Latest Posts by maedayarchive - Page 3

actually the baddest in the subway

springtime angel🌸

heyyy queen i js saw your workss & idk if u take requests but could you do a really REALLY obsessive eren with black readerrr?? 😭😭 your writing is really phenomenal too queen keep goinggg

You

Summary: You were his the moment he saw you. To you, it was fate that you met Eren, but to him? To him, everything was completely designed and manipulated by him. ۶ৎ Eren x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: Slight violence (Not to reader), reader is a single mother, stalking, obsessed Eren, emotional manipulation, unprotected sex, spying, missionary, doggy, cunnalings, oblivious reader, stripper, baby trapping

Babble; Hey girl, hope you like it x

Word count — 6.7k

The first time Eren saw you, he wasn’t even supposed to be there.

It was Connie’s birthday, a half-assed plan that led to a night full of neon lights, bass-heavy music, and the scent of liquor clinging to sweat-slicked skin. He wasn’t interested in the celebration, not really. But then, you walked onto the stage, and he lost the ability to focus on anything else.

You weren’t looking at him—you weren’t looking at anyone in particular—but that didn’t matter. Because from that moment on, you belonged to him.

He hadn’t planned on this. He wasn’t the kind of man to get distracted, let alone obsessed. But there you were, completely unaware that you had just changed the course of his life.

He came back the next night. And the next. And the next.

It’s pathetic—he knows that—but obsession is an ugly thing.

But Eren didn't mind being ugly for you.

At first, it was just about seeing you, memorising the way your body moved, watching the way other men watched you. But then, curiosity turned into something deeper, something darker.

Eren didn’t just want to watch you anymore. He wanted to know you.

So, he followed you home one night. Not too close, just enough to see where you lived. A small apartment on the outskirts of town, tucked between a laundromat and a corner store. He stayed outside for hours, wondering what you were doing inside. If you were alone. If you were thinking about him the way he thought about you.

Then he started digging.

He found out your real name, not just the stage one. Learned where you went to school, who your friends were. And then, one day, as he sat parked outside your apartment, he saw something that made his stomach twist.

A child.

A little girl, no older than three, holding your hand as you walked her up the steps.

Eren had never considered that you had something—someone—waiting for you. The thought made his blood run hot, his jaw tightening with something ugly and possessive.

But it didn’t change anything.

It just meant he had more to protect.

You huffed as you finally stepped off stage, rolling your shoulders to shake off the weight of another long shift. The night had been a successful one—money rained, hands reached, and men gawked. Same as always.

Sometimes, you hated yourself for it. Stripping for men who were married, engaged, or just too pathetic to go home to their girlfriends. Men who would rather throw money at you for a fleeting fantasy than put in the effort to love the women waiting for them.

But then, you remembered why you did it.

Your phone lit up the second you unlocked it, and the first thing you saw was a picture of your daughter grinning at the camera. A message from your sister followed right after.

She’s been out for hours; don’t worry, you can come get her in the morning.

You smiled, relief easing the tightness in your chest. You were a single mother, juggling work and school, and this was how you kept food on the table. Your friend Historia had been the one to convince you to try it, going on and on about the rich men who threw money at her just to watch her dance.

It was supposed to be temporary. A couple of nights, at most. But then nights turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and now you were one of the regulars' favorites.

Your gaze flickered down to the cash buried at your feet. You and the other girls were already counting your earnings for the night. Lately, you'd been raking in more than usual—not that you were complaining.

“And there you have it, folks—the best dancer out there,” Historia teased, nudging you with her shoulder.

You giggled, shoving her back. “Oh, come off it. There was a bachelor party tonight, and I did a lot of lap dances. It’s probably all from that.”

Historia hummed knowingly, looping her arm with yours as you both made your way out of the club. The bouncer nodded as you passed, and the two of you stepped into the cool night air, the scent of cigarette smoke and lingering cologne still clinging to your skin.

“I still don’t get why you park so far away,” you mused. “You do know we have parking, right?”

Historia scoffed. “Yeah, and if a guy sees what car I drive, he’ll be waiting for a ‘private lesson.’ I am not about to go to jail for killing some dude who can’t take no for an answer.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you walked her to her car. The streetlights flickered above you, casting shadows across the pavement.

By the time you started your own walk home, exhaustion clung to your bones, making every step heavier than the last. The streets were nearly empty, the silence stretching too thin. That was when you heard them.

Footsteps.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to confirm what you already knew. But the panic creeping up your spine made your breath hitch, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse.

Before you could move, another set of footsteps cut through the silence.

A figure stepped between you and whoever had been following—a man, broad-shouldered, with long brown hair and piercing green eyes. He didn’t even look at you at first, just over his shoulder, gaze sharp and assessing.

Then, he turned, expression softening.

“You alright?” His voice was smooth, calm.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “I—I think that guy—”

“He’s gone now.” He offered you a reassuring smile. “You should be careful walking alone this late.”

Relief flooded through you, making your knees weak. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Let me walk you home,” he said easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Just to be safe.”

You hesitated. You didn’t know him. But something about him felt… safe. Like you could trust him.

So, you let him.

Because the first time you met Eren Yeager, the alarm bells were silent.

He walked half a step behind you, just close enough that you could feel the quiet reassurance of his presence. Every now and then, your eyes flickered toward him, taking in the way the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp features. He was handsome—undeniably so—but there was something else about him, something that made your pulse stutter in a way you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m Eren, by the way.” He glanced at you, waiting for your name in return.

You hesitated for only a moment before offering it, watching as his lips curled into a slow, pleased smile. He already knew it, of course. Had whispered it to himself more times than he could count, tracing the syllables in his mind like a prayer.

“It suits you,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eren shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Just… you seem like the type of person who makes a name their own.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “That’s oddly poetic for someone who just scared off a creep.”

A small chuckle left him, effortless and warm. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks. He let you set the pace, let you feel like you had control of the situation—like this was just a chance encounter, a stroke of luck on an otherwise unsettling night.

And you believed it.

That was the best part.

“Here’s me.” You gestured toward your building, already fishing out your keys. “Thanks again for, y’know… all of that.”

Eren tilted his head, expression unreadable. “You don’t have to thank me. Just be safe, alright?”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it that you felt a pang of guilt for doubting him at all. You nodded, smiling as you stepped inside, giving him one last glance before the door shut behind you.

Eren didn’t move right away.

Instead, he watched as the light in your window flickered on, his fingers twitching at his sides. He could see the faint silhouette of you moving inside, hear the faint sound of your voice when you called your sister to check on your daughter.

It took everything in him not to stay there all night.

But he didn’t have to.

Because this was just the beginning.

And soon enough, you wouldn’t just see him as a stranger in the night.

You’d see him as exactly what he was—an irreplaceable part of your life.

Eren remembers when he saw you again by 'coincidence'. It was your local farmers market; the surprise was evident on your face, but he remembered the way your eyes shifted to him, the way he intrigued you.

"Fancy seeing you again." His voice was smooth, casual, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—something unreadable.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. As pathetic as it sounded, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him. And how could you? Even now, dressed down in a grey tracksuit with his long hair tied back, he looked like he’d stepped out of a damn daydream.

"This is the closest farmers market to me, which I’m grateful for because of her." You gestured to your daughter, still knocked out in the shopping cart.

Eren’s gaze softened, something deep and unshakable tightening in his chest. She was so small, so peaceful—completely unaware of the man staring at her like she already belonged to him.

“She’s adorable,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Probably keeps you up all hours, huh?”

You huffed a tired laugh. “You have no idea.”

Eren hummed, but his mind was already somewhere else—picturing a morning where he’d wake up next to you, your daughter climbing into bed between you both, babbling about something only a toddler could make sense of. The thought was dangerous, intoxicating.

You grabbed a carton of strawberries, setting them in the cart before glancing at him. “So, you cook?”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I like to.”

"That's impressive. A man that looks like you and can cook? You're a rare breed.”

Eren chuckled, but his gaze darkened slightly. You had no idea just how rare he was. No idea that he wouldn’t let you find anyone else like him—because you were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

"Well," he shrugged, "if you ever want a home-cooked meal, I’d be happy to make you something."

You hesitated, surprised by the offer. “Oh, that’s really sweet, but—”

“No pressure,” Eren cut in smoothly. “Just putting it out there.”

You chewed on your bottom lip before glancing at your sleeping daughter. The thought of a meal you didn’t have to cook yourself was tempting—almost too tempting. But you barely knew him.

Still, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach flutter.

"I'll think about it," you teased, throwing him a look.

His smirk widened slightly. "That’s all I ask."

It hadn't taken long for you to text Eren, agreeing to your date. Not that he was surprised. Now here he was, standing outside your apartment, gaze softening as he looked over you. His head slightly tilted, taking in the sight of you.

"You look beautiful." He watched as you bit your lip, trying to hide the smile on your face as you let him in.

His gaze swept across your apartment—not out of curiosity, but habit.

Eren hadn't waited that long before he was letting himself into your apartment.

Not that he would call it breaking and entering.

No, Eren simply needed to make sure you were safe, that you and your daughter had a good place to live.

That’s what he told himself as he moved through your home like it was his own.

He had touched everything. Gone through your drawers, flipped through your mail, opened your fridge just to see what you had stocked.

He’d smoothed his hands over the bedsheets you slept in, pressed his fingers against the lace underwear folded neatly in your dresser.

And as he went, he left little pieces of himself behind.

Tiny cameras, nestled so perfectly in the corners of your living room, your bedroom, your bathroom.

Little windows into your life, allowing him to watch you at any moment.

He snapped out of his memory as he watched you move across the room. His eyes caught sight of your daughter’s toys neatly stacked in a corner, the small pink blanket draped over the couch—her little world, nestled safely inside his.

He brought his attention back to you, holding up the bag of food.

“I cooked enough for all of us,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Your eyes widened slightly before they softened with something warm.

“You actually cooked? Thought we'd just order takeout.”

Eren smirked. “Of course. Have to keep up my first impressions.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you led him to the kitchen.

Dinner went smoothly—better than he had expected.

Your daughter adored him, just as he knew she would.

She clung to him quickly, her giggles filling the apartment as he played along with her little games, asking about her stuffed animals like they were old friends.

And you—

You watched him.

You watched the way he handled her with ease, the way he cut her food into tiny pieces without a second thought, the way he was patient, gentle, attentive.

Like he had always been meant to be here.

When bedtime rolled around, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her in, leaving just the two of you in the dim glow of the living room.

The moment stretched.

Neither of you moved to fill it.

Eren leaned back into the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his gaze locked on you.

Your lips parted slightly; his gaze darkened as he watched your tongue poke out and wet your lips. Fuck, it was taking everything in him but you surprised him, you kissed him first.

It was hesitant at first, uncertain, but Eren felt the moment your body melted into his, the moment hesitation turned into something deeper.

Something desperate.

He pulled you closer, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your top, brushing against your bare skin.

A sharp inhale left you, your hands fisting in his hoodie as his tongue flicked against yours, deepening the kiss.

You let out a soft, breathy moan—fuck.

He needed to hear it again.

He wanted to hear it on loop, playing through the hidden speakers of his mind while he watched you over and over and over—

But then, suddenly, you pulled back.

Your face flushed as your eyes darted anywhere but him.

Eren’s jaw clenched as he watched you force yourself to put space between you.

"I-I haven't had a date in a very long time and I don't wanna fuck it up.”

His voice was smooth, controlled. “You're not gonna fuck it up mama, promise.”

You swallowed still avoiding his gaze.

But he reached for you again, cupping your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

He kissed you—soft this time, slow and lingering, like he was sealing something in place.

“I’d love to take you out again.” He murmured against your lips

You let out a breathless laugh, odding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And just like that, he had you.

Right where he wanted.

Eren had taken you out again, and each time, he could see how deep your affection for him had grown. It hadn’t even been a full month since you started dating, but he could already feel the way you leaned on him, the way you reached for him in subtle ways.

The goodnight texts. The way you never let too many hours pass without messaging him. How you let him drop you off and pick you up from work without protest now.

At first, you had hesitated when he offered to pick you up. He saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your lips parted as if you wanted to say something but weren’t sure how. You were scared—afraid to tell him what you actually did for a living.

As if he didn’t already know.

But when you finally admitted it, the relief on your face was instant. His answer had been simple, easy.

"I don’t care."

And from that night forward, the bouncers got used to his face.

Your daughter adored him too. It didn’t take long for her to start calling him “Daddy Eren,” and something primal settled deep inside of him the first time he heard it. He was already so intertwined in your life, but hearing it from her tiny mouth, seeing the way she clung to him when he dropped her off at daycare, the way she begged for bedtime stories whenever he was over—it solidified something in him.

He belonged here.

And you didn’t even realize just how permanent he had made himself.

The buzzing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts, and his eyes darkened when he saw the picture you’d sent him.

A short, tight purple dress clung to your body like a second skin, hugging every curve. Your blonde braids that matched your skin tone perfectly, framed your face, accentuating the pout on your full lips as you posed just right.

Can’t wait to see you.

Fuck.

Eren exhaled sharply through his nose, already hard beneath his jeans. You had been loosening up over the past few weeks, your touches lingering longer, your kisses more desperate. Heavy petting and long make-out sessions had left him on the verge of ruining himself more than once.

He palmed himself roughly, groaning lowly as he brought your panties to his nose.

He had been in your apartment for a while now—long enough that your scent surrounded him, sweet and intoxicating. It clung to your couch cushions, the blankets draped over the side of your bed. His fingers ghosted over your belongings like a lover’s touch, reverent and possessive.

He remembered the first time he found your underwear. Delicate lace. Soft cotton. Colors he knew contrasted beautifully against your warm, deep skin.

The first time he rubbed the fabric between his fingers, then against his cheek.

The first time he brought them to his nose, inhaling you—raw, intimate, intoxicating. It had sent a shiver down his spine, his body going taut with need.

Just like now.

He exhaled sharply, stuffing your panties into his pocket before pulling himself together. He had to pick you up soon.

The drive to the club was automatic, muscle memory. He was there before your shift had ended, already seated in his usual dark corner.

He nursed a drink he never touched, eyes locked onto you.

He loved watching you work—loved the slow, teasing roll of your hips, the way you commanded the stage. He loved watching men reach for you only to be swerved, their greedy hands left empty.

Until he showed up.

Older. Cocky. Entitled.

Eren saw it the second the man got too close. You were used to this, flashing a polite smile as you placed a gentle hand on his chest to keep your distance. But he didn’t get the hint. He leaned in too far, whispered something in your ear.

You tensed—just for a second—before stepping back with a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Eren knew that laugh.

It was the one you used when you were uncomfortable.

His vision went red.

By the time he realised he had moved, he was already following the man.

The alley was dark, secluded.

No one saw Eren slip in behind him.

No one heard the struggle, the way the man choked on his own screams as Eren’s fingers crushed his throat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

No one noticed when he left the alleyway alone.

And when he returned, you were just finishing up, completely unaware that the man who had made you uncomfortable would never be coming back.

You smiled when you saw him, instantly walking into his arms. His place. Where you belonged.

“Hey, baby,” you murmured, voice sweet and warm, completely oblivious to the blood still drying beneath his nails. “Ready to go?”

Eren pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply, his fingers flexing around your waist.

“Always.”

Eren watched as you entered your apartment, he hadn't seen you in a couple of days. You had to spend the weekend with your mum and it was driving him nuts that he didn't have a visual on you.

Well, you did FaceTime and text him many times but he missed watching you move naturally.

But now his skin came alive as you entered the apartment. He remembers you telling him that you were gonna drop your daughter off at daycare before coming home.

The camera feed followed your every step as you dropped your bag by the door and headed straight for the fridge. Probably thirsty from the drive back. You sighed when you pulled open a stack of mail—bills, most likely. His jaw clenched at the thought. He had more than enough to take care of you. It was only a matter of time before he convinced you to let him.

The cameras shifted as you made your way to your bedroom, you phone steady in your palm but the minute you opened your bedroom door you froze.

His brows furrowed as he watched the stillness of your body. Your hands begin to shake as you fumble with your phone and run back into the living room.

Eren felt the buzz of his phone, his eyes darting to the caller before he shifted back to his computer.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted smoothly, as if he wasn’t watching you.

“Eren.” Your voice was shaky, laced with fear. “I—I just got home, and my bedroom window was open.”

His grip tightened around his phone. He knew you closed your windows when you weren't home, and he forgot to close it last night after he left.

“Are you sure you didn’t just forget to close it?” He kept his tone even, already anticipating your response.

“No, I know I locked it, I always lock it when I'm not home.” You insisted. “I’m freaking out. What if someone was in here? What if—”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupted, his voice turning soothing. “It’s okay. I’m coming over right now.”

You exhaled, the sound of relief evident through the phone. “I just… I need you Ren."

He could feel the blood in his ears, the softness of your voice went straight to his cock. He continued to speak to you, his car keys rattling in his hands as he raced to his car.

He could hear the way your breathing elevated; he could now hear the busyness of your street, knowing you stepped outside rather than to wait inside with a possible 'intruder'.

The moment he pulled up outside your apartment, his eyes immediately found you. You stood just outside the entrance, arms wrapped around you, shifting anxiously on your feet. The sight made something dark and possessive coil in his chest.

He stepped out of the car, and the second your eyes met his, you hurried over. Without a word, you buried yourself in his arms, clutching at his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Eren exhaled slowly, wrapping himself around you, his hand smoothing over the curve of your back. “I’m here,” he murmured, kissing your hair. “You’re okay.”

You nodded against his chest, but your grip didn’t loosen. “I just… I couldn’t sit in there alone.”

His heart hammered, his lips twitching into the smallest smirk over your head.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, guiding you toward the door. “I’ll check everything.”

You didn’t let go of him as he unlocked the door, staying close behind as he stepped inside first. He moved through your apartment with careful ease, playing the part of the protective boyfriend while discreetly checking for his own mistakes.

The cameras were still perfectly hidden. The small traces he’d left—your underwear he had pocketed, the slight shift in your blankets—none of it was noticeable. But the window. That was his only slip-up. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Eren double-checked every lock, every window, making a show of it just for you. He even peeked into your closet, your bathroom, anywhere an intruder might be hiding.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression soft, reassuring. “All clear, baby,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along your arm. “No one’s here.”

Your shoulders sagged with relief, your lips parting as you took a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

He could still see the uncertainty in your eyes; he didn't even have to say much, his hands steady against your waist as he eased you down. You were still trembling slightly, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt as you tried to steady your breathing

“I feel so stupid,” you murmured, as the movie continued “I probably overreacted. It was just a window, and nothing’s missing. I just—”

Eren turned to you, his hands palming the side of your face as he cut off your self-doubt with a firm look. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice low, unwavering. “You were scared. You did the right thing calling me.”

Your lips pressed together, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Yeah, but—”

“No ‘but,’” he interrupted smoothly, his hands finding yours, thumbs brushing along your knuckles. “If you ever feel unsafe, you call me. Always. I don’t care what time it is, where I am—I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around his instinctively. He meant it. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he always showed up.

You leaned forward before you could second-guess yourself, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. Eren inhaled sharply, but he didn’t hesitate—his hands cupped your face instantly, deepening the kiss as his thumbs stroked your cheeks.

Your body relaxed against him, the fear from earlier melting away as warmth spread through you. Eren’s lips were slow, deliberate, savoring every second of your mouth against his.

But then you shifted, your legs parting slightly, and he felt the heat of your body through your shorts. A low, quiet groan rumbled from his throat, and his grip tightened, fingers sliding to the back of your neck.

The kiss grew heavier, needier, his tongue slipping past your lips as he guided you back against the couch. His body hovered over yours, one hand gripping the back of the couch while the other ghosted down your thigh.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, voice strained, heated.

But you didn’t. Instead, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back down, pressing your body flush against his.

Eren’s lips trailed down your jaw, hot and eager, teeth grazing your pulse as his hands found the hem of your shirt. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, palms sliding against your soft skin as he pushed it higher—exposing more of you.

His breath was heavy against your neck, his body tensed with restraint. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he murmured, voice thick with need.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling between your thighs as his hands wandered higher, you bit your lip, arching into his touch.

“Then touch me,” you whispered.

Eren growled low in his throat, his patience snapping as his hands gripped your thighs, parting them effortlessly. His mouth found yours again, lips hungry, desperate, as he settled between your legs.

His hands slipped under your shirt fully, his rough palms skimming up the smooth skin of your stomach. He pushed the fabric higher, stopping just below your chest, his lips never leaving yours as he swallowed every soft sound you made.

You gasped when his fingers traced the underside of your breasts, his touch slow, teasing—driving you insane.

“Eren,” you breathed, impatience seeping into your voice.

He pulled back slightly, his green eyes dark with want as they flickered down to your parted lips, your heaving chest, the way your thighs instinctively clenched around his hips. His restraint was hanging by a thread.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice rough as his hands squeezed your waist, thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

You shivered, arching into his touch. “Then show me.”

He surged forward, lips claiming yours in a kiss that was all hunger, all need. His hands finally moved, pushing your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor without a second thought.

His breath hitched when he took you in, eyes raking over your bare skin like he was committing the sight to memory. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hands finding your thighs again, parting them wider as he pressed his hips against yours.

You felt all of him. Hard, heavy, and straining against his jeans. The friction sent a spark of heat up your spine, and you let out a soft whimper that made Eren curse under his breath.

“Mama,” he growled, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. He nipped at your skin, his tongue soothing over every mark, his hands gripping your waist like he was trying to ground himself.

His mouth traveled lower, over the curve of your breasts, his hands slipping beneath the band of your shorts. His fingers toyed with the fabric.

You squirmed beneath him. “Eren, please,” you whispered, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Eren let out a strained chuckle, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “So impatient.” But he was just as desperate. His hands yanked down your shorts in one swift motion, leaving you bare beneath him.

His eyes darkened, his tongue swiping over his lips as he took you in. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his fingers tracing the inside of your thigh. “You’re so beautiful.”

You whimpered, heat pooling in your stomach as he spread your legs wider, his body shifting lower.

“Let me taste you,” he rasped, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. “I need to taste you.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you, and all coherent thoughts disappeared.

Eren groaned the moment his tongue made contact with you, his hands gripping your thighs as he pinned you down. His movements were slow at first—lazy, almost—like he had all the time in the world to savor you. He licked a long, teasing stripe before closing his lips around your clit, sucking softly.

Your back arched, a strangled moan slipping past your lips. “Eren—”

“Shh, baby,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with hunger. “Let me make you feel good.”

He dived back in, his tongue flicking and circling, alternating between soft licks and firm pressure. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you wider as he feasted on you like a man starved.

You were already trembling, your body reacting to him so quickly, so easily.

Eren moaned against you, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure up your spine. “So sweet,” he groaned, his tongue delving deeper. “So fucking perfect.”

Your hands found his hair, tugging at the strands as pleasure built inside you. “Eren—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he urged, his voice breathless, desperate. “Cum for me, baby.”

With one last flick of his tongue, you shattered. Your body arched off the couch, pleasure ripping through you as he kept going, licking and sucking you through your orgasm.

Only when your thighs trembled and your breathing came out in shaky gasps did he finally pull away. His lips were slick, his chin wet, and the look in his eyes was pure, unfiltered lust.

“Fuck,” he breathed, running his hands up your thighs before gripping your waist. “I need to be inside you.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you again, pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care—all you wanted was him.

Eren wasted no time, undoing his jeans with one hand while the other gripped your hip. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark, burning. “Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tell me you need me.”

Your heart pounded, heat pooling between your legs again as you whispered, “I need you, Eren.”

It felt like those were the words he had waited his whole life to hear.

In one swift motion, he was inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. A guttural groan left his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his fingers tightening around your hips.

“Fuck,” he growled, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fought to keep himself together. “You feel so good.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his back as you adjusted to the stretch. He was thick, heavy inside you, the perfect fit.

Eren pulled back just slightly before thrusting forward again, setting a slow but deep rhythm that had you gasping. His hands roamed your body, he could feel the ways your walls clenched around his cock.

Fuck. You pussy made the prettiest sounds.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dripping with possession. “You belong to me.”

You could only moan in response, lost in the way he was making you feel.

Eren smirked, his pace picking up. “Say it,” he demanded, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate. “Say you’re mine.”

Your body was on fire, the pleasure overwhelming as you gasped, “I’m yours, Eren. I’m all yours.”

A dark, satisfied groan left his lips as he grabbed your thighs, pushing them up so he could fuck you deeper, harder.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, his thrusts relentless. “Now let’s see how many times I can make you cum tonight.”

Eren didn't slow down, not even when your legs started trembling around him, not even when you whimpered from overstimulation. If anything, it only spurred him on.

"You can take it," he murmured, his voice low and possessive. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding them up so he could fuck into you even deeper. "You're my good girl, aren't you?"

You nodded frantically, your nails clawing at his back as another wave of pleasure built inside you. He was relentless, thrusting into you with deep, precise strokes that made your head spin.

"Eren—fuck, I'm—"

"I know, baby," he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear. "Cum for me again. Let me feel it."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles that sent you over the edge instantly. Your whole body tensed, back arching as a loud, broken moan ripped from your throat. The pleasure was blinding, overwhelming, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Eren cursed under his breath, watching the way your body tightened around him, how your slick coated his length. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight," he gritted out, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he picked up the pace again.

You barely had time to come down from your high before he was flipping you over onto your stomach. A gasp left your lips as he pressed his body against yours, his breath hot against your neck.

One of his hands slid under your stomach, lifting your hips so you were on your knees, your cheek pressed against the couch. Then, without warning, he slid back inside you, dragging a long, needy moan from your lips.

"Fuck, you feel even better like this," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. He pulled back slowly before snapping his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you again.

Your hands scrambled against the cushions, your breath coming out in short, desperate pants. "Eren—oh my God—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder. "Just take it, baby. Let me make you feel good."

His pace was rougher now, more desperate. Your moans became louder as his cock kept hitting that spongy spot in your cervix. He was chasing his own release, groaning he looked down noticing how your ass bounced back against him.

He needed you to fall apart one more time before he let himself go. His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit again.

"You gonna give me one more?" he asked, his voice dark with lust. "I know you can."

You whimpered, to drunk on his cock to even remember nodding helplessly as his fingers worked you, his cock hitting deep, perfect spots inside you. The pleasure was too much—your body was shaking, your mind foggy, completely lost in him.

"That's it," Eren gritted out, feeling you tighten around him again. "Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum—"

His hips faltered, and you felt him twitch inside you, his breath hot against your back. "Where do you want it?" he asked, voice strained. "Tell me where I can come, baby."

You barely had to think. "Inside," you gasped, your fingers tightening against the couch cushions. "I'm on birth control—just fill me up."

Eren’s movements stilled for half a second before he let out a dark, satisfied hum. His lips curled into a smirk against your shoulder.

Birth control? He let out a dark chuckle, finding it cute that you hadn't even realised the changes in your little white pills.

Something primal stirred inside him at the thought. You were his, and soon, you’d be swollen with his child, tied to him in the most permanent way possible. He had no intention of letting you go—not now, not ever.

"Good girl," he rasped, his grip on your hips tightening. "Gonna take all of it for me, huh?"

You moaned in response, pushing back against him, and that was all he needed.

The moment you came, Eren followed, a deep, guttural groan leaving his lips as he buried himself inside you one last time. He spilled inside you with a shudder, his hands gripping your waist so tight you were sure there’d be marks.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing, the soft hum of the city outside.

Eren pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as he slowly lowered both of you onto the couch. His body was heavy against yours, warm and solid, but you didn’t mind. You liked the weight of him, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go.

"You okay?" he murmured against your skin.

You let out a small, breathless laugh. "I think you broke me."

Eren smirked, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. That way, you'll always remember who you belong to."

You rolled your eyes, but the way your heart fluttered told you that maybe you liked hearing that a little too much.

Eren didn’t move for a while, keeping you wrapped in his arms, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

Then, after a long moment of comfortable silence, he murmured, “Move in with me.”

Your breath hitched, your body going still beneath him. "What?"

Eren lifted his head, his green eyes intense as they met yours. "Move in with me," he repeated, his voice soft but firm. "I don’t want you here alone. I don’t want you struggling with bills. I want you two with me."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

Eren leaned in, brushing a kiss against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Say yes."

He didn't even need an actual response; he could see it in your eyes, feel the way your body softened into him. You would say yes, because you were his. Entirely.

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

This Way (Ain't Shit Series)

SUMMARY: Amalia gets to the real reason behind Ransom's sudden visit.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Black!OC; Ransom Drysdale x Amalia Wright

Warnings: Cursing, Dysfunctional Family Dynamics, Depictions of Fainting, Single Mom OC, Slightly!OC Ransom, Emotionally Stunted Individuals, Romantic Tension, Extremely Slow Burn, Angst; WC: 2134

A/N: Hey y'all. It has been over a month since the last update, so I really hope y'all are still interested! I started college so I have been trying to get situated here. Chapter two didn't do super well, but I chalked that up to a lack of Ransom (lol). Still, the responses I got were great! So please keep reading and sharing your thoughts. As always, enjoy!

Song Inspo: This Way - Khalid x H.E.R.

Masterlist / PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Amalia!”

My eyes flutter open and it takes a moment for me to focus. My vision is blurred and my head swirls lazily. The slow pulsing of my forehead has me momentarily dazed. When my eyes finally lock on Ransom’s striking blues, I find his eyes filled with worry. Little strands of hair escape his slick, upkept style. The throbbing in my head intensifies as I struggle to sit up. 

“Hey, hey. Take it easy. You passed out for a minute there.”

Ransom stops me from moving too quickly, gently helping me up. I slowly swing my legs off the couch, holding my head in my hands. He places a hand on my back hesitantly, rubbing in small circles. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, hoping to stop the pulsating of my skull. I barely notice as he rises from the couch, returning with an opened bottle of water. He hands it to me wordlessly. When I’ve drained half the bottle, I hold it out to him. He takes it, setting it on the coffee table in front of us. 

I notice pillows and papers scattered on the floor along with Shiloh’s toys. 

“What happened here,” I ask, gesturing toward the mess on the floor.

“They were in the way,” He replies simply. 

I sigh, leaning back against the sofa.

For a while, I trace nonexistent patterns into the ceiling before sliding my eyes back to Ransom. He observes me pensively. I bite my lower lip, pulling at the dried skin. He looks away, resting his head in his hands. There’s a slight tremor in his knee as he bounces it. His breath is quicker than usual. 

I exhale heavily through my nose. He looks back at me, hands clasped in front of him. Ransom arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to speak. I purse my lips.

“I really passed out?”

He nods. 

“How long was I out?”

“A couple minutes or so. Felt like fucking forever though.”

I nod at his words, training my eyes back on the ceiling. I trace a few more patterns. 

“How dramatic of me.”

I look back to Ransom just as an unreadable expression crosses his features. I worry, for a moment, that I’ve upset him. But suddenly he bursts out laughing. Loud, hysterical laughter that has him throwing his head back. One hand slaps his chest and the other claps my shoulder. The hand on my shoulder, however, retreats as quickly as it comes and rests atop the other on his chest. He doubles over, his voice becoming hoarse from his manic laughter. 

I can’t help the way my lips curve slightly, enjoying his amusement. I’ve always loved Ransom’s laugh. The way he puts his entire being into it to express his joy reminds me of how infrequently he feels this way. Laughter like this is rare from him, but far more frequent when we’re alone. Longing fills my bones as I observe his full-body laughter. The moment feels familiar. As if I told one of our inside jokes and he’s now losing it over how hilarious and chaotic we are. But this is different. The circumstances have changed. 

Discomfort rises in me as I avert my eyes. Ransom’s elbows rest on his knees. He covers his face with his hands, chuckling occasionally, before sniffing and running a hand over his face. A fist to his mouth hides the smile that still lingers. Then he looks at me, resting his cheek against his fist. 

“Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this,” He says, laughing again. 

His laugh is softer this time, a gentle rumble at the back of his throat. I don’t respond but that doesn’t phase him. He presses on. 

“That’s always been my favorite thing about you, Mala.”

My cheeks burn. Mala. A rush of desire burns through me as it rolls off his tongue. He says it so fondly, with such ease. As if he’d only been gone for one night and things were still the same between us. But they aren’t the same. They will never be the same. I look away and cross my arms tightly across my chest, heated desire fizzling into irritation.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Don’t make this personal.”

“We’ve passed personal, babe,” He scoffs. “Literally. Need I remind you how you fell into my arms?”

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you still trust me. At least a little.”

Our eyes clash as his words hang between us. I feel bare, naked under his scrutiny. Warmth filters into his gaze, softening as he observes me. His eyes drop to my lips almost imperceptibly. The caress of his gaze blazes through me, a heated path left in the wake of his roaming stare. I find myself leaning in, watching him with baited breath as his eyes finally return to mine. 

It’s when he leans forward that I snap back into myself. 

Shaking my head, I stand abruptly. My head swirls as I try to balance myself. I feel off-kilter but I can’t tell if it’s my headache or him. Maybe both. I press my fingers into my temple, massaging them in slow circles. Ransom’s hand comes to rest on my back. 

“Careful,” He says. “No need to rush.”

With my millionth eye roll of the evening, I remove myself from his touch and reach for my water. Quickly, Ransom grabs it before I can and holds it out to me. My eyes flit between him and the bottle. Turning on my heel, I head to the kitchen for a new one and ignore the exasperated sigh he lets out.

“You’re so damned stubborn, Amalia.”

“Deal with it,” I shoot back. 

“Yeah, I’ve been dealing with it,” He mutters. 

I pause, turning to glare at him. 

“Wanna say that a little louder, asshole?”

He clicks his teeth, running a hand over his face. 

“I’m just saying that a little help wouldn’t kill you.”

“Ha! And how can you help me?”

“There’s no harm in letting me be there for you. This has gone on long enough.”

I know what he means. I know what he wants but I won’t have it. I won’t give him what he wants. A vile, nasty urge wells up inside of me. It rears its ugly head and rises like a lion ready to feast. I narrow my eyes at him, my lip curling slightly. My fists ball at my sides as I take a deep breath to calm myself. Still, the rage demands my attention.

“My sister will be here soon,” I say, my tone biting. “I don’t need you.”

“Mala--”

“Don’t fucking call me that again.”

Ransom sighs heavily and rests a hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Oh, but I sure as hell want to argue with you! Don’t play the bigger person and stop this now!”

“Someone fucking has to! I haven't held my son in two years,” he yells. “Two years!”

“It didn’t seem to bother you before now!” 

Then, I pause. Ransom continues, his words falling on deaf ears. 

“Of course it did--”

His words jumble together in my mind, forming a mishmash of meaningless sentiments. He hasn’t seen his son. His relationship with his grandfather was ruined. He hasn’t spoken to me properly for two years. He can’t go on like this. He wants us back in his life. The words spiral around me. 

His son. Can’t go on. Two years. His grandfather. 

His grandfather. 

Then, it all clicks into place. 

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”

“I get it now. That’s what you’re here for.”

Ransom scowls in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Archie left half of his estate to me. Who got the other half?”

His jaw clenches as he looks away from me. 

It feels as though a rug has been pulled out from under me. I should have expected this. I should have fuckin’ known better. But like an idiot I wanted to believe that this time could be different. But all Ransom has ever cared about is Ransom so why would this sudden occurrence be any different?

Still, it pisses me the fuck off. 

“Your granddaddy cut you out of the will and now you want to run back to the baby mama, right?”

I throw my words like daggers, cutting deeper with each syllable. I aim to draw blood with my words. Ransom drops his placating stance, throwing his arms in frustration. 

“He cut me off a long time ago, dammit! This isn’t about that.”

“I don’t care what it’s about. I don’t want shit to do with whatever the hell you and your crazy ass family got going on.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t mind messing with my crazy ass family as long as Archie was helping you out.”

The words sting like a slap in the face. They fall between us, heavy and full of malice. My ears ring as though I have truly been struck. A flicker of shock crosses Ransom’s face but it's immediately hidden behind an indifferent facade. My laugh is quiet and jaded as I wrap my arms around myself, nodding slightly. 

“There he is,” I say quietly. “There’s the Ransom I know.”

Ransom’s body is stone-like as his eyes roam around in an effort to avoid mine. His jaw clenches so tightly that his teeth are in danger of cracking. The way he shifts his weight awkwardly tells me all I need to know as he stews in his poorly hidden guilt. Ransom was deadass wrong for that and he knows it. I give Ransom another moment. Another chance to somehow save his ass. Ransom glances at me momentarily, taking in my piercing stare, before crossing his arms petulantly and turning away from me.

Nodding again, I cross to the front door. My shoulder brushes his as I pass by and I ignore the ripples that surge through my nerves at the sensation. Different emotions rise inside of me but I stomp them down as quickly as they emerge. Still, despite myself, I feel my eyes welling with tears. I pull the door open--

--And stop short as I find Stephania standing there prepared to knock. 

Shiloh sleeps soundly in her arms. I glance over my shoulder quickly, hoping Ransom hasn’t noticed. But, of course, he has. He approaches the door swiftly, only freezing in his tracks when I step between him and the front door. A myriad of emotions cross his features, astonishment being the most prominent. 

Steph looks between the two of us, a similar look of bewilderment in her eyes. Wordlessly, she turns around and retreats to her car. 

I step aside, avoiding Ransom’s eyes, and gesture to the open door. 

“Go.”

“You can’t possibly want me to leave now,” He says incredulously. At my silence, he presses further. “Amalia, don’t be fucking ridiculous!”

“I won’t let you drag him into this. We’re done here.”

Stealing a glance at him, I look up just in time to watch his eyes grow cold. His face is hard as he glares down at me. I stand my ground against him, refusing to falter. The corner of his lips lifts into a cruel smirk. He scoffs quietly. 

“Yeah? Well, I’m not done with you. This is far from over.”

He snatches his shoes from by the door, not bothering to put them on as he shoves past me. In a blink, he’s gone. I vaguely register the sound of his car rumbling down the road as Steph comes back with Shiloh. Her eyes are wide as she stands in the threshold, looking in the direction Ransom drove off in. She looks back at me. 

“So…what the hell did he want?”

She peeks into the living room with wide eyes. 

“Better yet, what the hell happened here?”

I take Shiloh from her, inhaling his sweet baby scent. I look at the living room behind me, taking in the mess of pillows and scattered paperwork. The mess taunts me, serving as a glaring reminder of his presence here. But when my eyes land on the stuffed bear he carelessly tossed aside earlier, I can’t help the pride that swells up in my chest. My baby shifts in my arms, babbling sleepily, and my joy expands infinitely. 

Shiloh is still here. Shiloh is still mine. 

I give my sister a tired smile and slight shrug. 

“Nothing.”

Quietly, I turn around and head down the hallway leaving her there slack jawed. Moments later, I hear the front door slam and I know Steph is hot on my heels.

“Uhm, bitch! I know you fuckin’ lyin’!”

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Part Four (coming soon...)

Bad Reputation (Ain't Shit Series)

SUMMARY: Every story has a beginning. This is Amalia's.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Amalia Wright, Ransom Drysdale x Black!OC

Warnings: Angst, Discussions of Drug Use, Offensive Language, Colorism, Discussion of Weight Differences, Dysfunctional Family Dynamics, Cursing, Mother-Daughter Tension, Underage Drinking, Illegal Substance Usage, Depictions of Underage Drinking, Flashback Fic, Mentions of Central Park East in New York -- No harm or offense intended and it's used for storytelling purposes only; WC: 2376

A/N: Hey! It has been a month since I posted part one of this series and the response has been wonderful! Thanks so much for the love and support. I am excited to continue this journey with you all and dive deeper into Amalia's world. This story has really taken up a special place in my heart, so I hope this next part resonates. It's a little sad, but we get a deep dive into the things that have shaped Amalia. Beta'd by my boyfriend :) Please enjoy -Lyv

Song Inspo: Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

Masterlist Previous Chapter

“He left half of his estate to you.”

Half. To you. 

To you. 

Me.

When I was a little girl, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with my mama and baby sister. We were placed smack in the middle of Darlington, South Carolina’s toughest projects. My mama scrapped and scrimped and starved trying to make sure my sister and I were well taken care of. It was just us girls, after all. 

I did have a dad for the first five years of my life. But that bastard wasn’t interested in the little family he created with my mama. Instead, he wanted to rip and run the streets, chasing after anything that wore a skirt. That man brought a whole new meaning to the term “papa was a rolling stone”. But his absence didn’t make much of a difference one way or another. He was hardly ever home, to begin with, so I didn’t notice when he just…stopped coming home. I can’t place the moment it dawned on me that we were finally, for real this time, on our own. 

But my mama knew immediately. 

I don’t remember the day or the week or the month. But I remember my mama’s face like it was yesterday. It was mid-day. She stood at the window with my sister hiked up on her hip. Stephania was two at the time, so she didn’t get what was going on either. She babbled incoherently at my mama, but her toddler noises fell on deaf ears. My mother’s eyes were blank as she stared outside. It was a bright summer day with a cool breeze gently rustling the trees at the playground across the street. 

I don’t know how long mama stood there, maybe an hour or so, but I do know that my mama changed from that day on. Her face was blank, sure, but the heartbreak in her eyes was as clear as the sky outside. There were no tears in her eyes, only a mixture of emotions that swirled like a raging storm. Then, all at once, those emotions faded. She tucked them away one by one until all that was left were hardened spheres of grey. Mama didn’t even spare me a glance as she set my sister down, told me to watch her, and went to the kitchen to make us lunch. 

After that, my mom was never the same. She never…loved the same after that. 

See, I took after my dad with my almond brown skin and plump cheeks. My sister, on the other hand, took after our mother. Stephania was a stunner from the age of three with skin like golden honey and upturned, whiskey brown eyes. Neither of us inherited her stormy grey eyes, though. Those were hers and hers alone. Steph was also petite like our mother as well, a trait I didn’t seem to inherit either. I was dark and on the chubby side, so my mama did everything she could to change that. From flash diets to dance classes, to trying creams that could lighten my skin-- Mama tried everything under the sun. But my deep hue endured and that stubborn baby fat just wouldn't give up. As a five-year-old, you don't think anything of it. It's just another day with mommy to you at that age.

But the day our father left was the day I realized just how differently my mother really treated me.

I was eight when my mother and I had our first huge, blowout fight. I don’t remember how the fight started. Probably over something Steph did that I got blamed for. I remember her standing by the couch, at the end furthest from me, as I stood at my bedroom door. I also remember, clear as day, the unicorn stuffie she had given to me for my fifth birthday. She got it two months before dad left us. It sat on my pristinely made bed as I looked at it and then back at her as she said-- 

“I should be able to depend on you!” 

There was a long pause after that. So long, I felt like my feet had grown roots in the ground. I couldn’t move, pinned beneath my mother's hard stare. And all she did was look at me. She looked at me like I was the crazy one. As if I should be able to understand why her stress should rest on my eight-year-old shoulders.

Then, seemingly reading my mind, she scoffed and rolled her eyes as if to say that being eight didn’t matter. As she brushed by me to get to her room, a chill ran down my spine. Something told me that, to my mother, being eight didn’t matter. It was time to grow up. 

From that day on, I became the problem child. Stephania was her perfect, golden child. I became the one who had to pull my weight if I was to ever measure up in my mama’s eyes. Stephania barely had to lift a finger. I had the most chores and the most responsibility. If anything went wrong in the house, best believe that blame fell on me. Sure, I was the oldest and some responsibility was to be expected but I was still a child. I still needed my mother. But most times, I was left to fend for myself and Stephania while bearing the brunt of my mother’s ire. I didn’t blame Steph, though. It didn’t matter how bad things were with mom-- she was my baby sister and nothing was gonna change that.  

Besides, no matter what I did, I was never enough for my mother. And on those rare occasions that I went against her, she saw that as me proving what she already believed-- that I was a bad seed after all. 

And when that happened, it was always--

“Why can’t you ever do what I ask you for once?”

“You never do anything I tell you. I’m telling you something for your own good!”

And that gets real tiring after a while. 

I love my mama. I love that woman more than life itself but she doesn’t make it easy on you. She doesn’t make it easy for you to feel her love. And she certainly doesn’t make it easy for you to love her. Instead, she makes you fight tooth and nail for a morsel of her attention or some semblance of affection. And that, too, gets tiring after a while. 

A person can only take so much. My mother treated me like a fucking animal. Like this thing, this beast that she needed to tame. Truth be told, I think my mama saw herself in me. She saw every aspect of herself that she ever hated and, in turn, she despised me. I was nothing more than a conquest to her-- the personification of fears she longed to conquer.

So, I became the fucking animal she wanted. I became the kind of primordial beast that could never be conquered. Never destroyed or tamed. 

For every time she called me disobedient or disrespectful-- or selfish and unappreciative-- I started giving her a reason to see me that way. I started being exactly what she wanted me to be. When I was younger, it was simple stuff like talking back and not doing my chores. But when I got older, things got a lot more complicated. 

It started with sneaking out to meet the local potheads in my neighborhood when I was twelve, almost thirteen. They were three or four years older than me. I did little favors for them in exchange for the weed I couldn’t afford. It was small things like stealing from the corner store for them or doing the school work they were too fucked up to do. It was a good gig for a while, a great way to forget the bullshit going on at home. But when I started high school, I started looking for something harder to take the edge off. I tried coke but it wasn’t really my style-- I didn’t like shit going up my nose. Tried LSD and prescription drugs, too, but all they did was take me to the places I was trying to avoid. Bad trips are no joke.

Then, at my first high school party, I got a taste of alcohol. I had been offered before by the junkies I ran with but I was too scared to try it. I never felt pressured with my neighborhood crew but high school was a different field altogether. In a room full of your drunken peers, with eyes watching every move you make, you’ll do anything to fit in. So, one shot of Henny became two and then it turned into Vodka, and so on. The party got busted by the end of the night, and I was one of many teens caught because we were too drunk to see straight let alone run properly. Needless to say, I was pretty popular around the police department by the ripe age of fourteen.

The final straw came during my sophomore year of high school. 

Back then, I had long, dark natural hair that fell to my waist when blow-dried. It was the only thing about me that my mama took any real pride in. She never let me get anything more than a trim, no dyes, and absolutely no heat other than a blow-dry.  Mama coveted my hair like it was her own. She even did my hair herself to ensure that I wouldn’t mess it up. Those were the few moments she was soft with me. It was the only time I felt like she cared for me. But as soon as my hair was dried, moisturized, and put into a new protective style…the walls went back up. 

So, I cut it. 

I headed straight to the hair salon after school one day and got my hair cut up to my shoulders. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I don’t recall what triggered this rash decision, but I went through with it anyway. The lady, a middle-aged black woman with a cute smile was hesitant at first but she got to clipping when I threatened to sit in the white lady’s chair. Then I had her flat-iron it and add some fiery red streaks-- a special "fuck you" to my mom. And she fucking hated it…but that made me feel good. 

We argued for hours that night. The worst fight we’d ever had at that point. She told me I was just like my father-- a lazy troublemaker. Only good for lying on my back. I told her the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She was the single mother of two, not me. She slapped me for that and called me a sorry piece of shit. I shoved her and called her a selfish bitch. I left that night and didn’t come home for three days. But then Stephania found me one evening, hanging with friends in some back alleyway. We were all crossfaded as hell, giggling around a trash fire and burning our schoolwork for fun.

“Mala,” She called, her voice tiny and frail.

I sobered up as soon as I saw her. She was crying, saying Ma wouldn’t help her with her science project or something like that. Steph looked so fucking scared standing in that cold alley wearing a hand-me-down jacket with the hood pulled tight over her head. She was shaking like a leaf, too. It was cold out but I was too fucked up to notice. Guilt dropped through me like lead. Steph didn’t deserve to see me like that. She was only twelve for fucksake. So I pulled it together as best I could, stole some supplies from the store, and I helped my sister put together the best damned solar system ever.

Ma praised Steph for her hard work. She never acknowledged me.

About a month after the “incident”, mom decided that a change of scenery would do us-- me-- some good. Who would’ve thought that of all the shit I could do, cutting my hair was the most heinous? 

She packed my sister and me up, along with our meager belongings, and moved us from the pitiful projects of South Carolina to the elite slums of New York. We was finally gonna be “fancy” broke. Mama had some cousins up in the Bronx with the hookup in East Harlem. She got a two bedroom for real cheap-- well, as cheap as can be in New York-- and that’s where we settled. Ma got us enrolled in school fairly quickly and Central Park East was where I would spend the rest of my high school years. 

I fucking hated that place.

I hated it because it wasn’t home. Because it wasn’t my tiny little high school where everyone knew everyone. I hated it for everything that it wasn’t. But I mostly hated that place because, suddenly, I was thrown into this giant new pond where I was the tiniest fish of all. I was a nobody from some no-name town in the middle of fucking nowhere. And they treated me like I was from some no-name town, too. 

So, I did what I knew how. I acted out, got in with the wrong crowd, and figured out the best places for getting high between classes. I barely talked to my mother those days. I don’t recall seeing her very much either-- not that I truly cared. I found ways to occupy my time, so her absence didn't make a difference. There was this girl, Marta, who lived in the apartment down the hall from us with her mom and little sister. We laughed about how similar our lives were and bonded over silly things like boys and popular music groups. But she didn’t go to CPE, so we only hung out occasionally. 

Most days, it was just Steph and I hanging out after school. 

As the years went by, Stephania got older and prettier and was still my pride and joy. My best friend. When mom and I would argue, Steph tried to play mediator sometimes. But when small arguments turned into screaming matches, she would stay out of sight until it was over. Then, she would be there for me with a sheepish smile and corny joke to lighten the mood. The fights bothered her, of course, but she never let mom and I’s bickering get her down. It was like she was a cloud of Teflon-- durable yet pliable and soft. No matter what, Stephania had my back. 

It was actually Steph who had warned me about Ransom. 

“He’s a goddamned womanizing, manipulative, lying snake,” She had said. 

I just laughed her off, determined to be different. My relationship with Ransom would be better than that. Fighting for love wasn’t new to me. I was used to it.

What was one more battle?

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! I should be getting chapter three out soon so be on the lookout for that. Thanks for reading and please remember to like and reblog! Feedback is always appreciated. Also feel free to drop in my inbox to make requests, ask questions, or just chat. It would really make my day :)

Next Chapter: This Way

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Masterlist

Took these photos of JT for Grammys

Run All You Want

Summary: Bucky told you that you can’t escape him, but that doesn’t mean you wont try. Too bad for you Bucky enjoys a good chase. 

Pairing: Soft Dark mafia!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Slight dub con, allusions to forced marriage, smut, 18+, violence (not towards reader) mentions of death, edging, Buckys pain kink, power kink, breeding kink, reader kicking Steve’s ass

A/N: For @syntheticavenger who wanted to know what happened to the reader from Can’t Run, Can’t Hide. Unbeta’d if you catch an error let me know! Do not copy, repost, rewrite or translate my work, even if you credit it, I do not give my permission for my works to be posted on any other site. 

“Boss.” 

Bucky pauses, holding the glass to his mouth, the rich bourbon cresting over his lip as his piercing eyes follow your fleeing form on the security monitors.

You stumble across the expansive front yard, heading for the black iron wrought gates at the entrance of his estate. Taking a sip of the rich amber liquid, he swallows, a hint of a wry grin twisting across his face. He finishes his drink,, watching you run further and further from the mansion. 

Bucky places his glass on his desk and looks over at your trio of bodyguards. Any hints of amusement fading away, the sharp, knowing look in his eyes making the men cower, he gestures for them to explain why you’re currently halfway across the lawn.

Maximo clears his throat, stepping forward. “Sir if you would let us stop her before she-” He snaps his mouth shut when Bucky quirks a brow. Lowering his voice, he pleads, “Sir, I’m just saying we could prevent her from-” 

“Get Steve.” Bucky sharply interrupts. 

Maximo’s breath hitches, he opens his mouth but his half-formed protest shrivels on his tongue as Bucky slowly cants his head to the side. He drops his eyes to the floor, mumbling. “Yes, Sir.” 

Bucky dismisses them with a flick of his hand, turning back to the monitors, tracking your every movement. Maximo storms into the hallway, your other two guards close behind. He hits the wall with the side of his fist, hissing under his breath. “I told her to wait. If she would listen to me for once. Damn it.” 

What good is a bodyguard if you won’t let him protect you?

After the door swing shuts, Bucky loosens his tie and shrugs off his suit jacket. Settling in his leather chair, he watches you run past the hedges. He slowly unzips his pants as you scramble over a shrub, stopping when your gown catches on a branch. He takes his hardening cock out of his boxers while you rip the bottom of the expensive lace to set yourself free. 

Keep reading

at your service • e. jaeger

synopsis: after an injury, your husband is more than happy to care for you.

content warning: influencer reader, super cute fluff, eren giving (y/n) princess treatment, mentions of bodily harm and injury, slight angst, tiny mentions of sex, casual dominance

📝: just some cute fluff with our favorite rapper because I need the comfort today and I couldn’t stop thinking about domestic musician eren. 🥹 he just does sum to me.

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“Is that right? Well, that’s unfortunate but I really don’t give a damn. My wife is hurt and there’s no way I’m leaving her side. Find somebody else.”

(Y/N) could hear the intense conversation transpiring between your husband and whoever was on the other line out of earshot. As per, Eren was being his irate self. Blowing off a performance that he just wasn’t interested in doing. He had been contacted by the directors of the University of Miami in hopes of getting him to headline at their annual homecoming festival. Which always featured some of the biggest stars. Granted, he might have taken the gig if he were bored enough and had absolutely nothing else to do but he couldn’t be vexed. Especially when his precious baby was lying in bed, leg elevated on a stack of pillows and wrapped in a cast. Your arm? Bandaged up and damaged from the result of a nasty fall during a routine at a concert. Somehow, the stage crew forgot to bolt your pole to the floor correctly and as you went for your solo, it went crashing and carried you with it! An eight foot drop that was more painful than anything you had ever felt: The footage went viral, as did many things you did nowadays and everyone was terrified for you. You let everyone know you were fine but would be out of commission for a while…as you had experienced two hairline fractures and a bruised rib. Needless to say, Eren was livid and after rushing to the hospital to ensure you were okay, he rushed to the venue to find the people responsible. Raising hell that no one was ready for.

for now, you were stuck recovering at home while your girls finished out the remainder of the tour without you. It was a bummer and your spirits were a bit crushed…

“Go ahead, I’m still not coming. So you can tell the college, AMG and whoever else to kiss my ass. (Y/N) is the only person I’m leaving this house for. Ask me again and I’ll quit right now. Don’t call me for shit else. Goodbye.”

luckily, you had the most handsome nurse on the planet to care for you! EJ hadn’t even so much as thought of a studio or anyone else. Staying by your bedside, waiting on you hand and foot once you returned from the hospital. He had just finished up his call and headed straight back to check on you. “Hey princess…how are you feeling? In any pain or anything? Something I can get you?” His sweet words followed by a gentle hand caressing the side of your face, followed by a kiss to the forehead. He knelt down beside you, swiping his thumb over your hand. Even in this state, he glared at you as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world. Currently, you were tucked into bed, surrounded by plushies, games, flowers, books and all things synonymous with a get well soon package. He had spent hundreds, if not thousands in a matter of days on beautiful bouquets and gifts to brighten your mood. He wanted to ensure that you didn’t go stir crazy or get FOMO while you were home so he ensured that your girls got to chat with you every day on FaceTime, watching them practice which made you feel better. Knowing they’d do everything in their power to make it the best show possible in your absence. Your fans poured into your DM’s and mentions, wishing you well and showing their love with edits of their favorite influencer and dancer. And you even made sure to hop on live when the pain medication wasn’t taking its toll. Even you guys’ housekeepers were working later just to ensure the lady of the estate had all she needed. A testament to your character and how well you both had treated them. Something many celebrities failed to do. It felt good to know that you were so adored. Turning your head to face your sweetheart, you’d run a hand underneath his chin and return his peck. The concern on his face was taking its toll and you had to remind him that you were just fine!

“I’m okayyyy, my love. I’m more worried about you. Have you even slept? And did you just cancel ANOTHER gig?”

a question he truly did not want to answer out of fear of you getting upset. Because truth was, he hadn’t been able to sleep much knowing that his princess was in pain. Hearing you wince from a cough that caused your rib to hurt or when your casts began to itch and couldn’t be touched. He couldn’t stand it..more so, he couldn’t stomach the thought of what could’ve been? What if you were in the midst of one of your more insane stunts? Ones where you were twenty feet in the air, dropping at insane speed to match the artist’s rhythm..only God knows how that would’ve ended. But even so, he was still going to do everything in his power to ensure your comfortability. Regardless of if it were at the cost of his own rest or reputation. All of his projects were on hold for further notice, his performances postponed and a meet and greet put on the back burner. A small sacrifice for his sweetheart he’d make any day. And he didn’t care who didn’t like it..

“Me? I’m good! I had a nap on the couch earlier so I’m straight. You though? You need to eat. When you’re done, I’ll help you get a bath and I can do your hair for you..I picked up some of that oil for your braids that you use. Your stylist told me everything to get.”

so typical of him..going above and beyond to make sure that everyone of your needs were met. Not changing word, not getting frustrated or angry once. Planning things out and thinking ahead so you didn’t have to. Almost as if he were glad to do it. He made your life so much easier and honestly, you couldn’t wait to get better so that you could pounce on him and thank your husband for all his hard work. You had heard and experienced first hand the horror stories of women getting left by their spouses when they’re sick or hurt. How calloused men could be. Your own ex would avoid you like the plague when you so much as got a common cold! So this was new to you but much more inviting. Thinking about it sometimes made you want to tear up..which was inevitable at this point.

eren would soon turn his head amid his prideful rant, feeling accomplished in doing something right to find your eyes welling up. “Wait, did I say something wrong?! I’m sorry if I—“ to which you’d halt with a laugh afterwards. “No..not at all. It’s just that..I’ve never had anyone be this nice to me before I met you. I’m thankful, ‘s all. I’m so sorry for burdening you with all of this.” To which, you’d find yourself immediately thrusted into a hug and a kiss to follow. Cupping a palm around your cheek, Eren delicately brushed away those tears and kept you in his grasp. “Stop it..that’s my job, princess. To make sure that you’re always taken care of. You’re the most precious thing in my life and the best to ever happen to me. I’d do anything to keep a smile on that pretty face of yours. I love you, (y/n) and I’d do this a million times over. So please, don’t ever apologize.” You had never seen such sincerity in his face. ‘Though sickness and health’ wasn’t just some empty vow for him. He meant every word and he was going to fulfill his promise of loving you unconditionally until hr drew his last breath. You were his entire world and nothing..not even a broken leg could change that. He didn’t love you any less because of it. “..Oh..Eren. I love you so much..” “I’m serious, princess. Don’t ever forget that. I love you more.” The two of you would seal your declaration with a deep kiss and do away with any sad thoughts. Hopping up immediately after, he’d return to his normally silly self and head off towards the bathroom. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll be right back. Don’t you go anywhere.” Having to get at least one joke off on you. Which prompted you to smack your lips and giggle. “Where are you going anyways?” “To get the nail polish and face masks. My gorgeous girl deserves to be spoiled.” That and the fact that he thoroughly enjoyed doing it too. You were certain he’d have no problem getting comfortable with tending to all of your beauty needs in absence of your normal routine. Shaking your head, you merely chuckle.

“You know, I’m starting think you’re having far too much fun with this.”

which was fine, because he was happy to be at your service.

Do you ever feel like SHIT? Like life is moving so fast, and you’re stuck, tired, or completely drained? cuz same 🙋🏻‍♀️. That’s why I started looking into Japanese and Chinese habits—because I'm searching for slow down type of lifestyle, finding balance, and creating small moments of peace in the dawm chaos. Now, I know some of y’all will say, 'It’s overrated, you’re just obsessed with China or Japan,' but hear me out these habits aren’t about trends—they’re rooted in centuries and they’ve genuinely helped me improve both physically and mentally. If you’re ready to stop just surviving and start thriving, keep reading. These little changes might just change your life too.

Little Habits, Big Glow: Japanese & Chinese Traditions That Changed My Life

First off, warm water in the MORNING. I used to roll out of bed and go straight for coffee or cold ass water cuz my throat is DRYYYY , and honestly, my body hated me for it fr. But then I read about how in Chinese medicine, drinking warm water first thing in the morning is seen as a way to wake up your body gently. And let me tell you, IT WORK. No bloating, no sluggishness—just a simple, calming way to start the day. Sometimes I add a slice of lemon, and it feels like I’m doing something kind for my body before I even check my phone

Two Ikigai.( I talked Abt Ikigai and how to achieve this concept click here!) Japanese concept changed the way I see my day-to-day life. It’s basically finding purpose in the little things—like, not waiting for some huge life-changing moment to feel fulfilled. I used to put so much pressure on myself, thinking I needed to achieve these massive goals to be happy. But Ikigai taught me to slow down and find joy in small things, like enjoying my morning tea or journaling. It’s a game-changer for anyone who feels like they’re always chasing something bigger.

Another thing I’ve started doing is Tai Chi or qing gong. I know I know—it looks slow and kind of boring, but hear me out. It’s like moving meditation, and if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety (like meeey), this will center you like nothing else. It’s not about burning calories or anything like that; it’s about connecting your body and mind in the most peaceful way. Even just 10 minutes a day leaves me feeling lighter and more focused. (Click here to watch a video of it) When I first started, I thought, 'This is way too slow for me.' But then something clicked. The slowness is the point. It forces you to focus on your breathing, your posture, and every little movement. It’s like a moving meditation that clears your mind while strengthening your body.

© bloomzone

A soft life requires HARD WORK!!!!

You should pamper and take care of yourselves. HOWEVER, You need more than a pretty face these days y'all to get ahead in life. You see women who are in business, law, and Healthcare. They had to bust their behinds to get where they are now. Endless nights staying up to studying, not worried about men 24/7, dreaming about what will be on the other side to motivate themselves. Some of y'all want to be babied. Yes, not every woman thinks the same and wants to be a rich housewife. How do you think women become rich housewives? Networking, Education, volunteering, Hobbies, etc.

Some of these girlies on tumblr are selling a fantasy and I'll let them have it but this is not a Wattpad fanfiction. WAKE UP and get up and do something!!!

The news about the Trophy Wife YouTuber who just came out about how her husband SAd her two toddler daughters, when just before that she had an entire channel praising Shera7 for helping her land the “man of her dreams”, is a perfect example of how being a pick me and completely male-centered can ruin your life.

I’m done trying to tell other women that men should NEVER be their source of income. That they should look primarily at his character and not his money. That you don’t have to compromise on looks and values to date someone that isn’t a dusty. That that energy you are spending trying your hardest to get with a wealthy man could be used for you to become wealthy yourself.

You people have demonized the concept of self-actualization and independence on women to the point that no amount of reasoning will get past you. Some of you will have to go through traumatic events to learn that you shouldn’t blindly trust all the advice that’s viral on social media and based your life choices off of them.

I’m glad I’ll never have to endure sex with an old and ugly man just so he can buy me a bag. I’m glad that I prioritize my own education and career achievements so that I’ll never have to ask a man for permission to live my life as I see fit. I’m glad to have a name of my own and be able to stand on my two feet. No amount of “sprinkle sprinkle” propaganda will make want to crave that kind of lifestyle.

Beneath the Surface

So I have been wanting to watch this for the longest time after seeing clips of this man and David Tennet. I mean yum! I haven't quite got around to watching it yet but I have been reading the book/s and this thought has been rattling around my head for ages that I needed to get out of my head.

Rupert x Curvy Reader- Some suggestiveness

The garden party at the Harborough estate was in full swing, all crisp linens, chilled champagne, and laughter floating through the balmy afternoon air. Rupert Campbell-Black, sprawled lazily in a wicker chair with a drink in hand, barely feigned interest in the polite chatter buzzing around him. He was here out of obligation—a necessary appearance alongside Declan O’Hara, his insufferable rival, and the rest of the local television circus. He had expected the usual tedium, but then he noticed the shift in atmosphere.

A ripple of attention moved through the party. Heads turned, conversations briefly faltered, and a few men subtly adjusted their postures as they took in the presence of someone new—or rather, newly transformed. Snatches of murmured conversation drifted towards him.

“Did you see O’Hara’s stepdaughter? Christ, she’s changed. The arse on her, no wonder Maud sent her away—don’t want her husband around a stepdaughter like that.”

“Always thought she was a little mouse. Who knew she had that hiding under all those books?”

“Spent time abroad, didn’t she? Some scandal, if you believe the whispers.”

“I heard she turned down some prince, left him at their own engagement party.”

Rupert followed their gazes, eyes narrowing as he finally landed on you.

At first, he didn’t recognize you. Declan O’Hara’s stepdaughter had been spoken of, but never seen. Rupert had vaguely registered Maud O’Hara’s fond but exasperated descriptions—a bookish, serious girl, forever with her nose in a novel, lost to academia. Dull, he’d thought. Dull and unimportant.

The woman standing across the lawn, laughing with her half-sisters, was anything but.

You were curvy and glowing from your time abroad, and exuded a confidence that made his sharp blue eyes narrow with interest. Your hair gleamed in the afternoon sun, and your laugh—a rich, uninhibited sound—carried over the party, drawing more than just his attention. The moment you threw your head back, grinning at something young Caitlin had said, Rupert had the unwelcome realization that he was staring.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, taking a slow sip of his drink, eyes traveling down your body. What he wouldn't do to get a chance to get behind that figure and bunch those skirts up...

His mind, never particularly noble, immediately assessed the situation. Declan’s stepdaughter—off-limits, complicated. But also tempting, clearly underestimated, and possibly trouble. Christ, she’s a proper handful, he thought, gaze lingering on the swell of your hips. A woman like that didn’t just slip unnoticed through life. He wondered how many men had already tried and failed to claim her. Maybe even had claimed her.

He imagined what that soft, curvy body would feel like beneath his hands, how you’d react if he pushed, if he tested, if he whispered something wicked in your ear. He had a sudden, vivid image of you sprawled on a bed, eyes flashing defiance even as your lips parted beneath his. Oh, now wouldn’t that be interesting? He pictured those plush thighs wrapping around him, the way your breath might hitch if he bit at that delicate spot on your neck.

He spent the next half-hour mooching about the party, gathering snippets of conversation, watching you from a comfortable distance. You weren’t at the center of the social fray but hovered at the edges, observing with an amused detachment, sipping your drink with the air of someone who found all this social posturing vaguely entertaining. Not shy, exactly, but aware. Selective.

More whispers followed him as he drifted through the crowd.

“She had some torrid affair while she was away, you know.”

“No, no, she turned down some lord or diplomat. Broke his heart. Ice-cold, that one.”

Rupert filtered the exaggerations from the truths. The woman people spoke of was bold, confident—but something about you, something in the way you stayed just outside the party’s thrumming heart, suggested a wariness, a careful distance. Bold, but vulnerable, he thought. There was something in your eyes—a fire but a fear—and the realization intrigued him even more.

Rupert wasn’t a man who liked mysteries left unsolved. He liked his women obvious, uncomplicated, and preferably already in his bed. You, however, were none of those things. And that, annoyingly, made him want to know more. Perhaps he could get you into his bed, being sprawled across crisp white seats would suit you.

It was only when he lingered near the buffet table, pretending to be interested in the uninspired selection of canapés, that Taggie caught him.

“You’re watching her,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

Rupert didn’t look at Taggie immediately, instead swirling the drink in his hand with studied nonchalance. “I watch many things, darling.”

Taggie frowned slightly. “Well, yes, I suppose you do.” She brightened. “Isn’t it wonderful she’s back? Caitlin’s thrilled. I think she’s missed her terribly. I know I have.”

Rupert finally turned to face her, the faintest smirk on his lips. “Tell me, when exactly did your sister become the most interesting woman in the room?”

Taggie blinked at him, momentarily thrown. “Oh, I suppose she’s always been, really. You lot just weren’t paying attention.”

He exhaled a short laugh. “And what brings her back to this charming little patch of England?”

“For Caitlin’s eighteenth birthday, of course,” Taggie said earnestly, completely unaware of the sharp interest in Rupert’s gaze. “And, well, she wants Caitlin and me to move to London with her. Or maybe even go abroad. Away from Daddy and Mummy.”

Rupert raised an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”

Taggie nodded. “Oh yes, but she’s always been determined when she sets her mind to something.”

Rupert hummed thoughtfully, gaze flicking back toward you. As if on cue, you turned slightly, speaking to someone just within earshot, your voice carrying just enough for him to catch Maud’s sharp reply.

“You should have worn that dress—it makes you look full, round, and plump. You’ve gotten fat. Why couldn’t you just wear the dress I got you?”

There was a pause, and then, to his utter astonishment, your voice, clear and cool: “Because it was at least two sizes too big and shapeless. I think I look rather bangable. My tits have never looked better. I thought this is what you wanted rather than your bookish daughter?” you snapped, swinging back a gulp of champagne, eyes burning.

Rupert nearly choked on his drink.

Taggie gave a small, horrified gasp at the family squabble, face burning in embarrassment “Oh, God.”

Rupert, however, was utterly fascinated. His keen gaze traced the curves that Maud had so carelessly dismissed. You were lush—undeniably so. And you carried it like a woman who knew exactly what kind of attention you could command if you chose to.

Well, well.

He’d assumed you were a bookish little nobody, a person that he didn’t even register, a faceless name, but now? You were something else entirely. A challenge. A contradiction. A woman who knew her own worth but still carried something guarded in her expression. He felt the sharp tug of interest low in his gut, imagining what it would be like to make you gasp, to hear that cool, composed voice turn breathless under him. To push and see how much you could take, to watch you unravel, inch by inch, under the right hands. His, of course.

Taggie groaned again, oblivious to the meaning behind his expression. “Please don’t be you about this.”

Rupert shot her a wicked grin. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

SOOOOO what do you think?

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST

Consuming Love

This needed to be written. I want and need jealous and dark Rupert. Let me know what you think. There’s more to come, possibly from your perspective, where Rupert does sinful, irresistible things you can't escape...Comments are love....

Mature Warning!

Rupert Campbell-Black had never been a man to deny himself. He took what he wanted—thoroughly, ruthlessly, without regret. Women threw themselves at his feet, dazzled by his golden beauty, his effortless arrogance, the sheer brute force of his presence. And he indulged them, as long as they knew the rules: No love. No attachments. No silly dreams of taming the devil. The women who shared his bed understood that, though some tried to linger, stretching their time with him like spun sugar before it inevitably snapped. None were truly surprised when it ended—some even sold their stories to the press.

My Night Between the Sheets with the Bonking MP!Randy Rupert Strikes Again!

The headlines amused him. Good for them , he thought. They deserved their moment in the sun.

Then you happened.

A slip of a thing. Plush and full-bodied. Too young, too sweet, too unspoiled for the likes of him. A bookish little creature with big, luminous eyes that seemed to see through his carefully constructed façade. That was the problem—you knew what he was like, knew exactly what kind of bastard he could be, yet you were so fucking sweet to him. You blushed when he looked at you too long. Stammered when he spoke too low. Trembled when he brushed a knuckle over your cheek. But you didn’t succumb. You let him flirt, entertained him like one might a spoiled child or, in this case, a prowling, entitled man.

You thought yourself safe.

"Don’t be silly, Taggie. Why would he want me? He flirts with everyone. I’m too plain and boring for him. He probably thinks he’s doing me a kindness. You know how he is"

Oh, how wrong you were.

He should have walked away. Let you be. Let you escape. After all, Declan had warned him—you were old enough to be his daughter. Barely.

Rupert had told himself, at first, that it was nothing more than a passing fancy. That he merely wanted the thrill of chasing something that didn’t want him back. He had never been one for inexperience—too emotional, too much trouble. And yet, when he stared at you, he felt the unbearable pull to coax you out of your innocence, strip away the soft hesitancy. To corrupt you. To keep you.

You had ruined everything.

Because the moment he finally had you, he knew he would never have enough. Your virgin body, tight and untouched, should have been nothing more than a conquest—but when you giggled, breathless, body brushing against his in the tight quarters of Bar Sinister, something inside him snapped.

You were just so happy to celebrate, so trusting, so oblivious to what you did to him. You didn’t even notice how you pressed against him, how it wrecked him.

You haunted his thoughts.

He watched you in the Priory library on your breaks, curled up with your books, utterly lost in another world. You were exquisite. He could sit and watch you for hours if he let himself. The way your fingers toyed with the edge of the pages, the little crease in your brow when something in the text confounded you—it unraveled him.

But he was not the only one baying for your attention.

Rage filled him when Freddie leaned too close, demonstrating some new piece of technology, hunching over some blinking monstrosity. Declan was even worse, lingering in conversation, drowning you in his rapturous lectures on Yeats, some Irish poet or another. Worst of all was how you encouraged it, unaware that Declan was positioned perfectly to look down your top.

His little maiden.

Just like those ghastly romance books you loved, full of notions of purity and chivalry. And yet, Rupert had seen the well-worn copy of Lizzie peeking out of your bag—the one with the half-naked man plastered across the front. He wondered, then—was your mind as pure as your body?

Had you read those words and imagined things? Had you dared to picture yourself in such wicked scenarios? Had your fingers ever wandered beneath the sheets, your breath hitching in the quiet of the night, thinking of some nameless, faceless hero ravishing you?

Or had you imagined him ?

The thought nearly undid him.

He should have left you alone.

You deserved someone gentle. Someone kind. A bore, perhaps, who would marry you in some dreary registry office and move you into a grim two-up, two-down. The sort of man who would leave you unfulfilled night after night, who would give you a gaggle of children and a safe, dull life.

That, he convinced himself, would be the true travesty. To let you wilt in such mundanity, to see your light dim under the weight of mediocrity. You deserved to be happy.

Not with a man who wanted to take you apart and put you back together with nothing but his hands, his mouth, and his desperate, all-consuming need to own you.

But maybe—just maybe—you could be happy with him.

With him taking you apart every night with every part of his body.

He would have to marry you, of course. He didn’t mind the sound of that. He would have to. He would demand it.

The only real question was whether to take you before or after the wedding.

If he took you before, you would have to marry him.

If he waited, he could take his time, lay you out on his bed—no, your bed, their bed—and have the pleasure of seeing you sprawled across it, wrapped in the wedding dress he had chosen, the one that already hung in his wardrobe, waiting.

He could ruin you in it, rucking the delicate fabric past your thighs, bunching it around your hips as he drove into you, with his mouth, his fingers, his cock, branding you as his. For now and forever.

Then he could make you beg for it.

And you would beg.

Because by then, you would know.

You would understand that you had never belonged to anyone but him.

And God help anyone who tried to take you away—even yourself.

The interview

Could you imagine Rupert giving an interview and the interviewer gets stuck on the subject of how Rupert romanced and married his own personal Goddess. I sort of feel like this could be a little series. What do you think?

The laughter died down as the interviewer leaned forward, adjusting his notecards with deliberate care. The transition was subtle, but the shift in tone was palpable. The studio lights above cast a soft, golden glow, bathing the set in a comforting warmth, while the audience, now quieter, leaned forward in anticipation. The mood had gone from the easy, playful banter of the earlier portion of the interview to something a little more serious, a little more probing. It was a subtle change, but one that both Rupert and the audience could feel.

"Now, let’s get into something a little more serious," the interviewer said, his tone shifting as he folded the notecards carefully in his hands. "You’re widely regarded as the best Minister of Sport this country has ever seen, so why did you never go for Prime Minister? You must have been tempted, right? I mean, it seems like it would be the logical next step for someone with your… profile."

Rupert Campbell-Black gave a slow, almost lazy smile. He leaned back into his chair, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that had made him a household name—not just in politics, but in sports, in business, and in the social circles that buzzed around them all. His dark eyes gleamed with an almost mischievous amusement as he considered the question, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest of the chair. His posture was perfect, his presence commanding yet relaxed.

"No," he said, drawing the word out slowly. "Not really. You see, sport was always my dream. It was the job I was born to do. I was damn good at it, and I loved every minute of it. Running the Ministry of Sport, overseeing the nation’s athletic legacy—it was everything I ever wanted." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "And, now that it’s coming to an end, I’m content. I get to focus more on running Venturer, my business, and more importantly... my family."

There was a softness in his voice as he spoke of his family, a hint of something deeper that caught the interviewer off guard. The audience, too, seemed to react to it—a quiet murmur running through the crowd.

The interviewer arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "See, that surprises me. You’ve built quite a legacy in sport, Rupert. But I thought that politics—especially the role of Prime Minister—would have been an inevitable next step for someone like you. But it seems that... family has become your focus now? I mean, you know what they say. There have been quite a few rumors about your marriage. Some say it wasn’t entirely... conventional."

Rupert chuckled, the sound deep and rich. It was the same laugh he used when he found something particularly amusing, the kind that made you feel like you were in on the joke. The laughter seemed to hang in the air for a moment longer than usual before he responded, tapping his fingers on the chair’s armrest with a casual precision.

"Ah yes," he said, with mock sincerity. "The endless speculation. It’s always good for a laugh, isn't it? People seem to think they know everything about my life, but of course, they don’t. They never do."

The interviewer leaned in slightly, sensing an opening. "Many of your critics saw your marriage as a strategic move—a way to clean up your image. Your past… well, it’s been colorful, to say the least. Before you married your current wife, there were plenty of rumors, plenty of… indiscretions. Some would say your reputation was, how shall I put this, somewhat tarnished."

Rupert gave another laugh, this time with a hint of self-deprecation. "Tarnished? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think? I’ve never been one to shy away from my mistakes. I was a cad, a true villain of the tabloids. But who I was... isn’t who I am now. People can judge me all they want, but I know who I am, and I’m at peace with that."

The interviewer sat back slightly, taken aback by Rupert’s frankness. But he wasn’t done.

"Then what changed, Rupert? How did the nation's most notorious playboy end up married to the woman who seems to have... tamed you?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Rupert’s smile softened, just for a moment. It wasn’t the cocky, world-weary grin that the audience had come to associate with him. This one was different—genuine, almost tender, as his dark eyes flickered with something more personal.

"I fell in love," he said quietly, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "And when I say love, I mean real, honest-to-God love. It hit me like a freight train. I didn’t expect it. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming. I was blind-sided." He paused, his gaze drifting momentarily, as though caught in the memory of a moment long past. The audience was silent now, completely riveted.

The interviewer, too, seemed caught by the sincerity in Rupert’s voice. "As simple as that? You fell in love just like that? The man who was feared and adored, suddenly, completely devoted to one woman?"

Rupert smiled again, but this time it was more wistful, as though he were holding something precious just beneath the surface of his usual bravado. "It’s never that simple, is it? But yes, in a way, it was. It was just one of those things, you know? When it happens, you realize it. She was everything. She still is."

The audience reacted almost audibly, some of them exchanging quiet whispers among themselves. The interviewer was clearly fascinated, his next question practically spilling out. "How did it happen, Rupert? How did the great Rupert Campbell-Black, the man who is Thatcher notorious dog, find himself so... hopelessly devoted to one woman?"

Rupert chuckled softly, the sound almost bittersweet. "It wasn’t easy," he said, his eyes twinkling as he remembered the first time he truly saw her. "I had seen her flittering around, but I’d never really seen her. Not like that. It was in a garden, Charles Fairburn’s garden, to be specific. I didn’t think anyone saw me, but I was there, and she was there to help dear Charles, looking so perfect, so unassuming. Caring. Gentle. She was like a vision, and that was it for me. I was done."

He shook his head, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corner of his lips. "It took me a while to get it right. But once I saw her for who she really was, I knew I had to win her over. And, trust me, she didn’t make it easy."

The interviewer’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You? Rupert Campbell-Black? You, the man who never had to work for anything, actually had to—what?—earn her affections?"

Rupert smirked, the slightest hint of pride in his voice. "You’d be surprised what love makes a man do. She had high standards. And I had to prove I could live up to them. I had to work for her trust. Work for her love. It wasn’t just about charm anymore. I had to show her who I could be, not just who I was."

The interviewer leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this side of Rupert Campbell-Black that no one had really seen before. "So what did you do? How did you finally win her over?"

Rupert sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, an uncharacteristic flicker of vulnerability crossing his features for a brief second. "I begged," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, but also sincerity. "I got down on my knees, and I begged her. I asked her to forgive me for being the man I had been and to let me prove I could be the man she deserved."

The audience gasped, some audibly laughing at the thought of Rupert Campbell-Black—so self-assured, so larger-than-life—getting down on his knees. Even the interviewer seemed stunned for a moment.

"You begged?" the interviewer asked incredulously.

Rupert just shrugged, his trademark grin returning in full force. "What can I say? She had standards. And, thankfully, she was merciful."

The laughter that followed was warm, genuine, and filled the studio. The audience was utterly charmed by the idea of this notorious playboy admitting to something so rare for a man like him—humility.

"Well, clearly, it worked," the interviewer said, smiling as he glanced at Rupert. "But what made her finally say yes?"

Rupert leaned forward again, his face taking on that signature confident glint. "It wasn’t about me changing. It was about me finding something worth fighting for, something worth being better for. And trust me, there’s only one person in this world who can tame me. And I’m more than happy to let her."

The audience erupted in applause, their approval ringing loud and clear. The interviewer shook his head with a chuckle, clearly amused. "Rupert Campbell-Black, you never fail to entertain."

Rupert winked, his usual mischievous charm back in full force. "I do my best."

The interviewer smiled, leaning in for the final words. "Well, there you have it, folks. The one, the only, Rupert Campbell-Black—politician, businessman, sports mogul... and the man who met his match in love. Stay tuned for more about Rupert Campbell-Black’s mysterious goddess."

The audience cheered again, their applause echoing in the studio as the lights began to dim

Please let me know what you think!!!!

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snooze - sza