#like last time for anyone who wants to follow him^_^

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running to You 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

With a quarter of the oatmeal cookie wrapped up in your purse, you head back home at last. You’re a bit behind but it’s not so bad since you have help. Despite your protests, which recede each time they’re swept over, Steve insists on carrying your bags to your building.

He doesn’t let the subway ride deter him even as you anxiously wiggle in your seat. You sit beside the bags as he stands in front of you. He holds onto the overhead bar as he shields you from the rest of the car. You don’t mind it. Often times you feel like people are watching you. 

Your stop comes and you get up. Steve keeps you from falling back down as a press of bodies pushes by. He takes both bags and follows you to the doors. 

You sigh as you get off. You look at him. “I always get a bit... claustrophobic.” 

“Me too,” he agrees coolly, his eyes scanning the platform. It’s cracked and stained. There’s a faint smell of urine rising from the concrete. “Been a while since I hit this end of the borough.” 

“Hm, yeah. The shop’s a bit further but nowhere closer sells what I need,” you explain. “Used to go further when I worked... for someone else.” 

You shrug. You try not to think about that time. Those memories are not fun. 

You come up to ground level. There’s a man sitting against the brick wall along the sidewalk. You don’t look at him. You used to offer some spare change but stopped after a few mean names too many. You didn’t mean to insult anyone. 

Steve sighs as you carry on down the street. 

“Rough area,” he says as you pass a group of men in hoodies and ball caps. They quiet as you go by. They even turn to watch Steve. 

“Mm, everyone needs somewhere to live,” you shrug. “I don’t go out much anyhow.” 

“I wouldn’t either.” He steps closer, almost protectively, as a slouching man mutters something under his breath. You don’t bother anyone and they do the same. For the most part. 

Your apartment isn’t very far. At the front door, you quickly unlock the heavy grated door and grunt as you open it. Steve gets his elbow against it and pushes it back all the way. He trails you inside. 

“You can leave those with me now,” you say as you approach the end of the staircase. “You came all this way already.” 

“You live upstairs?” He peers up. 

You bite the inside of your lip. “Yes, but only one floor.” 

“I came all this way, like you said. What’s a bit more?” 

You hum. He tilts his head. 

“I’m... bugging you?” 

“No, Steve. I just... I feel bad, is all. I don’t have much to pay you back with.” 

“Pay me back? I’m being nice.” 

“I know but... no one’s that nice. Not even me.” 

“Sure you are,” he shrugs. “Just one more floor, right?” 

You don’t argue. You hop up the steps ahead of him. You’re drained from a day out in public. You just want to get to where you know is safe. 

You lead him to the second floor and pad along the hall. As you near your door, the one next to it opens. A familiar face looks out. Mike sniffs and rubs his dark eyes as he waves and steps out. 

“Oh, hi, Mike,” you greet your neighbour. 

“Was wondering where you were,” he utters dully. His tattoos peek out beneath the thin fabric of his white tank, another traced onto his bicep. “I was knocking—oh, uh, who’s that?” 

He looks past you as Steve stops behind you. 

“This...” you look over your shoulder, “this is my friend, Steve.” 

“Friend?” Mike echoes flatly. “Huh.” 

“I had to go get some stuff. Did you get what I left you this morning?” You ask. 

“French toast,” he grins sleepily. “Yeah...” 

“I made it with the special sugar,” you say. 

“Mmm, alright,” he sways and leans back into his door. “Sorry... I... see ya.” 

He turns and nearly tumbles through his door. It snaps shut behind him. Steve lets out a long breath. 

“He your friend too?” He asks. 

You’re suddenly very self-conscious. You know you don’t live in the best neighbourhood. He must have thought you were better off shopping up at that organic shop. He must be, at least, if he hangs out around there. 

“He’s my neighbour,” you say as you unlock your door.  

You turn to take a bag from him. He stares at Mike’s door. You frown. 

“He’s nice enough.” 

“His arms...” 

“Yeah... diabetic. He takes insulin. Probably his blood sugar again,” you give a sad smile. “My aunt had diabetes too.” 

“Diabetic?” His eyes flick over to you. “Did he say that?” 

“I... I didn’t ask,” you murmur. “I just thought...” 

“You don’t...” he begins then shakes his head. “I think you’re right. He must be sick.” 

You’re quiet. You step forward and take a bag. You turn to put it inside your door. Then you reach for the next. 

“You give him food?” 

“He’s skinny. I have extra,” you say. “Nothing wrong with sharing.” 

“No, there’s not.” He hands over the other bag. “But there is such a thing as being too nice. Being used.” 

“What?” You hug the bag. “No, Mike is... Mike is nice to me. He... he watches out for me. You know. Someone broke the chain in my apartment. I was so scared but he chased them off. Stayed and watched the apartment until I got back.” 

Steve’s brows knit. He looks over again at Mike’s door. 

“You weren’t home?” 

“Luckily,” you nod. 

His eyes spark and his cheek dimples. Why is he upset?” 

“Oh, um, the beard oil. One second.” 

You spin and scurry into your apartment. You put the bag down and rush around the tight space. All your supplies are along one wall on shelves and in boxes, then you have your work station and the package mat. You sit on the floor and pack it all up. It’s like a little factory. You have just enough room for your cot in the corner. 

You grab a vial of beard oil with bergamot and a comb to go with it. You hurry back to the door as Steve peeks inside. He backs up as you do. 

“Here. You can use this,” you wiggle the comb at him. “To work it in a bit better. I’m all out of the evergreen oil.” 

“Uh, thanks,” he takes them in his large hands and examines your hand written labels. “Wow, this looks almost... like it could be in a store.” 

“I do my best.” 

“You’re good at it. You make a lot.” 

“Enough to live.” You assure him. “Steve,” you put your feet together and stand up as straight as you can. “Thank you so much. Really.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“It’s everything to be kind,” you say. 

“You make it easy,” he turns the vial between his fingers. “Can... is it too much to ask for your number?” 

You stare at him then your chest thrums. You clap and bounce on your toes. “Oh! You can take my card.” Once more, you twirl and race into your apartment. You search for the box with your business cards and return to him again. “I had a bunch printed out. A few shops let me leave them there with a bit of product.” 

He accepts the card and reads it. He brushes his finger over the font. He smiles and looks at you. 

“I’ll call,” he says. 

“Sure,” you rock back and forth. “But please, go home and get rest. It’s been a long day.” 

“It sure has,” he agrees. “You do the same.” 

“I will. Once I get this all put away.” 

He chews his cheek then reluctantly backs off. You wait until he turns and starts down the hall. You don’t shut the door until he’s at the end.  

You slide your chain into place, the wood frame still splintered from where it was broken by the intruder. It would’ve been a lot worse if you didn’t have such a good neighbour. Just like today would’ve been so much worse without Steve. 

🎀

Your phone rings. You hold up your hands, wax oily on your gloves. You really don’t want to take them off. You’re just getting into the swing. 

You look around desperately. Huh. You bend and tap answer with your nose. 

“Hello,” you say too close to the speaker. 

“Hey, it’s Steve,” the greeting comes from the other end. “Is this a bad time?” 

“Ummmmm. Not bad. I’m just making some stuff.” 

“Right. You’re busy.” He says. Disappointment laces his tone. 

“Not too busy,” you assure him, speaking up so he can still hear you as you go back to it. “How are you?” 

“I’m... okay,” he drags out. You can hear him moving on the other side. “Long day.” 

You scrape the wax into a tin and level it off. “Long... how?” 

Silence. Then you hear him set down the phone. Something shifts. A chair spring, maybe? 

“Just... I hate being out of the city. I know it’s work but... being far from home. It reminds me... of a long time ago.” He takes a deep breath. 

“You work out of town?” You ask. 

“Sometimes. Most times.” He answers, almost reluctantly. 

“Wow. Well, you must get to see lots of new things. There’s that at least. Even if work is crummy.” 

“That’s definitely the bright side,” he agrees glumly. 

“But you miss your family,” you say.  

He’s silent again. You wait but he doesn’t break it. Oh. Maybe you said too much. 

“Sorry, I hope... hope I didn’t overstep.” 

“No, no,” he says. “No. It’s... I miss my friends, I guess.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Don’t have many others to miss,” he hums. “Anyway, I didn’t just call to complain. The beard stuff you gave me. It’s nice. It smells great and helped soften this up. You know, it gets so itchy.” 

“Really? I’m so happy you like it.” 

“Of course I do. You made it,” he assures you. “I was thinking of shaving. I should. I want to. But, eh. I don’t mind it as much now.” 

“Well, if you do, let me know. I have shaving balm. It’s like aftershave but a cream,” you say. “I’m slowly expanding my men’s products.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He says. 

“If you wanna know about my work, it’s messy! I opened the window. I was getting dizzy,” you giggle. “And it’s not very exciting unless I burn myself.” 

“Did you?” 

“No... not yet,” you laugh again. “I’m used to it. Not too bad.” 

“You do all that in that tiny apartment?” 

“It’s not that small.” 

“Can’t be that roomy. Or safe. Don’t they have building codes?” He wonders. 

“Sure they do but they only enforce them when they know what you’re doing,” you shrug. “I’m just making soap and whatever. I’m not hurting anyone.” 

“I know, it’s just... you could get hurt.” 

“I guess,” you drone. “But, you know, I’m saving up for a real space. Some day.” 

“Some day,” he sucks his teeth. You frown. You know you’re breaking the rules but him reminding you, doesn’t help. This is your livelihood. You don’t have a choice. “What about your neighbours? They don’t care?” 

“Never say anything,” you mutter. 

“What about Mike? You talked to him lately?” He wonders. 

“Sure. He’s cool. He helped carry my laundry back from the machine. It was so heavy.” 

“Helpful,” he remarks. 

“Like you,” you reply. 

He takes another heavy breath. “I’m back in town in a few days. Wanna go find the best cookie in the city?” 

You hesitate. It sounds fun but you can’t really afford all that. “Maybe or... we can just go watch the birds in the park.” 

“Sure, whatever you want, doll,” he groans and you hear that squeak again. “Ugh, I’m all cramped.” 

“I’ll save you a bath bomb!” You offer. “Take a nice hot bath. It’ll help.” 

“I should...” he yawns. “In a bit. Why don’t you tell me what a bath bomb is?” 

“You don’t know? Wow. Okay!” You begin giddily. You don’t get to talk to many people and those you do, rarely care about what you do. 

[syd-djarin]

she's my collar - frankie morales x f!reader

**reupload**

Frankie gets jealous of your handsy boss at your work gala. He’s got an idea to remind you that you’re his (and that he belongs to you). 

tags/warnings: EXPLICIT 18+, newly established relationship, special Max Phillips mention, they're in love!, slight age gap (frankie is 44, reader is 35 in my mind) use of LEASH + collar (on reader), a jealous and possessive Frankie, first big "fight", sex in front of mirror, fingering, a lil rimming/butt play action, eating it from the back, Frankie is a NASTY DOG so he's doing it doggy style, cowgirl position, excessive use of pet names(baby, bebita, etc.) a few sluts sprinkled in, use of spanish, creampie (unprotected p in v sex), healthy communication and healthy relationship dynamics, frankie is a loverboy, love confession

 *reader wears makeup & a dress but isn't really described so use that beautiful imagination! I wrote this with a plus size reader in mind, but NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS are used. No skin tone, ethnicity or race descriptors used, she is YOU.

thank u to my beautiful babes @almostempty, @gothcsz and @myownwholewildworld for being my cheerleaders and for matching my freak! <333

wc: 2.5k

resources: consulted spanish use here by @urmomsgnocchi and here by @myownwholewildworld, inclusivitity in fandom

smut below the cut ;)

“What is it, Frankie? You've been quiet since we hopped on the elevator.” 

“It’s nothing, I promise.”

”You’re a terrible liar,” you lightly tease. “ I know you don’t love crowds, I’m sorry. I should have checked in with you throughout the night…. I was just—”

”its not that—“

”— excited to bring you to the gala, I’ve never had anyone to bring and I wanted to show you off to everyone… oh my god, is the room too much? We don’t have to stay, I just figured it would be late and it was comped by the company so it made sense.. even though neither of us drink I just thought ya know we could have a mini staycation for a night… I mean we made it official like, last month. Fuck, I’m sorry, I mean you had to rent a suit! I—“ you ramble your hands wildly punctuating your thoughts.

You’re overthinking the entire night.

”No, no, s’not that.” He grabs your hand and squeezes three times (for I love you). “I’m happy to be your plus one any time, any place,” he kisses your knuckles. His beard tickles your fingers, making you giggle.

“I….ahem..” he clears his throat. “Was a little jealous,” he admits, looking down at his shoes.

Shame swirls in his gut, deep down, he knows this is just an insecurity rearing its vicious head. He learned the difficult and very hands on way that burying his feelings eventually makes the wounds fester. So, he’s keeping the wounds clean, so to speak. 

“Jealous?! Jealous of what?” 

“I don’t like being the guy who gets jealous when another dude even looks at their partner… I didn’t think I was that kinda guy but…”

“But?…”

 “I don't like that sleazy motherfucker you work with,” 

“Who?”

“You know, the clean shaven douche canoe who kept touching you all night.”

”Max? My boss?”

”Matt, Max, whatever his name is. Didn’t like the way he looked at you…kept putting his hand on your shoulder…”

You’ve had jealous boyfriends before and it's not an experience you’re looking to have again. It has your nerve endings on edge and you feel heat rise from your chest to your face. 

“I appreciate your honesty but I can’t help it, okay? I mean he’s just...like that.”

“So you let him get away with it?” 

“Get away with it??!” You rip your hand from his and scurry to the adjoining bathroom. ”What do you want me to do? I need this job, Frankie.” You hastily start removing your evening glam, using too-aggressive-for-your-face circles with the cleanser, ignoring the way your heart is racing, a bit from anger and a hint of something else...

He follows you, leaning against the doorframe. Even though your back is to him, you know he looks ridiculously hot right now.

“Look… I didn’t mean to be accusatory or blame you. I know it sounded that way and I’m sorry. It's just…”

“Just what?” you avoid his eyes taking advantage of the sudsy wash covering your face. 

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re it for me, baby. I get scared though… of losing you.” 

Frankie has never been this vulnerable before. He's a lot more open and laid back than he used to be, and he’s not shy about telling you how he adores you, all the things he loves about you, the future he sees with you. But candidly speaking about his fears and doubts, the insecurities that threaten to swallow him whole, well, he’d rather be swallowed up by a giant fish. 

Despite the annoyance of his jealousy, you hate to admit you feel your clit jump and the palpitations are no longer from anger, but from arousal.

“I understand. Completely. I have fears, insecurities too… but Frankie,” you sigh, “I don’t like a jealous partner. In my experience… it just escalates and…”

“So you wouldn’t feel jealous?” 

“There a reason I should be?” You feel like you’re going to rip out of your skin. Your attempt to deflect is doing little to mask the ferocity bubbling within you.

“No? I was hoping that us talking about it would, you know...help.” Frankie says, a little softer and a bit more disarmed than his previous words. 

“Well it didn’t help, you just…just pissed me off,” you snap back, so flustered and tumbling over your words, one of your tells that you’re turned on. 

It’s then it clicks for him. He grins wickedly.

“Wanna know what I think? I think you like it.”

“What? Frankie—“

”I think…” Frankie steps closer, crowding you against the bathroom sink. “You like that I’m jealous. I think that it makes your little pussy wet. And you don’t know what to do about it.”

“No, I don’t like it—“ You try turning your head away but his hand finds your chin and turns you back to him.

“It’s okay if you like it baby… Maybe, this is the first time you've been turned on by it, perhaps it's because I'm not one of these fucking dipshits you've dated before... or,  you’re a filthy slut…” he leans even closer, his breath tickling your ear. “I should put you on a leash.”

He beckons you to follow him to his overnight bag. He pulls out a leash and collar made of smooth black leather and adorned with metallic hardware. He must have seen the sites you were browsing clandestinely in preparation of sharing your fantasy with him. He’s so attuned to you, your emotions, your thoughts, it’s no surprise he caught on so quickly. 

You’re dizzy from the emotional whiplash, you were ready to throttle him moments ago and now you need him to fuck you to tears. 

He gently fastens the collar around your neck. “How’s that feel?”

You’re momentarily stunned, your brain desperately trying to catch up. 

“Mírame, bebita,” he turns your head to face him in the mirror hanging directly across from the bed. You knew Frankie would take advantage of the ceiling to floor mirrors adorning the room. 

 “Good girl. keep your eyes forward for me, okay?”

“G-ood,” you rasp out, unable to form any other words.

“Want you to get used to just the collar then we’ll add the leash, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Need your words, honey.”

“Y-yes, Frankie. Sounds good to me.”

He kisses your temple. “Good.”

Frankie’s big hands cup your breasts, massaging them, thumbing your nipples. He’s slow and methodical in the way he builds up the sensations. 

“F—fuck, feels good,” you moan. 

“I love these tits… love the way they feel in my hands, love them in my mouth…” he punctuates his point, slightly pinching and pulling  your hardened nipples. “Hard to keep my hands to myself, especially around others…”

The thought of Frankie claiming you in front of others, especially your boss, makes you moan involuntarily. 

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you? Showin’ everyone how sweet you beg for my cock, how much your pussy drools for it?”

He’s got you on all fours close to the edge of the bed and he’s behind you. 

“Fucking love your ass, baby.” He kneads the soft flesh of your cheeks, spreading you open. Cool air hits your dripping core, goosebumps raising on your skin. 

Frankie lowers his head closer to your ass and spits. He groans watching the trail of saliva drip from your asshole down to your clit. You clench around nothing, desperate to be stuffed full of him. 

“Pussy’s droolin’ just for me, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan. 

Frankie lands a smack to your right cheek. “C’mon, tell me, baby. Tell me who makes your pussy gush like this?” 

“Yo-you, only you, Frankie!” 

He swats your other cheek. “That’s right.”

“Fuck I’ll never get over this pussy,” he growls into you, he licks long stripes from your clit to your soaked entrance, caressing you with his tongue. 

He’s said on multiple occasions his love language is eating pussy. You can’t argue with that. 

He knows how hard to suck on your clit, where you like the tip of his tongue, where you like the broad strokes, when to alternate between all the motions. 

Normally he’d take this part slow too, but the jealousy that’s lodged itself in his chest is still calling the shots. 

“Bet your asshole tastes just as sweet.” he pulls back to give you space to consent. 

“You want to–?” you turn your head to peek behind you and look at Frankie directly. 

“Yeah baby, but only if you want it,” he says, caressing the backs of your thighs. 

“Yes, please.” 

“My pretty girl is sweet too, asking so nicely…tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, okay?”

You manage to you choke out a yes, baby.

He ghosts the tip of his tongue around your asshole, the lightest of pressures, swirling it to ease you into the feeling. 

The new sensation has you reeling, thankful Frankie is focused on your ass more than the way you look in the mirror right now — truthfully you almost didn’t recognize the hazy, ravaged woman staring back at you.

Two of Frankie's thick fingers enter your dripping hole, curling them to hit the spot that makes your legs shake.

"Oh-fuuuuuuck!" You squeal when his tongue continues lapping at your ass and his fingers are hooked, pumping in and out of your pussy. "Please, Frankie I need to come, pleeeaase."

“You filthy girl... you want to come on my fingers?"

"Uh-huh.”

"Show me what you got, bebita. Soak my fingers and I'll put the leash on, c'mon, you're so close I can feel it."

His encouragement, talking you through it never fails to hurl you over the edge. You're warm and tingly all over, breath in shallow pants - the first orgasm with Frankie is always a gentle one that preps you for what comes next. 

 Frankie peppers kisses on your lower back, the back of your thighs, murmuring praises against your skin. Did so good for me, my pretty girl, love watching you come, always wanna make you feel good…

Frankie clips the leash onto the collar. He tugs gently to bring your back to his chest. 

“Feelin’ good, baby?” His lips ghosting your temple. 

“Yeah, s’good,” you slur.

He chuckles - it's adorable how cock drunk you get. 

Frankie taps the thick head of his cock against your clit, sliding it through your lips a few times. 

“Please, Frankie, I need you…” you whine. 

He lands a swat to your ass. “Yeah? And what is it that you need from me?” 

Normally you’d have a rejoinder for him, but your head is hazy and all you want is your Frankie and his big cock inside you. And because you like getting what you want, you play along. 

“Need you to fuck me, baby. I need your cock inside me… wanna be full, please baby…” you whine in a syrupy tone he falls victim to every time. 

His cock bottoms out in one sweet push, your moans harmonize, stars form on the edges of your vision just from the fullness.  

“Fuck, gimme a minute.” He nearly busts prematurely– the pent up feelings, the way your eyes gleamed when he pulled out the collar, the privilege of being vulnerable with you.                                 

You push back against him, seeking friction and movement. This earns you a spank and a tug, pulling your head back so he can groan right in your ear. 

“Needy girl…Balls deep inside you and it’s not enough for you is it? Always a slut for this cock aren’t you baby?” A shiver runs up your spine. Slut is a new one. Must have come with the leash. 

“Yeahhh, I know you like being my pretty slut.”

He begins deep, slow thrusts before picking up a steady rhythm, hitting that spot each time. 

Frankie's been edging you - bringing you so close to release before cruelly and deliciously taking it away. Tears, drool and your juices have drenched the hotel comforter.

"Frankie, please I can't, I need to come, please please, Frankie!" You beg.

He abruptly pulls out of you and situates himself against the headboard. He pulls the leash, guiding you into his lap.

"Wanna watch you cum on my cock...wanted these fucking tits in my face baby," he moans, taking a pert nipple in his mouth. You sink down onto him, every nerve ending in your body on fire - you're already on the verge of release, just from being filled at this angle. 

Frankie's free hand finds your clit and begins calculated circles, all while tugging your head to meet his. Sweat drenched foreheads pressed together, Frankie's hips meet your movements, his hips bouncing off your ass in each thrust.

"I'm close–” you’re dazed, floaty, absolutely wrecked.

“Whose pussy is this?” He growls.

“Yours–!”

“Say it again. Whose fucking pussy is this?” this time louder, more raw than before.

“Yours, Frankie! O-only yours.”

“Again, say you’re mine, baby..” His voice trembles.

 You know he needs this –needs reassurance, and this is his way of asking for it. 

“Only yours, only ever yours–” grind. “forever baby… not–” grind. “Going–” grind. “anywhere…”

“Come for me, show me how pretty your pussy creams for me. Godddddddamnnn baby, fuck—“ Frankie groans. 

If he had to choose how to go out of this world, it would be just like this. 

OhmygodFrankiefuckI’mcomingohfuckohfuck is the jumbled chant that escapes your lips when you soak his cock. He’s mesmerized by the way your pussy lips spread open for his cock, how divinely sinful your pussy looks covered in your cum, how your cum looks on his shaft – creamy rings of your cum adorn his cock. He’d keep it that way forever if he could, a type of lecherous jewelry he’d wear in pride. 

“Cum for me, Frankie, baby it's your turn.”

“Where? Quick–”

“Inside! Inside me pl–” 

“Oh ffffffuuuuuckkk, baby,” he whines as cum spills into you. “Oh, I love you so fucking much…” he declares before burying his face in your neck. He swiftly unhooks the leash and collar before collapsing into each other's embrace, and you wrap around him koala bear style.

I love you so much. 

The first time it's been uttered in your relationship. You’ve both felt it, knew what you both share is a once in a lifetime love, but, both of you bring past baggage. Neither afraid of loving again, but afraid of what happens when you name it as such. It feels silly now that he’s said them. 

You tug on his curls to gaze into his sable eyes. “I love you, Francisco. More than you know.” 

He smirks – the coy and sheepish one he gets when he doesn’t know how to accept a compliment. The irony that he just put you in a collar and rearranged your guts, but is shy about confessing your love to him is not lost on you.  

“Yeah, I get the general idea.” 

“Hmm, maybe if you’re not convinced, I should put you on the leash next time.”

tagging some frankie babes: @hellishjoel @for-a-longlongtime @jolapeno @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @kirsteng42 @studioghibelli @katiexpunk @thedilfdiaries

[kissedlver]

Maybe some jealous/kinda toxic baby daddy Jey where he realizes he needs to change his playboy ways for his baby momma when she starts seeing someone else & some makeup smut following?

Set It Off.

JEY USO X FEM!BABYMOMMA!READER

SUMMARY: Jey tries acting like he doesn’t want a relationship with her but when his baby momma shows up to drop their son off, all dressed up and saying she has a date, something flips.

WARNINGS: Use of real names, choking, spanking, p in v, flirting, semi-toxic, degradation (i think), dirty talk, hair pulling, creampie.

SATURDAY, MARCH 26TH

6:57 PM

JEY’S HOUSE

The Pensacola heat wraps around your body as you and your four-year-old son, Jaylin, stand in front of your baby daddy’s house. The black heels that decorated your feet made your appear a few mere inches taller.

The door abruptly opens before Jey appears in the doorway. The gray in his beard very noticeable as he steps closer to the light.

Jaylin practically jumps from his spot beside you, towards his dad. “Okay baby, mama loves you. I’ll see you saturday.” You squat down to give him a kiss on his head before standing straight up again.

“Hi, Joshua.” You say as you finally look Jey in his eyes. His eyes traveled down your curvy figure, stopping at the way your dress ended mid thigh.

"Where you going?" His eyebrows furrowed slightly as the words left his mouth. "On a date." The slight smile that adorned your face made Josh upset.

"With who?" You rolled your eyes as more questions left his mouth.

"That's none of your business. Now, bye baby. I love you." You say to your son before he runs into Josh’s house. You look at Jey again before going to walk away.

"Answer my question, Y/n." His voice made you halt.

"As I said, Joshua, it's none of your concern." You heard Josh suck his teeth as he rolled his eyes.

You you roll your eyes as you dig in your purse trying to find the keys to your white Mercedes G-Wagon G63.

Jey watches you with folded arms as you try to find your keys. "You going on a date dressed like that?" Jey's tone was annoyed as he spoke.

Your eyes roll as you successfully grab the keys and pull them out of your purse. "Yeah, I am. What's it to you?" You reply back as you start to walk towards the car.

"Who the fuck is the date with?" He was growing more bothered as he spoke. He'd always had a protective nature over you.

You stop in your spot and look at him. "What's it to you? You're not my man. We aren't together, remember?" Your eyebrow raised as you spoke. “You made that abundantly clear after you started fucking new bitches a month after we broke up.”

His eyes roll as he looks to the side as his jaw starts to clench. "That's not the point. I don't want you going on no damn date with random ass dudes."

He takes a glance downward, eyes glued to your curvy body. "And you're dressed like that. Why the hell you wearing the dress you wore on a date with me, Y/N?" He starts walking towards you.

He's now mere inches away from you with that look he gets when he's getting upset. "Who you going with?" he asks again, as he glares down into your eyes

He's towering over you as he stares you down. "Who the hell are you going on a date with. I don't want your ass going anywhere with anyone I don't motherfucking know."

“You not my damn daddy.” I scoff.

A scoff leaves his mouth as he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “No, I'm not. But I'm still the one that you're used to running back to whenever whoever the hell you’re with, does you wrong, Y/N.”

His words made your heart beat faster as he spoke. He's right. You'd ran back to him plenty of times over the last year when guys would do you wrong. Whether it was for sex, someone to cry to or even just to be held. All those times made him protective over you, in a way that he didn't want you with other men.

"So, I'll ask you again. Who are you going out with, Y/N. You look far too good to be going out with just anyone." His grip on your chin is firm, not letting your face look anywhere else other than at him.

It was starting to grow harder to think. Being so close to him again, after not being with him for so long was a lot to take. It was a lot harder to think with his grip on your chin. His touch that you'd grown more than used to, was almost driving you crazy.

"Just answer the damn question, Y/N." He's getting impatient, his tone growing more stern. Despite being broken up, both of you were still drawn to each other like magnets.

“It’s just some dude from work-“ I mumbled.

"Some dude from work? You mean the one that stares at your ass every time I go to pick-up Jaylin?"

His words made your cheeks a little hot as you knew exactly who he was referring to. Mr. Thomas had always stared at your ass every time he was nearby.

His eyes still were locked with yours, his eyebrow raised. "You're going out with that dude? The same one you complained about because of how often he eyes you down?"

His eyes traveled down your body before they came up to your eyes again. “You’re dressed like that, for him?” He was growing more and more annoyed by the second.

"Let me see your phone." His hand still was on your chin, forcing your stare up at him.

You knew better than to argue with him at a time like this. You hand your phone into his free hand, watching as he looks at your lock screen.

The lockscreen was a picture of y'all and Jaylin after Jey had won the tag team titles, making him scoff. "You still got my damn picture as your lock screen."

He scrolls through your phone until he sees the name, Thomas.

He clicks the contact, staring at his name. Seeing his name there, had something firing off in his head.

Clicking the name, he starts looking at your text thread with the man.

Everything he scrolls through makes his blood rush. "You been talking to this dude for two weeks?"

He scrolls through the previous conversations. Flirting, the date planning everything was pissing him off but the very last message is what really had him fuming.

"He said he's excited to see you all dressed up tonight. Bitch said he can’t imagine everything he’s going to do to you." He was gripping your phone tightly as his jaw grew more clenched.

You watch silently as he becomes more agitated as he looks at your phone. His gaze finally snaps to you. "You dressed like that, and he thinks he’s going to touch you. I don't think so."

His hand leaves your chin, now sliding to grab your wrist, and before you realize it, he’s pulling you inside the house with him.

“Josh, what are you doing?” I asked as I feel his grip on my wrist.

“You not going on that date anymore.”

He’s still pulling you along as he continues to walk through the house to the room you used to share with him.

7:03 PM

The room appears to have not been touched ever since you two broke up. He shuts the door behind him, yanking you forward, so you stood in front of him, his hands griping both of your wrists.

“Josh-“ He cut me off. The look in his eyes was intense as he looked over you. “Shut up, ‘cause I don't wanna hear a damn word.”

He pushed you back so you were sitting on the edge of the bed. His grip on your wrists didn’t loosen, in fact, it grew more firm.

He towers over you as he looks down at you. His eyes staring at how the dress was wrapped around your body, showing how curves. “I don’t like the thought of that jackass seeing you dressed like this, Y/N.”

He grabs the fabric and pulls it up so the dress is completely above your stomach. “Not with the way he’s been looking at you for months. Hell, not with the way every guy at that job looks at you.”

“What about Jaylin?” you asked.

His gaze was still glued to your body. “He’s sleep, he’ll be fine. You just gotta be quiet for me, Mama.” He looked down.

The way he was staring at you only grew the butterflies in your stomach. His hand was gripping the fabric of your dress tight, so tight that it looked like it could rip. “You ain’t going to no date dressed like this.”

7:45 PM

“Oh shitt-“ Your back arched off the bed as Jey’s head moved between your thighs.

“Goddamn baby.” The grip on your dress loosened as the fingers on his free hand gently went up your thigh.

The touch of his hands on you felt amazing. You had missed the way he made you feel. He’s been the only one that could make you feel like this.

“You taste so good.” He murmured against your clit before he went back to sucking on it.

“You’d been wanting this, huh? That’s why you were dressed up like this for a date with someone else.” His thumb gently rubs your thigh while his tongue continues.

The pressure on your stomach and his work with his tongue started to drive you crazy as you feel yourself start to edge closer to the climax.

Your hands find his hair as you unknowingly grind against his face.

“Goddamn..” He pulls back a little to look up at you. “Keep doing that.”

The look he has on his face only made the heat between your legs grow more, and the way he was speaking only made it worse.

He moves your legs apart further, his head in between them. His fingers continue up your thighs until they are both sitting around your waist. “Look at how beautiful you look.”

8:27 PM

The sound of skin slapping together was all that was heard throughout the bedroom.

The grip of his hand on your waist held you tight against him. “God you look so pretty when you're all flustered like this.”

His hand moved from your waist to grip your hair. The look of flusteredness on your face only added to the feeling around him.

“I forgot how good you make me feel. Your shit gripping me, mama.” His lips went down your collarbone. He knew that area was sensitive.

“F-fuck-“ You let a moan escape as his lips landed on the sensitive area of your neck. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter as you arched even more into him.

His pace was slow and deep. He wanted to take his time with you after the last year of not having you. He wanted to make up for all the lonely nights. All the nights, he had to look back on videos of the two of you just to get off.

“You know just how I like it.” His voice was soft as he whispered against your neck. He knew how crazy that got you and he was determined to use that against you.

Suddenly, your phone rang out. Jey reached over and grabbed it before you could. He read the caller I.D. seeing that, Thomas, was calling.

He smirked, answering the call, before he places the phone back on the nightstand.

“This my shit, ma?” His grip on your hair tightened as he brought you closer to him. “Huh? You gave my shit to anybody else?”

“N-no Jey. It’s always been yours.” You managed to say as your mind began to grow fuzzy with each thrust he made.

“I missed having you all to myself, looking like this. Just being mine. Being a little slut for me.” His whispers against your neck only added to how flustered you got each time.

The more those words left his lips, the more you just wanted the rest of the world to just go away so you could be like this with him forever. The thoughts of Thomas long gone.

“I swear to God, you get sexier and sexier every time I see you.” His grip on your hair grew a little tighter, pulling your head back slightly as he said the words into your ear.

You felt the knot in your stomach grow tighter as he spoke. The arch in your back slowly broke as you gripped the sheets beneath you harder.

“J-jey- i’m finna-“ I gasped out.

“I know, mama. I’m right behind you.” His pace grew faster as the hand in your hair slowly released its grip.

His hold on your waist also tightened as he started to chase the climax with you, whispering your name softly as if he was trying to burn the memory into his mind, your scent, your taste into his memory.

The thrusts grew harder and faster as both of you get closer to the edge, “Just like that baby,” you were saying as your nails scratched his back, “Please. don’t stop,” he groaned in response, the need to have you was growing.

“Baby, I-“ Your words were cut off as he leaned in to kiss you. He knew how to kiss you, like it was second nature to him, as he continued moving against you.

“Fuck.” His thrusts came to a sloppy pace as he felt his climax approach.

The kiss he was giving you was passionate, filled with a year's worth of pent up emotions. He broke away from the kiss, his forehead now resting against yours, “You gonna take it, baby, huh?” He wanted to hear it, he wanted you to take all of it.

All you could do was nod before feeling the warm substance cost your insides.

“Shit..” You breathed out. Jey slowly pulled out before he plops down on the bed beside you.

Jey reached back over to the nightstand, grabbing the phone again before placing it on his ear. “This my wife, i don’t care what she tells you, shes not going anywhere.” Jey smirked as he ended the call and threw the phone somewhere.

He got up from the bed before he slowly picked you up. He walked over to the bathroom with you in his arms and placed you on the toilet.

9:13 PM

“You mine, ma. You not going anywhere.” Jey said as he kissed your forehead as you both drifted off to sleep.

[digitaldaydreamm]

In unspoken claim how does Rafe react/behave when reader goes on a trip without him? Like on a family only kinda vacation

rafe x childhood friend!reader

head cannons 7

masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° Rafe? When you go on a trip without him? Oh, he’s not having it.

★ The moment you mention you’re going on a family trip, Rafe’s eyes narrow. He pretends like it doesn’t bother him, but he can’t hide the tightness in his jaw. He might say something casual like, “So, you’re just gonna leave me here, huh?” He doesn’t directly tell you it bothers him so you take it as a joke, but his voice and body language scream otherwise.

★ If he thinks there’s any risk of you being around anyone else, even family members he doesn't trust, he’s gonna try to warn you with his usual “look out for yourself, don’t let anyone mess with you” speech. He’ll go as far as giving you all his “good advice” on how to avoid attention from any “guys,” subtly implying that only he should be allowed to have your attention.

★ Rafe will act like he’s fine with you being somewhere else, doing who knows what, but he's also gonna make sure you feel the weight of his displeasure. He’ll sulk a little, ignoring your texts and calls, then hitting you with a sarcastic comment like, “Thought you’d be too busy to text me.”

★ Of course, he’ll keep an eye on everything you post. He'll be stalking your social media without actually commenting—he's just watching, waiting for any guy to pop up in your pictures. If anyone shows too much attention in your comments, Rafe’s jealousy will show. He might start liking your posts excessively, even the ones that don’t need a like. He wants everyone to know that he's present.

★ Rafe may show up unannounced—maybe at your house before you leave for the trip, making sure your luggage is packed correctly, or giving you a “reminder” that you’re not allowed to forget anything (especially him). He's definitely the type to drop by at the last second, looking for any excuse to extend his presence in your life, even when you’re about to leave.

★ If you send him a text or snap from the trip showing you having fun, enjoying yourself, he’ll act like it's nothing, but you’ll know he's salty about it. He won’t admit it, but his responses will be short. “Must be nice” or something equally bratty will follow. If you’re with your family, though, he'll make sure you understand that he’s the one who would’ve made it even better.

★ Once the trip is near its end, Rafe won’t let it go. He might text you multiple times a day, asking when you’re coming back, what you’re doing, and subtly letting you know how miserable he’s been without you. He’s trying to guilt-trip you, just a little. He’s the kind of guy who would tell you that he’s been “bored as hell” or “lost without you.”

★ When you finally return, Rafe will act like you’ve been gone forever, even if it’s only been a few days. The minute he sees you, he might grab you in a tight hug, maybe too tight, then mutter something like “Should’ve never let you go in the first place.” He won’t admit it, but he’s been sulking the entire time. He’ll want to spend the next few days with you, almost like making up for the time he thought he lost. So, yeah, Rafe’s gonna be sulking and maybe a little bratty, but deep down, it’s all just his way of showing how much he cares... in a very possessive way. ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° taglist!! @drewsdirtyslut @rafestoothbrush @vanessa-rafesgirl @dookeyfartt @doublejeon @memoirofasparklemuff1n @sunsetmade @xummer01 @justoxyo22 @maybankslover please lmk if i missed someone or if you weren't meant to be tagged for this series!

[duskbornraven]

Not A Date

Dragging myself out of Animal Kingdom and Chicago PD to get this out in a reasonable time.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!Reader

Contents: Some implications around being widowed, a lot of awkward not date but totally a date energy, no use of y/n, no beta

Summary: After recovering from a surgery someone has a meet up with Jack. Just as a thank you, certainly not a date or anything. This is a direct sequel to this post.

Word Count: 3k

It had been weeks since your surgery. And recovery had been miserable, stuck on a second floor apartment for the first few weeks with the blessing of a very kind nextdoor neighbor who had come to check on you when he got home from work and his days off. Aside from him you had a few friends stop by here and there with news and life updates and bring you food. It had been mostly lonely stuck inside. 

The last week though had been a special kind of hell now that you were cleared to walk on your own and finally regained freedom. But it also meant following through on the invitation. You had opened your contacts to send a message to Jack more times than you cared to admit, even to yourself. He had texted you the night you gave him your number. And you hadn't been able to think of a single thing to text him about since. 

Sure you could have sent him an update on your foot, but admittedly you were sick of sending updates. All you seemed to do while you were stuck home was send updates after appointment  to family and work. You were sick of talking about recovery and retelling the story, especially since you were distinctly not telling anyone about Jack. You did not need everyone in your life demanding to know everything about him in addition to everything else. You hardly knew anything about the man to begin with. And, selfishly, you wanted to have a thing that was just yours while you were in recovery. Something to look forward to that was only between you two.  

You opened the message thread again, took a breath and sent him a text, nothing crazy, just asking if he was free that weekend for that drink. It was hopefully around the time he would be waking up anyway. Which meant you were sure he wouldn’t have time to answer and you could take a breath and remind your stupid brain that you were an adult and not a teenager with a crush on the star quarterback. Then your phone chimed and you all but threw it across the room, the soft ding feeling too loud in your small apartment.  

You took a breath and tapped the power button to see what the notification even was. And there in plain bold text was his name. Unlocking the phone displayed a simple Yes and the typing bubble beneath it. You watched it appear and disappear twice before another message came through. Commons around seven?

You sent back a yes without hesitation. A quick google did show it a good way from your place but not an impossible trek, especially with newly working legs. You had made sure you were cleared to go back to normal activity three times before you had left your last appointment. 

But this was it, in a few days you would see him again and hopefully not choke on your words now that you weren’t heavily drugged or in mind bending pain. Though based on how the thought of just texting him had been a struggle for weeks, you weren’t sure actually seeing him would go much better. 

The rest of the week passed painfully slowly, finishing another series on your to watch list and making sure you kept up with your therapy exercises, managing to ruin your progress was not an option this close to the finish line. Whe Friday hit you felt like your eyes were glued to your phone. And as you were scrolling mindlessly trying to kill time a text from Jack came through. 

Your heart sank for a tiny moment as you tapped the notification, expecting a cancellation, some reason why he actually decided this was the worst idea and he didn’t want to see you again. In reality, it was just a confirmation that you were still good to meet this evening. And of course you were, this was all that was keeping you sane for the last week. You didn’t tell him that, instead you fired off a simple yes. And decided that you needed to start getting ready for the night, getting stiffly to your feet and making your way to the shower. 

Just over an hour later you were hopping off The T at a downtown station, checking your maps app you headed off down the road in the slowly fading evening light. You had to remind yourself to breathe when the bar came into view. Forcing yourself to push through the door it takes you no time to spot him leaned against the bar back turned to you. 

Feeling your heartbeat in every step you walked over to him slowly. About half way across the room he turned enough to spot you over his shoulder. Raising a drink in greeting as you got closer. 

“Look who's up and walking around.” He smiled warmly at you. The dim lights overhead casting him slightly in shadow. 

“And very happy to be out of the house.” You joined him at the bar, squeezing into the space beside him with just enough room to avoid touching him. You were too aware of everything right now, a drink in you knew it would be better. 

“I can’t imagine.” He settled further back in the stool, turning slightly to face you, his knee brushing against your leg, neither of you pulled away right away. “I can hardly handle being home alone as it is. Stuck there? That would be some level of hell.” 

You ordered your go to, from the bartender. Something safe that you knew you would be able to handle. You had already almost died in front of him once, he didn’t need to see you struggle through a night a complete mess. 

“So, awkward small talk?” He asked and took another pull from the bottle. “You already know where I work.” 

“You make it sound like I knew you’d be there.” You nudged his knee with your own lightly. But did indulge him in the usual small talk, where you lived, what you did for a living, hobbies, and pretty much everything that you would normally go over with on a first date. Except this wasn’t a date, it was just drinks. With someone you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

“So medicine was really the only thing that made sense when I got out.” He finished, waving over the bartender for another drink. He pretended not to catch you watching him out of the corner of his eye. “But really I think it was always where I was going to wind up. At least I can’t imagine it any different.” 

Jack was not doing much better than you were being aware of how this looked, how it felt. He kept his drink in hand for as long as he could, just to keep his hands occupied. He was fighting the urge to lean an arm on the back of your seat while you talked. Or to help get the hair out of your face when you only managed to brush it mostly out of the way. 

“That’s still really admirable.” You were starting to feel the flush that always came with a buzz. Your hand landed on his knee, he didn’t pull away. 

“Glad someone else thinks so.” Another pull from the bottle, and another drink ordered. He slid in just a little closer, his free arm resting behind you, not quite touching, but close enough for you to be very much aware of it. 

You were painfully aware that you were both incredibly close, your hand still resting on his leg, the warmth of him radiating through the denim beneath your palm. This close it was hard to miss the details, his freckles, the hint of his cologne, the indentation from a ring of his finger. 

You pulled back from him slightly, leaning back, hands retreating back to your own lap. You looked away quickly, some gross feeling slowly forming. Something almost like shame that felt heavy in your chest. 

Jack wasn't unobservant, even drunk he watched you studying him, enjoying the proximity, the attention on that human level. But he also watched your eyes fixate on his hand still resting on the bar top. Probably see the void where a ring should be. Still should have been, if he was honest with himself. And felt a pang when you pulled away, color draining from your face as your eyes met his again, searching behind the fog of alcohol. 

He had agonized over whether he wanted to take it off all day, he had felt wrong without it, a reminder even more than when he was wearing it. He didn’t break your gaze, he did also lean away from you though, his arm falling back into his own lap. “Should have just mentioned it earlier.” He absently twisted his fingers around the spot where his ring should have been. “I just” He took a breath and another long drink from his beer “I haven’t been ready to take it off.” 

And for a minute you both sat there in this heavy silence, surrounded by the noise and the chaos of the bar. You moved first, breaking the still and the quiet between you like glass. Your hand took his, reassuring and soft. “Then you don’t have to.” 

He took your hand in his and the safe feeling you had first felt months ago washed back over you. You hardly knew him, were just meeting him for the second time really, but you trusted him. It was maybe a little difficult to imagine not trusting someone who, as far as you knew, saved your life. But it was deeper than that, there was just something about Jack that felt safe, safer than most people you knew. 

He pulled his hand away gently, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and retrieving the wedding band. “I couldn’t just leave it at home.” He glanced between you and the ring before slipping it back into his pocket. “But I got this far without it on, a little longer won’t kill me.” 

He paused, a half amused scoff coming from him. “Or maybe it will, you never know.” He caught the way your eyebrows knitted together. “Kidding.” He held up a hand placatingly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Whatever tension was left evaporated as the bartender came to check on the pair of you. One more round ordered and you decided to take the break in conversation to use the bathroom. And while you were gone Jack took the casual liberty of getting the bartender to add your drinks to his tab and close you both out for the night. 

You weren’t gone but he was able to get everything paid by the time you emerged around the corner and slipped back into your seat. Your drink sat waiting and Jack was scrolling something on his phone. A tired smile on his face as he typed out a reply and placed his phone back on the bar top next to him. 

“Welcome back.” He said, glancing down as his phone buzzed next to him. He flipped it over, examining the preview and scoffed before locking it again. 

“Everything alright?” You asked before taking a sip of your drink. 

“I take a night off and people lose their minds, but nothing they need me for.” Another buzz against the bar top, this one he ignored, drink in hand and focused solely back on you. 

“Something crazy happening at the hospital? Some crazy accident?” You turned in to face him. Your knees bumping lightly against his. 

“No, we’d hear about anything new and exciting at a review. This is just” He trailed off looking down at his phone again as it buzzed “Hospital drama.” 

You leaned a little closer, and almost whispered, a conspiratorial smile spreading across your face. “Anything worth sharing?” 

“I will tell you after it’s over.” He half laughed watching your face fall just a little. “I’ll have an update after work tomorrow, probably when I get in actually. I’ll text you an update if you really would like to know.” He checked his phone again and sent off another text smiling a little wider when he set it back down. 

It was embarrassing to admit but the idea of him texting you actually made you blush, just a little. Not that he really seemed to notice, his expression unchanged as he finished his drink, his foot now westing on the bottom rung of your seat, his leg resting against yours comfortably. 

A warm comfortable silence fell between you, just existing in each other’s company for a while. Jack tries his damn best not to stare at you while you finish your drink, occasionally checking his phone just as a distraction. Very aware of where your bodies touched and the warmth shared between them. It had been too damn long since he had felt this, felt connected. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by you setting the drink down on the bar, the finality of glass on wood. “Ready?” He asked, leaning a little away, getting ready to stand. 

“Just have to get my tab settled and I am ready to leave if you are.” You leaned down the bar looking for someone to wave down. 

“No you don’t. I got you.” Jack stretched behind you, doing his best to keep a neutral tone. “Paid when you went to the bathroom.” 

‘But I was supposed to get you, that was sort of the deal.” You protested, trying to maintain a glare while he just smiled back at you completely unphased. 

“Well I guess you’ll just have to take me out again.” He pulled your seat back for you, giving you more room to slide back onto the floor. “And I promise I won’t pick up the check behind your back.” 

“It sounds like you’re asking me to see you again.” Your tone was accusatory but you were also doing a terrible job of fighting off a smile. You let him lead you through the crowd. 

“I am. Assuming you’re okay with that?” He said as the pair of you stepped out into the night air. 

“Yeah, I would like that.” You glanced up at him, it was harder to read him in the shadows of the streetlight but you were pretty sure you could see a self satisfied smirk on his face. “Let me know when you have another day off of work then? I think I have a more regular schedule than you.” 

“I’ll check when I’m in tomorrow, should have some time around the weekend coming up again soon.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, as he spoke, examining the decently busy street, watching the crowd. “Did you take The T?” He added after a beat of silence. 

“Yeah, I’ll have a few stops before I get home, but I’ll be good.” You turned absently to look back up the road towards the station. 

“I’ll walk you to the station at least.” he said, following your gaze down the road towards the distant lights of your stop. 

“You don’t have to.” It was a weak protest. A large part of you was more than happy for an excuse to spend a little more time with him. 

“Come on” And Jack took you by the arm, leading you up the street, letting you fall into line with him after a few steps.

He  lets you slip from his grip, returning his hand to his pocket as you walk. The streetlights overhead casting shadows of the pair of you walking in sync. Your shadow watching his slide silently along the pavement. He watches the people you pass, making sure he’s between you and the road. 

When you pass a group of people he draws closer to you, arms bushing against each other on occasion. At one point he took hold of your arm to steer you well out of the path of a larger group of college students. He watched them until they were well past you and didn’t let go until you were at the station. 

“Keep me updated.” He caught your eye again. “And text me as soon as you're home. Okay? I can wait for you to get picked up if you want.” 

I’ll be fine, text you as soon as I’m back.” Jack lingered, focused entirely on you in the lights overhead. And blame it on the drinks or the warmth in his eyes, you stepped into his space. When he didn’t back away you pressed a little further, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the cheek, your hand on his chest. “I promise.”

As you stepped back his hand caught your wrist. “The second you get home alright?” 

“The second I can see my front door I will let you know.” And he let you go, slowly started to make his way back up the road in the opposite direction. “Jack?” He turned back, just enough to face you, his face half cast in shadow “Thank you again. For everything. I’m glad we got to do this” 

And you saw a flash of a smile in the dark before he responded “You can pay me back by making it home safe this time.” You watched him as he started his walk back until your ride rolled into the station. 

And keeping your promise, the moment you saw your door come into sight you sent him a message letting him know you were home safe, getting another almost instant reply from him letting you know he made it home safe as well. 

And the next evening he kept his promise to you as well, sending you his next free nights for the rest of the month. And a promise that he would have an update on the whole work situation he hinted at when he saw you again, making it sound like there was more to it than he had initially thought. Which if you were being honest with yourself, could not come soon enough.

[donat-senpai]

Yandere Jinshi x chaotic reader

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! tw: Jealousy, persecution Enjoy reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Everything highlighted in purple is Jinshi’s thoughts.

You constantly forget to bow to important figures, trip over your own feet, ask awkward questions... and laugh just a little too loudly. “They keep breaking protocol. I remember every mistake they make, yet somehow... I don’t feel annoyed.”

He finds himself listening for your footsteps. When you're in the corridor — he knows. When you're not — he knows that too. He's started noticing even when you're late by just a few minutes. “I should be focusing on the reports. Where are they? Who’s delayed them? Why don’t I know?”

Sometimes you leave little things behind in his office — a handkerchief, a ribbon, a feather. He keeps them. All of them. Hides them in his desk drawer. Sometimes, when he’s alone, he opens it just to look. “Their scent is almost gone. I should ask them for another handkerchief. Or... make them forget they ever left it here. That way, it’ll be mine.”

His jealousy is subtle. Almost invisible. You laugh with someone else. Thank another man for helping you. Bow just a little lower than usual. Jinshi only smiles. “I’ll remember his face. His name. His position. If he ever hurts them... or if they look at him too often...”

Sometimes you bring him strange snacks: “Try it, you’ll like it!” He doesn’t know where you find them. He doesn’t usually eat food like that — too unusual. But he accepts. Eats every last crumb. “Too sweet. But... if it’s from them, I’ll get used to it. I'll teach my body to crave their taste.”

“You're too perfect. It must be so boring. No chaos in your life at all,” you say with a laugh. “You are my chaos. And you don’t even realize how deeply you’ve already taken root in my life. All that’s left is to convince you to stay.”

Jinshi isn’t watching you. Of course not. He’s merely checking on the state of the garden. As always.

The fact that you happen to be there at the same time — a coincidence. Just like how he knows exactly who you're speaking to, what you're saying, and for how long. The physician needed help gathering herbs. Out of everyone in the inner courtyard, he chose you.

Laughter. Light and clear, like bells in the spring breeze. He loves your laughter. Usually.

Right now — he does not.

Right now, he wants to crush that sound in the throat of the one who drew it out.

Jinshi smiles. He approaches silently.

"Ah, you're here. How fortunate," he says, as if he hadn’t heard their entire conversation.

He doesn't spare the physician a glance. His eyes are only on you.

"I came for you. There's something… important."

You look up at him. Embarrassed. Offering a shy, awkward smile. But you follow, ready to do almost anything he asks. Because here, his word is law.

You belong to this place. To the harem. To his order. To his care. To his gaze. If anyone dares reach for you — they must be ready to lose a hand.

Jinshi gestures for you to go ahead. Once you've disappeared around the corner, he finally turns to the physician still frozen in place.

"In the future, please… delegate such tasks elsewhere." His smile remains flawless. "They are responsible for other, far more important duties. I'm sure you understand. After all, you seem to be a very busy man yourself."

And if not — Jinshi will make sure he becomes one

[slippinninque]

🎙️Wings and Two-Steppin'💐

Elias "Stack" Moore x  supernatural!blackfemreader 

warning: MINORS DNI, 18+, cursing, sensual themes, mentions of sex, mentions of desire, drinking/alcohol, supernatural!black!femreader!(Think earth/forest elemental) , long-fic, vibe fic didn't watch the movie but I have been moved 😅

The night was beautiful and you were finally able to find some good music.

You were somewhere between the moon and stars, the winds beneath your wings playful and thick as it carried you from state-wind to state-wind. When the sound of happy breathing, heavy shoes, and string picking got up to you–you looked for a place to land.

Feeling more and more solid as you traded your wings for paws, you searched amongst the warm little homes for what you needed. There were mothers and children gathered around rocking chairs, reading from a thick book made up of pages that reminded you of butterfly wings. In the yard with the tasty yams, you nipped at the clothes on the line for whichever felt like leaving with you.

Trotting with your prize, you tried to think of how to fit it again. It took a while since you’ve been anything but wild, but you knew some times were better had when you had thumbs. The dress fit good enough and you shook out the bramble shocking cloud and downpour that was your locs and coils. 

The whole time that lively music followed you. You’d reckon you were a few miles off but now that you had feet–you couldn’t keep them from dancing either way. The only time you paused was when you caught sight of your skin, deep and brown as healthy soil and mahogany.

It wasn’t long before you saw the joint, standing and vibrating with all the good time that was going on inside. You lingered at the treeline, mostly behind the leaves as you watched folk flow in and out of its doors. 

The excitement made your tongue tight, you whispered a few of the words you knew by heart to loosen your voice. You've speaking wild for so long, you weren't sure what words were People anymore.

There was a gleam that caught your eye followed by a smooth laugh that made your skin goose. You caught a sweet-husky scent of liquor and honey, caught the edge of maroon vanishing through the side door of the proud structure.

There. That’s where you wanted to be.

Peering around first, you shadowed yourself along the ground. Leaping and hopping to those who lingered outside to enjoy a smoke with the cool air. The last fella was a bit wobbly but luckily he used the wall to steady yourself so you could step off into the dark side of the juke joint. 

It wasn’t very much seeing that got you around, but feeling. You felt along the edges until you were able to bleed beneath the same door your good time went through.

The only problem was that now you didn’t know where you were. Things were put up on shelves and boxes, jars and jars of some stuff made your nose twitch. Looking around, you wondered if there was anything tasty enough to tempt you but all you could find was more of that river-clear stuff in pretty bottles of glass. 

You were running your fingers along the raised lettering, turning to find your prize when you knocked into the softest tree you’ve ever met. 

“Whatchu doin’ in here, girl?”

An unsmiling man looked down at you, plumes blowing from his nose like an angry bull. HIs eyes were like twin obsidian as they skipped over your form. Watching him back, he reminded you of one of those smooth river stones with how pretty brown and blue he was.

You tilted your head and considered his exciting smell. Close, but not quite. Almost-right. 

He raised his brows, waiting for an answer, “Where you comin’ from?”

“Above…”

The man reared back as if you shouted but you only smiled sheepishly at your garbled voice. So maybe you should have practiced a little longer before speaking to anyone. 

The man’s head tilted back at you, he stepped closer to look down at you more closely. When his eyes got stuck on the mess of flowers and moss that was curling up your ankles from where you stood, you wiggled your toes.

Liking the attention, you preened as surely he was taking in the pretty flowers that had begun to bloom along your hairline. 

“Move aside, Smoke.” 

“Annie…”

“Move, go’on.” 

A beautiful woman came from the corner shadows, eyes kind and fixed on you. The man lingered but stepped aside as she said, Annie. She glowed from her center, familiar in the way that the moon was. Turning to her and taking her offered hand, you no longer cared for the almost-right beside you.

This woman smelled like the almost-right but there was the ocean beneath her skin, the yawning night sky beneath her tongue. She reminded you of where you came from.

“What’s it that you need?” Annie asked warmly. Relief washed over you once you realized there was someone who understood. You buried yourself into her, Annie chuckling in surprise as you sighed at the warmth of her. She wrapped her arms around you in a solid hug and it felt like your hearts were doing the same in greeting. 

You looked to the man who watched you more carefully now that you were in Annie’s arms and pointed to his face. Then you pointed out the door, blinking insistently. 

“Ah, I see.” Annie looked over to the Smoke man, “Y’know who she wants.”

“What she gonna do to him?”

 Annie gave your cheek a soft pinch, and raised her brows high as she looked in your eyes. She spoke in a tone that was both kind and stern. 

“She’s gonna take it easy on ‘em and bring him back home like the lady she is.”

Laughing, you reached up and tapped her nose in agreement. Annie Ocean was right, of course, you only wanted to make good use of this form and chase this age old itch of yours. 

There was a whoop of applause from the other side of the door you saw beyond Annie. Sounds like the music was changing from the jovial, upbeat twang to something that made your hips swim. Smoke Man and Annie Ocean exchanged a few more words you didn’t care to hear as you heard the beating hearts and lungs of the crowd on the other side. When you went to take a step, Smoke Man took one as well to block you.

“Hol’ on now.” He held up a hand then took away a pair of old boots that Annie Ocean found in the corner. She came to take your hands as Smoke Man knelt down to help your feet into the boots. Your nose wrinkled but it was clearly a stipulation, but when Annie wrinkled hers back in jest–you laughed.

Smoke Man muttered about something being fucking wild as he stood from doing up your laces.

“Should hold for now.” He tipped his hat to you then looked to his woman. Annie took your hand into her arm, like a sister in wings, and escorted you towards the door. Before she opened it, she leaned in to steal a bloom from your hair and say,

“Have a good time y’hear me?” 

You gave her a wide grin, a kiss on the cheek, then set out into the joint. 

In there, apparently it didn't matter that you weren't dressed so smartly or didn’t speak. You found yourself being held and spun, shot up and thrown over backwards. There were big wide hands that held onto your hips, full lips brushing against your ear. Slender, pretty hands holding onto your shoulders to show you how to watch their feet.

You had a sip of something from someone’s cup and it lit you up. Lightening water, you called it. 

Inside the deep river of bodies that waved and lapped at each other, you lost yourself. Black and Brown, beautiful, so full of joy and of life. The scene settled like good supper in your stomach. It wasn’t long before blooms were bursting from between your toes and soles, stuffing until your boots were a perfect fit.

After being away from a body like this for so long, trading your wings for feet, dancing was like discovering how to laugh all over again. You felt the eyes you wanted on you from different corners of the room. Getting closer and closer still, remaining just out of reach just to admire you. 

That gleam, though. Settled in between a winning crew of teeth, you couldn’t ever shake your interest in the things that shone. There he was, right there and all wrapped up in that want that you could smell from beneath the canopy of desire and lust blanket over the juke joint. 

It’s funny how he looked just like the Smoke Man but in the way that the hot, clay sands meet cool blue waters. This man smiled like he didn’t care if you said his name or not, he walked towards you like he only wanted to know yours, this man was just right. 

A hand took yours, leading you to the shore of the back wall. You still saw a kaleidoscope of smiles and felt the cascade of the crowd's previous caresses. A big hand took hold of your jaw. You gasped as you looked into familiar, smoldering eyes.

Finally...

“Now, I see every face that come up in here–why didn’t I see yours 'til now?”

Shrugging, you looked into his mouth at those pearly whites and gold caps. It was tantalizing to see, you’ve never seen a smile like that before. Mr. Just Right dipped his head to catch your gaze again, chuckling and offering his name as Stack. 

“What can I call you, honey?”

You batted your eyes at him and looked down the fine line of him until you took that hand of his. He watched you, working the toothpick settled in the corner of his mouth, as you raised his hand to the column of your throat.

You sighed as your eyes closed briefly at the feeling of his stuttering heartbeat. When you opened your eyes again, you pouted slightly and whispered as softly as you could,

“Can’t…riGht…”

Stack’s expression straightened in understanding, “Can’t talk right?”

“Hm!”

Stack returned your affirming nod and stepped a little closer as he took a good look at you. He seemed to shrug himself, thumbing through the bits and pieces of buds “A’ight then, hone–shieet, or should I call ya’ flower?”

He could call you anything. Stack seemed to get that’s what the smile that dawned across your face meant. Unashamed, you leaned up to get a whiff from the source. Praise be. If it weren’t for Stack’s hands on you, surely you’d have melted around the soles of his fancy shoes. 

Where Smoke man and Annie smelled like each other and ray-warmed clouds and deep underwater songs– this man smelled like something else. 

Promises and butterscotch. Deep, hums and humid yearning. 

You gave him a warm hug and then you found yourself being swept off your feet as he spun in a slow circle. The bristle of his beards scratched at your skin as he nuzzled and you had to bite your lip to keep from kissing him.

“We ever met befo’?” he whispered in your ear once he put you down. 

Again, you gave him a shrug. It’s possible but you haven’t found all your memories yet. Stack swapped that toothpick to the other side of his mouth, tongue rolling it there real slow and taking your attention with it. Your fingers twitched. 

Stack took one of your hands, his other kept on your waist as he led you in a lazy semi-circle. In the cradle of his arms, you made a noise you didn’t know he could hear beneath the music. While you had your land legs now, you still watched your feet. 

“Why does it feel like you’re talkin’ to me?”

Because you wanted to so badly. You don’t know how well Stack man could smell, but he had to have a way of knowing you wanted him too…right?

You reached up with your free hand, to run the tip of your finger across Stack’s bottom lip. Shivering when the tip of his tongue brushed your skin as he carried the pick away from your touch–your eyes widened when he folded the pick into his mouth fully. 

Stack chuckled, showing the pick again before reaching up to flick it away. Your eyes followed, tempted and amazed by the little magic trick, and Stack took the chance to glance over to where he knew his twin was watching.

Smoke was pouring something into Annie’s glass, sparing a single nod towards the door before turning back to his woman.

“Hey lil’ flower, I gotta say I’ma bit peckish,” Stack surprised you by pressing kisses to your cheek the spot beneath your ear, “You, uh, gonna share some nectar with me?”

“Hmm…”

You leaned up and returned a kiss to his cheek, the both of you nuzzling for a moment more before Stack cleared his throat and asked if you ever rode in a motorcar before.

It looked like morning time, Stack didn’t know from the strange way light came through his motor’s windows.

He went over to press a kiss to your cheek, wanting to wake you up with another sweet, when his lips met looseness..

Reality hit him fully as Stacks opened his eyes to the sea of flower petals and downy feathers he was submerged in. Digging through them in a stupor, Stacks could only find your dress and one of the too-big shoes that you wore the night before.

He brought the dress up to his nose, the dove-white fabric now a cascade of hues that matched what you left him.

Stacks looked out to the windshield of his motor, he was still parked outside. The two of you never made it inside? No, that’s right. He remembered your kisses and the strange, intoxicating noises you made when Stack had his hands on you. When he put the car into a standstill, you crooned his name and parted for him so eagerly…

In the back of his mind when Stack was still staring down at the crown of flowers bobbing in his lap, Stack thought he should have brought you to bed. You were the type that was too good for the back seat of the motorcar but holy did you make good due with what you had. 

His eyes closed as heat seeped into his belly. You wrung him dry, all of that softness meaning anything but coyness as you rode him with a syrupy smile on your face. Stack got you back, giving it to you as kept a hold on your face to keep those pretty eyes on him as they rolled. 

Pretty, peculiar noises spilled from your bitten lips and it really felt like you were seeping nectar into his lap. How you looked at him reverently and ran your fingertips and tongue over the gold and silver in his mouth.

Stack picked up handfuls of the petals and watched as they fluttered back into the mass. He…didn’t dream of peeling roses from your skin and the dewy sweat beneath. You must have really untangled a vine of the finest tasting green grapes from the curtain of locs from the nape of your neck.

Stack didn’t know what the fuck you were saying between his name but it felt like…promises. You were so sticky, so sweet–

What were you?

His vision focused some more and he saw who was sitting on the porch. Stack cursed, sitting back in the floral bath and tried to get his head together.

 It didn’t sit well that he didn’t get to wake up with you, that he didn’t get to say goodbye, that he cared to…

The sun crawled a bit higher and the sudden company didn’t leave long enough aside to get some coffee. The second mug caught his attention and finally Stack got out of his motor. As best he could without letting the petals out, Stack closed the door up behind himself to be dealt with later. He fixed clothes up and ran a hand over his face to chase away the left-over sleep then set forward. 

If she was here, then his brother was probably inside cooking up something and to tell Stack how thick his skull was. He grumbled a bit to himself at the thought of his brother and his wife just waltzing past him as he slumbered away as pretty as a princess.

Lord...

Annie sat on the last porch stair, setting that second mug down beside her in invitation. Smoke sat down, gingerly, once he felt the ache in his legs and lower back. He huffed a little at her knowing side-eye.

They sat in silence for a moment. Stack looking at the trailing and dancing petals, following a feather until it flew high enough up into the air to vanish into the awakening blue of the sky.

“She ever gonna come back?”

“I reckon she will.”

Stack gave Annie his own look and she only shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t know when but she will. I’ve seen her before, once or twice. Goes all over, I think, but she lives here.”

“You even know for sure? Met anythin’ like her befo’?”

“She's a joy. She’s in every part of life, every bit of the world.” Annie put a hand on his shoulder and used the other hand to gesture to the petals that had not blown away yet, “You’ll see her again soon. Knowing how you are, especially. You might end up being her favorite.”

Hope quickened his heart. Stack took a sip and before he could ask his next question, the call of a bird overhead caught his gaze. 

The sound was familiar enough to loose the incredulousness feeling in his chest, shifting it to wonder and anticipation as he watched that bird settle high within the cover of a nearby willow tree.

-------------

✨ending notes✨: I....don't even know exactly what this is but I'm happy it's here! 🤣I haven't seen the movie yet but I've been seeing nothing but good things and this is what the vibes left me with. It's a bit long so thank you so much for reading until the end! 🥰This ended up sweeter than what I thought it would be though lmao! tell me what you think and give it a reblog! ✨💓✨💓✨💓

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[inkytoru]

gojo satoru stood in the middle of the arts and crafts aisle of the store, deep in thought, much like a child agonizing over what color to use in their masterpiece.

he held up two crayon boxes from different brands. but neither seemed to have the particular shade of blue he was seeking.

“may i help you, sir?” comes a polite and genial voice somewhere to his left. satoru looks down at the employee approaching him as he suppresses the tears that begin to sting at the back of his eyes.

the day gojo satoru met you was in kindergarten. you were quiet. shy. always trying to make yourself smaller.

and your big eyes would water with cries of “satoru stop!” every time he’d tug on one of your pigtails. all the other kids like him that came from higher-income families would laugh, poking fun at you for the hand-me-downs you’d wear, and for the way you were such a sensitive soul, crying over damn near every little thing.

“crybaby, crybaby, crybaby!” they would tease, satoru amongst them. but when another boy—who satoru can’t be assed to remember the name of anymore—tried to become your bully and take you away from him? he’d felt something he had never felt before: possession in its early, immature stages.

he didn’t like the way this snot-nosed kid would poke and prod at what was his; he’d clench his small fists and glare as hard as a kidnergartner could at who he was convinced was his first true enemy in life.

satoru learns how to vindictively use his jujutsu at the age of six. little would anyone know that the way the bully would have a basketball conveniently hurling at his head was not by chance, or the way his shoelaces would mysteriously be untied was of satoru’s doing. no one would believe this ghost of his that he swears followed him around and haunted him.

one day, at the end of recess while all the other children had filed inside, you were crossing the elementary school’s playground with your battered but beloved toy plush in hand. unbeknown to you, your bully lied in wait around the corner, only darting out to trip you before taking your most prized possession. from afar, satoru seethed to himself— the nerve this dummy had!

with his narrowed six eyes, he forced the kid to take a stumble to the asphalt himself, an even harder fall than the one he gave you. he’d burst into wails and fat tears that would attract the teacher, but while the fuss was on him, satoru discreetly flings your toy back to you with his technique. afterwards, he was going to head in himself until he freezes in place, feeling your curious eyes on him.

“you did that, didn’t you?” you half-whisper in awe.

satoru shrugs, feigning innocence.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

for the first time ever, you give him a toothy smile that he swears makes his heartbeat skip.

you give him a smile before running back inside. he stands there, staring after you.

the next day, you bashfully come up to him, and he could tell it was no easy feat. you averted his cerulean gaze as you handed him a crumpled piece of paper, mumbled something about the color of his eyes, and then scampered away. satoru looks down at it.

drawn on the paper were what looked like the both of you holding hands with wide drawn smiles on your faces. he took notice of how it was entirely and crudely drawn in striking blue crayon— a hue much similar to that of satoru’s eyes.

he could feel his heart swell at the crooked letters he could just about make out on the back that read:

“thank you toru!”

you’d warm up more and more, little by little to him in the coming days; but every time you brought up his good deed, he’d shake his head and continued denying any involvement. but you knew better.

by high school, you had both become the best of friends. satoru never really grew out of the crush had on you, and if you had any feelings for him back, you never showed it. but that was okay with satoru, because you two had come from different worlds— and he never wanted to drag you into his.

summer of your last year together in high school comes, and you finally reveal to him that you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

satoru could feel his heart shatter and his world begin to crumble when you tell him.

he could never forgive the way you had hid this secret from him for years, nor the way your hospital trips and doctor visits would become more frequent in the following year, the last year he’d spend with you.

“thank you ‘toru… for all these years,” were your last words to him.

humanity’s strongest trembles as he holds that same crinkled, now time-worn paper in his hands. he quickly wipes the tears that spring forth from his eyes before they could splatter onto the scribbled lines and memory you had left him with.

he wishes he could’ve treated you better. he wished he could’ve been strong enough to confess. he wishes that being the honored one meant he could’ve saved you from something even he couldn’t have prevented.

satoru picks out the closest blue shade he had found to the one you used to draw you both. with shaky hands, he draws a halo and a pair of angel wings around your figure. a sob lodges itself in the back of his throat, somewhere between the what-if’s and should’ve’s.

it was a little far in color, and that reminded him of how far you were now, in a distant world where curses didn’t exist.

where gojo satoru didn’t exist.

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X Reader)

Part One

PART TWO

Natasha's hands skillfully fly across the keyboard at one of the computers as she types in code after code, likely bypassing any security and downloading the files to her drive. Her eyes flicker around the screen, taking in whatever information she sees. Cap remains by the door, keeping watch for anyone who might try to sneak up on all of you.

"I believe I've found her file but it's quite large Cap." She doesn't take her gaze from the screen as she reads through the first page. "We'll have to wait until we get back to the compound to read through it more thoroughly but I can at least figure out the basics now."

"The basics are all we really need right now." He responds, glancing at you before returning most of his attention to the doorway.

Your nerves grow slightly knowing that they'll be reading through everything that you've been through at some point. Your life up to this point hasn't been the prettiest and it's not exactly something you want anyone else knowing. You know you don't have much of a choice though.

"Let's see..." Natasha squints slightly as she reads over the small writing on the screen. "Says here that her name is (Y/N) (L/N) and that she's roughly twenty-five years old." She pauses, clicking a few times as she likely searches for the more important information. "Ah, here we go. Her ability is called 'Cursed Speech'. Apparently whatever she says pretty much happens. That explains the muzzle."

The man seems intrigued with this as he finally moves away from the door to come read over her shoulder. They both remain silent, not giving you any clue as to what they're reading. Your eyes flicker between them and the door, nervous that someone can come through now that they're not keeping watch.

Thankfully, once the files are completely downloaded they both step away, Natasha grabbing the drive before turning towards you. "Let's go." She jerks her head in a motion to signal that you need to follow them once again.

The three of you exit the server room- Cap leading followed by you and then Natasha taking up the rear. You're pretty certain the formation is both to keep you from bolting and to also keep you protected should anyone show up. You're not complaining either way since you're not being left behind this way.

They lead you down many different hallways without ever once second guessing if they're going the right way. The man must have one hell of a memory if he's able to remember his exact route that he had taken. It's even more impressive knowing that everything's backwards since he's going the opposite way. If it was you, you would've already gotten lost. If the two abandoned you, you'd never find your way to an exit or even back to your room.

Cap goes around one last corner before finally reaching a large metal door at the end of a corridor. It must be the door they entered through since the locking mechanism appears broken allowing him to swing the door open effortlessly. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sudden brightness before slowly opening into a squint. You've forgotten how bright and intense the sun can be after spending so long in barely lit rooms. While the light is a bit much, the warmth from it spreads pleasantly over what little skin you have showing.

You don't get much of a chance to bask in it as Natasha grabs your upper arm, tugging you along until you're boarding a jet that has a few others on it. You have no idea who any of them are but they all seem wary and confused at your presence. You probably look insane with how you're dressed but there's not much you can do about it.

Natasha pushes you down into a seat before clasping a buckle over your lap and moving towards the cockpit. You watch her go before turning to take a better look at the other people around you. The first one to draw your attention is a rather nervous looking gentleman with dark hair that has speckles of gray in it and glasses. His hands rub together as he likely tries to push his nerves away but you can tell from the way he keeps glancing at you that your presence isn't helping.

The next person you examine is a man with sandy colored hair who seems to be looking over his quiver of arrows. Every now and then his gaze will move from what he's doing to you yet his face remains neutral, not letting you know how he feels or what he's thinking at all. Next to him is a young female with long dark hair and a pretty red jacket. Her gaze hasn't left you a single time since you've gotten in the jet though it looks more like she's looking through you rather than at you.

Cap is the next person you look towards, finding him standing tall with his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he has a hushed conversation with the last person in the group- a man sporting red and gold armor. Caps brows are furrowed as he talks, showing that he's thinking quite hard about something. The man in armor seems a bit more nonchalant as he nods along to whatever is being said while at the same time scrolling through a tablet. Their voices are too quiet for you to hear what they're saying so you turn your attention away.

The man with the arrows sends one last glance your way before putting his things away and moving towards the cockpit. Shortly after he disappears from sight the jet whirs to life as it lifts from the ground. Your stomach flips as you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you're no longer on solid ground. The idea of traveling extremely fast while hovering thousands of miles away from the ground is unnerving, especially when the last time you experienced it was long ago. Nobody else seems to be bothered by it except maybe the guy with glasses but he just seems anxious in general.

"Why's the chick dressed like Hannibal Lecter?" Someone finally speaks up, breaking the tense silence. You keep your eyes closed as you listen but you're able to tell who asked based off of the direction the voice came from. Only two people were standing off to your right and you already know what the one sounds like which narrows it down to the man in armor.

"That's what I'd like to know." Cap sighs as he glances over to you. "Nat and I managed to get her files so we can go over them all together once we return to the compound."

"Let's just hope she's not a cannibal." Armor man mumbles which earns him a slight scolding from Cap. The rest of the ride is silent after that which you're somewhat thankful for. You hate listening to people talk about you. You'd much rather sit in complete silence regardless of how tense or awkward it is.

After an unknown amount of time, the jet finally lands at what you're assuming is the compound. You're led off of the flying death trap as soon as the back of it is open by Cap who has a firm grip on your shoulder. Despite your curiosity, you keep your gaze locked to the ground, not wanting to show interest in your new prison. The entire walk is quiet as Cap takes you into a building and down many hallways before finally stopping at a room.

Entering, you're met with a single metal table and chair sitting right in the middle of the room. The two way mirror on the wall confirms that it's an interrogation room. Cap releases his grip from your shoulder as he orders you to sit down. Doing as you're told, you watch him exit without another word. He's probably going to check your files before bothering with questioning you. It's the smart thing to do, after all.

Taglist: @desiree-lee @seventeen-x

[iamquiantrelle]

ROSY DELUSIONS •────── iamquiantrelle

# pairing: eduardo camavinga x black reader (spring has sprung series)

# tags: @irishmanwhore @kj77 @oceanfanatic06 @snowseasonmademe @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @thepointlessideas

# summary: Eduardo has always been her best friend—the one constant in her life, the person who knows her better than anyone. So when she starts gushing about a new guy she’s dating, he does what any good friend would do: listens, smiles, and pretends it doesn’t bother him. But the more he hears, the more he realizes—no one will ever know her like he does, no one will ever care for her the way he does. Maybe she’s blinded by the idea of something new, or maybe she just doesn’t see what’s been right in front of her all along. Either way, Eduardo is done playing the role of the best friend. It’s time for her to see him in a different light.

"Celmi," you called, letting yourself into his apartment with the key he'd given you last year. "You home?"

Music was blaring – some Afrobeats track he'd been obsessed with lately – but no response came. Typical Eduardo, lost in his own world again.

You followed the sound through his ridiculously spacious Madrid villa, finding him in the kitchen, dancing while making... something. His dreads were pulled back in a messy bun, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, completely oblivious to your presence as he stirred whatever concoction he was working on.

For a moment, you just watched him – this 6'0" professional footballer with all the grace in the world on the pitch and absolutely none in the kitchen. Eduardo Camavinga, your best friend for the past three years.

You smiled, remembering how it all started...

Three years earlier

"That's the last pair in a 10," the sales associate said apologetically, pointing to the sneakers another customer was currently examining.

You groaned internally. You'd been waiting for this release for months, saved up specifically for these limited edition kicks. And now some guy with dreads was holding them, turning them over in his hands like he wasn't even sure he wanted them.

"Excuse me," you said, approaching him with what you hoped was a friendly smile. "Are you planning to buy those?"

He looked up, surprised, a grin automatically spreading across his face. "Yeah, they're the last in my size."

"Your size is a women's 10?" you asked skeptically, eyeing his considerably larger feet.

He laughed. "Men's 9. Same thing."

"So you know they're unisex?"

"Yeah." He looked confused now. "Why?"

"Because I've been waiting for these for months, and they're my size too." You tried to keep your voice even. "And it kind of looks like you're not even sure you want them."

"Who says I'm not sure?" His accent thickened slightly with defensiveness, French undertones becoming more pronounced. "I want them."

"You were looking at them like you were debating."

"I was admiring," he corrected. "Big difference."

The sales associate looked increasingly uncomfortable. "Perhaps we can check other stores—"

"I was here first," the guy said, not rudely but firmly.

"By like two minutes!"

"Still counts."

You weren't typically confrontational, but something about his easy confidence, the way he seemed to expect things to just go his way, made you stand your ground.

"Do you even know what makes this release special?" you challenged.

His eyebrows shot up. "The Air cushioning, the limited colorway, and the fact they're the first collaboration with—"

"Okay, so you know your stuff," you conceded. "But I'd still rock them better."

A surprised laugh escaped him. "Bold claim."

"I can back it up."

Something shifted in his expression – amusement, maybe respect. "Tell you what," he said, "why don't we—"

But you never found out what his solution was going to be because a small crowd had gathered now, a few people whispering excitedly, one teenager nudging another.

"It's Camavinga," someone said, and suddenly you realized why he looked vaguely familiar.

The guy – Eduardo Camavinga, apparently a football player based on the reaction – looked mildly annoyed at the interruption. The sales associate, sensing a potential scene, stepped in.

"Perhaps both of you could try another location? We can call ahead—"

"Keep them," Eduardo said suddenly, handing the shoes to you. "But only if you let me buy you coffee and explain why they'd look better on me."

You blinked, thrown by the unexpected offer. "You're asking me out?"

"I'm suggesting a debate over coffee." His grin was back, somehow both confident and boyish. "Unless you're scared I'll convince you."

"In your dreams," you said, but you were smiling now too. "Fine. Coffee. And I'm keeping the shoes."

"Deal."

Present day

"Yo, Celmi!" you tried again, louder this time.

He spun around, wooden spoon in hand, face lighting up with that infectious smile that hadn't changed since that first day.

"Shit! When'd you get here?" He turned down the music with his free hand. "I'm making that Angolan dish my mom showed me."

"It smells..." you searched for a diplomatic word, "interesting."

"Shut up, it's gonna be fire." He pointed the spoon at you accusingly, spattering something red on the floor. "You're just mad I didn't warn you I was cooking."

"Last time you 'cooked' we had to order pizza at midnight because whatever you made was straight trash."

"That was different. I was experimenting." He turned back to his pot, adding something that looked suspiciously like way too much spice. "This is a family recipe."

"Uh-huh." You dropped onto his couch, kicking your shoes off and making yourself at home like you always did. "How was training?"

"Good, good." His voice carried from the kitchen. "Carlo says I'm starting against Valencia."

"Look at you! Starting two matches in a row?"

"Don't sound so surprised!" He peeked around the corner, pretending to be offended. "I'm kind of a big deal, you know."

You rolled your eyes, but the pride was evident in your voice. "Yeah, yeah, superstar."

This was your rhythm with Eduardo. The easy banter, the comfortable silence that sometimes fell between conversations, the way you could show up unannounced and it was never a problem. He was your person – the one who'd held you through breakups, celebrated your victories, listened to your fears at 3 AM.

Just friends, you always told people who assumed otherwise. Just really good friends who happened to spend most of their free time together. Who occasionally fell asleep on each other's couches, or sometimes in each other's beds after movie marathons. No big deal.

It hadn't always been this easy. After that first coffee – which turned into lunch, which turned into exchanging numbers – you'd been wary. Not just because he was a professional footballer, but because guys who looked like Eduardo Camavinga rarely wanted to just be friends with girls.

But that's exactly what happened. Texting turned into hanging out turned into a genuine friendship that surprised you both with its depth and ease. He wasn't what you'd expected from a football star – he was goofy, thoughtful, surprisingly deep when the situation called for it.

"So," he called from the kitchen, "how was your date last night?"

Right. The date. The reason you'd actually come over.

"About that..." You sat up straighter, excitement bubbling through you. "I need to tell you everything."

Eduardo appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "That good, huh?"

"Celmi, he's amazing." The words tumbled out, enthusiasm impossible to contain. "Like, seriously amazing. We talked for four hours and it felt like minutes. He's smart and funny and he does that nonprofit work I told you about, the one with refugee kids?"

"Sounds perfect," Eduardo said, returning to his pot. "What's his name again?"

"Karim. He's Algerian-French, grew up in Lyon." You followed him into the kitchen, perching on a counter. "And get this – he doesn't even care about football. Like, at all. Didn't even recognize me from any of the team events I've been to with you."

Eduardo's stirring rhythm faltered slightly. "Wow. A unicorn."

"I know, right? No awkward questions about getting him tickets or introducing him to the team." You swung your legs, caught up in the excitement of someone new. "We're going out again tomorrow night."

"Fast work." He glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his features. "Must really like him."

"I think I do." You paused, watching him cook. "You okay with that?"

Eduardo looked up, surprise evident. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You seem..." You gestured vaguely. "Weird."

"I'm good." His smile returned, bright as ever, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just focused on not burning this."

"Need any help?"

"From you?" He laughed, the tension dissipating. "The girl who set pasta on fire?"

"That was one time!"

"One time is enough when it comes to kitchens." He bumped you with his hip. "Go sit. Tell me more about Mr. Perfect."

So you did. You told him about Karim's work, his travels, his ambitions. You told him about the restaurant he'd taken you to, tucked away in a corner of Madrid you'd never explored. You told him about the easy conversation, the lingering touches, the goodnight kiss that promised more.

And Eduardo listened. He always listened. Stirring his pot, adding ingredients, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just letting you talk. It was one of the things you loved most about him – how he gave you space to process out loud, to explore your thoughts without judgment.

By the time dinner was ready – surprisingly edible this time – you'd exhausted the topic of Karim. The conversation shifted to Eduardo's upcoming match, to the latest drama with his teammates, to the movie you'd both been meaning to watch.

Normal. Comfortable. Exactly what you needed after the nervous excitement of a promising date.

Later, sprawled on his couch watching the film, your head in his lap while his fingers absently played with your hair, you felt that familiar contentment that only came with Eduardo. The ease of being with someone who knew all your stories, all your quirks, all your flaws, and liked you anyway.

"Celmi?"

"Hmm?" His eyes didn't leave the screen, but his fingers continued their gentle movement through your hair.

"I'm glad I have you."

Now he looked down, his expression soft in the dim light. "You always will."

Something in his tone made you glance up, but his attention was already back on the movie, his face revealing nothing.

Just friends, you reminded yourself. That's all this was. All it had ever been.

No matter what your heart sometimes whispered in moments like these.

______________________________________________

Eduardo was used to being watched. On the pitch, every move scrutinized by thousands of eyes. In public, the subtle recognition, the whispered "isn't that...?" But nothing compared to the intensity of Aurélien's stare across the training facility locker room.

"What?" Eduardo finally asked, pausing in lacing up his boots.

"You're doing it again," Aurélien said simply.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you pretend you're fine but you're actually dying inside." Aurélien dropped onto the bench beside him. "She went out with him again, didn't she?"

Eduardo sighed. Of course Aurélien would notice. The man missed nothing, on or off the pitch. "Third date tonight."

"And you're still playing the supportive best friend?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Aurélien's voice dripped sarcasm, "maybe tell her how you feel? Crazy concept, I know."

Eduardo shook his head, returning to his boots. "It's not that simple."

"It literally is that simple. 'Hey, I'm in love with you, have been for years, please stop dating this random guy and date me instead.'"

"I'm not in love with her," Eduardo protested automatically.

Aurélien's eyebrow rose in perfect disbelief.

"We're friends," Eduardo insisted. "Best friends."

"Best friends who practically live at each other's places? Who call each other first with every piece of news? Who fell asleep cuddling on my couch at the last team party?"

"Friends can cuddle."

"Celmi." Aurélien rarely used his middle name – that was your thing. Coming from him, it felt like a warning. "You're not fooling anyone but yourself. And maybe her."

Eduardo stood, needing to move, to escape this conversation. "Even if you're right – which you're not – she's clearly into someone else right now."

"Someone she's known for what, a week? Versus you, who she's known for years?"

"Exactly! Years of friendship. Years of her seeing me as just Eduardo, her buddy, her pal." He grabbed his water bottle, frustration building. "If she was going to see me differently, don't you think it would have happened by now?"

Aurélien shrugged. "Maybe she's waiting for you to make a move. Maybe she thinks you only see her as a friend. Maybe she's dating this guy precisely because she thinks you're not an option."

That gave Eduardo pause. Could it be possible? Had there been signs he'd missed, opportunities he'd let slip by?

He thought back to the countless movie nights, the way you'd sometimes fall asleep against him. The time you'd gotten sick and he'd stayed up all night, making sure your fever didn't spike again. The way you lit up when he entered a room, even if you'd just seen him yesterday.

No. He couldn't let himself hope like that. Couldn't risk the friendship that meant everything to him on the chance that maybe, possibly, you might see him as more than just good old reliable Eduardo.

"I'm not having this conversation," he decided, heading for the door.

"Coward," Aurélien called after him, but there was no heat in it. Just concern.

Eduardo ignored him, pushing through the door onto the training pitch where he could lose himself in the game, in the physicality and focus that left no room for complicated emotions.

But even as he ran drills, as he practiced passes with mechanical precision, his mind kept circling back to you. To how you'd sounded on the phone this morning, excited about tonight's date. To how he'd forced enthusiasm into his voice, offered advice on what to wear, promised to be waiting for the full report tomorrow.

Playing the role of the supportive best friend while something inside him cracked a little more each time.

Maybe Aurélien was right. Maybe he was a coward.

Or maybe he just knew that some risks weren't worth taking, no matter how much the reward might be.

_______________________________________________

"He's taking me to Barcelona next weekend," you said, scrolling through train options on your phone. "Just a quick overnight trip to see some art exhibition he thinks I'll love."

Eduardo nodded, trying to look interested rather than irritated. It had been two weeks since your first date with Karim, and somehow the guy was still around, still apparently perfect, still taking up more and more of the conversation every time you and Eduardo hung out.

"Sounds fun," he managed.

"You okay?" You looked up from your phone, brow furrowing with concern. "You've been weird all day."

You were at his place again, ostensibly to watch the match replay from yesterday's game, but you'd spent most of the time talking about Karim. Eduardo couldn't even blame you – new relationships were exciting, all-consuming. He knew that. He just hadn't expected it to bother him so much.

He thought back to the one serious relationship you'd had since he'd known you. That guy from your work, Adam or Alex or something. That hadn't bothered him nearly as much. But then, that guy hadn't been taking you to Barcelona or perfect in every way. That guy hadn't felt like a real threat.

"Just tired." He forced a smile. "Big match yesterday."

"You were amazing, by the way. That assist? Chef's kiss." You demonstrated, fingers to lips, then outward in appreciation.

"Thanks." His smile turned more genuine. You never missed his matches, either in person or on TV. Even with New Perfect Boyfriend in the picture, you'd still been there yesterday, cheering from the friends and family section.

"Seriously, Celmi. You're playing at another level this season."

"Finally getting the minutes I deserve," he joked, but the praise warmed him. You'd always been his biggest cheerleader, right from the beginning when you barely knew offside from a corner kick.

Two years earlier

"Wait, explain it again?" you asked, forehead creased in concentration as you watched the replay on his TV.

Eduardo fought a smile. You were so determined to understand football, despite having little natural interest in the sport. All because you wanted to be able to talk to him about his work, to share in the thing that mattered most to him professionally.

"He's offside because when the pass was made, he was behind the last defender." Eduardo pointed to the screen. "See?"

"But he wasn't when he got the ball."

"Doesn't matter. It's where he was when the pass was played."

"That's a stupid rule."

"Maybe. But it's the rule."

You threw a handful of popcorn at him. "Your sport is complicated."

"Says the girl who tried to explain the blood pressure notes to me for an hour last week."

"That's different. That actually makes sense."

He laughed, pulling you against his side without thinking. "You don't have to understand it, you know. I don't mind explaining."

"I want to, though." Your head found his shoulder naturally. "It's important to you, so it's important to me."

Something warm unfurled in his chest at your words. That was the moment, looking back, when friendship started shifting into something more – at least for him. The realization that you cared enough to learn about something that didn't interest you, simply because it mattered to him.

He'd never told you that, of course. Some things were safer kept to himself.

Present day

You set your phone down, giving him your full attention. "For real though, something's off with you. Talk to me."

This was the problem with someone knowing you too well. Nothing stayed hidden for long.

"It's nothing," he insisted. "Just... stuff on my mind."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Team stuff. Family stuff." He shrugged, avoiding your eyes. "Nothing important."

You studied him for a long moment, clearly not believing him but also not pushing. That was another thing about your friendship – knowing when to press and when to give space.

"Well, if you want to talk about it," you said finally, "I'm here."

"I know." And that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? You were always there for him, just as he was for you. The perfect friendship. Exactly what he'd always told himself he wanted.

Until suddenly, inexplicably, it wasn't enough anymore.

"Actually," he said before he could stop himself, "there is something."

You sat up straighter, giving him your full attention. "I'm listening."

Eduardo took a deep breath. Now or never. "This thing with Karim..."

"Yeah?" Your expression was open, curious.

"Are you sure it's what you want?"

Your brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He struggled to find the right words, to express the feelings he'd been fighting without revealing too much. "You barely know him. It's all happening so fast."

"That's usually how dating works, Celmi." There was a hint of amusement in your voice, like you thought he was being overprotective. "People meet, they click, they spend time together. Normal shit."

"I know that." He ran a hand over his dreads, frustration building. "I just... I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Who says I'm going to get hurt?"

"No one, it's just... guys like that—"

"Guys like what?" Now there was an edge to your voice. "You don't even know him."

"Exactly! And neither do you, not really. Two weeks isn't enough time to know someone, to trust them with—"

"With what, Eduardo? My heart? My body? What exactly are you worried about here?"

You were getting angry now, and he was making a mess of this, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"All of it! He's moving so fast, with the Barcelona trip and everything. What's his rush?"

"Maybe he just knows what he wants." You stood, gathering your things. "Like I do."

"And what's that?"

"Someone who sees me as more than just a friend. Someone who wants to be with me and isn't afraid to show it."

The words hit like a physical blow. Was that how you saw him? As someone who didn't want you that way? Who only saw you as a friend?

"That's not fair," he said quietly.

"No? Then what exactly are you saying, Eduardo? Because it sounds like you're telling me I shouldn't date anyone you haven't personally vetted."

"That's not—"

"Then what? What's your problem with Karim? With me dating him?"

"I don't have a problem with him!" The words exploded out of him. "I have a problem with it not being me!"

Silence fell between you, heavy and sudden. Eduardo's heart pounded in his chest, the confession hanging in the air, impossible to take back.

Your expression shifted from anger to confusion. "What?"

Too late to retreat now. Eduardo stood, moving toward you with a determination he usually reserved for the pitch.

"I said, I have a problem with it not being me. Taking you to Barcelona. Planning stuff for you. Being more than just your friend."

You stared at him, shock evident in your features. "Celmi..."

"I know, I know. Terrible timing." He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to say it like this. Or at all, maybe. I don't know."

"How long?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Eduardo sighed, the fight draining out of him. "I don't know exactly. It happened so gradually. One day you were just my friend, and then... you were everything."

You sat back down, looking like you needed the support. "Why didn't you say something? All this time..."

"Because what we have is good. It works. I didn't want to risk it for something that might not."

"That wasn't your decision to make alone." There was hurt in your voice now. "You never even gave me the chance to—"

"To what? Let me down gently? Tell me how much you value our friendship?" His laugh held no humor. "I've heard that speech before. Didn't particularly want to hear it from you."

"You don't know what I would have said."

"Don't I? We tell each other everything, remember? If you'd felt something, anything beyond friendship, I think I would have known."

You stood again, moving toward him now, something determined in your expression. "You don't know everything about me, Eduardo Celmi Camavinga. Not if you think I've never thought about this. About us."

His heart stuttered. "What?"

"You think you're the only one who's ever wondered? The only one who's ever lain awake thinking about what it might be like if things were different between us?"

"But you never said—"

"Neither did you!" You were right in front of him now, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes, the slight tremble in your lips. "We were both too afraid of ruining what we had. So we just... stayed safe. In this comfortable friendship where we could have almost everything without risking anything."

Eduardo's mind was racing, trying to process what you were saying. Had you really felt the same way? For how long?

"And then Karim came along," you continued, "and he was straightforward about what he wanted. No guessing, no reading between the lines. It was... refreshing."

"So you do like him." The realization settled like a weight in his chest.

"I like the clarity." Your hand came up to rest on his chest, right over his heart. "But Celmi... it's always been you. Even when I tried to convince myself otherwise."

Time seemed to stop as Eduardo processed your words. You'd felt it too. All this time, while he was playing the role of the supportive best friend, you'd been harboring the same feelings, the same fears.

"So what now?" he asked, hardly daring to believe this was real.

"Now?" A small smile played at your lips. "Now you should probably kiss me. Before I change my mind and go back to the guy who was brave enough to ask me out in the first place."

Eduardo didn't need to be told twice. His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with a gentleness that belied the storm of emotion inside him.

"Bossy as always," he murmured, earning a laugh from you that he captured with his lips.

The kiss was everything he'd imagined and nothing like he'd expected. Familiar, because it was you – the same you he'd hugged a thousand times, the same you whose head had rested on his shoulder during movie nights. But also entirely new, a revelation, a beginning.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, the look in your eyes was worth every moment of uncertainty, every pang of jealousy, every fear he'd battled to get to this point.

"I should probably cancel that Barcelona trip," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

"Probably," he agreed, pulling you closer. "Or we could go instead. I know this great little spot near La Rambla..."

Your laugh was warm against his chest. "Always competing."

"Only when it matters." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "And you matter more than anything."

It wasn't how he'd planned to tell you. Wasn't the perfect moment he'd sometimes imagined. But as you stood in his living room, wrapped in each other's arms, Eduardo knew that sometimes the best things happen not according to plan, but according to heart.

And his heart had always belonged to you, his best friend, his person, now something even more precious – his everything.

_______________________________________________

When Eduardo told the story later, he always ended with the shoes.

"She still has them," he'd say, arm draped around your shoulders. "Never wears them though."

"They're collector's items now!" you'd protest.

"They're shoes. They're meant to be worn."

"Says the guy with fifty pairs he keeps in boxes."

"That's different." He'd press a kiss to your temple. "Those are investments."

"These are memories," you'd counter.

And he couldn't argue with that. Those shoes – the ones you'd almost fought him for in a boutique three years ago – had changed everything. Had led to coffee, to friendship, to love.

Had led to him finally seeing what had been right in front of him all along.

[ramp-it-up]

Muse: Three

Muse: Two | Muse Masterlist | Muse: Four

Summary: Three's the Charm. Or the Curse.

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader

Word count: 3.8 K

A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 Big thanks to @princessphilly who basically inspired the premise and then endured me being feral in her inbox. This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. Here I go again. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Angst and Toxicity. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, toxic situationship, 2 am calls, phone sex, late night texts, 4 am confessions, mean reader, oral (m receiving) rough sex, implied impact play, some guy named Steve ;), masturbation and daydreaming, feelings are flying around, but no one is trying to catch them.

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

The third time wasn’t planned either.

You’d been at a rooftop party in Tribeca, his neighborhood, sipping tequila from someone else’s glass and pretending the skyline made you feel something.  You'd been in Europe for 10 days, all work and no play (well maybe some good wine and good times), and now you were home, dressed to kill and hunting for absolutely nothing.

Not looking for anyone. No one at all.

You wore the kind of dress that made men stutter and women stare, all curve and cling, and a slit so high it epitomized the phrase ‘serving cunt.’ But matter how good you looked, the vibe was off. You were already halfway out the door, bored and buzzed, when your phone lit up.

—-

Someone mentioned to Ari that you were there and his heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t missed you. Not exactly. But you still lived in his bloodstream like a toxin.

Ari: I need to see that O'Keefe, because I’m thinking about how to pitch your pussy wing to the Whitney.

You smiled before you even meant to.

I’ll bring it over.

—---

His place again. Different vibe. Same tension.

He opened the door in a low-slung pair of sweats, shirtless, hair a mess like he’d either just woken up or spent the last hour trying not to text you. You crossed the threshold and flowed into him, your face winding up in his hands.

“You’ve ruined me,” he muttered against your lips.

“Good,” you whispered, sliding your hands down his chest. “I want you cracked open.”

The sex was a war. Bodies tangled, breath was stolen, teeth were at throats, and Ari’s hands left prints on your body that you begged for.

He pulled your hair. You bit his shoulder. Nobody relented.

But after, he asked the question neither of you you were supposed to ask.

“Why’d you really come?”

You glanced at him, a mess with your mascara smudged and your lips bruised. Ari thought you were beautiful.

“Because I was bored.”

It was a lie. But you said it like it was the truth.

Ari nodded once, no smile this time, “Fair.”

You sat up, pulling on your panties slowly. His eyes followed every movement like they always did.

“This is still just sex, Ari.”

“I know.”

You stood. Winked. And didn’t kiss him goodbye.

“Call me when you’re lonely enough to forget that.”

“I always am,” he said, voice low.

You almost turned around. Almost. But you walked out like you didn’t hear it, like your body wasn’t already aching for a fourth time.

Ari listened for your knock longer than realistic, his cock hard again for you and his chest a little hollow.

He knew the game. But the way you left wasn’t detachment.

That was art.

—----

2:14 a.m a week later

Your room was lit only by the glow of your phone You were still dressed, heels kicked off by the door, satin sheets tangled around your legs.

You weren’t drunk. Not really. Just restless. You were annoyed from a night full of people who said nothing interesting, and from hands that didn’t hold a candle to his.

You’d danced. Laughed. Almost let some stranger kiss you. But the whole time, Ari sat in your chest like a slow-burning ember you couldn’t snuff out.

So you called.

Not a text. Not a DM. A fucking call. 

You didn’t even know why you called. He’d sent you his number weeks ago, and you hadn’t used it, only messaged him through the app. He followed you on Instagram and you added him just the week before.

Now he had your number, in more ways than one. He answered on the second ring.

“Muse,” his voice was thick with sleep and something else, something like relief.  “Didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

You paused and bit your lip.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same.”

“So you weren’t surprised?”

“I’ve been waiting for this call since last week.”

Silence. 

“You alone?” you asked.

“Always.”

That word sunk into your skin. Deeper than you wanted it to.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Then don’t,” he said, voice dipping low. “Just tell me what you need.”

You closed your eyes.

“I need to cum.”

Ari groaned softly. You heard rustling, sheets, maybe his hand already brushing over himself. That sound went straight between your legs.

“Are you touching yourself yet?” he asked, voice all velvet and gravel.

“Not yet. I want you to tell me what to do.”

“Fuck.” His breath hitched. “Okay. Take off whatever you’re wearing.”

You did. Slowly. Phone cradled against your shoulder. Cool air kissed your bare skin.

“Now what?”

“Lay back. Spread your legs. I want your fingers where I’d put my mouth.”

Your stopped breathing. He wasn’t even trying to play it cool anymore. His voice got rougher and more unhinged with every erotic instruction.

And you followed each one like a commandment.

He talked you through it, exactly how he’d taste you, hold you open, and suck you until you sobbed. The way he’d pin your hips down and lap up every drop. The way he wouldn’t let you come until you were begging for it.

You could almost feel how hard he was, how close. You were both panting, moaning, and lost in the fiction that felt more like fact. His voice was your undoing.

“Say my name,” he growled, right as the orgasm hit.

And you did.

“Ari...Jesus.....Ari.”

He came right after you, a deep groan that sounded like he’d been holding it in for days. Then silence again. You were the one to break it this time.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughed softly, wrecked.

Fucking Muse.

“No. Of course not. Just helping each other sleep.”

“Sure,” you murmured. “Just sleep.”

You didn’t hang up. Neither did he. You both stayed on the line. Not talking. Just breathing.

Until eventually, you fell asleep to the sound of him doing the same.

—-----

The next morning. You woke up to sunlight, a dry throat, and a notification.

Ari: Slept well?

You smirked. Stretched. You were still tingling from the night before.

You: Obviously. I sleep like a baby after I cum that hard.

Ari was undone. Hard as a rock at the news that he’d done his job. His job. Christ.

Ari: Then I’m a humanitarian. The UN should give me a medal. Nobel Peace of Ass.

You laughed into your pillow and typed back.

You: Don’t get cocky. You weren’t inside me and I did all the work.

Ari: You like doing the work. I’ve seen how you move when you’re on top. Still think about your pussy clenching around me. Fuck, you’re like a vice. An extremely wet, silky vice.

You stared at the screen for a second, jaw tight, heart a traitor.

You: You’re replaceable, you know.

A lie.

Ari: I know. You’ve had others. But none who make you call first.  And no one else knows the sound you make when you’re trying not to moan.

You left him on read. An hour. Just to remind him you could.

—----

Later. Another ping.

Ari double texted. This was a problem.

Ari: Wearing anything dangerous today?

You: Pencil skirt. No panties. Dangerous enough?

Ari:  The image I just got is illegal in 14 states. I’d risk all of them. Wanna see what you’ve done to me?

You almost said yes. Almost sent a pic yourself. Almost. Instead…

You: Ari, this isn’t a thing.

Ari: If it wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t have called me last night. And I wouldn’t still be thinking about all the ways you said my name.

They all destroyed me.

Your heart pounded irrationally.

You: You’re starting to sound attached.

Ari: More like, intrigued, like I’m staring at a painting I can’t afford but still keep coming back to.

That one hit. You didn’t reply. Not because you were uninterested, but because you were too interested. 

And if he ever knew how often you reread his messages, he'd own you.

—-------------

4:07 a.m.

You woke up for no reason. Your phone was lit up on your nightstand with one notification.

Ari: You’re asleep. I know. Just needed to say this somewhere. You don’t have to respond.

You blinked. Stared. Something in your stomach coiled tight. Three dots blinked. Disappeared. Blinked again.

Ari: I lied. I wasn’t just intrigued. I’m fucking haunted by you.

You sat up, chest tight, throat dry. He kept going.

Ari: The way you looked in that dress. The way you laugh. The way you can leave like it doesn’t cost you a damn thing.

Ari: I don’t want to be a thing to you. But I want to be the thing. And I know you don’t do soft. But fuck, I’d let you break me slow if it meant I got to keep you a little longer.

Five minutes and you didn't reply. You couldn’t. Then he sent another text.

Ari: Ignore this. Delete it. Pretend I was drunk.

Then…

Ari: But if you feel anything close to what I feel….Say something.

You stared at your screen like it might explode. You felt everything and hated that he knew it. Why did he have to know you so well?

You: You shouldn’t say things like that at 4 a.m.

Three seconds later, Ari responded.

Because you said something.

Ari: It’s the only time I can’t lie to myself.

You closed your eyes. Goddamn him.

You stared at his last message until your eyes blurred. It was too much. And not enough.

Your first instinct was to shut it down.

You: You shouldn’t say things like that at 4 a.m. I’m not your salvation. I’m not built for soft landings. I will hurt you.

You hit send. Then tossed the phone aside like it burned you, but it buzzed again and you grabbed for it.

Ari: I’ll take the bruises.

You closed your eyes. God, why him? He was the one that would be your undoing. You hesitated before answering, your thumb hovering over the screen. Then you just did it.

You: …come over. Leave your feelings at the door.

Ari: Halfway there.

—----

Ten minutes later, you opened the door. Ari didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

His eyes were already on your mouth, immediately hypnotized. You grabbed him by the collar, dragged him in, kissed him hard and pushed him down on the couch.

You both knew this wasn’t just sex. But neither of you was ready to admit it.

“Your turn,” you murmured.

And then you dropped to your knees.

Ari froze. He hadn’t expected this. Not from you. You hadn’t sucked his dick. Not even once.

Not for lack of interest; he’d dreamt about it. Fantasized. But he never asked. 

And now, here you were.

On your knees. For him.

His mouth went dry. His dick didn’t. Not even close.

“Muse…” his voice cracked, hands fisting the couch, knuckles white.

You didn’t answer. You lifted your arms and unbuttoned his shirt like he was a gift you were unwrapping. Your fingers traced over every line of muscle. He hissed when he realized this was really happening.

“Muse…you’re killing me.”

You leaned in and kissed his chest, tongue snaking out over his nipple. And he let you. You slid his shirt off, fingers brushing his triceps like you knew what made him weak.

“Shhhh,” you whispered. “’M busy.”

Ari’s head fell back on the couch as his blazing eyes watched you. He was utterly undone. 

“Yeah, I can see that…”

With his shirt off, you kissed across his pecs, then shifted to lick and kiss each of his ribs and over his abs, sinking lower onto your knees. Ari was going to blow all over your face, and not on purpose.

“Oh god…”

“Woman at work here. Trying to focus.”

“Fuck. I am focused.. Focused on you…I just…”

You unbuckled his pants and once free, his cock bobbed in front of your face, completely erect and begging for your attention. 

You looked up into his blue eyes, almost too soulful to look at.

“Looks like someone missed me,” you said.

Then your mouth was there, hot breath ghosting over his cock. He was already painfully hard. You hadn’t even touched him yet and he was halfway gone.

“Been too long,” he muttered. He hated himself for how true that was.

You raised a brow. 

“We helped each other sleep yesterday. Fucked a week before that.”

He met your eyes. His were dark now, pupils blown so wide that the blue had almost disappeared.

“Like I said. Too-- fuck!”

He gasped as you stroked him, him up and down gently, then teased the tip, then slid down again, hands working his balls like an artist.

And when you reached out to lick his tip, Ari forgot how to breathe.

“What were you saying?”

“Fuck, Muse… I need…”

He was done speaking when you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his dick. In fact, he stopped talking altogether. All that came from him were a series of moans and goans, as you worked him over with your tongue and your lips.

His hands found your hair, grasping gently at first, and then with increasing intensity as you bobbed on his cock. 

You relished every moment, the visceral nature of it. At one point, he tried to pull you off, but you weren’t having it and instead took him deeper, forcing your throat to relax and take more of him.

“Oh my god. I… I’m going to cum.”

His fingers tangled in your hair. Not to guide you. Just to anchor himself. Because it was you. On your knees. For him. And he couldn't stop watching. Couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream.

You worked him over like it was your job, like you were mad at him for not begging for it sooner. And maybe he was mad too, at how good it felt, at how much he needed this, needed you.

At how it made him feel something close to being worshipped. By you.

“Oh my god, I… I’m gonna…”

You didn’t stop.

You just looked him in the eyes and took him deeper.

And he came apart at the seams.

His muscles tensed, and it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite.

It was a raw, guttural sound that settled between your legs like a brand. 

He groaned your name, hips jolting, and you took it all. And did what you never did. 

You swallowed.

Ari watched, chest heaving, sweat dotting his temples as you sat back on your knees and wiped the corners of your mouth as if you were casually adjusting your makeup.

Ari stared at you.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, woman.”

You tilted your head mock-innocently.

“Was it to your satisfaction?”

Ari didn’t answer, just lunged, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto the couch easily. Then he threw one of your legs over his shoulder as he mouthed at the soft skin on your thigh.

You breathed his name just the way he liked, “Ari…”

“You didn’t think I was done, did you?”

You smirked. “Not even close. You did say it’d been too long.”

His look said exactly how long it’d been.

The talking stopped. The fucking started.

And this time, it wasn’t war, it was surrender. The kind that left you both trembling. That kind that left marks you wouldn’t find until morning.

And in the moments after, when your chest was on his, both of you soaked in sweat and breathless, you whispered just loud enough for him to hear:

“Say anything like that again, and I’ll ruin you.”

Ari, still high off the taste of you, decided to be a smart ass.

“Promise?”

But he knew he couldn’t let you tear him apart forever.

----

The next afternoon, your limbs were sore in that satisfied way, and the ache between your thighs left a lingering reminder that you’d had that kind of night. 

One that left you wrecked, wired, and craving more. You stretched slowly and let the memory hit you like a second wave. 

The way he’d looked at you while his fingers worked you open. 

The way his voice slid against your skin when he called you beautiful. 

The way he owned every inch of you without a single promise.

Ari wasn’t there. But you wanted him to be.

That’s what really fucked you up.

Because you were the one who never wanted more. You were the one who always left first. 

But something about Ari’s touch had lingered. It wasn’t just the sex, though fuck, the sex was enough to ruin you. It was the way he looked at you. That was worse.

Those blue eyes were steady and unbothered, and entirely too knowing that you were far from indifferent towards him.

And that was so inconvenient.

You padded to the kitchen, naked and still wearing the imprint of his hands. Every step reminded you of how thoroughly you’d been fucked.

God, he was so good at that.

Coffee brewed while your thighs ached, the good kind of sore. You checked your phone.

No messages.

Good.

No expectations. No complications. 

Just a memory of the way he’d groaned your name, the weight of his body pressing on yours, the deep, slow thrusts that opened you up in the most delicious way. The way his fingers had curled around your throat, not to choke, just to hold. 

Ari's voice in your ear, You like this? Like being used by me?

He knew the answer to that. So did you, but you’d never admit it.

You sat down on the edge of your sofa, legs falling open instinctively, your fingers trailing down the inside of your thigh. 

You weren’t going to call him. You told yourself that.

Swore it.

But if you closed your eyes, you could still feel his mouth between your legs, dragging your orgasm out like it was a performance piece. You remembered the way his tongue had written his name on your clit, the soft hum in his throat that said he was enjoying it more than you were.

Your lip caught between your teeth as your fingers slid lower, slick and ready, your body already betraying you.

All for Ari, even if he wasn’t there.  

You pressed down, finding that rhythm, that pressure, that perfect place where pleasure bloomed behind your eyes.

Your head fell back. You imagined him there. On his knees. Worshipping. That beard scraping your thighs, his hands holding you wide open.

Your fingers moved faster, hips tilting, breath breaking apart in gasps as the edge closed in.

Ari. Ari. Fucking Ari.

You came with a quiet cry, hips jerking, legs squeezing together as your body pulsed around nothing. No cock. No hands. Just the ghost of him and your own damn fingers.

And when you came down from it, breathless and alone, you muttered to no one: 

“…Fuck.”

—----

A couple hours later, you wandered through the grocery store, hair up, face clean, but dressed in a scowl that was meant to intimidate. You told yourself you just needed coffee, but you knew better. 

You lingered too long by the fruit, fingers brushing over waxy apples, mind elsewhere entirely. When the cart bumped into yours, you looked up impassively.

“Guess I owe you an apple,” a deep voice said.

You glanced up. Tall. Handsome. Short brown hair, clean shaven, fit. Handsome.

He looked safe, the kind of guy who’d text the next morning. The kind of guy who’d ask what you were doing this weekend.

He placed an apple in your basket, a charming little peace offering.

“I’m Steve, Steve Kemp.”

You turned the apple over in your hand, feeling the weight of it, the simplicity.

“Smooth,” you said, lifting one brow. “That line usually work?”

He grinned, leaning in just a little, enough to close the space between strangers.

“Only when the person looks like they’re about to run away.”

For a second, it tempted you, the ease of it. A new face. A clean slate. The comfort of something safe. But you didn’t want safe. You didn’t want easy.

You wanted…something from someone you wouldn’t admit to yourself.

You wanted the weight of a body pinning you down, the sharp scrape of a beard on your thighs, every inch of you being owned. And although you could tell him to try to replicate that, this guy wasn’t it.

You set the apple back on the pile, giving the stranger a soft, practiced smile.

“Not in the market,” you said, and walked away without looking back.

Your body was still beholden to the memory of someone else.

—--

Across the city, Ari sat at his desk, contracts open, untouched. You lived in his head, under his skin. He closed his eyes, and there you were, hips rolling, breath hitching, the taste of your skin still on his tongue, the scrape of your nails against his back still stinging, and the breathy, desperate way you’d said his name still echoing in his brain.

Ari closed his eyes, the memory playing out without permission. The sacred image of your cream coating his condom-wrapped cock tormented him.

His hand shifted, cupping the hard line straining against his slacks. For a second, the idea of jerking off right there in the office to the thought of fucking you raw didn’t seem all that crazy.

He was sure he could get off with just a few tugs thinking of you.

Yeah. He was crazy.

The buzz of his phone dragged him back, the screen flashing with a reminder: late lunch date. Ari exhaled, flexing his fingers once before pulling himself upright. The day wanted him elsewhere. But his head stayed with you.

Muse.

—--

The low hum of conversation floated through Cathédrale, the kind of place where everything felt expensive and deliberately dim. Ari sat back in the leather banquette, nursing a glass of bourbon that didn’t do a damn thing to settle the fluttering behind his ribs.

Across the table, his lunch companion was talking, her voice a smooth, practiced purr that he barely registered.

Poppy, Polly, Peggy. He wasn’t quite sure of the nickname.

She was perfect on paper. Stylish, sharp, bred for black-tie galas, fluent in flirtation, and eternally just a little bit bored. She leaned in slightly, perfume clouding the air between them, her voice dropping to that silky soft register women used when they were about to cross a line.

“My husband’s in London for the week,” she said, letting the words hang there, heavy with suggestion.

It should’ve landed. It didn’t. Any other day, maybe it would’ve.

But all he could think about was you. The image of you stretched out under his artwork, flushed and undone. The way your hips had rocked against his hand, head thrown back, mouth open and desperate. 

The way your thighs had tightened around his shoulders, dragging him deeper, holding him there while your flesh shuddered around his mouth. 

His dick twitched against the constraint of his slacks, the memory more vivid than the woman across from him.

His companion laughed lightly, brushing her hand against his wrist, letting it linger, waiting for him to bite. But he didn’t.

“Sorry,” Ari said, pulling his hand away, polite but distant. “Got a lot on my mind today.”

You were a whole hell of a lot.

She tilted her head, mistaking his disinterest for some calculated game. But there was no game. Not this time. The lunch wrapped up fast after that, her parting glance lingering a little too long, and Ari let her go without another thought.

Because the only woman tangled in his head wasn’t sitting across the table.

It was you.

The one who wasn’t supposed to mean more than a couple of nights. 

The one he couldn’t shake.

His Muse.

------

Muse Four

Are you as wrecked as I am?

[shyamanuensis]

phase - m.r

Tonight, your dorm room has become an altar of sinful shadows and lust fuelled heat. The air around you; thick with the scent of vanilla from candles lit earlier, infused by the raw musk of tangled bodies. Breathless. Weak. Devastating. The sheets on your bed are a mess, twisted beneath you and covered damp with a sweat along with the evidence of another night blurring the lines of what was really – just meant to be a one-time kind of thing. That’s how it should have stayed. Temporary. What had begun as a single, off the books, reckless hookup with Slytherin’s resident bad boy had spiralled into weeks of stolen glances and nights hotter and hungrier than the last. Now… Mattheo’s here again. This time, looming over you with a presence that’s almost predatory as his body pins yours to the mattress effortlessly; all lean muscle your eager to explore; and his gaze, a smouldering intensity.

Having given himself permission; Mattheo’s lips trace ever so delicately along the fresh marks he’s nipped and singed beneath your collarbones. Each bite a heated claim of how you made him earlier feel. Your skin is flushed with a scarlet hue; the insides of your thighs made slick like a canvas from his desire and the weight of his gaze – dark and yet in control makes your heart race with a panic deep within the cage of your chest. The sound of a kiss pressed into the hollow your neck echoes throughout the room causing your breathing to hitch; a shaky exhale to burn up the back of your throat as you convince yourself, at this point near unwillingly to muster up a voice of the doubt that’s been festering deep in the back of your mind each night since this unexpected little rendezvous had started.

“M-Mattheo… am I, am I just a phase – for you?”, you whimper out like a tentative whisper. Voice barely there. “You know, just like another notch for your belt…”

His lifts his head up, almost snapping his neck as his eyes lock into yours with a dark, almost ravenous glint glistening within them. Pure predator. A slow, wicked smirk begins to pull artistically at the corners of his lips – equal parts dangerous and amused as he takes in your current state. Dishevelled - hair unruly, lips swollen, body still trembling from the way he’s already managed tonight to unravel you. He shifts himself deliberately; cock grazing your oversensitive clit which teases a sharp gasp from you, followed by a needy whimper; forcing your head to fall and tip back against the pillows. Your fingers claw at the sheets; desperate to grab onto something to ground you amongst the wreckage of your exhaustion. He chuckles, genuinely entertained at how your body arches beneath him caught up in some kind of unexplainable pull.

“A phase baby girl?”, he almost growls out the question, voice rough, low, hungry. His lips skim lower; tracing the tender curvature of your breasts before his face falls into their valley and he breaths in the remains of your ever so sweet perfume, tongue carving patterns into you soft skin. “You… my princess, are not a fucking phase. You think there isn’t a reason why I come back night after night. You’re an obsession. My obsession. What I can’t get enough of. Mine.”

One of his hands tenderly slides along your thigh, fingers digging in with intent to bruise as he hooks your leg up over his hip, for not the first time tonight; opening you up to him. His mouth finds the crook of your neck; lips sucking hard enough to leave another bloom of a mark so deliberate that anyone who dares to look to long will see his signature branding. He rocks his hips against yours only once; tongue flicking out with a fleeting tenderness over the fresh bruise before blowing cool air onto it softly; teasing a twitch from you near poetically.

“You’re mine if you haven’t noticed. Tonight – tomorrow – whenever the hell I fucking want you”, he murmurs quietly so that you’re forced to listen. “And I? God, I can’t stop thinking about you – how you taste, the way you moan my name, how you whimper, the way you fucking melt for me.”

You bite your lower lip; eyes rolling back holistically as his fingers trace down the inside of your thigh to dip lower; finding your slick folds and running between them before gliding to your clip with a torturous stroke before he draws out his name ever so slowly against it. Your body involuntarily gives in; quivering beneath his touch as your hips buck up to chase the pleasure that he’s teasing. His free hand wraps low around your throat; applying pressure with a not so gentle squeeze that forces you to gasp; a hand letting go of the sheets to wrap around his wrist causing him to grin.

“Trust me princess – whenever I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you. About burying myself deep inside you, about making you scream, about fucking you to the point where you’re so loud this little arrangement between us – well it no longer becomes a secret. You’re not a notch in my belt love. You’re endgame.”

Your eyes flutter open at his words; the pressure on your neck increased so that you expression turns doe eyed – vulnerable. The fingers at your clit skim their way up your body towards your hair; tenderly brushing a lock behind an ear affectionately. The touch is soft, pure, so far – so unlike him. An unexpected glimpse into the game he plays and has on offer. For you to decide whether you want to play or walk away. Grinding against you; the friction that you feel sparks a heat which threatens to consume your conscience before Mattheo’s lips find yours for a kiss that claims with a ferocity and intention that leaves you dizzy and weak. He’s the one in control here. You turn to putty from the way he makes you feel like you’re the absolute centre of his world, because truth be told – right now, you are. His world. His.

As he slips back inside you; grip around your neck loosening ever so slightly as his hips begin to rock, your doubts about him fray gently beneath the weight of his need. As the nights go on, he returns. Well trained. Proving that you’re so much more to time than just a fleeting thrill. You’re his fixation, you’re his weakness, you’re his everything --- and as he pushes you towards the edge of ecstasy again and again and again, the truth you being his obsession, his greatest possession, burns hotter than the candlelight you fuck within.

[lightlycareless]

warnings: fluff. naoya and you have a lovable, baby girl named naomi.

I like to imagine how small, everyday domestic things happen between Naomi, Naoya, and you.

The one I kept thinking about as of recently is Naomi and how she would most likely (just like any other kid her age) be afraid of the dark.

This evidently happens right after she begins to see curses, be aware of them and the world she’s now a part of. It’s uneventful most of the time thanks to the protective talismans around the estate and her parent’s guidance, slowly but surely, she seems to grow accustomed to them.

But after a particularly scary encounter this soon changes, leading her to tightly grip ger blanket and plushie as you tuck her to bed, fretful of the moment you leave the room.

“…Mama…” Naomi would whine. Her soft voice, alongside her puppy eyes, made it impossible to ignore her.

“What’s wrong, dumpling?” you worry, leaning back down again to her level to gently place your palm on her forehead. “Do you not feel well?”

“N—no, it’s not that…” she shakes her head.

“Then what is it, pumpkin?” As if it weren’t extremely preoccupying enough to see your little ray of sunshine acting so distraught… the last thing anyone needed was for her to be ailed by something even worse. “You know you can trust me with anything, honey. Mama is always here to help you.”

After a brief moment of silence… she confesses.

“I’m scared of the dark, mama. I can’t go to sleep!”

“Oh, why is that? What happened?” you ask. At least it wasn’t anything grave. For you, that is.

“N—nothing, but…” She whimpers, clutching to her blanket even tighter. “But—but what if a curse appears from the dark?! I don’t want that to happen, mama…”

“And it won’t. The estate is filled with talismans to protect you in case one managed to slip through our noses” You try to reassure her, help her rationalize that such thing was virtually impossible to occur—and even if it did, they’d be quickly surrounded by more than capable sorcerers.

But to her small, innocent mind, such explanations were redundant. Had to real purpose when battling her fear, for they’d somehow always manage to outsmart you or her papa.

However, that didn’t mean you were running out of solutions. Thus, after a quick call with Naoya and sleeping together to keep her mind at ease, you come back with what soon became her beacon of hope—a little something that helped her regained a good night sleep.

“What are you doing, mama?” Naomi curiously asks, trying to peak over your shoulder and see what you were diligently working on by the electrical outlet.

“The answer to all of our problems, princess!” you cheer, turning around to see her. “Ah, ah—no peeking! Or you’ll ruin the surprise.”

Naomi giggles, placing her hands over her eyes to anxiously wait for the reveal.

“You can open them now!” you cheer, and without time to waste, your baby peels her hands away to gasp at the sight of her favorite character lightening up the corner of her room; dimly to not perturb her rest, yet strong enough to scare away any dangers lingering in the dark.

“Mama!” Naomi gasps, running to your side to get a closer look of the newest addition to her collection. “What is that?”

“It’s called a nightlight, little mochi. Something to help you sleep at night while warding off all curses!” After the right adjustments, of course. They don’t offer these types of services in retail stores.

“Really?!” Naomi adds. “…Will it really protect me?”

“Yes, I promise! However, I do have one other thing to ensure it works just as intended.” You smile, looking over to the door as it slides open, making your daughter quickly swirl into its direction and squeal upon seeing who stood just past it.

“Papa!! You’re home!” she cries, swift footsteps making their way to Naoya, followed by a tight, warm hug that immediately makes him crumble. It doesn’t take much for him to understand how much she had missed him, but if there was any doubt, her quiet sniffles erased all uncertainties.

“You don’t need to cry, pumpkin. I’m here now.” He says, gently wiping away her tears. Your heart tightens at the sight. “Someone told me you were having problems with the dark, and I, being the strong papa you can always rely on, couldn’t allow that to happen any longer!”

“Papa…” she murmurs, leaning into his touch. “What are you going to do??”

“Well, aside from your nightlight, how about we do that thing… what’s it called again, my love?” Naoya asks, feigning ignorance.

“A slumber party.” You reveal, and Naomi grins.

To do one of her favorite things… With her papa? And her mama?? Sign her up!

“But, before we do that, I want you to know something.” Naoya says, gently cupping her face alongside his suddenly serious tone, effectively pulling all of her attention. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you and your mother. I would go to great lengths, to the end of the world if necessary, just to keep you safe and happy.

In other words, long as I am around, even afterwards, harm shall never befall you. I will make sure of that.”

“Even from the monsters in the dark…?”

“Especially from the monsters in the dark.” He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. “Think they’re too strong for papa to handle?”

Naomi firmly shakes her head, giving him another smile alongside a sweet giggle that makes everyone’s heart soar.

“No, papa. Don’t be silly!”

Because if there’s one thing she’s absolutely sure, beyond Hello Kitty being the best, cutest cat in the whole wide world…

Is that her papa was the strongest.

And that he never lies.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Can you imagine the potential of a fic where Dick was actually really close with Roy and so was devastated when Roy didn’t want to join the yj team. And didn’t yj Dick have an older cousin who died with the rest of the family (or was that a fic idk)? That would be extra devastating for Roy to have filled that role then left it empty all over again.

The one where Roy is basically Dick’s big brother

Let’s say Roy and Oliver are like two of the very few people who know Batman and Robin’s secret IDs. It could have even been Bruce’s idea, because he saw the way a 13 year old Roy let an 8 year old Dick latch onto him at one of his first galas, the way he didn’t even look annoyed when Dick was chatting his ear off all night and played whatever game Dick came up with. And so when a few months later Green Arrow has a teenager trailing after him going by Speedy, Bruce decides that it would be good for Dick to have a friend who understood both sides of their lives.

And Roy was great with Dick. They both got along like a house on fire, Roy didn’t ever seem annoyed to be hanging out with a little kid. Maybe it had something to do with the way Dick looked at Roy like he hung the moon, or how he always told Roy how cool he was, or because he put all his concentration into it when Roy decided to show him how to shoot a bow and arrow.

Roy and Dick are constantly visiting each other. Roy fills in the gap that was formed when Johnny died with the rest of the family. And Roy finds that he kinda likes being a sort-of big brother, and Dick becomes on his best friends even though he’s a squirt (and calling him that always leads to Dick trying to wrestle him to prove he’s not a squirt - he wins about half the time). Roy takes him to movies and plays videos games with him and gives Dick his old Pokemon cards that he doesn’t really play with anymore, and Dick treasures them and keeps them in a special box under his bed.

Even when they were in the masks, Speedy never got frustrated when someone pointed out that Robin had been around longer than he had, or had more experience, he just listened to Robin ramble about his new birdarangs or a long stakeout he and Batman had last week.

Robin’s even the one who first told Roy about the Watchtower, because of course Batman would keep Robin in the loop about something like that, and Robin wanted to know if Speedy would try to sneak up there with him.

And of course they ended up sneaking on to the Watchtower together, but they also both promised not to tell anyone else about it. It would be their secret. They pinky-promised, Robin had insisted. They only felt a little bad about not telling Wally, but Wally has a big mouth and would spill in like a week, and they didn’t know Kaldur very well yet.

So when Speedy throws his hat down and walks out, Robin hesitates. He almost follows after him, because where is he going, what’s going on, why didn’t he tell Robin what the plan was?

He tries calling Roy and texting him and wants desperately to know what’s going on with him. They can go get burgers or ice cream or something like they always do, they can just be Dick and Roy, and Dick will tell him how cool Mount Justice is and all about Superboy and Miss Martian and then Roy will see that the team’s not that bad, it’s fun, and they can hang out together again.

But Roy stop answering his calls or texting him back. Oliver tells Bruce he hasn’t seen Roy in weeks, aside from the few times he’s ran into Red Arrow, and Dick feels like his lungs are over-filled and he can’t breathe right because why doesn’t Roy want to talk to him anymore?

Bruce spends several days and nights comforting Dick, telling him that Roy is just going through a tough time, it will be okay.

But when Roy doesn’t attend the next gala with Oliver, Dick doesn’t know what to do with himself. He ends up clinging to Bruce the whole night, feeling a lot like he did during his very first gala five years ago when he didn’t know anyone at all, and suddenly Dick feels so lonely he thinks he might forget how to breathe.

And when they find out Roy was the mole and a clone? It’s not the mole part that makes Dick feel like his heart is being shredded to pieces. It’s the fact that now he can’t know if the boy who became like his big brother was ever even actually his friend, ever even actually liked him at all.

[mattscoquette]

hi all, i wanted to make one final and formal apology before i go. i’ve been trying to stay off tumblr for the last few days, but i’ve been seeing a multitude of people saying they want me and the other former members of the tripouts gc to deactivate to show that we truly are sorry. personally, i don’t see the reason in that, i think deactivation makes it look like running from the situation. however, i understand why people would want us to deactivate - to show we are sorry and don’t just care about our image.

i’ve been back and forth with the idea of deactivating since yesterday morning. i always said if i ever left tumblr, i wouldn’t deactivate because i want to keep my fics and other writings up. i still agree with that, and for that reason, i’m not deactivating, but i’m abandoning this blog. i was planning to just private all my posts, but i felt like that is the same as deactivating. i can’t say for certain if i’ll return and post on a new account, but i can say with nearly 100% confidence that i’m done posting on mattscoquette. as much as i wanted to leave tumblr on my own terms, i only feel that this is the right thing to do. thank you to everyone who supported be over the last year, i truly took every kind word and compliment to heart. i’m so appreciative for the friends i made on here, whether we talked once or everyday.

before i fully get into it, i just would like to say i am so so SO sorry for how i acted. i didn’t handle any situation in a correct or mature manner. i’m sorry if anything i’ve said made me come off as disingenuous, or like im trying to push this situation off and blame it on association.

i shouldn’t have immediately come to my friends defense when the slur was first posted, even if i thought she was allowed to reclaim it. it was wrong, and i’m sorry. i deleted and left the group chat, so i don’t have any original screenshots, but i can say that i didn’t respond to the text with the r slur. although there was more than one conversation going on at the time, it still doesn’t make it right. it was a stupid mistake that should have never been said or posted. with that said, i’d like to make it known we didn’t call chris the r slur. i don’t think anyone should ever be called that word, joking or not. i can speak for myself when i say i love him, and his brothers, to death. i always joke around about them, but at the end of the day i always go back to them. i wouldn’t have been writing and posting about them for so long if i hated any of them the way tumblr thinks we do.

as far as the group apology goes, there was no ai used. we did check it through grammarly, and used that, which is often flagged for ai. but the original post was not ai, nor were any of my apologies post. i can’t speak for everyone in the group, but mine and the group account’s were not ai.

i would also like to say i’m sorry to anyone my actions or my friend’s actions may have hurt in the past. specifically to cherry (@luvs4matt) and the girls in the sturnholics gc. although i didn’t personally partake in any hate towards that groupchat, it was still given on behalf of a group i was in, and i’m sorry. i’d also like to say sorry to cherry and for the way i treated her, she is a minor and i publicly accused her of copying me when i should’ve handled it privately. it was immature and stupid, and i regret my actions greatly because she still receives hate messages in her inbox on my behalf. i feel terrible for how i acted and handled that situation.

i don’t want to say names either, but there are a few close friends who this situation and hurt greatly, and i’m so sorry to them. i never ever wanted to make friends upset, and i greatly apologize. alongside that, i’m sorry to any mutuals, followers, or ANYONE i have upset with both my actions and the group’s actions.

i will say, however, although i do own up and admit to all my mistakes, i find it very unfair there are people on here trying to run both me and the other members off the app. i’m talking specifically to the tripoutsweirdos account, and rose (@bernardsbendystraws). we made a mistake, owned up to it, and apologized. there is no need to make continuous posts of hate directed at any of us. i turned off my inbox because i was being sent multiple hate messages and threats. targeting people for a mistake that they apologized for is not only wrong and immature, but extremely damaging to the people who were directly affected by the situation at hand. fighting this issue with more hate doesn’t do anything but create more drama, and make tumblr less enjoyable. dragging this out and making it more than it needs to be does no help at all.

in the end, what’s done is done, and there isn’t anything anyone can do to undo it. the only thing is to learn from it, and improve behavior. i am a firm believer in your actions speaking louder than your words. i can say i’m sorry until i’m absolutely blue in the face, but i feel that apology won’t be accepted until there is a visible change in my character. i’m choosing to leave this account behind to show it isn’t about the “clout” or the “fame” one gains from sturntumblr. i still love the triplets, and love to write, but i can do that on other platforms or another account. as appreciative as i am for the space i created on tumblr, i think it’s best for me to leave it to rest now. i always preached about making my blog a safe space for everyone, and i’m sorry if i ever didn’t make it seem that way.

again, thank you to everyone who supported me, and to everyone who held me accountable in this situation. it gave me chance to reflect on myself and really think about how i present myself online and who i surround myself with. i love you all, and thank you for listening.

-rylee

[slaaverin]

It doesn't matter who's name is on the deed or the address location or multiple addresses, really if you think about it, Jikook have never not lived together/cohabitated together in some way. They always find a way. From sharing a dorm when they were trainees and even a bed back then, since Jk spent more time in Jimin's than his own, to being the last two to leave the house & growing up and getting "separate" places, but for some reason those two still having sleepovers at each other houses, as nearly 30 year old men and tell us about it. To hotel rooms and staying in each other's room more than with other members, in and out all day, 3 times a day and at 1 am always together where other members joke its Jk's room when its actually Jimin's, to bedroom & bed sharing on personal trips they've taken together, to now Room sharing in the military for almost 18 months now. The location & address may change or differ sometimes, but in the end, the togetherness in one place, is what has remained the same for years. And I think it's something alot of people overlook, when wow that is just so special and really tells you all you need to know about how close they are. We see members doing shows together alone or with friends out of BTS and its Jikook doing a show together. We see members living their separate lives in their separate houses on a documentary and its Jikook together in Jimin's house cooking. It's members enlisting separately and Jikook enlisting together. Jikook even sending joint gifts together from the military. And seems Jk still wants that togetherness for the next 50 years with Jimin, traveling the world. His words. And he has never ever said that about anyone else. I would say at this point, Jikook won't be looking back, no matter what kind of relationship they have, cause they have already overshared so much to go back. They just want normal it seems "hence oversharing" when they don't need too. Who knows, maybe one day they will live together. Maybe as besties, roommates, or more, cause these two can't seem to stay away from each other, no matter how hard they try. Wouldn't be the first time. I kinda don't see them living with other people either tho, cause Jk is out here planning for Jimin to travel with him for 50 plus years. That alone says commitment, when you think about it, even Jimin was taken back lol but he agreed and wants that too. And if they don't do any of that, it still won't change anything. Whatever they have is special and its unbreakable. Good for them. We shall see what happens.

Yes, yes, yes.

They also spent 18 months together yet still manage to spend even more time together during their vacation.

That level of commitment and closeness is completely unheard of. Not only in kpop but in real life. It's very rare and quite astonishing.

But I agree, there will be no going back. They already shared so much, they already reinforced that they would choose each other over and over until they are 50 (and more!) in their heads they appear quite sure of themselves and their relationship.

It's my opinion but this great change that is most likely to come, all those deep discussions they had about how they wanna live, it can all lead to one only conclusion: being themselves even more, letting go of fear, being unapologetic about where their hearts want to lead them.

Because anything else would be going backwards and that's usually not how consciousness works. People can experience setbacks and regress for a while, yes, but usually the direction is up. Everything they've done so far is very gradual and soft in a way. Over the years we got more and more until AYS and enlistement. So the next "natural" thing to happen next would be expansion (but the form will depend, it could mean anything.)

The heart wants what it wants, and to go against it is far more difficult than going with the flow of it. I believe that's why they had "no choice" but to follow their heart for all those years and be this open. The other option would have been way too painful.

I don't know what the future holds, we are not in their heads, but from everything we know from them, I think it's safe to expect a few things most likely to happen.

Whatever the circumstances (living arrangements, schedule) they will find ways to spend time together, that's pretty much a given. And I don't think they will want to repeat a separation like in 2023 if they can avoid it because clearly that year was a bit hard on them both.

So whether with new content such as AYS, collabs, living together, or something else we don't even think of, they will remain intertwined.

Honestly, this service probably did a lot of good to their relationship. They spent 18 months with the other being their one true support system without fame's distractions and they had all the time to have soul-deep discussions about where they are at (10 years of relationship is also a good point to reassess things) what they truly want, what they want their relationship to look like and how they want to include it in their lives, also how much a priority it is for them. I believe all of this must have been discussed and it's a very good thing.

They were also there for each other in an obviously quite challenging environment and it can do nothing else but to bring them even closer.

Perhaps it helped them come to quite enlightening realizations about what they truly want. That's my theory. And depending on this realization, conclusions, and plans that come from it, it could really go in two ways.

First, this will to be intertwined will remain and they will find ways to make it happen, reinforcing for us what we already knew and continuing on this same path of gradual openness and sharing while still remaining careful as they've always done.

OR, and that's my recent theory, perhaps the realization, the will of the heart, the leap in consciousness is bigger than what we imagined, and it spurts them to make a bigger change, something bolder, something we don't even envision and that can truly shake things up in ways we didn't expect. That's also a possibility. I keep in mind the Wheel of fortune in Blue's reading and spirit turning the wheel. It could mean a lot of different things. I don't know what exactly and how it will look like in practicality, but I guess we will find out soon.

The first live will be perhaps the most important thing to look closely to because it will give us A LOT of information, and then we'll be able to speculate further. (Isn't it fun to speculate? It's fun!)

Whatever happens, I'm not too worried, as you said their bond is unbreakable, maybe even more now, so whatever route they decide to take it will all be fine.

Of course I'm still very curious to see what enfolds 👀 I feel like a child at christmas ready to receive presents lmao

It's hard to be patient. But we must 😭

Maybe it's good to have quiet time now, to prepare, because once it will be going there will be no stopping. And trust me its gonna be INTENSE. So let's buckle up.

Thank you and take care anon 💜