#I swear I didn't forget about artists

[agentlilicarter]

Dark academia aesthetic

The Writer/Poet

Shoutout to every writer. Whether you write original story or fanfic, long or short, with self insert or OC, it doesn't matter. I love you.

Praise the poets. Those who turn the pain into words. Those who get inspired by the simple things of life or big events of history. I love you.

I adore you.

I respect you.

You make my day.

I love you. All of you.

-Lili

Moodboard masterlist

[spookythesillyfella]

wanted to experiment a bit with my art today !! yaaay !!! ¥_^

...

can anyone else hear those bells ominously tolling in the distance ?

★ version without text under cut :

★ lyrics : "Melancolia" – Caravan Palace

[poisonf0rest]

Poison I am on my hands and knees BEGGING PLEADING IMPLORING for some more teacher Rafayel i did not know I needed it until you made me see the light godbless biggest fattest kiss for you MUAH

(I hope you don’t take this as me demanding you to write anything, definitely only if you want of course!!)

teacher's pet?

♱⋅── a/n: 3k of Professor! Rafayel. It's not his fault you're so easy to tease, to rile up, to get you right where he wants you when you're being a brat and not listening to your dear professor. art credit to @/sugarqiyu on x

Rafayel is a world-renowned artist, known for his masterpieces communicating all the rage and depth of the ocean, a devotion so palpable apparently you could drown in it. A rumor second only to his notorious reputation of having the face of an angel and personality of the devil. 

You can vouch that both these rumors are damn near true. 

Linkon University jumped at the opportunity when the Rafayel offered to become an adjunct professor for the senior year art capstone.

From the first day, the entire lecture hall was captivated under Rafayel's siren spell, his voice like sweet poison as he first introduced himself to the class, words a careful balance between arrogant and playful— that is, until you introduced yourself. 

It was barely noticeable, something you almost swear you imagine, but those sunset eyes light up when you say your name, his smile becomes a little less hollow, and something in his gaze arrests you so violently you nearly forget to look away. 

Little do you know Rafayel has been looking for you in this lifetime for nearly seventy years. And finally, finally he’s found you. So what if these circumstances are a little less ideal than usual? 

He’s not letting you go again. 

Professor Rafayel gives you impossible standards to meet, critiques that cut deep enough to make you want to scream, and grades that keep you shackled to his office hours.

He’s careful, though. His feedback is always just shy of unreasonable, his authority unchallenged, his reputation untouchable. And when you come storming into his office demanding an explanation, he just smiles, leaning back in his chair with the air of a predator who knows his prey walked right into the trap.

“Poor thing,” he drawls, feigning sympathy as his eyes slowly trace your figure from behind his glasses. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for this. But I suppose... with the right guidance...”

He lets the offer dangle, his gaze heated and unwavering. You hate that your heart races, hate that you need his approval, his help. Hate that he looks so damn smug knowing just how to make you beg, just how to make you come looking for him instead. 

Professor Rafayel savors every insult you hurl behind his back, every time you grumble to your friends about his impossible standards and arrogant demeanor. He listens, silently cataloging each biting word, each curse muttered under your breath.

And when he finally has you moaning his name, his mouth wicked and merciless between your thighs, he can’t help but remind you of every cruel thing you’ve said.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, cutie. Didn't you call me a sadistic asshole last week?” His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he flicks your clit with his tongue again, smirking as you writhe in overstimulation. “I suppose I am... but you love it, don’t you?”

The way you choke on a sob only makes him smile wider.

Private lessons with Professor Rafayel become a blur between you learning and losing your mind. 

Half of the time, Rafayel is a masterful teacher, and his passion for art is as mesmerizing as his paintings. He speaks about color theory with a fervor that none of your other professors have come close to, his eyes alight as he explains the emotional weight of each shade, the way hues can whisper secrets or scream rage. His knowledge is boundless, and his lessons on storytelling through art are so captivating you almost forget to breathe.

But it’s the tales of Lemuria that leave you spellbound, like something out of a fairytale or tragedy. Ancient techniques lost to time, rituals where pigments were mixed with seashells, and spells hidden in brushstrokes. He speaks with such reverence, his voice low and haunting, and sometimes, just sometimes, you catch a flicker of sorrow in his gaze, as if he’s lived through it all.

He shows you his personal collection, paints richer and more vivid than anything you’ve ever seen. Reds deeper than blood, shimmering blues that seem to ripple like water. He teaches you to paint underwater landscapes that feel eerily familiar, scenes of ancient temples swallowed by the sea, fragments of a forgotten and drowned world.

You convince yourself it’s just Rafayel’s eccentric genius rubbing off on you, a byproduct of his intoxicating charisma. But then he watches you with that knowing smile, his eyes gleaming as if he’s waiting for you to remember something you’ve long forgotten.

The other half of the time, Professor Rafayel’s lessons are nothing short of madness. He invades your space, his body always too close, his mere presence overwhelming.

His hands are always on yours when he shows you how to sketch the curve of moving muscle, the delicate slope of a hip, fingers guiding yours with agonizing slowness. His touches linger, featherlight in ways that make you shiver, his breath brushing your ear as he murmurs instructions, his voice addictive and velvety.

You try to stay focused, try to be professional, but his scent wraps around you, warm and heady, and your mind spirals. You spend far too long watching the way his hands move, the lithe grace of his fingers, the gentle strength that could so easily ruin you.

Your paintbrush trembles, your breathing uneven, and you can’t help the way your heart races when his chest presses against your back, his hands guiding yours as he whispers, “Just like that... perfect.”

Your professor knows exactly what he’s doing, of course. Rafayel feels the way your hand trembles around the paintbrush, sees the way your pupils dilate, hears every shaky breath. Rafayel drinks it all in, his smile infuriatingly smug, his sunset eyes heavy with satisfaction.

And when he finally touches you—really, truly touches you—all your remaining morality crumbles.

Of course, it’s punishment when you fail to turn in your twenty still-life practices by the end of the week. 

You’re slammed down on his desk before you can think to protest, paint-stained fingers clutching the wood as he presses you down, his body caging you in. He kisses like he paints, with passion and devotion, stealing your breath and sanity in one fell swoop. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs—touching, gripping, claiming.

You gasp as he pushes your skirt up, his fingers slipping beneath your underwear, babbling nonsense about how dare you wear something so cute, so sinful to his class and how he’s been thinking about ripping it off your slutty little hips all day long. 

“All that complaining, but you’re rather obedient now,” Rafayel teases, his voice mocking as his fingers curl, instantly finding that spot that makes you scream around his fingers. “Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d learn faster.”

You curse him, or at least you try, but the words dissolve into a broken moan as he curls them up again, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. Rafayel laughs. “You’re very cute when you’re frustrated.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re crying his name, apologizing for being a brat, every stroke and curl of his fingers calculated to drive you to the edge, to make you lose all sense of time and reason. And when Rafayel finally lets you come undone, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, he watches you fall apart with that infuriatingly smug smile, as if this was his plan all along.

And maybe it was.

Later, you’ll try to paint again, your mind hazy, body aching. But every brushstroke feels too intimate, every color too vibrant, too alive. You’ll stare at the canvas and swear it’s moving, the paint shimmering, swirling, forming shapes that look hauntingly like his eyes. You’ll feel his presence behind you, his hands warm on your shoulders, his voice velvet-smooth as he purrs, “See? Was that so hard?”

Private lessons were always his trap. And now, Rafayel’s got you exactly where he wants you.

When Professor Rafayel suggests you sketch him nude “for practice,” he’s already won. 

You know it the moment his lips curl into that wicked, knowing smile, the kind that makes your pulse race and your stomach flip. You should have said no. Should have refused, made up some excuse, anything to avoid this situation.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And now you’re trapped, heart pounding as he begins to strip in front of you.

He’s maddeningly slow about it, drawing out each movement with practiced ease, and you’re hyper-aware of every single detail. The way his fingers deftly loosen his tie, the silk sliding from his collar with a whisper that makes your breath hitch. His eyes never leave you, watching every nervous fidget, every time you shift in your seat pretending to be unaffected. But you don’t fool him. Not for a second.

Rafayel’s hands continued down to the buttons of his shirt, his long fingers working methodically, one by one, exposing more pale skin with every pop of fabric. You can’t help it—your gaze follows the path of his fingers, tracing the lines of his collarbones, the lean muscle beneath his skin.

You swallow hard, mentally debating if it would be worse to watch him or worse to chicken out now, practically surrendering and acknowledging what watching your professor does to you. Not that you could think at all when his shirt falls open, slipping off his shoulders to pool on the tiled floor, leaving him half-naked, so casually beautiful it makes you ache.

Rafayel’s enjoying this far too much. There’s the same smug glint in his eyes as he watches you struggle to maintain your composure. He begins to thumb at his slacks and you whip your head away, your entire body going rigid at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the click of metal on metal echoing through the empty lecture hall.

You don’t dare look, eyes glued to the blank canvas before you as heat floods your cheeks. But your traitorous mind cruelly fills in the details, painting a picture more vivid than any still life you’ve ever drawn. You hear the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the pedestal as he positions himself, and when you finally gather the courage to glance back the sight makes you forget the canvas entirely. 

Rafayel lounges on the pedestal like he belongs there, all long limbs and lazy grace, his body on full display with a confidence that borders on obscene. His skin is milky pale, the delicate arch of his ribs leading to the defined lines of his abdomen and fuck of course he has a six pack, his muscles lean and corded beneath flawless flesh.

Rafayel is every bit the masterpiece you expected, unfairly beautiful even like this, his glasses still perched on his nose, that infuriatingly smug smile playing at his lips.

“Well?” he drawls, arching an eyebrow as he settles into a pose, one arm draped artfully over his head, his body a careful composition of sharp lines and curves. “I thought you were supposed to be drawing, not gawking. Not the best student, are you?”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you force yourself to look back at the canvas, gripping the charcoal so hard it threatens to snap. You try to be professional, try to focus on the technicalities—the shapes, the shadows, the proportions. But it’s impossible when every angle of him is so utterly mesmerizing, when every stretch and shift only highlights the elegance of his form.

Your strokes are shaky at first, charcoal dust smudging your fingers as you outline his figure, but it’s hard to stay steady when his ocean dual-toned eyes are fixed on you, gleaming with mischief and something far more dangerous. He knows exactly what he’s doing, each subtle change in his posture designed to make you squirm. When he stretches, his body arching like a cat, you almost drop your charcoal, your mouth going dry at the ripple of muscle, the unapologetic sensuality of it all.

“You’re tense,” he comments, his voice soft, lilting with amusement. “Your lines are stiff. Rigid.” He shifts, his body unfurling as he sits up, one leg bent, his arm resting lazily atop his knee. You make a sound in protest, frowning as you lose your reference. “Heh, you won’t capture the fluidity of the human form like that. You need to relax, loosen up.”

You bite back a retort, teeth grinding as you force yourself to adjust your grip, trying to follow his advice. But then he’s standing, moving toward you without a semblance of shame or modesty, his fingers curling around yours, guiding the charcoal along the paper. His completely bare body is too close, his skin too warm, the faint persistent seasalt and driftwood scent of his cologne too intoxicating as he presses against your back.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning back into his touch, one hand still shading the muscle and contour of his body as the other blindly reaches out for Rafayel’s body, hitting the edge of his abs before sliding downwards ever so slowly. 

“Don’t stop there, I’ll help.” And Rafayel’s hands come to meet yours, encircling the charcoal with one as the other wraps your palm around his dick. “You have to move your hand like this…” Gently flicking his wrist to show you the proper shading technique for the lighter areas, groaning into the back of his neck as you repeat the movement around his base, already leaking down to your fingers. 

“Just like that, nice and fluid.” His fingers guide yours around his shaft, setting a pace that makes his breath hitch, his head dipping to rest against your shoulder as his hips roll forward, chasing the friction. “Good girl.”

You can barely focus, your vision blurring as he curls his fingers around yours, moving the charcoal in slow, fluid strokes over the paper. But your other hand is trapped—held in place by his, wrapped around the velvety heat of his cock, his hips giving the tiniest, most subtle thrusts into your palm as if he can’t help himself.

He’s so hard, so hot, already leaking onto your fingers, and your breath shudders as he groans against your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin.

“You’re sooo tense, cutie. Why is that, hmm?”

“Professor…” His title slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling, your fingers tightening instinctively around him. His laugh is breathy, wicked, and he nips at your ear, his teeth sharp, his tongue soothing the sting. 

“Remember, it’s just Rafayel when we’re together.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think, not when he’s so close, not when he’s touching you like this, guiding you, molding you. His thumb rolls over yours, smudging charcoal across the page, and you realize you’ve accidentally traced the same curve over and over, lost in the rhythm he’s set. You’re not even drawing anymore, just following his lead, letting him control every movement, every sensation.

“Rafayel.” You repeat, and he swears he loses his mind just a little. 

“That’s it,” he urges, his voice shaking slightly, rougher. “You can be braver than that. This is your art, isn’t it? You decide what to do with it.” Rafayel’s teeth scrape along your neck, and you shiver, your eyes fluttering shut as he ruts against you, his cock twitching in your grip, his moans muffled against your shoulder as he loses himself to the pleasure you’re giving him. 

When suddenly, he pulls away. 

You’re entire body goes rigid. Did you do something wrong? Did he change his mind? Has he finally realized how utterly inappropriate this is and chose to save himself the scandal and embarrassment of being caught with you? 

Mind still racing a mile a minute, it’s Rafayel’s gentle touch on your tense shoulders that has you breathing again.  “On second thought, maybe I’m not in the right condition to teach you. Maybe you also need to…” Rafayel’s arms come to wrap around you, fingers slipping under your shirt as lips trace the shell of your ear, and you swear you feel a light nip. “get comfortable.”

The charcoal hits the ground with a hollow crack. 

Your back hits the wall of his office with a muffled thud, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. This was supposed to be a professional meeting, it was supposed to end with you getting that damned A back on the last assignment. But not like this. Not this.

It’s reckless, dangerous, stupid. But Rafayel’s hands are already beneath your shirt, those stupidly gorgeous and talented fingers caressing bare skin, and each heated touch makes it harder to remember why you were fighting in the first place.

“Wait,” you gasp between kisses, your voice trembling as his mouth trails down your neck, “People might see...”

“Shh, it’s okay, cutie,” Rafayel laughs, his voice a low purr that vibrates against your collarbone. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire, a wicked grin playing at his lips. He’s already ruined you, already got you drunk on his touch, and yet you’re still worrying about silly, inconsequential things. That means he’s not doing enough. “No one will know.”

Not that he’d mind. In fact, the thought of someone catching you like this—of someone realizing that you’re his, completely and irrevocably—only excites Rafayel more. After all, he didn’t lock the door. Anyone truly could just walk in, and his cock jumps at the thought. 

Teeth grazing your pulse, Rafayel’s tongue soothes the sting as his fingers tease below the waistband of your jeans. “You’re so cute when you try to be good,” he teases, his voice mockingly sweet. “Too bad you’re not really the model student you pretend to be.”

Your protest dies in your throat as his hand finds your clit with practiced ease, stroking slow and deliberate through your panties, drawing out a needy whimper that you can’t quite swallow. His mouth is on yours again before you can think to be embarrassed, the kiss possessive, consuming, swallowing every last protest you can think of. 

“See?” he whispers against your lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You don’t really care who hears, do you?” Rafayel then curls his fingers, thrusting deep in as you scream, clawing at his shoulders and desk as your knees go weak.

God, you hate him. You hate the way he knows your body better than you do, the way he unravels you so easily. You hate the smug look on his face, the cocky confidence as he drives you to the edge. But you hate yourself more for how desperately you crave him, how much you want him, consequences be damned.

Because he’s right, nothing matters here. Not anymore. 

Nothing besides your dear professor.

[lost-and-ephemeral]

lnds x reader where the boys and reader are in an argument like bringing their insecurities up and says something extremely hurtful that made mc cry and distant themselves and the boys regret it so much? 💓

HCs: Hurtful Words (ft. main trio)

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader, (seperate)

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort (in the end), maybe guys acting too OOC

A/N: I didn't want to make boys too OOC, so maybe it isn't exactly what you wanted, but I tried to follow your request ♡

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´- 

Xavier

On one of your last missions, you were too reckless and almost end up dying because of it.

Xavier almost lost you again, and the thought just drove him crazy.

He was worried and pretty angry since it wasn't the first time you were playing with fire.

When he showed up on the doorstep of your hospital room, Xavier was very distressed. Even your reassuring smile made no impression on him.

He still remembered how you died in his arms in the past.

So he snapped.

Not because he really wanted to offend you. No. But because his anxiety had turned into a furious stream of thoughts.

He was harshly talking about how reckless you are. About how you're not all-powerful or immortal, yet you never think about the consequences. About how stupid you're being, putting yourself in danger by jumping into a group of enemies.

Xavier, normally mild and calm, was acting so different now.

And you, being injured and bedridden, hardly wanted to see this exact reaction from him.

His words made you feel like a burden.

And when there was no trace of anger left, he suddenly fell silent, looking at the way your eyes were slowly filling up with tears.

Oh, no. He didn't mean it.

He really didn't mean it.

"Leave my room," you choked out, feeling deeply hurt by his words.

Even if he wanted to stay, it wasn't the best idea.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you."

But you were wounded too deeply by his harsh words, so you immediately distanced yourself from him, chasing him away.

Stupid? Reckless? Did he really see you like that?

Of course not...

Every minute of his existence Xavier was regretting the fact the snapped at you like this. He was supposed to support you after a serious injury, not make you hurt even more.

And the distance between the two of you made it worse.

Happy ending bonus:

This poor guy only lasted a day before he came back to see you in the hospital with a bouquet of flowers.

It was physically hard to stay away from you for so long, especially since Xavier has already spend years searching for you. And ruining everything by this stupid argument wasn't something he wished for.

He was apologizing for everything he said until you softened and let him stay.

Because you, too, were missing his presence.

"I'll never let anger get control over me again. I swear. Please, just... Get better soon."

Rafayel

Every now and then you and Rafayel would get into a playful argument, but now it was serious.

You just totally forgot about meeting with him at his studio and went to the mall with Tara.

Your busy schedule had jumbled up all the plans and days of the week in your head. And you ended up remembering your promise only a few hours later.

The fact that your phone was muted and you had hundreds of missed messages from Rafayel only made you feel more guilty.

So you tried to get to his studio as soon as possible while calling him. But he didn't answer.

Once you got there, you ran into a really pissed off Rafayel.

Yes, he was pouting at you from time to time.

But now the artist was more than angry.

You knew he was very sensitive when you suddenly disappeared without warning, so you immediately tried to make it up to him.

But it didn't really work.

"How could you forget about me?! You promised!"

Unexpectedly, Rafayel let himself snap at you.

He was so frustrated about the fact you forgot about him that he had no control over what he said.

He talked and talked. About not being able to trust you with your promises. About how he was tired of worrying about you when you suddenly disappear without a word. About how he was tired of waiting for you, thinking you decided to leave him, making him feel like a fish out of water.

And hearing about you being such an unreliable and bad person was truly painful.

His anger eventually led to you storming out of his studio in tears, not wanting to hear any more accusations against you.

You didn't cheat on him, didn't do anything wrong. That's why this sudden aggression from him made you so upset.

And only while standing alone in his studio Rafayel realized that he had made things worse. He didn't want you to leave him, yet this is exactly what happened.

He tried calling you, texting you. But all he got was silence.

Bonus happy ending:

After a few days the silence between you two became unbearable. He felt like he was in agony.

When you heard the doorbell ring in the evening, you didn't expect to see Rafayel looking like a wet, sad puppy. It seemed that he had been caught in the rain and had come to see you anyway.

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other before finally lifting his gaze to look at you.

"I'm sorry. I acted like a total jerk. Please, I can't exist in isolation anymore, not being able to hear your voice or see you. You can even scold me till the end of time if you want, just don't leave me."

You missed him as much as he missed you. So you let him in.

Zayne

Sometimes Zayne was incredibly tired at work. Not just physically, but mentally.

At this time, he wanted more than anything to just rest and forget about all important matters. If such a thing was even allowed for a surgeon as busy as he was.

Maybe he'd be able to do it even more often if he didn't have to occasionally wait for you to show up for an appointment.

Especially since periodically you completely forgot about them. And in the worst cases, you were not only late, but didn't show up at all.

Usually, he would just lightly scold you, which didn't cause any problems. After all, it was Zayne's way to show that he cared about you.

But today was a particularly hard day at work.

So when you walked into his medical office, Zayne was sitting at his desk, massaging the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

And your excessive cheerfulness at that moment didn't make the situation any better. You sat down across from him with a smile. But he only shook his head, tired and disappointed.

"You forgot about your appointment again and decided to reschedule it for tonight?"

You smiled awkwardly, but didn't have time to say anything.

Oh, how annoyed he was, scolding you for how negligent you were about your health, ignoring all of his recommendations. He said that sometimes he felt like you are his personal headache. Except he couldn't get rid of you.

And he was too tired to notice how quickly the smile disappeared from your face, giving way to tears.

Before he could say anything, you threw the stack of papers with your test results on his desk, almost running out of his office.

The situation had gone far beyond what was acceptable, but Zayne realized it too late.

He tried to call you and even drove to your place right after his shift ended, but he was left standing in front of the closed door.

Maybe it would've been better to just let you cool off.

But with your silence, a devastating feeling settled in Zayne's heart. He was so, so sorry.

Bonus happy ending:

After a couple days of agonizing silence, he wanted nothing more than to see you. He managed to catch you before you went into your apartment.

You avoided his gaze, but you didn't leave, giving him time.

"I'm sorry. You're not a headache. I was having an awfully rough day at the time, so I snapped. It won't happen again."

Now you could clearly see the remorse in his eyes. You missed him so much and just couldn't push him away again.

After all, everyone can have an argument. The main thing is to be able to deal with the situation correctly.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Ghosts Like That

|| Parallel Powder x fem!reader

|| Warnings; season two episode seven spoilers, reader has PTSD about the heist, descriptions of PTSD and anxiety, brief swearing, hurt/comfort/fluff

|| Summary; when reader finds herself back in memories she would rather forget, Powder helps her back to the present.

Requests closed!

Started; December 16th

Finished; December 17th

HurtCember2024; Day 14, Near Death

~~~

It's been years since you nearly got caught in that explosion along with Vi. Years. You weren't even close to being over it. You'd almost died. That was... well, the closest thing to a near death experience you'd ever had. It was terrifying. You were just a kid. It still haunted you in your dreams. Seared into your mind as though it had just happened in the present moment. Ghosts like that never really leave.

You'd been up working in your girlfriend's workshop. She often let you tinker with the bits she wasn't going to use. Who was she to stop a creative mind, after all? You caught a flicker of a blue flash from a spark and suddenly you were back in that fancy piltover workshop. Your breathing picked up, the sound of an explosion ringing between your ears. Your eyes teared up and you cupped the side of your head. Screaming to get out the overstimulation you were feeling. Or, at least trying to get it out. Your whole body buzzed with phantom pain. A jitter to your bones you couldn't quite shake.

Powder had just gotten home after visiting with Vander and Silco at the bar. Humming happily to herself. Until your scream cut through the air. Panic flared inside her chest, adrenaline spiking. She burst the door open so fast she was shocked it didn't go flying. Her heart sank at the sight of you; her legs moving before her mind could catch up. In no time at all, she had you in her arms. Cradling you. Holding you close with care. Fearing to make it worse.

"Shh, shh, you're okay. Just breathe. You're at the workshop. Breathe. Feel the seat under you," Powder tried desperately to ground you. It wasn't her first time handling the PTSD you had. She'd come to learn your triggers and the methods that helped calm you.

You could faintly hear your girlfriend talking. But you couldn't see her. Not- her her, anyway. You saw little Powder. The workshop. Little Powder trying to talk to you and ease you through it. This- wasn't how the memory went. The realization of that is what helped you to start grounding yourself. Slowly, the fancy workshop around you faded. Replaced with the familiar one you'd grown to find comfort in. The colours. The work bench. The art work on the walls that was a combination of both yours and Powder's drawings. Heck, even Mylo got around to sticking one up of himself. It was terribly drawn and you couldn't help but chuckle looking at. Even in your state.

Powder looked down at you, following your eyes to the picture Mylo had put up recently. She smirked, her thumb brushing your arm," Mylo isn't the best artist in the world, is he?" Powder asked. Hoping the picture would make for the perfect distraction for you.

You shook your head, leaning into her chest," no. I've seen better drawings from kids," you laughed. Powder eased at the sound. You were laughing, that was a good sign. Even if it was at Mylo's expense.

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's supposed to be his arm or his head," Powder pointed to the art. Squinting her eyes to get a better look. Maybe it was a blaster of some sort? Fuck if she knew.

"Pfft, he looks more like a spider than a Mylo," you smirked at your own comment. Powder burst out laughing, nodding in agreement to you. He did, didn't he? He could have presented the drawing as a spider and she would have fully believed it.

Powder's eyes focused back on you. Her expression softened, admiring the little crinkle next to your eye. Caused by the smile on your lips. You turned around pretty quickly this time. Maybe that was a sign of it getting better? Powder sure hoped so. She didn't like seeing you in pain, "How you feeling?" She asked, being careful not to trigger you again.

"Better," you murmured. Snuggling up to your girlfriend in the chair. Eyes still on Mylo's picture. Who knew a poorly drawn Mylo would have been what helped calm you down?

"Good," Powder gave you a gentle kiss. Your lips moving against hers in slow, practiced movements. The last of the memory fading from your mind. Hoping that it wouldn't be back any time soon.

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: jameson deals with the consequences of the many disappointments he's given imani over the years. sloane continues to unravel and only Christian realizes. genie and ej take another step in their relationship while imani wonders if she and jameson are worth saving.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, emotional breakdown, explicit terminology, dirty talk (kinda), dd/lg (slight), dom/submissive sex scene, p in v, oral (male receiving), biting -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8.4k Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Jameson stepped out of the elevator, brushing past stilted bodies as he made his way towards the parking garage. He had called Imani six times since leaving Sloane's apartment but there was no response. He scrolled past all the texts, all the notifications, and rejected several other calls. The only person he wanted to talk to was her. He got the voicemail again and the realization that she wanted nothing to do with him set in. He strode to his car, his jaw clenched. By the time he slid into the front seat, he was determined. He'd just go to her house. Even if he had to talk to her through the damn intercom at her front gate, he'd do it.

With a plan in mind, Jameson turned the car on and prepared to leave...but his gaze strayed to the phone in his hand. Common sense told him not to do it but he did. He went back to EJ's text and clicked the link to the music. Even as her voice filtered in through his car speakers, he didn't quite accept that it was her. It'd been so long since he'd heard music from her. Even her voice sounded different.

The untrained ear probably didn't hear it but Jameson did. He heard the anger, the loathing. She used to sing about him with exasperation but always love. Everything they sang about one another held an understanding -- they loved each other. He couldn't hear it anymore. Her lyrics were vivid, each word painting a picture of the love they’d shared and the ways it had fallen apart. He could hear the anger in her tone, the bitterness laced with sadness. The despair mingled with hope. Fuck.

I get this type of feeling you ain't accustomed to I swear I'd be at peace if it weren't for you

He winced the first time he got a shot on the project. They had done it back and forth to one another but she sounded fucking miserable with him. It was like he could pinpoint every single time she touched pen to paper and wrote a lyric that was about their relationship.

I don't care about what you seen in me You were not who you pretend to be I will regret giving my last, man I should've let you crash out Can't believe you blaming me

Every situation flashed right before his eyes. Argument after argument that leads to making up.

Trying to find, you're my blindspot, it's fine niggas Ruin me every single time

The first time they saw each other after a year -- when she made him swear not to make her any promises so she could avoid being disappointed.

You know we got a real history That's no reason I can't choose me You know that dick been good to me You make it hard for me to choose me Dancing and kissing, the kitchen Makes me forget, I forgive him

The morning after they returned from Italy -- when everything seemed to be on an upswing for them.

That pussy hit like royalty Must be hard for you to lose me

The frantic texts and calls that he couldn't stop himself from making. That he didn't want to stop.

Text me like I'm waitin' for you to come lie to me Ruin my day, sayin' shit to hurt me, I can't compete Still on the way, I lay awake if you're not around me I'm so on to you, still gone for you

God, why did she stay with him? Three years together. A year apart. She still gave him the chance to come back even though that was how he made her feel.

You don't wanna be, be without me You don't wanna live I don't wanna go, ooh, no I don't wanna be alone, oh All that I know is mirrors inside me They recognize you, please don't deny me

It was true. He didn't want to live without her. But how was he ever supposed to go back to her with this knot in his gut? How was he supposed to lay next to her at night knowing he drained and twisted her up inside like this? Even without trying? She had every right to hate him and she knew it. In those lyrics, it told their whole story. She wanted to hate him...but couldn't.

He hadn't even realized he was driving until he came to a stop...at his own house. Even his subconscious knew he couldn't face Imani right then. What was he going to say? I'm sorry. I was wrong. I fucked up again. I hurt you again. Look away, forgive me again. It sounded hollow as fuck even in his head. He didn't have the right to ask for any of it.

He hadn’t just hurt her a few times -- he’d broken their relationship in ways he couldn’t even comprehend. She’d poured her pain into this music, and the world was celebrating it, but all he could hear was the sound of her heart-shattering and it was his fault. So he sat there in his punishment, listening over and over. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d lost. He was thinking about what he’d taken from her — and how he’d never be able to give it back.

Her entire body felt like it was in shock. She felt numb. The carefully planned dinner she'd prepared for Jameson had spiraled out of control. She didn't even remember breaking dishes but they sat in shattered pieces around her as she leaned against her front door. How could he just leave her? He wasn't supposed to leave! He was supposed to appreciate her and be happy she was there for him. He was supposed to see true loyalty from her. But somehow...it had all fallen apart.

Sloane’s hands trembled as she slowly crawled across the floor, avoiding slivers of shattered plates. By the time she had enough awareness to climb to her feet, she realized she needed her phone. She searched the room, finding it underneath the couch. In the chaos, it had slipped away. It trembled in her hands as she tried to decide who to call.

She was sad. Hurting. Who was she supposed to call? Her parents? They didn't care. Genie? She had tossed that friendship away. Jameson? Her heart clenched at the idea of calling him and going to voicemail. She sat on her couch, holding the phone to her chest before it dawned on her. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt as she called the contact and the phone rang. Her chest felt tighter, her breaths shallow and uneven.

When his voice finally came through the line, her relief was overshadowed by desperation. "C-Come over,” she said quickly, her voice cracking. “I need you here. Please.” She hung up before he could respond, her pulse racing. She sank onto the couch, running her fingers through her hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

By the time Christian arrived, her makeup was streaked from tears she hadn’t even realized she’d shed. He stepped inside, his usual confident demeanor faltering when he saw her.

“Sloane,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him. “What the fuck happened?”

She stood, her movements frantic, and began pacing again. “He said he's done with me. Jameson — he ended everything. Our friendship, everything. He called me out for all of it—for hurting Genie, for you, for everything I’ve done.”

Christian frowned, his concern evident. “Okay, slow down. Take a breath. What exactly did he say?”

Sloane stopped pacing, turning to face him. “He asked if I fucked you. I told him it was a mistake. He didn't even care that I slept with you. He cared that it hurt Genie. He didn't even care about me." Her voice trailed off, mumbling as she dissolved into tears again. "That I’ve ruined too much, and he can’t trust me anymore. "He looked at me like I was disgusting, Christian. Like I was nothing.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

Christian approached her cautiously, his tone gentle. “I need you to calm down. C'mon, sit down. I'll get you some water." Sloane's movements were jerky and she couldn't get herself to stop shaking. Christian took her arm firmly, guiding her to sit back down. "Don't move."

For once, Sloane didn't argue or ignore him. She sat there and stared at the ceiling, the past few years hitting her hard. When he brought the glass back to her and took a seat next to her, she was in tears again. “I don't know --" she began, shifting her gaze to find his. "I don’t know who I am without him.”

Christian’s jaw tightened, his sympathy battling with his frustration. “You lived a life before Jameson Lucas smiled at you. You'll be fine without him. Just...stop digging yourself deeper."

She pulled away from him, her movements sharp, gaze darting to her phone on the coffee table. “I don’t know. I just… I need him to feel what I’m feeling. To know how much this hurts.”

“Revenge isn’t going to make this better. It’s just going to make things worse for you and for him -- not that I give a fuck about him.” “It’s not revenge. It’s justice." "So you fuck with him some more. You think that'll make him love you?" "I...I don't know how to get him back." "What if you never do. What are you going to do?"

Sloane hesitated and Christian rolled his eyes. “Wake up. No matter what you do -- he won't be yours. But the sun is going to come up tomorrow, Sloane. The world will keep on turning. Life will continue. You will continue."

Fresh tears filled her eyes again and she doubled over, laying on the couch and crying softly to herself. She was alone. She didn't even notice Christian sitting next to her, his fingers awkwardly brushing through her hair as she cried.

EJ snored against her chest as the light from her cell illuminated her bedroom. Genie pressed her hand to his back, rubbing in small circles as she continued to text Imani back. The two hadn't seen each other in person but Genie finally found the words to tell her she wasn't upset about the photo. their friendship immediately shifted back into normalcy -- with the two texting and calling regularly. Despite the massive Jameson-shaped elephant in the room.

After listening to Imani's EP, Genie couldn't help but interfere. Even when she told EJ she wouldn't.

[ genie ] : i loved diary, mani mani ❤️ [ baby mama ❤️ ] : aw my genie. thank you [ genie ] : i promise to smack jamie's neck again when i see him [ baby mama ❤️ ] : lmao, you ain't gotta do that, baby [ genie ] : are you just going to keep avoiding him forever? [ baby mama ❤️ ] : idk, genie. i'm not ready to talk to him yet. [ genie ] : i think you should hear him out, mani. he's really sorry [ baby mama ❤️ ] : 🙄 that's the problem. he's always fuckin sorry. it's sloane today, but next week, it'll be some other shit. [ genie ] : but you love him. you haven't loved anyone the way that you love him. i think you should at least hear him out [ baby mama ❤️ ] : i can't make no promises, genie 🙅🏾‍♀️ [ genie ] : okay, okay. i guess i'll take it. there is something else i have to tell you tho...it's about christian and me. [ baby mama ❤️  ] : what? i promise those pics ain't mean shit. i just wanted to make jameson jealous. [ genie ] : i know, i just want you to be careful with him .the reason why i stopped talking to him is because he slept with sloane. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : wtf??? 😡 you lyin! [ genie ] : i wish i was. i confronted sloane and she said he didn't even want me anyways...he liked someone else. i'm starting to think it's you he wanted. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : fuck, i'm so sorry genie. that nigga wouldn't even got a chance to breathe my air if i knew that shit. he's blocked now! and if i catch that bitch sloane in the street, i'm whooping her ass. i promise you that. idgaf bout no fame shit. [ baby mama ❤️  ] : are you okay now? [ genie ] : yeah, it's in the past. i got a new man now. [ baby mama ❤️  ] : ....new man?

Imani stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress, her gaze drifting the length of her gown. Being in front of crowds didn't phase her but she was going to a charity event -- a Christmas day gala. After spending the morning with visiting friends and family, she felt a sense of calm. He didn't stand in the forefront of her mind on Christmas Day. But the second she counted him out of her system, he course he did something to show her that he was still embedded in her skin.

As she descended the stairs to show off her dress to the assembled relatives, Imani rounded the corner with a bright grin. "And I look damn good!" There he stood among her cousins and aunt -- her father glaring from a corner. He looked handsome, quietly composed. He acted like he was supposed to be there. "What are you doing here?" she asked him, ignoring the curious looks of her family members.

She hadn’t expected him to show up tonight. Not after everything that had happened between them. But when he’d agreed weeks ago to escort her to the gala, she had assumed it was just a polite gesture— he was doing his best to get back in her good book. She hadn’t expected him to actually follow through.

And yet, here he was in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against her kitchen counter.

"We made plans," he replied, his voice warm, but with an edge of determination. “I wanted to keep them.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking over him, then around the room to everyone else. It wasn't as if they weren't aware of what was going on. They all saw the gossip, heard the news. But still -- she felt vulnerable letting them all have a front row seat to a fight with him. "Hmph. They definitely weren't still on." She hadn’t thought about what this night would actually feel like. It had been easy to imagine herself attending the gala without him—easy to picture her life moving forward without the constant ache of their broken relationship. But now that he was standing in front of her, it was harder to push him away.

"They aren't?" He asked with a deceptively innocent tilt to his head. "I didn't get that message from you. I'm sorry."

He was practically bating her into a reply. Imani glared at him, choosing to ignore his presence. She didn't respond, didn't say anything. She continued to fawn over her family, acting like Jameson wasn't there at all. They took pictures together, she tasted her aunty's dressing, and she kissed her parents goodbye before her team between to help her get into her driver's waiting car.

Jameson didn't complain, didn't beg for her attention. He stood silent and eventually followed her out of the house, waving goodbye to the family members that did engage with him.

She sighed, looking away from him. The thought of spending the evening with him, surrounded by people who would notice their tension, made her stomach churn. But something in her wouldn't let him win. They couldn't see her fluster or sweat when it came to him She had to admit, part of her wanted to go. Part of her wanted to see if this night could somehow undo all the hurt they’d caused each other.

“Mani,” he said, once he got into the car, his voice low and insistent. “We don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. But we can still do this. For one night. Let’s just...take things as they are.”

She met his gaze then, and for a moment, the weight of everything between them seemed to disappear. It was just him. Just her. And the night ahead of them.

“Fine,” she said, crisply. “But I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me.”

He smiled and she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief? Grief? It was something she couldn't identify. Every time he looked at her, it was as if he was asking for something. Whatever it was -- Imani didn't know if she had it in herself to give.

Sloane adjusted the strap of her Brandon Maxwell gown, a trembling hand brushing against her hair as she peered at her reflection in the tinted window of the car. Pulling herself together after Jameson left her alone in her apartment had been difficult. Christian had been a frantic last resort. He had shown up when she didn’t truly expect him to. She spent days in a daze, trying to truly understand what had gone wrong. The instinct to say something, to lash out was so strong that it felt suffocating. She’d been doomscrolling on Instagram and saw a grainy image of – was that Jameson?

It had been him. An image, taken from the account of one of Imani’s family members and posted directly to This Just In’s account. Seeing they were together had given Sloane some kind of strength. How dare they be happy when she was struggling? Her heels clicked against the pavement as she left the car and made her way towards the gala without an invitation. Sloane had a currency that mattered more than paper: Her name.

Heads turned as she passed, her presence commanding attention. But she wasn’t there to charm or distract – she was there to destroy. She didn’t even care what Imani would say or do to her. Just as long as Jameson’s gaze met her own again. Even if he was looking at her like he hated her – at least he was looking at her.

With a laugh and a promise to donate three times the amount as anyone else, she was allowed to enter. She saw him almost immediately. Imani wasn’t far but they weren’t wrapped up in each other. They weren’t laughing at her pain. They looked…miserable. It should have made her happy but Sloane simply stared, wondering what was happening between them. Imani didn’t meet Jameson’s gaze, Jameson kept tugging on his suit like he was uncomfortable. What was going on?

“Sloane.”

She turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she met Christian’s gaze. He was impeccably dressed, as always, but there was a sadness in his expression that she didn’t expect.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him, somewhat ashamed that he had seen her cry a few days before and now he was looking at her with pity. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me,” Christian said firmly, stepping closer. “You’re spiraling, and you’re about to make a fool of yourself—and everyone else in the process.”

Sloane scoffed, frowning as she moved away from him. “You don’t get to lecture me, Christian. You’re just as complicit in this mess as I am.”

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted, his voice low and steady. “I’m stuck in this shit because I wanted somebody so bad that I lost myself trying to get her. Look at her. Hell, look at him. Just look!”

Sloane reluctantly looked across the room. Jameson was gazing out at the crowd, his eyes seeing but he didn’t seem to be registering anybody around. Imani was looking at him. Her gaze was soft. Almost sad. She loved him. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, Sloane could see it.

“They’re in their little world. We will never be able to get in because all they care about is each other.” Christian told her roughly, the reality making her sad. “I may not be able to judge you right now but I’m not the one standing here, ready to burn everything to the ground because I didn’t get my way.”

Her eyes flashed with anger and she jerked away from him. “You think this is about me? This is about him. Jameson thinks he can walk away from me like I’m nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Christian said, his tone softening. “You did. And then you didn’t. That’s your own fault.” She flinched, recoiling as if he had hit her by being so casually cruel. It was a simple statement. One that had been true. Sloane hesitated, her lip trembling slightly. “But he…deserves it,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “He deserves to know what it feels like to be humiliated.”

Christian stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the couple. “And what about you? Is that what you deserve? Don’t you think you’ve been through enough?”

Sloane’s lips parted, shoulders slumping as his words sank in. She began to blink quickly, trying to rid her eyes of tears. “What am I supposed to do now? Just let them win?”

He glanced over his shoulder, peering at Imani and Jameson. Whatever he’d been about to say, he chose not to. Instead, he pressed his hand to her elbow and began to walk her toward the exit. Sloane was too overwhelmed to do much of anything but let him. “Nobody is winning, Sloane. All of us are fucking losers in this shit. It’s time we both stop chasing a dream.”

Genie looped her arm through EJ’s as they entered the grand ballroom. Her Jacquemeus Pilou boots work perfectly as accessories. Her self-designed black velvet mini dress left a shoulder bare and very little to the imagination. For once, she felt good about everything. She cuddled close to EJ, knowing they were going to have much to explain to their best friends – but she was okay with that. She was ready. Genie adjusted the hem of her dress and scanned the room, already aware of the tension crackling in the air.

“Imani’s here,” she murmured, spotting her friend near the edge of the dance floor. She was standing stiffly next to Jameson, who leaned in to say something. Imani turned her head sharply, her expression a mix of defiance and unease.

EJ followed Genie’s gaze, his brow furrowing. “They don’t look like two people enjoying a gala together.”

“They don’t,” Genie agreed, her lips pressing into a thin line. She sighed, glancing up at EJ. “Imani doesn’t need this kind of stress right now.”

“You think Jameson brought her to stress her out?” EJ asked. “He’s obsessed with that girl. He’s probably trying to fix it.”

Genie hesitated, her eyes flicking back to the couple. Jameson’s posture was slightly hunched, as if he was trying to close the gap between them, but Imani’s arms were crossed, her body angled away.

“Whatever he’s doing, it’s not working.” she said softly, sighing. 

Before EJ could respond, movement near the entrance caught Genie’s attention. Her chest tightened as she spotted Sloane descending the stairs, her sharp gaze zeroed in on Jameson and Imani.

“Oh, God,” Genie huffed, annoyed with the fact that she was one foot into the gala and her night was looking to be ruined.

“What?” EJ turned, following her gaze. “Ain’t this bout a bitch.”

Sloane’s stride was purposeful, her dress clinging to her like armor. There was something wild in her expression, a barely restrained chaos that Genie had seen before—usually right before Sloane did something destructive.

“We need to stop her,” Genie said. “No. We don’t.” “Baby–” “No. That’s their shit, Genie. We said we’re out.”

It was like a car wreck. Genie couldn’t force herself to look away. Before Sloane could reach Imani and Jameson, Christian arrived. The two of them watched him step in front of Sloane, his hand on her arm as he spoke quickly. Sloane shook her head, her gestures animated, her voice too low to hear over the music. Christian’s grip tightened, and for a moment, it looked like she might shove him away.

Genie held her breath.

Sloane wavered, her shoulders slumping slightly. Christian leaned in, his tone firm but not unkind, and whatever he said seemed to take the fight out of her. With a sharp turn, she stalked back up the stairs and disappeared into the night.

Genie exhaled, relief washing over her. The tension between she and EJ were about other people and Genie would be damned if she let her night end on a bad note because her friends – ex and present – couldn’t get it together. “Okay. Fuck it. Fuck this party. I’m sorry. Take me home.”

The air inside EJ’s home was warm and quiet, a stark contrast to the loud chaos of the gala. Genie slipped off her heels and sank onto the plush couch, her head falling back against the cushions.

“Tonight was... a lot,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Yeah,” EJ agreed, loosening his tie. He sat down beside her, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch.

Genie turned her head to look at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You always know how to keep things steady, don’t you?”

“I try,” he said, his tone light.

She studied his face, the lines of his jaw, the way his eyes softened when they looked at her. She finally had that calm back. Before they let the world in, she had a little sliver of peace with EJ. He had been right. She cared far too much about other people and it was beginning to fuck with what she was trying to build with him.

Genie frowned somewhat, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand. “I’m sorry. I let everything get in my head again.”

EJ gave her a soft smile before leaning down to kiss her lips gently. “You can’t help it. That’s how you are. You love everybody and everything.”

“I just want them to be happy.” She whispered. “I know. But that’s not your job.” “It could be. Technically, I don’t have a job. I'm an heiress.” “Smart ass.” He murmured, kissing her again. “I can think of a job for you.” “Can you?”

His hand moved from the couch to her chin, fingertips gliding to press to her throat gently. Genie didn’t flinch, the action unfazed her. She trusted EJ implicity…and that turned him on.

“I can.” He knew she could see that things had changed. He’d only ever been between her legs to taste her, holding off on sex until they could have a conversation that he’d had several times before. Pulling his hand away, EJ rounded the couch and took a seat next to her. “I like sex, Genie. I like it a lot. And I like to control how I have sex.” 

EJ’s gaze met hers and he saw her eyes go wide. It took her less than a second to understand what he was saying. “Okay.” she murmured.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

EJ spoke clearly and softly, his gaze tracking her movements.

“I’m not a virgin, EJ.” she told him with a laugh, “You want to tie me down? Spank me? I’m down. Whatever you want to do, I will do. Because I want you.”

“It can’t just be about me, Genie. We’re going to be together, we both have to like it.”

He seemed to be talking himself out of going further with her but the feel of her soft hand against his mouth stopped all conversation.

“I understand. We can take it slow. Teach me.” 

The words triggered something in EJ. He gave her a grin before nodding his own head. "Alright. Lemme teach you."

Despite the agreement that they'd let the night be what it was, the tension between them was thick and suffocating. The gala was in full swing, the lights from the building casting a warm glow over the crowd of well-dressed people. The party certainly didn't stop when they arrived but Jameson could detect a ripple of disbelief. They weren't supposed to be together. Even though they weren't holding hands, weren't kissing, or behaving anywhere near the way they normally would -- the two of them being together was going to cause a commotion.

Throughout the evening, they danced around the situation, polite and distant. They didn't even engage with each other much at all. He wanted to be there for her -- to not let her down once again but the more he stood beside her, the more he remembered just how fractured shit was. Every time he tried to engage her, she refused. It was like pulling teeth to exchange words.

He got more and more uncomfortable as the evening passed. He didn't know what to do with himself and Imani wasn'[t interested in making things easy for him.

But finally... she spoke to him.

About a fucking drink.

"I'm gonna go speak to my auntie real quick." she murmured. "you want a drink? I might go to the bar on my way back." 

"That's the first time you've talked to me like you don't hate me in two hours. And it's about a drink." he replied, not answering her question. Jameson reached up, gently pulling at the bowtie against his neck. Being on raw terms with Imani always made him uncomfortable but doing it in front of a crowd? It was even worse.

She chuckled lowly at his statement and he knew he was in for it. "What do we have to talk about, Jameson?” she said. "I think you've said enough. I heard enough. Don't make me regret asking."

Jameson tugged at his bowtie again, lifting his neck to undo the damn thing. he was beyond uncomfortable and keeping appearances wasn't important to him anymore. He didn't give a damn if people noticed they were standing feet apart and barely touching. "No, I don't want a fucking drink. I only came because I was tired of disappointing you. but I might as well have stayed at home for all you care." He pulled the silk from his neck, shoving it in his pocket as he unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt.

She clenched her jaw, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, maybe you should have stayed at home.” Well, this conversation was going horribly. 

“You really don’t think we have shit to talk about? I guess not, considering you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls.” Jameson asked her, amazed at her audacity. They hadn’t spoken since sloane’s party and that had been her decision. Once again, he was iced out and desperate to get back in. She gave him absolutely nothing until tonight. Everything else he found out from her Diary ep, and just the thought of the project agitated him even further. 

She sighed. Her annoyance began to show through her furrowed brows and crossed arms. She could no longer keep up with the facade either. “What the fuck do you want me to say to you? You said everything you needed to say. So, why we gotta keep talkin’ about the same shit?” she snapped. 

“Imani, you dropped a whole ep talking about how you felt about us before even picking up the phone to talk about those feelings with me, but we have nothing to talk about?” She looked around the gala, looking for any eyes on the two of them. Jameson didn’t give a fuck though. His reputation took a backseat to their relationship every time. 

“Why does it matter what I do? You made your choice and it wasn’t me. So nothing I do concerns you.”

Jameson turned to glare at imani, actually confused for the first time during their conversation. He didn't even need to play stupid or lie. “In what world, In what fucking reality, did I tell you that I chose her over you? I should have done differently that night but I would never say that shit to you.” He thought back to their argument and couldn’t figure out what the fuck was even happening here. He spent his entire week, bombarding her with calls and texts, but she was still focused on Sloane? 

Imani turned to glare at him. “You didn’t have to fuckin’ say it! It’s the fact that you didn’t say anything. That’s making a choice right there, Jameson.”

He sighed. “I texted and called you this whole week. I went and got fitted for a tux without you even telling me if you still wanted me to go to this gala. Then I showed up. All of that was for you.” he said, his voice strained. He stared at her. “I wouldn’t do that for anybody else.”

“Okay? You want a cookie?” imani scoffed. “None of that means anything to me, Jameson. You didn’t stick up for me at Sloane’s party. you chose her. So go be with her.” He watched her scan the crowd again, realizing that she kept her temper in check, because there were other people around. “Go get your girl.”

From her EP to her admitting his actions meant nothing, his feelings were hurt. Jameson didn’t fool himself into thinking that everything would be okay if he showed up tonight but he felt he was doing the right thing by being here. “You can’t tell me how I feel about you. You can’t tell me I love anybody more than I love you. You can’t tell me that I don’t think the world begins and ends with you. I don’t fucking feel right if I can’t talk to you. I do stupid shit like fly to Italy and bang on every room door just to fucking see you. But I’m so tired of trying to convince you that my sun does not rise if you aren't around...so I won’t anymore. I’m done. You’re right about one thing…I should have stayed my ass home tonight.”

it may have been a sliver of a second but her demeanor softened. it was like he triggered an alarm because her guard was right back up again. "Yeah, maybe it's best if you go then. Because you tellin' me how much you love me don't mean shit. If you really loved me in the way you say that you do, I wouldn't even have to question my position in your life.”

Jameson hated to leave her, he hated to continue the distance between them, but it was getting to be too much now. He could feel his fragile composure slipping even more. “I love you and I don't want to keep hurting you.” He leaned in briefly, kissing her cheek. “So I’ll see you when I see you, Imani.” He gave her one final look before walking away, slipping through the crowd easily as he made his way out.

Imani exhaled a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. contrary to what she said, She didn’t want Jameson to leave. Imani looked out at the crowd to see if he was still there. Her eyes focused on him and no one else as he moved through everyone. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to work things out. That she believed him but her feet didn’t move an inch. She just watched him until she couldn’t see him anymore. 

She sighed, standing to her feet. Imani went to go look for her aunt, Toni St. Cirie. she needed a distraction. Imani wasn’t going to cry, but if she thought about her conversation with Jameson for too long, she would lose it. 

Luckily for Imani, she didn’t get far in her heels when she felt a bump to her side. She looked to see the blonde woman standing beside her. “You need it. Drink.” Imani took the champagne without a second thought. She almost chugged it down until she remembered where she was at, so she settled on a sip. 

“Thank you. Can you sit with me for a while?” If Toni was here, she was more than likely working. She never attended galas just to mingle and bump shoulders with the wealthy. Imani didn’t want to take her away from her job for too long. She just needed someone to talk to. 

“Of course.” She answered softly. The two navigated the floor together.  Imani held onto her champagne glass tightly. the more people she saw, the less she wanted to be there. She wanted to go home. She was grateful when Toni found a spot away from everyone else. Toni pulled out a chair for Imani and took a seat next to her. The woman looked around before speaking. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She rolled her eyes, thinking back on her conversation with Jameson. She wanted nothing more than to forget it. “Auntie, it’s so stupid. I know you heard about that fight at that girl’s party,” she said, refusing to address Sloane by name anymore. “Well, I hadn’t talked to him this whole week because what do we have to talk about when you obviously made your choice? He was still calling and everything, but I ignored it all and dropped Diary. i just didn’t expect him to show up tonight.”

Toni quirked a brow as she explained their latest quarrel.

Imani sighed, "I know i should leave him alone. it’s just – hard.”

“Well then, it’s good that he left right?” Toni told Imani. she had never been Jameson’s biggest fan. Her aunt always advocated for her to leave him alone and focus on her career. She said a relationship like theirs would only lead to insanity.

Imani nodded slowly, “I–I guess so,” she said timidly. Now that they were alone, she forgot about her formalities and looking like she had everything together. She gulped down the rest of her champagne, feeling it tingle in the back of her throat. She needed to feel something other than anger and sorrow right now. The champagne would do.

Toni reached out and touched her knee. “Baby…” she said softly, shaking her head. “Anything worth doing is going to be difficult. You keep going in this circle with Jameson. You’re happy for a while and then you’re right back here. In this feeling. He shouldn’t get to have all this power over you. This should be the last time that you feel like this.”

She gazed at her aunt. Imani always took Toni’s advice regarding her career and everything else. She was terrible at listening to her when it came to Jameson. Yet, she nodded her head. “You’re…right. Nobody should be allowed to make me feel like this.”

“Damn right,” Toni confirmed with a smirk. she took her niece’s hands in her own, holding them close. “You just released an ep full of hits, Imani. That should be your focus. Not a man. But if you have to date someone, let me introduce you to a nice boy.”

She laughed for the first time tonight. “Depending on what the nice boy looks like, I might take you up on your offer.”

Toni smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’ll make sure he’s an elite-looking boy.”

“I trust your taste, auntie. All of your exes are fine as hell.” She couldn’t think of ever seeing Toni with an ugly man; she had good taste. The two of them continued their conversation about men, which eventually shifted to her career and different ideas she had for her Diary ep, and eventually, Imani wasn’t thinking about Jameson at all.

Genie might be the woman of his dreams.

She asked to be taught and he wasted no time doing just that. EJ figured they would take things slow. He would teach her how to please him. They’d get to sex another time. But as she lay across his bed, the dress had customized for herself hung with care in his closet, he knew he was going to fuck her.

She turned her head, taking his length down her throat once more. She was on her knees and stomach, leaning over the edge of the bed to get to him. EJ grunted in pleasure at the perfect feel of her wet mouth, a deep rumble that reverberated in his own chest. His dick throbbed in her mouth as her cheeks hollowed out. She kept her gaze on his face, hands clenched in the blanket as if she were waiting for instruction. 

“Pull back.” He told her roughly, pleased when she immediately knew it meant to keep only the head of him in her mouth. Pre-cum mixed with her saliva coated his dick and EJ gave her a wistful sigh of appreciation. She held him there in her mouth, those pretty hazel eyes just asking for more.

He seized the back of Genie's hair, pulling her forward onto his cock slowly. The further they went, the wider her eyes got but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t buck back. Didn’t tell him she couldn’t handle it. The action caused Genie to gag slightly which only turned him on more. He groaned and thrust his hips forward only to be met with her hand against his thigh.

EJ pulled back suddenly, leaving Genie gasping for air. "Not bad," he praised lightly, grinning wolfishly down at his lover as he reached around to stroke himself off lazily, watching Genie with hooded eyes. “Now I’m going to be nice and give you a choice. Don’t you think that’s nice of me?”

Genie opened her mouth to respond but then closed it and nodded. He had given her four rules when they started to play.

Be honest about your comfort level

Don’t speak unless given permission

Call him “Sir” or nothing at all.

No touching without permission.

EJ grinned, proud that she had remembered a rule. "Good girl. Very good girl." he praised before leaning down to kiss Genie gently on the lips. They were full and wet from the attention she had given his dick. He was even more proud of her. "So here's your choice: do you want me to fuck you or do you–”

“Fuck me!” Genie blurted out, her eyes going wide as if she couldn’t believe she’d said it. They both went quiet before EJ burst out in laughter. Genie blushed but she didn’t seem dismayed at the turn of things.

"I wasn’t done talking," EJ told her with a quirked brow. “I’m sorry, Sir.” She said softly, her fingers pulling at the blankets in anticipation.

He brushed his thumb against her mouth, liking the way she opened her lips as if begging him to press the digit inside. He gave in to her, pushing his thumb in. Genie brushed her tongue against it, sucking just as eagerly as she did when his dick was in her mouth.

It was enough to make him feel less guilty about giving in. He was fucking her because she asked…but also because he wanted her so bad that he could feel the pre-cum dripping from his dick.

"You picked what we do. I decide how we do it." EJ told her decisively. “Turn around.” 

She was already on her knees but she understood exactly what he meant. Genie scrambled to turn her back to him, stretching her hands across the bed. The anticipation was a fucking killer. He watched her tremble, glancing over her shoulder every two seconds as if he was going to change his mind. EJ pressed his fingers between her legs, gathering her slick onto his fingers. She did her best not to make a sound but EJ knew she’d be unable to resist. They were new to all of this. He was going to go easy on her.

“Let me hear it, sweetness.” He encouraged her, noticing how her shoulders sagged in relief when she got permission. Genie let out a soft moan as he climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as he pressed himself against her. He drew his dick up and down her folds, teasing them both. EJ leaned over her back, peppering kisses along her spine as he finally grasped her hips in his hands.

EJ felt her brace for the inevitable thrust so he moved slowly. Inch by inch, he introduced her to her dick and it made her clench and squirm more than she would have if he just pinned her down and fucked her. Genie arched her back in pleasure, panting softly. She squeezed around him and he just knew it was going to be over if he didn’t do something.

"Hold it," EJ whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her ear, “I want to take my time with you.” He kissed and nipped at her earlobe. Genie shuddered at the sensation and nodded, eagerly spread her legs wider, giving him better access. She sank further against the bed, her palms turned down to grip the comforter.

Ej chuckled darkly and trailed his lips down to Genie's neck, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin there. Meanwhile, one hand reached between her legs to tease her already wet clit. Genie moaned and arched into his touch, craving more. “Sir, I–”

But he ignored her.

EJ continued to tease and torment her. Genie arched back, twisting her hips out in pleasure as he began to move them in a slow, torturous rhythm. She mumbled words he couldn't quite comprehend but he understood how her body twisted and turned. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly. EJ's other hand traveled up to fondle one of her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipple between his fingers as his hips kept her pinned beneath him.

The combination of sensations had Genie writhing beneath Ej's touch, begging for release. But EJ seemed determined to push her closer and closer to the edge without letting her fall over.

"P-Please," Genie moaned desperately, needing more friction against her sensitive clit.

"Please what?" "Please, sir!" "No. Not yet."

Trapped underneath EJ, Genie couldn't do anything but hold on for dear life. His hips picked up speed, the rhythm he'd spent what felt like forever setting had changed. He had changed. "Open that pussy up for me." He grunted, the rough and vulgar words were so different from anything he'd ever uttered to her that Genie looked back over her shoulder -- almost checking to see if this was the same man who'd been slowly seducing her for months.

Their gaze met and EJ tilted his head, wordlessly asking if she liked it. She gave him a little smile, permission to continue on. And so he did.

"I said...open." His hand pulled back from her breast and slapped her thigh. Genie spread her legs wide again, falling back against the bed. Whatever he had done had made it easier for him to dig into her and she was feeling shit anew. "That's what I'm talking about." EJ grunted, lifting a leg to plant his foot against the bed.

He pounded into Genie from behind, picking up speed. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through his body and he couldn't control the moans that escaped his lips. He had nothing on Genie. She cooed and oohed, gushed over him and burrowed her face in the sheets -- almost as if she were embarrassed of the noises he was bringing from her body. Her throat, her pussy, her thighs. They were all loud as fuck, echoing throughout his bedroom.

EJ couldn't think straight, all he could focus on was the intense pleasure coursing through his body with each movement of his hips. Her submissiveness brought it out of him. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge with every passing second and knew that neither of them wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

"Sir!," she cried out, her voice strained as she curled up and took every thrust. "May I cum? Oh please let me. Please. I was a good girl." She begged him and that sent him damn near over the edge. He looked down at the girl of his dreams -- gripping his sheets, biting her lips, brows furrowed and dripping with sweat. He would give her anything in the fucking world. An orgasm was nothing.

"Go ahead. Cum for me," Ej grunted out, biting down on the sensitive skin of Genie's neck. It sent her over the edge. She spasmed under him, whimpering and grunting as he keep going. She squeezed at him so tightly that stars exploded behind his closed eyelids. "Jesus, fuck..." he whispered as he came hard, white heat igniting every nerve in his body.

They collapsed onto the bed together, panting heavily and still connected

You said you were done. He said he was done let it go. She told herself several times throughout the night. She had drank and donated...and did her best not to cry over the fact that she felt so very alone. She mingled some but her mind was still on him.

It didn't matter what she told Toni. Her heart wanted Jameson. She didn't know if she even be listening to the damn thing but it beat like crazy when she thought of him or saw him. He owned her in a way that made her damn near crazy. How could she let him walk away without seriously considering she'd never see him again?

She just couldn't take it anymore. She unblocked him and sent a text message. One that he didn't answer. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for a response. When it didn't come, she didn't get angry -- she decided she was going to have her way. They were going to figure this shit out. Imani pulled her phone from her clutch, swaying as she dialed the number. Being tipsy helped her put her pride aside.

It rang twice...and then he answered. "Hello?"

She could tell he was hesitant. Hell, she was terrified of what was going to come of it but they needed to do it. They had to get it out. "Come back and get me." She told him softly.

"I don't want to fight anymore, Mani." "We're not fighting. We're talking." "All we seem to do is fight." "And miss each other. Don't we miss me?" "...Yes." "Then get your ass up. Come get me, Daddy. Let's figure it out."

He hesitated for only a minute but then Imani heard him sigh and the sound of keys. "I'm on my way."

[libraryofgage]

@holyangelstudentuniverse requested the following: Steve working at Bath & Body Works while Eddie is the mall pianist?

I love it omfg, your brain is fantastic I hope I did the idea justice

(if you see any typos no you didn't <3)

The old food court pianist was...okay. Technically, she was good; she knew how to play and rarely made mistakes. She was also clearly just there for the bi-weekly check (not that Steve can blame her), and her playing reflected that. The piano became the ideal white noise, loud enough to lessen the awkwardness of any silence but not so amazing that people couldn't ignore it in favor of conversing with each other.

The new food court pianist? He's a fucking enigma.

He's very clearly skilled, and he seems to actually enjoy the job. He plays like Billy Joel and Elton John met one night, had a piano contest, and then had a baby to create the perfect pianist. He's great and energetic and can play anything from Mozart to fucking Cardi B, and Steve wishes he'd quit already so he can actually focus on his own shitty mall job instead of getting absorbed in the guy's playing.

"You should just hook up with him," Robin says one day, hip-checking Steve as she passes by with a box of Cherry Blossom products. She restocks the soap bottles first, then the perfume, then the lotions, and finally the tiny hand sanitizers with their shitty little plastic flip-caps that Steve swears break for the fucking fun of it.

Steve, meanwhile, is replacing last week's sales signs with new ones. They're the exact same. They rarely change, actually. The only difference is the "expiration" date at the bottom, which changes if only to continually sell customers that sense of urgency that results in them buying $50 worth of products they'll forget about until the holidays come around and they need white elephant gifts.

He's almost done, too. All that's left are the signs by the metal gate pulled down over the store's entrance. They'll open it in about an hour to prepare for the mall's opening, but for now, it's staying down to discourage the mini-bodega clerk in the middle of the hall from flirting with Robin and trying to sell her shitty perfume like she can't just steal shitty perfume from Bed Bath and Beyond at the end of the day.

He waits until after he's switched the sign to turn around, arms crossed over his chest. His back is to the gate, and Steve would normally be too fucking paranoid about a blind spot to withstand it, but he's in argument mode.

"I barely know the guy," he says.

Robin snorts as she crouches, stocking extra hand sanitizers in the tiny drawers at the bottom of the shelf. "Yeah, but I know you, dingus," she says, her voice light and bouncing. "You hear the guy's muzak version of a Lil Nas X song and you're ready to marry the guy."

"I can just recognize artistic ability! Have you ever tried to make a pop song sound like a classic?" he asks.

"My point," Robin says, pushing some hair out of her face, "is that you should ask him out. Maybe you two can play piano together."

If she hadn't already heard it before, Steve would be immediately launching into an explanation of why that wouldn't work. Steve has never met someone he liked or trusted enough to actually play with them. Sure, he's tried playing with a partner before if only to say he gave it a shot, but it sucks. Especially when you don't like the person. You're squished together on an uncomfortable bench, sharing sheet music, elbows bumping as you both try to reach the proper keys to keep the song from sounding horrendous. It's Steve's personal version of hell on earth.

But Robin has heard that rant before, so Steve graciously spares her from hearing it again. For now. Until he's drunk, probably.

"What, I'm just gonna waltz up to the piano and ask if he's free on Saturday? Or, I don't know, try some dumb pick-up line like asking if he comes here often?"

"I'll be honest, it's not the worst pick-up line I've heard."

Steve and Robin jump, both whipping their head to look at the grate to see the food court pianist grinning at them (well, more specifically, he's grinning at Steve) from the other side. He's wearing a button-down black shirt with ripped skinny jeans, old Converse, and more accessories than Steve can count. There are chains on his jeans and a guitar pick hanging from his neck and an ear cuff and a stud through the edge of his eyebrow and so many chunky rings that Steve could use as an excuse to stare at his hands for an hour.

Robin is the one who breaks out of the shock first. She jumps to her feet and walks over to Steve, resting her arm on his shoulder and leaning against him. "But would it work?" she asks.

The guy grins wider, obviously looking Steve up and down to check him out before looking at Robin. "From Stevie here? Yeah. He's really rocking the apron," Eddie replies, winking at Steve.

Steve is about to ask how the guy knows his name, but then he remembers the name badge on his apron. He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away to glance down at Robin.

She seems to be having the time of her life right now.

"Well, uh, I'd prefer to know your name before trying any pickup lines," he says.

"Eddie Munson at your service," Eddie says, bowing to Steve with a dramatic flourish that he finds more endearing than anything else.

One look at Robin and her scrunched nose tells him she thinks it's a little over-the-top and, dare he say, cringe. Her opinion doesn't actually matter, though, since she'd be down bad for any girl that curtseyed at her.

Steve looks back at Eddie, noting the now expectant gleam in his eyes. He can't help an amused smile as he says, "Well then, Eddie," Steve says, stressing his name a little just for the fun of it, "come here often?"

Robin groans next to him. "Fucking hell, Steve," she mutters, slapping him upside the head. "I know you suck at flirting but you really couldn't come up with something better?"

"No, no," Eddie tells her, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm into it."

"And I'm out of it," Robin says, raising her hands in surrender before scurrying back to her Cherry Blossom products.

She's definitely still listening, though.

Steve rolls his eyes are her reaction and focuses back on Eddie. "So, uh, are you free on Saturday?" he asks.

"Completely free," Eddie says, taking a step closer to the gate and shoving his hands into his pockets. "How about lunch?"

"Yeah, I know a great pizza place."

"It's a date then," Eddie replies, winking at Steve. "By the way, any song requests?"

Steve blinks and thinks for a minute before asking, "Do you know Vienna?"

Eddie's grin tells Steve that he does, in fact, know Vienna. "Vienna it is." With that, he winks at Steve once more before heading back to the food court.

"That was painful," Robin says once he's far away enough.

Steve rolls his eyes and flips her off. "You're just jealous I've got a date and you're still too chicken shit to approach the Nike girl."

Robin practically squawks at him. "Oh, fuck you," she says.

"I'll leave that to Eddie, thanks," Steve says, laughing when Robin gags.

[artemis-pendragon]

Yes it would be fucking hysterical if Crowley left the angel and demon """wrestling""" statue in his flat for Shax to find but imagine he shoved it in the back seat of the Bentley with the plants when he moved out. He just forgets about it until Azi is helping him move the plants into the shop and is SWEATING trying to block it from sight because what the FUCK. Hilarious. 10/10 would watch Crowley fight for his life trying to explain that No, angel, they're WRESTLING see they're FIGHTING no I don't know why the artist chose that pose I didn't have anything to do with it I SWEAR. Can we please move on now and never speak of this again.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

A Dream From Another Universe

Pairing: Itachi x f!Reader

Summary: Itachi from the canon universe has a dream, about how things could've been if other things were different.

W/c: 1.9k

Warnings: Swearing? Lil touch of angst? Nm.

A/n: given kakashi and itachi tied and won that lil vote i did, here's this! anyway, lmk how y'all feel, it's supposed to be bittersweet.

Masterlist💿

And, suddenly, it was the early evening.

Dark oak furniture was scattered around the living room, accompanied by a mix-matched variety of sitting pieces. A purple, crushed velvet arm chair sat on one side, while a pink-green-and-white recliner resided on the other. They framed a plaid couch that faced a roaring fire. From somewhere in the room, probably from one of the overflowing bookshelves, a sickly soft piano melody drifted through the air; such a vivid sound, Itachi could nearly see the soundwaves as they came.

He didn't question the homely scene; simply, he enjoyed the warmth, and thanked every star he knew the name of.

Nightmares tortured Itachi, too horrifying and heart-wrenching for the true level of the feelings to ever be conveyed by any verbiage. They carried on to his waking hours - though his world had become a blur, the memories came back clear as day. Itachi deserved it, every terrible feeling, and he knew it well.

But, this was not a nightmare.

And Itachi hoped to imprint this scene into his mind - even if it was only a hazy dream, and he had never seen that furniture nor heard that music before in his life.

However, he wasn't entirely sure he deserved... this.

Especially when your fuzzy figure materialized in the middle of the plaid couch, your head tucked down. Glistening in the firelight's reflection, your hair curtained your face, a little longer than Itachi remembered it to have been.

His heart stuttered within his chest, clenching with the force of a thousand lonely nights.

Just as he began to begrudge you for hiding your face from him, your head turned so casually, but with such a remarkable grace that this was surely you.

"Come 'ere, Itachi," you purred, your voice just as melodic as he remembered.

Hearing his name from your lips brought him to life within the dream.

Without speaking, he swept over to you, making long strides across the foreign living room. As he moved, he drank in every feature of yours, the features that made his heart pound, those that he hadn't seen in years, but could never, ever, forget.

Stars above, you were beautiful.

So, very beautiful.

He sat on the couch, taking the cushion to your right, still silent, while a deep frown carved onto his face. You let Itachi stare at you, doing so with such a gentle smile.

As he looked into your eyes, he noticed every star he had longed to see, within them, twinkling with adoration.

Itachi's heart ached within it's prison. How badly he missed making you smile, how awfully he yearned to watch the glimmer in your eye. The slopes of your cheeks were so perfectly defined by the firelight, while it also smoothed your skin to a marble texture. You resembled a statue, a carving; something that an artist poured hundreds of hours into to render entirely perfect.

"What's the matter, sweet boy?" You chuckled after an unknown amount of time had passed.

That... cripes, Itachi felt like he could cry. He would do anything just to hear that little pet name on his conscious ear.

What a fool, Itachi was. He claimed to hate that name, way back when; but, now, he was dreaming about those words. A strange brand of self-hatred came over him, tinged with guilt. Why could he not have made more time for you? Why-

"I-ta-chi," you enunciated in a sing-song voice, bringing Itachi's eyes to your lips. "Talk to me - you seem totally spaced."

"I'm okay," he whispered. "Don't worry about me."

You shook your head and reached over your lap, grabbing the bookmark that rested on the coffee table. As you slotted it between your pages, you chuckled, "I always worry about you, my sweet, sweet boy."

Were you dreaming about him? Was that why he was having this dream?

No, Itachi thought. That sounded too hopeful. 

Besides, this could still turn into a nightmare, the other shoe could still drop.

"Are you... is it happening again?" You asked with a certain compassion in your cadence that made Itachi's shoulders relax.

He shook his head, "Is what happening again?"

With a slight huff, you heaved the book onto the coffee table, then turned yourself to face Itachi fully, crossing your legs on the couch.

"Which nocturne is playing, right now?"

The question caught him off guard.

Hesitantly, he shrugged, "The... third... nocturne?"

You sighed, and he knew he answered wrong, "What about yesterday? Do you remember what we did?"

"No," he answered honestly, but so very intrigued. "What did we do yesterday?"

"Well," you started with a smile. "You won three tickets for a baseball game, so you, Shisui, and Sasuke went to the ballpark, yesterday." As you drew breath, Itachi's lips quirked. "You hell-raisers came back here, post-game, and I made dinner. A nice okonomiyaki for everyone."

"Oh, yeah?" Itachi murmured, no edge in his voice at all, just sheer tantalization.

You grinned, capturing his eyes with yours, full of stars, "Yeah."

"Then, what happened?" Itachi asked, though he didn't even recognize the gentleness in his tone.

"Then, we played a few rounds of dice," you laughed lightly, shaking your head as if you couldn't believe Itachi was having you revise the night. "I stole the pot twice, and Shisui declared that I was cheating. I wasn't, of course, but I dropped out and came over here, anyway, until the boys left. After that-" You shrugged, "-we shared a nightcap, before we got nice and cuddled-up for the night."

Fuck, this really was a dream.

Itachi was left to merely wonder how his mind could possibly conjure up something so...

"That sounds..." He searched for the word, but the one he wished for didn't exist. Shaking his head with a small smile, Itachi sighed, "Perfect."

"I bet," you mumbled, looking over his face carefully, your gaze as light as a feather. "I think my Itachi and I have the best lives of any of us, and that's why this always happens to him. Do you speak to your me?"

What?

"I beg your pardon?" Itachi said, voice confused and almost child-like as his brain fizzed.

You just smiled, and simply told him, "It's like a gift, to you, I suppose... Sometimes, when my Itachi gets too tired, too stressed, too whatever, one of you comes to me. You, like, switch places."

Okay, now his brain was really starting to lose the plot of the dream. It was going so well-

"I'll have you, for a little while," you went on. "And you'll have me, for a little while. It's like the stars are giving you a taste of the good life - one of you called it a reprieve, I think."

"I'm sorry," Itachi huffed, a short laugh in his breath. He shook his head, "I really don't understand."

"That's quite alright, sweetheart, you don't need to. All you need to know is that I love you, and your me loves you - and an infinite number of other versions of us love each other, too."

Perhaps untrue, hopefully not - Itachi was just happy to hear you speak, and to hear such foreign words of adoration.

You grinned peacefully, "So, what do you think?"

"Think about what?" He asked.

Motioning around the living room, you laughed, "What do you think of our place? What do you think of me? How does all of this compare to you and your Y/n?"

"I think you have a lovely home," Itachi started slowly, looking around the room. "And I think... you are lovely." His eyes returned to yours and Itachi couldn't help but smile as he said, "But I can't bring myself to compare our situations."

"Probably for the best," you sighed contentedly. Then, looking at Itachi with a cocked brow, you asked, "What do you want to do, Itachi?"

A hundred- no, a thousand things flitted through his mind.

What did he want to do? With you, anything.

"I- I don't..." Fool, this is a golden opportunity. "I just... I want to hear you speak, that's all."

"What do you want me to speak about?"

"Tell me about us, about our lives, together."

"Well, tomorrow, we're..."

It was spectacular.

Itachi was amazed.

He doubted the overall verity of the situation, as one should - but, there was no doubt in his mind that this was the most splendid gift he had ever received. If there were other universes, with other Itachi's and other Y/n's, he was glad that at least some of them seemed to be living the way he wished. Not everything in every universe could be a bowl of peaches and cream, but it was a real motherfucker that this Itachi had to go through the muck and back, and to still be one of the ones who lost you along the way.

For what felt like both six hours, and six minutes, you verbally illustrated the grand adventures the two of you had gone on, and about the adventures you had planned.

It truly was everything he had dreamed about, and a strange jealousy had crept it's way up Itachi's neck.

"And, guess what," you prompted, legs stretched out over Itachi's lap as you spoke on and on.

"What?" He acquiesced, his fingers lightly drawing obscure shapes on the thin skin of your shin, letting his eyes trace every line in your smile.

With an extension of your left hand, Itachi ripped his eyes away from your face to see a rather large, diamond ring on your fourth finger. It glimmered and shone, seemingly polished to the exact standard of blinding reflection. Upon your hand, the ring almost seemed heavy, and numbers started flying through Itachi's mind as he assessed the piece of jewelry, pondering the monetary and karat worth of the rock alone.

"We're getting married in the Autumn," you told him as he gently took your hand in his to get an even closer look at the ring. "You proposed here, at home - then, we went on a proposal tour."

Allowing himself to laugh lightly, Itachi repeated, "Proposal tour?"

"Yeah," you beamed. "We went around to our favourite places and you proposed to me again and again. We got a bunch of free desserts out of it, and a lots of our favourite shopkeepers are regularly giving us discounts, now."

"Who thought that up?" He asked, letting the lopsided smile rest on his face.

Taking your hand back, you motioned to yourself from head to toe and claimed, "Yours truly."

Itachi laughed again, though the vibrations almost felt as foreign as this living room. You smiled, eyes dancing around his face like he was the one who possessed a priceless beauty. The two of you stayed like that for a little while, yet - merely staring at each other, with gentle grins plastered on both of your faces.

Until...

"You have to wake up, now, Itachi," you hummed, sitting up properly as you looked at him with such a gorgeous, bittersweet smile. He never wanted to forget your smile, nor the way your lips wrapped around his name so softly, again, "Itachi."

"Why?" He asked, forlorn.

Meekly, you giggled and told him, "I miss my Itachi."

"I don't want to leave you," he said, almost petulant, but with a candied voice, thick with a heavy array of emotion. "I don't... I don't even see my Y/n, I just... I miss her."

You chuckled warmly, "I wish you had more time with her, sweet boy."

"Me too," he murmured in defeat. "I love you."

"I'm sure I love you, too."

Before he could offer any further farewell, his vision went white, then suddenly black.

He could smell a wet metallic tinge in the air, and he sighed quietly as he laid in the cave, not wanting to open his eyes, for fear of losing the image of you that was seared into the insides of his eyelids.

Itachi missed you terribly.

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

Not-So-Secret Drawings

REQUEST: Hi there, so I've been daydreaming about this for awhile but I absolutely suck at writing so, could i request hcs were the reader is really good at drawing and has been secretly drawing random people on campus whenever they get the chance, but one day reader forgets there sketch pad somewhere and a character (of your choosing) finds it and decides to snoop and finds drawingsof them and people on campus. Just as they finish looking through reader comes (after realizing they forgot it). I hope this makes sense to you, have a nice day/night.

SUMMARY: Your carefully hidden secret is out now. WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNINGS: Riddle, Azul, Floyd, and Vil snooping looking through your drawings, reader is a really good artist, Riddle threatens you (out of love I swear), Azul is uncomfortable by your drawings (not in a bad way- I think), mentions of getting lectured by Azul, Floyd is a ball of chaos, Vil gets no warnings because he's perfect/j A/N: When I tell you that as soon as I saw this I immediately rushed to write two parts before having to stop because I needed to do my summer homework - and then procrastinated the last part (Vil)- Also I know you implied one character but since I'm indecisive I did multiple haha (I'm sorry (but also kind of not because this was fun)) I'm sure you don't suck at writing!! You just get sick of your own writing because it all seems predictable (speaking from experience, I read my work and I'm like "ew?? I need better words" haha) Vil's part is definitely weird because I was like "Fashion Designer!Reader" (probably because some of my friends take fashion/design classes) and I don't know how accurate this is I suck at drawing so I know nothing please don't come at me- Also on a side note, I have a lot of requests right now and since I have a lot of schoolwork I have to do right now, my writing will probably be scattered. Hope you guys understand! (Hope you have a nice day/afternoon/night/etc too!!)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had always been careful with your drawings. You never wanted another person to look at them. After all, you had been drawing other people - and who knew what they would think?

Sure, they were pretty accurate, but still. It wasn't like the people at Night Raven College knew that you were drawing them. And you didn't want your drawings to get destroyed just because someone in a foul mood found them. Just your luck though, as you had left your sketchbook somewhere. Where did you even misplace it…

Riddle Rosehearts

He had always seen you with your sketchbook, but had assumed it was just for studying.

Likewise, when it popped up during class, he assumed that you were diligently taking notes.

It was almost sad seeing how far from the truth he was in hindsight.

Since he found your sketchbook on the floor (perhaps having fallen from your bag - it was always full, after all), he decided to take it to you. On the way over to Ramshackle Dorm, he flipped through the sketchbook before he paused.

These weren't notes. They were drawings.

And very good ones, at that.

They were so detailed, he thought for an instant that you had magicked them on here somehow (before remembering that you didn't have any magic).

So was this what you could do with some time and diligence?

His mother had never let him draw much so his drawings were mediocore at best (at worst, one would think that a small child had drawn them).

He found himself captivated by the artwork, flipping through the pages, seeing the drawings of various people from the school. Even some of himself…? With more details... It was odd, the small flutter in his chest. Happiness?

He jolted as he heard your voice, asking if that sketchbook in his hands was yours, abruptly slamming the sketchbook shut as if he had been looking at something completely inappropriate. Which, in a way, he might have been?

"Sorry for looking at these without your permission." He got out after a moment, handing it back to you. "You're a really good artist." He paused. "But you shouldn't be drawing in class. If I catch you with this sketchbook out during Trein-sensei's lectures, I'll have your head!"

Azul Ashengrotto

Of course Azul had noticed your drawings. He needed to in order to make sure he knew as much as possible about others so he could scam help them whenever they needed it.

Still, he found it intriguing, so he couldn't help but skim through your drawings. And my, were they amazing.

Until he got to the section where you had drawn him.

Sure, there were drawings of him in regular uniform, some of him in his P.E. uniform (he thought that they weren't really flattering on him, but you made it look good).

But then there were the sections where you had drawn him in mer form.

Of course, you had no idea what his mer form actually looked like (without all the overblotting, which you never got the chance to see clearly anyway) so it was mostly guesswork and using your imagination.

There were ones with long, large tentacles swarming around him.

Some with tentacles that were slender.

Some of them popped out of weird angles, which he was puzzled about, but okay.

My tentacles can't move like that - or can they?

They definitely shouldn't be popping out of his ribs. Wherever did you get that particular idea? It made him uncomfortable just by looking at it.

He was so caught up in examining your drawings and he didn't notice you until you literally snatched the sketchbook from his hands, saying something about how they were private.

"Sorry, [Y/N]-san... But these drawings aren't too accurate, you know."

And that was how you got roped into a three-hour long discussion about the anatomy of octopuses as well as the anatomy of merfolk and how your drawings were terribly inaccurate. (You were just guessing, how were you supposed to know any of this?)

Floyd Leech

Floyd wouldn't even wait until the sketchbook was unattended.

He'd pop out of nowhere, eyes bright, asking what you were doing.

Never mind if it was in the middle of class or not.

You've both gotten scolded about this, he should know better.

Still, one day he caught you by surprise, and the book slipped from your hands.

You muttered a small curse before trying to grab it, but whoops, too late. Floyd had already gotten it and was flipping through the pages.

"Aww, Koebi-chan, you drew me?" His gaze met yours, a wide grin on his face (showing his extremely sharp teeth). "You should've just asked, I would've modeled and stuff for you."

You shook your head slightly. You had wanted to keep this a secret if possible... At least Floyd seemed to be in a fairly good mood. You told him that you wanted to draw people in their natural state, without them posing for the "camera," so to speak.

He looked disappointed, but then immediately asked if you could come to a basketball practice or match or something. Perhaps you'd find it more interesting to draw him there. Or maybe in the ocean?

Vil Schoenheit

He was no stranger to people drawing him. He was famous after all.

He did sometimes get… odd pieces of artwork, but that was to be expected.

Still, he didn't expect to find a sketchbook with him in it, abandoned at an empty seat. Only drawings of him.

It had so happened that you were trying to figure out a good design for clothing. You always wanted to have a face to your designs, and he was the perfect subject.

Maybe your drawings didn't do him justice, but it was interesting to see how you could tweak your designs to fit him better.

Still, Vil was plenty impressed.

These designs... He could definitely see himself wearing them.

Maybe he could show them to one of the people he knew... They could help make something like that. With your permission, of course.

He closed the book as he heard you come up.

"These designs really are fascinating. Would you mind showing me more details? I'm certain that we can turn these drawings into reality if you'd like it."

As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ♡ Send your thoughts grr

Feel free to send requests! Check out this post for info ^^

[eluxurex]

I remember the times when I first found out about vore and was looking for a website where I can see more of it. YouTube..nope, most of them is just ASMR which people saying is just a recording of the same thing from a movie but I'm not sure. Deviantart...hell no, most the things there fetishy and weird pregnant stuff and all the sfw stories there I had already viewed them. Kept on looking in different sites for vore I love liked but didn't find any.

Until I found Tumblr.

I swear, I was literally thinking about completing ignoring the fact that I liked vore and just bury in the deepest parts of mind, forgetting it. I mean, that what literally vore was before I got on the Internet; just a weird trope if mine that I barely think about.

I used to think that if you liked vore you must like it sexually. That sounded off to me, because never had I ever seen it in that light. And I found out I mostly liked the safer side of it, where the prey doesn't have to die, where everyone's happy. So whenever I searched for vore, I always made sure to add the word "safe" to it. It was what I wanted.

I didn't even discover Tumblr because of vore, I got led here by Undertale dubs, because almost always the description of the video will say the artist is on this site. Then one day, I just decided to search up vore here. Just for the sake of it.

My world had frickin expanded. I didn't even know there were this many people that like vore in a non-sexually sense. I've seen so many opinions, so many ideas from people who share the same likes as me.

I may have not have come tumblr for vore, but here I am. I love this community, couldn't have asked for anything better. I mean, if I had never seen a sfw vore community I wouldn't have made this account.

(I suddenly feel very happy as I wrote all of this. You all are the best :D )

Edit:

[soulidarity]

Rafayel and reader did that it was readers first time but in the morning she gets up early she had an important class so she leaves and she forgets to text Rafayel and Rafayel would feel very anxious?!? Idk if it makes any sense

left alone

hurt/comfort | rafayel x mc / reader | 694 words

as she opened her eyes, she was greeted by a purple tuff of hair on her chest. her face softened as she played with it for a moment, remembering the events of last night. it had been such a meaningful experience. wanting to thank him with breakfast, the girl started getting up, careful not to disturb her partner.

as she checked her phone, she realized the time. she was about to be late for work. quickly getting dressed and leaving a goodbye kiss, she made her way out of the artists house.

a few hours later, the lemurian woke up, feeling unusually cold as he realized where this lack of warmth was coming from. he turned around and saw that his bed was empty as he recalled everything that had happened.

had she really just left him? used him? was that all she wanted from him? everything that their relationship had been building up to be up until this point was for nothing?

As the tall man stood up and looked over his house for any sign of his partner, he grew even more disappointed, but not of her but of himself. had he not been enough? if she just wanted that type of relationship, she could've said so. he just wanted her in any way he could. even if it was at his expense.

the day went on, and he laid on his bed. time moving fast, but he paid no mind to it. maybe thomas had called him a couple of times, it couldnt have been anything important since he didn't burst through the door while scolding him.

he tossed and turned in the bed, her scent surrounding him, making his chest tighten. After a bit, he fell asleep again.

"...yel"

"...fayel"

"Rafayel!"

He turned around as he woke up, taking in his surroundings.

"Did you sleep all day? Thomas texted me saying he couldn't get in touch with you."

"So you pay attention to Thomas' texts but can't even leave me a note?"

"What? What do you mean-?"

"You left me."

Her teasing smile dropped as it dawned on her what she had done.

"Oh my god I... Rafayel I swear it wasn't like that"

"It's fine," he interrupted, sitting up on the bed and looking down. "If you... want to see me in that way and only in that way... It's fine, just please..." Strong hands held her wrists. "dont leave me."

Both of them sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, the clock on the wall seemingly unmoving.

At the lack of response, the lemurian looked up to see her holding back tears. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I just left you there! And you're just... accepting it?!" She shook off his hold and stepped off the bed.

"Why are you getting angry at me?"

"Im not angry at you, Yel. Im angry at myself. What happened last night was really special to me and I really wanted- want to thank you. But I woke up late and Tara had been calling me so I ran to work. I am... truly sorry."

He stood up, chuckling at her tear stained face.

"It's okay, my love." he caressed her cheek, her hands quickly flying to hold his. "It's not. You've told me countless times how scared you are of me leaving, and it feels like I continue to make that fear come true. And I'm really sorry... I... wish I could give you what you're looking for-"

Her rambling was interrupted by soft lips pressed against hers. It lasted a few seconds before he pulled away.

"I should really buy you a lip balm" her mouth was slightly open in bewilderment as he chuckled.

"It's really okay. Both of us need to work on our things. You should be better at letting me know when you have to leave, and I should be better at letting you leave. As much as I wish to have you for myself, you have responsibilities, and you love your job, I can't take you away from it."

"To make it up to you, how about I make dinner?" she smiled.

-----------------------♡☆♡------------------------

thank you so much for the request! english isnt my first language so i apologize for my mistakes.

[quellmythirst]

Desperation

Summary: you and your boyfriend move to the city. Little do you know, your ex had plans of his own.

Ex!Reader x Billy Russo

4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. DON'T BE SHOCKED THAT BILLY RUSSO IS A MANIPULATIVE STALKER. smut, swearing, alcohol, pet names, manipulation, stalking, lying, fluff, reconciliation, exs to lovers, cheating. Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

"Billy?" You think as you walk down the aisle of the grocery store towards the tall man in a dark suit, his hair almost the same as his had been the last time you saw him, "can't be him." You try to reason, he's probably still overseas and you haven't seen him, since… well, since he walked away from you all those years ago. You're just about to turn, having talked yourself out of it when the man turns and sees you.

"Hi,” he rakes his hand through his hair, “is that really you?" he squints, his head tilting to the side in curiosity.

"Billy," you smile, trying not to melt at how happy he seems to see you, “Hi.” you give him a small wave.

"How've you been?" He asks, stepping towards you, "I didn't know you lived in this neighbourhood." Billy lies. He knows you and your little boyfriend just moved into the apartment building next to his.

He wasn’t surprised that it only took a week to memorise your new routine. You always moved like clockwork, just like you did when he knew you all those years ago. It was only when he spotted you last night staring out into the city lights that he decided that it needed to be today. You have been living on takeout for a week and you always did hate that. You’ll need a home cooked meal after a week of moving and unpacking. It's perfect. A perfect place for a chance meeting of old flames. 

"I've been okay," your eyes glance over him. He looks good, better than good. His suit is so perfectly tailored and shit, is that armani? Billy's shiny dark hair is combed back in a way that looks effortless but you know he would have taken years to perfect. You’re so focused on ogling him that you forget to say anything for a second, "We just moved here."

"Good choice,” he says, like he isn’t just itching to reach out and touch you, “it's a nice neighbourhood." He pauses, taking a step toward you, "we?" He asks, trying to feign ignorance like he hasn't kept tabs on you since he got back. Like he doesn’t know about Ash the guitarist or Leo the bar owner or Bobbie the artist. All of them, useless, appalling mimics, comparisons, terrible shadows of Billy and none of them as useless as James the entrepreneur who always claimed he was one shot from making it big.

"Yeah, Jim said there’s opportunity in the city. So we decided it would be easier to move," you shift, why is he looking at you like that? “Be where the action is and all that.”

"Jim, huh. Sounds nice." He takes a step back, hoping that you're going to follow his movement like you always used to. You’re looking at him almost like you used to, except now your eyes are darting to the left, seeing if anyone sees you, if you can run maybe?

"He is." You step forward, "he's a really good guy." He is, he’s nice, reliable, he loves you and he isn’t going to fuck off to a war the moment things start to get real. 

"I'm happy for you." His hand reaches out wanting so badly to touch you after so long. But instead of holding your cheek like he wants to, it lands on your shoulder. Billy smiles so sincerely at you, and says the one thing he’s always known to be true, "all I ever wanted was for you to be happy."

"Hmm. Yeah " you step back from his hand, his intense gaze getting a little too much for you. Your stomach and heart swirling from the way those pretty brown eyes stare into your soul, "well it was nice seeing you. I better run."

"Wait," he calls as you turn to leave, catching your wrist in his hand, “before you go. I'd really like to catch up for coffee sometime."

"I don't know Billy."

"Please, it'll be fun. Can’t we just- It’s just coffee. It’s been what? 5 years?” 7 years, 6 months, 1 week and 3 days. “I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.”

"One coffee." You give in so easily like you always have, scribbling your number down on one of Jimmy's business cards and handing it to Billy, "in case you deleted my number."

"I didn't."

"Just let me know when you're free."

XXx

"Hey,” Billy smiles as you answer on the fourth ring, “just wanted to see if you were free tomorrow?" Billy says as you answer the call and when you stay silent he keeps talking, "if you're not, that’s cool. We can catch up another time."

"I ah-"

"What's wrong?" He says, instantly recognising your tone. The tone that says you’re angry, but you don’t want to show it. Billy knows you're with him, he saw James. He watched the both of you go up the evaluator ten minutes ago. 

"Now isn’t a good time." you stutter out, hanging up the call. 

Billy picks up his glass, swirling it as he leans onto the large window of his apartment. He spots you in a second. Your hand on your hip while James turns away from you. Billy sips at his whiskey as you pace your apartment. James follows you, his arms flying around wildly. You spin on your heel, as Billy clicks open his phone, easily selecting your number and calling again under the guise of concern.

He knows the moment your phone starts ringing and you flip it over on the counter. James looks like he's yelling now. When the call rings out, Billy flicks open a message as you sit down in what looks like a huff.

Hi, you seemed upset. Hope everything is ok.

James is still swanning about, flapping his arms about as you sit on the sofa. Billy smiles, it took a lot of work to get you an apartment directly opposite his. It was worth every penny to get to see you argue with the man you up tried to replace him with. Like you could ever replace him, he sure as shit had a hard time trying to replace you.

Billy smirks as the theatrics of the rest of the argument unfolds, the scotch in his hand empty as your boyfriend starts to throw clothes into a bag. You follow him, trying desperately to get James’ attention. He should have put mics in your apartment, so he could listen to this man tell you how insecure he is, how he knows he’ll never compare to the love you shared, tell you he knows how much better you’d be without him and how it eats away at him. 

You’re crying, Billy hates it, but it needs to be done. He pours another drink as the idiot finally leaves with his bag. Billy waits. Waiting for the call that he knows is coming. Who else could you call? You don’t know anyone else in the city, there's only one person in this city of millions who knows you well enough to make you feel safe. So, he waits. Waits for the call that he knows is coming.

It only takes 2 hours. He’s been watching you, you cried into the couch for 30 minutes before grabbing a bottle of wine and slipping into the bedroom. He resists the urge to go to you, to wrap his arms around you and dry those pretty tears. An hour later you reappear with a tub of ice-cream and lay down on the couch. He’s on his third glass of whiskey, when his phone starts to vibrate. He waits a moment, setting his glass down before reclining and reading the text.

Kitten: Billy, are you free now? 

Billy: I am. Is everything alright? You seemed upset

Kitten: Fine, just have some time to kill.

Billy: Do you know Cool Beans? It’s on the corner of-

Kitten: yeah, The red brick place? I know it. Can we meet in 30?

Billy: I’ll see you there. 

Billy arrives a few seconds after you, following you down the street will do that. He watched you, your shoulders hunched over, your pace quicker than he thought it would be. You must be desperate to see him. Good. 

He enters the cafe, immediately spotting you sitting at a table near the back wall. You look so beautiful in those yoga pants, your pretty hair tied up in a bun. He only sees that your face is still fresh from where you tried to wash the tears away, when you lift it from your hands.

"Didn't mean to be late,” Billy lies as he approaches your table, "got caught up with a work thing.” his face changes to concern as he gets closer and he can see the red in your eyes. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying?”

"Yeah,” you rub your eyes and smile up at him, “I only just got here."

Billy spends the next hour asking you a million questions, like he doesn’t already know. Sure, he doesn’t need you to tell him, but he loves to hear you talk and the way you tell your story. He loves how talking distracts you and you start to smile. 

You’re on your second cup of coffee and your third piece of cake when you let out a sigh. Small tears run down your cheek as Billy reaches out to hold your hand. “You can tell me, maybe I can help?” he tries to comfort you, without reaching too far too fast.

Resting your head in your hand you look up at him. Whispering about how your boyfriend decided to go on a fishing trip with his friends suddenly. How you thought you’d be spending the weekend together and now you’ve been left in a city you don’t know by yourself. You leave out some of the hurtful things James said to you, brushing them aside as you squeeze on Billy's hand. You really want to talk to him, to sort this out, but he’s screening your calls and all because you had a call from an old friend. You confess all this to him and he just stares at you, his eyes sympathetic and you feel like you’ve crossed a line. “Sorry, you just wanted a coffee and I’ve dropped all this on you.” you start to pull your hand away, but Billy gives you a tight squeeze.

"Why don't you come hang out with me? I don’t live far from here."

"I don't know. I’m sure I’ve already ruined your day.”

“Don’t be silly. It'll be fun. We can watch legally blonde and eat junk food.”

“You promise?” you wipe the tears from your cheek, “I feel like I just lumped all my problems on you and now you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“I am. I just thought you might wanna see a friendly face,” he pauses, standing up and grabbing your coat, “maybe not be alone.”

“I really don’t want to be a burden.”

“You could never burden me.” Billy helps you slip on your coat, and when you duck away from him he steps in front of you, “I mean it. Never.”

“Thanks,” you give him such a tiny smile.

“I’m just down the street.”

“Alright, lead the way.” you agree, thoughts of sitting alone in your apartment looking over everything. Replaying the fight over and over again/ Wondering where James could actually be, is he going to come back? This is exactly what you need, a distraction and if the distraction happens to be a tall, handsome, expensive suit wearing old friend, who are you to complain? Maybe today is just the luckiest unlucky day ever.

You walk together, your shoulders brushing as you make your way down the busy street. Billy walks you in a circle, around several unnecessary buildings hoping that you don't notice that his apartment building is opposite yours. But as you approach the glass towers you point out your new place on the other side of the road. 

“Weird, what are the chances,” you ponder, thinking it must be fate that Billy lives just across the way from you. Maybe moving to the city was the universe's way of telling you things are looking up. Billy’s changed so much since the last time you saw him on that cold winter night. He’s grown, seems more mature, more at ease in his own skin. But the way he looks at you, the feelings that swim still inside your heart, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. You glance over at him and he’s still smiling at you, in that soft, warm way that calls to you.

“Yeah, that is weird. Small worlds huh?”

“Mm, must be.” You shrug, following him up to the elevator.

When you make it to his apartment Billy tries not to be smug about how much bigger it is than yours. About how his huge windows have a clear view of the city and how you're already taking off your coat and making yourself at home.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah that'd be nice. Do you gave any-”

“Prosecco? I think I have a bottle here somewhere,” He opens the fridge with 3 bottles in it, ready and waiting for you.

“Thanks,” taking the glass he offers you. You relax into the large sofa, resting your drink on your knee. 

“So you had a fight and he left huh?” Billy asks, sitting down next to you. A drink in his hand as his arm spreads out behind you on the couch, “Seems a bit extreme.” 

“Basically. I can't believe he'd be so jealous.” You huff, taking a sip of your wine, “we haven't seen each other in years. And he just- I don’t get it. That he could think-” you roll your eyes, trying not to see the way Billy is looking at you.

“I wouldn't have called if I knew it was going to be a problem for you.” he gives your shoulder a squeeze, “You should’ve just said.” like he would’ve listened, like he wouldn’t have tried again and again.

“I know, he's just being irrational. Hopefully he'll come around.” you shuffle, adjusting yourself on the couch and resting your head on Billy's shoulder. It feels nice, safe. Like for the first time in hours you can breathe again.

“He's an idiot if he doesn't,” he moves to wipe away a tear that's falling down your cheek, “he'd be an idiot to lose you.”

“What does that make you?” you ask, peering up at him, forgetting just how close your faces are with your head resting on his shoulder.

“Biggest idiot ever,” his sincerity beaming into you, “or luckiest man alive, to run into you in that store. Take your pick.”

“Billy.”

“Kitten.”

“Haven’t heard that in a very long time,” the mention of your old nickname sends a shiver down your spine and the blood pumping into your veins like it always did when he called you that.

“Haven't said it in a long time either.” his hand brushes along your cheek, “I missed you, Kitten.”

“Billy.”

“Do you want to watch the movie?” he asks, so softly his fingers gently stroking over your cheekbones, “I can move, if it makes you more comfortable.” he doesn’t want to, doesn't want to ever let you go now that he’s finally got his hands on you. "Or you can yell and scream at me," he suggests, "like old times. “Take some of that anger out on me." He hopes you take the bait, desperately wants you too. But this is important, you need to choose this. Even if he had made getting you to this choice possible. 

“Is that what you want?" you ask, pulling your head back.

"What I want? I told you already, all I want is for you to be happy."

"Oh." You stand, hands on your hips, "how could that possibly be true?" You turn from him as you start to walk away, "I know that's a lie."

"It's not a lie, Kitten."

"It fucking is." You spin, your eyes glaring daggers into him. Fuck, you're beautiful, "you want me to be happy?" You stomp, "I was happy. Once. A long time ago." You shout, stamping towards him with your finger pointed at him. So pretty when you're angry. "You were the person who took that away from me."

"I miss you."

"You miss me?" You slap at his chest, "it's your fault you don't have me!"

"I need you."

"The only thing you ever needed in your life was violence. You never needed me!" You feel the fury in your hands start to shake as Billy lets you slap at him.

"I always needed you," he stops your hands holding them close to his heart, "I needed you so badly it scared the shit outa me."

"So you ran." You pull your hands free, glaring up at him with such defiance in those pretty eyes.

"I did." He reaches out for you, but you step back, "not my finest moment. Probably the stupidest thing I ever did."

"So what now, Billy? We’re just meant to be friends?" You throw your hands up in the air, "pretend like whatever we had is gone?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what William?"

"Don't."

"What William? Tell me I'm wrong."

"I think we’re getting too heated. We just need to take a breath." He hopes you take the bait, that you see his lie for what it is. So he turns away, " you don't mean that."

"This conversation is not over, William." He can hear you stomping towards him, "don't you fucking turn away from me again." You shout grabbing him by wrist and slapping in his face when he turns back to you.

"You feel better now?"

"No. You asshole. I don't feel better!" You attempt to slap him again, but he catches your hand in his.

"Stop."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, fuck me. I'm an asshole." He stares down at you, watching your eyes as he releases your hand. "What are you going to do about it?" His eyes trace over your tongue as it slips over your lips.

"William." Your hand wraps onto his collar pulling his lips to yours and you melt into his kiss. Shit, did he always taste this sweet? Yeah, he did. But with the tang over whiskey on his tongue you may become addicted. His hands slip into your hair, holding your face so close as you cling to him. His heart soars as your body presses into him, his hands unable to control the way they roam over your body.

You can’t stop kissing, neither of you saying anything as you rush to undress each other as he guides you both towards his bedroom.

You fall back onto the bed together, both panting from the lack of air. "Are you sure about this Kitten?" He asks you, he needs to know. He craves it, the knowledge that you want him just as badly as he wants you.

"Is It wrong to want this?" You ask, your hand already travelling down his torso towards his cock, "that I missed it?"

"You miss me too or just my dick?"

"I missed all of you."

"Are you worried he will find out?”

“I hadn’t even-” he cuts off your train of thought.

“We keep this between us." He slows down the pace of your hand, gently pressing kisses into your neck, "I won't tell a soul, just tell me you want me."

"I want you." That's all he needs to hear as he grabs your legs wrapping around your waist as he leans down over you.

“Tell me again.”

“I want you, Billy.”

"Fuck, you’re so wet already."

"I am"

"For me?"

"Yes, Billy."

"Good girl, now open up for me." He says as his cock prodding at your pussy, itching to get inside. He swipes it up and down, gathering your wetness on his cock, "let me in, kitten." He moans as he reaches the end of you.

He kisses you fiercely, the feeling of coming home overwhelms him as he thrusts into you. His hands gripping tight at your hips, his chest weighing down on your as your fingers roam over his back. 

"I missed you," he breaks the kiss, his nose bumping yours as he stares down in your eyes, "did you miss this?"

"Missed you, so much." You moan in reply, your nails digging into his back. You need him closer, need his hands all over you and his marks on your pretty skin and his name on your lips.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

"Billy, you-" you pant his cock grinds into you, brushing against your g spot.

"That's it. Clamp down on me, Kitten." His hands slip up from your thighs, grabbing a better hold at your waist so he can pound his cock into you, "Shit, you feel too good. I need to- slow."

But you're so close, you can't slow down. You grind your hips into him, feeling the head of his cock flexing inside you and making your legs start to twitch, "you're getting close"

"Please don't stop, Billy."

"I won't."  He moves you, grabbing hold of your waists and pulling you up onto his lap. "I got you." His strong arms lift you, fucking you onto his cock, your head barely hanging on as your clit starts to brush against his lean torso. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your fingers in his hair, pulling his head back from your tits and making him look up at you, "I missed you."

"I love you." He admits as his fingers bite into your side, "I love you." You free his hair and his face slides into your tits, exhaling into the soft flesh, biting and pinching with his mouth.

"You-" you try to breathe, "you can't mark me Billy."

"Say that you love me." He moves to the other breast swirling your nip in his mouth, his eyes not leaving yours.

"You can't- he'll"

"Mean it."

You grab at his hair again, pulling him off you as your hand connects with his face, "I love you."

"Do it again."

"I love you." You slap him again, this time following it up with a kiss as his hands slip up your back and cradles you close to him. 

"My Kitten." He sinks you back into the mattress, his whole body towering over you as he moves faster and more desperately. "Fucking perfect Kitten." His cock is so deep inside you when he starts to grind down into you, "cum for me." He keeps it in, the grinding sends your legs wild as your back arches underneath him, "what a pretty girl," he whispers as his lip brush over yours, "cum Kitten." He grips at your thighs, holding your pussy over his cock when you try to squirm away, "cum for me."

You moan his name, along with a garbled cry that sounds like a chicken let loose as your back arches all the way off the bed, your tits push into his chest and your eyes start to cross.

"Keep cumming Kitten," Billy's cock throbs inside of you and the wave still going, "fuck I'm so close." He pulls out just a little, before plunging back in, "where do you want it?"

"Insi-" you try to say as another wave of pleasure washes over you.

"Kitten," he smiles, as his own pleasure is reaching its peak, "you want to take my cum inside you?"

"Yes."

"You want me to fill you up?".

"Please Billy."

"Good girl." He starts to shake, his eyes open wide as he watches you still riding out your own pleasure, "I love you." He screams as he floods your insides with his cum. 

He doesn't stop and within seconds you feel a third wave washing over you and your whole body starts to twitch as your mind goes numb, "I love you." You whisper ,your words hoarse and breathless as you start to gently comb your fingers through his hair.

"Kitten," he whispers into your shoulder as his whole body drops on to you, "you ok?"

"Great, beyond great."

"Not angry anymore?"

"No." 

"Good, I'm going to roll us. You ready?" You give him a small nod and Billy rolls you on top of him. His fingers dance along your spine as you rest on his chest. "I'll grab you some water in a minute. I just wanna hold you a bit longer."

"Mm, this is nice." You start to pepper kisses on his chest, "I missed this the most."

"The angry fight sex?" He laughs, brushing your hair from your face when you look up at him.

"No, the cuddles after." You reach up and boop his nose, "you're always so sweet after."

"How could I ever stay mad at you when you take me so well? My pretty Kitten." He holds you tighter, like if he doesn't you're going to drift away again. “And then you smile at me like that.”

"See, sweet."

"Only for you."

"Hmm," you ponder, still wrapped up in your afterglow, "no one ever loved me the way you do." you whisper the throw away thought.

"They couldn't.” he gives you a tiny kiss on your hand,  “Noone else appreciated how spectacular you are."

"I'm not, I-".

"You are the most incredible person I've ever met. And I never knew what you wanted with me or what I did to deserve you, but I know that my life is not right without you in it. In whatever way I can have you."

"Billy what are we going to do about-" he cuts you off with a kiss.

"Don't." He pleads, "not while I'm still inside you. This is all I need," he gives you a squeeze, "to know that you're mine, that you love me too."

"I'm not yours." 

"You have always been mine, Kitten."

[callmemonster68]

SUNOO - The Writer and the Dark Muse ( slight smut )

Y/N, a writer suffering from writer's block, summons Sunoo, a seductive demon who promises to inspire her to write the masterpiece of her generation. He demands regular intimate meetings, during which he explores her deepest and darkest desires.

Pairing: Sunoo Demon X FemReader (Masterlist)

Genre: Slight smut

Warning: Contains explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises

The sound of the silenced keyboard was unbearable. Y/N stared at the blank screen, the words that once flowed like a river now trapped behind an invisible barrier. The creative block was suffocating her career and her dreams of writing a masterpiece. In desperation, she remembered a legend she had heard at a literary convention: the story of a demon who inspired artists in exchange for something deeper and more personal.

With a mix of skepticism and hope, Y/N delved into the research, finding an ancient ritual that promised to summon Sunoo, the demon of inspiration. She prepared the environment: candles lit, ink and paper in hand, and a circle drawn on the floor with words in a language she barely understood.

As soon as the invocation was finished, the air in the room became heavy, as if all the molecules around were vibrating. A figure emerged from the shadows, elegant and with a charming smile that exuded danger and attraction.

Sunoo: Did you call me, writer? (the voice was soft, almost melodic, but there was a hint of mischief)

Y/N felt their heart race. He was beautiful in a supernatural way, his eyes sparkling like black stars.

Y/N: Yes. I need inspiration. I want to write something that no one will ever forget.

Sunoo tilted his head, evaluating her with curiosity.

Sunoo: I can give this to you. But true inspiration has a price. Are you willing to pay it?

She hesitated, but ambition spoke louder.

Y/N: What do you want?

He smiled, moving closer until he was just a few centimeters away from her. The heat emanating from his body was almost palpable.

Sunoo: I want you. Body, mind, and soul. And in return, I will give you more than words. I will give you sensations, images, stories that will make the world bow before your genius.

Y/N felt a shiver run down their spine. There was something overwhelming about Sunoo's presence, something that awakened deep and unconfessable desires.

Y/N: I accept.

Sunoo didn't waste any time. He pulled her closer, his fingers tracing a slow path down her arm.

Sunoo: To create, you need to feel, Y/N. Feel everything, even the darkest limits of pleasure and pain. Let me show you.

He kissed her with an intensity that took her breath away. His hands explored her body with a mastery that made her forget the world around her. Each touch seemed to ignite a spark in her mind, images and words swirling like a whirlwind.

Sunoo: Do you feel that? (murmured, his lips sliding down her neck) It's the fire of creation. Let it consume you.

Y/N surrendered completely, her body reacting to every touch, every sigh from Sunoo. He led her like a maestro, awakening emotions and sensations she never imagined possible.

Between moans and sighs, images of stories began to form in his mind: intricate plots, vibrant characters, settings that seemed too real to be mere imagination.

The next morning, Y/N woke up exhausted, but her mind was full of ideas. She ran to the computer and began typing frantically, the words flowing like a waterfall. The story was visceral, intense, and thrilling. When it ended, I knew it had something special.

Sunoo appeared in her room, watching her with satisfaction.

Sunoo: Did you see how it works? Now you understand what it means to create with the soul.

Y/N: It was amazing (unable to hide the enthusiasm) But what do you mean by creating with the soul?

He smiled enigmatically.

Sunoo: Every story you write contains a fragment of you. A piece of your essence. And every time you write, I feed on that piece.

She swallowed hard, but ambition still dominated her.

Y/N: So, do I end up empty?

Sunoo: Not immediately (approaching and tracing her lips with his thumb) But every time we create together, you give me more of yourself. And, in return, I give you the world.

Y/N's meetings with Sunoo became regular, each one more intense than the last. He made her explore desires she didn't even know she had, taking her to extremes of pleasure and vulnerability.

Between moments of luxury, she wrote stories that captivated the world. Her name became synonymous with literary genius, her works adapted into films, plays, and endless discussions.

But Y/N began to notice the changes. She felt increasingly emotionally drained, as if something vital were being siphoned away.

Y/N: What are you doing to me, Sunoo? (after another date)

He held her by the chin, his eyes shining with an almost affectionate intensity.

Sunoo: I am making you eternal. But for that, you need to give me everything.

Y/N knew she was trapped in a dangerous cycle, but she couldn't resist. The ambition and desire for Sunoo were like chains that bound her.

And, perhaps, deep down, she didn't want to be freed.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[two-bees-poetry]

judith mary mitchell

A CHARACTER PROFILE

Full Name: Judith Mary Mitchell

Nickname: Jude Mitchell

Birthday: December 21st, 1924

ESSENTIAL BACKGROUND

Jude was born to a working-class family in Monkstead, a small town in Western Massachusetts, situated in the Pioneer Valley. Her parents were named Aaron and Hannah Mitchell, and she had a younger sister named Lucy.

Growing up, Jude was a tomboy, and her father was her hero. Aaron Mitchell wasn't a great husband, or even a good father to his other daughter, but he was the only person in their community who encouraged Jude to be the person she was, and she worshiped him for it.

I don't know why Aaron and Hannah got married in the first place, exactly, because for most of Jude's childhood, they seemed to actively dislike each other, and only stayed married because of societal convention.

When Jude was a child, she and her mother never really bonded. She loved her father, and her father said a lot of awful things about her mom, and she believed him. Hannah eventually gave up trying with Jude because she just wasn't getting anywhere.

However, when Jude was in college, Aaron died, and it sent her into a tailspin. She didn't talk to her mother for a few years, and she slowly realized how Aaron was kind of horrible to everyone except her, and she had pushed that truth away as a kid because she'd wanted to badly the love and acceptance he provided.

Eventually, her sister Lucy reached out to her and started to reconnect her with Hannah. Since then, they've been slowly rebuilding their relationship- Hannah feels like she "gave up" on Jude too soon when Jude was a kid, and Jude feels guilty for being so mean to her, because now she realizes how much it probably hurt, but they're healing and loving each other <3

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE and stuff

Age: 24 years old in 1948

Weight: ~125lbs

Body Build: Compact, surprisingly strong.

Facial Features: Green eyes. Her skin is tanned, and her face is lightly freckled. She's got a baby face, and it's bothered her just a bit for as long as she can remember.

Distinguishing Marks: Usually has graphite or charcoal or paint or something smudged on her face AND her hands AND beneath her nails

Hair: Sandy-blonde hair that she sardonically calls "dishwater blonde." She knows a guy at a barber shop will cut her hair in a man's style.

Voice: Loud. She also laughs a lot.

Overall Attractiveness: She'd tell you that she's very average. She's pretty proud of how strong she is, though. I don't think she's aware that her attitude is probably the most attractive thing about her.

Usual Style of Dress: She dresses very practically, as a rule. She also wears men's clothes, so she hand-alters all of them to fit her (even though she doesn't do a great job). She tends to look a little shabby, because she wears holes in all her clothes and just forgets to replace them.

PERSONALITY

Strengths (?): Brave, confident, determined, loyal, honest, curious, kind, charismatic, resourceful, creative.

Weaknesses (?): Stubborn, reckless, overestimates her ability to deal with situations, blunt, won't give up on people even if it's obvious to everyone that she should move on, nosy, stingy with money.

Greatest Joy in Life: Making art. After she meets Maggie, her greatest joy is sketching her while Maggie reads or relaxes.

Greatest Fear: Being completely dependent on other people.

FAMILY

Mother: Hannah Mitchell

-- Relationship: Cautiously optimistic.

Sister: Lucy Alice Mitchell

-- Relationship: Excellent.

MISC. FACTS

She reads aloud to Maggie when Maggie's eyes are tired

She loves trying new foods

She swears all the time

She walks around the house in a tank top and boxers until Maggie freaks oout and goes "LORD, Judith, there are WINDOWS open- " and runs around drawing all the curtains while Jude just grins at her

She tends to shout at other drivers

She's persistently worried that her sister Lucy will bond with Maggie too much and they'll gang up on her

She's a beautiful artist with horrible handwriting

Big spoon :))

She's very bad at dancing

She definitely has lived in some horrible bachelor pads

She snorts when she laughs

She pretends she's not sick until she literally has to be hospitalized

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Hi,

Can i request Reneé Rapp x Fem reader where they've been friends since forever, and the reader has always been in love with Reneé but never said anything. Then, one day, they had an argument about something, and the reader ends up accidentally confessing her feelings and immediately tries to backtrack on what she said.

Thanks!

Into Your Future

|| Reneé Rapp x fem!reader

|| Warnings; argument between Reneé and reader, reader confessing feelings and trying to take it back, swearing, short drabble, reader feeling neglected

|| Summary; Reneé and reader get in an argument, where reader admits some things she wished she didn't. Soft ending.

Requests open!

Started; october 16th

Finished; october 16th

~~~

Reneé's been your best friend for years, even before she started rising in the industry. Before she came out as gay. You've been out since highschool and you'd always had a crush on Reneé. Well, who wouldn't? She may as well be angelic. The two of you rarely ever fought, you were the type of friends that clung to each other at every moment. Always had to be holding hands or just something. It was a rarity to see you fight, but when you did... it got bad. Reneé had such a strong personality and you loved that about her, but God it was infuriating to deal with in an argument. Things often blew way out of proportion on both sides.

Today was one of those moments. Lately you've felt neglected by Reneé, as though she was choosing her career over you. Which fine, you understood. She was a rising artist and had to take her opportunities. But you didn't want to be left behind. You were tired of hardly seeing her anymore. She was supposed to be your best friend, right?

"Y/N, seriously? I'm trying to build my life right now." Reneé gave you one of the most judgemental looks you'd ever seen from her. It made you hesitate as you stared at her, trying to form words under her intensity.

"I... I know, I do. I just- you're all I have and I'm terrified of you leaving me behind. I want to support you, Reneé. How can I do that at a distance?" Then, before you could stop yourself..." I love you- more than a friend should. You're not someone I want to lose."

The both of you were silent after those words left your mouth; did you really just admit that? You tried to figure out her expression. Was she mad? Was she into it? You couldn't tell. For the first time in a while you were unable to read her and you prided yourself in knowing Reneé.

"What...?" She finally spoke, you couldn't understand her tone. Mixes of fear ad maybe relief? Or was that just something your brain was tricking you into hearing?

Maybe there was still time to take it back, explain yourself? You had to at least try," I'm sorry- I didn't mean to say that, uh- God. Fuck. I'm such an idiot, ignore me. Sorry. Forget I ever-"

She didn't let you finish your ramble. As you were talking, you didn't realize how close she had gotten to you. Then, Reneé's lips were on yours. Your eyes widened as you just stared at her, taking in how close you were. She stopped what she was doing and muttered against your lips," You gonna kiss me or what, idiot?"

A smile tugged at your lips and you cupped her cheeks, pulling her even closer as you kissed her. Pouring all your emotions into it, the anger. Frustration, fear. But also love, care and compassion you felt for the girl against you.

"Take me with you?" You asked after the kiss broke, looking into her eyes.

"Where?" She almost laughed, a little put off by your question. She wasn't going anywhere, was she?

"Into your future." You murmured, you really didn't want to be anywhere that wasn't with her. Especially not now.

Reneé smirked at you and gave you another kiss," smooth. But yeah, I'll take you." She giggled, feeling giddy as she saw the smile you had just for her. Looking as though she had hung the stars for you. Things would be okay.