just wanted to get over it.

And listen, I have never written about 11th Street Kids before, except for Adrian; apologies if any of them feel weird.

You know the saying? What happens in Vegas…

“Don’t stay in Vegas,” Harcourt sternly noted at the end of her little briefing of the next so-called mission. The fact that they still needed to take care of some stray swarms of butterflies even after terminating the cow was inconvenient, said mildly. “We do our job and go back, no random stops in any of the facilities.”

Those butterfly survivors would eventually die of starvation, but ARGUS was suspicious of large groupings of them in certain areas. They could be spending their last days together as a species, or maybe, just maybe, they’re trying to find a way to stay alive and find a new source of food, which was a dangerous idea.

One of those groups was flying free between casinos and strip clubs in Vegas, Nevada. Really troublesome area to be sending this team. It was practically screaming disaster.

“Why are they sending us? I thought we were done!” Leota protested, exchanging a questioning look with John who was in the same shock as her. Vegas was way out of hand and the last thing she wanted was to spend time away from her wife and furbabies.

“The official reason is that we are now experts on butterflies when it comes to terminating them-“

“The real reason is that we are seriously underpaid and we’re a cheap workforce” Economos interrupted Harcourt in a matter of seconds, saying the real reason for the little trip awaiting you.

Chris with Adrian, on the other hand, were doing their best not to let anyone know how excited they were. You could feel Adrian vibrating out of his skin next to you. No doubt he was already thinking how he and Peacemaker will stop crime, get wasted, and cruise some bitches. The real question was how they would break free from Harcourt's gaze and go astray. “Wait, you guys are getting paid?”

One way or another, this outing in Vegas was bound to be legendary.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The whole mission felt like a dream, after shooting up butterflies it was already too late to be driving back home, so Harcourt allowed crashing at a hotel until morning. You would think everyone felt like you, exhausted after the long trip and crashing little alien bugs, but no.

Chris and Adrian were pretty much excited to be hitting the town, and a person would think Adrian would at least clean his boots that still had alien goo all over them after he cheerily stomped on butterflies all day.

It wasn’t just the casinos, bars, and strip clubs waiting to strip lost souls of all their money. On the lit-up alleys, lined up were hustlers with classic shell games, women imitating peacocks adorned with faux gold and feathers, shady watch sellers, and more or less inconspicuous pickpockets. And just like tigers in a zoo, it was best to simply watch them pacing impatiently in circles—but anyone who sticks their hand into the enclosure quickly loses it.

All these predators, performing various tricks to catch their prey, prove once and for all that human creativity and the desire for money know no bounds.

In the end, you could not just lie in your hotel bed when Las Vegas was right on the other side of your window, teasing and luring with colorful blinding lights and loud music playing from every corner, the better side of Vegas. Plus the second Adrian put on his puppy eyes and whiny begging tone you were a goner.

How could you say no?

And that was the beginning of the most memorable night you did not remember.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

When you stirred awake you felt too hot and cold at the same time, head pounding and the ringing in your ears didn’t make it easier to open your eyes. The strongest hangover you ever had was making itself known, though hangovers usually don’t make you feel you are being pushed into the mattress and making your hand sweaty?

No, no, that wasn’t sweat, was it?

The morning sun shining into the hotel room immediately blinded you when you tried to open your eyes, but you managed to at least get a look at what was causing at least half of your discomfort.

Adrian.

Nearly naked Adrian lying on top of you.

Adrian that was drooling all over your fingers as he sucked on the ring pop on your finger from his sleep.

What?

His frame completely enveloped your body, transferring his body heat to you and making you feel breathless. Adrian lounged in just his boxers and once you looked around your room you found piles of clothes all over the small cheap hotel room.

His jeans on the ground, glasses on the bedside table, His holey socks hanging from the edge of the bed with… your top and jeans? Then whose shirt were you wearing?

Adrian’s room was right next to you, why was he sleeping in your bed?

Too many questions, too little answers.

You tried to gently ease Adrian from your body and roll him to the side, but goddamn, was he heavy. You could try again and again and he just wouldn’t budge.

He groaned from his sleep because of your constant nagging but he didn’t move an inch, at least he stopped sucking on the lollipop, “Stop wiggling, I’m gonna get a boner”. Gods, how could his voice sound so raspy and whiny at the same time?

“Adrian! What are you doing here?” you slapped his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, which finally worked, he lifted his head while he just barely opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness of his vision. Those half-lidded green eyes and tousled hair did something for you, it was hard to admit it though.

“I would be sleeping if you weren’t slapping me and making my cock hard” He mumbled nonchalantly and settled back on your chest, nuzzling to your boobs like it was the most normal thing to do. “Your tits are amazing pillow, you know that?”

Another slap. Another yelp from Adrian.

Under different circumstances, you would have enjoyed cuddling with Adrian, it’s not like you were completely resistant to his charm, or whatever that illuminates him, which makes him so enamoring.

But not right now, not when you had no idea how you got to bed, how he got in your bed, why you were almost naked, when your head was pounding, and also…

Why did you both have ring pops on your fingers?

You didn’t notice it at first, but once you did, it made gears in your head turn really hard to put one and one together. You took his hand in yours, studying his blue raspberry ring pop and comparing it to your strawberry one, but other than the fact yours was way smaller and wet from Adrian’s constant sucking, nothing stood out.

And Adrian didn’t even notice something was on his finger until you lifted his hand. Unbothered king. He was getting on the rest of your nerves that remained after the wild night.

“Oh my god! Twinsies!” How was he so cheery in the morning? He must have drunk a similar amount of alcohol as you did, but it seems his body doesn’t believe in hangovers.

When you started pushing him from your body again, he finally rolled off onto his back with a loud huff. What a way to wake up, hangover in a Vegas hotel. The only thing missing was an Elvis impersonator singing under the balcony. ‘Thank you, thank you’ he would mumble with that deep voice as you would throw a few cents at him.

Adrian laid still extremely close to you, shoulders touching and all, and stared at the ceiling with a dumb smile on his face while you were panicking next to him. How did this happen?

“Do you remember anything?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Nope.”

“Do you think we fucked?”

“Nah, you would have felt it.”

“You mean with that thimble of yours?”

He just snorted, tilting his head to the side to laugh right in your face. You didn't even have the energy to question what was so amusing about his thimble dick. But for that moment of Adrian laughing at you for no apparent reason, it felt like a normal day. Like you were back at HQ, relaxing on one of the worn-out couches with Adrian in his armor beside you, chatting about something ridiculous while polishing his knives and rolling his head to look at you, trying not to smile.

However, it all vanished away when Adrian lifted and knelt on the bed and a bunch of casino chips started falling from his boxers. Chip after chip pooling around his thick thighs. And it looked like he was surprised in the same way you were.

The right question would probably be why he stored his wins in underwear, second, why he went to sleep with them, and the third one…

“How did you win so much?”

“My brother taught me how to count cards, it’s really easy once you get the hang of it. But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is that I need to exchange these crotch doubloons for real money,” He collected his chips and started admiring them in the morning light shining directly at him. “I am gonna be so rich, dude.”

Those little coins with fluorescent details flooded the room with colorful reflections. Spots of blue, green, red and pink decorated the furniture as well as your skin. If your skin wasn’t already buzzing from Adrian’s touch, you would be able to imagine the light tickling you.

“Come on, we’re going to get even more drunk to celebrate me being a fucking millionaire,” Adrian’s face lit up, what a fucking sunshine, you wanted to punch him in the face when he grabbed the blanket shielding your lower body from his greedy eyes. The cold air in the room was relentless, enveloping your body and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You could not get a break with the dumbass.

“Goddamn, do you wear this pathetic excuse for panties under your suit?” Adrian let out a wolf whistle and stared right between your legs without any shame. “You should have told me that sooner!”

Your panties? What was wrong with them?

One blurry look down and you know exactly what was wrong. “Those are not my panties.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have white lace panties.”

“Wait, wait,” Adrian leaned extremely close to your crotch, examining the red embroidery that decorated the hem of mystery underwear. “Here it says… Congratulations to the happy couple from Bliss wedding chapel.”

“Say what?” Your eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets. The embroidery was a sign of something horribly dooming. White panties from the wedding chapel really weren’t a good thing for someone who did not intend to get married. And oh, the horror of wearing something gifted from a drive-through wedding chapel.

“What,” Adrian replied to your shocked words with a confused look. It seemed like he did not realize what it meant. Either that or he didn’t care at all about being married to his colleague.

“Ade, are you even registering what that means?” It was like your heart dropped down to your stomach. Did it mean what you thought it did? Were you fucking married? In Vegas? And without remembering anything?

“Oh my god, are you my wife?” He lifted from between your legs, which was fucking painful thing to do when the thing he wanted the most was to be buried between them. His face weirdly lit up, unclear if with shock or happiness, “Am I your husband?”

“No, that must be some misunderstanding, right?” You jolted up, scrambling out of bed with a bunch of uncoordinated jerks of limbs. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen right on your face. Damn those sweet juicy drinks that weaken your brain!

“We need to talk with others, they must know something, right?” You were more or less talking to yourself, babbling how it is impossible you got married with freaking Adrian Chase without remembering anything.

Adrian was still too absorbed in those chips on the bed and the ring pop on your fingers. One of his focuses meant he won money, the other that he was married, and the third, pretty, pretty thing in front of him was his wife. He completely ignored your panic, it was whatever.

He never was the kind to believe in fate, but goddamn, he must have done something really good to get all of this in one night.

“Ade, are you listening to me?” You almost touched those chips, fingers mere inches away, before you realized that Adrian had these shiny knick-knacks stashed away in his boxers the whole night. Your hand hovered above them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Adrian watched you with a dumb smile, “Are you afraid of my crotch doubloons?”

“I don’t want to touch something that was near your dick” As simple as that, did he think it was normal?

“So you’re afraid of my dick” His smile widened with every word, he had that stupid expression on his face you still couldn’t look through. You had wondered several times what was going through his mind at those moments when his face twisted maliciously.

“I’m not afraid of your dick, Adrian.”

“Then touch it.”

“Why would I be touching your dick?”

“To prove you’re not a coward.” That stupid face was literally asking to be punched, but would that help your case? He looked abnormally good when he was hurt. “Plus, if we are married, we should consummate the marriage, right?”

“We’re not in the Middle Ages, Ade, we’re not married and I’m too hungover anyways”

Adrian noted in his mind that you didn’t say no because you didn’t like him outright, you said you had a hangover. This could mean two things; That you didn’t like him and hid it behind a lame excuse of drinking too much yesterday, or that you were actually hangover but did like him.

That must be the case. At least he hoped.

All this time, he was hoping you might get the hint that he liked you. He tried to be discreet, sending small signs like he saw in movies and read on Wikihow.

Make eye contact, look down, hold, slowly look back, look away, soft smile, scratch your neck, lick your lips, make eye contact again, wink…

And all this time you thought he was cursing you across the room when he tried this in team debriefings.

Being discreet was so unlike him, but he hoped it might seem normal, not like his usual attempts at flirting. And that was the problem. Adrian Chase, a guy desperate to share his every thought, sending subtle signs? Who could have caught that? Not you, that’s for certain.

“I mean… What is a hangover anyway? It’s when alcohol levels in your body drop to zero after heavy drinking. And one way to remedy that is drinking more,” He knew way too much for his own good, though after multiple horrible hangovers, he needed to know what was happening to him.

“Maybe if you finally got laid you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time, it's like a hangover” He finished his speech with a look that screamed anything but innocent.

Your blood suddenly grew hot, how dare he say you don’t have any game? Your hand shot up between his legs, touching him just like he dared you.

You fell right into a trap.

Say what you want about Adrian, he was stupid but not dumb. He hunts down criminals, he must know a thing or two how to trap his victim, how to get what he wants. Right now, he got you right he wanted. On a hotel bed, dressed just in his shirt and wedding panties and your hand on his dick.

Lucky bastard.

And you… You were a lucky bastard in a way too.

You could fondle his cock any way you wanted. This image haunted your dreams more than once. And what fool would you be if you didn’t take that chance.

Though the surprised look on your face was not something you imagined, when you got a good feel of Adrian ‘Thimble’ Chase. He was already semi-hard, and it made you wonder what caused it. Was it when you were nudging him in his sleep? Or when his nose caught a whiff of you while reading your underwear testament?

Maybe you would have to spread the word that your now husband was Mr. Definitely not Thimble.

You began running your hand up and down over him, slowly but surely making him even harder than he was. Adrian managed to keep his wide and confident smile just for few seconds. One gentle squeeze on his base, one swipe of your thumb over his covered tip, and he was a goner. His sparkling eyes fluttered closed, and this time, when he licked his lips, it didn’t look like he was licking away sauce from pasta at Fennel Fields.

While his hips gently rutted further into your touch, his hands shot to your hips. Strangely, he was slick with his touches, before you even knew it, his fingers were running under the sides of your white lace panties, just oh so desperate to feel your soft skin without anything else in the way.

“Is my tongue still red?” Adrian asked before sticking his tongue out, baring the surface of his tongue colored in deep red. What a weird question to be asking when you’re getting your dick fondled, though at this point you shouldn’t be surprised.

“Still very much red, why are you asking now?”

Adrian just grinned and eyed you up like a predator. Something was stirring in his mind.

Before you could ask him for the meaning of his question again, he lifted his hand with the big ring pop on his finger and pushed it into your mouth.

The second flavor of blue raspberry burst on your tongue you couldn’t blame him for sucking on your ring pop all night and drooling on your fingers.

While you enjoyed the artificial taste coating your taste buds, Adrian stared at you with a slack jaw and soft whimpers falling from his mouth. “Fuck, I wish you were sucking me like that”

Suddenly, he pulled away his hand, making you whine at the loss of your lolly. It didn’t take long before you had something else to focus on with your mouth though.

He practically lunged at you with his lips, pressing them against yours and setting a pace too fast for your sluggish mind. Adrian’s tongue demanded entrance in your mouth and before you could even register what he wanted, he was pulling at your chin, opening up your mouth for his wandering tongue.

You desperately wanted to match his frenzied pace, it was all too much and yet so good.

Adrian didn’t lick around your mouth like you would have expected, no, quite the opposite. He flattened his tongue over yours, making sure surfaces painted in red and blue brushed against each other.

Oh, so that’s what he was doing…

He wanted to combine them. Red and blue create purple. It would be a beautiful symbol for your new, and very very strange, marriage. Purple can, among other things, symbolize mystery, exactly that clouded over last night. It was still a mystery how you two ended up together. Did it matter anyway?

In the end, he was licking into your mouth like a dog. Panting like one, too.

When he pulled away from the kiss, a string of spit connected your swollen lips. Stretching, stretching, and stretching until it broke and landed on both of your chins. As you were reaching to wipe it off Adrian latched his lips onto your chin with unseen eagerness. The main idea was to help you with the excessive saliva, though he only made it worse.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses from your chin, across jaw, over cheeks, and ended by your ear, “Should I prove I’m not afraid of your pussy?” He whispered before licking the shell of your ear. One of his hands trailed the ring pop over your arm, leaving a sticky trail, while the other began prying between your legs.

“Wow, look at that,” He dared to chuckle after he slipped his fingers under the crotch of your panties, feeling your heat for the first time. You believed Adrian would comment on how wet you were for him, for Vigilante. But no, of course not.

“Your pussy doesn’t have teeth like I thought it would!”

And at that moment you promised yourself you will kill him right after he makes you cum. Not sooner nor later. As a simple warning, you tightened your grip you had on him over the boxers that were, much to your surprise, already stained with precum.

Let’s see how happy Adrian will be when he realizes his wife is a praying mantis in disguise.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

You didn’t bite Adrian’s head off after all, he looked too cute after you made him finish in his underwear. That boyish grin, puffy lips wet with your cum after he licked his fingers off with proud bravado, lively eyes that shined almost the same way as his casino chips…

No, you might just keep him a bit longer.

At least he stopped with his nagging while you took a shower together and dressed in clean clothes. All this time, Adrian watched you like a lost puppy, begging for affection. Each time you gave him a chaste kiss, he stopped whining for a mere second.

While Adrian was hungry for more kisses, and undoubtedly something more, you were actually hungry for some food and coffee or green tea to get you going for the day. So you made your way to the hotel’s small dining room.

Adrian threw all his casino chips on the table between breakfast plates and mugs, they clinked against the ceramics almost too loudly for your poor pounding head.

Everyone’s eyes fell on shiny colorful chips, Leota put down her butter bread so she could reach for them, thankfully you grabbed her wrist right before she could get her fingers on the chip lying next to her plate “Don’t touch that.”

She shot you a questioning look but trusted your judgment. No need to tell her where these chips were, especially if they were in the middle of the table and too close to food.

“Did I get married to Adrian yesterday?” You asked without any humor in your voice, eyes flickering between every single one of those guilty faces of your colleagues. Adrian, though, did not care at all about this little investigation. He was too blissful with married life to even question it.

“It was one of the weirdest ceremonies I have ever seen,” Leota cracked first, “You didn’t even want me as your bridesmaid! You chose John!”

Your eyes landed on Economos, sipping his coffee to hide from you, “I did my duty well” was all he added.

Then you took a good look at others, Harcourt kept staring forward, digging her fork in some scrambled eggs. Chris, on the other hand, was already showing Adrian photos on his phone and Adrian was smiling widely, pointing out small details from your wedding and muttering how beautiful you looked, wearing cheap-looking veil you rented and holding a bottle of vodka instead of a wedding bouquet.

You joined him, and all that anger and confusion blurred for a brief moment. You looked happy in those photos. Laughing, chatting, eyes sparkling like they haven’t for a while. Every single photo was suddenly so precious.

Those were your lost memories.

And the way you were holding onto Adrian, so tightly and lovingly… All those small details didn’t escape either of you. Adrian nudged you with his elbow “We look good together”.

And you did. You really did.

Flushed, drunk, happy.

With the promise of the team explaining on the way home, you dropped your investigation of last night and settled to finally have some breakfast. Both you and Adrian get the leftovers in the form of yogurt. “Snoozers losers,” Chris added.

It was like you and Adrian had already synchronized, peeling the lid off, and licking some leftover yogurt at the same time. And in the meantime, everyone around the table could get a pretty good look at your purple tongues.

“See?! See that?” Chris called out way too loudly while pointing at you, “Did you stick your dick in her?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva at that question. Who even asks that? Especially during hotel breakfast? Some people from other tables turned around when they heard it, eager to know what the hell was going on.

But Adrian smiled, lifted his hand and wiggled his digits “Just my fingers.”

A symphony of disgusted noises came from your team, suddenly your yoghurt didn’t look as appealing as it should. But hey, maybe there will be a time when you won’t be able to eat yoghurt without thinking of Adrian and his-

“I made sure the guy marrying you didn’t have a license for it to be legitimate,” Harcourt finally spoke up, much to the dismay of the rest of the team.

“Which was a fucking mistake! You know how hilarious it would be if these two goons were married for real?” Chris chimed in with a booming laugh just from the idea of the night of the outing ending in one happy couple, drunk out of their minds.

Weight dropped from your shoulders upon hearing you weren’t married for real to Vigilante over there. It was like the air finally cleared, and you could take a deep breath of that crisp morning air. You caught Adrian doing the same, sighing in relief.

But if you were for real, it also stung a little. Somehow, while you made your way to breakfast earlier, you already started planning what to do next. Who will move to whom, when you should go and change your name on your ID to Chase, if you should get rid of your coffee machine so Adrian wouldn’t have too much disposal of caffeine…

While you were lost in your head, thinking whenever you were actually happy or sad the dumbass next to you wasn't your partner for real, Adrian simply leaned closer to you and whispered with that dopey smile, “It’s fine. Next time I’ll be marrying you, I want to remember it.”

[ineedpaigebuckets]

Paige seeing azzis tan lines for the 1st time from after the cruise after Paige’s game!! Could be smut or fluff… whatever you thinks make sense!

tan lines

paige is still buzzing when she walks out of the locker room, hoodie clinging damply to her back, game still thrumming in her chest like an echo. the hallway is mostly quiet now, trainers finishing up their clean-up routines, teammates drifting toward the exit in clumps of laughter and leftover energy. but her eyes find azzi before anything else.

she’s leaning against the wall in a tank top paige has never seen before—light blue, thin straps, something summery and soft that doesn’t belong in a gym, doesn’t belong in the cold fluorescent light of this hallway, and still somehow azzi makes it work. she always does. her hair’s pulled half-up, the rest curling gently at her shoulders, and her skin—god. her skin is golden. warm. glowing, almost. sunkissed in a way paige hasn’t seen in months.

and then she sees the tan lines.

azzi shifts her weight as she looks up and spots paige, and the straps of her shirt slide slightly, revealing the clean edge of pale skin beneath. like her shoulders still remember the cruise. like the sun kissed her everywhere the fabric didn’t.

paige slows without meaning to, her footsteps faltering, her eyes locked on the sharp contrast. it does something to her—something quiet and aching and maybe a little possessive, but mostly just longing.

“you got tan,” she says when she finally reaches her, voice quieter than it was in her head.

azzi smiles, bright and easy, like she knows exactly what paige is looking at. “i did. like it?”

paige reaches out before she answers, fingers brushing along azzi’s shoulder, soft and reverent, tracing the faint border between golden and pale. her voice drops even lower. “yeah. i really do.”

azzi’s breath hitches, just barely, and her smile turns playful. “you gonna keep staring or are you gonna kiss me?”

paige doesn’t hesitate. not this time.

she leans in and kisses her like it’s instinct. like it’s gravity. like azzi came all the way back just so paige could do this. and maybe she did, because she melts into the kiss instantly—like her whole body was waiting for it.

it’s slow. familiar. deep in that way that feels like home. and when they pull back, foreheads touching, paige is smiling like she’s drunk on it.

“you taste like gatorade,” azzi teases, and paige shrugs.

“you taste like vacation,” she murmurs. “not fair.”

azzi laughs and threads her fingers through paige’s. “come on,” she says. “you need a shower. and food. and then maybe… we can talk about how much you missed me.”

⸻

they walk back to paige’s apartment with their fingers intertwined, paige stopping every few steps to tug azzi closer, to steal another kiss, to touch her shoulder again like she still doesn’t believe she’s real. azzi lets her. leans into every brush of skin, every soft smile, every whispered “i missed you” like she’s been saving up her own answers for weeks.

back inside, the air is warm and lazy, the way nights get when no one’s in a rush. paige disappears into the bathroom while azzi flops down on the couch, scrolling through photos from the cruise to show her later. when paige comes out—hair wet, skin flushed from the heat—she’s in a clean hoodie and shorts, barefoot, and her eyes go straight to azzi’s legs tucked beneath her on the cushions.

“your tan goes all the way down,” she says, grinning.

azzi raises an eyebrow. “did you think it stopped at my shoulders?”

“i didn’t think,” paige says, already climbing onto the couch, head in her lap without hesitation. “that’s the problem.”

azzi lets out a breathy laugh, hands settling at paige’s stomach. “so what now?”

paige shrugs. “just… need to be near you for a while.”

and they stay like that—wrapped up in each other on the couch, azzi tracing lazy circles on paige’s thigh while paige leans her forehead into azzi’s stomach. they don’t talk much, just the occasional soft exchange. a memory from the cruise. a story from the game. tiny things. nothing and everything.

eventually, paige falls asleep against her, hands curled into azzi’s shirt, breathing slow and even. azzi doesn’t move for a long time. just watches the rise and fall of her chest, the way her face softens in sleep, the way her lips part slightly like she’s still trying to tell her something even now.

she presses a kiss to paige’s hair and whispers, “i missed you too.”

⸻

later, when they finally make it to bed, it’s not rushed. it’s slow, like their bodies already know the pace, like they’ve been waiting weeks to come back to this exact rhythm. the room is dim, the sheets cool, the city quiet outside their cracked-open window. and paige is all over her—careful and greedy at the same time.

she kisses the places the sun touched first. shoulders. collarbone. down azzi’s arm, until her lips meet the soft inside of her elbow. she keeps going, down over the slope of her chest, her ribs, her stomach—familiar territory.

the tan lines are new, but everything else… paige knows it. she’s missed it.

her mouth hovers just above azzi’s belly button, and she smiles against the skin there, because the ring is still in place—small, silver, with a tiny sparkle that catches the light.

“love this shit,” she murmurs, thumb brushing over the skin just beneath it.

“of course,” azzi says, her voice soft and steady. “you like it too much.”

paige hums, satisfied. “i do.”

and then she settles there, stretched out between azzi’s thighs, chin propped just above her belly, hoodie pushed up to her elbows, hands tracing lazy shapes along her sides. it’s one of her favorite places to be. not even doing anything, just there. letting her weight rest on azzi’s stomach, letting her feel it when she shifts or breathes or laughs.

she dips her head and kisses around the piercing, not rushing, just taking her time. she’s done this before—ridden the steady rise and fall of azzi’s breathing with her hips pressed low and slow, making azzi feel it everywhere. but tonight, it’s quieter. gentler. not about teasing. not even about sex. just closeness. just the need to be there again, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

azzi threads her fingers into paige’s hair and keeps her there, not saying anything. just breathing. just holding her. and paige lets herself melt into it. lets her lips trail back up azzi’s body, kissing every warm, golden inch, up to her ribs and her chest and finally her mouth.

when she gets there, azzi’s eyes are already half-lidded, her smile soft.

“you’re obsessed with me,” she whispers.

paige grins, kisses her again. “like you didn’t know that already.”

azzi laughs and pulls her fully on top, and they move together easily, like they’ve done it a hundred times before. because they have. because this is what they know. this soft, tangled thing. this quiet ache that lives between them.

they don’t even undress all the way. azzi’s shirt is pushed up, paige’s hoodie bunched around her waist, legs slotting together naturally, like they were always supposed to end up here.

and when it’s over, or at least quieter, they don’t untangle right away. paige stays pressed to her, face in her neck, hand still resting low on azzi’s stomach where the piercing sits cool against her palm.

“you’re gonna have to re-tan those lines,” paige mumbles sleepily.

“you volunteering to help?”

paige lifts her head just enough to kiss the curve of azzi’s jaw. “only if you wear something tiny.”

“so… like my cruise bikinis?”

“exactly like your cruise bikinis.”

azzi laughs again, tired and happy, pulling the blanket over them with one hand. “you’re the worst.”

“you love me,” paige says into her neck, already half-asleep again.

and azzi doesn’t argue. just kisses the top of her head and whispers, “i do.”

they fall asleep like that. warm and quiet and wrapped up in skin and jewelry and summer. like they’ve got nowhere to be except here.

and sometime in the middle of the night, half-asleep and wrapped around each other, paige murmurs, “next time, take me with you.”

and azzi, without opening her eyes, whispers back, “always.”

[enticingmelanin]

Ties That Bind: A Modern Smoke x Annie Fic

Ties That Bind || Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie (modern au)

This is Part 3 of the Savor Series.

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: NSFW, Fluff, Smut, and Explicit Language. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 8k+

Summary: With their relationship thriving and their businesses booming, Smoke and Annie are ready to take the next big step—homeownership. As they embark on the search for their dream home, Annie starts to notice something different. Smoke, usually the picture of cool confidence, seems tense—distracted even. Maybe it’s just the pressure of such a major decision... or maybe there’s something deeper stirring beneath the surface.

By the end of their search, it’s not just the countertops gleaming or the chandeliers catching the light. Something far more precious begins to shine.

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ───── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

The spring breeze slipped through the cracked windows of the black Escalade, gliding over Annie’s skin like silk. The sun dipped behind dense tree branches as Smoke cruised through the quiet, picture perfect neighborhood of Ravenswood. Tucked on Chicago’s North Side, Ravenswood was known for its tree-lined streets, vintage charm, and architectural gems. It had a peacefulness to it that made Annie’s shoulders relax every time they passed a leafy park or saw a couple walking their dog.

It was their last house tour of the day, and after three days and ten viewings, they were both running on caffeine, hope, and playlist rotations. Still, there was a soft buzz in the air—of possibility, of change. After a year together, they’d made the decision to hunt for their dream home. It made sense. They were always between their apartments, with most nights ending in Annie curled up in Smoke’s bed, her satin bonnet on the pillow, and her toiletries gradually overtaking his bathroom counter. Half her wardrobe was already living in his closet.

They both loved their own spaces—it had helped keep their individual rhythms intact. But now? Now it was time to build something permanent.

Smoke, of course, made the whole process an event. Earlier in the week, he’d sent Annie out for a fresh set of nails and hair appointment, even slid her money for a shopping spree. Not that he didn’t spoil her regularly—he loved seeing her smile when she got surprise deposits for her maintenance days—but this time felt... different. His excitement was sweet, even a little overwhelming, but he insisted.

"This ain’t just any house," he’d said with that grin that always melted her. “Gotta look like a dream walkin’ into our dream.”

The house-hunting itself had been fun, if a little exhausting. They’d learned more about each other—how she adored bay windows and clawfoot tubs, while he was big on a chef’s kitchen and a full basement. He more so wanted the chef's kitchen for her. Some things they’d compromise on, others were non-negotiable. But none of the homes they’d toured so far had felt right. Close, but not the one. Smoke especially wasn’t one to settle.

Annie’s eyes wandered over to him. He was quiet—too quiet—and his fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel, out of rhythm with the mellow R&B humming through the speakers. His face was set in that deep concentration she knew well. She also recognized the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his fingers. His time in the army had left him with certain scars—ones that didn’t always show until moments like this.

But this wasn’t PTSD, not entirely.

This was something else.

She shifted in her seat and reached over, her hand finding the back of his neck. Her thumb moved in slow circles behind his ear, soothing, familiar. “Baby,” she said softly, her Louisiana drawl wrapping around the words, “you okay? We can always save this one for another day. This week’s been a lot.”

He glanced at her, and the corners of his mouth lifted. Not a full smile, but enough to quiet her concern a little. He pulled her hand from his neck and kissed the back of it, then held it in his, thumb stroking the soft skin between her knuckles.

“I’m fine, baby doll,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly. “I just—” He paused, weighing his next words. “I just feel like this could be the one. I found it online a while back and haven’t been able to get it outta my head since. But I wanted you to see all your picks first. I just hope you love it as much as I do.”

Annie smiled warmly, leaning over the console to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure I will. If it’s got you this twisted up, it must be somethin’ special.”

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers tightened around hers.

“Honestly,” he said, “as soon as I saw it, I thought... Damn, this got Annie written all over it. That’s how I want home to feel.” He turned to look at her fully, his gaze tender as he stopped at a red light. “Like you.”

Her heart did that slow, deep flip it always did when he said something that felt like poetry but landed like truth.

She squeezed his hand and whispered optimistically, “Then let’s go see home.”

A few minutes later, Smoke eased the truck to a smooth stop in front of the last house on their list. Annie blinked at the sight before her, momentarily stunned.

The home stood proudly behind a sleek black wrought-iron fence, its manicured hedges and vibrant landscaping looking like something out of a design magazine. Its soft, creamy white paint contrasted beautifully against the bold, black-trimmed windows and the matte charcoal metal roof. Twin gables gave the front elevation a charming yet modern edge, while the wide front porch, lit by three hanging lanterns, felt warm and inviting.

Everything about the house whispered elegance and peace… and something else too. Stability. Legacy.

Annie’s voice was hushed. “Wow…”

Smoke put the car in park and looked over at her, gauging her reaction. “You like it?”

Her hand reached for the door handle, but she paused and looked at him. “Like it? It's so cute! I can see you out on the porch now smokin' a cigar.”

Smoke chuckled, his dimples deepening as he glanced toward the porch. “And I can see you bossin’ me around from the kitchen window, tellin’ me to put that thing out.”

Annie laughed, her eyes still glued to the house. “Only if you’re blowin’ smoke in the hydrangeas.”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Fair enough.”

Smoke got out, rounded the front, and opened Annie’s door for her. “Come on, gorgeous,” he said, offering his hand.

Annie smiled and took it, letting him help her out of the SUV. The spring breeze played with the hem of her white sundress as she straightened up and looked toward the house again.

They walked together toward the front gate, the soft thump of the car door shutting behind them. The breeze carried the scent of freshly turned soil and faint traces of honeysuckle from the yard next door. Annie smoothed her dress again and tucked a curl behind her ear. Her kinky coils sat pretty on top of her head in a half-up, half-down style.

Smoke reached for her hand as they walked the stone pathway, lined with perfectly trimmed shrubs, low purple blooms, and a "For Sale" sign staked proudly in the yard.

“Did you notice the address?” he murmured.

Annie’s eyes shifted to the plaque mounted beside the front door: 4465.

Her brows lifted. “What about it?”

He smiled. “My mom’s birthday. April 4th, 1965.”

Annie blinked. Her lips parted, then closed again as she looked back at the house. “Elijah…” she breathed, her voice softer than the wind weaving through the trees.

“I told you,” Smoke said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, “it just felt right.”

Annie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hear you loud and clear, Mama Moore,” she whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. Then she looked up at him with a lifted brow. “Still a skeptic?” she asked, referring to her spiritual hoodoo practices and the consistent guidance of their ancestors. He didn't practice it, wasn't exactly a believer, but he respected her beliefs.

He smirked at her. “You know I have a hard time believin' in things I can't see, baby. But... I see you and I believe in ya and whateva you be doin' at that altar,” he said and winked before leading her up the stairs to the front door.

Annie’s heart warmed at his words. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach in anticipation as he knocked on the door.

Soon the door opened revealing a petite brunette, with a bubbly smile dressed business casual. “Hi, I'm Amber the realtor,” she said sweetly, hand out to shake Smoke's hand. “You must be the Moores, it's nice to meet you.”

Smoke shook her hand and returned the pleasantry, then Annie. Annie smiled, enjoying the sound of “the Moores.”

Amber welcomed them inside and informed them they could look around freely.

“If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know,” she said as she stepped back into the staged office to the right of the entryway.

They returned a thank you and began looking around.

On the opposite side of the hallway was a formal dining room with wainscoting wall panels, a coffered ceiling, and a long walnut table set for eight. Annie ran her fingers over the velvet dining chairs, imagining Sunday dinners and holiday laughter echoing off the walls.

Further inside, they stepped into the kitchen—and Annie stopped in her tracks.

“Smoke…” she whispered, eyes wide.

Soft oak cabinetry framed by gold hardware lined the walls. The marble-topped island was massive, surrounded by elegant upholstered stools with gold bases. Enough space to prepare food for their family and friends. Above it, three globe pendant lights hung from the ceiling like jewelry, casting a warm, golden glow.

“Damn,” Smoke murmured, genuinely impressed. “This is you all day.”

Annie nodded, taking it all in—the built-in double ovens, the walk-in pantry, the custom range hood with gold detailing, and the glimmering backsplash. A vase of fresh tulips sat on a golden tray in the middle of the island.

She smiled. “I’d never leave this kitchen.”

“Bet,” he said, eyeing her with a teasing smile. “Guess I’ll have to make you dinner from time to time to lure you out.”

They continued exploring, their footsteps tapping on the wide-plank hardwood floors. The living room was warm and sophisticated, featuring more coffered wood ceilings that made Annie stop and tilt her head up in awe.

“I love this,” she whispered.

The space was anchored by a stone fireplace and tall windows that bathed the room in natural light. Everything felt intentional, down to the textured area rug and plush sectional.

They wandered through a few bedrooms on the first and second floor, each uniquely staged with soft linens and thoughtful décor. Smoke peeked into one of the bathrooms, all six of which featured sleek tile, spacious vanities, and rainfall showers.

“They weren’t playin’,” he said.

The master bedroom was pure luxury. A tray ceiling added dimension to the room, while a large bay window let in gentle light. Annie stepped inside and exhaled with wonder. The king-sized bed, draped in layers of plush white and cream, faced a fireplace and wall-mounted flat-screen.

Smoke opened a nearby door that revealed the en suite bathroom, and they both stepped inside.

“My goodness,” Annie said under her breath.

A gleaming clawfoot tub sat beneath a chandelier, backed by a marble accent wall. There was a massive glass walk-in shower, and on either side of the room, double vanities stretched beneath wide, lighted mirrors. His and her walk-in closets flanked the bathroom’s entrance, each large enough to be a room of its own.

“Pictures really didn't do this justice,” Smoke muttered, clearly impressed.

“I can already see my candles lining that tub,” Annie said, spinning slowly.

Smoke grinned. “And me knockin’ on the door askin’ if ya drowned yet.”

They laughed and she pushed at his chest playfully, the warmth between them growing deeper as they left the master suite and headed down to the basement.

Downstairs, the basement was fully finished—complete with a home theater setup, game room space, gym, bathroom, and the remainder of the seven bedrooms. A bar stood in the corner, its stonework matching the fireplace upstairs, and a wine fridge was tucked beneath the counter.

Annie leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she looked around. “It really has everything.”

Smoke stood beside her, hands in his pockets. “And then some.”

Annie turned to him with a sigh, her heart felt full. “I love it. Nothing’s come close to this.”

He smiled, deep and slow. “Me too. What do you say you take another look around and then meet me in the backyard? That’s really gonna seal the deal.”

Annie nodded, still swept up in it all. “Alright,” she said, watching him head toward the rear of the house while she wandered back through the first floor.

Somehow, they’d missed the laundry room earlier—tucked just past the kitchen and across from a small powder room. It was spacious and bright, with a window that let in natural light. Clean white cabinets lined the walls, paired with soft grey quartz countertops. A double washer and dryer sat side-by-side beneath the counter, and a deep utility sink rested near the corner. There was more than enough storage for every cleaning supply she could think of, and even space for a built-in folding station. Annie grinned. It felt like the kind of room you didn’t mind spending time in.

Satisfied, she moved back through the house, soaking in every last detail before stepping through the sliding glass doors that opened from the living room onto the covered back patio. The space felt like a private retreat perfect for events and entertaining.

A paneled dark wood ceiling stretched above her with recessed lighting and a sleek ceiling fan spinning lazily. To her left, an outdoor kitchen complete with a built-in grill, stainless steel appliances, and whitewashed brick gave the space a luxe yet cozy vibe. A long wooden dining table with cushioned bench seating stood ready for family meals or casual hangouts. To the right, a plush outdoor sofa and chairs with cream cushions and blue patterned throw pillows invited her to sink in and relax. The view overlooked a lush backyard framed by mature trees, and Annie could just picture warm nights out here with Smoke, wrapped in each other.

Her heels carefully tapped down the stairs to the tiled stone path, the soft clack of each step nearly lost in the hush of evening. The sun was setting, casting a sultry, golden glow across the backyard, painting everything in warm light and long shadows. “Smoke?” she called out, looking toward the matching three-car garage as she began walking in search of him.

“Over here, baby doll,” his voice called, low and steady, from behind her.

She turned, expecting to see him casually leaning against something, maybe smirking in that way he always did—but what she saw instead stole the breath from her lungs. An audible gasp left her lips. Her hands flew to her face, and before she could even think, tears were slipping down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “C’mere.”

She sniffled, trying to steady herself, her soft sobs catching in her throat. Her legs felt like lead, trembling with every slow step she took toward him.

Behind him stood a breathtaking heart formed entirely from white roses. In its center, a glowing white neon sign spelled out “It was always you” in elegant cursive, glowing softly against the light bricks of the patio. A lush aisle of dense white rose petals led to him, flanked on both sides by tall glass candles flickering gently in the breeze. And right in the middle of it all, Smoke knelt on one knee, a calm smile on his handsome face, a little black velvet box open in his left hand—holding everything she never knew she’d dreamed of.

Smoke looked like he stepped out of a fairytale, or maybe straight off the pages of a GQ cover—clean, confident, and completely hers.

His short-sleeved, cream knit button-up hugged the solid build of his chest and arms. The open collar giving a peek at the subtle glint of a simple gold chain. His navy blue slacks were perfectly tailored, hugging his frame without clinging, and falling effortlessly over polished black dress shoes. His chunky gold watch glinted on his wrist, catching the flicker of candlelight as he waited with quiet patience.

As soon as Annie reached him, he took her left hand in his, placing a kiss to it. Tears clouded her vision as she looked down at him, trying to hold it together, her breath catching in her throat.

He blew out a breath, trying to ease his nerves. "I've been holdin' onto this for months," he said, glancing at the box and giving it a small jiggle in his hand. "Thinkin' 'bout how I'd do this, but nothin' felt good enough... Then I came across this house and felt like it was the missing puzzle piece."

He sighed, his throat tight with emotion. His jaw clenched as he tried to hold back his own tears, the weight of the moment resting heavy in his chest.

Annie’s thumb gently stroked the back of his fingers, her touch grounding him.

Smoke cleared his throat and looked up at her. His voice cracked just slightly, raw and real. "If someone would've told me a year ago that I'd be here in this moment... I wouldn'tve believed 'em. Back in Clarksdale, word got around that you were up here, and I just hoped that maybe the opening of the lounge would lore you to me. But... clearly someone or somethin' had better plans..."

He let out a breathy chuckle, and Annie joined him, sniffing and smiling through her tears.

"And to be honest, I don't know what I did to deserve it."

"Elijah—"

He shook his head gently, cutting her off with quiet conviction. "Nah, baby. It's true. My biggest regret is leavin’ you. You deserved better than that... our baby deserved better than that." His voice faltered, thick with remorse. "I saw the world, did what they say men supposed to do, but it’s you that makes me better every damn day."

He looked up at her, his eyes shining. "There was this ache in me when you were gone. Like I was walkin’ around half-alive, tryna fill the space where you used to be. But now..." he paused again, getting choked up, his throat tightening as he pushed through the emotion, "Now I feel whole. So full I don’t even know what to do with myself some days. I’m grateful, Annie. Grateful I get to wake up everyday and love you. And bein’ loved by you? That’s just the cherry on top."

A soft smile played at her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks. He matched it with one of his own.

"We’ve been through hell and back," he continued. "And I can’t promise we won’t go through more. But what I can promise is that I’ll never leave your side again. I’ll protect you, support you, and love you in every way I know how. So..."

Smoke opened the small black velvet box, revealing a breathtaking oval-cut diamond ring. The center stone was massive, catching the last golden rays of the sun and scattering them in a dazzling array of light. It was set in a delicate platinum band made of tiny diamonds, each one sparkling like stardust. The ring was bold yet elegant, timeless yet modern and undeniably stunning—matching how he viewed her.

Annie gasped, her hand flying to her chest as her eyes welled up all over again.

"Annie Lisette Batiste, love of my life... will you marry me?"

Her smile stretched wide through her tears. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, laughter bubbling in her throat through her emotion.

Smoke chuckled, eyes never leaving hers. "That a yes?"

"Yes, baby," she breathed, her voice full of warmth and wonder.

He slipped the ring onto her finger, where it fit like it had been waiting its whole life for her. Rising to his feet, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her with everything he had. The world around them disappeared—nothing else existed but that moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Smoke rested his forehead against hers and murmured against her lips, "I hope that’s a yes to the house too... 'cause," he smirked, eyes gleaming, "I may have already put in the winning offer a few days ago to set all this up. Why you think Amber said "the Moore's"?"

Annie sucked her teeth and playfully rolled her eyes with a smile. "You somethin’ else, Elijah Moore."

His low laugh rumbled from his chest. "Aw, c’mon, woman. I saw it in your eyes the second we pulled up. You love this place."

She giggled, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around him again. "Okay... yes. You lucky I love it almost as much as I love you."

They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in each other beneath the fading light—safe, sound, and whole. Annie offered a silent thanks for every root, every whispered prayer that had kept them, and led them right back to this moment. Everything was finally falling into place—big... and small.

Back at Smoke’s apartment, Annie couldn’t stop admiring her ring—not through their shower together, not while applying her skincare, and definitely not while whipping up a quick meal of spaghetti to calm her nerves and feed their hunger. The massive oval diamond on her finger caught every glint of light, sparkling with every move she made. She kept catching herself turning her hand in different angles, just to watch it shimmer.

“Mmm, that smells good,” Smoke murmured as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His bare chest pressed against her back, and his chin rested comfortably on her shoulder. He looked down at the bubbling pot of savory sauce, then stole a glance at the soft curve of her cleavage peeking through the tie of her fluffy robe.

“Can I have a taste?” he asked in a low, teasing tone, giving her a playful pinch on the butt.

Annie squealed and picked up the small kitchen knife she’d just used to dice bell peppers, bringing it gently under his chin—not threatening, but just enough to warn him. “Boy, if you don’t find some patience and set the table…” she said with a mock scowl.

Smoke laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Put the knife up, woman. I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

She snickered and turned her attention back to the noodles, giving them a final stir before turning off the stove. The soft clinking of plates and silverware echoed as Smoke set the table at the island. He slid two plates beside her, then reached into the wine cooler and pulled out a fresh bottle of Dom Pérignon, his grin wide.

“Now seems like as good a time as any to pop this,” he said, holding the bottle up like a trophy.

Annie’s eyes widened slightly when she saw the label, but she quickly masked it, responding with a light, “Mhm.”

Smoke tilted his head. “You okay? I thought you liked this one,” he said, already grabbing two flute glasses.

“I—I do, babe. You’re right. No need to save it, there’s a lot to celebrate, but…” she paused, then added softly, “can you hold off ‘til after dinner?”

His brows pulled together, clearly curious, but he didn’t press. “Uh… sure,” he said slowly, placing the bottle and glasses aside. Instead, he poured iced tea for them both—extra lemon wedges in hers, just how she liked it.

They sat and enjoyed the meal. Smoke’s satisfied moans had Annie giggling behind her fork.

“I can’t help it,” he said, already going for another bite. “You make the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.”

They talked between bites, going back and forth about who to break the engagement news to first—of course, Stack won that. They bounced around ideas for the house, what to keep, what to toss, and how they’d tackle packing. Once they were done, Smoke grabbed their empty plates and scraped the leftovers into containers. After loading the dishwasher, he stretched with a content sigh.

“That hit the spot, baby. Thank you,” he said, rubbing his stomach like a kid after Thanksgiving.

“You’re welcome, love,” Annie replied warmly.

“Champagne time!” he declared, reaching for the corkscrew again.

Annie’s stomach flipped. She shot up from her seat. “Hold that thought,” she muttered and quickly padded into his closet. Digging into her luggage tucked neatly in the corner, she retrieved a black gift box tied with a gold satin ribbon. She stared at it for a breath, heart pounding, before returning to the kitchen.

She set it down gently on the counter. “You’re not the only one full of surprises today.”

Smoke’s brows lifted. A grin stretched across his face. “Aren’t you cute? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I couldn’t pass this up. Here, sit," she replied softly, patting the stool beside her.

He settled onto the cushioned stool, eyes twinkling with curiosity as he tugged the ribbon free. The box gave a soft creak as he lifted the lid, rustling through the tissue paper.

Then he froze.

His breath hitched as he slowly lifted a tiny white newborn onesie with the words “I Love My Daddy” in soft gray script and a heart beneath it. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the two white sticks tucked beneath—both Clear Blue tests, both clearly reading: Pregnant.

His head dropped, shoulders shaking as he held back his sobs. Annie sniffled quietly beside him, unable to hold back her tears.

Smoke gathered himself enough to reach in and lift the last item: a small wooden picture frame. Inside, an ultrasound photo. A little black and white blob the shape of a peanut—tiny, but unmistakably a life.

“We’re havin’ a baby?” he asked, voice cracking, tearful eyes locking onto hers.

She nodded, tears spilling freely now. “Yeah,” she whispered.

He stood up without a word and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close and kissing the side of her head. His hand rubbed slow circles on her back as she cried into his shoulder.

“Are you happy?” she asked, voice slightly muffled.

“Of course I’m happy,” he said, pulling back to wipe her tears gently with his thumbs. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift.”

“How far along?” he asked softly.

She sniffled and smiled. “About two months.”

He looked upward in thought, eyebrows raised, then smirked. “I knew I put it on you for Valentine’s Day.”

Annie burst into laughter, remembering the way he had definitely put it on her during their weekend getaway. Smoke chuckled too, then leaned in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I love you, Mrs. Batiste-Moore,” he murmured against her lips.

She beamed. “I love you too, Mr. Moore.”

“And…” he said with a grin, crouching down to gently part her robe. He pressed a tender kiss to her belly. “Papa loves you too, lil’ one. No champagne for Mommy anytime soon,” he teased, looking up at her with a wink.

Her heart melted at his affection. All her nerves were put to rest.

“When’s the next doctor’s appointment?” Smoke asked, pulling Annie gently between his legs as he settled back on the stool. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing slow circles over her robe.

“Middle of next month,” she replied, running her fingers over his head and lightly rubbing his ears. “Once I’m done with the first trimester.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not missin’ a single one.” He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to her open palm, holding it there for a beat like it anchored him. “I don’t know how I didn’t catch on. It was easier to tell before.”

She let out a soft laugh, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I don’t have mornin' sickness this time, knock on wood.” She leaned down and tapped her knuckles against the wooden cabinet below the island. “Plus, I'm only showin' a lil' bit. I only got suspicious 'cause my cycle didn’t come, and then… I had a dream about fish.”

Smoke’s brow arched. “A dream? About fish?”

She giggled and nodded. “Yeah. They can be a spiritual sign—pregnancy, abundance, new beginnings…” Her gaze drifted to the side as she remembered. “I was deep in the ocean. Water so clear and blue it didn’t even look real—it was beautiful. Peaceful. Then out of nowhere, this school of fish swam up all around me. Bright colors, all different shapes and sizes. They weren’t scared, and neither was I. I felt... calm. Like they were protecting me.”

Smoke watched her, totally entranced.

“They swam with me no matter where I went,” she continued softly. “Even when I made it to shallow water near the shore, they stayed. Just hovered like they were waiting. Then I came out of the water and… Mama was there. On the shore.”

He blinked, eyes locked onto hers. “Like you told me before. With Zariah?”

Annie nodded slowly. “Exactly. Mama was holding her. Zariah was cooing, laughin'… she always looks so happy. We didn’t say a word. Just stood there, smiling at each other. I could hear the waves behind me, soft and steady. It was… peaceful. That kind of peace you feel deep in your soul.” Her voice grew quiet. “They’ve come to me like that before, Mama and Zariah. But the fish… that was new. That was her way of confirming what I already knew.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose, lips curled in a small, wistful smile. “I wish I could see her,” he said quietly, his hands still resting on her hips.

Annie leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering there for a moment. “One day you will,” she whispered. “A long, long, long ass time from now. We’ve got things to do down here.”

He chuckled, and so did she.

“Speakin’ of things to do…” he murmured with a teasing glint in his eyes. His hands slid slowly up her sides, then dipped to her waist, pulling her just a little closer. He leaned forward, pressing warm kisses along her exposed cleavage.

Annie hummed, her fingers caressing the back of his head.

“How about we work off dinner?” he offered, voice thick with suggestion and affection.

Her only response was a mischievous smile and the way she leaned down to kiss him—slow, deep, and full of promise—told him everything he needed to know.

She moaned softly as their tongues danced, gliding in a slow, teasing rhythm. Smoke’s hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Her fingers brushed along his jaw before she leaned in and lightly traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, then pulled back with a playful smirk.

“Leave it to you to turn a wholesome moment into somethin’ freaky,” she whispered against his mouth, her breath warm, her eyes shining.

His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Somethin’ ’bout bein’ engaged and knowin’ we made a mini us got me feelin’ extra… primal. Sue me.”

Annie laughed, soft and sweet, and laced her fingers with his. “C'mon,” she said, tugging him gently toward the bedroom. He followed without hesitation, flicking off the kitchen lights as they passed.

“I don’t know if I can keep callin’ you daddy once the baby’s here,” she teased as they reached the foot of the bed, turning to face him with an arched brow.

He sucked his teeth and yanked her flush against him, hands gripping her waist like he was claiming her all over again. “Oh, you will, but with a little more respect in your tone,” he smirked, leaning in to nip at her bottom lip. “Matter fact, after what I’m 'bout to do to you, you might start sayin it in capital letters everywhere we go.”

Her core clenched at the authority in his voice, heat blooming low in her belly. Her eyes flicked from his full lips to those pretty brown eyes—darkening now, like storm clouds rolling in just before the downpour.

"I’d love to see you try," she murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice.

She could’ve sworn she heard a low rumble rise from his chest, more growl than laugh. It vibrated through the short space between them, curling around her spine and making her breath hitch. The air between them thickened with want, and his gaze dropped to her mouth like he was already imagining it moaning his name.

“’Cause you know I always deliver,” he murmured before pulling her back into another heated kiss, deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. His lips were firm, hungry, and she melted into it with a soft moan, powder pink nails lightly scratching his scalp.

With practiced ease, he untied her robe and slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. Her hands were already at his waist, pushing his sweats down eagerly until his thick, hard length sprang free. He stepped out of them, not missing a beat, and immediately dipped his head to trail kisses down her neck—finding that sensitive spot just under her jaw and sucking gently. She whimpered, thighs pressing together instinctively to soothe the ache pulsing between her legs.

Then his mouth was on her right nipple, tongue swirling slowly before he sucked it deep into the warmth of his mouth. Her head dropped back with a breathless moan as he pinched and rolled the other between his fingers, teasing both peaks until they stiffened under his touch.

“Baby, please…” she purred, writhing as he switched to her other breast, mouth wet and warm.

“Please what, mamas?” he mumbled into her skin, the scruff of his beard grazing her soft flesh, sending a new wave of goosebumps across her chest.

“Please, fuck me,” she whimpered, voice desperate and thick with need.

Smoke chuckled low in his throat, his lips now pressing loving kisses along her belly. “Oh, I will... right after I eat my pussy. Now,” he added, giving her ass a firm smack, “get on all fours like I like it.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Climbing onto the bed, she positioned herself just how he wanted—arched and ready. He took a pillow from the head of the bed and slid it underneath her belly for support, mindful of her comfort now more than ever.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her soaked folds and whimpered in anticipation, her body already trembling. He knelt behind her, thick arms wrapping around her thighs from underneath to pull her closer. She swore her heart skipped as he inhaled her scent—slow, deep, possessive.

Then came the tease—his tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, kissing and licking everything but her center. She rocked her hips instinctively, craving contact, every nerve alive.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word more like a vow than a claim, and then his mouth sealed over her pussy.

Annie gasped sharply, the heat and wetness of his mouth sending her reeling. He licked her slow at first, deliberately, tongue moving like he had nowhere else to be. His tongue flicked side to side against her swollen clit before he sucked it gently, then firmly, setting her nerves on fire. Her back bowed beautifully, and he rewarded the arch with another smack to her ass, this one more playful. His strong hands palmed the weight of her cheeks, spreading her open so he could devour her better.

The sound of her moans—raw, open, unfiltered—filled the room. So did the wet, messy sounds of his mouth as he tasted her, worshipped her. His tongue slid down to her entrance and began to thrust, long and deep, mimicking what he knew she needed. She rocked back against his face in response, fucking herself on his tongue.

“Mmm. That’s it, baby. Fuck my face,” he growled between licks, voice hoarse with desire.

“Oooh, Elijah…” she purred, her body trembling as her orgasm crept up with no warning. Her walls clenched tight around his tongue and her clit throbbed against the friction of his chin. His tongue, long and thick, curled just right—rubbing and coaxing the orgasm from her body like it belonged to him.

Her thighs shook, and she cried out his name again and again as she came, surrendering fully to the pleasure. Her body pulsed around the emptiness, and he didn’t stop—he drank her in, tongue lapping every drop, the sounds of his mouth slick and unashamed in the quiet of the room.

“Mm… sweet ass pussy,” he mumbled with satisfaction, tongue still teasing her slit as her body trembled from the aftershocks.

She whimpered, her body hypersensitive, trying to crawl away from his relentless mouth.

He chuckled softly, finally giving her a moment to breathe, and kissed the backs of her thighs with a tenderness that had her heart clenching. Each kiss was like a thank you, a worship, a promise.

“You good, baby?” he asked softly, rubbing his hands down the backs of her legs, grounding her.

Annie let out a long breath and nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “So damn good.”

He hummed with a satisfied smile, rising to his knees as he pressed soft kisses up the curve of her back. She shivered beneath the affection, then slowly gathered her strength, straightening up on her legs. With a lazy, seductive grace, she reached back, her fingers curling behind his neck to pull him in for a deep, messy kiss—tongues tangling, lips slick with need. She moaned softly at the taste of herself on his tongue.

When she finally pulled away, her voice dropped into something velvety and commanding. “Lay down.”

Smoke nipped at her bottom lip in response, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am,” he rasped playfully, and settled back into the bed, reclining against the headboard with one arm tucked behind his head. He looked utterly edible—lids low, chest rising with anticipation, dick hard and glistening in the moonlight.

Annie crawled between his legs, her hips swaying as she moved with deliberate intent. Her eyes locked on his girthy, pretty, brown length. Precum shimmered at the fat tip, catching the silver glow from the window. Her mouth watered, her breath hitching.

She wrapped her hand around him, marveling again at the weight and heat of him, and began stroking him slow and tight while never breaking eye contact. His brows drew together, lips parting with a grunt as his hips subtly rocked into her grip.

She leaned in and let a string of spit drip from her tongue, watching it glisten as it slid over the swollen head. Then, without hesitation, she took him into her warm mouth, slowly sucking him inch by inch until her lips kissed his base.

“Gahdamn… mmm,” Smoke groaned, head lolling to the side as he watched her work. His expression melted into bliss and awe.

Annie moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver down his spine. Her hand worked in rhythm with her mouth—wrist twisting as she stroked while her lips slid up and down his shaft. She pressed her tongue along the underside, tracing the throbbing vein.

Smoke reached forward, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail, angling her just right so he could see everything. “Fuck,” he hissed as she moaned again and popped him out of her mouth with a soft wet pop! Her tongue trailed down to his heavy balls, and she gently sucked one into her mouth, careful, slow, savoring him.

“Fuuuck, Annie…” His voice cracked, thighs tensing beneath her palms, abs tightening with every flick of her tongue. She could feel the telltale signs—his body betraying him with every twitch and quiver.

Then, just as his release hovered close, she stopped.

She released him from her mouth and hand, sitting back slightly. His thick length bobbed against his thigh, flushed and needy.

His eyes flew open in disbelief, damn near a panic. “Woman, are you crazy?!”

Annie giggled, licking her lips as she rubbed slow circles on his thighs to soothe him from the brink. Her grin was deliciously wicked. “Only for you,” she purred, loving the way his chest rose and fell, how his fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to beg or curse.

She could see it—how close he’d been. That made her feel powerful. Intimate. Like she knew every muscle, every nerve ending in his body by name.

“You’re dangerous,” Smoke growled, trying to catch his breath.

She kissed his inner thigh, then up over the ridges of his abs, along his chest, and up the column of his neck. When she reached his ear, she nibbled it gently before whispering, voice syrup-sweet and full of mischief. “Betta call on the ancestors now, ‘cause I’m not done wreckin’ you just yet.”

He looked at her like he wanted to ruin her—in the most loving, filthy, reverent way possible. And the look she gave him back? Just as hungry. Just as wild. His hands gripped her waist firmly, grounding them both in the heat of the moment as she straddled him. Her knees planted on either side of his hips, and she lifted slightly, one hand wrapping around the base of his thick shaft to guide him to her soaked entrance.

A gasp slipped from both of their lips as she slowly sank down onto him, inch by inch. Her hands braced on his shoulders, fingers digging in for leverage as her walls stretched and fluttered around his girth. The warmth of her pussy enveloped him like a velvet vice, clenching greedily as he filled her completely.

"Fuck…" Smoke growled, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he held back from thrusting up into her. He needed her to take her time—wanted to feel every second of her wrapping around him.

Annie adjusted, rolling her hips slightly before beginning to lift and drop slowly, savoring the stretch and slide of him inside her. The steady rhythm sent chills up both their spines, and Smoke let out a low grunt, his fingers digging into her waist. Her pussy gripped him so perfectly it almost hurt—in the best way. Pregnancy had made her impossibly wetter, more sensitive, and the feel of her now was nearly enough to unravel him.

Her head tilted back as her lashes fluttered closed, soft pants escaping her lips as she rode him slow and deep. That gave Smoke the perfect view—and the perfect moment. One of his hands slid up her torso, wrapping gently around her throat the way he knew she loved. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched her melt beneath his touch.

Annie moaned, grinding her hips in slow, teasing circles. “Ssoooh… you feel so good, daddy,” she hissed, her voice cracked with pleasure.

Smoke leaned forward slightly and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking slow and deep. Her entire body trembled. She bounced harder on his dick, her movements gaining speed and purpose as she plunged him deeper and deeper inside her. Her moans were soft, rhythmic, breathy, and perfect—music to his ears.

“Yesss... ride your dick, baby. Just like that,” he moaned against her chest, flicking his tongue over her other nipple, then tugging gently with his teeth. The way her body squeezed around him had him dizzy.

As many times as they’d made love, this felt brand new—like the first time all over again. Electric. Intoxicating. Their bodies spoke a language only they could understand. Every connection felt spiritual, every climax like worship.

Smoke let her ride until she was quivering again, then pulled her down by the neck and kissed her hard—hungry, open-mouthed, breath-stealing passion. She leaned into it, and that’s when he planted his feet into the mattress and started thrusting up into her—each stroke hard and deep. Her pussy creamed around him, sweet, messy, and addictive.

“Oh, fuck!” she squealed into his mouth, her hands clawing at the upholstered headboard for something to hold onto as he pounded her from beneath. Her walls clenched like a vice around him, juices trickling down to his balls.

Smoke cupped her ass with both hands, pushing her down to meet his thrusts, the pressure building fast. He could feel her right on the edge.

Then, without warning, he slowed. Just the tip, teasing, nudging her opening but never fully plunging back in. Her whine was instant.

“Daddy, please,” she breathed, trying to grind down to get more of him.

“You gonna make a mess for me, huh?” he asked, voice thick with heat, eyes locked on her.

She nodded fast, eyes wide and glassy with a pout that damn near undid him. That sweet face, so ready to fall apart for him—it had him teetering right on the brink.

With a grunt, he slammed back into her, his thrusts hitting deep and just right, angled to find that sweet, sensitive spot. Over. And over. Again.

“Right there… oh my god, right there,” she chanted like a prayer, body trembling as the orgasm coiled tight and fast inside her.

He didn’t let up. His eyes stayed trained on her, like watching her unravel was his only purpose in life. “Cum on your dick, baby doll,” he groaned, his own release rushing fast behind the command.

Annie shattered with a cry, her pussy spasming violently around him, drawing every drop from him as he spilled deep inside her. They clung to each other, mouths fusing in a desperate, sloppy kiss—moans and whimpers exchanged like oxygen.

They stayed like that, trembling and tangled, riding the wave of their shared high until their breathing slowed and their pulses came back to earth.

After tender kisses, the kind that lingered like a promise, they each slipped away to relieve themselves and returned for a quick cleanup—gentle touches, quiet smiles, and sleepy laughs echoing in the low light of the bedroom. When they finally slid back beneath the covers, the night felt sacred.

Annie curled onto her side, her body still warm and humming from everything they shared. Smoke tucked himself behind her, his bare chest pressed against her back, and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist like she might slip away if he didn’t hold her close.

“Goodnight, pretty baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with tenderness as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

She smiled faintly, melting back into his embrace and soaking in the warmth of his skin against hers. “Goodnight, my love,” she murmured, her words delicate and laced with sleep as her lashes fluttered shut. It didn’t take long for her breathing to even out, and in moments she slipped beneath the surface of consciousness.

She found herself standing once again in clear blue waters, waist-deep, the sunlight glimmering like diamonds on the ripples. The same familiar school of colorful fish surrounded her, their shimmering bodies dancing around her ankles, leading her forward, guiding her like gentle soldiers.

As she moved toward the shore, the ocean turning to soft, warm sand beneath her feet, she saw them—her mother, standing with Zariah nestled lovingly in her arms. They both shimmered with an ethereal glow, their auras golden and soft like morning light.

Tears welled in Annie’s eyes as she stepped closer. This time, her mother didn’t just smile—she walked toward her. When she reached Annie, she gently transferred Zariah into her arms, the baby’s coos and warmth making her breath hitch. Annie looked down at her daughter, so vibrant and real. Chubby cheeks, dimples, curious eyes, the tiniest fingers curling around her mother’s.

Tears slid down Annie’s face, mirrored by her mother’s, but there was joy there too. Love. Healing. She looked up again just in time to see her mother walking toward a forest of palm trees in the distance, a towering weeping willow standing guard at the center.

“Mama… wait!” Annie called, her voice trembling.

Before fading into the grove, her mother turned back one last time. She smiled… and winked. Annie's eyes fell back to her daughter who's eyes were still focused on her.

“Zariah…” Annie whispered aloud in her sleep, her lips parting with emotion.

Smoke’s brows pinched slightly when he heard her. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet—he’d been lying there, quietly admiring her breathing, her warmth pressed to his chest like a comfort he’d never take for granted.

He lifted himself on an elbow, eyes scanning her face. Her features were peaceful, her lips twitching into a soft, unconscious smile. Behind her closed lids, her eyes moved rapidly—clearly dreaming. But to Smoke, it felt like something more.

He pulled the covers down slowly, reverently, revealing the soft swell of her belly under the moonlight. He leaned in and placed a kiss just beneath her navel, lingering there like he was whispering a prayer.

“Is that you, princess?” he murmured, voice breaking slightly as he caressed the curve of her abdomen with his calloused, trembling hand. “Zariah... baby girl…”

Tears rimmed his eyes, threatening to fall as he pressed his forehead against her skin. He searched the space with his heart more than his eyes, like the love and memory of their daughter could somehow speak through the silence.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, placing one more tender kiss before pulling the cover gently back over her sleeping form.

He climbed back up, resettling beside her, still blinking away tears. But Annie instinctively turned, her face nuzzling into his chest, her arm slipping around his waist. Even in slumber, she found him. She always did.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, fingers brushing through her hair as he held her close.

“I’m right here,” he whispered into the dark, unsure if he meant it for her, their daughter, or maybe both.

Then finally, as her breathing soothed him and her warmth anchored him, Smoke closed his eyes and let himself drift, heart full, soul aching—but not alone.

To be continued....

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Big Papa put a ring on it and gave her a house all in the same day. Period! My babies are having a baby too! 🥹 Y'all excited? I hit you with a double whammy. lol Did you think any of this was happening in this part? Did I catch you slipping? Let me know your thoughts in the comments. xoxo

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Taglist:

@slvt4her @wanderingreigns @avoidthings @xjjawsomex @that-one-anxious-mango @wabi-sabi1090 @nubiawrites @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kianaleani @slutsareteacherstoo @slyy-foxx @dxddykenn @moujg @naughtynolly @wildcardmelaninfreak @pocketsizedpanther @wabi-sabi1090 @styleismyaddiction @novahreign @transparentphantomface @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @babymelaninn @jasmynn05 @notapradagurl7 @starcrossedxwriter @irefusetobeacasualty @bigjh @syko-jpg @akjonthebeat @margepimpson @diamondsinterlude @brownsugarcoffy @shamansha @samiecemonet-blog @nebulamilkyway @browngirldominion @sexysativa605 @bigjh @speakinglife

[vibewithma]

Ruth

Modern Sinners AU! Preacher Boy / Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Guys this is just a filler chapter so you all can know all characters the next chapters finna be🫦. My German ass needed 4 days for this😕💔 I’m working to be faster.

“Y/N, get yo’ ass in here!” Grandma hollered from the living room, already halfway standing, one hand gripped tight around Pops, the other waving like she could summon you through walls.

Dawn, still in her bonnet and fuzzy slippers, shuffled in like a sleepwalking soldier, posted up on the other side of Grandma and took her hand like it was routine.

“Where that girl at? I got a long shift ahead of me,” your Mama called out while wrestling the end of her scrub top, badge already clipped, shoes by the door.

“Don’t be hard on her, now. It’s her first time, baby,” your Daddy mumbled, voice low and easy like Sunday morning, sliding his fingers into hers as they stood side by side.

“I’m here,” you muttered, voice still thick with sleep and thoughts of Sammie lingering in the corners of your mind like smoke. Even though you try to push away any imagination that concludes him.

You stepped into the circle, palms up, heart open. The whole house held its breath as you all bowed heads and began to pray over the week, over your steps, over this brand new chapter that was just starting to bloom.

Amen passed through lips like breath and just like that, the morning was moving again your Mama grabbing her keys, Grandma fussin’ over Dawn’s hair and Pops humming an old hymn under his breath.

“C’mon, girl,” your daddy said, nodding his head toward the front door.

You followed him out, the sun shining above the trees, that early light catching the dust in the air like glitter. The ride was quiet, not awkward quiet just peaceful. His old-school Hip Hop playing low on the radio, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze sneak in.

“Got somethin’ for you,” he said as y’all pulled into the gravel lot behind his job. His truck kicked up little clouds of dirt that shimmered gold in the morning.

You raised an eyebrow, still halfway in a dream. “For me?”

He just smiled and nodded toward the back corner where an old but clean car sat shining like it was fresh out the womb. Paint new, tires black like they’d been dipped in ink, and a little bow taped crooked on the hood.

“Went ahead and fixed her up for you. Thought you might wanna drive yourself to the campus instead of waitin’ on me or your mama.”

You blinked. “Daddy…”

“Don’t cry now, you gon’ mess up your face,” he teased, but his eyes were warm, proud. “She ain’t new, but she solid. Just like you.”

You threw your arms around him, holding him tight like you were seven again, not nineteen and grown. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He patted your back with that daddypat that said I got you, always.

Meanwhile, back home, Dawn was curled up on the couch in Doris’s old bedspread, watching old reruns with Pops. She was still half asleep, letting Grandma braid her hair slowly into cornrows while the house exhaled the rest of the morning quiet.

And just like that, the week began.

The car still smelled like the lemon tree air freshener Lenny stuck in the vent, windows rolled down as you cruised down the two lane road. College campus coming into view like something out a brochure folks laughing, some running late with backpacks halfway falling off, others posted up with iced coffees and opinions.

You found parking easy, took a deep breath and grabbed your tote bag, head held high even though your stomach was doing flips. First day. First class. First real step toward the future you’d been praying on since tenth grade. Social Work 1100: Intro to Human Services. Room B208.

The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and somebody’s too strong cologne, but you found your seat near the window and tucked yourself into the corner.

That’s when he walked in dark skin, dreads shoulder length and a low fade with a clean line up. He wore a big tee, cargo pants, Airforces and carried a beat up notebook like it was sacred.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing to the desk beside you.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

He plopped down, sighed like he’d been holding his breath all morning and then turned to you with a quick, lopsided smile. “I’m Chris, by the way. Social work major God help me.”

You laughed, some of the tightness in your chest letting go. ���Y/N. Same major. Same prayer.”

“Okay, I like you already,” he said, sliding his phone face down on the desk. “You look like you you don’t play. You say ‘no’ to people, don’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m working on it.”

“Aren’t we all,” he grinned. “I got a cousin who think I’m about to fix his baby mama drama just ’cause I took one psych class. I said, sir, I’m not licensed yet call your mama.”

You snorted, trying not to be too loud, but it was impossible around him. Chris had that magnetic energy.

By the time Professor Jenkins walked in, y’all had already traded numbers, cracked jokes about the textbook price and promised to be each other’s emergency class partner.

Monday rolled in smooth like butter on warm toast. You got through your classes, met Chris and even remembered to email that one professor back before midnight. Tuesday was light work just two classes and enough time in between to actually eat lunch and catch up on readings. You were getting the hang of this college rhythm.

By the time Wednesday came around, your head had switched gears. Afternoon sunlight poured into your room, golden and soft, and your calendar had one thing circled: youth choir practice.

You were fixing your hair in your bedroom mirror when Dawn poked her head in. She was already dressed like she had somewhere to be that wasn’t choir tight jeans, lip gloss poppin’ and a sly little smirk on her face.

“Hey,” she started, all casual, “can I use the car after you drove to practice?”

You turned, confused. “What you mean? I thought you was staying for choir?”

Dawn shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah… no. But Daddy still got my car jacked up and I just need it for like… an hour. Promise I’ll be back before it’s over.”

You eyed her, suspicious but tired of arguing. “You better be. And don’t scratch it Daddy just gave me this thing.”

“I ain’t stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes and grabbing her bag. “Thank youuu, sissss.”

The two of you slid into the car, the evening breeze dancing through the windows. You pulled up to the church, parked on the side lot and switched seats so she could slide behind the wheel. As you hopped out and shut the door, you didn’t even see the quick check she did in the rearview or the text she sent before pulling off to see whoever she wasn’t telling the Lord about.

You took a deep breath, walked up the church steps and opened the door expecting voices, laughter, maybe a choir member or two already warming up.

Instead, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

You stepped in and the soft hum of piano drifted from the sanctuary. There he was.

Samuel Moore.

Sammie sat at the baby grand, head tilted down and fingers gliding across the keys like the music was coming straight from his bloodstream. He hadn’t seen you yet or maybe he had and was just pretending not to.

You stood there for a second, heart thumping.

He finally looked up, slow and deliberate, mouth curving into that lazy, knowing smirk. “Look who showed up early.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I thought practice started at five.”

He chuckled, not missing a beat. “It does. You just couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face burned anyway. “I came to sing, not flirt.”

“Mmhm,” he said, still playing. “You always wear that lip gloss to sing?”

You folded your arms, but your smile was giving you away. “You always come to practice alone just to be a menace?”

He let a final chord linger in the air, then stood, walking around the piano with a kind of slow, deliberate swagger that made your knees wobble a little.

“I came to get ready,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “But now you here… and suddenly I feel real inspired.”

You looked away, biting your lip just a little too hard.

“Don’t do that,” he said low, voice brushing against your neck like a prayer and a warning. “Do you know what that does to me?“

You laughed, stepping back before the air got too heavy.

“Boy,” you said, “go warm up your vocals or something.”

“I’d rather warm up with you,” he said, voice low and syrupy, like he was trying to melt into you right there between the piano chords and stained glass silence.

You gave him a look that should’ve been stern enough, warning, laced with a little holy fire but all he did was grin wider and take one slow step closer.

“Samuel…” you muttered, planting both hands against his chest, palms flat like a benediction, trying to put something, anything, between the two of you.

But space? Space wasn’t something Sammie knew and especially not when it came to you.

Before you could take another breath, he had you gently backed up against the pew. Not rough, not wild just firm enough to remind you that he was there. That he saw you. That he felt all of this, same as you.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, soft but full of warning, like he hated how your voice wrapped around his full name. Like it did something to him.

He took both of your hands in his, warm and calloused from Keyboard keys and old hymn books and he held them right in front of your chest. His thumbs brushed the back of your knuckles slow.

“You know I like it better when you say Sammie.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “You’re not supposed to be this close.”

He smiled again, leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. “Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t stand near a beautiful girl.”

“Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t swing my purse at you, either.”

That made him laugh quiet and deep, the kind that came from his belly and he leaned back just a little, still holding your hands.

“Fine Y/N,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll behave.”

“For now.”

And he let go, just like that.

But even as he turned away to sit back down at the piano, you still felt the echo of his hands on yours and you still heard the way he said your name like it was part prayer, part problem.

And you weren’t sure which one scared you more.

You were still catching your breath when the old wooden church doors creaked open, the clatter of shoes on tile snapping through the sanctuary like a clapback.

“Hey y’all,” Brittnay called, voice pitched and firm like she’d been born with a mic in hand and a clipboard in the other. Her natural hair was pulled up into a slick bun, edges laid like holy ground. Her eyes flicked over you quick, clipped and cool before landing on Sammie like they always did.

Malik, Terrence, Josh, Paul, Essence, Ruth and a couple other choir regulars spilled in behind her. Laughter and the soft glow of phone screens trailed them like perfume. A few nodded at you. Josh and Terrence? Yeah, they did the most.

“Hey now,” Terrence said, eyes roaming like he was reading scripture on your skin. “Didn’t know the choir was auditionin’ angels.”

You blinked once, slow. “You say that to every girl?”

Terrence let out a sharp laugh, quick and mean. Brittnay gave you the kind of side eye that could curdle communion wine. Sammie, of course, was watching from the piano, one brow lifted like he’d just found his favorite hymn.

Brittnay clapped her hands once. “Alright now, get in place.”

Voices shuffled, shoes scraped and you took your spot near the alto section. Brittnay handed you harmonies like a challenge, but you caught on easy your voice already seasoned by pews and potlucks and a mama who made you sing before you could speak.

Sammie’s hands graced the keys and Amazing Grace rose slow and sweet. His playing was deliberate, like he was coaxing the Spirit out of the strings. You let your voice fall in soft, steady. By the time y’all reached “was blind, but now I see,” even Brittnay had stopped frowning.

Redeemed followed louder, fuller. Ruth belted like she had something to prove. Malik clapped off-beat. Sammie added these bluesy runs between verses, just subtle enough that you noticed. When your voice met his melody, he smiled like he knew you would.

After the last stretch of “His child and forever I am,” Brittnay tapped her phone screen and the music stopped cold.

“I’ll drop the rehearsal vid in the group chat,” she said, already typing. “Y’all know the drill.”

Buzzes filled the room as messages came through. Choir folk grabbed bags and Bibles, hugging, joking, easing toward the door.

Terrence lingered, leaned in close. “You need a ride home or you straight?”

Before you could get your answer out, Sammie slid into the space like he’d been summoned.

“She good,” he said, dangling his keys like temptation. “I offered already.”

Terrence held up both hands. “Say less, preacher boy.”

Brittnay turned to you, smile taut. “Welcome to the choir.”

You gave her a tight nod. “Thanks.” But her voice held no warmth. Felt more like a warning than a welcome.

Some of the group still standing and talking while others went out, voices fading into the humid night air. You turned to Sammie.

“I actually got a ride,” you said, half a lie. “Dawn should be here any minute.”

You stepped out the doors, swinging your hips like you weren’t irritated as hell inside.

But the parking lot was empty. One car left.

Your phone was already in your hand, thumb moving fast.

You tapped the mic and held it close.

“Dawn Elise Whitaker. Where are you? More importantly where is my car? If I don’t hear from you in the next five minutes, I will summon Granny and you know she still got that wooden spoon from 2004. Call me back.”

“You always holler into your phone like that?”

You didn’t even need to turn. That voice? That lil smirk woven into every word? That was Sammie.

You spun around. “Dawn took my car to go God knows where, probably somewhere no Bible touches and now she’s ghostin’ me like a Pharisee in a leggings.”

Sammie laughed, deep and full, like it came from somewhere way down in his ribs.

“Well then,” he said, holding out the passenger door, “Let me be your chariot tonight, church girl.”

You looked up at the sky like maybe God would write no in the stars. But it stayed quiet and dark. And Sammie was already grinning like he knew you’d fold.

You sighed. “Alright.”

He opened the door, still with that look like he was always one second from saying something slick.

“You ready?”

You slid into the seat. “I guess.”

Sammie climbed in behind the wheel. “Let’s get you home before you start second guessin’ this blessing.”

He winked, turned the key, and the engine came alive deep and low, just like your nerves.

And with that, the two of you slipped into the Clarksdale night, your phone still silent in your lap, your heart beating a little too loud for a simple church girl.

The ride started quiet, windows cracked just enough to let in the cicada song and the last breath of sunset. Sammie tapped the wheel with two fingers, watching the road like it had answers he’d been praying on.

You sat with your arms folded, pretending to scroll on your phone but really just waiting for a text that still hadn’t come.

He glanced over, smirk playing soft at his lips.

“You always walk like that after choir practice?”

You looked up, brows furrowed. “Walk like what?”

He leaned back, hand resting at twelve on the wheel, voice a little lower than before. “Like you was floatin’. Swingin’ your hips like you ain’t know half them boys was ’bout to break they neck watchin’.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “I saw Terrence. Lookin’ at you like you was communion and he ain’t ate all week. And that whole ‘you need a ride’ line? Nah. He wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout cars.”

You side-eyed him. “You jealous?”

He didn’t answer right away, just let the engine hum and the night fold around the car like velvet. Then—

“Would it be wrong if I said yeah?”

That shut you up.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. The soft curve of his jaw, the gold chain catching a glint of streetlight, the way his hands gripped the wheel like it was a steering wheel and a prayer all at once.

He caught your stare and smiled. “You be lookin’ at me like that, church girl, I might crash this car on purpose.”

You snorted and turned away, heat rising in your cheeks. “You so full of yourself.”

“I’m full of a lotta things,” he said, voice dipping playful. “But mainly just thinkin’ ’bout you.”

Another silence passed, this one more weighted, like something holy and unspoken was sitting between you both.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favorite Bible story?”

You blinked. “Wait?! what?”

He shrugged. “I’m serious. You got a favorite? Don’t act like you ain’t grown up around the Word.”

You stared at him, thrown. “I mean… yeah. Ruth, probably.”

That made his smile falter just a little. He looked at you different then softer, like your answer unlocked a door he wasn’t ready to open yet.

“Ruth,” he repeated. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, gaze back on the road. “You loyal. You strong. Got that kind of beauty that don’t ask for attention but still gets it anyway.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before his phone lit up on the dash, screen flashing Brittnay and connecting automatically to the car’s Bluetooth.

Sammie groaned. “Damn.”

He hit the answer button and gave you a quick “Shhh,” finger pressed to his lips.

“Hey Brittnay.”

“Hey Sammie,” her voice came through the speakers sharp and sweet like sugar with lemon juice. “I meant to ask before you left can you get that girl’s number? The new one. Y/N?”

Your eyes widened. Sammie glanced at you, trying not to laugh.

“I wanna add her to the choir group chat,” Brittnay continued, tone going flatter now. “Since apparently she’s in now.”

You leaned closer to the speaker, lips twisted. Since apparently?

Sammie coughed into his fist. “Yeah, I’ll get it to you.”

“Mhm,” Brittnay said. “Well. Night.”

The line cut off, the silence loud.

You raised a brow. “She said that like she didn’t ask me to come and like I snuck in through the back door.”

Sammie chuckled. “That’s just Brittnay. She don’t like when new folks catch the spotlight without askin’ her first.”

“Well tell her I didn’t ask for it.”

“I won’t tell her anything,” he said, while the camera to a stop because of the red light. “You tell her next Sunday with that voice of yours.”

He met your gaze and didn’t look away.

“You really jealous?” you asked again, quieter this time.

His lips twitched. “I’m not used to sharin’ what I want.”

You bit your lip, heartbeat steady and loud in your ears. Before you could answer your phone lit up in your hand.

Dawn calling.

You were only ten minutes from home, the street signs startin’ to look familiar and the sky deepenin’ into that Southern blue black.

You picked up with a sharp inhale, ready to fuss.

Before you could get a word out, her voice came fast and panicked, like she’d been rehearsing it on the ride over.

“Wait don’t go inside yet! Please, Y/N, I need you to meet me at the old corner store. You know, the one near Mr. Lee’s barbershop? I’m pulling up now. I can’t go in alone Granny already think I’m halfway goin’ to hell.”

You sighed and looked at Sammie, who raised his brows at your expression.

“Dawn. Girl.”

“I know, I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? Just help me out. I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

You held the phone away from your ear for a beat, then brought it back. “You better be there when I pull up.”

“I’m already here.”

She hung up before you could argue.

Sammie smirked. “That your Pharisee again?”

You gave him a look. “Yes that’s her.”

“Mhmm,” he said, flipping the turn signal like he already knew where to go. “She gon’ owe you for this one.”

As the car turned down the familiar road toward the corner store, he tapped the steering wheel. “Since I’m still playin’ chauffeur, you might as well gimme your number.”

You squinted. “Why?”

He grinned, leaning into that tease he wore like a second skin. “Well, one you gon’ need a ride again. And two Brittnay want it. Remember.”

“Right,” you said slowly, typing it into his phone when he handed it over. “Only for the choir.”

He looked at you sideways. “Unless you want me to use it for somethin’ else.”

You snatched your hand back, heat pricklin’ up your neck. “Drive the car, Samuel.”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, still smiling.

By the time y’all pulled up, Dawn was leaning against the side of the store, hoodie up, like she wasn’t out here actin’ a whole fool just thirty minutes ago.

She scurried over to your side, knocking on the window. “Unlock it!”

You did, barely rolling your eyes before stepping out.

She grabbed your hand quick. “Okay. We was at the church a little late, right? That’s what happened.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered.

“I know,” she whispered back. “You the realest.”

Before y’all started walking, you turned back to Sammie, who hadn’t pulled off yet.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, voice softer now.

He leaned over the wheel, one arm draped lazy but his eyes locked with yours. “Anytime, Ruth.”

Your breath hitched just a little.

Dawn looked between the two of you, confused and amused. “Y’all flirting or quoting scripture?”

You elbowed her.

And Sammie? He just laughed, like he had all the time in the world to keep teasing you until you gave in.

By the time y’all reached the house, the porch light was still on and the living room window glowed warm behind the lace curtains. Inside, the air was still, thick with that kind of silence that don’t mean peace just waiting.

You and Dawn stepped through the front door like two kids fresh from trouble. Not even five seconds in and you froze, Pops was sittin’ in his favorite chair, Bible closed on the side table, glasses perched low on his nose. Doris sat straight on the couch, arms crossed, face carved in stone.

Both of them looking dead at y’all.

“Evenin’,” Pops said, slow.

You swallowed. “Evenin’, Pops.”

Dawn’s voice cracked a little. “Evenin’, Granny…”

Doris didn’t even blink. “Mmhm. Y’all smell like outside.”

You and Dawn exchanged a glance like that would help, but it only made you more suspicious.

“We were at practice,” you offered.

“Late, huh?” Doris cocked her head, still lookin’ at Dawn.

“Yeah,” Dawn said too quick. “Real late. The choir uh, we recorded stuff and, uh, Brittnay wanted to run a second round—”

“Baby,” Doris cut in smooth. “Don’t lie with your whole chest if your socks tell a different story. You done scuffed up your shoes runnin’ through gravel and your neck still got perfume from somebody else’s bathroom.”

Dawn blinked like she forgot how to use her mouth.

You coughed into your hand, stifling a laugh, but Doris turned to you next.

“You went to practice, Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Doris squinted, then sighed. “Alright. Go on. Get ready for sleep. Your mama gon’ want to hear how choir’s goin’ in the mornin’.”

“Goodnight.”

You booked it down the hall, still hearing Pops mumble, “You too grown to be actin’ so foolish,” as Dawn shuffled into her seat for the interrogation of the year.

By the time you shut your door, you went straight to the shower and got ready for bed.

Your bonnet was tied and your oversized tee hit just above the knees as you curled into bed, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling you into stillness. You had barely flipped your phone over when the screen lit up.

Unknown Number You make it home alright, church girl?

You smiled, thumb already flying before your brain could catch up.

You I made it. Barely. Dawn almost got me grounded at my big age.

Sammie. Coulda been worse. I coulda drove you straight into temptation.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin stretching wide across your face.

You You already did. Now I gotta pray twice before bed.

Three little dots danced before his reply dropped.

Sammie I like a girl who knows her way to the altar. But I also like a girl who pays her chauffeur. You got some gas money, miss ma’am?

You stared at the message, laughing into your pillow.

You I’ll cashapp you $5. That cover it?

His response came fast.

Sammie Mm. Nah. I don’t take cash.

You Then what you want?

Sammie A kiss. Just one. Payment in full.

Your breath caught a little. Fingers paused mid type. This boy had no business texting like this while you were tucked under your grandmother’s roof.

You You tryna go to hell, Samuel?

Sammie Only if you drivin’.

You threw your phone across the bed and squealed into your pillow, heart knockin’ around your chest like it was trying to break free.

You stared up at the ceiling for a long beat before whispering out loud to no one, “Lord… why he gotta be like this?”

Your phone buzzed again.

Sammie Sleep good, choir girl. Don’t forget to pray. Twice.

Taglist: (Does the @ work?)

@cosmicautomatonshark @fanfictiononly4 @pinkpantheris @andthatsonmaryhadalillamb @sweetalittleselfish-honey

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Love on the Back Nine

You’re sitting at the kitchen table with your phone buzzing in your hand as you scroll through your messages. You’d made plans earlier to hit the mall with a friend but they just canceled at the last minute, leaving you with an empty afternoon. You sigh already silently debating whether to just stay in or come up with something else to do.

Cait has been pacing around the living room, messing with her golf gear when she catches your sigh. She looks over her eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb just went off in her head.

“Plans fall through?” she asks walking over and leaning on the back of the chair across from you.

“Yeah” you reply, setting your phone down. “Guess I’m stuck here now.”

“Stuck here?” Caitlin grins like she’s been waiting for this opening. “Or… you could come golfing with me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not this again.”

“Come on” she says circling the table to stand beside you. “It’s perfect! You’ve got nothing else to do, and I’ve got a tee time. Plus I need a partner.”

You arch a brow at her. “Partner? Or someone to show off for?”

“Baby, I would never show off.” she says, though the twinkle in her eyes suggests otherwise. She leans down..her face close to yours. “I’ll be your personal coach. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. It’ll be fun, just you and me.”

You snort. “You’re gonna be my personal golfer girl?...”

“Yep, that’s what I’m here for!” she says, straightening up. “I’ll start you off slow. Show you how to hold the club, line up your shots by the end of the day, you’ll be killing it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “And if I’m awful?”

She places a hand over her heart, her voice turning sweet. “Then I’ll still love you, even if you’re the worst golfer in history.”

You chuckle and shake your head. “I don’t know…”

“Please, baby?” Caitlin moves behind you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her chin on top of your head. “It’ll be a cute little date. Just us, cruising around in a golf cart soaking up the sun. I’ll even let you pick the music for the ride.”

You glance up at her. “The entire playlist?”

She grimaces but nods. “Even your cringy guilty pleasure songs.”

You bite your lip pretending to reconsider. “Tempting...”

“Fine…what if I throw in ice cream after?” she adds, giving you her best puppy dog eyes. “I’ll even let you pick the place.”

You laugh finally giving in. “Okay baby, but I call driving the golf cart!”

Caitlin beams, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling you up from your chair. “Whatever… you’re gonna love it, I promise.”

The drive to the course is filled with Caitlin’s nonstop chatter. She’s clearly hyped, between explaining the different clubs and teasing you about being a great coach. “I bet you’ll nail at least one shot today” she says with a wink. “And when you do, I’ll totally take credit for it.”

You shake your head and laugh. “Sure, Coach Clark.”

When you arrive Cait wastes no time, guiding you through the basics. She hands you a club and positions herself behind you, her hands gently adjusting your grip. “Okay babe, so just relax” she says, her voice low and soothing. “Keep your eye on the ball, and follow through like this.”

You nod letting her guide you for the first few swings. The shots are decent, but nothing impressive. Caitlin cheers you on regardless, offering tips and encouragement with every swing. You can tell she’s enjoying herself, and honestly you’re having fun with her. But then it’s your turn to take a real shot.

You step up lining up your stance and gripping the club just right. You take a deep breath, then swing with confidence. The ball soars through the air landing cleanly on the green.

Caitlin’s jaw drops. “Wait, what?”

You suppress a grin as she rushes over to you. “That was perfect!” she says, wide eyed. “Do it again.”

You shrug pretending it was a fluke, but your next shot is just as good. Caitlin stares at you, clearly in disbelief. “Okay seriously babe….where did this come from?”

You bite your lip, hesitating for a moment before dropping the bomb. “Well… my ex taught me...”

Caitlin freezes her expression shifting from shock to a mix of disgust and mild jealousy. “Your ex?”

You nod, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, they made me go to the driving range almost every other weekend.”

She groans dramatically throwing her head back. “Ew, Y/N! Why would you tell me that?”

“You asked!” you say laughing at her reaction.

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect that answer,” she grumbles crossing her arms. “Now I’m picturing some loser trying to impress you on the course. Gross.”

You grin stepping closer. “Jealous?”

“No” she says quickly, though the slight flush in her cheeks tells a different story. “I just think it’s weird that anyone else ever got to teach you anything. That’s my job.”

You wrap your arms around her waist pulling her close. “Well baby, for what it’s worth…I like being out here with you way more.”

She softens, her pout fading into a smile. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now and for the record, I’m way cooler than your ex.”

“Oh, way cooler,” you agree leaning in to kiss her.

For the rest of the game Cait makes it her mission to outdo you…though she can’t help but laugh whenever you land another perfect shot. By the end of the day she’s both impressed and annoyed.

“You totally hustled me, darlin..” she says as you load the clubs back into the car.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you sweat a little” you tease grinning.

She wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walk. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You lean into her smiling. “And you’re lucky I love you, even when you’re a sore loser.”

She laughs squeezing you tighter against. “Next time I’m bringing my A-game so you better be ready.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready.”

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🔪・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝘁. 𝟭₊˚🔪・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 obsessed at the first glance 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 masturbation (toji time) 𖥔 "she's mine even if she doesn't know it yet" 𖥔 age gap 𖥔 he's downright depraved for you

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy new year, mamas! and happy belated birthday to my baby daddy. y'all have no idea how fun it is to write toji fics. i've got a hundred already lined up. i'm going to make this a full series but for now here is part one of what's about to come (haha get it? oh god. i need help)

The first time Toji laid his eyes on you was the morning after he’d finished yet another one of his assassination cases.

There you were, seated on a picnic mat, a serene oasis in the bustling sea of activity. The wind danced through your hair, and you were engrossed in a book, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you. The music in your headphones created a private sanctuary, shielding you from the cacophony of playful children, picnicking families, and the vibrant hum of the city's summer.

Toji found himself rooted to the spot.

Oblivious to the annoyed cyclists and the world rushing past him, he stood there, captivated. It was as though he had stumbled upon a deity crafted solely for him.

You briefly raised your gaze, taking a momentary break from the confines of the small text.

Toji couldn't believe his luck as he found himself mesmerized by the tantalizing sight before him. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, a telltale bulge in his sweatpants betrayed the mark you had on him. There you were, blissfully unaware, sipping from a water bottle that seemed almost rehearsed.

His fixation deepened as he observed every nuance of your movements—the curve of your mouth, the delicate way your throat accommodated the liquid, and the small hands that gripped the oversized bottle. He imagined his cock instead and flinched from the way his dick twitched. The simple act of you licking your lower lip and unbuttoning the top buttons of your dress shirt to fan yourself from the heat sent shivers down his spine.

You just had to start tying your hair up. 

Taking a deep breath, Toji briskly walked towards a nearby public restroom and locked himself in one of the vacant stalls.

His back pressed against the wall as he lowered his sweatpants and pulled his thick, trembling cock out, pre-cum trickling from the tip. He lowered his eyes and visualized you on your knees, grabbing his cock and circling your small, pink tongue around his tip. His head cruised back as you swallowed his length to the back of your warm throat, gagging, gasping, choking, bobbing your head back and forth. His fingers tightly held onto your tender scalp, fucking himself into your pretty, little mouth until your nose was crushed against his pelvis. He heard you begging, pleading, scratching at his hips to give you a breather, but Toji relentlessly fed you his cock, over and over and over—

Spurts of release erupted and splattered onto the stall's wall, with droplets dripping onto the floor. Toji opened his eyes only to find the space where your apparition was supposed to linger now empty. His hand was sticky and hot, smudged in the mess he’d made envisioning you. You. It was you who had provoked this intense response, causing him to reach a climax faster than ever before.

As Toji cleaned himself up, he couldn't ignore the unabashed stares from the onlookers, men who had clearly overheard him masturbating. Ignoring the judgmental gazes, he focused on formulating a plan to claim you, even if you fought or opposed it; he was convinced that, in time, you would surrender.

In his mind, you were already his.

Toji lingered for the next few hours on that park bench, focused on you. His eyes traced every move you made, absorbed in that stupid book of yours, oblivious to the frisbees and kites dancing above you. His gaze burned into the teenage boys engaged in soccer behind you, fuming as they carelessly neared you with the ball. Especially the one you beamed at after he half-heartedly apologized to you.

Fuck, that smile of yours was irreplaceable.

As you packed your mat into the duffle bag and rose, turning to dust your ass off from any debris sticking to it, Toji's thoughts took a blunt turn. Sleep was an impossibility now.

Following discreetly as you strolled down the path, immersed in the rhythm of your ear-throbbing music, Toji couldn't help but dissect every inch of you. Your clothes, undoubtedly high-end and branded, spoke volumes. The price tag on your headphones alone easily flirted with seven hundred dollars, if not more. It was clear—you came from a life of comfort, perhaps a spoiled heir or held a proud position in some grand corporation. You were proving to be a challenging prize, a fish that refused to be easily caught.

You decided to take a pit stop at a vegan café where they charged an arm and a leg for a tiny cup of espresso.

Patiently, Toji lingered outside, cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember casting shadows on his sharp features. Peering through the glass, he caught glimpses of your animated conversation with a male barista. Though, the bastard's eyes were shamelessly speaking to your cleavage.

Toji hadn’t killed anyone for fun in a while; maybe the lanky fucker was going to start a new streak. 

As you emerged, holding your iced coffee and muffin like some divine offering, he noticed the scribbles on the napkin. Ah, the barista's number, huh? The son-of-a-bitch just signed his own death warrant.

With a flick of your wrist, you crumpled the napkin and tossed it into the trash, conveniently placed right next to him.

Your eyes locked.

The cigarette in Toji's mouth hung suspended in a moment that seemed to stretch forever. Your gaze shot up as you took in the powerful physique of the man, the scar tracing its path on his left lip, and the black, sleek strands of hair framing those perilous, obsidian-green eyes. He was more than just attractive; he was a magnetic force, and you could feel the tingling of anxiety dancing on your skin. Too bad your family had always drummed into you the importance of polished over rugged.

Despite the internal turmoil, you turned on your heel and continued walking, nonchalantly sipping on your cold coffee to ease the tension building within you. There was an undeniable urge to steal one last glance at him, an itch in your brain pushing you to do so. With feigned composure, you added an extra sway to your hips, aware that his eyes were still on you.

Toji’s eyes were glued to your ass. Was he breathing? Nope. He was sure he’d busted his cover just then. You had checked him out for thirty whole seconds, the opportunity to speak suspended in the air, only to be pulled apart and crumble at his feet. 

But he didn’t care. 

He shadowed your every move, navigating through busy intersections, seamlessly blending into the teeming masses, keeping up with only the sway of your swinging ponytail and your ass. Fuck, he loved your ass. He wanted to spank it red, bruise the flesh for teasing you. 

Finally, you stepped into the most luxurious hotel in the city.

Toji wondered if you were a local or a visitor from abroad. If he had to purchase a plane ticket to tail you back to your residence, he'd gladly do it. It was insane how unknowingly you had him trapped, wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger.

The lobby was nothing short of fucking fancy.

The place was decked out with marble floors that shone so much he could almost see his reflection. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling with a zillion crystals.

The furniture was all plush and comfortable, like sinking into a cloud. Big, ornate couches and chairs scattered around, all in rich, deep colors.

In the middle was a fancy concierge desk with people in sharp suits and friendly smiles ready to help out. He caught a whiff of some subtle, expensive scent in the air—not too overpowering, just enough to make him feel like he was out of place.

There was a low hum of activity—people chatting, the clinking of glasses from the bar nearby, maybe some soft piano music in the background. He couldn't help but feel a bit important just standing there like he'd stepped into a world where everything was a little more polished and refined.

He was in hell.

"Dad!" you exclaimed, striding towards your father amidst a crowd of his guards and members of the family hotel enterprise board.

"Darling!" Your father embraced you briefly, then caught a whiff of something unusual around you. "Were you smoking?"

Shit. 

That attractive stranger from before had been smoking and the scent must’ve stuck to your clothes. 

"I bumped into a friend who was," you lied, acknowledging your father's associates with a nod. Your current appearance didn't exactly match the polished image your mother presented to the press, but it was a facet appreciated by some online fans. As the heiress to the family hotel, however, you understood the importance of maintaining grace.

Even on your days-off. 

"How was your meeting?" you asked.

"Same old, same old. Nothing for you to worry about," he replied dismissively.

"I mean, shouldn't I be involved? I'm almost twenty-one. It might be time for me to learn the ropes of managing—"

"I'm still around, aren't I?" Your father pushed your arm, causing you to stagger slightly. "Why don't you go freshen up now? We have a family dinner tonight." Family dinners, in this case, were elaborate affairs with your father and mother's vast social circles, almost a societal event. Unfortunately, everything was hosted at the hotel, making you feel like you were in a gilded cage.

"Sure, Dad."

He planted a quick kiss on your cheek and walked past you.

You stared at his retreating figure and the group of men you would eventually be working with, all of them vanishing through the hotel's automatic doors until the lights surrounding you became a blur. Your fingers touched your wet eyes, the back of your shaky hand wiping at your cheeks.

Despite the hurt, your training to act classy in public kicked in. You rolled back your shoulders, attempted a smile, and walked toward the elevators leading to your personal suite.

Observing the unfolding scenario from a discreet vantage point nearby, Toji, with arms and ankles casually crossed, wore a devilish smirk at how effortlessly the situation had played into his hands.

His room was on the twelfth floor. 

It served as a temporary base for the two nights he had planned to stay. Plenty of time, in his calculation, to claim you as his own. He walked the fine line between confidence and cockiness, especially when dealing with a woman of your caliber. If he were to leave empty-handed, Toji carried a darkness within that would annihilate those you loved, a merciless flood of destruction until you had no choice but to turn to him. His sights were set on you, beginning with your pretentious father.

Yes, Toji had researched each and every single human associated with you. 

Your father was a titan in the hospitality game and built an empire that stretched across the map. His hotels sprouted like mushrooms, and his wealth skyrocketed faster than you could say "check-in." He portrayed himself as the picture-perfect family man, but lurking in the shadows were dealings that'd make you think twice about tagging him with the 'daddy dear' label. During one of his many interviews, he let slip a desire for a son. When the inevitable talk of you inheriting the hotels surfaced, he'd chuckle, saying, "We'll see about that."

Toji absentmindedly toyed with his pocket knife, thinking of ways he’d cut your father’s tongue and shove it down his throat. 

Then there's your mom, the classic trophy wife. No accomplishments to her name, just born into a world of idle gossip and social climbing. Since you were in diapers, she's been molding you into the picture-perfect daughter for the public eye. Nannies raised you, and she only paid attention when it came to playing matchmaker, setting you up with aristocratic jerks.

Toji might spare your mother only because she was an airhead being puppeteered by your father’s gimmicks. 

You, on the contrary, were as perfect as one could get. Top of your class all through elementary to high school, currently enrolled in a business Ivy program at a prestigious university, president of the student union, and an active team player in clubs as absurd as juggling.

Your carefully crafted social media presence had Toji rolling his eyes. An avid reader who probably devoured Shakespeare in between saving the world and a lover of sunsets because nothing said depth like a passion for the fading light. Your commitment to wildlife, starting a charity for animals in captivity that was funded strictly by your family's friends. He bet the lions and tigers sent you thank-you cards.

Toji forcefully closed his laptop, took a deep breath, and sank into his mattress, gripping the roots of his hair.

He knew he wanted you. He wanted to touch you, to be inside of you, to break you and put you together again. The image of you being pushed by your father played in his mind, making his heart threaten to burst from his chest.

Despite the depraved thoughts, Toji was genuinely curious about you. The real you. The person seeking love in the same way you offered it to others. He wanted to fuck you but also take great care of you. He wanted to make you cry, but only when you were underneath him, begging for more. He’d kill himself if he hurt you otherwise. He questioned if a dormant monster within you waiting to be awakened by his own.

There had to be. 

And he would be the one to root it out.

Toji pulled himself together, took a quick shower, and threw on the best outfit he had found in his cramped closet within his even more cramped apartment while packing. Living in close quarters didn't bother him; after all, his income came from a rather unconventional source—he was a professional assassin, taking out targets for clients that ranged from politicians to drug dealers. Penthouses and sports cars weren't his style, even if he could afford them; he preferred the simple life, spending most of his earnings on one thing he enjoyed the most: gambling on horse racing.

Knowing that you'd be at the bar, Toji decided to do a bit of reconnaissance. He hacked into the private security servers of the hotel, observing your movements from the corridor to the public areas. He saw you leaving your room in a stunning maroon gown, hair elegantly pinned up, and lips painted a vibrant red. His dick jerked in his trousers.

He spotted you alone at the bar, enjoying a cyan-colored drink. The smooth expanse of your back in that revealing dress nearly made him come in his pants right there and then.

Cracking his neck muscles, Toji walked up to the bartender, positioning himself about two meters away from where you sat. He pulled out a cigarette and flicked the silver lighter, flaming the end of the dart. Drawing in the first drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke. “I’ll take a whiskey.” 

Giving you a casual once-over, Toji noticed you tracing circles on the table, lips in a pout, and eyes blinking languidly.

“Rough day?” he asked, settling into the seat beside you.

“You have no idea—” You looked sideways and met the dark green eyes of the attractive stranger. Your nails were now idle on the table, and you sat up straight. A breath caught in your chest, and you greeted him with a simple "Hi."

“Hi.” He pulled out the cigarette to take a sip, lips pulling in to savor the sharp taste of his whiskey. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart.” 

Your chest skipped a beat at the unexpected nickname. "I-I— Are you stalking me or something?"

“Stalking is a strong word, doll. I prefer 'casual observation.'”

“So you’re stalking me?” 

The stranger chuckled, and your knees quivered from the husky, rough sound. “You're a vision, sure,” he said, his voice a slight victim to the smoking, “but I’m too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.” 

You observed his clothes closely. He was dressed in a sleek black formal ensemble with impeccably shiny Oxfords. However, his hair was neatly combed down instead of styled up, and you caught the silver hoop adorning his left ear. The idea of him being sent by your mother or being the son of one of your father's friends quickly crossed your mind, but you ruled out the possibility. Maybe him being outside that café and being here was a complete coincidence.

“The name’s Toji.” He extended his hand for a shake. You glanced at the faded scars on the back of his hands. And when you hesitantly slipped your hand through his, the roughness of his palm rubbed against your softer one. “Ever washed a dish in your life, sweetheart?” 

A shake of your head was all the admission he needed.

"Yeah, figured as much." Toji turned your hand, his thumb tracing a journey along its unblemished terrain.

You quickly took back your hand and placed it on your lap. “I’m sure you know my name.” 

Toji tilted his head. “Am I supposed to?” 

You blinked. In a world where your family name echoed through the corridors of the hotel, his genuine ignorance was a rarity. "I'm Y/N.”

"Y/N," he echoed, your name a lazy caress on your skin. Above the rim of his nearly empty glass, he regarded you with a watchful gaze. “The fuck is that, anyway? Windex?” 

You raised your drink. “It’s a mocktail. I have a family dinner in an hour so I can’t drink. My father says it’ll impede my ability to talk. I can’t mess anything up.” 

He half-rolled his eyes. “You like Coke?” 

“Like, the soda?” 

"What else, sweetheart?" He swiped a finger under his nose, throwing in a wink. "Unless that's your thing."

“No.” Your cheeks heated. “I like diet Coke, I suppose.” 

Toji locked eyes with you and signaled the bartender. "Vodka diet coke for the lady."

"What?" You started to object, but Toji's hand clasped around your forearm, freezing you. “Remove your hand right now.” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin playing on his lips. If he weren't so irritatingly charming, you might have considered introducing your mocktail to his face with a quick call to security as a chaser. “Just don’t want you to die knowing you never tried vodka.” His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, exhaling wisps of smoke that danced in captivating swirls. “Ever smoked?” 

You shook your head, a coy resistance to his vices obvious on your face. "It's detrimental to your health, you know. Consistent smoking can fast-track your journey to an early death. If you're aiming for more than thirty candles on your birthday cake, I'd advise a little moderation."

A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “Well, fuck.” He inspected the dart in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Guess I missed the invitation for my funeral five years ago.”

He’s old. 

“Too old for you, sweetheart?” He dipped his head conspiratorially, locking eyes with you. "Hope you're not collecting a set of daddy issues like souvenirs."

You shot him sidelong glances, a subtle shake of your head. "I happen to like my dad, thank you very much."

“You’re welcome.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a small puff of a laugh at his response. 

He shot you a grin, his scar stealing a moment of your attention before the vodka diet Coke presented itself. “You still in school?” 

You nodded. “University.” 

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Keeps me distracted.” 

“From?” 

Your hand swept through the ambience of the hotel's bar, and Toji followed your motion, absorbing the surroundings. “I don’t know if my name rang a bell at all, but I’m to inherit this place.” 

“Didn’t.” Toji raised his glass, gesturing his chin at the vodka diet coke in front of you. “Let’s drink to it.” 

“I told you I can’t. I’m also lightweight. Besides, I don’t want it on my tab. My father keeps a check—”

“My father this, my father that.” Toji sighed, taking your drink and snagging a straw from a nearby container. He placed it near your lips. “Your father might have set the stage, but he can't dictate the play. Take a sip. If you hate it, fuck it. That work for you, sweetheart?"

You frowned at the subtle pressure venting from him. A fleeting swipe of your tongue traced your lower lip, drawing Toji's gaze to the subtle curve. His intense scrutiny left you feeling strangely singled out, a rare occurrence in a world where every tidbit of your life laid at the fingertips of anyone with an internet connection. Your secrets were a vault locked tight, shared with no one but yourself. Indulging in personal interests took a back seat to your responsibilities, and you strictly stuck to a scripted persona to protect your family's reputation. Even something as mundane as sipping on a vodka diet Coke. 

Toji set the drink on the table, slipping a generous tip to the bartender. His financial status seemed modest, likely someone comfortably positioned enough to book a room in your hotel. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t often give out advice ‘cuz frankly, I'm not exactly an expert on your generation.” He took a final drag of his cigarette, extinguished it under his foot, and nonchalantly dropped the remains into your drink. “But, you might want to dust off that brilliant little brain of yours sooner rather than later. Mind passing me a pen, buddy?” 

The tender handed him a sharpie instead, and Toji scribbled out something on a napkin.

“Are you leaving?” you asked, feeling somewhat disappointed in yourself. You wanted him to ask you more questions. You wanted to know more about him. 

“Afraid so, doll.” He folded the napkin, both of you surreptitiously scanning the surroundings before he handed it over. A smirk played on his lips, causing you to rethink the urgency with which you accepted it. “Your old man taught you lots of lessons, but seems like 'Stranger Danger' wasn't part of his curriculum, huh?” 

“He doesn’t completely control me.” 

Toji smirked, tapping the folded napkin. “Well, we're about to test that theory."

He left you perched on the barstool, and the moment he vanished, you unfolded the napkin, heart pounding.

ROOM 1231. 

Sooner or later.

[bvrnesher]

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a/n: DID I JUST READ BIKER LEOOOOO??? hell, yeah. here's ur req, sweetheart.

His bike is an absolute Frankenstein. It’s not just a regular motorcycle—it’s custom-built with hidden flamethrowers, a button that makes it go way faster than legally allowed, and a horn that plays the Fast & Furious theme. No one knows how it works except Leo, and honestly? He’s just vibing at this point.

The world’s most chaotic driver. He will take a shortcut over a sidewalk. He will do a wheelie just to hear you scream. He will race a random dude at a red light just because the guy looked at him funny. And if you’re riding with him? You better hold on tight, because he’s laughing the whole time.

Flirting is second nature. "C’mon, princesa, hop on. I promise I’m a very responsible driver." (He is not.) The second you wrap your arms around his waist, he’s grinning like an idiot. He’ll casually say something like, “Careful, mi amor, hold me too tight and I might fall for you.”

Fixes your bike/car/any piece of machinery for free. But don’t think you’re getting away without a price—he’ll lean against his bike, grease-streaked arms crossed, smirking. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Just owe me a date or, like, a hundred kisses. Your choice.”

Always smells like motor oil and something warm—cinnamon? Burnt sugar? No one knows. But somehow, it works. He’s the type to wipe his hands on his jeans, push his hair back, and then cup your face, leaving smudges on your skin like a brand. “Oops,” he grins. “Guess you’re mine now.”

Loves the way you cling to him. When he speeds up just a little too much and you grip him tighter? Ego boost. He’ll chuckle, resting a hand on your thigh, rubbing slow circles while saying, “Scared, cariño? Don’t worry, I got you.”

Midnight joyrides that turn into deep talks. He’ll take you out to the middle of nowhere, lay back on his bike, and just talk about everything—his dreams, his past, how he once almost set himself on fire trying to fix a carburetor. And when you start getting sleepy? He’ll pull you into his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We can stay a little longer,” he murmurs.

Is lowkey jealous but plays it off. Someone else checking you out? He’s all smirks and jokes until you’re alone, then he’s casually pulling you into a kiss, hands firm on your hips. “Dunno why anyone else is looking,” he whispers. “You’re already mine.”

Would literally build you a custom bike. And when he gives it to you, he’ll act all nonchalant. “Oh, this? Yeah, I just had some spare parts lying around. No big deal.” (It was a big deal. He spent weeks making it perfect for you.)

The type to pull over just to kiss you. The night air, the hum of the engine cooling down, his hands cupping your face as he murmurs, “You having fun, cariño?” before pressing his lips to yours—Leo is dangerously good at making your heart race, on and off the road.

Will 100% take both hands off the handlebars just to mess with you. You’re holding onto him for dear life, and this menace just leans back, stretches his arms out like he’s on a Sunday cruise. “What, you don’t trust me?” he teases, laughing when you yell at him to grab the damn handlebars.

His bike is held together by equal parts genius and questionable decisions. “Leo, why is there a button labeled ‘DO NOT PRESS’?”

“For emergencies.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“Dunno. Haven’t tested it yet.”

His flirting gets worse when he’s on his bike. Every time you ride with him, expect non-stop lines like:

“You should sit in front next time, so I can hold you.”

“You know, if you keep holding me this tight, people are gonna think we’re together.” Pause. “Wait, we are together.”

“You scared, princesa? Don’t worry, I’m an expert at handling things. Wanna see?”

Does the whole ‘rev the engine just to impress you’ thing. You roll your eyes every time, but the smirk on his face says he knows you secretly love it.

He absolutely sings while riding. Yelling off-key to whatever’s blasting in his earbuds. One time he took you on a ride and started belting Livin’ on a Prayer at full volume. Did he almost crash because he got too into it? Yes. Did he recover like nothing happened? Also yes.

Picks you up from work/school just to flex. He’ll roll up, lean against his bike with his helmet under one arm, and give you that smirk. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.” And yeah, he definitely speeds off just to make sure everyone knows who you’re leaving with.

Has no patience for traffic. If there’s a line of cars, Leo is gone. Alleyway? He’s taking it. Sidewalk? Oops. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says, weaving between cars. “Laws are just, like… suggestions, anyway.”

Builds you a matching helmet. And of course, it’s not a regular helmet—he’s added Bluetooth speakers, a visor that doubles as a mini screen, and probably some kind of secret gadget just for fun. “What? You gotta look cool when you’re riding with me.”

Cannot resist showing off. Takes turns way sharper than necessary, speeds up when he knows you’re not expecting it, and definitely does little tricks when no one’s around. “Babe, did you see that?” (You did see it, and you’re still processing whether it was hot or if he’s just an idiot. Probably both.)

Acts all smooth but gets flustered when you take control. You pull him in by his jacket for a kiss? He short-circuits. You run your hands along his thighs while riding? He’s done. You whisper, “Faster, Leo” in his ear? Yeah. He’s never recovering from that.

Leaves greasy fingerprints on your skin. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—he’ll be working on his bike, then tug you in for a kiss, leaving smudges along your jawline. When you point it out, he just grins. “Oh no. Guess you’re marked now.”

After a long ride, he’s got that ‘just wrecked you’ energy. Hair messy from the wind, breathing heavy, leather jacket unzipped, a cocky grin as he pulls his helmet off in slow motion like he’s in a damn movie—yeah. You’re in trouble.

If you ever steal his jacket, he is never recovering. Seeing you in it? Absolute KO. He’ll just stare for a solid 10 seconds before going, “Yeah. Okay. That’s illegal. You can’t be looking that good in my stuff.”

Late-night rides turn into make-out sessions. He’ll find some hidden spot, park the bike, and pull you onto his lap. The city lights flicker in the distance, but all he cares about is you—his hands on your waist, his lips brushing against yours, murmuring, “Best view in the world, and I’m not even looking at the skyline.”

Loves the thrill, but loves you more. Leo’s reckless, but when it comes to you? He’s always careful. The moment you seem even a little uncomfortable, he’s slowing down, checking in, making sure you’re okay. Because yeah, he loves the adrenaline, but nothing matters more than you being safe, happy, and laughing with your arms wrapped around him.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Strategic Interests- Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the love on this one so far! I LOVE this chapter so much! I'm currently working way ahead on Chapter 6, and I can't wait for you to see what's coming up! As ever, I'm so grateful for your comments, reblogs, inbox messages, etc! This one doesn't seem very popular for whatever reason, so it's lovely to know you're enjoying it! 💕

Warnings/ratings/notes: language, political setting (literally I only know what Google, Hamilton and the West Wing has taught me!), yearning, longing, Bucky trying so hard to be better, he falls first - she falls harder, banter and arguing, enemies-to-lovers that’s really frustrated co-workers-to-lovers, a little Thunderbolt chaos.... I think that's it for now?

Congressman/Thunderbolt Bucky Barnes x F!Congresswoman Reader.

Word Count: 4.5k

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter 3

You found yourself roaming the hallways when you worked late. It was a habit borne from pacing around your own apartment while you read, but when you were in the office your legs often took you further. Padding down silent hallways with no shoes on and a file open in your hands.

The lights had been dimmed, it was later than you’d planned to stay but you were fighting with decimals that wouldn’t co-operate. Numbers that wouldn’t make sense.

It had been days, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny hitch in Barnes breath when you’d told him he’d handled the meeting well.

Or that he’d even been standing closely enough for you to hear it in the first place.

It made everything worse that he was suddenly so… focused and present. Asking the right questions. Listening.

Somehow, your feet had taken you right to his door. Standing right outside his office.

The door was ajar, the light still on, and from where you stood you could see him leaning on his desk. The low murmur of his voice rumbled in the room.

“ - no, Sam, Alexei definitely did not insult Torres.” He dragged his hand over his face, exasperated. “What do you mean, how do I know? I’d kill him if he did. And he knows that.”

There was a pause while he listened.

“I’ll talk to him. Again. We’re not fighting with you, man. We’re on the same side.”

He laughed, low and smokey. The sound buzzed through your veins like electricity.

“Beer? Some of us are still workin’. Told you, I’m not cruising, I’m tryin’ to do this right.” You could hear a thread of Brooklyn sneaking into his tired voice.

The sound of pages flipping reached your ears as he turned his back on the door, one hand braced on his desk. “Yeah, it’s her file again. - No, I can’t just smile real nice. She doesn’t fall for that shit. She’s too good for that.”

He had your packet on his desk, rife with sticky notes.

“See ya later, man.” He dropped the phone on the desk and reached for his pen again, circling something decisively, muttering to himself.

You stepped back before he saw you, your bare feet making no sound on the plush carpet. You walked away quickly, before he caught you and your face betrayed what your stomach already knew. You weren’t misjudging him.

You were watching him change.

The following morning, the room was packed. Staffers lined the walls, aides whispering at the edges of the table, phones were being silenced. Another committee meeting. Another chance for someone to posture for the press.

You took your usual seat at the head of the table, file open, notes crisp. You were tired - not just from the late night, but from the constant battles and grandstanding. Too many men who loved the sound of their own voice.

“…and I think we all understand the spirit of the amendment,” Dalton drawled, lounging back in his seat. “But let’s not get distracted by semantics, Congresswoman. We’re trying to govern here.”

You didn’t rise. You never did when they did this.

“It’s policy. If you want a loophole that lets you siphon money to your friends’ businesses, then say so and we'll debate it in good faith.”

Dalton’s smile was pure condescension. “Now, now, let’s not be emotional -”

And that’s when Barnes moved.

He hadn’t said much all morning. Just sat back, sleeves rolled up, thumbing through documents like he wasn’t paying close attention - except you knew now that he was.

His voice cut through the low murmur as he flipped a page in his notes, pen tapping thoughtfully against the edge of the folder.

“As the Congresswoman pointed out in her March brief,” he said steadily, nodding at you, “the allocation cap isn’t the problem here - we know that’s always an issue. There’s never enough money. We need to allocate it better, make people accountable for spending what we do have more wisely.”

Your head turned.

You hadn’t expected him to quote you. You definitely hadn’t expected him to cite you word for word. No paraphrasing to make himself look clever. Just your language - precise, clipped - echoed back at you.

And then, as if it weren’t enough, he nodded again toward your end of the table.

“She explained it better than I could, frankly.”

Dalton blinked. You didn’t.

Bucky didn’t look at you. Not directly. But the corner of his mouth twitched like he knew exactly what he’d just done.

A few people shifted. The silence that followed was heavier than usual. More than a few eyes flicked between the two of you.

You didn’t thank him. That wasn’t how this worked.

But you did glance his way as the meeting moved on. Just once.

He was already looking at you.

And then he looked away, like he hadn’t been doing anything at all.

Someone else started speaking. But you were still stuck on that frankly. No one had ever handed you credit in this room without making it about themselves. Without trying to outshine you five minutes later.

But Barnes had just… agreed with you. And amplified your voice.

You didn’t even realise how tense you were until your shoulders relaxed again, muscles unclenching under your silk shirt. You didn’t acknowledge it. You stayed composed. But you could feel a shift, something changing.

Not in the room.

In you.

This wasn’t just coasting anymore. He wasn’t phoning it in. You knew he’d been reading your files and marking them up, but quoting you back to yourself with quiet respect made your stomach pitch in the most irritating way.

And maybe it wouldn’t have gotten under your skin if he hadn’t looked so focused while doing it.

If he hadn’t spoken like someone who actually understood what you were trying to do.

With his brows pinched together, not in a scowl for once, but in concentration.

You snapped your pen closed.

And tried very, very hard not to think about his voice in that dark office, saying you were too good to fall for his smile.

~~~~

You were actually trying to leave on time for once. A bottle of wine in your bag, bedtime story queued up in your head. Sophia Martinez had promised to save you a slice of whatever her kids had baked that afternoon. It sounded like exactly the kind of evening you needed.

Most of the Hill crowd had already trickled out, scattering back to their districts for the rest of the week. You’d hustled Kara out hours ago, shut off the lights, locked your door.

And then you saw him.

Barnes was already in the corridor, files tucked under one arm, a deepening bruise high on his cheekbone.

“Another thrilling encounter with democracy?” you asked, voice dry.

He shrugged. “Some of us are a little more hands-on.”

You opened your mouth to fire something back - and then the klaxon sounded.

A piercing alarm split the hallway. Overhead, mechanical locks slammed into place with a sharp chik-chik, and the fluorescent lights switched to pulsing red.

Both ends of the corridor sealed with a heavy thunk.

You turned, eyes wide. “Please tell me you didn’t trigger that.”

He lifted his hands - all innocence. “This time? No.”

You blinked. “This time?”

He moved to stand next to you, but you noticed that he was positioned almost across you, your back to the wall and him in front.

His broad shoulders tense under his jacket.

Protection.

He was already looking towards the nearest exit - locked shut, checking up at the sprinkler system, the AC vents in the ceiling.

Both of your phones pinged at the same time.

System test. Expected duration 45 minutes.

“It's a drill,” you told him, getting to yours first and stepping out from behind him.

He didn’t move straight away. Just stood there like he was still scanning the exits.

The others in the corridor laughed nervously and set about making themselves comfortable, sitting in the few chairs or on the floor up against the wall.

You weren't so relaxed.

You stood off to the side, frowning at your screen, biting your lip - not in frustration, just focus. It was the softest expression he’d ever seen on your face.

Barnes caught it. Said nothing.

But when you turned back, his gaze lingered. The look on his face had shifted - not smug or teasing. Just… less guarded. More curious.

You held onto your phone, scrolling through messages.

“You ever switch off?”

“I’m not working.” You sighed, thumb still hovering over the screen. “I’m supposed to be putting Sophia's kids to bed tonight.”

“You’re good with kids?” he asked, voice low and casual.

You hesitated. “I’m good at bedtime negotiations.”

That earned the faintest smile. “Bet you’re ruthless.”

You arched a brow. “Only when they try to argue past nine.”

He let out a low laugh and leaned back against the wall beside you, one ankle crossing lazily over the other.

“Same rules for Congress?”

“Something like that,” you said, smirking despite yourself.

“You should sit,” he suggested, nodding toward the floor.

“I’m not great in confined spaces.”

“Well, pacing like a caged tiger probably isn’t helping either,” he replied, glancing around the wide corridor. “It’s also not that bad in here. Could be worse.”

“And you’re just… fine with being locked in?” you asked, eyeing how relaxed he looked, all coiled ease and deliberate stillness.

He gave you that maddening smirk. “Happens surprising often.”

You rolled your eyes. “You treat this job like an action movie.”

He tilted his head. “You watch those?”

“You’re not charming, Barnes.”

“Good thing I’ve got a pretty face to fall back on, right?”

You gave a humourless little exhale and crossed your arms tighter over your chest, trying to ignore the draft blowing through the vent above you.

He clocked it.

Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and held it out.

You hesitated. “I’m fine.”

“You’re cold.”

“I’m not that cold.”

He just looked at you patiently. Like he was letting you decide.

You gave in and took it. More out of stubbornness than gratitude.

It was warm, beautifully lined, with the label of a well-known tailor in DC. It smelled like clean soap and old leather and something you couldn't place underneath - something quiet and distinctly him.

You tried not to react. Didn’t dare meet his eyes.

It hadn’t meant anything at all.

It didn’t matter that your sleeves were too long, or that your pulse had kicked up in your throat.

With a frustrated huff, you sat down on the floor. He tilted his head, studied you for a second and sat next to you, legs outstretched and pressed against yours.

“I meant it, you know,” he said.

You glanced over.

“In the meeting before. I didn’t do that for show.”

“I know,” you said.

“You look at me like I’m an idiot,” he said softly. “I don’t blame you. I know what I look like on paper. But I read your proposal. All of it.”

You felt warm, too warm. He was like a furnace next to you.

He leaned in a little closer. “And it’s good. You’re… you're good.”

You stared at him for too long while he looked at his hands in his lap. His lashes long and dark against his cheek, a scatter of grey hair through his stubble.

Too much. Too close.

You looked away half a second too late.

Your voice, when it came, was soft. Barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t think you’d surprise me.”

His eyes flicked to you.

You shook your head, almost like you regretted it. “I thought I had you pegged. I don’t like being wrong.”

His voice was gentle. “Doesn’t make you weak.”

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t move away, either.

Then the lights overhead flicked back to white. The doors hissed open.

You stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from your skirt. “Well,” you said, dry as bone. “The charm offensive’s been noted.”

He was already walking past, but paused - just long enough to glance over his shoulder.

“That wasn’t charm,” he said. “If I wanted to charm you…”

He let the thought hang, smile just this side of wicked.

“I’d start with dinner.”

And then he was gone.

~~~~

He hadn’t meant to get that close. He hadn’t meant to hand over the jacket or tell her how good she was.

But she’d looked tired. Soft around the edges. Less like the woman who destroyed opponents with a sentence and more like someone carrying a lot. Like she was done with it all.

And he’d wanted her to know: he saw that, too.

“They all look so repressed,” Yelena said by his side, staring at a group of middle aged men in suits.

“They are.”

“And the women look like they need a good fuc -”

“Don't finish that.” He could see her, walking towards them with Congresswoman Alvarez. He liked watching her from afar, she was less guarded. She talked expressively with her hands and smiled widely at the older woman.

As she passed him, she glanced briefly up at him and continued without breaking her stride.

He heard her stop. Just the faintest scuff of her heel against stone.

“Barnes,” she called.

He turned, catching the last of her smile as she told Alvarez she’d catch up. She walked back toward him, calm as ever, heels high, not a hair out of place.

“I need a signature, please.”

She handed him the file and a pen. He opened to the marked page, but even without looking, he could feel the moment her attention shifted to Yelena.

"She's with me," he muttered, not looking up from the file.

"Oof," Yelena stared. "He was right about you -"

"Excuse me?" She asked, as Bucky said,

"Don't -"

"You're so hot. My god," she looked around her carefully. "That ass, wow! Bucky, you're so right!”

She froze silently. So did he.

Then the Congresswoman arched a single brow, recovering quickly. “Me?”

Yelena nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Yeah. He told me about you. Said you were -”

“Lena,” he said, his warning sharper now.

Yelena only grinned wider. “Like, scary hot.”

Everything went still.

He didn’t look at her but he felt the shift. That subtle tightening of presence. Like the air pressure had changed.

Then she smiled. Just the corners of her mouth - the kind of smile that told you she already knew exactly how this would end.

She didn’t look at Yelena when she spoke - she looked at him.

“I see you’ve been talking out of turn, Congressman.”

His throat went dry.

Then - and only then - she turned, eyes cool but not unkind as they swept over Yelena.

“Appreciated.” She said. “I'll be sure to thank my Pilates instructor.”

Yelena grinned like Christmas came early. “Oh my god, you’re incredible.”

“I’m busy, nice to meet you,” she said simply, turning back to him. “Try not to make a habit of this.”

He handed her the file back.

And then she turned and walked away calmly, deliberately. Not a single glance back, because she didn’t need to.

She already knew he was watching. That he always did.

Her heels echoed down the corridor, sharp and unhurried, the swing of her coat just enough to draw the eye. Every line of her body screamed control and power.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

God, she was -

There was a heat behind his ribs that flared before he could kill it. Not lust - not just lust - something heavier, rougher. The kind of wanting that made his jaw clench, his fingers curl. The kind that warned him to get his shit together, because she’d see it if he didn’t.

Yelena let out a low whistle beside him.

“Why haven't you, like, crawled after her by now?”

He didn’t answer.

He was still watching her go.

“Ha! You’re ruined for anyone else, huh?”

She turned a corner out of sight. Only then did he realise the pen had snapped in his hand.

He dropped the pieces into his pocket, flexing his fingers like he could shake the heat out of them.

It didn’t help.

“Spectacular,” Yelena said, more to herself this time. “Just… putting that on the record.”

He shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

She just grinned. “I think I am.”

He didn’t go to her office right away. He made himself wait long enough to not look too eager, just long enough to pretend he was just following up on something. But when he knocked once and Kara waved him straight inside, he already knew what he was going to say.

“So…” he said, voice casual but eyes sharp, “Yelena thinks your ass is spectacular.”

She looked up slowly.

Unimpressed and a little withering.

But he saw the flicker.

“And?” she asked, one brow arched.

He shrugged, leaning in just enough. “I didn’t say she was wrong.”

Her eyes widened every so slightly.

The pause between them fizzled and popped.

It was too fiery for colleagues.

The kind of moment where something dangerous might start if one of them made the wrong - or right - move.

She didn’t smile.

He didn’t look away.

She turned back to her screen, staying poised and composed.

“Good job she doesn't work here. I'd hate to report this to HR,” she murmured, almost under her breath.

He chuckled low in his chest, but said nothing else.

Not yet.

He stayed there for a second longer than he should have watching the light catch the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers still hovered over the keyboard. Waiting.

And then he left.

Because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d keep his mouth - or his hands - to himself.

~~~~

The hallway was quiet and still. It was long after the last intern had cleared out and the vending machines had stopped humming.

He was still coming down from a call - something ugly, loud, and full of compromises.

Her light was on, the door cracked just a sliver.

He didn’t mean to look. He just wanted to check she was OK.

He stopped. She was asleep on the couch, deep and unguarded. Undone in a way he wasn’t built to handle or privileged enough to have seen before.

Her shoes were off, half-kicked beneath the coffee table. Her blouse folded over a stack of papers. She’d clearly given up at some point. Her skirt had ridden high on her thighs, top button open, zipper half-dragged down.

He froze in the doorway.

Fuck.

It hit him all at once - the curve of her hip, the smooth plane of her thigh, the swell of her breasts beneath the barely-there fabric of her cami. Her lips slightly parted in sleep, a crease between her brows like even rest didn’t come easy.

She looked like a painting. He swallowed, his jaw tight. No, worse - she looked like temptation designed specifically to punish him.

He could see the lace edge of her bra. The deep dip of her waist.

His hands curled into fists.

She would hate this. Hate that he’d seen her like this. That he knew now - not just what she looked like off the clock, but how hard she worked, how far past exhaustion she went before she let herself fall apart.

Something she would never have ordinarily let him see.

A folder of budget drafts was spread out across the floor, one page fluttering faintly from the vent.

His initiative.

Her red pen was still resting between two fingers, the cap missing, a faint blot of ink on her palm.

He stared too long.

He approached quietly. No sound.

Her breath was slow and even. Lashes dark against her cheek, soft in a way she never let herself be.

She’d been working. On his work.

He crouched down and took the pen from her hand, finding and clipping the lid in place. He saw it immediately. Line 84. A decimal out of place. She’d missed it.

He pulled a post-it from the pad on her desk, wrote it down. Clean, neat. Tucked it gently onto the top page.

Decimal, line 84. - B.

He should’ve walked away.

His throat tightened. Something low and hot coiled deep in his gut. He could feel his pulse in his jaw.

Then he moved. Purposeful. Controlled.

He took the blanket from her chair and draped it over her. Gently, carefully. Covered what he could, even if it didn’t stop his imagination from filling in the rest.

She stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

He let himself look once more - just once.

Then stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind him with a quiet click.

He didn’t breathe again until he was halfway down the hall.

And he didn’t sleep at all that night. Not because of what he saw - but because of what he felt.

~~~~

You hadn't found it right away. It blended in with your other notes and annotations. Another half a day lost chasing the numbers. Running the formulas. Double-checking. Triple-checking.

You found the mistake before you found the note and it made you furious.

The note made it worse.

Your stomach dropped.

Because it meant he’d seen it.

Seen you -asleep and vulnerable in a way you’d never let him witness if you’d been conscious. If you’d had any say.

And worse he hadn’t said anything.

You carried it with you for hours. Fingertips smudging the ink.

You should’ve let it go, you should’ve ignored it, but the fact that you hadn't seen him at all was making your anger rise.

You were leaving the building via the exit closest to his office so you saw the light on, your anger propelled you to his door.

You didn't knock.

You shoved the door open, wielding the post-it in between your fingers like a weapon.

“What the hell is this?” you demanded, holding it up.

And then stopped.

Your brain short-circuited.

He was shirtless. Leaning against his desk with a bloody towel pressed into his side. The edge of it was dark - soaked through. His skin was streaked with blood.

He looked up, his hair was messy. He looked exhausted. His torso was a map of old scars and new damage. You couldn't look away.

He looked up calmly. “Hey.”

“Don’t hey me - you’re bleeding -”

“I'm fine.”

“I know,” you breathed and then shook your head, regaining control. “I mean, you don't look fine.”

He twisted to look under the towel and winced. “I heal pretty fast, this'll be gone by tomorrow.”

“And if you bleed out before then? Give me that,” you said tightly, already crossing the room. You didn’t wait for permission. You dropped the note, took the towel from his hand, and pressed it firmly against the wound.

You placed your other hand on his back and pressed from both sides, trying to put as much pressure on the wound as you could.

He grimaced but didn’t stop you. His skin was hot beneath your fingers, twitching as you leaned closer.

You swallowed hard.

“Sit still.”

“I was,” he said, low and dry. “Until someone kicked the door in.”

You glared at him.

“You left that note.” He gazed at you, waiting for you to continue. “You saw me.”

He didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

Your jaw clenched. Fury, shame, something deeper - they all clawed at your skin.

The heat of his body burned under your hands. You could feel every shift of his breathing. Every taut inch of muscle under your fingers.

His exhale was low. Hitched.

You hated how close you were. How your mouth was so dry. How your pulse was hammering.

You hated how much you didn’t want to move away.

“You had no right,” you said, hushed.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You were exhausted.”

“That’s not the point.” Your voice was sharp, but not loud. Close. Controlled.

He didn’t interrupt.

“I would never have let anyone else see me like that. You know that.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Anyone else?”

You ignored his question and continued. “And you still stood there.”

“I did.”

A few seconds of silence passed between you both. Your fingers were still pressed to his side. The towel was warm with his blood. His skin was even warmer beneath it.

Every second your hand stayed there, pressed against his ribs, it got harder to pretend that it was just first aid.

And then it hit you -

He’d seen you at your most vulnerable.

And now, here he was. Bleeding and silent. Letting you see him back.

You knew his file. This wasn’t his lowest point. But it was something unmasked, something raw.

He could so easily have kicked you out of his office, but it was like he didn’t mind that you were seeing him like this - like maybe he wanted you to see him.

Your eyes dropped to his mouth.

You hated the part of yourself that had wanted to be seen.

Hated that he had seen you.

Hated that this meant something.

Your voice dropped, quiet and rough: “That wasn’t yours to look at.”

“No,” he said, just as quietly. “But I looked anyway.”

The silence between them thickened - not angry anymore. Not exactly.

“God, you’re so infuriating.”

“Because I caught your mistake or because you liked that I saw you?”

“You know, you are the most arrogant, reckless jackas-”

“You’re the one standing between my knees with your hand on my stomach, Congresswoman.”

You looked down at your hand sandwiched between you both. You opened your mouth to snap back at him, but he got there first.

“Why do you look like you can’t decide if you want to kill me or fuck me?”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

“Who says I can’t do both?” You glared.

The breath caught between you turned molten. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

But it was there - the slight lean off his body towards yours. The temptation.

The line in the sand.

And just when it felt like one of you might break it…

His phone buzzed.

He didn’t even glance at it. Just muttered a curse under his breath. You could see it in his eyes - he already knew what it meant.

“Don’t you dare answer that.”

“It’s not optional. I have to go,” he said, voice low and rough.

You stepped back before he could and pulled your hands and the towel away from the wound.

“Of course you do.”

“I’m not done.” He said softly, pulling on a t-shirt that had been sitting on the desk waiting for the blood to stop.

“You never are.”

Then he was gone.

And you were alone in his office, pulse still hammering, your fingers stained red.

Tagging: @potatosackk @buckybarnes82 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @stevetonycupcakes @florie1 @crdgn

[astrosky33]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐊𝐘

🗺 Mercury and Uranus lines can show where your online/internet friends live

🗺 Often you’ll grow up near your Moon lines (not always but I’ve noticed this a lot in my readings)

🗺 Living near a Moon IC line can be positive but I wouldn’t recommend moving to one if it happens to be paired with a Pluto/Saturn line because this can cause challenges with your emotions such as depression

🗺 Your Chiron lines can show locations in past lives where karmic wounds were created and where you can go to heal karmic wounds

🗺 Having Venus lines in the middle of the ocean can indicate meeting lovers on cruises or flights

🗺 Living under a Pluto line will change you into a whole different person and change your life. When you leave you will not be the same as when you got there (I personally don’t recommend living under these lines long term however, these can be positive and important transformations if you stay here short term - maybe a couple years max)

🗺 Mars lines can sometimes show locations where we are prone to danger/injuries or just may feel really unsafe at

🗺 The circles on your astrocartography lines (also called zeniths) show where the energy of the line is most heavily felt. Except for the circle with the + in the middle, that’s a part of fortune symbol

🗺 Your South Node lines can show where you lived in a past live - note: these can only be seen on AstroGold which I’m pretty sure is only on the MacBook

🗺 Often people who are MEGA famous (not just regular famous) and are known worldwide will have a Pluto line running through the middle of the US; examples ↴

BUY AN ASTROCARTOGRAPHY READING

MY MASTERLIST

SUB TO MY PATREON

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[starkeymeow]

# IRL — racer!rafe who . . .

main masterlist | series masterlist

smells like gasoline, sweat, and leather. he always has motor oil under his fingernails no matter how many times he washes his hands.

cracks his knuckles before every race like it’s a ritual, then cracks his neck, grins at you, and says, “ready to watch me ruin their day, baby?”

probably bites down on the inside of his cheek when he’s focused. and you can always tell when he’s about to floor it by the way his jaw tightens.

leaves one earbud in while working under the hood of his car, the other tucked under his shirt where you left a red lipstick print earlier.

lets you sit on the handlebars of his dirtbike while post-race announcements happen, one hand on your thigh, fingers tracing circles.

always parks his bike crooked and fast just to get out and help you off of it like he’s your own personal bodyguard.

leans against his car before street races, helmet dangling from his fingers, and waits for you to come to him so he can pull you in by the waistband of your shorts.

tells you “kiss for luck?” with a smirk every time. he doesn’t even need it. he just wants to see your lipgloss smeared on his cheek while he wins.

doesn’t ask you to wait for him at the finish line. he expects it!! and when he wins (because he always does), he rides back slow just to find you first, and only smiles once you’re in front of him.

likes when you clean his hands off after races. you tug off his gloves and wipe the dirt from his knuckles, and he watches you like you’re the prize.

has your name scribbled on the underside of the dashboard of his car, carved into the back of his helmet visor, stitched in red on the edge of his gloves. yeah this man is WHIPPED. he never talks about it either. never lets anyone touch those things.

doesn’t hook up with random girls after wins, even when they try. because you’re there, arms crossed, leaning on his hood, giving girls that don’t even try smile while he shrugs you into his chest and says “let’s go, baby.”

once had to physically step between you and a girl who touched his arm too long. he didn’t even say anything, he just laughed and said, “she’s gonna kill you. leave.”

talks the most shit right before a race, but shuts up completely when you lean in and whisper, “bring it home for me.”

calls you his “lucky charm” when he’s feeling soft, but “my prize” when he’s feeling cocky.

kissed you against the hood of his car after a beachside date once, hands bruised from a race earlier that day and rough on your waist, sand in your hair. probably whispered “you make me feel like i already won,” then kissed you harder like he hated that he meant it.

takes you for post-race drives in the dark with music low and your hand on his thigh, thumb circling, not speaking, just cruising.

“no one else gets this version of me,” he said once, windows cracked. “you’re the only one i don’t have to pretend with.”

doesn’t label it. he never calls you his “girlfriend,” but everyone knows not to touch you, speak about you, or look at you without expecting rafe’s name to be behind the bruise they earn for it. and you? you’d burn every one of his bikes to the ground if another girl tried to ride with him.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts

[pluralthey]

what steps do you go through to draw in your current style? do you have any pointers about it? its absolutely one of my favorites

i'm not sure if i think of my process in steps. in my head, i'm just straightforwardly drawing the shapes the characters are made of at angles that look right and building on that... luckily, i stream when i draw every day, so i have a ton of videos of myself drawing. example:

i haven't bothered to upload a lot of the modern streams to youtube because my video editor can't handle editing 4-8 hour files even if i'm speeding them up and technically making them shorter because of the way video editors interact with files, and the freeware i use isn't able to make proxy files. the act of downloading and editing and combing through all the footage is a ton of time and memory space and it's just not what people are usually looking for from me, so it's not where i wanna put my time.

but that's neither here nor there. what i mean to say is these vods are really long. so you don't want to rawdog those. but you can just download a video speed controller extension to your browser and it's extremely easy to cruise through the backlog of vods at ~15x speed.

i've gone ahead and highlighted some of the recent videos to separate the chaff from the wheat. i tend to take long breaks to eat or walk my dog so there are big periods of Nothing Happening. i'll try to skim some more and do the same. unfortunately, i don't have any good videos of me coloring, since twitch deletes vods after like a month, and i've just been focusing on sketching.

but yeah, in general, it really depends on how good i'm feeling on a given day -- sometimes i will sketch multiple times for just one panel and sometimes i won't sketch at all. i use paint tool sai 2 and a pixel brush usually 2 pixels wide with no pen pressure. for comics, i have 1 layer for the panel borders, 1 layer for the sketch, 1 layer for the lines, 1 layer for the colors, 1 layer for the text, and 1 layer speech bubbles. sometimes there are special effects that overlap borders and need their own special layers. when i start sketching a new panel, i will usually put it on its own new layer, and sometimes for multiple characters i will put them on another new layer at a different opacity. this is mostly to move them around without constant cleanup. once i've gotten a sketch pretty finished, i merge all of the layers into the sketch layer. the line layer is usually just the sketch layer cleaned up and paint bucket tooled black. but basically, the vast majority of my time working on art is spent trying to fix small things like tangents, fitting speech bubbles into panels, thinking about how to lay out a page, checking continuity interaction with other pages, that kind of stuff. the complex technical parts of the process are to save time on those in ways i can without compromising quality. the other portion of working on the art is like "step 1: draw head circle (or jessie head diamond). step 2: draw the rest of the owl." i don't know if this was helpful at all y_y if you want more pointers i might be able to offer clarity on more specific questions!

[jjjjisun]

can you write a fic where gyubin is the reader's younger sister, he's helping her with a new song, one day she's feeling stressed and he offers to give her a massage, one thing leads to another

—

I've updated my smut commission listings on Ko-Fi:

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Slow-Burn Special (~8k words) — $40

Heatwave Episode (~5k words) — $20

Quickie (~2k words) — $5

Feel free to check them out! Slots are open~

—

Gyubin's wrecked. She's not just wound up, she's a goddamn overwound guitar string, one pluck away from snapping. I can hear it in her voice and feel it in every goddamn tense muscle of her body. She's been throwing herself into this new single like it's a lifeboat in a stormy sea, and it's taking its toll.

We're holed up in the recording studio, the air thick with an electric hum that's got nothing to do with the equipment buzzing around us. Her hands dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a raw and emotive melody, a desperate plea for something. I don't know what, exactly. A distraction, maybe an escape. Perhaps she doesn't even know herself.

"You're killing it, Gyubin," I murmur, leaning against the soundboard, arms crossed. Her fingers stutter momentarily, the music hiccupping under the weight of my compliment. She glances at me, and I see the stress etched into her face, the dark circles under her eyes. She looks... vulnerable. Exhausted.

"You think so?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, afraid to hope. It fucking guts me. My little sister, the one who used to dance around the living roomstadium, is now reduced to doubting her goddamn genius.

I push off the soundboard, stepping closer to her. "I know so," I say, my voice steady, reassuring. "But you're wound up tight, Bubs. You need to take a step back."

She rolls her eyes, but there's no heat behind it. "You sound like Mom," she says, putting the guitar down with a sigh.

"No, I sound like a concerned brother who doesn't want his baby sister to burn out." I run a hand through my hair, looking for the right words. "Look, why don't you let me give you a massage?"

Her eyes widen, surprise warring with apprehension. "A... a massage?" She swallows hard, her throat working. "You know how to give a massage?"

A grin tugs at my lips. "I've picked up a few things," I say, winking. It's not a lie. I've given enough massages to know my way around a body. And right now, her body needs me.

The studio grows warmer as I lead her out, the tension between us shifting, growing heavier. We're alone in my place, Mom and Dad off on some cruise, and the house feels too big, too empty with just the two of us in it.

I guide her to my bedroom, where the king-size bed dominates the space. She sits down, her back to me, and I can see the nervous tension in her shoulders, the way she's coiled like a spring ready to snap. I nod to myself, determination setting in. I'm going to fix this for her.

I reach out, trailing my fingers along her spine, and she shivers. "Jesus, Gyubin," I murmur, "you're like a rigid fucking plank of wood." She lets out a shaky laugh, and I smile, my hands already working, kneading the tight muscles, coaxing out the tension.

She lets out a moan, low and soft, and I feel it like a physical touch, a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. Fuck. This is gonna be harder than I thought.

Her skin is like velvet under my hands, soft as dreaming. I start at her shoulders, kneading the tight knots like I'm working out a groove on a bass. She lets out this low hum, like she's purring, and I feel it in my chest, a vibration that's got me rattling like a fucking amplifier turned up too high.

"Mmm, that feels... that feels good, Oppa," she murmurs, her voice all honeyed and slow, like she's drunk on the feel of my hands. I can't help but grin, my thumbs diggin' a little deeper, working my way down her back, tracing the line of her spine like I'm followin' a melody.

Her shirt's in the way, this thin-as-fuck silk thing, and I can see the lace of her bra through it, the way it cups her. Fuck. I'm supposed to be helpin' her relax, not gettin' a goddamn hard-on, but my body's not listenin' to my brain right now. It's like there's this electric current runnin' between us, and my hands are just followin' the path it lays down.

I trace the line of her shoulder blade, dip down to the curve of her waist, and feel her breath hitch when I graze the side of her breast. Her body's a damn symphony, each touch, each caress playin' a note, buildin' a rhythm that's got us swayin' in time. I can't help but wonder if she feels it too, this pulse that's pounding under her skin, matchin' mine beat for fuckin' beat.

She turns her head, her cheek resting on her shoulder, looking at me with those big, brown eyes. They're soft, dreamy, and there's this little crease between her eyebrows, like she's puzzling something out. She licks her lips, and my stomach drops, like I'm falling from a great height. Fuck, could she be any more irresistible?

"Can... can we swap positions?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to... I want to touch you, too." Her cheeks flushed, this pretty pink got me thinking about forbidden fruit and breaking rules. Fuck, she's killin' me here.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak and help her stand, and then I'm sitting where she was, my back to her. I can feel her fingertips trailing down my back, light as feathers, and I tense, waiting for her touch to deepen, to get rough like mine was with her. But she doesn't. Instead, she explores me, her touch soft and gentle, like she's learning my body by heart.

She finds the knots in my back, the tension always there, just under the surface. She works at them like they're a puzzle she's determined to solve, her thumbs digging in, her fingers tracing the lines of my muscles. I can feel her body pressin' against mine, her breath on my neck, and fuck, it's too much. It's not enough.

I turn around, my hands cupping her face, and she looks at me, her eyes wide and uncertain and so fuckin' vulnerable. I lean in, slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. And then my lips are on hers, and she's kissin' me back, her mouth open, her tongue dancin' with mine. She tastes like exotic sweets and old memories, like home in a way I never knew I needed.

Her hands clench my shirt, her body arching into mine. I pull her closer, my arms wrapin' around her, my hand sliding down her back to cup her ass. She gasps into my mouth, and I slide my hand under the hem of her shirt, my palm flat against her belly, her skin hot and smooth.

She pulls away, her breaths coming in pants, her eyes dilated. "Oppa," she whispers, a plea on her lips, and I know I'm lost. I'm fuckin' lost. And for the first time, I can't find it in me to care.

Fuck, Gyubin's lips on mine is like striking the perfect chord, a symphony of sensation that erupts through me, tunneling down to my groin. I'm hard, and she can feel it, her hips grinding against me, seeking friction. Jesus, I could take her right here, right now, but I want to savor this, every goddamn inch of her.

She moans into my mouth, her hands tugging at my shirt, her nails raking across my abs. I break away, my breath coming in ragged pants, my hands shaking as I reach for the hem of her shirt. She lifts her arms, and I pull it off, my eyes feasting on her, her lush curves, her ripe tits straining against her bra. Fuck, she's a masterpiece, a goddamn song written in flesh and bone.

"Oppa," she whispers, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes, full of trust and desire. I lean down, my lips finding the pulse at her neck, nipping, suckling. She gasps, her head falling back, granting me access, and I take it, my hands roaming, exploring.

Her bra's in my way, so I unhook it, her tits spilling out, free. I palm them, my thumbs tracing circles around her nipples, feeling them pebble under my touch. She arches into my hands, her breaths coming in soft mewls, and fuck, it's the most beautiful music I've ever heard.

I'm on my knees before I know it, my hands on her hips, popping open the button of her jeans, tugging down the zipper. She kicks off her shoes and helps me push her jeans down, stepping out of them, now clad only in a scrap of lace hiding her from me.

I rest my forehead against her belly, breathing her in. I feel her hands in my hair, her fingers tangling and tugging. I hook my fingers under the lace and look up at her, waiting for her consent. She bites her lip, her cheeks flushed, but she nods, her eyes locked onto mine.

I slide her panties down, my breath catching at the sight of her, bare, slick, ready. I lean in, my tongue finding her clit, and she cries out, her hands fisting in my hair, pulling me closer. I look up at her, watch her as I lick and suck and fuck her with my mouth, feeling her body tense, her orgasm building. She's a song, a symphony, and I'm the conductor, bringing her to a crescendo.

"Oppa," she cries out, her body shaking, her orgasm crashing over her. I stand, wipe my mouth, my hands going to my jeans, shoving them down, my cock springing free. I'm sheathed in a condom in record time, my hands back on her, lifting her, her legs wrapping around my waist.

I line myself up, look into her eyes, and thrust in, her virginity giving way, her lips parting on a gasp of pain. I still let her adjust, my forehead resting against hers. "Fuck, Gyubin," I groan, "you feel... fuck, you feel amazing." She nods, her breath coming in short pants, her eyes watering.

I move, slow at first, giving her time, letting her body stretch to accommodate me. She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rolling, her body tightening around me. I lose myself in her, her feel, the music we're creating, our bodies entwined in passion.

I breed her, my body slamming into hers, my fingers digging into her hips, her name on my lips like a prayer. She matched me stroke for stroke, her body tense, her breath coming in short pants. She comes again, her body convulsing, her orgasm triggering mine, and I empty myself into her, my body shaking, my vision blanking out.

We stand there, still connected, our bodies heaving, our hearts pounding in sync. I lean in, kiss her, slow and sweet, our bodies still moving, still entwined. I pull away, look into her eyes, and I know, I just fucking know, that this is the beginning of something, something big, something dangerous, something fucking beautiful.

"Oppa," she says, her voice soft, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "What do we do now?"

I grin, my hands squeezing her ass, pressing her closer. "We don't do anything, Bubs. We keep this our little secret and fuck like rabbits every chance we get."

She laughs, a sound that's like music to my ears. "Every chance we get, huh?"

"Every goddamn chance," I say, my hands roaming, my body already hardening, ready for round two. She smiles, her eyes sparkling, and I know, I fucking know, that I'm not just composing our future, I'm writing a masterpiece. With her, I always will be.

[iamrunning-low]

Deforest Kelley's Filmography

(Incomplete, 53 still to be found)

Links directly to each episode or movie for free (Because I don't believe in paying for stuff)

Most of these will be YouTube, Internet Archive, ok.ru, or other sites that should be safe, but a few are from sites with a lot of redirects, I suggest using an ad blocker. I use the Brave web browser, it comes with a adblocker.

I will put a star(★) next to any link you need an adblocker for. if it says to download an app, just switch the page to desktop mode.

Nothing has to be downloaded; if a link doesn't work, if you find an unsafe site, or if there are any other errors. please tell me. (there are a few episodes on YouTube that are mislabeled but they should be the right episode)

I am only allowed 100 embedded links per post, so any new links will be line text.

If you've found any other links to the episodes I haven't found yet, pretty please send them to me <3

Time to Kill (1945)

Fear in the Night (1947)

Variety Girl (1947)

Beyond Our Own (1947)

Public Prosecutor: Case of the Man Who Wasn't There (1947)

Gypsy Holiday (1948)

There are copies of this archived at the UCLA Library, but they are all nitrate film and can only be handled by professionals. I think you can request to view them, but you have to go there in person.

Canon City (1948)

Duke of Chicago (1949)

Malaya (1949)

Life of St. Paul Series: Ambassador for Christ (1949)

The Men (1950)

Studio One: The Last Cruise (1950): https://archive.org/details/studio-one-the-last-cruise-cut-2

Speak No Evil (1950)

The Gallery of Madame Liu-Tsong: The Golden Women (1951)

The Web: Shine, Mister? (1951)

Armstrong Circle Theatre: Breakaway (1952)

Your Jeweler's Showcase: The Hand of St. Pierre (1952)

Taxi (1953)

The Lone Ranger:

The Legion of Old Timers (1949) Gold Train (1950) Death in the Forest (1953)

The Revlon Mirror Theater: Dreams Never Lie (1953)

The Pepsi-Cola Playhouse: Frozen Escape (1953)

Waterfront:

Shipper, Beware (1954) The Race (1954)

Duffy of San Quentin (1954): https://watchseries.bar/movie/duffy-of-san-quentin/174278 ★

The Lone Wolf:

The Murder Story (1954) The Las Vegas Story (1954)

Your Favorite Story:

The Man Who Sold His Shadow (1953) Inside Out: The Story of Bunder-Runger the Jailbird (1954)

Public Defender: The Murder Photo (1954)

Cavalcade of America: The Medal for Miss Walker (1954)

City Detective:

An Old Man's Gold (1953) Crazy Like a Fox (1954)

Mayor of the Town:

Long May It Wag (1954) Minnie's Job (1954) The Poet (1954)

The Loretta Young Show: Decision (1955)

House of Bamboo (1955)

Illegal (1955)

The Millionaire: The Iris Miller Story (1955)

Studio 57:

Storm Signal (1954) Vacation with Pay (1955)

The View From Pompey's Head (1955)

Matinee Theatre: Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (1955)

Gunsmoke: Indian Scout (1956)

The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit (1956)

You Are There:

The Capture of John Wilkes Booth (1953) The Surrender of Corregidor (1954) The Rescue of the American Prisoners from Santo Tomas (1955) The Gunfight at O.K. Corral (1955)

Eli Whitney Invents the Cotton Gin (1955): https://www.tumblr.com/spawksstuff/780662310126665728?source=share [clip]

Spindletop - The First Great Texas Oil Strike (1955) The Heroism of Clara Barton (1956) (clip) The Fall of Fort Sumter (1956)

Tension at Table Rock (1956)

Science Fiction Theatre:

Y..O..R..D.. (1955) The Long Day (1955) Survival in Box Canyon (1956)

Strange Stories: Such a Nice Little Girl (1956)

The Adventure's of Jim Bowie: An Eye for an Eye (1957): https://watch.plex.tv/watch/show/the-adventures-of-jim-bowie/season/1/episode/26?

Navy Log:

Cigar-Box John (1957) Nightmare off Brooklyn (1957)

Gunfight at O.K. Corral (1957)

Code 3: Oil Well Incident (1957): https://watch.plex.tv/watch/show/code-3/season/1/episode/12?

The Web: Kill and Run (1957)

Schiltz Playhouse: Hands of the Enemy (1957)

The O. Henry Playhouse:

Fog in Santone (1957) The Hiding of Black Bill (1957)

Raintree County (1957)

Boots and Saddles: The Marquis of Donnybrook (1957)

Playhouse 90:

The Edge of Innocence (1957) Point of No Return (1958)

The Silent Service:

The U.S.S. Spearfish Delivers (1957) The Gar Story (1957) The Archerfish Spits Straight (1958)

M Squad:

Pete Loves Mary (1957) Diamond Hard (1957) Hideout (1958)

The Law an Jake Wade (1958)

Steve Canyon: Operation Jettison (1958)

The Rough Riders: The Nightbinders (1958)

26 Men: Trail of Revenge (1959) [clip]

The Californians: The Painted Lady (1959) (use desktop)

Special Agent 7: Border Mascarade (1959)

Northwest Passage: Death Rides the Wind (1959)

Rawhide: Incident at Barker Springs (1959)

Mackenzie's Raiders: Son of the Hawk (1959)

Warlock (1959)

State Trooper: The Patient Skeleton (1959)

The Lineup: The Chloroform Murder Case (1959)

Mike Hammer:

I Ain't Talking (1959) Bride and Doom (1959)

21 Bacon Street: The Hostage (1959)

Trackdown:

The End of an Outlaw (1957) The Jail Break (1958)https://drive.google.com/file/d/1AKCNe8Mn8yKkH5S-XdKsYDMmo8hxxRKy/view Hard Lines (1959) (begins at 22:32) Quiet Night in Porter (1959)https://drive.google.com/file/d/1wZRJIYLP7Zs_jX5S3vU2HsIRB1ZxEqfx/view

Wanted: Dead or Alive:

Secret Ballot (1959) The Empty Cell (1959)

The Man from Blackhawk: Station Six (1959)

Black Saddle: Apache Trail (1959)

The Magical World of Disney: Elfego Baca: Mustang Man, Mustang Maid (1959)

Alcoa Theatre:

Johnny Risk (1958) 333 Montgomery (TV version) (1959)

333 Montgomery (1959)

Richard Diamond, Private Detective:

The Limping Man (1959) The Adjuster (1959)

Zane Grey Theater:

Stage for Tucson (1956)

Village of Fear (1957): https://youtu.be/Ppn8GhXXlbU?si=uxcs-w-23H4VuJ5X

Shadow of a Dead Man (1958): https://youtu.be/7PCxtCn_XJE?si=RHPAc_IULg0FdE1T

Calico Bait (1960): https://archive.org/details/lv_0_20250605005938/lv_0_20250605110209.mp4#

Johnny Midnight: The Inner Eye (1960)

Markham: Counterpoint (1960)

Two Faces West: Fallen Gun (1960)

Riverboat: Listen to the Nightingale (1961) https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xnVme0X3urNtzKSQELNUkcrXJf06G_u0/view

Tales of Wells Fargo: Captain Scofield (1961)

Assignment: Underwater: Affair in Tokyo (1961): https://youtu.be/gf2drne3NkM?si=F24-jxt773fY-t1h (clip)

Coronado 9:

Loser's Circle (1960) Run, Shep, Run (1961)

Lawman:

The Thimblerigger (1960) The Squatters (1961)https://drive.google.com/file/d/1tu6iDm37jqhXY327Gfw9IlwrXPg7Zydk/view

The Deputy: The Means to the End (1961)

Bat Masterson: No Amnesty for Death (1961)

Stagecoach West

Image of a Man (1961): https://drive.google.com/file/d/1fWwEk-hp-WSEFGOYzpHkmwvXjS08fDqs/view The Big Gun (1961): https://drive.google.com/file/d/1tfX6-wDGQOwwWyID4NdD5Mzkqno8JES7/view

Shannon: The Pickup (1961)

Cain's Hundred: The Fixer (1961)

Perry Mason: Case of the Unwelcome Bride (1961) (make sure to click on bride again to view video)

Route 66:

The Clover Throne (1961) 1800 Days to Justice (1962)

Have Gun - Will Travel: The Treasure (1962)

Laramie:

Gun Duel (1962) The Unvanquished (1963)

The Gallant Men: A Taste of Peace (1963)

The Dakotas: Reformation at Big Nose Butte (1963)

77 Sunset Strip: 88 Bars (1963)

Gunfight at Comanche Creek (1953)

The Virginian:

Duel at Shiloh (1963) is 1x15 https://watchseries.bar/tv/the-virginian/10180 ★

Man of Violence (1963) https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SzVex5abww0gHdNEOUR-qwSIWWI8qHrq/view

Where Love Has Gone (1964)

Slattery's People: Question: Which One Has the Privilege? (1964)

Black Spurs (1965)

Town Tamer (1965)

Marriage on the Rocks (1965)

The Fugitive: Three Cheers for Little Blue Boy (1965)https://drive.google.com/file/d/1EZBxHG-YscPAbeLlf-WTfgKS5WgI6lmu/view

The Donna Reed Show: Uncle Jeff Needs You (1965)

Apache Uprising (1965)

Bonanza:

The Honor of Cochise (1961) The Decision (1962) Ride the Wind Part 1 (1966) Ride the Wind Part 2 (1966)

A Man Called Shenandoah: The Riley Brand (1966) https://drive.google.com/file/d/13-bkwBGrr3XJpk9xYDIoABZes9jCYKkc/view

Laredo: The Sound of Terror (1966)

Death Valley Days:

The Breaking Point (1962) Coffin for a Coward (1963) Devil's Gate (1965) Lady of the Plains (1966)

Waco (1966)

Police Story (1967)

Ironside: Warrior's Return (1970)

The Silent Force: The Judge (1970)

The Bold Ones: The New Doctors: Giants Never Kneel (1970)

Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law: Make No Mistake (1971)

Room 222: The Sins of the Fathers (1971)

Night of the Lepus (1972)

The ABC Afternoon Playbreak: I Never Said Goodbye (1973)

(series is considered partially lost media)

The Cowboys: David Done It (1974)

The Littlest Hobo: Runaway (1981)

The Brave Little Toaster Goes to Mars (1998)

Sourses:

https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001420/?ref_=ext_shr_lnk

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DeForest_Kelley

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1OjqfnmsrtfDAieWASYNFJhVIq23HwaSg

Thank you to:

@iamenits

@spawksstuff

@forecast0ctopus

@spaceageslacker

@/Hellbat_the_Destron on youtube

Last Update: 6/8/25 8:50 PM PDT

[seagulls-paradise]

122 year old ghost ship, sitting abandoned in a Kentucky river. It was ridden a few times by Thomas Edison and appeared in a Madonna music video.

_

The U.S.S. Sachem was launched 10 years before the Titanic departed in 1902, initially a luxury ride for a railroad mogul and turned warship that powered through both world wars, including a few times with Thomas Edison aboard while he did wartime experiments.

During World War II the ship became outdated with new technologically advanced ships.

It was then purchased in the late 40s by a quickly-growing cruise line in New York City, and the Sachem became a recreational vessel once again used as a fishing and party boat, and later a sightseeing ship that ferried nearly 3 million people around New York.

It started her career as a cruise ship under the name, Sightseer, and eventually ending it as its final identity, the Circle Line V, in which the faded name that can still be found on her hull today.

How did it end up in its final location?

The vessel was purchased in 1986 by private owner Robert Miller with an attempt to repair it. But repairs didn’t go well. It reportedly took 10 days to move the ship from New York and after being navigated down the Mississippi by Miller and his crew, she was anchored on a small tributary off the Ohio River on Miller’s property. Water levels dropped so much that the ship became mired in the mud. Miller didn’t have the funds to move it so the ship sat there, never to sail again.