#i had it saved on my phone but just by name not by link and now I cannot find itttt

[fandom-trash44]

Hello!!! Looking for help finding a fic

It’s a Nightwing/dc fic? I think it was called the Nightwing project or project Nightwing or something along those lines. I remember it being a pretty messed up sladick fic, mostly smut tbh but there was also some really good plot there, dick goes undercover as slades apprentice etc etc the usual spiel, I’ve looked everywhere and simply. Cannot find it. Any help would be appreciate its multi chapter and fantastic pls.

[red-dyed-sarumane]

to give u an idea of how disproportionately popular marshall maximizer is from literally everything else ive gone thru all of the aru sekai bijutsuten & hiiragima tags, up to april 2022 of the hiiragi magnetite tag (bc twitter died violently at that point so i couldnt go farther), & both the magu & marshall maximizer tags on pixiv ive collected a total of 179 images, none of them my own, and 76 of them are marshall maximizer. the next most popular is shuuen touhikou which is 27/179.

[annabelle--cane]

"the magnus protocol had a whole ARG beforehand? what?"

yes! it did!

"oh so I need to have participated in this whole big thing to actually understand the podcast?"

not at all! from the official post-mortem put out by RQ, "while the ARG was not something that was necessary to participate in to understand the magnus protocol, it was designed to contain a wealth of background story and context that would enrich any player's listening experience."

"a wealth of background context that would enrich my listening experience 👀👀👀 how can I learn about this?"

SO glad you asked. sadly, many of the materials made for the arg have been taken down since the game ended 😔 (ex., the official OIAR, magnus institute, and bonzoland websites. (edit ii: I found partial wayback machine captures! see below) though @strangehauntsuk is still up!), so we're a bit low on primary sources, but in terms of learning about what happened:

for a starting point, I would really recommend this video by @pinkelotjeart

it's super accessible, it was made in real time as the game progressed and follows the solving and revelation of clues as they happened, it hits all the major points of the mystery and moments of community insanity while eliding some of the nitty gritty puzzle grinding, 10/10 would recommend.

here's the official summary put out by RQ, and I'd recommend reading through this once you've already gotten a basic handle on the flow of the story and the basic connections between major clues and events. it's got some fun behind-the-scenes info and lays out the thought process behind the puzzles in simple terms

here's the full masterdoc of all puzzles and resolutions put together in the statement remains discord server. masterdoc my absolute BELOVED, masterdoc my bethrothed, masterdoc my soul mate. I'd recommend this as a second port of call after the above video as it either contains all details about the puzzles or links to other expanded docs that do.

here's the narrative summary doc that lays out all the plot and lore discovered in three pages of plain prose. if you just want to get to the good bits as fast as you can and get blasted directly in the face by contextless lore bombs, this is the doc for you. if you don't want to start with the video, I'd say this is another good entry point.

once you've got the lay of the land, some of the game materials that I found particularly interesting include:

the in-universe east germany expat usenet forum, with all content translated into english. most of it is irrelevant space filler with occasional extremely sus lore, but I still found it fun to read through. love to soak in some fictional forum drama.

chdb.xlsx, the spreadsheet of the names of all the children the protocol 'verse magnus institute was studying/experimenting on. EDIT: here is a version of the sheet without any annotations and with all of the names in their original order, kudos to @theboombutton for catching that the commonly shared copy had the order swapped around.

klaus.xls, a (very corrupted) spreadsheet with what looks like the classifications of a bunch of old OIAR cases.

EDIT: have a few more saved materials from the game that I forgot to include.

an in-universe audio ad to apply to the OIAR that ran before archives episodes and kicked off the whole game.

an in-universe video ad to apply to the OIAR, this one is an official upload that's still up from the game itself. you can subscribe to the OIAR's official youtube channel today, if you so chose.

the robo-voicemail greeting from the OIAR's phone line.

EDIT II:

here is a wayback machine capture of the OIAR's official website.

here is a wayback machine capture of the bonzoland website.

(pretty sure both of the above captures just archived the home pages, though I haven't tried clicking all of the links. I'd say they're still worth looking at, the home pages give a good window into the vibes.)

once you start poking around in these documents, you'll find a bunch of links to others with further information, the materials I've included here just contain what I feel to be the most relevant details to getting a broad feel for the whole game. once again, huge shout out to the statement remains server, I was barely in there as the ARG was in progress and only ducked my head in every so often to find links like these. true mvps of the fandom.

[remi-thirsts]

❝ 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀 ❞

pairing: r. suna x fem!reader summary: Headcanons abt ur man who loves to record his fav girl ! content: very suggestive, established relationship, (p -> v), oral (f + m receiving), fingering, pet names (baby), cursing, filming (consensual for both parties), teasing (when is suna not teasing?), lmk if I missed anything. (kind of a soft smut release since i'm not confident)

✧ bf!suna who whips out his phone anytime you wear anything that's tight around your curves.

"Okay Rin, I'm coming out tell me what you think of this dress." He lets out an uninterested hum, because you've been in the store for at least two hours. You need a new dress for your cousin's birthday party.

When you walk out and give him a little twirl he immediately exits whatever game he was playing to pass the time and opens the camera app.

"Holy shit, look at that ass baby. Mmm and those pretty tits."

"Can you focus for like one second?

✧ bf!suna who sends you horny videos throughout the day, because he misses you.

dookie butt 😝💖 [1 video attachment] look what u do to me

you -boyyyy i'm at work rn -but holy fuck... you moan so loud that i had to turn my volume down and i think i got looks from people

dookie butt 😝💖 so.... no titties ?

you ding ding ding ! you win blue balls

dookie butt 😝💖 at least send me some ass 😒

✧ bf!suna has a whole ALBUM on his phone of videos of you two fucking.

✧ bf!suna loves watching that one video where it's so shaky and you can barely tell what's going on, but he knows. He was eating you out so good, he had you back arching off of the bed, and your toes curling. You couldn't even hold the phone properly like he asked you too. Being the meanie he is he continued to harshly suck on your clit and hit your g-spot with his, long, experienced, rough fingers even after you came. You ended up squirting all over his face..

✧ bf!suna LOVES to record his dick bulging in your belly. That's how he knows he's hitting it good.

✧ bf!suna comes up with all these ridiculous scenarios/roleplays that you always seem to agree to do with him. He records ALL of them.

✧ bf!suna saves every single nude you send him, because despite what you say he thinks you're beautiful all day everyday.

✧ bf!suna sends you Twitter links asking if you wanna recreate them. Anytime he watches them he can only think about you and himself.

✧ bf!suna has no shame and will watch your homemade videos even with his friends around.

"Damn, Rin whatever yer watching must be really interestin'!" Atsumu spits sarcasm at the EJP middle blocker.

"Way more interesting than you by a long shot." Suna calmly replies which pisses his friend off even more. The blond snatches Suna's phone. Only to hand it back seconds later with a flushed face, "Gosh yer a pervert, Sunarin, a pervert."

✧ bf!suna is like a photographer when you get a new lingerie set. He'll ask you to make different poses and stand at different angles so he can get "the best possible picture"

✧ bf!suna sends you audios of him moaning because he knows you love it.

dookie butt 😝💖 [1 audio attachment] :3

you RIN. I'M MELTING WTF U SOUND SO HOT

dookie butt 😝💖 u should send something back to show ur appreciation

you 🫡

✧ bf!suna never posts or shares your videos unless you ask him too, and the ones he does share with the internet are the ones where no one can see your faces.

✧ bf!suna all in all loves you and your beauty. Every single video he's recorded is proof of that. When you watch them, you notice the little things, like how he'll prop up a pillow for you, or how he'll quietly ask if it's okay for him to keep going and whatnot. Many would think that he's just horny all the time and doesn't care about you, but he does care. Way more than haters will realize.

©𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈-𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐒 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. i put the blame on me for giving you chance after chance … it’s my mind and my soul versus your pride.

00, PROLOGUE. AND THIS IS JUST THE INTRO.

ju speaks. finished this quicker than expected so thank you to that anon for getting me on it early LOL. find the masterlist link to all parts on my blog. lmk your thoughts! pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. language, angst, toxicity, cheating, etc … general warning!

flashback, april, 2025.

paige: i love you 3:49am

nailea: ?

i love you too

is everything good?

read 4:02am

paige: yeah i’m good baby

missing you ao baD

paige edited a message: missing you

nailea: i’ll see you so soon

i’m sorry i couldn’t make it today

i’m really proud of you

read 4:09am

you’d think by now i’d be numb to it. that i’d learned the script—memorized the lines, the rhythm of it. but as i sit here, scrolling through her saved chats with her, i don’t feel numb. i feel fucking dumb.

it’s not even the months i spent doubting her, the nights i’d start an argument because i just knew she was lying, only for her to stare at me with those wide, innocent eyes and make me feel like the problem. no. it’s knowing that three nights ago, when she texted me after the game, telling me she loved me, that she missed me—that wasn’t real. that was just her guilt talking, a cheap cover-up. because that night, after winning her precious championship, paige found someone else to help her celebrate. and all because i couldn’t be there.

i don’t even have it in me to appreciate the short time she wasn’t doing anything behind my back. we’d had a conversation, a serious one, and it was enough for a bit. but there’s pictures, videos, a few from that night, and i feel sick.

the door opens behind me, and i barely flinch.

“yo, i forgot my—“ my bloodshot eyes meet hers, still holding onto the faintest trace of a smile. she has to notice i’ve been crying. has to see what she’s done.

it’s only been ten minutes. the breakfast spot’s close, maybe two blocks. she must’ve turned around. guilt? instinct? doesn’t matter now.

“nai.”

i glance down at her open phone, and so does she. i can’t see her reaction, but i’m sure it’s anything but pleasant. “oh, i can’t even fucking look at you,” i spit, letting out a breathy laugh as i push myself to stand, heading towards the door.

before i can even take a step, she’s in full defense mode. paige tosses her keys onto the bed with a clatter, closing the door behind her, planting herself firmly in front of it like she’s ready to block my any attempt to walk out. “you’re not leavin,’ bro. hold on.” she furrows her eyebrows, mumbling more to herself as she pulls me away by my arm. quite effortlessly might i add, i couldn’t really fight it.

“move, paige,” i demand. i just want out. want to be anywhere she isn’t.

“nah, we’re gonna talk. sit your ass down.”

“about what?” i laugh, cold and bitter, as i wipe my face again. she’s stupid for thinking i’ll listen to anything she says now, i know that much. “about how you played in my face, yet again? how you kept telling me to trust you when i knew better? or maybe we’ll talk about how the second i wasn’t here, you went right back to her.”

she wasn’t special. she isn’t. i’m sure paige doesn’t even know her middle name. she was just… there. someone to sex her up the way i couldn’t from across the country. it wasn’t like we didn’t see each other every chance we had, but i’ll be damned to let her live a double life. i wish i wasn’t so in deep.

paige steps forward, her hand reaching for mine, eyes softening in some pathetic attempt at damage control. “look, it was one night, alright? it was a mistake, nai, you gotta chill.”

chill.

i yank my hand back. “how many times does one night happen with you, huh?” i squint. “because this isn’t just one mistake, paige. this is you, every time.” the word tastes sour, and i spit it right back at her.

i’m not a doormat. i’m not one of the girls paige bueckers happened to pick up on her way to the top. i was here from the very beginning, and i couldn’t fathom how that wasn’t enough for her. all you could ever want is to grow into love with someone, but paige and i only go backwards, and i don’t think i’m capable of sitting around and letting that happen anymore.

paige’s mouth twists, some shadow of remorse that’s barely visible as she shifts from foot to foot. her hair’s still tousled from last night, strands falling across her forehead, a disheveled mess that somehow makes her look both beautiful and utterly wrecked. it makes my stomach turn—how i’d been unknowingly in the same spot as another girl just a few days ago, her hands roaming through that same hair, leaving their mark where mine should have been.

“let me get it right this time then.” paige’s head tilts back slightly, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that’s almost hypnotic, like she’s daring me to believe her, to give her yet another chance. i hesitate, against all logic, caught up in her. for a second, the anger knots itself up, caught in my throat, tangled in the remnants of whatever feelings she hasn’t managed to destroy.

we just stand there, inches apart, eyes locked, her breath barely steady, mine coming in tight and shallow. her hand lifts again, just slightly, as if she’s about to reach for me again, and i feel that familiar pull—like i’m right on the edge of giving in, of letting her words undo the mess she’s made.

my eyes glance down at her phone in my hand, and i can’t help but think about how sick i am of fucking words.

before i can second-guess myself, my hand jerks forward, and i launch her phone across the room. it skids across the floor, clattering against the wall, and she turns at the sound, head lolling against the door.

paige’s hand slides down her face as she lets out a low, humorless chuckle, her shoulders slumping back. her gaze flicks from her phone again, undamaged but undeniably thrown by an angry girlfriend ex, and then back to me, all narrowed. “you throwin’ my shit now?”

“fetch it. matter fact…” paige’s mouth opens, then closes as she watches me rip her oversized tee off like it’s some dirty rag. the shirt hits her chest and slides down to the floor, and she just stands there, staring at it with her jaw clenched so tight i can practically hear her grinding her teeth. “you can take all your shit back with it. i’m done,” i seethe.

paige looks back up, scoffing. “oh, you’re done?”

i turn on my heel, making my way to my suitcase. paige doesn’t move as i fall to my knees, throwing one of my own shirts over my head. i’m packing my things up frantically, silently, and i can tell it makes her feel unsettled.

“you’re not leaving, nailea.” she doesn’t sound so sure of herself now, and that only makes me move quicker.

i sniffle, even though i’m way past being sad over this. “i’ll stay with az until i can catch a flight. and i’ll ship all your stuff to storrs once i’m back.” i’m declaring my plan out loud, though i’m sure the mounds of her belongings that’ve accumulated in my apartment over the years is the last thing on her mind.

but then she moves, steps around the suitcase, stopping me with a quiet urgency, her fingers reaching toward my face. i pull back instinctively, turning my head, but she follows, her hands slowly cupping my head, steadying me as if i’m the one slipping. “paige, stop.” i mutter, shrugging my shoulders, trying to shake her off. but her fingers tighten, her eyes softer, pleading.

“c’mon…” she whispers. and then, slowly, she sinks down to her knees, meeting me there, her eyes desperately searching mine.

i swallow, hard, stopping my movements. “quit—“

“lemme fix it.” she mumbles, the words laced with something i can’t decipher, something that might’ve been real if it didn’t come too late.

i look up, and for the first time, i see something that almost looks like panic in her eyes. her thumb is focused on tracing the tear streaks on my cheek, and i have to force myself to think about why they’re there in the first place. because of her.

i don’t give her a chance to say another word. “you should’ve thought about that before there was anything to fix,” i say softly.

i turn away, reaching to grip the zipper of my suitcase. the metallic sound rips through the quiet, and it’s the finality of it that makes it feel like the right choice, like i actually just let go.

but with paige, nothing ever stays that simple, that clean.

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Xo Xo Gossip Girl

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Gossip Blogger! Reader

Part 1

a:n The way I find myself digging for the perfect chapter gif only to scroll for five minutes and save my favorites is so embarrassing. I'm gonna need his girlfriend to hand over that game card... anyway hope u like this chapter.

word count - 4k

Masterlist Link

GIF by wyattjohnston

...

HOCKEY HEARTBREAK: THE REAL REASON BEHIND THE HUGHES-DEGREGIO SPLIT

Posted by Y/N @ The Daily Whisper | 11:42 PM

Settle in, Whisper Warriors, because do I have some piping hot tea for you tonight.

You know those moments when the universe just hands you the story of the year? Well, last Saturday at Vibe, somewhere between my second cosmopolitan and watching Matt Rempe fail at dancing (yes, that's tea for another day), I quite literally bumped into none other than Serena DeGregio. And let me tell you, after a few shots of liquid courage, Hollywood's newest "it girl" was ready to spill everything about her recent split from hockey's favorite bad boy, Jack Hughes.

Now, we've all seen the headlines: "Hockey Heartthrob and Rising Star Call It Quits." But the real story? It's juicier than your mom's Thanksgiving turkey.

According to Serena, our beloved hockey star couldn't handle being the second name in the relationship. While she was booking Netflix specials and selling out concert venues, Jack was sidelined with a shoulder injury that kept him off the ice for three months. And apparently, watching your girlfriend's face on every billboard in Times Square does things to a man's ego.

"He's still stuck in that high school hockey star mentality," Serena told me, twirling the olive in her martini. "You know the type – peaked at eighteen, never had to grow up because everything came easy."

But here's where I have to play devil's advocate (and maybe it's because I've seen those ice-blue eyes up close at press events). Having covered Jack's career since his rookie year, there's more to him than Serena's bitter pill would have you swallow. This is the same guy who started a youth hockey program in underprivileged neighborhoods. The same player who spent his injury rehab volunteering at children's hospitals. And let's be real – anyone who's seen him handle a puck knows he definitely hasn't peaked.

Maybe it's the journalist in me, but something about this story feels... incomplete. There's always two sides to every breakup, isn't there?

Update coming soon... if I can track down Mr. Hughes for his side of the story 😉

...

Y/N stretched back in her purple velvet office chair, admiring her latest post on the screen. Her "lair," as she liked to call it, was her happy place – fairy lights twinkling across the ceiling, framed magazine covers featuring her biggest stories adorning the coral-painted walls, and her trusty mini-fridge humming softly in the corner, stocked with Diet Coke and chocolate-covered almonds.

The story was already gaining traction, comments pinging faster than she could read them. Her phone buzzed – Alyssa's face lighting up the screen. Y/N smiled, knowing her best friend had probably already devoured every word. As the head of corporate sponsorships at Manhattan's largest sports marketing firm, Alyssa always had the best insider information – and opinions to match.

"Y/N! Have you lost your mind?" Alyssa didn't even wait for a hello. "That post about Jack and Serena is everywhere! My entire office is buzzing about it. The PR team for the Rangers is having a field day."

"Good evening to you too, bestie." Y/N spun lazily in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Never mind pleasantries. I have information that's going to make your next post even bigger." Y/N could hear the smile in her voice. "You know that charity gala at The Plaza next weekend? The one my firm is coordinating with?"

Y/N threw her head back and groaned dramatically. The motion made her neck crack, and she absently rubbed it while whining, "Don't rub it in. I've been trying to get press credentials for weeks. Even my usual connections couldn't get me in."

"Well, guess who's not only attending but is being honored for his youth hockey program?"

Y/N shot forward so fast her chair rolled back and hit the wall, rattling her framed cover of Time Magazine. "Jack Hughes."

"Bingo. And since I'm basically running the whole event..." Alyssa paused for dramatic effect. "I happen to have an extra ticket with your name on it. Perks of being best friends with someone who has to make sure all the corporate sponsors play nice with their hockey darlings."

"Shut up!" Y/N leaped out of her chair, nearly tripping over her discarded shoes in excitement. She caught herself on the edge of her desk, sending a stack of press releases flying. "Alyssa Martinez, you beautiful genius! How did you swing that?"

"Let's just say I convinced the foundation board that having an influential blogger there would be good publicity for their youth programs." Alyssa's voice took on a more serious tone. "Though after this post, I might have some explaining to do. You better make this worth it."

Y/N's heart raced as she glanced at her blog post still glowing on the screen, her mind already spinning with possibilities. "Trust me, this is going to be the story of the year."

"I'm counting on it. My reputation is on the line here too, you know. These athletes might be my clients, but you're my best friend. Don't make me regret mixing the two."

"Have I ever let you down before?" Y/N was already opening her notes app, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"There's a first time for everything," Alyssa teased. "So, are you ready to get the other side of the story?"

...

One Week Later

Y/N stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of her black dress. Beside her, Alyssa was applying a final coat of mascara, her own black dress a perfect complement with its off-shoulder design.

"Stop overthinking it," Alyssa said, catching Y/N's distant expression in the mirror. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head."

Y/N sighed, fiddling with her delicate silver necklace. The blog post about Jack and Serena had exploded over the past week, becoming her most viral story to date. But something about it had been nagging at her, keeping her up at night as she replayed Serena's words in her mind.

"It's just..." Y/N paused, carefully considering her words. "What if we got it wrong? What if Serena isn't the victim she's making herself out to be?"

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you second-guess a source?"

"Since something doesn't add up." Y/N moved to her vanity, pretending to touch up her subtle smoky eye while her thoughts raced. "I've been doing some digging. Every charity event, every hospital visit, every youth program – Jack Hughes doesn't publicize any of it. His team's PR doesn't even push it. What kind of attention-seeking bad boy does good deeds and keeps them quiet?"

"So you think Serena's lying?"

"I think..." Y/N turned to face her friend, determination settling over her features. "I think she's a scorned ex trying to control the narrative. And maybe... maybe I helped her do it."

Alyssa's lips curved into a knowing smile. "And this sudden crisis of conscience has nothing to do with those ice-blue eyes you mentioned in your post?"

"This isn't about that," Y/N protested, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "This is about the truth. The real story." She grabbed her clutch, checking one last time that her phone and recorder were inside. "Every good journalist knows there are two sides to every story. It's time I found out his."

"Well then," Alyssa linked their arms together, leading them toward the door. "Let's go get your story, Lois Lane."

As they stepped into the waiting car, Y/N's mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd built her career on exposing the truth, even when it wasn't pretty. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she wasn't just chasing a story – she was chasing redemption. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find out who the real Jack Hughes was in the process.

The Plaza Hotel beckoned in the distance, its lights twinkling against the Manhattan skyline like a beacon. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Bad boy or misunderstood hero, she was going to find out the truth – even if it meant admitting she got it wrong the first time.

...

Jack's pov

Jack's knee wouldn't stop bouncing under the pristine white tablecloth, making the water in his parents' glasses ripple like tiny earthquakes. Luke, ever the annoying little brother, flicked his ear.

"Dude, you're making the whole table shake. What's got you so worked up?" Luke's grin was nothing short of devilish. "Could it be a certain viral blog post about your 'high school mentality'?"

Jack pinched the sensitive spot under Luke's bicep, earning a satisfying yelp. "Shut up, man. At least I didn't trip over my own skates at practice yesterday."

"Boys," Ellen Hughes' warning tone cut through their bickering. She smoothed her navy dress with one hand while giving them both the look – the one that had stopped many locker room fights in their youth. "You're at a charity gala, not the rink. Act like grown men, please?"

"Yes, Mom," they chorused in unison, sharing a quick grin that made their father Jim chuckle behind his menu.

Jack let out a heavy breath, tugging at his bow tie. It felt too tight, like everything else lately – the press, the expectations, the endless questions about Serena. His leg started bouncing again.

"That's it." He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need a drink."

"Water," his mother called after him. "You have a speech to give!"

Jack waved in acknowledgment, weaving through the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. His shoulder twinged – phantom pain from the injury that had started this whole mess. Or maybe it was just his body's reaction to stress. The blog post had been everywhere this week, his phone blowing up with messages from teammates asking if he'd seen it.

He had. Multiple times. Each read made him want to throw his phone into the Hudson.

Reaching the bar, he slumped against the polished marble, pressing his forehead to the cool surface for just a moment. "Water, please," he groaned to the bartender. "Still, not sparkling."

"Trouble in paradise?"

The voice was unfamiliar, tinged with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. Jack lifted his head to find a woman in a black dress perched on the barstool next to him, stirring what looked like a cosmopolitan with delicate fingers. She wasn't looking at him directly, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Before he could respond, a flash of red appeared in his peripheral vision, and he had to fight the urge to groan out loud.

"Jackie!" The voice was unmistakable – Rebekah Chen, Page Six's most persistent reporter. Her red dress matched her lipstick, both as bold as her personality. She latched onto his arm like a barnacle, fake nails digging into his jacket. "I've been trying to reach you all week!"

Jack threw his head back, closing his eyes as if that might make her disappear. "Not today, Rebekah," he muttered, feeling every muscle in his jaw tense. His hand curled around the water glass the bartender had just set down, knuckles white.

"Oh, come on!" She pressed closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a seductive whisper. "Just a few questions. I can help you clear the air about that nasty blog post. Make that gossip guru eat her words." She batted her eyelashes. "All I need is a teensy exclusive about what really happened with Serena."

Jack's laugh was hollow as he extracted his arm from her grip. "Right, because that worked out so well the last time." He took a long drink of water, adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain his composure. "No comment, Rebekah. Same as yesterday, and the day before that, and—"

"But Jackie—"

"Not happening." Jack's voice was firm as steel. "There's nothing to say, Rebekah. Not to you, not to anyone."

Rebekah huffed, her red lips turning down into a pout. She opened her mouth to protest again, but something in Jack's expression must have finally gotten through. With a dramatic sigh and flip of her hair, she clicked away on her stilettos, no doubt in search of easier prey.

Jack's shoulders dropped as tension bled out of them. He turned back to the bar, catching the mystery woman in black watching him in the mirror behind the bottles. When their eyes met, she didn't look away.

"That happen often?" she asked, taking a slow sip of her cosmopolitan.

Jack let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "More than I'd like. Apparently, 'no comment' is journalist-speak for 'try harder.'" He paused, studying her reflection. "Though you don't seem like the pushy type."

"Maybe I'm just better at playing the long game." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she turned to face him properly. "Besides, the real story usually isn't found in ambushing someone at a bar."

"Exactly." He found himself leaning against the bar, angling toward her. There was something about her that made him want to keep talking. "Like this blog post that went viral this week. Everyone's got an opinion about who I am, what I did wrong, but—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you probably haven't even seen it."

She hummed noncommittally, that almost-smile playing on her lips again. "I might have caught it. Though I tend to be more interested in the stories that don't make headlines."

"Like what?"

"Like why a professional hockey player spends his injury rehab teaching kids to skate in Harlem instead of lounging on some beach somewhere."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. He'd been careful about keeping that quiet. "How did you—"

"Just someone who pays attention," she said, gathering her clutch. "The real story isn't always the loudest one, is it?"

Before Jack could process what she meant, Luke's voice carried across the room. "Jack! Mom says get back here. Speech time!"

The woman in black slid off her barstool with practiced grace. "Sounds like you're needed elsewhere."

"Wait," Jack said, suddenly not wanting her to disappear into the crowd. "I didn't catch your name."

"Y/N," she offered, and for a moment, her smile was full and genuine. "Good luck with your speech, Jack.”

She moved past him, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering. Jack found himself watching her weave through the crowd, his mind replaying their conversation. There had been something different about her – the way she'd asked questions without really asking them, how she'd known about his volunteer work but hadn't tried to use it against him like Rebekah would have.

"Dude." Luke appeared at his elbow, poking him in the ribs. "Stop staring into space. Mom's going to kill us both if you're late for your own award."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Jack followed his brother back to their table, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd. He spotted her finally, sliding into a seat near the back beside another woman in black. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up, raising her cosmopolitan in a small salute.

For the first time in weeks, Jack felt himself genuinely smile.

...

"...and with your continued support, we can make sure every kid who wants to play hockey has that chance, regardless of their circumstances. Thank you."

The ballroom erupted in applause. Jack's shoulders relaxed slightly – public speaking had never been his favorite part of the job, but at least this speech was about something that mattered.

Near the back of the room, Y/N leaned toward Alyssa. "We should go," she whispered, gathering her clutch. "We're not gonna get anything else tonight."

Alyssa nodded, already standing. "At least the champagne was good."

They slipped out as the crowd continued clapping, their heels clicking against the marble floors of The Plaza's ornate lobby. Y/N's mind was already spinning with how she'd write this up – not the puff piece everyone would expect, but something different. Something true.

"Y/N!"

The call echoed through the lobby, making her freeze mid-step. That voice – she'd just been listening to it give a speech about youth hockey programs and second chances.

She turned slowly, Alyssa's hand gripping her arm in surprise. Jack Hughes was jogging toward them, bow tie slightly askew, still slightly breathless from his speech. His hair was ruffled like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there at the bar.

"I—" he started, then seemed to realize he was still slightly out of breath. His hand came up to rest gently on her bare arm, the touch surprisingly warm. "Hey."

Y/N's eyebrows rose. "Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be back there accepting congratulations?"

He waved his free hand dismissively, though he didn't move the one on her arm. "They'll survive without me for a few minutes." His ice-blue eyes darted between her and Alyssa, a mix of nervousness and determination crossing his features. "You should come out with us. Both of you," he added quickly, offering Alyssa a genuine smile. "My teammates are headed to this bar just down the street. Nothing fancy, just... drinks. And conversation."

The way he said 'conversation' made Y/N's pulse quicken. There was weight behind it, meaning she couldn't quite decipher.

"I don't know," she started, but Alyssa cut her off.

"We'd love to," her supposed best friend said, ignoring Y/N's sharp look. "Lead the way, Hughes."

Jack's face broke into a grin that transformed his entire appearance. Gone was the serious hockey player from the podium, replaced by something younger, lighter. "Great! I just need to grab Luke and dodge my parents." He squeezed Y/N's arm gently before letting go. "Don't leave, okay? Five minutes, tops."

He was already backing away, that grin still in place. "Wait for me," he called out, just before turning.

Y/N waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Alyssa. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you the real story," Alyssa smirked, already typing on her phone. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She thought about Jack's smile, the warmth of his hand on her arm, the way he'd said 'conversation' like he was offering something more than just drinks and small talk.

"Five minutes," she conceded, trying not to smile at Alyssa's triumphant expression. "But if this backfires, I'm blaming you."

"Honey," Alyssa linked their arms, steering them toward the bar's entrance. "Something tells me this is going to be the best story you've ever written."

...

The bass thrummed through Y/N's bones as they approached the club, the line wrapping around the building like a snake. Jack stayed close to her side, his presence warm and solid as they bypassed the queue entirely.

"Mr. Hughes," the security guard nodded, unhooking the velvet rope without hesitation. "Welcome back."

Inside, bodies packed the dance floor, but Jack navigated them through the crowd with practiced ease. His hand ghosted over Y/N's lower back, guiding her through the maze of people until they reached a raised section cordoned off with another rope. Several men Y/N recognized from hockey highlights were sprawled across the plush booths, drinks already flowing.

"Look who finally made it!" Luke called out, now free of his bow tie and jacket. "We were starting to think Mom trapped you in conversation with the Vanderbilts again."

"Barely escaped," Jack laughed, helping Y/N up the small steps before following. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Alyssa."

The team welcomed them warmly, shuffling to make space. Y/N found herself wedged between Jack and the booth's arm, hyperaware of every point where their bodies touched. Her notebook felt like it was burning a hole in her clutch.

"I'm telling you," one of the players – Miller, according to his heated gesture at his teammate – was saying, "game seven, '94 Finals. Best hockey game ever played."

"You weren't even born yet!" Another player – Thompson – argued back. "2010 Olympics, Canada versus USA. That's peak hockey right there."

"You're both wrong," Luke interjected, leaning forward. "2018 World Juniors, outdoor game. Nothing beats playing in actual snow."

"That's because you scored the winning goal, you biased little shit," Jack laughed, his arm sliding naturally along the booth behind Y/N. The movement brought him closer, his cologne mixing with the lingering scent of his aftershave.

"What about you?" he asked, turning those blue eyes on her. "You follow hockey long?"

"My dad used to play," she found herself saying truthfully. "Nothing professional, just beer league, but he loved it. Taught me to skate before I could walk."

Something in Jack's expression softened. "Mine too. Well, him and my mom..." He shifted, angling toward her more fully. "It's different now though, isn't it? The pressure. Everyone watching, waiting for you to mess up. Luke and Quinn, they get it, but we're barely home at the same time anymore. Summer's all we got, really. And even then..." He trailed off, vulnerability flickering across his features in the dim light.

Y/N's chest tightened. This wasn't the cocky player from the tabloids or the bitter ex-boyfriend from Serena's story. This was just... Jack. Raw and real and trusting her with pieces of himself she had no right to.

"I need a drink," she blurted, already sliding out of the booth. "Excuse me."

She practically fled to the bar, gripping the edge of it when she reached it. "Whiskey sour," she managed when the bartender looked her way. "Strong."

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

She turned to find Rebekah Chen stumbling slightly, clearly several drinks in. Her red dress was slightly askew, her lipstick smudged at one corner.

"Is Jack here?!" Rebekah's voice pitched high with excitement.

"No," Y/N said firmly, accepting her drink from the bartender. "He's not."

"Ugh." Rebekah deflated, then perked up again almost instantly. "But oh my god, you'll never believe what Serena told me about him." She leaned in conspiratorially, alcohol heavy on her breath. "He's a total player. Like, major cheater. She said he was always sliding into girls' DMs when they were together, coming to places like this..." She gestured around the club. "Getting with random girls behind her back."

Y/N's eyes widened despite herself. The Jack she'd just left didn't seem capable of that kind of betrayal, but...

"Yeah!" Rebekah pressed on, encouraged by Y/N's reaction. "Serena has receipts too. Screenshots, dates, everything. She's just waiting for the right moment to release them." She swayed slightly. "Guess the golden boy isn't so golden after all, right?"

Y/N's drink suddenly felt heavy in her hand. Behind her, she could hear Jack's laugh carrying over the music, warm and genuine. She thought about how carefully he'd helped her through the crowd, how softly he'd spoken about his brothers.

How absolutely screwed she was if she was starting to believe in him.

...

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[janeyseymour]

Sneaky Link

Summary: A request from an anon- Secret relation between R and Melissa, Ava flirting with reader until Melissa breaks and threatens to take a Edith houghton to her

WC: ~3.9k

Not edited in the slightest and written in a depressive era lol enjoy

It’s funny the way the world works out for you. It always has been, and it probably always will be. So when Melissa Schemmenti, the known regular at one of the bars you’re also a regular at, comes sauntering up to you after a long day of searching for jobs and interviewing with what seems to be no such luck- well, you think maybe the universe really was looking out for you.

And that was months ago. Now, you and that hot, tough on the outside but soft on the inside, teacher have been together since that night. It’s… it’s something special. You thank whatever high power there is out there for bringing her to you on that one night when you really needed someone.

The thing that the universe hasn’t done in your favor? Given you a job. Until…

“Babe!” Melissa calls you as you’re leaving one of the schools you’ve been subbing at.

You smile at her voice. You always do. “Hey. What’s up?”

“We’re still on for dinner tonight?”

“Of course we are,” you chuckle softly. “I would never give up the opportunity to see my beautiful woman. That isn’t why you called though, is it?”

“No,” she admits. “I was just talking with my principal, and she said that they are for sure hiring a new second grade teacher over the summer. Do you want me to throw your name into the ring and put a good word in for you?”

“How about you let me go so I can drive to your place, and we can talk about it over dinner?” you suggest. “And you drive safe too?”

“You know I never drive safe unless I have you in my car- precious cargo,” she teases you softly. “But okay. I’ll see you in a bit, mi amore.”

That night, the two of you chat about the position opening up at her school. As it turns out, the position is for another second grade teacher, and if you were to get the job, your room would be right next to hers. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh softly as you lay your head down in her lap. “I just… I want to get the job on my own terms, not be a shoo in because I have the world’s hottest teacher in my corner.”

“That would be you, mi amore,” she says quietly as she weaves her fingers through your hair. “But that’s fine. I do think you should apply though. You would be a great addition to the team, and you would get to be on my team and balance out Janine with all of her energy.”

“You know I have just as much energy sometimes,” you chuckle as you reach for the television remote. 

“Yeah,” your girlfriend laughs. “But I find it endearing with you.”

“Because we’re dating.”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

You end up applying for the job, and when you go in, it’s quite easy to see how the redhead has maintained working here for so long. It’s a rundown school where she can make a difference- she refuses to burn out for the sake of the children. And you’ll refuse to burn out for the sake of the children right with her if you end up getting hired here.

The secretary leads you back to the conference room where there sits a panel. It’s clear who the principal is, but then soon either side of her are two women. One who you know from Melissa’s stories is Barbara Howard, and the other is… It’s Melissa herself. It takes everything in you to not chastise her for being a part of your interview, or for at least not giving you a warning- especially after you had spoken with her on the phone earlier that morning about how nervous you were for the interview. You’ll have to save that for after your interview.

“Well, hello there,” Ava’s eyes rake you up and down. “Principal Coleman, and this is Barbara Howard and Melissa Schemmenti- two of Abbott’s finest teachers. Although, you may just join Red in the running for hottest teacher here.”

If this were not a professional setting, you would quip that you could never stand a chance up against your girlfriend, but you’re interviewing, and you know nobody at work knows of her relation to you. So you press your lips together in a fine line and reach out to shake each of their hands. While you meet both Ava’s and Barbara’s eyes, it is much harder for you to look at those green eyes you usually love to see.

The interview is- well, it’s somewhat of a joke. Barbara and Melissa ask you the more sensible questions about classroom management, behavior plans, and lessons, while the principal asks you what your favorite reality tv show is and how you would survive on a deserted island if you needed to. Nevertheless, they all seem impressed with your responses, both to the professional and unprofessional questions that were thrown your way.

You’re told to stay out in the hall for a few minutes while they deliberate, and you’re dying to know what’s being said about you in the conference room you’re hovering outside of.  It takes all of five minutes before you’re being called back into the room by Melissa herself, who is nothing if not professional.

“I have one more question for you,” the principal states seriously. You nod and smile nervously. “When are you able to start?”

“A-are you offering me the position?” you ask, eyebrows raised in surprised. You thought for sure they would be asking to see a demo lesson or something of the sort.

“Hell yeah we are,” Ava grins. “Abbott could use a hottie like you.”

Because you’re so busy shaking the principal’s hand and accepting the position, you miss the glare that your girlfriend sends her boss. You’re stuck there for a bit signing papers before you’re shown to your classroom by Barbara and Melissa- Ava claiming she’s trying to catch up on her newest reality television show. They end up giving you a tour of the school before handing you the curriculum binder and seeing you out.

“We’ll see you for development week, dear,” the kindergarten teacher smiles at you. “We’re very excited for you to join our team.”

Melissa just nods, hellbent on keeping up her tough South Philly girl act. You smile at them as you head out of the building. As soon as you’re in your car, you text your girlfriend.

What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be in my interview this morning?

We’ll talk when I come over, okay? Her response is almost immediate. It’s quickly followed by a, Congratulations, mi amore.

As soon as she pulls up to your townhouse, you’re standing outside on your front stoop with your arms folding over your chest as you stare her down. She comes running up your steps and pulls you into a hug, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then your nose, and then finally your lips. For as annoyed as you are with her, you do end up kissing her back.

“Lissa,” you say sternly.

“I’m so proud of you for getting the position,” she tells you as she rests her forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” you smile softly. But then your face drops again. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to be in my interview?”

She leads you back into your house and kicks off her shoes before sighing. “I didn’t know that I was going to be in your interview. It was supposed to be Janine, but she got sick and called out last minute. Someone from the second grade team had to be there, and by the time Ava had called me, I knew you were already in a tizzy, and I didn’t want to stress you out any more than you already were.”

You bring her into the kitchen where you already have some of the ingredients out for dinner, along with a bottle of champagne. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you there. It threw me off, and all of my words and thoughts got all jumbled up in my head while I tried to keep my eyes off of my insanely hot girlfriend.”

“Trust me when I tell you that you were fine,” the redhead promises you as she makes her way over to pop the bottle. “The idiot before you… I’m pretty sure he literally wandered in from off the street.”

“Did they only offer me the position because we’re-” you got to ask, but she cuts you off.

“They don’t know we’re together,” Melissa tells you. “You did not get offered the position because we’re dating. You got the position because you are a wonderful teacher, and Barbara pushed for you.”

“You had nothing to do with it?” you raise a brow.

“I stayed pretty quiet while they were talking,” your girlfriend says. “I even made sure I threw in a comment about how I wouldn’t learn your name until I was certain you were going to stay. They have no idea.”

You smile at her. “Then, a celebratory dinner we’ll be having… and then…”

Green eyes meet yours with a glint of mischief in them. “What?”

“And then, I want to be your dessert.”

Melissa’s eyes go wide, and she nods eagerly. “If that’s what you want, you know I’m always more than happy to make that happen… Might even have to go in for seconds after today’s accomplishment.”

The rest of summer passes in a warm haze. It’s filled with love, lazy days, and excitement as you plan for the upcoming school year with your girlfriend. But the days of lazing out at a pool or staying inside and binge watching your shows to beat the heat are quickly coming to an end. Melissa and you still haven’t talked about how you’re going to interact with each other at the school- especially now that the two of you have moved in together.

“Hun?” you call from the bedroom as you put on makeup for dinner tonight. It’s your last hurrah before the two of you really have to start focusing on the school year.

“What?” Melissa’s voice floats into the room as she waits for you downstairs.

When you don’t respond in hopes that she just comes into the room, she sighs and gets to her feet. She appears in the doorway a few seconds later, a soft look in her eyes as she watches you ready yourself.

“What’s up, mi amore?” she asks as she makes her way over to you. Her arms wrap around your shoulders, and she presses a gentle kiss to your hair before resting her chin on your shoulder.

“You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“We never discussed how we were going to act at school.”

“Shit.”

Dinner is spent discussing that the two of you will have to work together due to the fact that you’re both on the second grade team, but your relationship at school will stay professional. You know that you can stay professional, but it’s going to be interesting to see the hard ass persona that Melissa likes to put on in front of her coworkers as opposed to the sweet and kindhearted woman that you know at home. It’s going to be jarring for sure- at least to start until it isn’t so suspicious that she likes the newbie. Once that’s squared away, the two of you enjoy a dinner that doesn’t revolve around lesson planning or any talks of school.

Development week is upon you, and you almost wish that you would’ve decided to just go into this job being out with Melissa, but you understand where she’s coming from with not telling HR that the two of you are together- at least not yet. And you genuinely do not want some sort of rumor to start that the only reason you got the position is because you’re dating one of the “scarier” teachers in the school. So, while you wish you were driving in with your girlfriend while she recites affirmations to you, you instead have to settle for driving in by yourself. You pull in next to her car, but she’s already inside- you know this much.

It’s weird when you head into the staff lounge. You’re so used to her making you coffee in the mornings, but today you have to fend for yourself. And while everyone else is cordial with you, your girlfriend is standoffish and cold, calling you by the wrong name on purpose and telling her coworkers she’ll bother to learn your name once you’ve proven that you aren’t just going to up and leave the first time things get hard for you (you catch the sympathetic glance she throws your way as she’s heading out with her friends for the meeting). 

Most of development week ends up being your principal just flirting with you and your girlfriend being as hostile as she is with other new hires. At night, once the two of you settle in together, she promises you that she loves you more than anything and she apologizes for her behavior and attitude towards you at school.

“I didn’t realize this was what I would be walking into at school,” you chuckle as she massages your back gently. “But I have to admit, seeing you like that… damn it’s hot.”

“You always think I’m hot,” she rolls her eyes as she begins to work on a new tense spot right by your shoulder.

“Well, I’m not wrong for that,” you half chuckle, half groan. “But I always get to see sweet soft Lissa, and at school you’re a total badass.”

“I’m a total badass in front of literally everyone except for you,” she tells you as she kisses the slope of your neck. “I don’t know why, but you melt me like butter.”

“Well, ain’t I lucky then?”

“I’d say I’m the lucky one,” she throws right back at you.

Your days at your new job continue on like that, and so do your nights. During the day, Melissa is nothing but a bitch to you and offering you apologetic glances when she can. And at home, your girlfriend is the sweetest woman, even more sweet than usual because she feels so guilty that she can’t treat you like the amazing woman that you are in your place of work.

But that changes when the kids start their school year. Because your classrooms are right next to each other, she has a front row seat to see just how talented you are when it comes to working with your kids. She observes how much effort you put into their daily routines, how you explicitly state your expectations and hold them to it, and how you manage behaviors within your classroom, all while still getting them settled in for the school year.

It’s at lunch on the first day that she softens up on you just the slightest bit. You’re sitting at one of the tables by yourself when she and Barbara comes strolling in.

“Ah, Y/N, dear,” the kindergarten teacher smiles at you. “How is your first day with the kids going?”

You break out into a grin. “Honestly? I’m loving it. These kids, while they all have their challenges, like any kids, are absolutely precious. I already have a handful of drawings sitting on my desk to be hung up on the bulletin board behind my desk.”

“That’s great to hear,” Barb tells you as she pulls her lunch out of the fridge.

“Wow, newbie,” Melissa’s eyes sparkle just enough that you can tell. “Better than I expected.”

“And how did you expect my first day to go?” you challenge her to act. She had told you this morning in bed that she knew you were going to be just what Abbott needs, but could she play it off that she thought you were going to crash and burn now?

The redhead shrugs. “Most newbies run out of here with their middle fingers up and crying.”

“Well, that won’t be me. Thank you very much Miss Schemmenti,” you shrug as you take a bite of your salad (the one that she had prepared for you last night).

“Good,” is all she huffs out as she sits down to eat her own lunch. “Abbott needs some stability.”

That night at home, it’s an early night. The first days, and even the first weeks, of school are utterly exhausting.

“I meant what I said when most people leave with their middle fingers up and crying,” Melissa sighs as she lays her head on your chest. “But you, my dear? I never had a doubt in my mind that you would be the perfect addition to the Abbott team. And I saw how great you were with your kids today. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Just as your little eagles are lucky to have you,” you chuckle softly as you begin to run your fingers through her hair.

Slowly, Melissa’s tougher than nails demeanor shifts. She begins to treat you like she treats Janine, although it is different. But that’s because the two of you are hiding a relationship, unlike with Janine. It’s nice. And at home, she’s still as loving as ever and even still apologizing for not treating you the way she should at school.

“When are we going to tell them that we’re together?” you ask casually as you’re looking over the weekly plans.

She hums. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I just don’t want anyone to think that I only got the job because we’re dating and you were in my interview. I know you said that Barb was the one who pushed for me, but…”

“If you want to wait a bit, we can.”

You’ve settled into teaching at Abbott quite nicely. Your coworkers love you, Melissa has only continued to soften up at you at school, even calling you by your real name now. You have to say, you love this job. It’s the best job that you’ve had in quite some time, and that includes when you worked in more affluent areas. These kids just… get it. The staff is like an odd, dysfunctional family. And you get to see your girlfriend at work everyday. It’s almost perfect.

The reason it isn’t perfect? Your boss, Ava Coleman, flirts with you constantly. She finds reason to be in your room more often than not, and whenever you’re all having lunch, there’s some excuse for her to end up in the staff room with you.

Melissa, of course, is well aware that your principal is constantly trying to hit on you. You let most of her comments roll off of you, but some just have you shaking your head at the things she insinuates.

“Ava,” you finally sigh one day after seeing the absolute death glare that Melissa is sending her way. Oh, if looks could kill. “Quit flirting with me.”

“And why would I do that, boo?”

“Because you’re in a relationship,” you roll your eyes as her own eyes scan over you.

The woman shrugs. “And? It’s open.”

“And I have a girlfriend who I know for a fact would not, and does not like the fact that you are constantly trying to get with me,” you reveal.

Everyone looks at you in surprise at that admission. Everyone except for Melissa, who angrily stabs at the salad she’s got out for lunch (the salad that you lovingly packed her this morning).

“You have a girlfriend?” Jacob is quick to cut into the conversation. You just nod. “How did I not know?”

“I don’t know, Jacob,” you breathe out. “I don’t really go around announcing it to people.”

“But there are usually signs!” your coworker protests.

At that, you shrug.

“Who’s to say that your girlfriend wouldn’t be into it?” Ava directs the conversation back her way.

You glance to Melissa, who won’t even look up from her meal. “Just trust me when I tell you, my girlfriend does not appreciate the fact that you flirt with me.”

“Well, what’s her name?” Janine asks from her corner of the room. “I wanna meet her!”

You laugh at that. “Lissa,” you tell them. And nobody figures out that that’s the nickname you have for the redhead in the room. Everybody at Abbott, or at least everybody who has been deemed worthy of calling her by a nickname, calls her “Mel”.

“Alyssa?” Mr. Johnson makes his own presence known. “She hot?”

Your ears turn pink. “I wouldn’t be dating her if I didn’t think she was. But enough about me,” you try to diffuse the situation. “Can we-”

Ava turns to you after a few seconds of scrolling through her phone. “You don’t know no ‘Alyssa’.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow in her direction.

The principal shoves her phone in your face. “I just looked through Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, even your Venmo for anyone under that name. There ain’t nobody there. You making a girlfriend up so I stop flirtin’ with you, ain’t you?”

“I am very much not,” you reply. “I do have a girlfriend.”

Ava hums. “I don’t believe you, but if that’s the story we’s goin’ with, sure thing, baby boo. Just give me a call when you decide that you want a piece of this fine-”

“Enough!” Melissa finally shouts. “Enough!”

“Woah,” the principal’s eyes go wide as she stares at the redhead. All other heads in the room whip around to look at the second grade teacher sitting next to you. “What’s got your panties in a twist? I’m just flirting with-”

“Flirting with my girlfriend!” your girlfriend explodes. “Quit flirting with my girl, unless you want me to take Edith Houghton to your damned head!”

As if to prove a point, Melissa grabs your hand and shows it off. “She’s mine,” the woman practically growls. “And I swear to God, if you make one more comment towards my girlfriend about how hot she is or about how you want her- I will make you regret it!”

Ava’s eyes go wide, and her hands fly up so quickly in surrender that her phone drops to the floor. “Shit. Okay.”

Everybody else can only watch in slight horror as the redhead continues to point her fork in your boss’s direction. 

“Listen, I just thought that-”

“You thought wrong,” Melissa grits out. “Not another word out of you about her.”

“Okay, okay,” Ava backs down. “Damn, Schemmenti. Good on you though. She-”

You have to practically hold your girlfriend back as she goes to lunge at the principal. 

Ava quickly runs out of the room and back into her office, coffee forgotten and probably fearing for her life at this point.

Melissa huffs and rights her shirt before holding your hand again and taking a deep breath. You ground her quickly with a few squeezes to the hand in your own. She pulls her chair closer to yours and drops your hand before wrapping an arm around you and silently daring anybody to make any comments about the outburst that had just taken place.

You see the way that they’re all staring at you and your girlfriend though, so you just settle for a weak, “Surprise?”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo

[childrenofcain-if]

Clingy D wasn't something I knew I needed. For research purposes, how would that fare though, author

the texas heat clung to D as they sat on the back porch of their grandfather’s old farm. the air smelled of earth and sunburnt grass, a scent that had grown oddly comforting in the months since they’d moved back.

the farm was quiet now, save for the low hum of cicadas and the occasional bark of a stray dog wandering by the fence. the peacefulness suited D—most days. but tonight, it was unbearable.

their phone sat on the wooden table in front of them, face down like it was a guilty party. they’d told themself they weren’t going to look at it anymore.

just leave it, rook, calm down.

stop being so needy, rook.

get your shit together, rook.

you’re always the recurring car crash, rook, the common denominator.

but their eyes flickered toward the phone anyway.

the truth sat under their ribs like a splinter: it had been three days since you’d texted anything more than a brief, polite response to a link they’d sent, and weeks since you’d called. three days of D’s mind running circles around itself, spiraling into every worst-case scenario it could conjure. and they were losing their grip. their fingers tapped restlessly on the armrest of the chair, their boot scuffing against the railing.

maybe you’re busy, they told themself for the fiftieth time that evening. new york is a big place. MBA programs are hard. you’ve got new friends now, fancy urbane friends who wear suits and drink wine like it’s water. you don’t have time to call your idiot partner who still wants to live in their old farmhouse down south and smells like hay and diesel these days.

that last thought stung, and D flinched like they’d spoken it aloud.

they picked up their phone and stared at the screen, willing your name to appear. a new message. a missed call. anything. they’d tried calling you twice yesterday but hung up before it even rang.

the phone buzzed suddenly in their hand, cutting through the peacefulness like a blade. D jumped, nearly dropping it in their haste to answer.

“hey,” they said, too quickly, the word coming out rough and broken, betraying how much they’d been waiting for this. they winced at their own pathetic eagerness.

“hi,” you replied. your voice was warm but tinged with something D couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t joy.

there was a pause, one of those long, awkward ones that stretched out like a wound neither of you wanted to clean out.

“why haven’t you replied to my texts?” you asked finally. your tone was light, sure, but the edge was unmistakable.

D blinked, thrown off-guard. “why haven’t you called me?”

the words left their mouth before they could stop them, sharper than intended, spilling out like blood from a clean incision. the silence on your end was deafening.

“excuse me?” you said after a moment, your voice now tight.

D pushed on, reckless now, the spiraling in their chest too loud to ignore.

“it’s been weeks,” they said, their voice rising despite themself. “weeks since you actually picked up the phone to call me. i’m supposed to be okay with a couple of dry texts here and there? a couple of ‘how are yous’ like you’re checking in on a goddamn houseplant? what am i even supposed to do with that? do you even want to talk to me anymore?”

“of course i want to talk to you!” you snapped, louder this time, frustration apparent in your tone. “but you’ve been so distant during our texts. i didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me if you got too busy with the farm renovations.”

“distant?” D barked out a laugh, harsh and humorless. “i’m not the one out there living some shiny new life in new york city with shiny new friends. don’t talk to me about being distant when you’re the one who left!”

“oh wow, so it’s my fault now?”

“isn’t it?”

the words hung between you like a noose, both of you too angry to let go and too hurt to say anything else.

“this isn’t fair,” you said finally, your voice breaking just slightly, and D hated that they heard it, hated that they caused it. “you don’t get to put this all on me. you knew what this was going to be like. you knew it would be hard. you could’ve just come with me until renovations were done for the farm. you’re the one who insisted on supervising everything to stay in that stupid place.”

“don’t fucking call the farm stupid,” D shot back, their voice trembling now, but they couldn’t stop. “besides, i’m here, aren’t i? waiting by the damn phone every night like some... some pathetic—” they couldn’t finish the sentence.

“then maybe stop waiting!” you yelled, having had enough of it. “if this is so hard for you, maybe you should’ve just come here with me!”

the line went dead.

D stared at the phone in their hand, unblinking, as though willing it to come back to life. the silence that followed was heavier than the summer heat, heavier than anything they’d ever known.

they stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the porch, and paced back and forth like a caged animal.

“unbelievable,” they muttered under their breath, the anger bubbling up again. “they hang up on me? after all this? after—”

the thing about D was that they wouldn’t—couldn’t—express their emotions in words a lot of the time. sure, they could write about it, but writing about it was different than actually saying it. so these emotions were usually spelled out in other ways.

a bloody fist. a slow song. a naked dance.

but this time, the anger burned out as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but the ache. the ache they always carried, the one they could never name but always felt. they sank back into the chair, burying their face in their hands.

you’re going to lose them, a small voice whispered in the back of their mind, insidious and cruel. you’re going to push them away forever. they’ve grown tired of you because you’re too much. you’re always too much, rook.

the thought made them sicker than a glass of cheap liquor.

D picked up their phone again, their thumb hovering over your name in the call log. they could call you back. they could apologize. they could beg.

they pictured you in new york, surrounded by skyscrapers and lights, people who had never set foot on a farm in their life and who probably never will. they imagined themself there, awkward and out of place, fumbling with subway cards with their doc martens too scuffed, their drawl too thick and alien.

they never belonged in san francisco. they never belonged in new haven. they’d never belong in new york city.

but they’d go. if you asked, they’d go in a heartbeat. they’d go and make themself fit into your world if that’s what you wanted. they’d camouflage themself all over again like they did in california and connecticut. even if they hated it, they’d still try.

or maybe you could come back. just for a little while. they’d show you the stars again, the ones you couldn’t see in the ever-polluted cities. they’d hold you close and tell you they loved you, over and over, until you believed it.

but for now, they’d wait by the phone like dogs waited for their owners on the front porch—all day, and then the next.

here’s the pt. 2 to this.

[taintandviolent]

Le coup de foudre ; Gambit x Reader

summary: THIS IS PART 3 OF THE TACO TUESDAY SERIES! PART ONE HERE / PART TWO HERE! Reader is suffering, big time. She wants Remy, but he hasn't called. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.1K | some angst to start things off, smut with some plot (we've got an established relationship, huzzah), French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), shower sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n, and some fluff at the end, because I went and broke y'all's hearts in the last chapter.

a/n: praying that the gambit fandom hasn't completely died out.... i'm so sorry this took me so long. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

The first day is the hardest. 

The first day is the hardest because by 1:30 PM, you realize that you’re in love with Remy Lebeau. You cry on the couch he kissed you on. Why are you crying? Because you can’t remember the last time you’ve been in love with someone, and you know what comes with love. None of it is good. 

The second day sucks too because you go to work, and come home to an apartment that, for the first time since you’ve lived there, really felt empty. There’s nowhere you can sit that he hasn’t touched. His memory lingers everywhere and try as you might, you can’t escape it. You aren’t sure you want to, either, which is troubling in and of itself. 

By the third day, your heart is aching, but it’s a dull ache. Something like anger has started to roil in your system, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t called, or stopped by. You can justify it by saying that you don’t know what mutant superheroes go through or what their daily life looks like, but you’re still sour that there’s been nothing but radio silence on his end. 

Day four comes and goes, and nothing changes. You’re still sad. You’re still angry. But most of all, you’re still lonely. 

Day five… however. Day five comes, you’ve cycled through all the stages of grief and landed somewhere on the spectrum of desperation. 

So, after work, you march across the hall to Wade’s, and knock three times in a little melody. After a few moments, the door flies open, revealing a very casual looking Wade. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and grey sweats. You avert your eyes from his groin, out of respect. 

“Wade,” you stammer, scratching a non-existent itch on your arm. “Hey.”

“Pookie! How nice of you to stop by. Blind Al and I were just about to partake in some Colombian party powder, care to join us?” 

Your pupils dilate. Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell. “Uh… no. No, I’m good.” 

You shift uneasily. You aren’t sure how to start this, so you just blurt whatever comes out. 

“Wade… um. Look, I’m sorry to ask this of you. I just…. I can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t seem like the type to ghost someone, and I just… I really want to talk to him.” 

“You want Gambit’s number?”

You perk up, relieved that you didn’t have to ask the question yourself. Wade was more perceptive than you thought. 

“Y-yeah, if you have it.” 

“I don’t. Womp-womp. But I gave him yours.” 

“Oh…” A beat. “...wait. How did you get my number?” 

“Remember that package that was misdelivered?” 

“No….” 

“Yikes. Well, I do. It had your name and phone number on it. I figured it’d be useful to have so…” He taps the side of his head.

“Why did you… did he ask for it?” 

“Boy, did he.” 

You frown, feeling an overwhelming flurry of emotions. On one hand, he’s had your number and hasn’t called. On the other hand, he wanted your number. But he hadn’t done a damn thing with it. Your shoulders sink, unconsciously. 

“Oh, sweet cheeks. Someone play some Cigarettes After Sex, this is getting emotional.” Wade mock frowns, looking off to the left for a moment before his eyes dart back to you. “He’s probably saving lives or something heroic. Undisclosed mutant drama.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, choosing to ignore his weird commentary. “I appreciate it.” 

“What’re you gonna’ do now? Cue the depressed drinking montage.” 

“That’s a great idea, actually…” 

“No, no… let’s not.” 

You interject with a finger in his face. “Yeah, let’s.” 

“If you’re going to do that, let’s do it inside. C’mon.”  Wade doesn’t give you a moment to reject him, and plants both of his hands on your shoulders, yanking you forward. 

Turns out, Wade does have alcohol. He makes you a drink, something that tastes like whiskey. Maybe it's your whiskey, left over. You bring the glass to your lips, sucking the liquid down. It’s strong, but you aren’t complaining. 

“Oooohohoh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Heart eyes and all that mushy-gushy shit?”

You throw a glare his way, and take another sip. The liquor burns better than any remark you could’ve come up with.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s that Southern charm he’s got. Handsome, slick, and he can do magic tricks.” His eyes widen, excitedly. “How could you not fall in love with him?”

“Wade, you’re not helping.” 

“Sure I am,” he retorts. 

You take a seat on Wade’s couch, looking distraught. You’re thankful that Blind Al is in fact… blind because she can’t see the way that the tears are welling up in your eyes. You look at the chairs that you two sat on, flirting with each other.

“Oh,” Wade says, looking somewhat surprised. “Oh no.”

“She cryin’?” Blind Al asks. Great, she’s perceptive. You swallow back a sob, and bring the glass to your lips again. 

“Almost… almost… c’mon, give us a cinematic, single tear.” 

You shake your head and suck it up as best you can. You don’t want acknowledgement, that’ll only make it worse, possibly sending you into a fit of sobs. You don’t even know why you’re so upset – it’s not like he told you he never wanted to see you again. He just hadn’t… well, done anything and that was somehow worse.

“Je-sus…!” Wade says suddenly, leaning over to angrily look through the peephole. He stays there for a moment, before leaning back, a sly smile on his face. 

And that’s when you hear the dull thudding that has Wade’s attention. It sounds like a knock – a heavy handed one. 

You straighten your spine, curious. 

“Oh, this is too perfect.” He says under his breath, before taking one step towards you. “Save the waterworks, your Cajun Prince has returned.” 

You set the glass on the floor and scramble off the couch, practically on all fours as you run towards the door, pushing Wade out of the way. Standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole for only a split second, you get a visual. Hurriedly, you twist the knob and throw the door open, wanting to rip it off its hinges. It bumps into the wall behind it, and your breath rushes out.  

Remy stands there, facing your door, his fist raised to knock again. He has a duffel bag on his shoulder, which slides off the second he hears your voice. 

“Remy?” you call, your voice quivering slightly. He turns abruptly, his coat flaring out behind him. He’s wearing armor now, and looks like he’s just come back from something serious.

“Chere? What’re you –” 

You don’t need to answer again, instead, just run across the hall, rushing into his arms. Your body hits him so hard that you let out a little vocalization, a delicate oomph, as you compress yourself to him. He immediately responds by wrapping one arm around your waist, and the other around the back of your head, hand petting your hair gently. 

He smells like blood, sweat and ash, but you nuzzle your cheek into the rigid plate of his purple chestplate anyway, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso in a desperate hug. 

After a moment, you pull away, just enough to look up at him. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with such an adoration that you can’t help but clench your stomach. He looks like he missed you as much as you missed him. 

“Is this your superhero outfit?” Your fingers stroke the ridges in his cowl, admiring it. Slowly, they trail down the length of it, and begin to make their way over his smooth chestplate. 

He laughs, looking down at you. “ ‘Spose so.”

“I like it.” 

Two smiles later, he pulls you in for a bruising kiss, lifting you up off the ground slightly. You’re on your tiptoes again, smashing your lips against his and tasting him as hungrily as you did the first time – if not hungrier. There’s something extremely erotic about kissing a costumed hero, something to do with uniforms and all that, you assume, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild at the feeling of his armor against you. This time, you don’t try to suppress anything and give into the feeling of it all. 

Someone sighs dreamily behind you and Remy breaks the kiss to look knowingly over the top of your head. Wade is leaning against his door frame, hands clasped in front of his chest. Short of having hearts bursting over his head, he’s silently gushing, his brows pulled together in a sappy expression, with a dorky smile curling around his lips.

“Oh, c’mon! Just a peek? Where’s your sense of fan service?!” 

“No, Wade.” Remy croons, opening your door and pulling you in with him. He shuts the door with one hand.

“Now before we get to the good stuff, I wanna’ wash this day offa’ me.” 

You nod your head, understanding, and reach for his hand. The bathroom is adjacent to your bedroom, so you lead him down the hall.

You flick on the light; it’s all dark tile and cool tones. You head to the sizable shower, and open the glass door, leaning in just enough to turn the knob. The water splashes to life, and steam fills the bathroom quickly. 

Watching Remy undress himself is like a strip tease that has you biting your lip. He’s determinate and meticulous, like he knows you’re watching. The jacket and armor pieces come off first, and get set on the edge of the bathroom counter. Then comes the shirt, revealing that delicious torso again, the one that you’ve been longing to run your hands over for almost a week. He quickly unzips his pants and drags them down his legs before setting them atop the rest of the items. The briefs are last – the perfect ending to reveal his heavy, flaccid cock before he turns, and walks into the shower. He’s got a perfect ass, too; muscular and round. You’re pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off of it. The water splashes against the roundness of his freckled shoulders, spattering against the muscle and onto the tile. 

“Chere, c’mere…” He reaches for your hand, pulling it inside the shower. 

“Wait, wait,” you laugh, and retract your hand. “I’m not coming in there fully dressed.” 

“Then get naked, mon amour. We know we done been waitin’ long enough to feel each other again.” 

You pull your shirt over your head, and reach around back to undo your bra. Your jean shorts are next, joining the pile on the floor.

The water is warm, but Remy’s naked body is even warmer. 

There’s a beautiful, tender familiarity in the way you touch each other, coupled with a hunger that can only be fueled by absence. He hasn’t had you in days, you haven’t had him; the desire has reached a boiling point, and needs to be expelled. He presses you against the tile of the shower, watching as the water pitter-patters against your skin, over your decollete, over your breasts and down the gentle curve of your stomach. He leans down and kisses the hollow of your throat, his hands cupping your hips forcefully.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“I missed you too… maybe more.” 

“Ooh, doubt that.” 

As his fingers trail along your body with an air of ownership, Remy kisses your wet shoulders, nipping at the warm, slick flesh. Despite the heat, you shiver. He has a real knack for making your body shudder. Your knees feel like jell-o, so you wrap your hands around his strong neck, interlacing your fingers behind it for some support. 

His fingers dip down between your legs and teasingly splay out over your folds. His middle finger slips between them, glossing over your center, and slides all the way down, teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. Everything is wet, but he can feel the slickness that meets his finger. His cock twitches against your thigh. 

“‘Dat’s my girl,” he says, low. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout ‘dis way too much.” His hand cups your cunt, as if to punctuate his sentence and you bite your lip, looking into his eyes. You shift, forcing more friction against his wet palm, the warm water pooling between your legs. “The thought of you been distractin’ me. You a dangerous woman, cher…” 

“I’m dangerous? Says the guy who has fucked me in every room, on almost every surface in my apartment…” 

Remy chuckles and the sound fills your heart. There it is again – that unyielding feeling of adoration. You’re horny as all get out, but somehow, you still have the capacity to swoon over tiny things like his laugh. This isn’t you, this isn’t what you’re used to. Frustrated, you bump your head against the tile, letting out a small groan. 

He notices this, and brings his other hand – still leaving one situated between your legs – up behind your head. 

“What’re you doin’? What’s wrong, chere?”

“Nothing...” you huff, looking over at the shower head. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but you aren’t ready to spill your guts to him yet… you’d rather have him rearrange your guts and not think about the feelings. 

He smirks, devilishly, like he already knows. If he does, he’s not letting you off the hook. 

“Guess I just gon’ have to fuck it outta’ you, huh?” 

You avert your gaze back to him, pupils dilating. You know him well enough now that he means what says.  

With that, he places a kiss on your forehead, and turns his body towards the stream of water. He begins washing himself, and you watch as the suds slowly trail down the ample curve of his back. You reach forward, spreading them over the indentation of his spine, washing him gently. 

“Hoo, the way you touch me…” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear it. 

The shower is intimate and everything is mutual, cue the montage. For the… what? Tenth time that week? You realize that you're in way too deep with Remy. Way too deep, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. 

Drying his feet off on the mat and allowing you space to do the same, Gambit then pulls a towel from the rack, and wraps it around your naked body. The droplets absorb into the fibers, and you’re a little less drippy. Well, your body is. The hungry, whining void between your legs isn’t. 

When Gambit turns, you catch a glimpse of his half-hard cock and blush. Even though you’ve fucked it, sucked it and everything else, the sight of is still enough to send butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

He can’t get you to the bedroom fast enough. His hands are on your hips, directing you towards the bed and you let out a little vocalization, much to his delight. 

“C’mere, mon ami… get up on ‘dat bed.” 

You obey. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve been waiting for this for almost a week now. 

Before he has a chance to stop you, you’re reaching forward to take his cock in your hand. It’s heavy and hot and the feeling of it against your palm makes you clench painfully, twinging with heat. You take your time in stroking him to full hardness, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip and smearing the pre-cum down his veiny length. 

Once he’s there, he’s like a freight train. Unstoppable and panting hard. He fucks you hard over the edge of the bed, hard enough to make your breasts bounce back and forth with each bullying thrust, withdrawing it to the tip and bottoming out each time. Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of bodies slapping together, flesh against flesh. 

“Tell me,” he grunts. “Ain’t no place for secrets up in here.”

“It’s not important – uuhhh!” Another thrust, deep as he can go. 

“Cher,” he growls and thrusts again. “I ain’t gonna’ let you cum ‘till you tell me.” 

“No,” you moan, bringing your hands to your tits as they move. “Please, I’m so close, we can — uhhh god!”

He’s relentless. 

“Fuck, fuck-fuck, oh my god…!” 

With a slick pop, he pulls his cock all the way out. You lift your head up, gazing distraught between your legs; he’s centimeters away from you. The tip is red, glistening and angry as it twitches up, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

“Tell me, cher, or you ain’t gonna’ get ‘dis cock again.” He bucks his hips forward, dragging the fat, wet tip against your swollen cunt. You cry out at the sensation, your clit buzzing with electricity. Despite all that, he doesn’t penetrate you again, and you whimper at the empty sensation. Every time you try to move your hips to get his cock to slip in again, he pulls back just enough to put distance between you two. You whine through gritted teeth. 

“Okay!” 

He presses the head of his cock against your clit. Waiting. Patiently. So patiently. For a moment, you marvel at the control he has considering that his cock looks red and angry, aching to empty itself inside of you. 

“Fine. I think…” You pause to catch your breath. “I think I love you.” 

Remy closes his eyes for a second, reveling in the sound of you saying it. He’d wanted to say it to you at breakfast, and he’d wanted to say it before he left. 

“Mm.” 

“Mm?”

“Mmm-mm. ‘Dat’s what I wanted to hear, chere. An’ it sounds so good comin’ outta’ ‘dat mouth of yours.”

He lines the cockhead up, and bottoms out with another word. He’s said enough, apparently. When he takes hold of your hips, lifting them up slightly to give himself a deeper angle, you wrap your hands around your sheets until the fibers squeak. Your nails dig into the fabric, nearly puncturing holes in them. It’s only a few more earth-shattering thrusts before you cum, and before he fills you with white hot heat, the two of you calling and moaning each other’s names in ecstasy. 

After softening inside of you, which is somehow extremely sweet, he withdraws himself from your cunt, and uses the sheet to clean up the mess that leaks out. He carefully lifts you up onto the bed fully, and then crawls next to you, nestling into the same space he did last night. 

It’s like he never left. 

“I really do, you know. I love you. I know we just met and fucked and that’s all, but I love you.”

“You keep sayin’ ‘dat’s all’ as if what we have is somethin’ casual, cher. You’re gonna’ hurt Remy’s feelings if you keep ‘dat up. So, knock it off, ah?” 

“It’s… it’s not casual?” 

He shakes his head. “I love you too, mon coeur. I have since I first saw you…” 

You hum happily, and nuzzle yourself against his bare chest. “I finally understand that French phrase I learned… C’etait le coup de foudre?” (It was love at first sight.)

“Oui… oui.” 

[kingofthecotas]

part time soulmate full time problem

soulmate au, indonesia 2022 | ~ 1.6k

fun little au where everyone has a romantic and a platonic soulmate. all the mess happened but Worse because vale has an added level of neurosis about choice etc

(this does mention marc’s crash but no details)

——

The message comes among a flurry of others, from a number Marc hasn’t saved but can’t bring himself to block.

Don’t die. Faded marks are very unattractive.

He doesn’t read it until he’s through the other side, until they’ve run every test possible and decided he’s not concussed, he’s not dying, and he can have his phone back. It makes him—not laugh, but a sharp exhale that’s almost a laugh.

You’re such a dick, he replies, and does the mental maths behind the drumbeat headache. It’s almost five in the morning in Italy, so he has some time—

His phone buzzes. Not a message tone, but insistent. Fuck.

Despite himself, he answers.

“Marc?” Valentino’s voice is sleep-rough, unpolished in a way Marc hasn’t been privy to in years. His breath catches; the silence stretches on. “Unless you’ve let Álex loose with your phone.”

“No,” Marc says simply. “It’s me.”

“Hi,” Valentino breathes, and he sounds—

Marc swallows down something he can’t quite name.

“Are you flying back soon, or waiting for the plane you had booked anyway?”

“I’m not flying until after the race.”

“You’re not racing.” Valentino’s voice drops dangerously.

“They cleared me. I’m fine.” His head hurts like a motherfucker, but Valentino doesn’t have to know that. He doesn’t get to know that.

“No—no, no. Have they tested for everything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Valentino snaps. “Everything. How can they clear you that quickly?”

“They said I’m fine,” Marc repeats, then, because his head hurts and he’s feeling snippy with it, “Why do you care?”

He knows what’s coming by now, the usual litany of destiny is such bullshit, I can decide my own life, I hate having you on my body, but unfortunately we’re linked for the rest of fucking time. He’s surprised Uccio sticks around, to be honest, if he’s getting something similar thrown at him.

That doesn’t come. Instead, Valentino exhales down the phone, shaky.

“Valentino?”

“It woke me up,” Valentino says finally, like the words are being pulled from his throat one by one. “I woke up, and I felt—I felt it. And for a second, the mark—” He breaks off. “Just a second. And you were back.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Marc mutters.

“Don’t say that!” It’s sharp, cracking like a whip. It’s more than he’s had from Valentino for years.

“I—I didn’t mean that,” Marc whispers. “You’re right, that was—I’m sorry.” As if he’s the one who crossed the line first, as if he’s the one who sent a jokey little text about losing his mark. About losing his soulmate.

Because if Valentino isn’t lying—and he doesn’t sound like it—then Marc flickered, faded, even if for a split second. For a fraction of a moment, he was dead.

(Álex hadn’t said anything; but Álex would have had his leathers on. He might have felt something, but he wouldn’t have seen, wouldn’t have pulled up his shirt to an ashy smudge.)

That doesn’t help his throbbing headache.

“Please don’t race,” Valentino says after a long moment. “I—I can’t do that. It felt like I was dying.” More uncertain, more off-centre than he ever allows himself to be.

It’s nice he cares, Marc thinks, fighting down a burst of hysterical laughter, even if it’s to avoid himself suffering. He’ll probably add this to the long list of reasons he hates having soulmates—just another way for someone to hurt you. In the end, he snorts. “For me as well.”

“Marc.”

“Valentino.”

“You are—such a dick.”

Now Marc laughs. “I know. You told me a lot.” Not for a while; now, they just don’t talk. Sometimes Marc presses his fingers to his mark—still intact, despite it all, despite the twist of scars—and remembers. Just like always, the bad follows the good, and he stops that line of thought before it becomes too painful.

He’s doing it now, though, tracing one finger over it, again and again. Still dark and clear, despite it all. It hurts, but his arm always does, more when he pushes down on his soulmark.

“Marc,” Valentino says again, and just that, just his name, makes him close his eyes. “I know—I do not have any right to ask this—”

Marc hums.

“—and I know I spent so long telling the universe where to stick her soulmates, but please. Please do not get on the bike.”

“You didn’t call after Jerez,” Marc says instead of any promise.

Valentino makes a pained noise. It’s costing him a lot; it will have cost him to even pick up the phone, to roll over and show Marc his weakness. And yet Marc just wants to prod the wound a little more, to make Valentino run his fingers over his mark and feel the old throb of a bruise.

“After the first operation, when I woke up, I asked the surgeon.” Fine. If Valentino is going to offer him something, he can have something back. Give and take. Blood for blood. That’s how they do it. “He was so—shocked I was even asking, that I thought—but I couldn’t think straight, you know. All the drugs.” He smiles despite himself. “I didn’t want it to be gone.” I didn’t want you to be gone. “But you—you would give anything to get rid of it, no?”

It’s quiet for so long Marc wonders if his phone has died. Then—a slight hiss, a crackle in his ear. A breath.

“You don’t get to do this,” Marc says. “You don’t get to—you can’t tell me what to do. Not after everything.”

“You never listened anyway.” Valentino sounds—God. “I don’t—I don’t want to get rid of it.”

“Hm. Changed your tune.”

“Marc,” Valentino says. His name again. “It’s five o’clock in the fucking morning. I’m watching the Moto3 race because I’ve been awake since the middle of the night, and I can’t go back to sleep, because for half a second my mark faded.”

It used to be a little joke between them, whispered across sheets and pillows in the grey of early mornings in all their languages. My mark, mi marca, my Marc.

“I think—I cannot do that again. And…” A pause. Consideration. “You wouldn’t do that to Álex.”

“Bastard,” Marc growls. Low blow. Unfortunately, it’s working. He blinks, and his vision blurs, just for a second. To take his mind off it, he picks at the scab again. “Uccio must be thrilled. How many years has he had you telling him you don’t want soulmates?”

“Uccio knows what I mean when I say it.”

“Yeah?” It’s an old argument, familiar veins of hurt wound around it. Familiar pain, like pressing on a bruise.

“I want the choice. I would be friends with Uccio anyway, and I want that to be my decision. I wanted—” Valentino sighs. “I wanted to choose you. I would have anyway, back then.” Give and take. He’s never offered honesty like this, not for free.

Marc balls his fist, presses his knuckles against his forehead. It helps a little. “Do you think we would have ended up here still?”

“I think so.” It’s almost sad. “And at least then—”

“You don’t have the reminder. I know.”

“But without it—well, I would not be woken up at three o’clock in the morning. And I would not have called.”

Marc moves his hand back to his arm, presses the tip of a nail in. Traitorous thing, really, his soulmark. He understands Valentino in a way he was too hurt to, back then, back when it was unravelling like a cut thread. “That’s something.”

“Is it?”

And a hot flash of irritation, over quickly; even at their lowest he could never stay angry for long. “Not for you, then.”

Another silence—Marc is getting good at living in them—before Valentino says, “I am going to make coffee. The machine is loud. Just warning you.”

“What—?”

“It’s nearly five o’clock.”

“You keep saying.”

“If you are going to wake me up, you can wait while I have my espresso.”

You. As if Marc is the one etched into his skin.

(He is.)

“Now you avoid the conversation,” Marc mutters under the sound of beans grinding.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He pulls his phone away just to check the time, and—they’ve been on the call for eleven minutes. It should feel earth-shattering.

It doesn’t.

And Valentino wants Marc to wait.

He could hang up now. He could. It would be easy, easy as pressing down on his mark. One finger.

He doesn’t.

“Are you trying to distract me?” he says when the machine stops groaning. “Keep me on the phone so I miss the race?”

“That wasn’t the plan, but now you mention it…”

“You have a few more hours.”

“I can manage that.”

“Yeah?” And then, because he can’t just leave it the fuck alone, “Been a while, no? Lots to catch up on.”

“Marc.” It’s a wrecked noise this time, his name. “I am trying—”

Marc doesn’t apologise this time. Valentino hasn’t apologised at all, but that’s—

He expects that.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes again, accepts the white flag. “Can’t, anyway. They have to get me in a helicopter to get back to the circuit. No phones in there.”

“Ah. Thought I had convinced you.” There’s resignation now.

“You know me.”

“Yes.” He does. They do. But—they all know the deal with soulmates. You can’t be selfish with your life, not when you live on somebody else’s skin. They know that too.

“It’s not fair,” he says, half to himself into the silence that, for once, means Valentino is listening. “This was—this year, everything was supposed to be done. Start over.”

“Without me there?”

“Not everything is about you.” It’s too late when Marc realises that he’s smiling, and that there had been a laugh curled around Valentino’s words.

“This is.” More certain now. Putting his foot down. “Do not race.”

“And why is it about you?”

This time, in the quiet, he wonders if he’s pushed too far.

Until Valentino says, “Marc,” on a breath, like he’s pressing hard enough to draw blood. Like he’s feeling Marc for the first time without wanting to rip him out of his skin.

[cinnaleaf]

「 FaceTime | Trent Alexander-Arnold 」

summary: your man facetimes you for a yap sesh before his plane takes off

warnings: contains link to tiktok (not mine) to show restaurant mentioned 💌: this is sooo incredibly self indulgent of me but i had to when i saw that video 🫣 begging someone else to do one so i can read 👀 wc: ~1.0k

Your phone lit up with Trent’s name just as you were finishing adding the final touches to your makeup – lip gloss. You smirked, knowing exactly why he was calling. He was supposed to be on his way to a match, but he couldn’t resist checking in on you. When you answered, he was already grinning ear to ear and you could hear his footsteps making it up the plane’s airstairs.

“Couldn’t even wait til you landed, huh?” you tease, dabbing at your lips. “Such a lover boy.”

He laughed, adjusting the camera so you could see him settle into his seat. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with me wanting to see my girl before I fly out?”

“Nothing…” you smirked, pressing your lips together to smooth out your lip gloss. “But...you literally just saw me a few hours ago.”

“Can’t help it,” he gave you a cheeky grin and leaned closer to the camera, eyes glued to you through the screen. “That face and voice of yours gets me through the day. What am I meant to do on this plane without hearing you before takeoff?”

Your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much by this point, so you tucked your lips, trying to settle the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “You’re such a sweet talker, T. Very Libra of you.”

“I’m just being honest, baby,” he mused. “I could listen to you all day and never get enough.”

You tilted your head slightly, softening your voice into playful flirtation. “And I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”

He smirked, but then he started chomping on his gum which made you roll your eyes. “Boy...you and that gum. What’s that about?”

He tilted his head back, fake annoyed. “Agh, here you go again. It helps me focus, baby.”

“Mhm..sure” you teased, pretending to be skeptical. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to feed your addiction, I guess.”

“Nah, serious. My head is clearer when I’m chewing gum.”

Trent shuffled in his seat a bit as his teammates started settling down around him, and then he lowered his voice, like he didn’t want them to hear him sweet-talking you.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t help it. “Trying to keep your smooth talk on the low, huh? Don’t want your boys to know you’re soft for me?”

He grinned, his gaze still fixated on you. “Trust me, they already know.” Trent pulled his phone back a bit and his thumb hovered over the screen like he was about to tap a button. The telltale sign of a screenshot being taken popped up on your phone and you squinted at the screen.

“Are you taking pictures of me?” you asked playfully accusatively, striking a playful pose for him.

“Yeah I am,” he flashed you a cheeky grin. “Gotta capture how good you look right now.”

Him gassing you up like that had you feeling very flirty, so you played along and gave him a few more poses before sliding into a sultry one. You leaned forward just enough, pretending you were fixing your lip gloss so you could give him a nice view of your cleavage cutting dangerously low in your dress.

Trent’s eyes widened and he looked around, trying to hide his phone. “Nah, save that for when I’m alone” he teased, but you saw him quickly snap another screenshot anyway.

“Mmm..seems like you liked it though?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I did… But I won’t keep you too long..gotta let you get on with your night. Girls night, right?”

You nodded, running your hands over your hair to adjust two strands of your braids to frame your face. “You have to make an assist or get a goal tonight..I’m not playing with you,” you bantered, narrowing your eyes.

“Oh, you giving me a challenge, huh? May have to look at those pics I just took to help me pull off something special on the pitch,” he winked. “All for you.” You were too busy still messing with your hair to respond, but you heard him and gave him an eye roll because he was being extremely corny. A couple of silent seconds followed before he added, “When I’m back we’re going to Fenix. Already have date night planned out.”

The thought of a date he planned himself made you smile and gave you something a little extra to look forward to. “It doesn't sound like I have much of a choice..but I’m down regardless.” you said jokingly, still fiddling with your braids to pull the curly pieces in place perfectly. Trent’s gaze lingered on his screen for a moment, his voice dropping a notch as he watched you in awe.

“Damn. I can’t wait to get back home to you. Enjoy your night, alright?”

“Yeah..” you replied back softly, blown away by how intense this Facetime call was. Trent always had a way of making you feel like no distance could dull the connection the two of you shared, even if it was through pixels on a screen at the moment. “Good luck tonight, T.” You blew him a kiss with your hand. “I love you.”

You noticed someone next to him lean into view, clearly trying to get in on the moment. A snicker came from off-screen – probably Szobo.

“I love you too,” Trent said in a low tone before quickly shoving Szobo back out of the frame. “Ring me when you get back home?”

You nodded. “I will. Byeee, miss you already.”

“Same. Bye, baby.” he echoed, and the screen went back to your home screen.

You sat there for a moment staring at the screen, completely mesmerised by what was supposed to be a simple Facetime call.

This silly, gum chewing, puppy eyed, bow legged man shouldn’t have you wrapped around his finger like this, yet here you were grinning ear to ear like an absolute idiot.

Another victim of a charismatic Libra man...but you liked it.

[warping-realities]

Familly Group Chat

Written version of my last video. At some point I'll make one of the first one too! Hope you like it!

Michael was one of the many “middle kids” of John and Louise Bennet; in fact, he was the 4th of 7, just a few minutes younger than his twin brother, Tobias, with whom he shared that typical inscrutable and unexplainable bond that only twins have. Even though the relationship among all seven Bennet boys was super strong, having been raised under the strict rules of the holy Catholic Church by their parents, they were all scattered across the country, so the only way to keep in touch was through the family group chat on an app. That morning, the 23-year-old blonde man, skinny but toned from constant running, had just finished taking a hot shower and putting on his favorite pair of skinny black jeans, which his modern startup job not only accept but even endorsed as part of the dress code. He was about to start brushing his teeth when a new message notification popped up on his phone.

“Message from Tobias, here we go…” he muttered to himself, knowing his twin would only send a message at that hour if it was to roast someone. And sure enough!

“Hey bro, did you see the good morning message Mom posted in the family group?”

“Not yet, man.”

“Well, brace yourself! I have no idea where she finds this stuff!”

As he opened the family group while heading to the kitchen to make his usual black coffee, Michael couldn’t help but chuckle at the cheesiness of the good morning image Mom had sent.

“Dude, do all moms have a group to share this crap?” he typed to his brother in the private chat.

“Has to be! But you better reply, you know how she gets… soon she’ll be whining about how she raised seven ungrateful kids or some nonsense,” Tobias replied. Thinking about that, Michael rushed to respond to their mom. Louise was really kinda needy now that only the youngest still lived with her. However, when he opened the family group, he couldn't help but laugh out loud at the reply Tobias had sent—an even tackier image than the one their mom sent.

“Dude, you’re the worst! Where the hell did you find that image to reply to her?” he shot back to his brother.

“Well, maybe I’m in the mom’s group!” He replied before sending something completely different. “Hey, what’s going on? Someone saved as Dad 0.2 just join the group. What the hell is this?”

Hurrying to check that message, Michael quickly opened the family group and was shocked to see an unknown person had joined, which shouldn’t be possible without an access link or an invite from one of the group admins, their parents. The private convo that followed between the brothers was frantic and freaked out.

“Dad 0.2 removed Mom from the group… what’s going on?”

“I don’t know… how does someone just waltz into a private group and kick someone out???”

“Dad 0.2 changed the group name from Bennet Family to Bradley Boys! What the hell is this?”

“He’s sending a video, what’s happening???”

“I don’t know, bro, let’s just open it and see.”

The video showed a dude in his forties, but he looked really good for his age, easily passing for someone younger if it weren't for the crow's feet around his eyes that showed he was used to smiling, and his extremely muscular physique screamed years of hardcore workouts. With light brown hair and a well-groomed beard, he was rocking just a pair of sweats that showcased his powerful muscles in a spacious but Spartan room, with minimal furniture or decor.

“Alright, guys, it’s time to send our good morning videos! Who’s next? How about you, Jeff? I’m dying to rest my head on those muscle pillows of yours, babe!” the stranger said, flexing his arms.

“WTF?? You seeing what I’m seeing, Tobias? And who the hell is Jeff?” Michael quickly texted back to his brother.

“I have no clue, man, this is so weird… wait a sec… Dad 0.1 just sent a video, what the hell is this?”

“I think we better check it out…” Michael shot back before opening the video from the contact that also showed up for him as Dad 0.1.

“I’m dying to see you too, Buck! Counting the seconds until you’re back, babe. The bed feels empty without you here! Who’s next? How about our firstborn? It’s on you, Wyatt!” That was impossible; the face on the screen was undeniably their dad, but he had gained a solid 50 pounds of muscle and lost a good amount of fat. Not to mention the carpet of hair that now covered his formerly smooth chest.

“Is that really Dad? No way… how?” Tobias sent back.

“I don’t know, man! This is so bizarre… how did he bulk up so much… it doesn’t make sense… and who the hell is Wyatt?”

“He mentioned firstborn… but no… that can’t be…” Tobias typed before they both received another notification. Upon opening the video, they were in for another surprise.

“Hey there, bros! Ready for a new day? I’m already warming up waiting for my workout buddy—where you at, Maverick, little bro?” said the muscular dude, barely in his thirties, dressed all in black and flexing in a gym locker room.

“Dude… that’s Will!!! But he’s never set foot in a gym,” Michael texted Tobias. William, the oldest of the bunch, was about to turn thirty, and he had the chubby physique of an accountant used to long hours behind a desk, drinking coffee and munching on donuts—that was literally his life… or should be. But if there was anything that video showed, it was that Wyatt had never put a single sweet in his mouth.

“I don’t even know what to say… but there’s more coming!” Tobias replied, apparently just as stunned. As the new video arrived, they rushed to look.

“Ha! I’ve already left you in the dust, Wyatt! Looks like the baby bro is now the big bro! Don’t take too long, or I’ll be late for school, and my coach is gonna flip, right, Griff?”

“Dude, that’s Martin on steroids! That kid looks like he’s tripled in size! Is this some kind of prank? Some deep fake?” he asked in shock. Martin, the youngest, was already a more athletic kid, being on the wrestling team, but with that size, he’d be better suited for the offensive line on a football team, if he wasn’t already too big for that, and who the hell was this coach he was talking about?

“Michael, I’m just as lost as you. But it looks like this isn’t stopping…” Tobias commented as another video popped up in the group.

“You’re gonna have to do a ton of push-ups for not calling me Coach Bradley, kid! No Griff or Griffin while I’m your trainer! And if you’re late for school, it’ll be suicide day! Speaking of late, where the hell are you, Chase? Bet you left Hunter hanging at the beach.”

“Tobias, that’s Gordon! How the hell is he a coach? He’s a math teacher!” Michael texted in disbelief, seeing their second oldest brother looking way older than he should, with thinning hair as if he had been overdoing the steroids, which seemed totally possible, he thought, seeing the massive bodybuilder rocking just boxer briefs and a tight tank top, flexing his powerful muscles in some dimly lit room.

“Tobias? Tobias? Damn… there’s more coming!” Michael texted anxiously as he opened the next video.

“Ha, you know me too well, bro, but The Chaser is on the scene, Hunt’s got to face me!” That was Carl, but just like the other family members, he had gone through a transformation that left him almost unrecognizable. He had turned into a mountain of muscles covered by a thin layer of bronzed skin, clad only in a tiny yellow short, shades, and a backwards cap. Sitting in a car, flexing his muscles and grinning. Michael didn’t even have time to send a new outraged message to Tobias when another video came in.

“Too bad I’m already way ahead in my workout, little bro! You sure you want to take me on? Hehehe. Speaking of challenges, which twin’s gonna fire the next shot? Trey or Micah?” said the bronzed, muscular dude sporting Hugh’s modified look, the brother just below the twins in age. Watching this, Michael’s shock wore off, and he resumed chatting with his twin.

“What the hell is going on??? What are they doing at the beach? They should be in college!” But the reply didn’t come. Worried, he called out for his brother.

“Tobias? Tobias?”

“Who the fuck is Tobias, bro? I’m already sending my video, Micah! Big T is once again taking the lead! At least The Grand Finale is all yours!” was the twin response.

“Tobias, you guys must be messing with me!” Michael sent before opening the family group, where his brother had just sent another video.

“Trey here, leaving the little twin eating dust as always. And like always, I can’t tell what’s more badass, the view from my window or the sight the girls get when they check out my bod! What do you say, Micah, who’s used to seeing pretty much the same thing when you look in the mirror?” said the guy who in no way could be his twin brother, while grinning and showing off his muscular physique in front of his sunny apartment window. Totally lost, Michael sent a message to him.

“Tobias… Trey… I’m not doing any of this, this is insane!” he sent without realizing that autocorrect had changed his brother’s name.

“Dude, we’ve been doing this for years! It’s a Bradley tradition, what’s the problem now? You know how our das freak if we don’t join in. One of them is gonna call you if you don’t send it soon!” he replied. And Michael didn’t even have time to formulate a response to that new absurdity.

“Crap, video call from Dad 0.1,” he muttered to himself, refusing to pick up. But it seemed his phone had a mind of its own because the altered version of his dad popped up on his screen without permission.

“Micah, your dad is far away and wants a video from his boys. Trey just told me you don’t want to do it. What’s the harm in sending it? All your brothers already have, don’t be a buzzkill,” said the man with a serious and slightly disappointed expression.

“Dad, I… what the hell?” Michael started to respond, only to be cut off by the sudden entrance of a third person in the call. How was this possible? How was all this even real???

“Chill out, Jeff! I think Micah’s scared of looking like a weakling in front of his brothers.” It was the guy from the other video, grinning and crossing his arms while looking at Michael with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What??? I… no… weakling!” For some reason, that challenge sparked something inside him, a primal urge to show what he was capable of, and even more, to show that man what he could do. He wanted… no, he needed to prove himself to that man. Show one of the most important people in his life that he wasn’t some weakling!

“You’re gonna see who the weakling is, Dad!” Micah shot back with a grin before sending his own video.

“Last of the Bradley boys here, you bunch of exhibitionists!” he said, shyly smiling. Unlike his brothers he didn't like to show off his physique without a greater purpose, he kept hitting the gym for the joy it always brought him, mainly because it was something that connected all the brothers and their two dads. The boys didn’t know who was whose dad, and to them that didn’t matter one bit. The Bradley boys were a united front; even though each had their own place, they all worked together at the gym their fathers had founded many years ago, even those who had other jobs like Griff or were still finishing school like Maverick. Even when it came time for college, they preferred to stick around instead of crossing the country, which was why Hunter and Chase still lived with their fathers. Their upbringing had been liberal, but there were still well-established boundaries of respect. Even though a much greater degree of freedom was present now that they were all adults, provocative acts had become more common, with the guys and their parents occasionally sending more explicit videos. In fact, the bond among them was so strong that whenever one of them was away for some reason, it had become family tradition to send those good morning videos.

“We’re looking forward to your return, Dad!” he said in the group, joined by his brothers and other father. They were answered by Buck, affectionately known by all as Dad 0.2.

“I’ll be back this weekend, boys, and I want the whole family together! But until then, at least we’ll have our little moments every morning. To wrap it up, here’s one last video from me for you to think of me as much as I think of you!” he said, winking and provocatively massaging his pecs.

“Come on, Dad! We don’t need this at this time of the morning,” was the response from his sons, even though they were all exactly the same kind of man as Buck Bradley.

[notquitecanon]

Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys. 

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag.  Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit. 

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went. 

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system. 

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you." 

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."  

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?" 

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch." 

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.  

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy." 

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle. 

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe. 

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up." 

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady. 

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?" 

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin.  Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked. 

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you. 

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince. 

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin. 

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church? 

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it." 

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that. 

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through. 

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist. 

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.” 

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.” 

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.  

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”  

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey. 

“You barely know me, sweetheart.” 

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment. 

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.” 

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips. 

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features. 

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.” 

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head.  You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.” 

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.   

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless.  Two sides of a balanced scale.  

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

[bangtanficsforyou]

Hello, Love! (JJK)-02

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don’t know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister’s fiance wasn’t it.

Word count: 5.6K (approx)

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

I'll add all the links in a few days time!

It’s six in the morning when the doorbell rings.

Hurried footsteps make their way through the hallway and to the main door. The door is opened to reveal a long queue of people and one by one, everyone starts filling in. Anyone could have been fooled into thinking that this was afternoon.

The quiet apartment is now filled with excited greetings and a constant low murmur in the background.

Now it finally looks like there’s a wedding in the house, Jungkook’s mother thinks silently, with a small, satisfied smile. 

“Can’t believe our Jungkook is getting married!”

“I know right! I’m so glad that it’s a love marriage!”

“Have you looked at Riya’s photos? She’s so pretty.”

Had it been in Busan, I would have booked the costliest bungalow for them. But no, they wanted a destination wedding. Jungkook’s father thinks as he looks at the newly arrived guests chatting among themselves.   

Don’t get it wrong, the rented apartment is more than sufficient. But excuse him for his thinking. It’s his youngest son’s wedding after all. The father in him wanted to put the connections he has made over the years as the police commissioner, to good use.

“I am thinking of wearing red on the day of the wedding and saving the yellow for the reception.”

“I am confused as to what I should do with my hair.”

“We can simply book a stylist for a few days.”

I need to be out of here, comes the big conclusion in Jina, Jungkook’s sister in law’s, mind.

Her lack of patience could be credited to the fact that she is five months pregnant.

Jina is undoubtedly happy about the occasion of Jungkook’s marriage. How can she not be? Jungkook is like her own little brother, after all. But please excuse her for not wanting to be a part of the conversation as to who’s wearing what, when she feels like a boiled potato.

Jungkook will take care of this, Ju Hyun thinks, the moment his eyes meet his wife's. After seven years of marriage, one becomes an expert at deciphering their partner's expressions. 

Ju Hyun looks at Jungkook, who's currently been crowded by the kids. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook looks up, and silently sighs to have found an excuse to escape. 

“Yes, hyung?”

“Please take Jina out for some fresh air.”

Jungkook looks at his sister in law, and the reason behind his elder brother's request becomes very visible to him. 

“Why can't you take her out?” Jungkook whispers. 

“I have a case file I need to go through.” Comes Ju Hyun’s short and simple reply.

Before Jungkook can reply, his phone rings to notify him of an incoming call. 

Riya. 

“Can you come to hotel Delta?” Greets the voice as soon as Jungkook answers the call. 

“Hotel Delta? Where is it?” Jungkook asks. 

“I'll send you the address and please try to be as quick as possible. I need to go back to shooting.”

“Don’t worry, I'll be there in ten minutes,” Jungkook promises, even before checking where and how far the destination is. 

As he ends the call, two expectant gazes, meet him. One that of Ju Hyun’s and the other that of Jina’s. 

Oh right.

“Sinu-i, don't worry–,” Jungkook does a quick scan of the room and his eyes halt when they land on Jimin, relaxing with a cup of tea in his hand, “–Jimin will accompany you.”

Jimin looks perplexed, having no clue why his name just got mentioned.

Jungkook spots a fast-pacing Riya and curses in his mind, knowing damn well he’s late. In his defence, it isn’t an easy task to get out of a house full of relatives. Not to mention the traffic.

“So, this is your ten minutes?” Riya asks on spotting Jungkook, with a face that clearly reads that she is not impressed at all.

“I’m sorry, there was a whole lot of traffic on the way.”

Riya sighs and motions Jungkook to follow her. “Suzy called me, apparently no venues are available on the date you suggested.”

A frown appears on Jungkook’s face. “Is that so? But that date is very auspicious for marriage. It comes once every seven million years.”

A scoff. “Seven million years ago only dinosaurs got married.”

It takes Jungkook a moment to realise that it wasn’t Riya who spoke the words.

“Jungkook, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jungkook, he will drop you off.”

“Hello,” Jungkook greets politely, waiting for you, who's sitting comfortably, to look up from the menu card. 

“Hi,” you look up and give Jungkook a brief curt nod and return to the pages of the menu card.

YOU. It’s you!!!! Jungkook’s mind exclaims. The t20 girl.

“You drop her off at the address I mentioned, there you will find Stuart. Stuart will take Y/N to the hotel,” Riya gives off the instructions and quickly bids her goodbye.

Jungkook looks around a little, feeling awkward and a little clueless as to what he should do now. Seeing that you are so invested in the menu card, he decides to take a seat and ask you whether you would like to have something.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“An espresso with a shot of cream,”

The quick and brief answer surprises Jungkook. He blinks and waits for something more–what, he does not quite know (well, maybe you looking at him and acknowledging him would have been nice).

Pushing his surprise aside, he orders two coffees.

He looks around some more, because you refuse to leave the menu card even now. Out of curiosity, he subtly leans in and takes a peak to figure out what could be so interesting in those pages.

Huh? There is nothing out of the ordinary.

Are you perhaps memorising the prices of each item?

Well, shouldn’t you be showing a little more interest in someone you met seven years ago?

Jungkook averts his eyes like a thief being caught in action, when you flip the page. He sighs in relief though when he realizes that you have not caught into his little peaking. However, just moments later he feels stupid because what exactly is he doing?

“Do you remember we met seven years ago?” The question slips out from Jungkook’s mouth with a hint of hope and excitement.

You look up.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“No.”

And then you are back to your beloved menu card.

“T20 cricket? Remember we talked about the different formats of cricket?” Jungkook pushes, hoping something would click.

You look up, again.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“No.”

Jungkook deflates. Your eyes were blank. You truly do not recognize him.

Minutes pass as the order arrives and both of you have sips from your beverages. Surprisingly and much to Jungkook’s annoyance, your attention has now shifted to the view outside as you peer through the window right next to your seat.

“Shall we leave?” Jungkook queries as soon as both of you are done.

You give a nod and before Jungkook can even get up, you have your luggage on your shoulders and are heading out through the door.

Jungkook remains astonished with his mouth parted slightly as he looks at your retreating figure.

Isn’t he supposed to be the one guiding you out?

He shakes that thought away and quickly gets up with the intention of catching up with you before you get lost.

The car is filled with awkward silence. Thankfully, it does not bother Jungkook anymore. He has gotten used to it but for some reason, Jungkook finds it a little disappointing.

Maybe his excitement was simply rooted in the fact that he was meeting someone he never expected to meet again, that too after seven whole years.

Or maybe a small childish part of him thought, you two would hit it off again, like you did the last time. Maybe he had also entertained the idea of you two becoming good friends. With Riya being a common link between the two of you that thought was not much farfetched.

Wait. How do you and Riya know each other?

Jungkook looks at you but right as he’s about to voice his curiosity, your phone rings.

His eyes focus back on the road, with the knowing that he will have to wait to ask the question.

” Fāshēngle shénme?”

Huh?

“Gàosù tāmen wǒ hěn kuài jiù huì gěi tāmen qián.”

Is that…..Mandarin?

“Qǐng bǎozhòng.” You end the call.

It is Mandarin!

“You know how to speak Mandarin?” Forgotten is the question about the connection between you and Riya. Your fluency with the foreign language now has his attention.

You look at Jungkook and nod. Then you are back staring out of the window.

Huh? Do you only speak with nods? And what is with you and staring out of windows? Jungkook thinks, his annoyance sparking again.

“I think this is the place,” Jungkook announces, after ten more minutes of driving. Having stopped the car, he looks around through his window.

The sound of a car door opening echoes and Jungkook is startled to find that you are already out of the passenger seat. As you open the back door to take out your luggage, he quickly speaks, “Wait, let me call Stuart.”

“No need, I can see him,” you answer confidently.

Jungkook frowns in confusion and watches as you cross the road and pause in front of a short young man. Quickly taking out the number Riya had given him, he dials it.

To his relief, it is the man across the street that picks it up.

“Stuart?

“Speaking.”

“Take ma’am to the hotel carefully and make sure she has everything she might require.”

Jungkook thinks that for a brief moment, Stuart looked confused. But he ignores it thinking, he cannot be sure about a man’s expressions from across the street. With a confirmation from Stuart, he ends the call.

He waits in his car until the both of you are out of sight.

With a sigh of relief, he starts the car engine. As the tires get moving, his thoughts drift to you and how odd of an encounter it was.

He would have said you were not your usual self but then what does he even know about you? The only interaction he has had with you prior to this was seven years ago, a conversation that lasted for about ten minutes. People change. Maybe you did. Or maybe you were always like this and that one particular evening you happened to feel chatty.

Who knows.

As he turns off the engine after having parked his car in the garage, his phone pings.

Riya: Thanks :)

A content smile spreads over Jungkook’s face and forgotten is the weird encounter he just had with you.

TWO DAYS LATER

 “Your letter is T.”

The groom’s side discusses among themselves as to who would continue the game further with the letter T.

“Aunty, why don’t you sing two lines?” Seema, the bride’s sister suggests.

Jungkook’s mother visibly shies at the suggestion and mutters a bunch of ‘No’s to deny the request. This only urges the bride’s team to request her even more.

After much hesitation, Jungkook’s mother takes a hold of the mic. However, the moment the microphone is in her hands a look of determination spreads over her features and a switch is flipped on.

…….and then takes place the onset of a classical song.

Both the teams are equally caught off guard by the sudden change of……atmosphere.

Jungkook, who was watching from a distance, finds great amusement at the scene unfolding in front of him. People find out about his mom’s expertise in classical music in the funniest of ways.

Knowing pretty well that the classical music will go on for some time, he decides to take a little stroll around the place. Since, Jungkook’s extended family have finally arrived, tonight is supposed to be a grand celebration of the engagement.

Some ten minutes later, he finds himself in a small circle of men involving a few of Riya’s industry friends.

“Shooting has been incredibly hectic these days,” groans Vikram.

“Last day, we shot till four in the morning,” adds Chris.

“With how busy the schedule is, I am just thankful that I can attend Riya’s marriage,” Jay, a rather close friend of Riya’s , comments.

Jungkook hums and nods along, only adding words when required.

“Isn’t that Trisha?” Vikram queries, squinting his eyes to figure out if his guess is right or wrong.

“Yes, it is,” Jay confirms.

“Oh god, she is drunk. Hope she does not cause a scene.” Chris’s words have the opposite effect as at that very moment, Trisha collides with a waiter and causes the tray of mocktail he was carrying to fall on the ground.

“You can never trust Trisha and Y/N to not cause trouble.”

“Y/N?” The mention of your name takes Jungkook by surprise. Why are you getting mentioned out of nowhere? And how do Riya’s friends know you?

“You have not heard of Y/N? She is Riya’s younger sister.”

Okay, whoa, Jungkook did not see this coming.

“Y/N is Riya’s sister?” Jungkook asks, just in case he had heard things wrong.

“Yeah, they are five sisters, Seema, Kriti, Riya, Neena and Y/N.”

He is well familiar with the other four names. He has met them, talked to them and sees them quite often at family occasions. But, you? You are the fifth sister?

The noises around Jungkook fade as his mind processes this newfound information.

He did not think that his curiosity about your and Riya’s connection would be answered this way and that you would turn out to be Riya’s sister.

Jungkook has been trying his best to sleep.

His attempt, so far, has remained unsuccessful.

His mind has been going in circles about you.

It’s not like he didn’t know that Riya has four sisters. But he knew the one sister who he had never had the opportunity to meet with, as Mita. To add to that, he had never seen a single picture that you were a part of.

The name Mita is still explainable. Maybe that’s a nickname given to you by your family. But what makes Jungkook feel doubtful is your reason for absence. Common knowledge was you were abroad studying and doing research work. You were busy and never got the time to pay a visit.

But Jungkook doubts that someone going abroad would leave their home the way you did; climbing over a wall. And for some reason, he is sure that, that was the day you left because you are only back now. Had you visited before, Jungkook is sure that he would have known.

 However, now your presence that day made sense to him. You were the bride’s sister.

Bride’s sister climbs over the wall and takes a cab to the airport on the day of the wedding. In no world does that sound normal.

Jungkook turns around, pulls the blanket up to his chest, stares at the wall and sighs.

This whole thinking and trying to figure out why he did not know you were Riya’s sister, any sooner is only an attempt to cover up and ignore the fact that he is worried.

But can he really be blamed? How can he not be worried?

Dropping off your fiancé’s friend to a place is one thing and dropping off your fiancé’s sister to a place totally unknown to him is one thing.

Are you eating alright? Are the services there good? Is the place clean?

Jungkook sighs again.                                                         

Fuck this.

He removes the blanket, puts on a shirt and grabs his car keys.

He needs to know for sure that the place you are staying at is good and safe. Maybe then, he will be able to sleep peacefully.

HAPPY GUEST HOUSE.

The signboard reads. Except, the ‘A’ and ‘O’ are missing and the signboard is crooked.

It isn’t just the signboard though. It is also the overall isolated aura this place has, that makes Jungkook wish he had checked the place you were staying at while dropping off.

Still, he checks the address on his phone one last time, hoping that he has got the wrong place and that you are not actually staying here. The address on his screen, however, remains unchanged, confirming that this indeed is the place.

With a sigh, he walks in through the gate. Ain’t no way he is letting you stay here any longer.

“Miss Y/N,” he gives your name to the guy at the reception, who looks barely awake.

The guy looks at Jungkook and takes out a register.

Register? A DAMN REGISTER?!!!! Who even uses a register these days? This place does not even have a computer!!!!

“Room 112,” the receptionist guy informs, after flipping through some pages.

Jungkook keeps standing there. However, when the receptionist just goes to sit on a chair and yawns, Jungkook loses it. “What do you mean by room 112? An unknown man is asking you for a woman’s room number and you just give it? Don’t even ask how I am related to her, don’t even care that I might just go up to her room right now. What on earth is wrong with you?”

The guy is the least bit bothered. “Do you want to meet her or not?”

Oh, fuck it. Arguing with the guy is useless.

Without another word, he climbs the flight of stairs to find room number 112. Thankfully, it hardly takes him only a minute or so to find your room.

He raises his fist and knocks on the door. However, after the very first knock, he realizes that the door is unlocked.

Gently pushing the door open, he turns on his mobile’s flashlight and calls your name. “Y/N?”

No response.

“Y/N, it is Jungkook.”

No response.

“Y/N, if you are here-“

Then he spots you. You’re sleeping on the floor, all curled up from the cold.

“Y/N?” he kneels down and gently shakes you by your arms, to wake you up. “Y/N? Please wake up.”

“Mm?” You make a small noise at the back of your throat, and slowly, very slowly open your eyes.

“Get up and pack your bags.”

You’re still not fully awake and it takes you a moment to process what he is saying. “Why?”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Idiot, what kind of a place did you take my guest to?” At some point, Jungkook just could not take it anymore and ended up calling Stuart, to give him an earful. “Forget about good services, there is no security!”

“Sir, I am sure they let you in because you look like someone from a good family,” comes Stuart’s reply, from the other side.

Jungkook scoffs, finding so many flaws in that logic. “Do you have any idea the amount of mosquitoes that are there in this place? What if she had caught dengue?”

“Sir, don’t worry, the dengue mosquitoes don’t bite at night.”

“Oh yes, malaria is so much of a better option,” Jungkook replies sarcastically and cuts the call.

“Mosquitoes don’t bite me,” you offer in a soft voice.

“I am sorry, Y/N. Had I known this was the place, I would have never let you stay here,” Jungkook apologizes for the umpteenth time.

You offer him a small smile and shake your head. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

You both walk to his car and get in. Once inside, Jungkook offers if you’d like to listen to some music, which you politely decline.

“Did you have dinner?” He asks, wondering if he should make a pit stop on his way to a food outlet.

You reply with a small nod of your head, letting him know that there is no need for that.

As the car gets moving, you sigh and relax in the passenger seat. The roads are empty, which is to be expected considering it’s well past midnight. A result of which, is the cool breeze that hits your face, something that you admittedly find really enjoyable.

You see the roads passing by and it suddenly occurs to you that you are out in your hometown after a really long time–seven years to be exact. The roads feel the same except for the fact that they are entirely different.

The place reminds you of the days when you were younger and–

You take a deep inhale, trying to distract your thoughts from going in that direction.

In the last couple of days, you have surely been out of that little dingy place that runs under the name of a hotel but you were never out like this. Maybe that is why thoughts and feelings you have wanted to avoid and bury, are trying to say their ‘hello’s to you.

“Actually,” you begin in a soft mumble, “some music would be nice.”

“Sure,” Jungkook turns on the radio and soon a soft melody fills the air.

Thankfully, the music does serve as a sweet distraction as you refuse to focus on anything but counting the rhythmic drum beats, blocking any other thoughts and feelings in the process.

Unbeknownst to you, at some point your eyes start feeling heavy and you start dozing off. You would never admit it out loud, not even to yourself, but you hadn’t been getting good sleep the past few days. And for some reason, the car seats seem really comfortable to you.

What wakes you up after what could possibly have been ages, is a soft call of your name. You slowly open your eyes and with a blurry vision register that Jungkook is speaking to you.

“We are here,” the words reach your ears and you let out a small hum.

With steps like that of a drunk man–or mayhaps that of a toddler–you blindly follow Jungkook into the building. If someone were to ask you what floor the elevator stopped at, you wouldn’t be able to tell.

When you both enter the apartment, you hardly take your environment into consideration and speak rather loudly; “Can I have–“

A hand abruptly clamps down on your mouth and causes the rest of your words to come out muffled. The next thing you know, you are being dragged into a different room.

The sudden movements are enough to clear your drowsiness and you’re back in your full senses.

“Shhh,” Jungkook for the first time tonight, looks annoyed. “People are sleeping. You will wake them up.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, realising your mistake. “I just need a wet towel.”

Jungkook nods, about to get you what you just asked for but then pauses to look at you. “Wet towel? A dry won’t work? Just soak it in water.”

“That will work too.”

He nods again and opens a cupboard to fetch a towel. “By the way, what will you do with a wet towel?”

“Placing a wet towel on your stomach kills hunger.”

Jungkook is perplexed at your words and the annoyed frown on his face, melts into that of disbelief. “I asked you whether you had dinner or not.”

“This is the only place that is open at this time.” These are the words that Jungkook introduces the small street-side restaurant, with. “One thing I can assure you is, the food doesn’t disappoint.”

You give a small shy nod, feeling guilty for letting it slip that you indeed did not have dinner. In your defense, you really did not think it was necessary to meet the needs of your empty stomach. The other two nights, the wet towel technique worked just fine.

“I’d have survived the night you know,” you offer lightly as a joke but actually meaning it.

“I know you would have,” Jungkook offers and for some reason, the reply shuts you up.

As you both occupy the seats of a two-seater table, you realise that the entire place is empty except for a young couple occupying one of the corner seats.

“Butter chicken and chicken chow mein are the only two food items available at this time,” the waiter informs, looking like he is ready to retire for the day.

“Two half chicken chow mein,” you decide.

“I won’t eat—,” Jungkook is cut off by your feet harshly slamming on his, under the table.

“Two half chow mein,” you confirm. Once the waiter is gone you lean forward and whisper, “Two halves are always more than one full.”

Jungkook’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and he nods in understanding, admittedly impressed by your little tips and tricks.

The time it takes for you to finish the two half plates of chowmein is embarrassingly short. It briefly makes Jungkook wonder whether you had anything to eat yesterday—as a matter of fact, the day before yesterday—but he decides not to dwell on it. He makes peace with the fact that you will go to bed today with a full stomach.

Once you’re done, you release a sigh, almost having forgotten to breathe in the process. Sometimes, you don’t realise how hungry you actually were unless you have filled your stomach to the brim.

“Thank you.” You speak, genuinely grateful for everything that Jungkook has done for you.  

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “Next time, just be honest if you’re hungry.”

The words cause you to let out a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Once the bills are paid, and you have had your fair share of collecting the sugar coated fennel seeds in a napkin, the both of you find yourselves back inside the car for a third time tonight.

This time, there is no music and you don’t feel a need for a distraction either.

Your mind is rather occupied with the events of today and what it means for your tomorrow.

You didn’t think things would take a turn like this but admittedly it makes it easier for you to accomplish what you came for. The only thing you perhaps feel guilty for, is causing Jungkook trouble. Heck, you are not even sure whether Riya knows that Jungkook has offered for you to stay in his place.

Actually, you know. There’s no way Riya knows about it. Had she known, you wouldn’t have been sitting here.

The thought makes you briefly look at Jungkook and you suddenly find yourself feeling sorry for all the trouble you’re undoubtedly going to cause between him and Riya. But more than the guilt, you feel grateful for his kindness.

Jungkook seems to have a very genuine, welcoming aura. Despite everything he has done for you, you have not felt as if he is doing a favour on you. He seems like the kind of person who would tell you on your face, if he was annoyed or if you were being too much. That saves you from the guessing game.

Maybe if you were not in so much of a rush to leave, you and Jungkook would have made good friends.

When you leave, you should probably leave a thank you gift for him, as a token of your appreciation.

Your train of thought is broken by the sound of a hiccup.

“I am–,” a hiccup, “–sorry.” Jungkook apologises, feeling a little shy.

“It’s okay.” You make a mental note to offer him a bottle of water at the next signal.

However, after the fifth hiccup, a soft mumble of the word Riya reaches your ears and you soon realise it is repetitive in between each hiccup.

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused.

Jungkook glances at you from the corner of his eyes. “It is said you get hiccups when someone is thinking of you and who else could be thinking of me, but Riya? So, I am taking her name in hopes that the hiccups go away.”

“In that case you should definitely take my name,” you suggest. “From the moment that I have sat in the car, I have been thinking of you.”

Jungkook looks at you once again, momentarily caught off guard by your honesty but then decides to take up on your suggestion.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

You tsk and shake your head. “You see, a hiccup is essentially an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm which causes sudden closure of the epiglottis which creates the ‘hic’ sound.”

“And the remedy for that is to just let it be, but if it lasts too long, take medicines like maloperidol, nanoclopramide and florpromazine, which isn’t in the car–” your chew on your nails briefly, recalling other solutions, “–there is another way....it is called the swimmer’s remedy.”

You press the tip of your little fingers against your nostrils, blocking the free passage of air. Simultaneously, you widen your eyes, stick out your tongue and exhale loudly.

“But you can’t do that either, because you’re driving,” you murmur, more so to yourself.

Well, minus the hand placement and the tongue, Jungkook’s eyes are fairly as wide as yours were.

“And the third way is–”, you sneak a glance at Jungkook to ensure that his eyes are focused on the road. Out of nowhere, your hands take a hold of the steering and you swiftly turn it in the other direction causing the car to take a sudden turn.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU INSANE?!”

You release your grip and look at him, mildly apologetic. “The third method is shock.”

Jungkook looks confused, the suddenness of your movements still having its effect on him. However, after a few moments of silence, Jungkook puts a hand on his stomach and realizes that the hiccups are indeed gone!

The realisation causes him to chuckle. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head, glad that you could be of help. A few beats later, you speak again. “By the way, do you remember we met seven years ago? T20 cricket?”

The turn of Jungkook’s head towards you is a slow one and he wonders if you really did say that.

If you enjoyed reading this, consider supporting me on my Patreon!

[neotrances]

hi my names tyler, im a autistic black trans guy escaping an abusive household, im remaking this post bc it’s gotten long and donations have mostly stoped

TLDR: my homophobic mother who is verbally physically and financially abusive kicked me out of the house, i cannot go “home” ever as i’m in the process of cutting ties entirely, she has attempted to kill me multiple times and has threatened to kill my pets, something she has done in the past, as of may 15th she’s called all of my family members and have gotten them to turn on me bc of not wishing her a happy mother’s day, the last time we spoke in person threw my belongings (as well as my cats) into the street and threatened to harm me if i return / call the cops, she is incredibly violent, homophobic, transphobic, and mentally unstable and i want to go no contact

i’m staying at my partners parents house but this is not permanent stable housing, i have two cats staying in the room with me and my bf, im looking to find stable housing in the bucks county, Trentons border or north east philly areas, i can afford up to 1k in rent but would prefer anything lower / roommates to split rent for a place near those areas

all money I get will go directly into my savings and will be for paying rent and application fees, i have a steady money flow but i don’t want to risk getting evicted if i find a place, if you know anyone that can spare housing or who is looking for a roommate near these areas please reach out to me i’d really appreciate it, i don’t have many options, i just want to get my life together and be free of my mom so anything at all helps, the gofundme can be spread on its own, i’ll try to update it or this post as often as i can, i just spent about $200 on a new phone today as my mothers been cutting my service on and off despite me paying my own phone bill and i’m trying to make sure her and my family can’t contact me anymore, below are other ways to donate if needed, thankyou for taking the time to read / spread this

paypal + venmo

last updated october 14th, here’s a link to my most recent dono post, i have a depop in my pinned on my blog, thankyou for any support given

[megamindsecretlair]

If I Took You Home, Part 1

Pairing: Dom!Kevin Atwater x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Food porn. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving) teasing, fingering (female receiving), cum play, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. D/s dynamics.

Summary: Your friends were all in relationships so that meant it was time to bug you about your singledom. They were constantly setting you up on dates that made you back out. However, you were sick of saying no and your friend's boyfriend really played up his coworker and friend. It was all true. Your blind date leaves you wanting more.

Word Count: 6,245k

AO3 Link | Part 2

A/N: Hello, my loves. I am missing Kevin so bad! It's been 3 WEEKS without a new episode. I'm dying over here. Reblog and comment to save a writer's life. And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @amethyst09 @ciaqui @harmshake @nworbaij @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @twocentuar @westside-rot @yaachtynoboat711 @abeautifulmindexposed @blowmymbackout @bigsisbria @babybratzmaraj @darqchilddaydreamz

You knew better than to trust your damn friends. You sat at a nice restaurant in a casual berry colored dress, sipping wine and looking like a pathetic loser eating dinner alone. You didn’t have a book to try and pretend like this was planned. Like you decided to take yourself on a date. 

You glanced at your phone. To be fair, you were a bit early. Only because you were so nervous about a blind date to begin with. Why had you said yes? 

You weren’t sure now. Maybe it was your friends and their constant hounding. They were all hooked up with their respective partners so now you were getting the pitying stares. The stressed smiles after they got done gushing about their own dates and partners. As if being single was some type of disease they wanted to cure. 

You took another sip of the sweet wine and thought about canceling. Blind dates were a joke. They probably set you up with some ogre of a man who picked his teeth at the table or scratched his belly after he was finished. 

You looked over the menu to give yourself something to do, so you weren’t just staring at your phone. 

Your mind ran through all kinds of possibilities for this random man you decided to go out with. Maybe he was bald. Maybe he was shorter than you. You didn't mind dating someone short, but they usually had complexes that you weren’t capable of dealing with. Maybe he was a secret chauvinist…

“Excuse me?” You turned your head to the words and got a face full of stomach. You tilted your head up and saw a gorgeous man with hickory smoked skin, dark and luscious beard, and kinked hair. He smiled wide showing a row of beautiful teeth and you were momentarily struck stupid.

“Friend of Claire’s right?” He asked. “I hope.” He chuckled and licked his lips. Your eyes caught the movement, the slow glide of his tongue across the swell of his lips. 

You swallowed a giant ball of stupid thoughts, nodding because you didn’t trust your voice. You were going to have to marry Claire for this one. Absolutely marry her. Her boyfriend, Jay, was going to have to get in line. 

The man stuck his hand out and you looked at it briefly, before looking back into his deep brown eyes. “Kevin Atwater,” he said. 

You sputtered and mumbled out your name, finally taking his hand and shaking it. His hand eclipsed yours, so huge with thick fingers. His nails were clean too. He smiled and finally took the seat opposite you.

You rearranged the napkin on your nap to give you a reason to collect yourself. You were not the type to go all googly eyed for a man. At least not where they could see. When you looked up, you caught the eye of the woman next to you who had been throwing her own pitying looks your way.

You smirked and lifted an eyebrow, communicating without words. She swiftly turned her gaze to her own date, fixing her already neat bun.

Kevin cleared his throat, pulling the seat closer to the table. His legs were so long however, that he still had a lot of room from the table to his olive green button up. It was open at the collar, giving you a peak at his chest and a black tank underneath. A hint of a chain He wore dark jeans and dark green boots to match and a row of bracelets on his wrists. He had already taken off his black puffer jacket when you weren’t looking. 

“You find the restaurant okay?” You asked.

“Yes, ma’am. The parking though?” He asked and shook his head. You giggled, feeling giddy over the ma’am comment rather than annoyed. He said it like it was a casual, Southern thing and not in a teasing way. 

“I know. But I couldn’t believe you’d never been to this place. I thought you grew up in Chicago?” You asked.

“I did. ‘Bout some blocks that way,” he said, pointing South. “But life got busy. Maybe I just needed the right sign to go.”

You smiled. It was a cheesy joke, but why was it working? Perhaps the wine finally got to you, settling low in your belly. Maybe the sudden ache in your pussy was from the alcohol and not the way he looked framed by the wall of lights behind him. Rather than sink out of focus, his face seemed only framed by it. Kissed by it. Like the light settled into his skin with the softest sigh. 

“I’m sorry if I started without you,” you said, grabbing your wine and taking a sip. You’d need your wits about you if you were going to remain cool and calm in his presence. After the disastrous first impression, you needed some points in your favor.

“That’s fine. I probably would have to. What’s that you’re drinking?” He asked. He picked up the menu but didn’t look at it as you told him the vintage. He nodded and gave you an approving grin. 

“Alright, I’ve never had it. Is it good?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Not my favorite but it’ll do,” you said. He grinned and caught the attention of a passing waiter. He ordered some type of bourbon, Old Emmer, and then the conversation turned towards the food.

“Since I’ve never been here, what’s good?” He asked.

The Italian restaurant was famous for a lot of things, but none more so than the lasagna. Every time you had it, you swore up and down that someone in the kitchen was from the Old Country. You could taste the sunshine, hearth, and powdered hands as it worked the dough on the noodles. The tomatoes from the vine in the sauce. That hint of spice from the earth itself. The soft wool of the goat that provided the cheese. And the meat. You resisted the urge to pinch your fingers and kiss your mouth every time you thought of it. 

“I’d say…the lasagna. I can’t resist it when I’m here,” you said. You hoped you sounded cool about it. If given half a chance, your enthusiasm would erupt all over the table and he’d be halfway down the street before you could call him back.

“Lasagna it is, then,” he said. The waiter arrived with his drink and Kevin took a sip. He tilted his whole body back, pulling up his arm so that you had a good look at his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he sipped it down. 

You uncrossed and then re-crossed your legs, your thighs burning in the most unholy way. It settled low in your belly, echoing throughout your core. Nasty thoughts filled your brain. Thoughts you did not need to think about this man that was only sipping a drink.

He nodded his approval and the waiter asked if you were ready to order. Kevin motioned for you to go first, so you ordered the lasagna. Kevin ordered the same thing and then the waiter took your menus.

There was no more armor against Kevin and his attractive smile. “So, what made you agree to a blind date?” You asked. As you tried to steer your thoughts to safer territory, you couldn’t imagine a man as fine as him still remaining single.

“My job doesn’t exactly lend itself to a standard schedule. Makes it hard to meet some folks,” he said. He settled back in his seat and twisted his glass in his hand. The glass looked tiny in comparison. 

You nodded. Claire already told you that Kevin was a cop, like Jay. You asked if it was tough dating a cop. She confessed that it was hard as hell because of the worry. Over the fact that he might not always walk back through the door. And that’s with someone white. Kevin is Black and that brought an extra layer of worry.

You asked if it was worth it. A stupid grin spread across her face. She told you that it was. She’d do it over and over again. Plus the handcuffs helped. 

“Especially someone that doesn’t automatically see you as a person,” you said. 

Kevin nodded. “I’ve had some tussles but I’m still here,” he said. Your eyes darted to his body, taking in his thick muscles and corded forearms. You had no doubt that it’d have to be something huge to strike down Kevin Atwater. 

“I’m glad you are. Okay, but seriously. Help me understand. How do you explain, all of that,” you said and waved to his whole body. “And no long term girlfriend.”

Kevn laughed. “I promise, it’s the job and just not vibing with anyone. There was nothing wrong with them, it just wasn’t there. But now you have to tell me something. How do you explain all of that,” he said and waved to your body. “And no one’s snatched you up yet.”

He smiled and rolled your eyes, refusing to laugh. “I find that some guys these days have to be still carrying around cavemen genes or something. It’s really bad out there,” you said and shivered. 

Truth was, it was incredibly hard to find someone that fit your brand of nasty. You loved sex. Had an insatiable appetite, practically thinking of it 24/7. But you also craved submission. You did so much every day, constantly finding the energy to breathe from second to second. Your work kept you down and your family was demanding. You had to keep up with friends and schedules and made hundreds of tiny decisions every day.

Mentally calculating what was too dressy, too girly, too boyish, too much, not enough. The last place you wanted to have control of was the bedroom. The last thing you wanted to do was order around a man in the sheets. 

Sometimes you just craved masculinity. You couldn’t define it but you’d know it when you see it. The way a man just went around being a man. Flexing muscles, taking up space, manspreading, protecting. What turned you on more was when a man was acting in defense of someone else. 

And it was hard to achieve that with men these days. Because they’d all reverted to primitive, banging on the drums type of seduction. One drink earned them the right to put their hands on your thighs. Buying you food was a ticket to second base. You couldn’t submit if you didn’t trust the fucker in charge of you. 

Glancing at Kevin though, masculinity poured off of him in waves. You wondered what it would be like to submit to him. To hand over your orgasms and watch him treat them with love and care.

Your pussy throbbed in response like she loved that idea. 

“Don’t tell me it’s that bad,” he said and cringed. You gave him a funny look. He shook his head and cursed. 

“Well on behalf of my gender, I’m very sorry. Then again, it brought us together,” he said. He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes at you. You giggled.

“Okay, stop. You know what you’re doing!” You said.

“What am I doing?” He asked. His voice grew a little rougher and you gasped. 

“Looking at me like that,” you said. Your voice grew softer. 

“How am I looking at you?” He asked.

You were saved from answering by the waiter bringing you lasagna. One huge slice was placed in front of you, a sloppy square of dripping sauce and steam. Some of the edges were burned, the tomato sauce dark with spices. It smelled divine. 

Kevin grinned and looked down at his meal. He gave you a wink, like he was congratulating you on a good choice. But you waited until after the garlic bread was placed between you. He picked up his fork and cut a piece of the lasagna. 

Strings of cheese went with it and he rolled it around his fork. He brought it to his mouth and his juicy lips sucked up wayward sauce. You were treated to another sight of Kevin’s tongue on his lips. 

He chewed and then moaned, a low and deep sound erupting from his chest. Your pussy throbbed with the unexpected praise. You felt good to treat him to something you enjoyed. You got the same feeling when you introduced a new artist or song to someone. But nothing as visceral as pleasing Kevin. 

You finally bit into your own lasagna and closed your eyes, a moan escaping you involuntarily. You even did a little jig, as the food brought so many flavors to your mouth. Something savory with a tiny hint of sweetness. The cheese and noodles complementing each other so well. The meat soaked with the sauce that made you imagine ripened red tomatoes. Plump with flavor. 

You remembered where you were, on a whole ass date with a literal offering from the gods. You opened your eyes and looked at Kevin who sat still with adoration all over his face. Like he witnessed the most magnificent phenomenon and couldn’t make sense of it. 

You gave him a sheepish grin but he gave you a shimmy back. He turned it into a Black person acknowledging that the food was good. No words necessary. Just brown eyes meeting brown eyes. 

Conversation turned towards family as he talked about having to help his brother and sister after his dad went to prison. You nodded along, knowing that dance all too well. He glowed with pride as he talked about his siblings and how it was hard being their father and their brother. 

He admitted they fell into some drama some years ago, but they were all heading towards healing. He was sad for the childhood he lost, but he would do it all over again. You wondered what it would be like to be so positive like him and Claire. The way they saw the bullshit day in and day out and got completely opposite experiences than you. 

You tried not to be a storm cloud, shitting all over what came your way. You couldn’t help it. Negativity was safer. A constant hammer against your soft heart to try and harden you up. But you still had that need to empathize with everything and everyone. And so in the end, it hurt just the same.

You told him about your family and friends and how you came to know Claire. You asked about him and Jay working together and he said that they got off to a rocky start, but ended up being brothers on the other side of it.

You loved listening to him speak. The deep, whispery tone of his that instantly put you at peace and your core set to burning. You longed to hear that whispered in your ear while he did something disgusting to you later. 

Yeah, you’d already decided. You were taking this man home with you and you were going to hand him the reins. You hoped that he delivered. That his smooth and sexy interior matched the drop dead gorgeous exterior. 

You were needy with want. Wanting him. It was an insane thought. You’d only just met him. But his vibe put out someone trustworthy and you always trusted your instincts. 

Dinner flew by with more fascinating stories from Kevin. You delved into past relationships and laughed at each of his horror stories. You told some of your own and was mortified how you could be so blind at the time. 

You had a second glass of wine and he had more bourbon as you shared a dessert. The gelato was sweet and icy. You scooped some on your spoon and made a show of putting it in your mouth. Nothing outrageous, just something to tease him with. 

He lowered his eyes to your mouth and you felt desired. You felt settled in your body. It was a heady feeling and you knew that it had all to do with Kevin. Once he paid the check, absolutely refusing you when you told him that you should pay since you suggested the restaurant. 

You walked outside into frosty Chicago. No matter the time of year, it was a bitter place to be. The wind howled around your shins. You brought your coat closer around your neck. Kevin walked you to your car. 

You didn’t have to walk so close together. He didn’t have to reach an arm out to keep your balance on low heeled shoes. Yet, your shoulders constantly bumped into his and his arm casually went around your shoulders. 

You talked and laughed, dreading every inch of sidewalk you covered. You didn’t want to leave him but you didn’t know how to transition from this date to taking off his pants. When you got to the car on the driver’s side, Kevin smiled at you. You smiled back.

He stepped forward, pushing into you. You walked backwards until your back hit the side of the car. He pinched your chin, bringing your face closer to his. His eyes never left yours while he tilted his head.

“Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this,” he said. His lips brushed against yours and you sighed. You wanted to whimper. 

“I feel it too,” you whispered.

“Come home with me then. Follow me home,” he said.

“I’ll follow you,” you promised. You’d follow him anywhere. This was the most radical thing you’d ever done in your life. Going home with a man after one date? The scandal of it all would turn your friends’ heads. Not to mention, they’d tease the fuck out of you about your blind date going well.

He smiled against your lips, lightly pressing in. He tasted like the bourbon he drank with a hint of pasta. It was a delicious spicy and savory mix that made you lean in for another one. He gave you a brief kiss and then pulled back. 

“I’ll see you there,” he said. He opened your car door behind you, smiling at you, and then tucked you in. You put on your seatbelt and he closed the door with a tap. He finally headed down the street to his own car. You started your car and pulled into the street. 

The blast of warm air from the heater was just what you needed. Except it’d probably make you sweat harder between your thick thighs. You needed his hands there already, spreading your legs so he could look his fill. You could picture it all so well. So vivid. 

He pulled out into the street and you followed him to his place. To his credit, he didn’t speed up or take close lights so that you couldn’t follow. He put his blinker on way ahead of time so you didn’t have to scramble after him.

He led you to a corner building that seemed to be an apartment. The faded blue blended well into the dark night, reflecting the stars above. You found available parking and then got out of your car, looking for Kevin.

He walked down the street to you, collecting you from your car with that wide grin of his. His breath fogged into the night time and you smiled. You took your purse with you. You wrapped your hand around his forearm and he led you to the front door. 

Inside, the place was as cramped as the rest of Chicago, yet roomy enough that you felt like you could breathe. The inside was nice. There was no peeling paint or stained walls. All of the lights worked and there was a first aid kit inside the doorway. You smiled at Kevin. He told you that he bought a building and planned on getting it fixed up. Something to fall back on after he was done with the force.

He led you to his apartment on the first floor and in the back. His apartment was well decorated in dark tones of mahogany and deep steel blue. There was brick on some walls and it all fit with his dark furniture. It was clean and homey at the same time.

There were sweet smelling candles on the coffee table and newspapers beside at a safe distance. He had a record player next to his TV and a rack of vinyl records underneath it. He turned on ambient lights, enough to set the mood without it being sleazy.

He took your coat off and then his own, hanging it on a rack behind the door. You couldn’t walk two feet forward before he grabbed your hips and pushed you against the wall. He thumbs rubbed your hips back and forward. 

He hummed and moved his body closer so that from the chest down, there wasn’t an inch of space to be found. He was so tall. So imposing. So incredibly taller than you that your brain melted.

“I can give you the tour now or later. If it’s now, you’ll take your clothes off for every room we visit. If it’s later, it’s straight to my bedroom but I take my time,” he said. 

Your body shivered. You were paralyzed with indecision. You wanted to do both. At the same time. You bit your lip, thinking about which you wanted more.

Kevin smiled. “Now it is. The foyer counts as a room,” he said. 

You giggled because his “foyer” opened directly into the kitchen and living room. But you took off one shoe and Kevin smiled. He moved you into the kitchen. “The kitchen,” he said. 

He smelled so good, his natural scent filling the room since you were no longer outside. The kitchen was clean, dishes put away and a healthy row of seasonings. He knew his way around a kitchen.

You took off your other shoe, teasing him by technically following the rules. Just because you wanted to submit didn’t mean you couldn’t put up a fight. He took your hands and led you to the living room, his stormy gray couches made lighter by the few throw pillows. He turned on the light in the hallway, and led you to the bathroom. Your dress fell from your shoulders, around your hips, and down your legs. The shimmery material tickled your skin. 

He showed you the bathroom. You were already wet from the timbre of his voice. Giving him a strip show and delaying the pleasure only made you unbearably wet. There was a particular ache in your pussy that you needed filled as soon as possible. 

You glanced around the bathroom, his enormous shower. You took off your bra, sliding it from your shoulders and looking at him from behind your shoulder. He leaned against the doorway, filling it completely. He blocked out most of the light behind him and sucked in the warm light in his bathroom. 

He had a lean to his wide hips and a hand on his belt. The other was above his head. He scratched his head as his eyes looked over your body. “Turn around,” he ordered.

You did as he said, turning around so that he could see your body. He walked closer, eyes straight to your breasts. Your breathing increased, watching him look at your body and find you appealing in so many ways. 

He stopped in front of you and leaned down, planting a kiss to each breast. He hummed low in his throat. “I almost can’t make it one more room,” he said.

You grinned. You took his hand while he brought you to his room finally. It definitely looked like him. Nice, clean, but an air of feeling lived in. He had photos of his siblings in his room, some artwork, and his huge bed. It had to be two king sized beds put together. Or maybe it was just your imagination. But you knew that he was tall as hell so he needed a bed big enough.

It was the final room. Kevin led you further in, half closing the door. He trailed a finger across your shoulders as he walked into the room, taking off his green button up. He stood in a blank tank underneath. 

Next went his jeans. He kicked off his shoes and then tugged the rest of his pants off. Now he had dark gray briefs and a black tank on. He looked like the poster child on the packages men’s underwear came in. 

He sat down on the edge of his bed and beckoned you to come closer. You walked closer, the natural swing in your hips making you feel powerful even though you were handing yourself over to this man. 

It felt naughty. It felt kinky. You finally found someone who could help turn your brain off. Someone who made you so hungry with desire that you didn’t notice anything else. You stopped in front of him. 

“Panties,” he said.

A small word but a physical effect on you. You trembled with need while you slipped your panties down your legs. You stepped out of them and tossed them to the side. Kevin’s gaze drifted down your body, stopping at the juncture of your legs. 

Kevin crooked his finger and then you stepped forward, straddling his thick thigh. You whimpered at the pressure to your clit. Kevin grinned, gripping your ass and putting you in the spot he wanted. Somewhere between his knee and his hip, where you were perfectly balanced.

“Let me watch you give yourself pleasure,” he said. It wasn’t a question. More like a soft plea wrapped in a demand. He deferred to your choices while still taking charge. You nodded.

You put your hands on his shoulders and gyrated on his leg, rubbing your pussy on his thigh. He had coarse hair there, but it only served as an extra bit of friction against your pussy. You whimpered more, finding a rhythm that rubbed against it well. 

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he said, that whispery tone tugging on a muscle in your leg. It jumped as you moved your body back and forth. 

You opened your eyes and stared into his while you got yourself off on his thigh. He had one hand on your ass, squeezing every so often while you whimpered and whined. “Come on, let me see you let loose,” he whispered.

You whimpered more, getting closer to the sound of his voice. “Let me see it. Let go,” he continued.

You gripped his shoulders and squeezed your legs, so impossibly close. You gave one final sigh before you did explode, cumming on his thigh. You twitched and jerked, cries escaping from you. 

“Hmm, cum so pretty,” he mused. 

He brought his hand down between your legs, spreading your arousal on his fingers. He moaned at how you soaked his thigh. He rubbed your clit before pushing his fingers inside of you. His fingers searched inside while he brought his lips to yours.

He treated you with a tender but scorching kiss. The kind that made you curl your toes. He nibbled on your bottom lip. You cried out as he rubbed against a deep part inside of you. He flicked his fingers a few more times and you knew that he found your sweet spot.

He mercilessly rubbed it while you sputtered and moaned. You clung to him, hands fisting his tank top. “Shh, don’t fight that shit. Cum again for me,” he said. 

You huffed in a delicious, torturous pain. You were trying. You didn’t mean to fight it, only that you were so turned on. You were afraid that you’d rip apart at the seams and never find a way back to your body.

But you continued to look into his drunken eyes, kissing along your mouth. Till it turned sloppy. Till you couldn’t keep your eyes open a second longer. You felt your orgasm approaching once more. You were still nervous, but there was no holding this one back.

You gave up the fight, letting the orgasm wash over you. You were right. It tore you into tiny shreds. You cried out, twitching in his lap. His other arm came around to hold you still while he continued to finger fuck you.

Your legs shook on him while you rode an intense high. You never wanted to come back down. Reluctantly, you did. Kevin slowed his fingers and then finally brought them to your lips. He painted your lips with your cum and you smelled yourself.

Your pussy clenched and Kevin grinned. He kissed you, licking your essence and sharing it with you. Your tongues mixed and danced. You clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck. 

You made out for some time. Felt like an eternity. Like you spent thousands of years kissing him and it was enough to sustain you. You began gyrating on his leg again. So fucking insatiable for a man of his size.

He pulled back slowly, keeping your lips pressed together for as long as he could. “Never gon’ get sick of that,” he said. “Now I wanna taste it.”

He made you stand up. Then he stood up himself, once more dazzling you with his height. He pushed you onto the bed and commanded you to open your legs. He palmed himself, adjusting his thick bulge, and then climbed onto the bed. He pushed you to the middle so that he had enough room to lay down.

He stared at you while he lowered his mouth to your pussy. The swipe of his tongue made you cry out. You came twice already, both times you jumped out of your skin. But you were greedy for another one. Rewarding him with moans every time he made you feel good.

You couldn��t contain them. He made out with your pussy. Licking before suckling your pussy with his juicy lips. You moaned, grabbing his head and pushing him deeper. He brought his fingers up to finger you again, spearing you with his thick digits. 

“Oh, Kev–” you moaned. “Kev!” 

“Say my name again,” he moaned against your pussy.

“Kevin!” You obliged, thighs tingling. You tensed, eyes rolling to the back of your head. This orgasm was another intense one. Robbing you of breath and sight. You lost control of your body as you spasmed on his tongue. Kevin moaned while he sucked up your essence. 

He stood up, and pulled his fingers from your pussy. He sucked on his fingers and moaned, winking at you. He pulled off his tank and then his briefs went next. His gold chain glinted in the low light. He gathered up some of your slick, rubbing the length of his humongous dick with it.

He was easily the biggest you’d ever taken. Long and thick, he had been hiding an entire monster all night. 

“I’m clean,” he groaned, yanking on his meat. You whimpered, following the motion.

“I am too. I’m on birth control,” you said. It was your turn to wink at him. 

“Let me fill that pussy up then,” he said, groaning as his hand moved quicker. He stopped long enough to gather more, playing with your pussy before leaning back to rub the tip of his dick. 

“Fill me up, Kev,” you begged and laid down. 

He gripped your legs and pushed them over his elbows. He hauled you closer and you yelped. Being manhandled sent a shiver down your spine. He spread your legs wider and then guided himself to your entrance. 

You pushed your hand against his chest as he began to breach. He was so big. If it hadn’t been for the foreplay, this would hurt even more. He chuckled. “You can take me,” he promised.

He pushed against your hand and feeble attempt to slow him down. You hissed as he pushed inside slowly, pulling out and then pushing back in. You grew wetter around him and he groaned as it became easier for him to stroke.

He began to move his hips, rolling into the stroke and you hissed with more pleasure. He filled you up completely, taking him just like he said you would. 

Your teeth chattered as you stared into his eyes, a look of sweet pain on your face, you were sure. You began to whimper, a growing storm deep inside. “I know, I know,” he cooed, continuing to stroke that long dick of his. 

You cried out, his dick hitting your sweet spot. His mushroom head glided against your inner walls and you scrambled for something to hold onto. Your hands found his forearms.

“Kev–” you cried, not enough breath to form his full name. He leaned down and kissed you on the forehead. 

“Be good for me and cum on this dick,” he commanded. 

You bounced on his dick, wetter by the second. He groaned as you slid easily on his dick. “Cum on this dick, cum on this dick,” he chanted over and over, his harsh breath fanning across your heated, sweaty skin. 

“I’m–, oh fuck I’m–” You groaned, throwing your head back while you came. You squeezed the hell out of his dick, holding on for dear life.

Kevin groaned on top of you, his strokes having to slow down while you came. “Fuck, pussy feel even better,” he said. He kissed your forehead again and panted. 

He was still stroking, getting stronger with each slide. “One more,” he pleaded.

Fuck! You couldn’t! It’d been a while since someone tore your ass up. Your solo adventures never quite getting you there that many times. However, underneath Kevin, you felt another stirring. This one was quick. You felt it coming and yet you felt like it’d snuck up on you. 

You convulsed on his dick with loud, whimpering cries. Broken and estranged sounds escaping you. 

Kevin moaned, dropping his sweaty head to your chest. His lips found your nipples and he sucked on them, alternating every so often until they were hard little buds. He kissed along your neck and shoulder, stroking deeper at the closer contact.

You moaned, nails digging into his back. He moaned in your ear while his strokes increased. As if he had been holding himself back earlier and now he could let loose. Now his strokes could turn sloppy and desperate. 

“Finna nut,” he moaned.

“Nut in me, Kev. Please, please,” you begged.

“Beg for this nut,” Kevin hissed, pressing his lips to yours. When he pulled back, you sniffled.

“Please Kev. Please nut in me,” you begged.

Kevin groaned, leaning up slightly and climaxing. Hot pulses of cum filled you and your body jerked, feeling the warm length of him inside you. Kevin pushed his hips in like he was trying to keep his cum inside. Let it soak deep into your pussy.

Kevin’s lips found yours in a sloppy, messy pattern and you licked at his lips, completely spent. He grinned and finally pulled out of you. You moaned as his cum slipped out too. Kevin lowered your legs, pushing them open so he could watch himself drip out.

Satisfied, he gave you a final kiss on the forehead. You sighed, settling into his bed like you were settling against a cloud. He returned from the bathroom with a warm washcloth and cleaned you off. He put it back into his bathroom and then he crawled into bed, turning off the lights beside him.

He was warm, impossibly so. Like a furnace all by his lonesome. You turned onto your side and he snuggled against your backside. “That was incredible, thank you,” he said. He kissed your cheek. 

“I should be thanking you,” you said, with a small chuckle. 

He began to nibble on your ear. “Stay tonight. So I can wake you up to my fingers between your legs,” he whispered in your ear. 

“I can’t say no to that,” you said. You didn’t know the proper etiquette for a one night stand. Were you supposed to dip? Were you supposed to stay? One night stand implied that you weren’t going to see him ever again.

But you wanted to keep seeing him. You wanted to experience this over and over again. The way he established control but still gave you plenty of chances to back out. You didn’t have to make major decisions and didn’t have to worry about anything but receiving pleasure. You were thoroughly hooked and needed far more than that.

“Maybe I should feed you some dick. See how well your mouth takes it. If it’ll be anything like your pussy,” he said. 

Your pussy clenched with his filthy words. Somehow lulling you to sleep. You were incredibly warm. He pulled the covers over you, trapping you with all his heat. 

“So many things I wanna do. Maybe I should tie your hands behind your back and face fuck you until I cum all over that gorgeous face,” he said.

You moaned softly, tiny gasps that filled the quiet space. “Please,” you whispered. You didn’t know what you were begging for. A break? You had so many orgasms tonight, you lost count. More? You couldn’t survive another one at the moment, but fuck it. If you passed out, then you just passed out. 

He chuckled and kissed your cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” you said. You fell asleep with a goofy grin on your face.

Need more Kev in your life? The Secret Kevin Atwater Files | Part 2