#SHEEPISH LOCS

[jigeuminunbich]

more than a little bit | kim donghyun (leehan)

synopsis — you’re not exactly sure what love is supposed to feel like, seeing as you’ve never experienced it and leehan is your first ever relationship. but after scolding him for contemplating a haircut, you realize that you might just be familiar with the sensation.

genre — nonidol!au, fem!reader, established relationship, and straight fluff

content — leehan wants to cut his hair (reader is strongly against that) and cheesy i love you’s

word count — 1k

author’s note — the fact this is my second (2nd) time writing abt being against an idol cutting their hair ijbol

“Woah,” Leehan pauses in the mirror right beside his bed, ruffling a hand through his unruly brown locs. “I need a haircut.” he comments, it’s quiet— intended to be taken as something lighthearted as he punctuates with a short laugh.

But you pull your head from your device at it nonetheless, eyes piercing into the back of your boyfriend’s head, “No, you don’t.”

“___, are you joking? Look at me,” he shakes his head, his long tresses following suit. Okay, yeah, his hair had gotten exponentially longer in the time you’ve been together. There was always the occasional comment from him or his friends that he was seriously overgrowing it but you happened to like his long hair— Leehan knew this well.

“I am looking at you… and you look fine.” You state slowly, almost as if you’re confused.

Leehan snorts, looking over his shoulder to glare at you through slitted eyelids, “You just don’t want me to cut it.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I still think it looks good.”

Not even a moment later does your boyfriend eject from his spot next to you to stand, “Well if that’s the case, then I’m cutting it—“

“No!” Panicked, you reach out to grab ahold of his arm. Leehan looks between where you grip him and the alarmed look in your eyes.

“You were saying?” He laughs as you recede with a sheepish attitude.

You sit on the back of your calves, reaching that same hand up to twist a finger in one of his curly strands, “It’s not even that bad, ‘Hannie. You’re being dramatic…”

Leehan soaks in the adorable pout that finds the plush of your lips before finding your gaze, “I’m the dramatic one here?”

That same pout deepens, almost teetering on a frown as you fully pull away from the boy. He watches you as you crawl back to your designated place on his bed. “Okay, fine, do whatever you want.”

Leehan’s eyebrows disappear into his mane, though an amused smile still plays on his mouth, “You don’t care?”

“Nope.” You answer, returning to the depths of your phone.

“Hmm. So if I leave out right now, you won’t stop me?” Your boyfriend continues to probe you, earning an eye roll from you.

Slow, he takes a few steps away from the side of his bed, walking in the direction of his closet, “Fine… I’m gonna get ready now…”

You nod, “Okay.”

The door to his wardrobe creaks open when Leehan leisurely twists the knob, “And I’m going to leave out to cut my hair…”

“Have fun.” You deliver him an uninterested wave which seems to be his last straw. The door closes as Leehan draws back to join you on his bed. You try to continue your stoic act but it’s hard when his body familiarly slots between your legs. His presence forces your eyes up from the meaningless content in your hands and to his gaze. It makes you giggle that he struggles to retain it without running the chance of a strand poking him in the eye.

“You suck at acting like you don’t care about me, y’know that?” Your hands reach up to push his tresses back into place as well as you could, completely abandoning your phone to the side.

“Fine. I don’t want you to cut your hair, is that so wrong?” You bat your lashes innocently.

Leehan bites back a smile, fighting just how effective the soft touch of your hands on his face and the flutter of your lashes is, “Is it wrong that you’re okay with your boyfriend walking around looking god awful? Well yes.”

This seems to personally offend you, an actual frown finding your features, “You don’t look awful! And who cares…” your hands travel to the sides of your boyfriend’s neck, pulling his body fully atop of yours.

“—you don’t even have to go outside, you can stay with me.” It’s muffled into the fabric into his t-shirt but Leehan still reacts with a deep laugh, you can feel his chest vibrate with amusement.

“Oh you’re crazy,” he determines, though it’s still lighthearted in nature. “Okay, I can endure one more week. Just for you.”

You shutter when he punctuates his declaration with a brisk kiss to the side of your face, and you try to ignore how fuzzy the gesture makes you feel.

“Awe, you love me that much?” You exaggeratedly ask, your tone is playful as you hope to tease your boyfriend since you’ve successfully persuaded him from touching his hair (for now).

Leehan laughs, shuffling from your tight grasp to hover over you just a bit, “Heh. I love you more than that.” His tone is light as well but his words leave a deep feeling to tugging in your stomach.

“… you love me for real?” The question tumbles out from your lips before you can even catch it, you hope Leehan doesn’t pick up on your split second of panic but of course, being the person he is, he does.

His merriment depletes for a moment as he adjusts to your evident shock, “I— yeah, I do. Of course I do.”

That pit in your stomach begins to swell with the flutter of butterflies, the giddiness that Leehan’s confession brings you shows up on your face as you beam a wide smile up towards him. “I think I love you too.”

Leehan quirks an eyebrow before he tilts his head, “You think?”

You swallow, slight panic running through you, “I’m not sure what it's meant to feel like but… it feels right—“

Your quick explanation is cut short at the melodic sound of Leehan giggling and half-hearted annoyance takes over your feeling of distress.

“I’m just teasing you, love. If you aren’t sure—“ Leehan begins to clarify.

It’s your turn to interrupt him, shaking your head with a content grin permanently painted on your face, “No, no. I am. I love you too, Leehan.”

Your reiteration of your love for Leehan leaves him silent for a moment, he leans down quick enough so you can’t catch the spreading flush taking over the expanse of his cheeks. You gladly return his intention to kiss you, giggling softly against his lips.

Leehan pulls away, opting to completely lay his body on top of yours. Your hands immediately find his scalp to play in his hair.

“Mm. To think this all happened ‘cause I threatened a haircut. I should do that more often.” He murmurs, a wicked snicker leaving him when you stall all movements on top of his head.

“You’re evil.”

“You love me.”

And that you definitely did.

© jigueminunbich 2024

[bizbat]

can you PLEASE write jason coming to you instead of anyone else. like i need that sooo bad please :)))

p.s i love your writing soo much. youre so talented, i am constantly giggling as i read

Always You . . .

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Jason Todd x Reader

~ Reader's appearance is not described

~ Wc: 1.086 K

~ This took forever omg, but yesterday I got food poisoning so I finally got some time to write this. Not my proudest work but wtv.

~ You can find more of my works here.

Above all else, he'll always come to you.

Contrary to popular belief, Jason Todd can be gentle. You've seen it, in the way he slowly flips through whatever book he's reading so you can read it over his shoulder, or how his fingers softly caress your thigh when you're seated beside him as if you're made of glass, or in the warm way he smiles whenever Damian says something the reminds him he's a child.

He's gentle now too, his head resting in your lap, his shirt torn and soaked in what's now dried blood. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you promised you'd watch over him while he slept, just in case something went wrong and he choked on his own blood or vomit.

You had that same nausea when he first came to your apartment at five in the morning, the bile rising in your throat at the smell of metal and the sight of blood gushing out of his gaping-

Just remembering is enough to keep you awake.

It . . . hurts, for many reasons, knowing that he puts his own life in danger for people he doesn't even know. You don't know why he does it, all you know is that for the next week and a half, he'll take a break to let his stitches heal at least a little bit. It's never enough, though. He'll crawl back to you in a few weeks, a sheepish smile on his face and his stitches popped open.

You'll roll your eyes but you always fix them for him. It's become a routine. Not one you're exactly fond of, but a routine nonetheless. It gives you something to look forward to. Sometimes it doesn't feel fair. The fact that he's always on the brink of death when you see him, that he's always covered in scars and wounds and gashes, and above all that, the fact that he only seems to come to you to sew a bullet hole shut or wrap a broken arm.

It does get exhausting, but who are you to complain. At least he trusts you, that's what you tell yourself. He comes to you because you're the only person he lets get that close to him these days, because you're the only person who won't chew his ear off. All things you've told yourself. He comes to you because maybe, possibly, potentially, somewhere deep deep inside, he loves you. That's your favorite excuse.

"You're really pretty, have I ever told you that?" You're so deep in thought you don't even realize those deep cerulean blue eyes are now studying your contemplative expression. When you calm your beating heart you turn your gaze back to his. "I thought you were sleeping?" "I was," He wraps his arm back around your waist, holding himself closer to you. "But you were tuggin' on my hair."

You hadn't even realized you'd been running your fingers through his hair until he pointed it out, though at some point in your thoughts it seems your hands had begun twisting around the raven locs. Upon said realization you immediately pull your hand away, only for him to reach out and pull it right back. "I didn't mind it that much doll." His smirk is enough to clear your mind.

He slowly rises from his position, moving to sit beside you, resting most of his weight on your shoulder with a groan. His hand reaches to his side, where a particularly nasty gash resided, thankfully sewn shut by you. Once the pain subsides he moves his hand to check your handy work. "Not bad, not bad at all." He turns that stupid smile back to you and it fries your brain. "Getting better and better every time."

It does make you smile. You weren't always so good at fixing him up. He'd come in almost every night needing you to patch him back up. It took awhile for you to be able to get him back in shape so fast. "Jay," A long while, actually. "I . . . I've been wondering?" You slowly proposition him. "Yeah? About what?" He is genuinely curious, and he knows that look on your face. He sits up, taking his weight off of you and resting against the arm of the couch.

"Just-nevermind, actually. It's stupid." You hold your hands in your lap. "It's not." He hates when you do that. When you shut yourself down before he even gets a chance to answer. "Ask me, I won't be mad." He leans in closer, his hand on your knee, and he strokes it how he always does. It takes a second to gain back your confidence. "Why-why do you always come to me when you're hurt? I just mean wouldn't it be better to go to Bruce, or Alfred, or I don't know, a doctor?"

The only thing worse than his smile is his laugh. Like an icy breeze on a hot summer's day, or a dark cold wave crashing down on a yellow beach. It warms your heart and makes you feel stupid for asking in the first place, all at the same time. "Why would I go to any of them? I like you." He likes you!!! You were right!!! "Because I'm not a professional. I can barely give you stitches, I don't know what I'd do if you were-if you," The quiver in your voice breaks his heart.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. "You don't need to worry about that. It's never gonna happen," He grabs your chin between his forefinger and his thumb and brings your gaze to his. "You take care of me, too much for me to be risky about that." You think you believe him, especially when he presses a kiss to your lips. Though you've tasted it a thousand times, you still wince at the taste of blood still clinging to his chapped lips.

He laughs when you grimace. "Sorry," He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He's quiet for a bit after that, silent as he holds you. Before too long he speaks again, breaking the, admittedly, uncomfortable silence. "I . . . I dunno why I always come to you. I guess I just . . . like it here. I like you." He's not looking at you when he says it, but you know he's being honest, and knowing him, he's understating.

It's enough for you, at least until next time. You relax into his body, satisfied. "I like you too Jaybird. I like you a lot."

[yumeaoka-chan]

Walls Will Crumble(say the word)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Reader/ Demon! Hobie x Angel! Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Tags: Cursing, blood, gore (oops), reunions, flashbacks (it's all coming together), death (it's not that bad, I promise), fighting, scared reader, angry reader (furious even), Billie & Ramona, angry hobie, crying, norman osborn (cuz that mf needs his own tag, ew), degradation (screw osborn, real talk), panic attack?? (kinda, but not really), title based off of Don't Think Twice by Hikaru Utada, no physical description of reader (besides clothing), reader is AFAB, sparse use of y/n (just once, promise)

Summary: A century in the dark. A century of loss. A century of longing and aching… It's high time you get the revenge you so deserve, no? A/N: Credits for the lovely banners go to @the-shroom-garden !!! Another late entry for Octobie @the-kr8tor , oops! Billie, Ramona, and third child belong to Katy! Last part of the au that has been keeping me up for several days now🫠💕💕

Part 4 >>> Part 5

The sound of knocking at your front door startles you slightly, the soapy dish in your hand falling into the sink. Rinsing your hands off and wiping them on a dry dish towel, you walk into the living room of your apartment slowly. You weren't expecting any visitors, especially since your friends have been out of town. “A business trip”, is what they had said when you questioned why all three of them had to leave together, sheepish smiles on their faces. You'd brushed it off and believed them because they actually did work together at a small local clothing shop. Maybe their boss wanted to treat them for their hard work, you weren't sure. Besides, the guilty look in their eyes for having to leave you for three whole months made you weak and quick to reassure them. Even if three months was an absurd amount of time for a business trip.

Peering out of the peephole, you squint your eyes at the sight of a tall man biting on the long nail of his thumb, foot tapping on the doormat. He looked a little nervous and a bit… familiar. You unlock and open your door just enough to peek your head out, the man's head whipping around immediately to meet your eyes. Piercing golden orbs gaze back at you, warm and glittering and oh so familiar. Your mouth drops open as you hurriedly open the door wider, gazing up at the man before you and raising a hand up to gently rest it on his arm. You never thought you'd see him again. After that night you met, you'd gone to see him again a few days later like you promised you would. Only for disappointment and slight concern to fill your chest at the sight of his corn maze burned to the ground, the soil black with the ashes of the burnt plants. There were no remnants of a scarecrow to be seen, just a few burnt straws of hay laying in the very middle. And though the logical side of you tried to remind you that he was a demon and he'd be fine, you still found yourself worrying.

“Hobie…? Y-You didn’t burn to a crisp…?” You whisper softly as you peer up at his face, noting all the little changes. His face looked shaper and a bit fuller, like he'd finally been eating well. He was taller too, the top of your head barely reaching past the middle of his chest. Long locs spilled over his shoulders and down his back instead of the freeform wicks, shimmering crystals weaved into his hair and hanging from the ends. Hobie sports a leather jacket adorned with several pins and spikes, as well as black combat boots with jingling chains dangling off the belt loops of his plaid jeans. He looks good, beyond good. Amazing. You can feel your cheeks warm up a bit as he chuckles lowly, your heart fluttering at the deep voice you'd longed to hear these past few months. He's tender in the way he grips your wrist and guides your hand to rest on his chest, letting you feel the way his own heart flutters beneath your palm.

“I was a good boy, lovie. No eatin’ any angels, remember?” Hobie murmurs as he leans down just a bit while looking down at you through his long lashes, eyes shining with a fondness to them. You roll your eyes as a smile flits across your face.

“How could I forget? You're a demon with morals”, you chuckle as you step back and nod your head, eyes roaming over his appearance once again. “Modern clothes look good on you.” Hobie grins at your words and moves back to do a little twirl, flipping his locs over his shoulder as he bats his eyelashes at you. It makes a loud guffaw leave you as you shake your head. People walking pass give you both weird looks of judgment and you roll your eyes while taking his hand, leading him inside of your apartment. Once inside, he takes both of your hands in his and pulls you close to him, making you raise an eyebrow in question.

“I know it's been a while, angel. I had some things to take care of back home. But thanks to that, I've finally got all my powers back.” Hobie says with a smile before furrowing his eyebrows, gently squeezing your hands as a flicker of something you can't quite name goes across his face. He lowers his eyes to the floor before bringing a hand up to gently caress your cheek. Nuzzling your face in his palm is practically second nature, something in you knowing that this was right. That this was how it should always be. Hobie's molten gaze hypnotized you, his golden eyes swimming with a hint of sadness, a hint of hesitation. Your fingers move to grip the hem of his leather jacket.

“What is it, Hobie…?” You mumble as you feel one of his thumbs grazing your bottom lip. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as several heartbeats pass between you. Warm lips are pressed against your forehead then, lip piercing cool against your flesh as you melt under his affection. Only, it feels as if your body is suddenly thrown, pushed down into the ground and sinking deep beyond the flooring of your home. You're drowning, the tide is pulling you down into the depths of the abyss. A bubble leaves your lips as you gasp and…

“I'm tellin’ you, love. Somethin’ is wrong with that slimy bastard.”

“Trust me, Hobes. I know…” You sigh in exasperation as you lay down on his lap, the scent of flowers all around you as you both sit in the field of daisies. One of Hobie's hands is buried in your hair, sharp nails gently scratching at your scalp in a soothing way. You can feel your body relaxing as you wrap your large wings around you like a blanket. The sounds of the babbling brook a few feet from your resting area lull you into a sense of calm, much better than how stressed you had been when you came to meet up with Hobie. The demon prince grumbles softly as he brushes a flower petal off of your cheek, frustration battling with the peacefulness of the serene surroundings.

“He's up to somethin’, I just know it. Cause there's no way he's just allowin’ the shit my dad's doing to just happen with no fuss. Startin’ natural disasters, causing war, famine, and disease? Don't even get me started on the monthly demon scares the humans keep talking about…” Hobie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, anger and suspicion coloring his words as he places his fingers under your chin and tilts your head to look up at him.

“And then there's Osborn’s obsession with you… That I really don't like”, he rumbles lowly, his grumpy expression reminding you too much of a cat. Biting back the giggle that threatens to escape you, you lift a hand up to poke at his cheek.

“It'll pass. Here's hoping he forgets me entirely for someone new. But, you're right. Why is he just overlooking this stuff? The balance is all out of whack. I might have to speak with him about it later”, you mumble, eyes fluttering shut as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. The scene melts away.

You're now thumbing through paperwork, brows furrowed as you try to tally the number of souls that should have been admitted into Heaven. Should have, but are nowhere to be found. Files missing and the count not adding up, you angrily huff and slam the papers down onto the desk. The feathers of your wings ruffle and puff up as you move to search through Osborn’s papers instead, hoping that maybe he has what you're looking for. Thank the stars he's out attending to whatever business he claims he has to see to. If he ever saw you combing through his desk, you're sure his lecture and punishment would have been long.

After minutes of searching, you still don't find the papers you're looking for, a groan leaving your lips as your wings droop a bit. You let out a sigh and pick up one of the files that litter the desk, mindlessly flipping through the pages. It'd do no good to keep searching when you were too tired to do so, a break much needed at the moment. As your eyes flit across the paper, you can't help but notice that it's mentioning the names of the souls that you've been looking for. It makes you sit up straighter, eyes widening as you focus on the context of the scrawny handwriting. A contract. It was a contract. And as you read the full details of what it entails and the signatures written on the very bottom, you can feel your heart thudding in your ears, breath stilling and hands trembling.

Because why in the Almighty’s name did the High Priest think to make a contract with the King Of Demons…?

“ ‘In exchange for the services of aiding in the recruitment of new devotees, I, Norman Osborn, High Priest Of the Archangels and soon to be God of Order, agree to the releasing of the more innocent of souls. A select choice of the finest souls being of infants, virgins, and the highest order of faithfuls shall be bestowed upon the reigning King of Demons monthly, upon completion of aiding the new order. Should either party fail to uphold their end of the agreement, the offender must release unto the other their most treasured possession...’ ”

The whispered words make you sick as you utter them, paper falling from your hands as the information sinks in. It all clicks then. The large amount of disruptions and demon activity on earth, the huge amount of missing souls, the lack of reactivity from the High Priest. Osborn was giving the King free reign to cause havoc, in hopes that humans will see the demons and turn towards faith to pull them through. Faith in a new God who wasn't the Almighty, a God who'd “restore” the peace and order. And all it costs him is the souls of truly innocent people, people and children who earned their eternal rest now damned to an eternal prison. Hobie had been right to be suspicious, right to keep questioning everything. Because now, everything was going to shit.

The sounds of faint footsteps make you jolt, alarms going off in your head as you quickly put the files back in order. You had to tell someone, but who would believe you? Surely not your fellow angels, some who already look at you with jealousy. They could use this knowledge against you, make Osborn punish you for being “disloyal” and falling for “a devil's lies”. No, you had to leave, had to take this with you. Stuffing the papers into your chiton, you quickly open a portal to your hideaway and dart in. Heart pounding furiously, you can feel yourself breaking down when you see Hobie already sitting in the circle of flowers, lying back with his hands behind his head. It's like he can feel your presence when you arrive, body already turning in your direction. He smiles warmly at you and you feel the dam break, hot tears dripping down your face.

Hobie's next to you in an instant, smile gone and eyebrows knitted with concern as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs wiping away the tears that continue to fall.

“It's awful, it's awful, Hobie. It's terrible”, you sob as your hands cling to the fabric of his shirt, chest heaving as you gasp with your words. Lips press against your cheek and his deep voice calmly shushes you as he wipes the tears still.

“Breathe, angel. Breathe. I'm right here. Just tell me what's wrong. What's terrible?” He mumbles against your cheek before pressing another kiss to your forehead and another to your other cheek. Before golden eyes gaze calmly into yours. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you calm the frantic beating of your heart.

“You were right. Your suspicion and everything about how messed up everything is was right… And I'm the one who took the only proof of it away…” You breathe out, hands shaky as you reach to hand him the files. Hobie takes the papers from you with a worried look before silently reading what you handed him. His expression darkens as he reads the full contract, fire licking behind his eyes. Clenching the paper in his grip, he looks around before looking back down at you.

“Who else knows of this, love?”

“N-Nobody. I found it in Osborn’s office when I was searching for papers. This is bad, Hobie. He's planning something that's gonna wreck the natural order of things. Becoming a God… It's madness…” Hobie scratches the back of his head before scrubbing a hand over his face. He looks at you with wide eyes then, a flicker of trepidation in his eyes.

“Listen, sweetheart. We gotta leave here. From the Heavens, earth, the Hells, all of it. Nowhere is safe right now. Osborn is gonna figure out that you're the one who took it–”

“–Because I'm the only person with access to his things…” You mutter quietly, fresh tears welling up in your eyes and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Because even if you were now one of the strongest angels besides Osborn, there was no way you could fight all of your peers and make it out alive by yourself. Hobie pulls you close at the look of utter despair on your face, arms wrapping around you tightly and burying his face into your shoulder. He rubs at your back as you silently sob, cooing and reassuring you that it would all be okay.

“He's not gonna find us, lovie. I've got a place in mind, somewhere no one knows about, okay? Do you trust me, angel…?”

“I trust you… I love you…”

“And I love you. Let's get goin’, yeah?” The scene melts away.

Laughter fills the air as you smother your daughters in kisses, raining little pecks on their cheeks as they squeal and try to break free. Hobie watches you three with a dopey grin on his face before cooing at his son, watching little Aiden flap his wings and glide over to him. You and Hobie had found a little sanctuary in a realm just beyond Earth, between Heaven and the Hells. Invisible to most everyone besides those who knew just where to search. It was there that you two decided to make it official, your union evident by the rings adorning your fingers. The rings were special, able to turn into a matching pair of tear shaped necklaces, one with a ruby and the other with a sapphire. It was with your union that you were able to bring your pride and joy into this world. Twin girls, named Billie and Ramona, and a little boy named Aiden. When you first held them, you couldn't imagine a life without them. They were perfect and they were yours, you and Hobie's. You vowed to protect them till your very last breath if it ever came to the day that your peace was shattered.

A trumpet blaring rings in the air, making all of you look up towards the source. And that's when you see it, a large swarm of angels breaking through the barrier of the realm, pieces of its shattered remains falling down from up high as they dive down towards your direction. Fear pierces your heart as your girls grip onto you tighter, anxiety shining in their eyes. You turn to Hobie, who holds Aiden close to his chest, before you both run as far as you can with your children in tow. Eyes glowing a bright white, you conjure up a wall of flowering vines that reach miles high and separates you from the approaching angels.

“Run! Get the children and get out of here!” Hobie yells at you as he hands the frightened toddler in his arms over to you, frantic and in disarray. His hands push at your shoulders, forcing you to turn away. This was it. Osborn had finally found you and now your family was in danger. Shaking your head, you plant your feet firmly on the ground, tears stinging your eyes as they start to spill down your cheeks.

“Not without you!” You sob desperately, trying hard to turn around and face him. Only for his hands to be firm in making you flee. You can smell the scent of smoke in the air, chest heaving as you feel your wall of vines now starting to burn. The fire is spreading too quickly, starting to creep towards the hanging vines adorning your cottage. His hands shake as he pushes you to move, to walk. There's fear in his voice, dripping worry that trickles down into you as his hands on your shoulders slowly dissolve into wriggling spiders.

“I'll find you! Just leave, quickly!” Hobie growls before the spiders on your shoulders scurry away, the sounds of him transforming ringing in your ears as you hold your son closer to you. Heat surrounds you now as you lead your children towards the escape route that you and Hobie had made if something like this were to ever happen. Only, to stop and hold your children close to you as the wood of your cottage splinters and crashes down in front of you, burning planks blocking your way. Fire licks at your cheeks as Billie and Ramona cower by your sides, Aiden wailing his heart out. This was too much for them to be experiencing right now. Heart thundering in your ears, you lead them around the cottage, hoping to get to the brook on the other side. At least, then you'd have a chance of getting out of here. Your hopes are dashed as a horde of angels fly down to surround you all, holy swords and staffs in hand as they close in on you. You know you can't escape them like this with your children in tow, can't fight them off with your arms focused on holding them close.

A hand harshly yanks at your hair, pulling you away at the same time that you feel multiple hands forcing your arms off of your children.

“No! No, no! Let me go!” You scream and kick, trying to get back to them, wings flapping harshly. A cry of pain leaves your lips as you feel a hand ripping and tearing at your feathers, blood dripping into the grass below from your damaged wing. You can hear Billie and little Aiden crying, Mona screaming as you're forced onto your knees. Glowing restraints are placed on you, around your wrists and wings, strings of light wrapped tight around your wriggling form.

“Leave my mummy alone!” Mona screams as energy crackles around her, tears falling down her cheeks and little fists shaking with fear. The angels reach out to hold her back, only to hiss with pain as they touch her arm. Your heart breaks at the sight, her power growing wild and out of control with how terrified she is. You shake your head as she reaches out to you, energy crackling around her fingertips.

“Mona, no. Don't–”

“You produced these abominations, little dove…?” The voice makes your body seize up almost instantly, heart thudding so hard that it aches. A cold sweat breaks on your skin and your breath hitches as the hand in your hair gives a harsh yank, forcing you to look up at the man before you. Icy blue eyes bore into your own, a frown painted on his lips. Osborn places a hand under your chin and forces you to look at your children as he flicks his wrist, a large bubble of light shining into existence around them, trapping them. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, wagging his finger at them when Aiden and Billie scream, the powerful sound making their prison vibrate harshly.

“Surely, that devil poisoned your ear and forced himself upon you. You didn't allow him into your bed. Right, my dove…?” Osborn says as he looks you over, but by the way his smile doesn't reach his eyes, you can tell he already knows the truth. With trembling lips and your instincts to protect your young rising, you sneer up at the High Priest with hate flickering in your eyes like an ember.

“You don't care about that. You just care about what I know!” Norman raises an eyebrow and sweeps a hand to gesture at the trembling twins holding their baby brother close.

“Why would I not care? My little dove, now with filth for offspring? And a demon prince who's been frothing at the mouth, trying to make us leave you alone? I am nothing but concerned, little dove.” As he leans in, you take the opportunity to spit in his face, a smirk on your lips as the saliva drips down his cheek.

“Don't you ever call my children outside of their names”, you hiss, the words sounding like a curse between your teeth. Osborn sighs and wipes your spit away with his thumb before more feathers are viciously plucked from your wings. You cry out as warmth dribbles down your back, blood splattering onto the flowers beneath you.

“So, he has poisoned you. A shame. You have such a bright light inside you, the brightest I've ever seen. It's now contaminated, I see.” Smoke forms thick clouds that drift in the air and you can hear Hobie shouting in the distance. Your children crying for you fill your ears as you look up, heart shattering as you watch the cottage you built with love crumble to the ground, flowers crushing and burning under the lit wood. Several more angels come toward you then, a tall cube made of pure light floating behind them. Hobie's snarling and banging on the walls of his prison, skin burning from the holy magic used to keep him at bay. He's snapping his teeth and roaring as his body constantly shifts, little spiders shaping into a swarming mass before wriggling into the form of massive creatures, then going back to him banging against the walls.

The enraged demon's eyes shift to his three little ones being held at bay before drifting over to you. You can see the way his golden eyes morph into seething crimson slits as Osborn raises his staff at you, voice booming loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Little dove, thou bearest a great sin indeed. For permitting a devil into thy bed and giving life to foulblood nephalems, thy light has died. In the Almighty’s name, no longer shall thee be permitted to adorn his heavenly skies.” Your lips tremble and you scream as more feathers are plucked from you, pain making your head spin. Hobie bangs even harder, shouts even louder.

“That's bullshit! You don't speak for the Almighty, fuckin’ snake! Get away from them! Don't touch my family!” The demon roars, all boiling rage and dripping despair. “Osborn! I'll rip you apart!” You can hear as he struggles, trying hard to get to you even as his skin sizzles and the children cry in the distance. A piercing scream rings through the air and now you're falling from up high, tears dripping from your eyes as you gasp. It feels like hundreds of hands are dragging you down, your deadly descent to the ground impending. You reach your hand towards the sky and…

Your chest heaves as you feel yourself finally being snapped back into your body, gasps leaving you as you stumble backward. Gentle hands hold your waist as you clench your eyes shut, the memories flooding you like a tidal wave. With shaky hands, you grip onto Hobie's arms tightly for support as you try to calm down the thundering of your heart. Tears, hot and thick, cascade down your cheeks as you feel your wings, your wings, emerge from your back, one of the appendages almost completely featherless. You reach up to touch your ruby necklace with shaky fingers, your other hand patting Hobie's chest to find his sapphire one sparkling beneath his shirt. And as you look up with teary eyes to gaze into his watering golden ones, you don't speak for several moments. Because finally, finally, you remember everything. Every foggy detail shines under a new light, every missing piece now clicked into place.

“Hobie… My Hobie”, you breathe out softly as you lift a hand to tenderly cup his cheek, heart aching as he nuzzles his face into your palm. His lips tremble as he smiles and nods his head, one of his hands resting on the back of your neck.

“That's right, angel. Your Hobie… Just yours”, he whispers, voice wavering with unshed tears that finally fall as he pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss. Both of his hands move to hold your face as he tilts your head back, kisses leaving you breathless and dazed. All of his frustration, all of his longing, all of his yearning. You can feel it all pouring into you, making you press yourself closer as you kiss each other senseless. It's like time stops, the world stilling just for the two of you. Nothing else matters, not when the love of your life, your fate, holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world to him. When you finally break away for air, your hands roam his face and hair, eyes looking him over as if you truly couldn't believe he was with you once again.

“H-How did you find me? Where have you been? Oh my days, where are the kids? Billie and Ramona? Little Aiden…?” Hobie shushes your bombard of questions with another kiss, chuckling at the way you practically melt because of it. Pulling you over to the couch, you both sit down as he shares what happened to him during the century following your fall. Hobie tells you of how he'd been taken to his father by the angels and punished to haunt the earth for the rest of his days, consuming souls his only way of nourishment. He tells you how his friends, Ned, Riri, and Serenity had followed him to earth in order to help get him back home. Of how he had them show Osborn’s contract to a group of angels who regretted tearing your family apart and how his friends went to find you, promising to watch over you as Hobie regained his strength. Hobie reveals how he had to conserve the brightest of souls that entered his maze in order to break the curse placed over him and the maze, how seeing you again for the first time in years had let him know he was finally ready to make his move.

“For the past three months, I've been gatherin’ forces to help take down my father and Osborn. Demons and angels alike, if you can believe it. Becomin’ King gave me the power to give you back your memories and the ability to shape his realm however I like. I've turned it into one we can all live happily in. Like before…” Your eyes soften at his words, the thought of Hobie doing everything he could to reunite your family making your heart swell. His hands caress your cheeks as he looks down at you with pure adoration and burning affection, devotion to you and only you screaming from the way his touches are as soft as silk. Golden gaze, a liquid pool of warmth that you're all too happy to dive in.

“Chaos, Mayhem, and the little terror are at home waitin’ for you, lovie. Why don't we go see ‘em, hm?” Hobie hums against your lips as he leans down to peck your lips once, twice, three times before leaning back just a bit. And everything in you screams to do what he's saying, wanting nothing more than to hold your little ones close and never let go. And yet…

“Not yet”, you mumble quietly, brows furrowing and a small frown on your lips. A grim look washes over your features, Hobie's thumbs grazing your brow to try and smooth the look off of your face. You shake your head and peer up at him sadly.

“Not until we're safe. We'll never be safe while Osborn still lives and I couldn't bear to face them until it's all over. He called them filth…” You say, seething as the memory ignites a fire within you. A need to see the man who dared speak ill of your children and love rot like a festering corpse. Hobie's deep voice rumbles in his chest as he peers at you with slight concern.

“Are you sure, angel? You don't have to fight if you don't want to.”

“I want to. I need to see him bleed. He's done too much harm to not only us, but the balance of the realms in general. We're making that bitch grovel.” You say with a huff, a determined gleam in your eyes. Hobie chuckles and nods his head, pressing his lips against your forehead softly.

“That's my girl.”

The next two weeks are spent at an abandoned building in the countryside planning for the coup d'état, rebel Archangels and demons working side by side to end Osborn’s schemes. Serenity, Ned, and Riri were there when you arrived holding hands with Hobie, all three of them rushing to pull you both in a hug. They rained apologies on you for leaving you alone for so long, which you just dismissed. It was for a good reason, after all. They all help you train your powers again, rusty after having gone so long without them.

“Strange how I still have divine powers”, you mumbled as you dodged a blow to the face from Riri, who growled angrily. For someone who was rusty, you were still pretty good at being slippery. Even if you absolutely loathe him, Norman's teachings truly didn't fail you. Hobie shrugs from his perch on the windowsill, munching on a bright blue fruit that weirdly enough smelled just like coconuts and cream. A fruit from the Hells, no doubt.

“Well, that fallin’ from grace bullshit wasn't at all justifiable, ‘specially comin’ from that wanker”, he huffs before letting out a low impressed whistle as he watches you conjure two whips made of pure light, snaking the weapons around Riri’s legs and yanking them to make her fall on her back. The cambion groans as her head falls back into the dirt, dust settling in her curls. You give her a teasing smile and blow a kiss to her when she flips you off, getting back up with a scowl on her lips. You spend the last few days training and taking walks with Hobie, thoughts drifting to your kids that were waiting for you at your new home. It made you strengthen your resolve, knowing that you had people you needed to protect. You had finally gotten your family back and nothing was going to come between you all ever again.

The day for the rebellion finally rolls around, your heart hammering in your chest as you finish wrapping the sash around your enchanted robes. All black and white ombre with long sleeves that end up wrapping around your fingers, intricate gold vines etched into the fabric. Long black boots on your feet and the ruby necklace shining brightly around your neck, you sigh as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror. Your damaged wings mock you as they flutter uselessly, anger and trepidation swirling in your eyes as you bite your lip. Today was the day. Osborn was going to pay for everything he'd done to you, to Hobie, to your children. To all those unfortunate humans that were unknowingly a part of his dastardly schemes. You were ready to end it all. But why did you still feel so… scared…?

“Almost ready, love?” Hobie's warning voice rouses you out of your musings, giving him a small smile as you turn around to face him. Perhaps it doesn't reach your eyes, because his smile falls as he nears you, golden orbs glinting with sympathy.

“What is it, angel?” He asks softly as he takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Breath hitching, you shake your head and sigh.

“I don't know why I'm scared, but I am. Osborn, he's… powerful. What if we fail? What if you get hurt?” Hobie tilts his head and chuckles, taking your hand and placing it on his chest, letting you feel the beating of his heart beneath your palm.

“Feel that? ‘S beatin’ like crazy ‘cause I'm worried too. I'm scared too. I don't wanna lose you again, after finally havin’ you in my arms after all this time.” He wraps his arms around you this time and pulls you close, so that your ear is pressed against his chest. You can hear his racing heart, feel the way his body shakes ever so slightly. Though he did a good job of masking it, he truly was terrified. Terrified of having his reunited family ripped from his fingers like a cruel joke, as though he hadn't suffered enough.

“We gotta believe we're stronger than him, lovie. ‘M gonna fight for you and the kids till my last breath. I promise you, he won't touch you while ‘m ‘ere. Never again.” Hobie whispers into your ear as his fingers tenderly graze the base of your damaged wings, making you choke back a sob. You'd fight for him. For your children, for everything. Until your last breath, no matter what. The two of you share more hushed promises and whispers of reassurance before Ned announces that it's time, the two of you walking back to where everyone else waits. Hobie squeezes your hands and moves to stand on the broken crates in front of your battalion of rebels. Everyone quiets down at the sight of him, standing up straighter and looking up at him expectantly.

“For too long, we have stood by and allowed him to do as he pleases. Too long have we had to endure as he uses us for his benefit. Too long have we watched as he shattered hopes and dreams and destroyed the very realms we work hard to keep from crumbling.” Hobie's words echo in the abandoned barn and seep into your very soul. There's a fire in those gold eyes, an inferno that begs to be unleashed.

“No more. No more will we sit idly while he rips our lives apart. No more will we agree with his outlandish rules that he claims brings peace. Norman Osborn is trying to become what he is not and never will be. A God. A God that is so twisted that he would damn innocents. So cruel that he would allow the killings of children and pregnant mothers.” Raising a fist into the air, his voice booms throughout the building, rallying the unit as they cheer and holler.

“Today, we free our realms from the oppressor! Today, we fight for the right to love, the right to live! Today, we end the snake that dares to claim he speaks for the Almighty! Today, we kill Norman Osborn!” The room erupts into cheers and yells, weapons and claws alike lifted high into the air as portals spin to life on either side of him. Your heart sings, your will strong and spirit invigorated with overwhelming morale. And as the rebels charge through the portals, Hobie takes your hand in his firmly. Sharing one last look, you both run into the portals, giving a roaring cry as you head for battle.

There's chaos all around you as you emerge, blood and bodies already littering the cloudy grounds of his throne room. The clanging of metal and the battle cries of the warriors. Rebels fighting against the ones that serve Osborn faithfully, both angel and demon alike. A scream rings in your ear as an angel charges at you, sword raised high and aimed for your chest. A blur whizzes pass you, Hobie quick to dispatch him with a thrust of his sharp nails to his chest. The angel chokes as blood spills from his lips, crimson ichor spilling onto the fluffy clouds as Hobie throws his body to the side. Something shines in the corner of your eye and you turn to see an arrow made of light aimed for Hobie's back. Brows furrowing and a snarl forming on your lips, you zip to stand in front of the arrow, divine energy crackling at your fingertips. A shield of pure light shimmers into existence in your hands, reflecting the projectile with ease. Clenching the shield in your fist, you pull your arm back and throw, the chucked weapon hitting the angel in the head hard enough to visibly dent her head in. She crumples to the ground as more charge at you, trampling over her body.

Hobie snarls as more enemies charge him from the front, body losing its shape to morph into a swarm of spiders. The spiders wriggle and scurry to morph into a frothing wolf, arachnids writhing to form eyes and a dripping maw that mauls anyone who dares get close to you. In turn, you're covering him from behind, chucking daggers and firing arrows into the hearts of those who dare to harm your demon. One has a blade too close to your neck and swiftly has teeth twisting its head off, Hobie's panther form flickering in and out of view as it lunges for another victim. The sight of a sword aiming for the demon's middle has you shooting out a hand to form a glittering sphere around the offender, fist closing tightly causing the sphere to close in on him until he's nothing but blood and gristle. There's a shout from above and you hurriedly look up as three angels rain divine beams of energy down on you two. With a swipe of your hand, a bubble appears over your heads, absorbing the energy from the blasts. The three look nervous as they see the smirk playing on your lips before you flick your wrist, a devastating beam of light incinerating the offenders. A whirlwind of spiders circle around you as more enemies try to flank you from all sides, the arachnids crawling into every orifice of the angels that they find, eating them from the inside out.

The swarm dissipates, Hobie gripping your arm and pointing to the throne. There stands Osborn, holy staff fighting off and impaling anyone who gets too close. Cold blue eyes almost white with a fury you've never seen as he grips a rebel by the face, skin melting off the bone from his touch as he pours out divine energy to maim and kill. The rebel screams as their flesh bubbles and festers, arm wildly swinging a blade to no avail. And through it all, Osborn’s holy robes remain pristine and white, untouched and unsullied.

His chilling gaze sweeps over to you then, a flicker of a smile ghosting his thin lips as he lifts his staff to point at you, hand flinging away the now still rebel. You grit your teeth as you blast an angel that gets too close to Hobie, eyes never leaving Norman as he outstretches his hand to you. A seemingly kind gesture, if these were different circumstances. But you can tell, can see nothing but the condescending mockery in his icy gaze. Your hands tremble with a mix of fear and trepidation and a glance at Hobie tells you that he's feeling it too. Fear now dissolving into fury and whips of pure light shimmering into your hands, you charge at Osborn, damaged wings flapping hard behind you. The black vortex of raging arachnids follow close behind you, the furious sound of spiders scurrying enough to raise the hair on the back of anyone's necks.

“Osborn!” Hobie roars as the spiders morph and twist into his form, eight sharp spider legs protruding from his back and mouth now adorning a pair of dripping spider fangs. His golden eyes are crimson slits of rage as he extends his claws, close by your side as you both dart towards the smirking Archangel. Osborn lifts his staff to block the cracking of your whip, letting it coil around it and yanking it so that it slips from your grasp. Gritting your teeth, you transform the whip that's still in your hand into a dagger. Hobie uses his claws to swipe at the older angel, who dodges each blow and shoots a hand out to wrench the dagger from your hands like it was magnetized. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he thrust the dagger forward, aiming for the demon's chest and furrowing his brows when his arm is suddenly covered in spiders.

Hobie's form morphs lightning quick, becoming a massive bat with gleaming fangs that viciously bites Osborn’s flesh. Snarl twisting his lips, he goes to swat him away, only for you to coil a chain around his wrist and twist it around hard. You can hear the way his bone snaps, the sound wet and making him howl with pain. He's quick to heal the broken bone, divine energy an aura around him. Heart pounding in your ears, you see Hobie form into a panther in order to rip a chunk of flesh from the angel's calf. Norman drops down to his knee before grabbing your demon by the neck, the inky black fur sizzling in his grip as the panther yowls with pain.

Energy pulses between your hands as you conjure a bow and arrow, pulling the bowstring back and releasing the glistening arrow. It sings as it flies through the air, hitting Osborn right in the hand on your love's neck. The Archangel howls as the arrow pierces his flesh, the arrowhead poking straight through the side of his palm. He lets go of Hobie with a grimace, hand shooting out a powerful gust of wind that blasts your demon several feet away from him. His injured state leaves him open and you take the opportunity to summon a glittering sword that thrums with divine energy, rushing over to him with a furious look gleaming in your eyes. Only for his whispered words to make you seize up, goosebumps breaking across your flesh.

“This is not what I envisioned for you, little dove. You must know that, yes?” Norman says with a kind smile, icy blue eyes devoid of emotion betraying his soft spoken words. Still, the nickname is enough to make you hesitate, make the memories of constantly being harassed and punished by him flood back into your mind all too quickly. Your hands shake and your breath quickens as you try to reign in the feeling of helplessness suddenly threatening to drown you. He's uttered those words plenty of times before, times where he'd lock you into a room and scar you while kissing the marks he left as punishment for not being how he wanted you to be. For not abiding by his rules. For not giving yourself to him everytime he asked. The times when he'd degrade you for failing to master things he'd teach you, yell at you while his hands dug into your scalp. It felt like walls were closing in on you and you couldn't move, your sword falling between trembling fingers as unshed tears stung your eyes.

“Y/N, look out!” Hobie's shout makes you peer up, only for a piercing scream of agony to leave your lips, your quivering wings severed and clutched in the Archangel's fist. Blood oozes down your back and seeps into your robes as you fall to the ground, writhing in pain. Teeth bared and eyes glowing bright with boiling rage, Hobie roars and lunges at Osborn, eager to wipe the sick grin off his face. Norman makes a low sound of disapproval and wags a finger at him before light bursts from his fingers, a beam of divine energy shooting the demon in his chest and leaving a gaping wound. He screams as the light sears his flesh way too close to his heart for comfort, his pained cries making your heart freeze with fear. Your screams of terror for your love almost being killed turns into a roar of white hot wrath that practically boils you from the inside out.

You're a blur of fury as you roll onto your knees and shoot a ray of sparkling light at Norman's thigh, the beam searing his skin and leaving a bloodied hole. You shoot another at his shoulder as you jump to your feet, then another to his side. Wrath incarnate, you litter him full of holes, divine rays leaving chunks of his flesh to drip onto his throne. And as he stumbles back to trip on his self-made throne of gold and ivory, you summon your sword back into your hands. With one last shout, you thrust the weapon deep into his middle, crimson ichor seeping into the white fabric of his robes. Blood and roses scent the air as the fighting of the rebels cease, all eyes watching as Osborn looks into the face of his once highly adored angel.

“F-Filthy sinner”, the dying Osborn says with an astounded chuckle, spitting blood onto your face as it bubbles up his throat and spills past his pale lips. Your chest heaves as you look down at the Archangel, your severed wings still tight in his grip. Blood splatters onto his robe as he coughs, blue eyes radiating malice and contempt as he sneers at you.

“You could have had it all. If you'd been obedient and joined me. I could've reached true Godhood with an angel so pure and bright as you on my arm, in my corner. Now you're nothing but defiled waste.” His strained words almost make you want to laugh and you tilt your head at him, something akin to pity shining in your eyes as you twist the sword deeper.

“You're a fool, Norman. A fool to think you could get away with hurting those I love. Where's all your faith now, when you need it most? Clearly not giving you any strength right now.” You mumble before chuckling and letting the sword dissipate into a flutter of sparkles. There's a low rumble of a growl behind you, little barks that sound close to a laugh. A hyena's laugh.

“This is what happens when you try to play God and disrupt the balance of things.” Is what you mumble as you feel a massive presence looming over your shoulder. Osborn trembles at the sight of the creature behind you, prayers to the Almighty stumbling between his blood speckled lips as he holds out a shaking hand for mercy. You have none to give and neither does the growling form of Hobie, his massive hyena form black and dripping with an inky mist that spreads a terrifying shadow. Drool dribbles from his mouth as he licks at his chops, maw open and ear flicking. Patting your demon's furry cheek, you lean down towards the frightened Osborn, lips near his ear.

“The Almighty hath forsaken thee, High Priest”, you whisper in his ear before stepping back, watching as the hyena stalks forward, the sinister laugh of the creature making the fallen Archangel whimper. Norman begs and pleads for mercy and forgiveness, none that are afforded to him as Hobie descends upon him. Sharp teeth tearing at flesh and snapping bones, claws ripping apart organs and gore dribbling down the throne. And as you watch Hobie devour him whole bones and all, you're suddenly called into a void of white. Eyes frantically looking about, you're shocked at the looming silhouette of an entity gazing down at you. It's massive and towers higher than any mountain you'd ever seen. The entity bows its head in respect, in thanks before you're suddenly forced back into your body with a shaking gasp.

Body shaking and back arching, you cry out as you feel something pushing forth from your back, your spine. It feels like you'll explode if you don't let it out, your eyes rolling as it sprouts free from it's confines. Stumbling and shaking your head to clear the dizziness, your chest heaves before you feel something familiar. A weight that had been missing for years. Hobie's next to you then, wriggling spiders shaping him into his normal form once again. The hole in his chest is slowly closing up, the energy he got from devouring Osborn healing him. His eyes are wide as he looks at you in awe.

“Lovie… Your wings..!” His words make your heart soar with hope and you quickly wrap them around yourself in order to look at them, the action second nature even after seemingly loosing them. A gasp leaves your lips as you look at what has sprouted from you. Large glittering wings that sparkle. As you move them, the feathers switch between a pristine white to a shimmering black, then back again. Any time you moved a certain way, the color changed. And inside your heart, you know who the entity was.

Everything that happens next is a blur to you then, you who were exhausted from the draining battle. The remaining Archangels that sided with Osborn are locked up, plans to give them a chance at repentance being discussed. Ned, Serenity and Riri talk with the rebel angels in their King’s stead, negotiating terms of peace and planning clean up crews on earth. Hobie pulls you into an embrace that seems to make your knees weak, exhaustion making your bones ache as you sag against him. It was finally over. Osborn couldn't hurt you or Hobie or your children anymore. Your love lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the swirling portal that led to your new home, where your children await. Where, after a century of waiting, your life with Hobie can finally be resumed.

[truelovemadeforme]

Wash Day

miles morales x reader

cw: earth 1610 miles, written with a black! reader in mind, first time writing a drabble if this is what you can call that, feedback is always helpful and welcome!!! May be my first and only time writing something 😭🩵

an: I got this idea from me having to wash and blow dry my hair today. my hands and arms are still recovering.

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“And you know my love is real, boy, I can” you sang along with Mary J. Blige while parting your hair into sections so that you could blow dry it.

Today was washday which meant that your arms were getting the workout they needed and that your neck would be sore from all the weird positions you would move it to blow dry your hair efficiently.

While you were trying to sing the chorus and adlibs you saw your phone vibrate on the counter.

Miles 🧸❤️: Is now a good time to come over to your place???

Miles 🧸❤️: I can’t keep drawing you in my notebook over and over again :(

You smiled and texted him back when you read the message. Ever since you found all the drawings of you in Miles notebook, you constantly teased him about it.

You: If you don’t mind watching me blow dry my hair and sing off key then sure ☺️🩷

As soon as Miles got the text, He swung a little bit harder and faster to your house. Ever since he had known you, you always had your hair in some hairstyle other than naturally out. Whether that be in braids, locs, sew-ins, wigs, etc. He loved all your different hairstyles but he had always been curious to what your hair in its natural form looked like. It would also give him new photos to draw of you in his notebook. A win-win for him really.

He knocked on the door to your house and a few seconds later he was greeted by you. As soon as the door opened he saw your face and then looked up. To be honest with himself, he was gaping and staring at you for like 5 seconds straight before you put an end to it.

You were attempting to explain that your parents were at work so you guys had the house all to yourselves but when he wasn’t replying back you decided to actually look at him and saw him with his mouth open.

A few more seconds passed before you asked, “Are you gonna keep staring or do you wanna come in?” You giggled. You didn’t know what was going through the brain of his. He always stared at you when he was drawing or trying to remember something but you didn’t know what he was looking at this time because you were kind of tired from all the heat from the blow dryer.

“Yeah, no, you’re right!” Miles shyly nodded while walking in. When you shut the door behind him you then realized what he was staring at.

Scrunching your eyebrows you asked, “Were you looking like a fish out of water because of what my hair looks like?” You weren’t that nervous of Miles seeing your hair because if he really liked you, which he always told you he did, then something as little as hair wouldn’t be a problem.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to come off as judging or anything” Miles said while scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head. “I just have never seen your natural hair and it looks really pretty” He added with a sheepish smile while looking down.

You giggled again at how shy he was being. “Thank you Miles, that’s really sweet of you” You stated while walking over and giving him a kiss on his cheek.

“And I have never ever looked like a fish out of water” He said after remembering what you said and getting over his shyness.

With a laugh you replied, “Miles I don’t think i’ve ever seen you not look like a fish out of water”

[princesssszzzz]

Sullied

Pairing: Rhaemond

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Targcest, dark Aemond

Summary: Aemond tells Rhaena he wants to teach her how to learn how to ride a dragon but he has an ulterior motive

Rhaena quietly excused herself from the lavish feast held in honor of her half-brother Aegon's arrival in King's Landing. The grand hall buzzed with laughter and celebration, every toast and cheer aimed at the newborn prince. Aemond, seated at the far end of the long table, noticed as Rhaena slipped away, her quiet departure going unnoticed by everyone, including her own father. Earlier that day, they had arrived on the back of Caraxes—just Daemon, Rhaena, and Aegon, with Baela choosing to remain behind on Driftmark.

She’d lied claiming she didn’t feel well but Rhaena knew the truth. Her older sister simply didn’t want to go.

As the guests toasted to Aegon’s health, Aemond’s eye followed Rhaena, noting the sadness that shadowed her expression, a stark contrast to the jubilant atmosphere. She had sat through the meal quietly, only forcing a smile when directly addressed, her politeness masking a deep sense of isolation. He could tell she was painfully aware that the gathering didn’t include her—and no one would notice her absence.

Intrigued by her desolate demeanor, Aemond felt a twisted interest in the young girl who seemed perpetually overshadowed. When his brother ‘warned’ him of their visit, he’d hoped to be met by an older version of the girl that he saw at Driftmark. He was miserable and was eager to argue with someone. It should’ve been easy to rile her up. Instead, he was met with a sunken version of her. Older, but different.

Daemon had spoken at length to the King about Baela’s new skill in archery, her newfound mastery of commanding the ever growing Moondancer, and yet not a word about Rhaena. Aemond’s lips curled into a sly smile as an idea began to form in his mind. Here was Rhaena, the dragonless daughter of his despised uncle. An opportunity presented itself. One that would allow him to both needle Prince Daemon and offer Rhaena a form of companionship that would suit his darker purposes.

Throughout the feast, Rhaena remained oblivious to the way Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, a wicked glint in his eye. She sat playing with her hair. Removing the gold band of her loc, and attaching it again. She’d spent half an hour doing this mindlessly while staring into space, occasionally taking a break to glance at the King and her father. Eventually, she slipped away, headed to her chambers and figured she’d stayed at the table long enough to be considered civil and gracious to her host. Aemond waited a while before he excused himself from the table, his steps calculated as he made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep towards Rhaena’s chambers. His heart thrummed with excitement, not at the prospect of helping her, but at the thought of the mischief he intended to set in motion.

When he reached her door, Aemond took a moment to compose himself before knocking softly. The door opened to reveal Rhaena, her long hair falling free from the earlier updo, her surprise evident as she looked up at him. She had been expecting a handmaiden, not this older boy.

“Aemond,” she began cautiously, “what brings you here?”

He cleared his throat, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Rhaena, I wanted to talk to you. May I come in?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and it caught her off guard.

Hesitating only for a moment, the unsure Rhaena nodded and stepped aside, allowing Aemond into her chambers. As they settled onto a chaise, Aemond began, his tone deceptively sincere, “I wanted to apologize for how I’ve treated you in the past. I realize I wasn’t kind, and we didn’t start off well.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air before continuing with a touch of feigned humility, “For that, I’m truly sorry. I have no idea what it’s like to lose a mother.”

Rhaena’s wary expression softened, clearly touched by the unexpected apology. She’d heard stories about him throughout the years on Dragonstone, but he seemed to have changed. She had always seen Aemond as cold and aloof, so this sudden show of remorse took her by surprise. “Thank you, Aemond. That means a lot,” she replied, a small smile appearing as she added, “I hope you're doing well.”

She didn’t say it, but he knew he was referring to his eye when her wide gaze lingered on his obvious scar.

Aemond dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “There’s no need to worry about that.”

A silence fell on them, with Rhaena not knowing what to say next. It was getting late. He noticed that she expected him to leave after this exchange, but he remained, his voice deepening as he pressed on. “I know how much dragons mean to you,

and I’d like to help. How about I take you to the dragon pits tomorrow? I can teach you a few things about riding, show you what your father and others haven’t.” His tone was earnest, almost too earnest, and it made Rhaena pause.

Rhaena’s eyes lit up with hope at the idea of finally connecting with dragons, something she had longed for but felt deprived of. Her egg had hatched but the sickly hatchling died the next day. She’d been stuck trying to hatch a new dragon. Her father’s attention had always been elsewhere, and with her sister Baela far away, the loneliness had grown unbearable. “I would love that, Aemond,” she said softly, genuine gratitude coloring her voice.

The thought of finally being seen, of being offered something for herself, even if from Aemond, was a welcome reprieve from the constant overshadowing by her younger half-brother and the absence of her sister.

But the girl had no idea. Beneath Aemond’s charming smile, his intentions were far from pure. The offer was a calculated move, part of a larger plan to lead Rhaena astray, far from the dragon pits and into a situation that would serve his own need for revenge against Daemon. To him, Rhaena was merely a pawn. A way to strike at his uncle in a game that Rhaena didn’t even know she was part of.

As Aemond bid her goodnight and left her chambers, his mind raced with anticipation of what was to come. The pieces were set, and tomorrow, the game would begin in earnest. Rhaena, oblivious to the darker undercurrents of his offer, had no idea of the treacherous path she was about to tread, guided by Aemond’s hand. She missed her mother, her sister, and the simple life she had known before, but now she was entangled in something far more dangerous. This game of manipulation and deceit, where she was the unwitting prize.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Rhaena’s chambers as she stood before a mirror, her handmaidens fussing over the folds of her purple cape. The dress, a deep shade that complimented her complexion, was one she loved to wear. Today, though, felt different, and she wanted to be ready for whatever Aemond had in mind in her quest for a dragon.

She stared at her reflection, her expression pensive. The dress felt like armor, the rich velvety fabric a barrier between her and the cold world she often felt so alienated from. As the last ribbons were tied, Rhaena dismissed the handmaidens with a nod and made her way to her father’s chambers. She rehearsed her words in her mind, hoping that Daemon might take notice of her spending time away from him today. It was expected of her to stay silently by his side like he typically does.

When she arrived, the door was slightly ajar. She hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open and stepped inside. Daemon was seated at a large table, his back to her, engrossed in conversation with a maester. It was less a conversation and more of her father lecturing. They were speaking of Aegon the Conqueror, discussing his campaigns and victories with the kind of reverence that Daemon only ever reserved for their ancestors.

“Father,” Rhaena began, her voice soft.

Daemon didn’t turn to look at her. “Not now,” he muttered, waving her off without a second glance. He was too absorbed in the tales of old, too preoccupied with the legacy of a long-dead king to care.

She stood there for a moment, hoping he might look at her, acknowledge her, but when he didn’t, her expression hardened. Even in a new environment, he finds a way to be preoccupied. Now mroe invested in a dead man than her since he doesn’t have his usual places in Dragonstone to ignore her. There was no point in telling him anything about what she’d be up to today. She was just as invisible to him now as she was at the feast last night and Pentos.

Without another word, she turned and left his chambers, her frustration mounting with every step. She didn’t want to see him again, not if he couldn’t even bother to listen to her. As she walked down the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep her thoughts turned to escape, somewhere far from King’s Landing, Dragonstone, and Driftmark.

She thought of the Vale, its rugged beauty and high mountains. Lady Arryn would be kind to her, she was sure. Or perhaps Highgarden, the Tyrells were known for their warmth and hospitality. Anywhere would be better than here, trapped in castles where her own father couldn’t even spare a moment for her.

Lost in her thoughts, Rhaena soon found herself at the entrance to the dragonpits. The massive structure loomed ahead, its dark stone walls casting long shadows over the ground. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.

As she entered, she saw Aemond waiting for her, his tall, lean figure unmistakable even in the dim light. It was so dark, it reminded her of Dragonstone. He was dressed simply, though there was an air of sharpness about him, as if he was always prepared for a fight. His single eye watched her approach, the intensity in his gaze making her heart skip a beat.

“You look prepared,” Aemond said with a smirk as she drew closer.

Rhaena forced a smile, though the weight of her earlier encounter with her father still lingered. “I thought it best to be ready for whatever you have in mind,” she replied, trying to match his tone.

Aemond’s smirk widened, but there was something darker behind it, a glint of calculation that Rhaena couldn’t quite place. “Good. We have much to do today.”

He extended a hand to her, and after a brief hesitation, she took it. The warmth of his grip was a stark contrast to the coldness she felt inside. As they walked further into the dragonpits, Rhaena couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stepping into something far more dangerous than she had anticipated but there was no turning back now.

As Aemond and Rhaena ventured deeper into the dragonpits, the air grew cooler, the light dimmer. The dragonkeepers that lingered around headed the opposite way, clearly having a routine with Aemond and knowing they shouldn’t interrupt him. The rough stone walls, damp and slick with age, seemed to close in around them, casting eerie shadows that danced in the flickering torchlight. Rhaena could hear the distant growls and hisses of the dragons that dwelled within, a reminder of the power that lay hidden in these aging tunnels.

Aemond led the way, his stride confident as he guided her through the winding passages. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The shadows grew thicker, and the faint sounds of the dragons grew louder, more menacing. Rhaena’s steps faltered slightly, but Aemond seemed to revel in the darkness, his smirk growing as he noticed her unease.

Surely hatching a dragon and letting it grow above ground would be better than spending so much time in these depressing caves with the older dragons.

“Not far now,” Aemond murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

Rhaena nodded, trying to steady her breathing, but there was a nervous flutter in her chest that she couldn’t quite shake. A few more steps and they entered a large, shadowed cavern. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and sulfur, and from within the darkness came a low, rumbling growl that made Rhaena’s blood run cold.

There, lurking in the deepest part of the cave, was Cannibal. His scales were as dark as night, blending seamlessly into the shadows that surrounded him. Only the gleam of his eye and the faint shimmer of his sharp, jagged teeth stood out in the darkness. He watched them with a predatory stillness, the kind that made Rhaena feel like prey.

“Do you know why they call him Cannibal?” Aemond asked, his tone light, almost playful.

Rhaena shook her head, her eyes wide as she stared at the massive beast. Cannibal’s growl grew louder, the sound vibrating through the cavern, and she instinctively took a step closer to Aemond, her heart pounding in her chest.

Aemond leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “He’s known to feast on his own kind, especially the young. I wonder,” he paused, his voice dropping to a whisper, “what he would think of a little dragon like you?”

Rhaena’s breath hitched, fear coursing through her veins as Cannibal’s growl turned into a low, menacing snarl. Aemond pulled back slightly, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he watched the fear flash across her face. He seemed to relish it, the way her eyes darted between him and the black dragon lurking in the shadows.

But just as quickly, Aemond’s expression softened, and his demeanor shifted back to that of the courteous gentleman. “But of course,” he said smoothly, his voice returning to that practiced gentleness, “you have nothing to fear. As long as you’re with me, Rhaena, you’re perfectly safe.”

His hand found hers again, his touch firm yet oddly comforting, and he squeezed it lightly as if to reassure her. Rhaena swallowed hard, trying to push down the lingering fear. Aemond’s sudden shift from menacing to protective left her feeling off-balance, unsure of what to believe.

“Come,” he said, guiding her away from Cannibal’s lair and back towards the winding tunnels. “There’s something else I want to show you.”

They emerged from the dark passages into the open air, with the sun filtering through the thin clouds. Rhaena blinked against the sudden brightness, the chill of the dragonpits still clinging to her skin. As they walked, Aemond kept her hand in his, a gesture that felt oddly intimate despite the coldness she had sensed earlier.

Rhaena glanced up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Where are we going? The dragonpits are behind us.”

Aemond’s gaze remained ahead, his expression unreadable. “Vhagar doesn’t dwell within the pits,” he explained, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. “She’s far too large to be confined in such a place. She prefers the open sky.”

Rhaena’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Vhagar. She should’ve known he was taking her to the mighty beast. The great dragon was humongus when her mother rode her, Rhaena can only imagine she’s still growing. The memory of her mother’s connection to Vhagar was a bittersweet one, and the thought of seeing the dragon now filled Rhaena with a sense of longing.

They continued their journey, moving toward a more isolated area of King's Landing. The bustling noise of the city faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. It was as if they were venturing into a world that belonged only to them. A secret, hidden place far removed from the prying eyes of the court.

Finally, they arrived at a secluded clearing, and there, resting on a gentle slope, was Vhagar. The dragon was immense, her dark green scales shimmering in the dappled sunlight. She was a creature of legend, a remnant of an age long past, and Rhaena felt a pang of reverence and awe as she gazed upon her.

Aemond’s hand remained on hers as he led her closer to the beast. “She remembers you, I’m sure,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “She remembers your mother.”

Rhaena’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up at Vhagar. The dragon’s eyes were like molten gold, and there was a depth in them that made her feel as though Vhagar was peering into her very soul.

“Are you ready?” Aemond’s voice broke through her reverie, and she turned to him, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

“It's been a while since I’ve been on her, but I'm not afraid,”

Aemond’s smile was soft, almost encouraging. “I’ll help you,” he promised. “There’s nothing to fear. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Once you get this down, you’ll know what to do with your own dragon.”

With gentle, guiding hands, Aemond helped Rhaena onto Vhagar’s large back. His touch lingered on her waist, steadying her as she settled into place. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on Rhaena, and she felt a strange mix of emotions—fear of the unknown, excitement, and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Aemond climbed up behind her, his body close to hers as he took hold of the ropes that controlled the dragon. “Watch closely,” he instructed, his voice low and firm. “Sōvēs”

The great dragon stirred, her massive wings unfurling with a powerful whoosh of air. Rhaena’s heart raced as she felt the ground shift beneath them, and she gripped the ropes tightly, her knuckles turning pale with tension.

“Steady,” Aemond whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Let the ropes guide her, but don’t fight her. Trust her.”

With a mighty leap, Vhagar took to the skies, the wind rushing past them as they soared higher and higher above the Red Keep. Rhaena’s fear slowly melted away, replaced by a sense of exhilaration as she felt the dragon’s powerful movements beneath her.

Aemond’s voice remained steady as he continued to instruct her, guiding her hands on the ropes as they maneuvered through the air. There was a strange thrill in being so close, his presence both unsettling and strangely comforting. He truly wasn't as bad as everyone claimed. Despite the unease that lingered in the back of her mind, Rhaena couldn’t deny the connection they shared in this moment. She felt like a real dragon rider. Her mother would be proud and that’s all she cared about. Her only motivation for wanting a dragon.

As they flew higher, the world below seemed to disappear, leaving only the vast expanse of sky and the rhythmic beat of Vhagar’s wings. And for a brief, fleeting moment, Rhaena felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Freedom.

Hours had gone by. As Vhagar descended gracefully through the sky, Aemond guided Rhaena’s hands on the ropes, his voice a calm anchor in the exhilarating chaos of the flight. “Ease her down slowly,” he instructed, his breath warm against her ear. “Let her wings catch the air. Feel the rhythm.”

Rhaena nodded, her nerves had long since settled as she followed his lead. The initial fear had ebbed away, replaced by a tentative confidence. Aemond’s presence, though unsettling at times, was reassuring now, and she found herself leaning into his guidance.

When they neared the ground, Rhaena felt the massive dragon’s powerful muscles shift beneath them, adjusting to the landing. The ground rose to meet them, and with a final, gentle tug on the ropes, Vhagar touched down with a soft thud. Rhaena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, a wide smile spreading across her face.

“You did well,” Aemond said, his voice laced with something that almost resembled pride. He slid off the dragon first, then offered his hand to help her down. His grip was firm, and when she looked up at him, she noticed the way his gaze lingered on her, as if seeing her in a new light.

“Thanks Aemond,” Rhaena replied, her heart still racing from the flight, though now it wasn’t just from the thrill of the dragon ride. The way Aemond looked at her, the way he stayed close. It was confusing, disorienting, but also intoxicating in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

As they walked away from Vhagar, Rhaena’s guard began to drop, the adrenaline of the flight leaving her more open, more vulnerable. She began to talk, the words spilling out as if she couldn’t hold them in any longer. She’d been telling Aemond all about her life at Dragonstone. “My father, he barely notices me,” she admitted, her voice soft. “He’s always so focused on everything except for me. Even when I’m standing right next to him. I feel like I’m just there. Not important.”

Aemond listened, his expression unreadable, but there was a sharpness in his eye as she spoke. “He doesn’t see your value,” Aemond replied, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. “But I do. You’re intelligent and capable. Far more than Daemon realizes.”

Rhaena looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat at his words. She paid no mind to Aemond never referring to Daemon as his uncle. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Anyways, I’ve been helping Jace with his Valyrian. He asked me because I’m good at it, better than most since I spent so much time studying. I think it’s the one thing I’m really good at.”

The mention of Jace darkened Aemond’s expression, though he kept his tone smooth. “Jace,” he repeated, a faint sneer curling his lips. “Of course, he would need help. Valyrian is almost pure in your blood, but perhaps it’s harder for some to grasp.” He paused, his gaze sliding over her, then added with a hint of disdain, “Not all of us have the same heritage, after all.”

Rhaena frowned slightly, “I think he wants to impress Baela. He tries I guess, a little too hard sometimes. But he does try” she said.

Aemond’s smile was tight, his tone patronizing. “I’m sure he does, he’s a strong boy.”

Before she could respond, Aemond’s hand brushed against hers, his fingers curling around hers briefly, sending a shiver up her spine. “But you, Rhaena,” he continued, his voice softening, “you are every bit the dragon. Your blood is refined, your mind sharp. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”

His words wrapped around her like a warm cloak, comforting and suffocating all at once. She wanted to believe him, to let his praise drown out the doubts that had plagued her for so long. But there was something in his tone, something that made her feel as if she was being drawn into a web she didn’t fully understand.

By the time they returned to the Red Keep for dinner, the atmosphere between them had shifted. Aemond, who had been so attentive and close during their time alone, became distant, his demeanor cool and aloof in front of the others. He barely acknowledged her, his focus seemingly elsewhere, and Rhaena couldn’t understand why. They had just gotten along so well. The warmth he had shown her earlier was gone, replaced by the icy detachment she had come to associate with him.

The meal passed in a blur of conversation and laughter that Rhaena felt detached from, her mind still turning over her day with Vhagar and her rider. She glanced at him several times, hoping for some sign of the connection they had shared earlier, but he remained cold, his attention on anything but her.

After dinner, Rhaena returned to her chambers, the confusion and disappointment weighing heavily on her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had done something wrong, that she had somehow lost whatever bond they had started to form. It’s just her curse. She can’t grow close to anyone. Not even her own grandmother would ask for her as a ward.

Just as she was about to prepare for bed, a soft knock came at her door. She opened it to find Aemond standing there, his expression once again unreadable.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice low, almost commanding. “We’re going out.”

Rhaena blinked in surprise. “Out? But where? It’s late.”

Aemond stepped closer, his presence filling the doorway. “I told you I’d teach you about riding dragons, didn’t I? There’s more to learn, and we’re not done. Get dressed, Rhaena.”

The way he said her name, the way his gaze held hers, sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t understand what he meant, what lesson could possibly require them to leave the safety of the Keep at night, but something in his eyes compelled her to obey.

Without another word, she nodded and turned back into her room to change into something that wouldn’t draw attention to her, the uncertainty gnawing at her, but also the strange thrill that came with his attention. Whatever Aemond had planned, she knew there was no turning back now.

The streets of King’s Landing were a world away from the calmer, isolated island of Dragonstone. Rhaena walked beside Aemond, her cape hood pulled low over her head to hide the telltale silver of her Targaryen hair. Aemond, too, was cloaked in darkness, his features obscured beneath the heavy fabric of his dark cape. The night was alive with the loud voices, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, and the distant hum of the city’s life, all so foreign to her.

She had never ventured into a city like this after leaving Pentos. The narrow streets were crowded with people. Smallfolk seemed to be everywhere, their faces hard and worn, eyes flicking to the cloaked pair as they passed. Rhaena tried not to look directly at anyone, not wanting her lilac eyes to give her away but she couldn’t help noticing the stark difference between her world and theirs. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, smoke, and the different tang of the sea. The buildings loomed over them, close and oppressive, their walls stained with years of grime. The streets were uneven, cluttered with debris, and the sounds, so many sounds, were overwhelming compared to the quiet corridors of the Red Keep or Dragonstone.

Aemond walked with purpose, his hand lightly resting on her back as he guided her through the labyrinth of streets. He had obviously done this plenty of times. His touch was steady, reassuring in its way, but there was an intensity in his manner that made her uneasy. He kept asking about her father Daemon, his questions probing, digging deeper with each step they took.

“Tell me, Rhaena, what does Daemon say about King’s Landing?” Aemond asked, his voice smooth but with an edge that Rhaena couldn’t quite place.

She hesitated, unsure how to respond. “He doesn’t speak of it much,” she replied vaguely, her eyes darting around, trying to take in everything at once.

Aemond nodded as if he understood, but his next question came swiftly. “And what about the people? What does he think of the people that reside here?”

Rhaena frowned beneath her hood, finding the question strange. “I… I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about the smallfolk much. Why do you ask?”

Aemond’s smile was hidden by the shadows of his cloak, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze even though she couldn’t see his face. “Curiosity,” he said simply, but there was something in his tone that unsettled her.

As they continued walking, Rhaena’s unease grew. She realized just how sheltered she had been on Dragonstone, how little she knew of the world of Westeros beyond its shores. Everything she knew had come from books and hearing the stories of others, no real-world experience. The city was vast and she had underestimated just how many people lived within its walls. The sheer number of them was overwhelming, and the realization that she knew so little of this place made her feel small, insignificant. She hated this feeling.

They turned a corner, and a street performer nearby suddenly called out, announcing their location with a flourish. “Welcome to the Street of Silk, travelers! The finest pleasures in all of the land await you!”

Rhaena’s heart skipped a beat as she realized where they were. The Street of Silk was infamous, known even in the distant reaches of Dragonstone for its brothels and the illicit activities that took place within its confines. Baela told her about this place. She'd even heard whispers of it, stories from servants and knights, but never imagined she would find herself here.

Rhaena had no idea why Aemond would be here, truly, this seemed like the kind of place his brother Aegon would flourish in.

“Aemond,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “We shouldn’t be here. My father, he’ll be furious if he finds out.”

But even as she said it, a flicker of resentment flared within her. Her father, who barely noticed her, who was always more concerned with Aegon, why should she care what he thought? Still, the thought of getting into trouble lingered, mingling with her anxiety.

Aemond didn’t respond, his hand guiding her more firmly now as they approached the entrance of one of the brothels. The building was unassuming from the outside, but there was a heaviness to the air, a sense of secrecy and sin that made Rhaena’s stomach churn. She tried to pull back, but Aemond’s grip on her tightened, his demeanor shifting subtly, becoming more commanding.

Without a word, he led her inside, the door closing behind them with a soft thud that seemed to seal her fate. The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood incense and something else, something heady and intoxicating. Aemond moved with confidence, leading her straight into a private room at the back of the establishment.

Rhaena’s heart raced as the door closed behind them, shutting out the noise of the street. The room was small, intimate, with a large bed draped in rich, dark fabrics. Aemond removed his cloak, his silver hair falling into place as he turned to her, his eye gleaming in the low light. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cloak before slowly pulling it from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“Aemond, what are we doing here?” Rhaena’s voice was a whisper, fear and confusion lacing her words. There was something in his gaze now, something predatory that made her pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons.

Aemond stepped closer, his smile soft but with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. “Rhaena,” he murmured, his tone almost tender, but with a darkness lurking beneath. “You said you wanted to learn to be a real dragonrider. To command the skies, to feel the power of a dragon beneath you. But you’ve only begun to learn.”

She frowned, not understanding. “But we already flew Vhagar. You showed me how to steer, how to—”

He cut her off, his hand sliding around to the back of her neck, holding her gently but firmly. “There’s more to it than that. A dragon is not just a beast to be commanded. It’s a force, a power that must be understood, respected. And to become a true dragonrider, you must become one with that power.”

Rhaena’s frustration deepened. “What do you mean?”

Aemond’s smile widened, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “To be a dragonrider, Rhaena, you must ride the dragon. Truly ride it. Feel its strength, its fire. Become one with it.”

Rhaena’s eyes widened as the meaning of his words slowly began to dawn on her. She pulled back slightly, trying to escape his grasp, but Aemond held her fast, his other hand coming up to caress her cheek.

“Don’t you see, Rhaena?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with a twisted kind of affection. “I am a dragon. And to be a real dragonrider, you must ride me.”

Her breath caught in her throat, a wave of horror washing over her as she realized he wasn’t speaking in metaphors or compliments. She almost caught herself releasing a laugh.

She sighed, shaking her head, trying to pull away from him. “Aemond, this isn’t right.”

He silenced her with a kiss, his lips cold and forceful against hers. The horror of the situation gripped her, but she felt trapped, the room closing in around her as Aemond’s grip tightened, pulling her closer. His kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he was trying to consume her. His twisted vision of what it meant to be a dragonrider became clearer with each word he spoke, each touch that sent a shiver down her spine. Aemond’s grip on Rhaena tightened as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

“You’re mine now, Rhaena,” he whispered, his tone laced with a dark possession. “No one else will ever understand you the way I do. No one else can make you into the dragonrider you’re meant to be.”

Rhaena’s mind raced, torn between the fear that gripped her heart and the yearning for something more, something beyond the cold indifference of her life. Aemond’s words were intoxicating, seeping into the cracks of her doubts and filling them with a dangerous allure. She thought of her father, how he barely noticed her, how his attention was always elsewhere, on his new family. What did she matter to him? What did she matter to anyone?

Here was Aemond, who saw her, who spoke to her as if she were the most important person in the world. He promised her power, freedom, a life where she could truly be a dragonrider, not just a shadow in the background. The resentment she felt toward her father bubbled up, mingling with confusion and fear, and in that moment, she made a decision.

Maybe Aemond was right. Maybe this was her chance to break free, to carve out a life of her own. She could leave Daemon behind, let him have his new family, his new life. She could be something more, something greater.

Her resolve hardened as she looked into Aemond’s intense, burning gaze. “Ok,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her decision. “I want to be a dragonrider, a true one.”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, satisfaction gleaming in his eye. He lifted a hand to her face, caressing her cheek with surprising tenderness. “You will be.”

Slowly, almost reverently, Aemond began to undress her. His hands were sure and steady as he unfastened the clasps of her gown, letting the rich fabric slide from her shoulders and pool at her feet. Rhaena’s breath hitched as the cool air kissed her skin, her heart pounding in her chest as she stood there, exposed, naked, and vulnerable before him.

But as Aemond’s gaze swept over her, there was no cruelty in his expression, no mockery. Instead, there was a hunger, a fierce desire that made her feel powerful, like the dragon he had promised she would become. The fear that had gripped her began to melt away, replaced by a strange sense of freedom, as if she was shedding the last remnants of the girl who had always been in the background.

Aemond’s hands moved to his own clothing, discarding it before pulling her close, their bodies pressed together, skin to skin. The heat of him was intoxicating, overwhelming, and Rhaena found herself leaning into him, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly shifted beneath her feet.

He kissed her again, but this time it was different—softer, more deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of her. Rhaena responded hesitantly at first, but then with growing confidence, fueled by the sense of power that his touch awakened within her.

“Aemond…” she whispered, her voice breathless as she looked up at him, her thoughts a dizzying whirl of emotions. “Why me?”

His gaze darkened, a flicker of something like affection passing through his eye before it was consumed by the burning intensity of his desire. “Because you’re different, Rhaena,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not like the others. I’ve always seen it. I’ve always known.”

His words wrapped around her cloak, banishing the doubts and fears that had haunted her for so long. In Aemond’s arms, she felt powerful, desired, and for the first time, she felt as if she could truly be more..

Aemond’s hands were gentle yet insistent as he guided her toward the bed, his lips never straying far from hers. The world outside the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this moment, this twisted, intoxicating dance of desire.

As they sank onto the bed, Aemond’s movements became slower, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment, every reaction. He moved his head between her legs to kiss her wetness. It was obvious it wasn’t his first time with the opposite gender. He wanted to claim her, to make her his in every way. The sounds coming from Rhaena room were quiet enough to be considered discreet but loud enough that he knew the others could hear.

“I hate your father,” Aemond whispered against her skin, his voice low and fervent. “I hate everything about him. But you, Rhaena… you’re different. Your mine, and I will make you more powerful than any of them.”

A strange exhilaration coursed through Rhaena’s veins, a heady mix of fear, desire, and something deeper. A need to break free from the binds that had bound her for so long. As Aemond's hands moved over her skin, exploring her with his fingers and swipes of his tongue she felt herself letting go of the doubts that had once plagued her.

Aemond’s breath was hot against her neck as he moved back up illiciting a soft gasp from Rhaena as he kissed along her collarbone, his lips tracing a path that sent shivers down her spine. “Aemond” she whispered, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer as if needing the contact to ground herself in this moment.

She knew it was wrong to do this before marriage, but she didn’t care. The world outside this room, with all its expectations and judgments seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

Aemond’s hands were strong still between her legs, his touch sending waves of heat through her body. The roughness of his hands made it obvious that he spent a lot of time training in the courtyard with his sword.

Aemond positioned himself between her legs with deliberate care, fully aware of her inexperience. Her eyes fluttered shut, her breath hitching as she felt the warm pressure of his cock teasing her entrance, the sensation both foreign and thrilling. He eased into her slowly, inch by inch, and a soft moan escaped her lips as her body accommodated him, the unfamiliar stretch intensifying her awareness of every movement.

His thrusts were slow and measured, each one deepening their connection, as if he were savoring the moment as much as she was. A low groan of pleasure slipped from her mouth when he finally pushed through the last barrier within her, the intensity of the sensation sending a shiver through her entire body. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze, and she found him already watching her, his expression a mix of fierce lust and something darker.

Aemond’s hands slid down her arms, his grip firm but not forceful. He kissed her deeply, passionately, before pulling back to meet her gaze once more. “I want you to ride me, Rhaena,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Aemond’s eye burned with a dark intensity as he lay back, his hands resting on her hips as he guided her over him. “Take what you want,” he whispered, his voice almost a growl.

Rhaena hesitated for a moment, the weight of what she was about to do sinking in. But then she looked down at Aemond, at the way his gaze was locked on hers, filled with a mix of desire and challenge. She realized that this was her moment—her chance to take control, to claim the power she had always been denied.

Slowly, she moved over him, her hands bracing on his chest as she took him in. Aemond’s breath hitched, his grip on her hips tightening as she began to move. The sensation was overwhelming, but it was the look in his eyes that truly sent a jolt through her. Admiration.

Rhaena’s movements slowly became more confident, more assured as she moved her hips. She felt powerful, truly powerful, for the first time in her life. The doubt, the fear—they were gone, replaced by a sense of control that she had never known.

As she rode him, Aemond’s hands roamed her body, his touch worshipful, reverent. He looked at her as if she were the only thing that mattered, the only thing that had ever mattered. And in that moment, Rhaena believed it. She felt like a dragon, fierce and unchained, ready to burn away the past and forge a new path for herself.

Aemond’s breaths and grunts grew ragged, his control slipping as he gave in to the sensations she was creating. “You were always meant to be a dragon rider.”

Rhaena looked down at him, her movements slow and deliberate, savoring the power she held over him. “Show me then,” she whispered, her voice strong and clear. “Show me how to be the dragonrider I was meant to be.”

Aemond’s response was a guttural sound of approval as he guided her hips, matching her rhythm with his own. Their bodies were electric, charged with emotions that neither had the words to express. In that moment, they were equals, two dragons bound by fire and desire.

As they reached their peak together, Rhaena felt something within her shift, something fundamental. She was no longer just Rhaena, the daughter and granddaughter, the forgotten sister. She was a dragon, powerful and unyielding, and no one would ever control her again.

When they both caught their breath, Aemond pulled her down beside him, their bodies entwined as they caught their breath. He brushed a loc from her face, his touch gentle, almost tender.

Rhaena didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. She felt it too, a sense of belonging, of power, of a future where she was no longer in the shadow of others. Now, she had found a strength she didn’t know she possessed, and she wasn’t about to let it go.

A week had passed since that first night Rhaena had spent with Aemond, and in the days that followed, they had continued to meet in secret. The thrill of forbidden encounters consumed her, offering a dangerous escape from the suffocating expectations that had always defined her life. Everything had changed.

Rhaena and Aemond were walking through one of the quieter corridors of the Red Keep when they encountered King Viserys and Daemon. The King appeared distracted, his mind seemingly elsewhere, but Daemon’s sharp eyes immediately locked onto Aemond. He noticed Rhaena standing close to Aemond, and his expression darkened.

“Rhaena,” Daemon said sharply, his voice carrying a note of authority that brooked no argument. “Go to your chambers. We’re leaving later today.”

Rhaena hesitated, her eyes flicking to Aemond, but she nodded and quietly slipped away. Once she was out of earshot, Aemond turned to Daemon with a sly smile. “You seem tense, Daemon. Is there something on your mind?”

Daemon’s expression remained impassive, though there was a flicker of disdain in his eyes. "Nothing that would concern a boy," Daemon replied smoothly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I was merely reflecting on how quickly some people grow up, thinking they’ve mastered the world after a few short years. But experience has a way of teaching humility, doesn’t it?”

“Obviously some of the elderly haven’t properly been taught.”

Viserys, oblivious to the tension between them, smiled at his son. “Daemon and I were just discussing potential wedding proposals for his and Laena’s girls,” he said. “There are many fine Lords in the realm who would be eager to make such an alliance.”

Aemond’s smile grew sharper. “Proposals, yes. But what if those daughters were…sullied? Would these lords still be so eager?”

Daemon’s expression remained impassive, but there was a gleam in his eyes that hinted at a deeper current of thought.

“Lords can be particular, it’s true,” Daemon responded, his tone casual. “Luckily I won’t have that problem.”

Aemond’s smile didn’t falter, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his gaze. “Interesting, indeed. Though I suppose some stories are better left untold, especially when they involve family matters. We wouldn’t want to sully anyone’s reputation unnecessarily.”

Viserys, oblivious to the undercurrents in their exchange, continued with his well-meaning attempts at conversation. “It’s good to see finally speaking to your uncle Aemond. We’ve had enough division in the family, haven’t we?”

Aemond inclined his head slightly, his voice smooth as he replied, “Of course, Father. Family is everything. We wouldn’t want to see anyone, tarnished,by unfortunate associations.”

Daemon’s smile was cool, his eyes holding Aemond’s with a steady intensity. “No, we wouldn’t. It’s always best to keep thing in the family, where they belong.”

The tension simmered just below the surface, neither man willing to show his hand too openly.

“Yes,” Viserys agreed, completely unaware of the charged atmosphere. “Family is what matters most. Which is why it’s important we secure the future with good matches.”

Aemond’s smile sharpened ever so slightly. “Indeed, securing the future is paramount. But one must always be careful. Ensure that what we’re securing is as pure as we believe it to be.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained calm, almost amused. "Purity is such a relative term, don’t you think? Sometimes what seems less than ideal, flaws and all,” He paused to stare at Aemond’s eye patch before continuing, “turns out to be exactly what’s needed.”

Aemond shrugged lightly, his tone just as light. “Perhaps. Though I’ve always believed in maintaining the highest standards, especially when it comes to matters of blood.”

The exchange continued, each man's meaning of their words hidden beneath a veneer of politeness. Viserys, still oblivious, seemed content to see them interacting at all, completely unaware.

Finally, after a pause, Daemon gave a slight nod, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. “Standards are important. But so is knowing when to bend the rules a little. Life has a way of surprising us all.”

Aemond returned the nod, his smile equally tight. “It does. And it’s those surprises that keep things… interesting.”

With that, the conversation drew to a close, the tension between them lingering even as they parted ways. Aemond turned and walked away, leaving Daemon standing there with Viserys, both men knowing that the exchange had been anything but innocent.

Rhaena made her way back to her chambers, her mind racing with urgency. She needed to act quickly.

As she entered her room, she forced herself to remain calm, focusing on the plan that had been forming in her mind over the past week. She would pretend everything was as it should be, giving no indication of the turmoil or the decisions she had made. Her father would expect her to follow his orders, to obediently return to Dragonstone with him.

And that’s exactly what she would do. At least, at first. She would go back to Dragonstone, gather her belongings, and do everything expected of her. But once there, she would quietly take what she truly wanted: one of the dragon eggs he’d gotten the week beforw, her link to the future she had begun to envision.

With that egg, she would have the power to chart her own course, to leave behind the life that had been decided for her. She wouldn’t be bound by any one. She would take her destiny into her own hands and run. Run to wherever she felt she could finally be free.

As she began to pack, Rhaena’s resolve hardened. She’d have to send a letter to Baela after she got settled. She would go through the motions, play her part until the moment was right. And when it was, she would slip away, leaving behind everything and everyone who had ever tried to control her. With that dragon egg in her possession, she could start a new life, one where she made the rules. Rhaena thought back to the lie she’s been telling Aemond the past few days, that she’d come back to be with him. She wondered how long she would be gone before he realized she left Dragonstone, but not for King’s Landing.

She smiled to herself, a small, determined smile. Soon, she would be gone, and no one would ever hold her back again from her own destiny.

[pantherastevens]

His Sunshine in The Darkness: A Love Birthed From Blood

Bro, I'm not even going to hold y'all. Just writing this took a lot of me, I had to chuck this day by day. But finally, FINALLY, I present to you all Part 3 of His Sunshine in The Darkness.

Yandere!Miles42 still gives me extreme brainrot and I've been mentally jumping ahead to the part where Panthera finally finds out everything (that's part 4 and I haven't even started it yet. That part might be the shortest of them all and I'm still debating a Part 5). But I have to try to pace this out (not the greatest at it but I try).

Enough of my blabbering, on with the story!

Here are Parts 1 and 2 if you missed them.

Warnings: Blood, Death (Murder), Yandere tendancies (?), Suggestive themes (nothing crazy, I promise), Cursing

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

It all started on a chilly Friday in February. It was a week shy of Valentine's Day, and the school was abuzz about the upcoming holiday. Miles would roll his eyes about it as if he wasn't sporting a black eye due to a fight he got into yesterday over a cute purple and black panda plushie (he saw the stuffed animal first, damn it) to gift to Panthera on the holiday (amongst other things...)

The boy was minding his business in study hall, which was luckily the last class of the day, determined to finish his homework until his ears picked up a familiar name. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to find his two "homeboys" chatting.

"Aye, Andre, what do you think of that Panthera girl," Jamal asked. Andre, in return, raised a brow, noting the flustered look on his face.

"That weird, quiet girl from creative writing class? I mean, she aight, but she nothin' special," Andre said with a shrug. Miles felt his eye twitch at the clear dismissal of his girl. Jamal smacked his lips out of annoyance.

"You only sayin' that 'cause you prefer yo girls high maintenance 'nd shit," he scowled. Andre gave another shrug.

"So? Panthera's cute, but she ain't no bad bitch like Jasmine or Monique. Why you even asking about shorty anyway," Andre breezily asked. Miles could see the sheepish grin on Jamal's face and tighten the grip on his pencil.

"I'm thinking of asking baby girl to be my Valentine to be real..." Andre snorted.

"Be so fuckin' for real, bro. Weren't you talkin' to Beatrice just last week?" Jamal scoffed, shoving his friend.

"Nigga, shut the fuck up. I thought I was interested until I found out she was only talking to me to ask about Miles..." The Afro-Latino rolled his eyes. He knew who they were referring to and wouldn't touch the girl with a ten-foot pole. The girl thinks it's fun to collect niggas' hearts like Pokemon, and he's definitely not interested.

"So why Panthera? The girl is weird. Her hair looks like she's been without a retwist for two months, plus it makes her seem more like a nigga than a female. She barely interact with anyone outside of class. She speaks a weird language sometimes. She's named after a literal animal, for Christ's sake! Don't know what her parents were thinkin' when they named her. What about her seem to grab you by the balls, bruh?" Jamal, and Miles, gave Andre the evil eye.

"Mad disrespectful. I think her hair makes her unique. I know she takes care of it, or it wouldn't look as long and thick as it does. And her having locs doesn't make her look like a nigga. And I'm fine with quiet girls. That means she's not caught up in the rachet bullshit that goes on at school. She actually told me that it was the language of her grandfather from some African country. It's unique, which I think is pretty cool. And her name is pretty, don't be a dick. You might notice some really nice girls here if you stop letting these hoes come up in your face. I'm tryna find me a little boo, not someone to post flicks on the gram and then maybe lead into a one-night stand. Panthera could be the one for me." Miles was a smidge appreciative to hear Jamal come to Panthera's defense, but he still didn't like him.

He liked HIS girl. Miles can not let that slide.

"Tch, whatever you say. I can't help you with your lil crush, but I bet we know someone who can. Ayo, Miles!" Miles did his best to keep his face neutral as he turned to face his "friends."

"What's good," he said. Andre smirked, nodding to Jamal.

"Jamal here is thinking of asking Panthera to be his Valentine. You two are friends, right? Maybe you could help a brother out." 

"Joder no." Jamal and Andre blinked at the Afro-Latino.

"Uhhh, come again," Jamal asked. Miles shrugged.

"I said I don't know," he lied. Jamal's eyes pleaded with the boy.

"C'mon bro, is there anything you know she may like? I kinda wanna impress her..." Tawny brown eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Miles knows a lot of things that Panthera likes. 

Her favorite chocolate and ice cream were cookies and cream. Her top five favorite movies were "Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron," "Princess and the Frog," "Finding Forrester," "Dragon Ball Z: Cooler's Revenge" (and "The Return of Cooler"), and "Wall-E." Her favorite flowers were sunflowers, hibiscus, and roses. While she wasn't crazy about fashion, she loved some nice or cool-looking jewelry (as long as she could afford it). She loves art, finding comfort in her sketchbook or with her canvases. One of her treasured items was her iPod, filled with various playlists for her moods. Her two favorite games were Temple Run and Fruit Ninja. She loves basketball and can play the sport (his uncle had a good ass laugh watching her wipe the floor with Miles). She likes boxing and even helps Miles with his workouts. Her favorite colors were black, gold, silver, purple, green, and red. She loves canines and wild cats but has a soft spot for pandas. She loves to watch the sunset or the sunrise to watch the sky explode into a series of colors. She likes stargazing and getting lost in the vast night sky. 

Miles could write a book about her if he wanted to. But that information is for him and him alone.

"Maybe Miles doesn't want to tell you because he likes her himself," Andre said with a shit-eating grin. Jamal blinked before narrowing his eyes at the Afro-Latino.

Jamal didn't have anything against Miles. He felt bad for what happened to his dad and even attended the funeral. When greeting him, Miles' eyes seem thousands of miles away from here. He heard his heartfelt speech about his dad and how he felt sympathy for him when he was nothing but a wreck of tears. Of course, that same day, he saw Panthera. 

Now, it wasn't the first time he noticed her. But that day, it was impossible not to notice her. From her attire, her speech, the song she sang...

Jamal thought she was so beautiful. 

He saw Miles sought for her comfort during the service and even where they laid the Police Captain to rest. Jamal thought it was sweet for her to be there for the grieving boy.

That's when Jamal's crush really started. He was excited to share at least two classes with her that year: creative writing and music. 

And to be able to sit next to her in their creative writing class?

Jamal thought God was finally blessing him...

...only he could never get his mouth to work and talk to her. 

They only had a handful of conversations, and they were in February. Besides, calling them "conversations" was Jamal being generous. Unless Jamal could wriggle in some small talk (which Panthera didn't seem to be a fan of), their conversation would be strictly on the assignment given by the teacher. The boy tried talking to other girls to get his mind off the beauty, but it never worked. None of the girls were really into him like that, and a good majority were only using him to learn about Miles, which pissed him off more than he liked to admit.

What did Miles Morales have that he didn't? Yeah, he didn't have an accent or that effortless mysterious, bad-boy vibe Miles started giving off this year, but it's not like he was anyone special.

The one person he wanted to like him was being hoarded by the guy almost every girl in their grade wanted.

He can't take this shit anymore.

"Ain't no way Panthera would like him like that," Jamal huffed. Miles glared at him.

"What is that supposed to mean," Miles asked quietly, tawny brown eyes meeting near black ones. Jamal scoffed, his jealousy bubbling to a boiling point.

"You've known Panthera for how long 'nd you mean to tell me y'all still not togetha? She probably just pities yo sorry ass. You were the awkward kid mid-freshman year who she just happened to notice. 'Oh woe is me; I lost my daddy to gang violence.' Big fuckin' whoop, my guy. Ain't no way someone like her would ever like crybaby bitch like-ACK!" Jamal's rant was cut off by a sudden hand wrapped tightly around his throat. Fearful dark eyes met menacing light ones.

"Like what, bro," Miles asked quietly. The two boys were nose-to-nose in a silent stare-down. Miles could feel Jamal's pulse fluttering under his fingertips like a frightened caged bird. It made the darker side of him purr in delight.

"I-I..." Jamal couldn't get his words out. Even if Miles' hand wasn't wrapped around his windpipe, the dark promise in his eyes would've still rendered him mute. 

"Thought so. This is your only warning, Jackson: Don't let me catch your sorry ass talking to Panthera. You know nothing about our relationship and what she means to me," Miles mumbled, never taking his eyes off his prey. He moved his lips to Jamal's ear, whispering menacingly,

"Panthera's my girl. Always was and always will be. I'm not afraid of getting rid of anyone looking to come between me and her... and that's not just a threat. It's a fucking promise..." Miles shoved the boy away just as the bell rang, walking out of the still classroom without turning back. Still in shock over what happened, their classmates slowly filtered out of the room. Jamal gave a few ragged coughs, half-heartedly accepting Andre's help.

"Damn, he got you good," Andre mumbled as he held Jamal up. When he decided to be a little shit on purpose, he didn't expect Miles to lash the way he did. Miles wasn't going for a fight or anything, as if he knew the outcome.

Jamal shoved Andre back, irritated.

"Ion care what that nigga say, he thinks he big and bad and what he says goes. Nah, Imma try to see if I can ask Panthera out today just to show that fuck nigga he wrong," Jamal hissed, grabbing his bag. Andre stared after his friend with an eye roll, grabbing his stuff and jogging after him.

He wanted front-row seats to this, after all.

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

Panthera was shifting through her locker, grabbing the necessary materials for her homework, and placing the material she finished during her classes that day. The girl had her headphones on, humming along to a new song she discovered as she did this. Once she was sure she had everything, she shut her locker.

Only to jump at the sight of Jamal leaning on the locker next to hers. Panthera pulled her headphones off from her ears to rest around her neck.

"Hey, Jamal," Panthera greeted softly, her brows furrowed in confusion. Jamal willed his heart to calm down at the cute expression on his crush's face.

"Hey, beautiful," Jamal said with a flirty grin. He watched as Panthera's cute eyes grew a fraction wider.

"Bast, what happened to your neck?!" He let out a soft hiss when the light touch of Panthera's fingertips brushed against the rapidly forming bruises on his neck. He caught her hand with his, silently hoping his grin didn't transform into a grimace.

"Nothing you should worry your pretty little head about, but I appreciate the concern, sweetness. I got a question for you, though..." Panthera narrowed her eyes briefly, eyeing her hand in his, before meeting his gaze.

"...shoot," she said.

"You busy the night before Valentine's Day, princess? I would love to take you out on a date," Jamal said, feeling bold enough to kiss the palm of her hand.

Panthera blinked.

"You would love to do what now?" Jamal chuckled.

"I said-" Panthera shook her head.

"No, no... I heard you... I guess my real question is why. We barely speak outside of class."

'And that's on purpose...' she thought.

"I always admire you from afar. I'd figured now would be a good opportunity... so how 'bout it, baby girl?" Panthera sized up the boy for a few moments before shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Jamal, but I'm gonna have to decline. I don't see you like that," Panthera sighed, freeing her hand. Just as the girl was ready to walk away, she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

"C'mon ma, just one date, I promise," Jamal pleaded. Panthera let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Bast, give me strength... if it keeps you from following me home. Fine," Panthera huffed. Jamal gave her a boyish smile, hugging the girl. Panthera let out a confused squeak at the sudden action and was released.

"I promise you won't regret it, Panthera. Meet me at the flower garden near the park at 7, alright?" Panthera gave a nod, watching as Jamal walked up to his homeboy. She shook her head, turning on her heel to walk to the school entrance, only to run face-first into Miles' chest. A steady hand found the girl's waist to hold her up.

"Easy there, gatita..." A soft flush colored Panthera's cheeks at the soft rumble of Miles' voice.

"H-Hey Mi," she said, looking up into his eyes. Miles nuzzled her hair.

"I've been waiting for you. What was taking you so long," he mumbled against her forehead. Panthera let out a tired chuckle.

"Looks like I got a date with Jamal next week." Panthera had her face buried in his chest, which prevented her from seeing the dark smile on Miles' face before it faded into a softer one.

"You don't sound too excited about that," he teased. Panthera looked up at him with a pout.

"I'm kinda not, but I'm not trying to be followed home until I say yes." Miles smirked, gently bumping his nose with hers.

"Hey, if anything happens, you could always hit me up. You know I'll do everything possible to bring that beautiful smile onto that sweet face." Panthera giggled, playfully shoving him.

"Mi! Stop flirting with me. My damn face hurts!" Miles chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he and Panthera walked out of the school building. Miles sent a quick text as they walked before asking his little kitten about her day.

Elsewhere at a corner store, Jamal's phone buzzed with a new message. It was from an unknown number with a single phrase.

Unknown: Bet.

"Ayo, c'mon bro. You found everything," Andre asked. Jamal mentally shook his head, turning to his bro.

"Y-Yeah. Let's go."

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

It was the eve of Valentine's Day. The days flew by much quicker than Jamal anticipated, but he felt ready for tonight. 

It was 6:30 PM. Jamal sat on a marble bench in the middle of the flower garden. He was dressed in his freshly ironed white button-down shirt, the nicest jeans he owned, and his white Air Forces. He got a haircut yesterday, helping his newly twisted hair pop. A simple Cuban chain hung around his neck, and his nicest watch was on his wrist. He wore his favorite cologne for the finishing touch.

Beside him were a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a cute Valentine's stuffed bear, and a bouquet of purple and light pink roses.

'God, I hope she likes this. I really want her to like me... wait, what's that noise?' The sound of footsteps approaching caused his heart to quiver in excitement. A glance at his watch let the boy know it was 6:37. The young teen scrambled to his feet, holding the bouquet. Jamal could hear those footsteps getting closer, just about to round the corner to the space he was waiting.

He prepared his best smile to greet his date.

"Hey Panthera, you're ear-" The person standing in front of him wasn't Panthera.

Neon-purple lights lit up the garden surrounding them. The person wore a mechanical mask over their face, narrow white slits making up their eyes. Jamal noticed the spray-painted symbol on the person's chest and the sleek metal claw on their arm when the person's identity finally clicked in his mind.

"Y... You're the Prowler," Jamal whispered. A distorted, deep chuckle escaped the person's throat.

"You sound disappointed... expecting someone else," the Prowler asked rhetorically, approaching the frightened teen. Jamal tried to keep his distance as his mind raced.

Why was the Prowler here out of all places? Everyone knows about his reputation as a vigilante, though it was always wise to stay out of his way. Jamal picked a safe place when he planned this date; it didn't make sense for one of Brooklyn's notorious boogeymen to be here-

"Y-Yeah, actually... I-I have a date, so if you d-don't mind. S-she should be here soon..." The vigilante paused for a moment.

"Oh, I know..." Jamal's blood ran cold.

"Wha-ACK!" Before he could even ask what he meant by that, He felt the wind being knocked out of him. Jamal wasn't sure what was happening until searing hot pain shot through the boy's nervous system. Dark eyes looked down to find razor-sharp claws embedded in his abdomen. A firm, gloved hand gripped his jaw, focusing Jamal's teary and terrified gaze on the soulless white glare.

"W-Why," the boy whimpered, blood bubbling from his throat and spilling over his quivering lips. The Prowler didn't answer him, simply staring at Jamal.

Until the mask automatically pulled back. Jamal's lungs choked on his breath.

"M-Miles...?" The Afro-Latino smirked down at his "friend."

"I told you... Panthera's mine. I'm not afraid to take out those who try to take her away from me. Since you refused to listen..." Miles reactivated his mask, removing his claws from the gushing wound. He slowly trailed the bloody tips up the heaving chest before wrapping around the healing handprint he had left nearly a week ago.

"I'm just gonna have to make an example out of you. For anyone foolish enough to try come after what's mine." Jamal wanted to scream. Yell at the boy that he was crazy and that Panthera would never look at him the same way ever again if she found out. But before Jamal could utter a word, Miles swiftly broke his neck. 

Those white digital eyes watched as the light faded from those dark eyes before dropping the body. Miles grabbed his phone to check the time.

6:43.

Good. He had plenty of time to leave so he could clean up before Panthera would call him. Luckily, one of the hideouts he and his uncle used wasn't too far away. The young vigilante darted into the night, leaving his victim to bleed out in the garden alone.

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

It was 7:02, and Panthera had finally arrived at the flower garden entrance. She would be the first to admit she wasn't crazy eager for this date.

Mainly because she didn't see Jamal like that. But also because she had to deal with the headache of trying to find a nice outfit for the first real date in her life. When she got home from school last week, she immediately went online to find something to wear, already knowing she wasn't gonna find a real outfit in her closet.

It took her ages to find something she liked, seeing how most of the outfits showed too much for her liking. Like she would have to be careful if she needed to pick up something too much. 

But she found her ideal dress. She paired it with her silver angel wing necklace and matching earrings. She had delicate silver rings decorating her right hand. White gladiator sandals covered her feet to complete her look. For her hair, she opted for a half-up-half-down situation with a single loc in front to frame her face. She even went ahead to do a bit of makeup. Not much, since she wasn't looking to impress this boy. Just something light. Some brows, mascara, and some mauve-tinted lip oil.  

She liked the look she created, only wished she didn't go through all this effort for a guy who she barely looked at twice.

'Welp, at least I look cute for my first, and probably last, date of my life...' 

The girl shook her head at the fledging thought. Many people might deem her a "Negative Nancy," but she's calling it how she sees it. No dude at their school would look at her twice. She's heard the whispers and the jokes. 

"Would you sleep with Gabriella with no condom on... or go on a date with Panthera?"

"I rather risk catching something than be seen with a girl who is mistaken as nigga outside her uniform any day of the week."

If the girl wasn't secure about who she was as a person, those comments might have hurt her. From Panthera's point of view, those who say ignorant shit like that don't deserve her, and seeing the many sides that make up Panthera Stevens.

Only one guy thus far has seen her for who she is and hasn't shied away from her. And that's her best friend and ever-growing crush, Miles. 

When did those feelings start becoming apparent? If Panthera had to take a guess, it would be the night she kissed him. The domestic atmosphere never left the two, from her feeding him in the kitchen with his arms around her to watching the boy snuggle up against her, seeking her out in his sleep. 

Everything about that boy was just so endearing to her. Even as they started the school year and Miles gained more popularity amongst their classmates, especially the female population, he would still seek her out for moments of reprieve. 

He would always seek after her.

Panthera sighed as she walked through the garden, searching for the center.

If only he asked her out instead of Jamal. Panthera knew she could just come clean to him and see what happened, but damn it. She wanted to be courted.

According to her father, she would be a princess in the land of their ancestors. Was it wrong of her to want to be treated as such?

The girl sighed as the center of the garden came into sight. She was on a date with Jamal, not Miles. The very least she could do was try to give the boy a fair shot...

As she got closer, she immediately felt something was off. Firstly, there was no Jamal in sight. The garden was quiet except for the occasional chirp from the crickets. She double-checked her phone, noting that the time was 7:05. The boy should be here by now...

Cautiously, she explored a bit deeper, looking for anything amiss...

And then it hit her.

Just barely hidden under the natural perfume of the flowers was a sharp metallic smell. A smell Panthera was very familiar with.

Blood.

The girl froze, eyes narrowing as she tried to take in her surroundings to find anything amiss. Nothing. With a shaky hand, she reached into her bag to grab her phone. Jamal had input his number earlier that day so she could call or text him if she ran late or anything of the sort. The girl wasn't looking to use it, seeing how it meant the boy would have her number, but she had to call to see where he was.

Maybe to change the location of their meet-up. Something. Anything.

She hit the call button, bringing the phone to her ear as she heard the line ringing. Quickly, a phone rang to her right, a little beyond a bush. The girl prayed silently that the boy probably dropped his phone as she stepped along the stone pavement to where she could hear the phone ringing in time with her call.

Her heart stopped at what she saw.

The boy looked back at her with lifeless eyes as he lay in his own pool of blood. The roses he had bought were now stained red, along with the pavement underneath him. His neck was twisted in her direction, seeming broken as his lips were parted with a single streak of blood coming from the corner.

With numb fingers, she ended the call with Jamal and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Yes, hello... I-I... I would like to report a murder..."

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

Miles had just finished thoroughly cleaning his claws when his phone rang at 7:29. The boy smiled as he heard the sound of Juice WRLD's voice.

Panthera was calling him. 

He answered after the second ring, putting the phone on speaker as he got dressed.

"Hey, gatita. How's your date," he greeted. He could hear the sound of police sirens and people talking in the background.

"M-Miles... can... can you come and get me, please? S-Something happened..." The boy expected the tremor in his little beloved's voice, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt his heart to hear it.

"Of course, Panthera. Where are you now," he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"T-The garden... by the p-park..." Confirming that he'll be there in a few minutes, he hung up. Grabbing his jacket and slipping on his Jordans, Miles was out the door.

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

Panthera sat a little ways away from the crime scene, knee anxiously bouncing. The girl knew this was a common occurrence in their city, but she seriously wasn't expecting this.

After the police took her statement, they pretty much left her alone. That's when the girl called Miles, not feeling mentally sound to be alone. Her stiff posture finally relaxed when she felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her.

"Hey, gatita," Miles softly said as the girl curled against his chest. He allowed her to use him to find the comfort she sought, rubbing her back soothingly.

"He's dead," Panthera said flatly as she clung to her best friend. Miles looked down at her, "rightfully," confused by what she meant.

"Jamal... he... he's dead... I found his body," Panthera mumbled. Miles squeezed her closer, kissing her forehead. He could feel the tension ease out of her body as he held her.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Panthera..." Panthera pulled back to find worried tawny eyes staring back at her.

"Can... can I go home with you? Baba isn't gonna be home for a few days... and I don't wanna be by myself..." A kind smile spread on Miles' face.

"Of course, muñeca. As a matter of fact, let's make a date," Miles suggested as he pulled her up to stand alongside him. He chuckled at the confused look on his little kitten's face.

"C'mon, Panthera, let me bring that beautiful smile onto that gorgeous face like I promised. You went through hell tonight. It's the least I could do. Especially when you look so beautiful in your new pretty dress," Miles coaxed, tugging the girl closer by the waist. He watched in mild amusement as she hid her cheeks behind her hands, looking away from him.

"Okay, okay, you flirty menace. Take me somewhere," Panthera relented. Miles smiled, kissing her hand as he tugged her away from the crime scene.

Just as Miles planned.

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

It was 9:10, and the pair sat on the rooftop of Miles' apartment. To Panthera's pleasant surprise, Miles had ordered from her favorite restaurant, making sure to get her usual order of a full rack of baby back ribs, lemon pepper fries, and mashed potatoes, and arranged for them to have a little candle-lit dinner in the familiar warm atmosphere of his home. Miles refused to stop complimenting the girl, watching on fondly as the girl blushed and giggled at his comments.

After eating, the pair made their way to the rooftop, where they chatted and gazed out their city.

"You really have no right being this beautiful, muñeca. I could bask in your beauty forever," Miles murmured lovingly as he traced small hearts on Panthera's shoulder. The girl flushed, fidgeting with one of the rings on her hand.

"Miiiiiii, stop," the girl whined, the heat in her face making the girl lightheaded. A light chuckle brushed against her eardrum, eliciting a small shiver. Miles leaned in to kiss a warm cheek, wrapping his arms around his girl.

"Nah, you're too cute when you blush," he teased. Panthera slapped his chest in retaliation, but there wasn't a lot of force for it to hurt. Miles chuckled, taking ahold of her hand as he stood up. Panthera's confused gaze was met with a boyish grin.

"Dance with me, gatita," Miles whispered, tugging her closer. Panthera gave him a shy smile.

"Okay... what song do you have in mind," she asked. Miles whipped out his phone in a quick, decisive fashion, quickly going through his playlist before finding the song he wanted and cranking the volume up.

Panthera felt her face flush more as she recognized the beat. It was the ringtone Miles had set for her, but she never heard it longer than a few seconds. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, she listened to the lyrics.

"...Really think I found my home,

Shorty make me feel at home...

She made me leave the thrills at home,

And I'm fine with it..."

"This is a nice song. I love it," Panthera whispered, looking into those tawny brown eyes that always seemed to hold a special kind of warmth for just her. Miles rested his forehead against Panthera's, content with drowning in her dark eyes and the lyrics.

"I'm glad. It's how I see you," Miles whispered, watching Panthera's eyes flutter with an innocent blink, the same one she does whenever she's confused or curious. 

"There's love at my front door, short notice,

You're not like the same girls I notice...

Think I met my soul mate,

Yeah, I know it...

When it gets dark outside,

In you I confide...

You help me face my demons,

I won't hide, hide...

Girls like you are hard to find,

I hope you don't mind...

If I give you the time of your life, life, life..."

"Miles..." "Shhh... just be with me in this moment, hermosa..."

As the song continued the play, the pair continued to dance on the rooftop. The boy couldn't take his eyes off the beauty in his arms, often twirling her under his arm to get that sweet smile he oh-so-loved. Miles loved how Panthera fitted in his arms. 

How right it felt to hold her in such a way. 

It felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

Deep down in his heart, he knew he had found his soulmate, his other half, his person.

"...Now that you're here,

I want nothing to change...

You pick me up when I'm down,

I need you around...

You seen me through my darkest times,

Girl, is there something that you try to find?

You brought meaning to my life,

All because of you, I do right..."

Panthera found herself in a trance. She could only acknowledge those brown eyes staring into her soul and the prancing of her heart. 

With the song filling the space between them and her being wrapped in the loving warmth of Miles' arms...

Panthera felt like she was home.

"...We're just two lost souls,

But we're fine with it..."

With the last lyric fading into the beat of the song, the pair stood in place, swaying gently. 

"Panthera?" Dark eyes fluttered open to find a lighter pair staring at her. She smiled.

"Yes?" Miles felt his knees weaken a bit, the weight in his pant pocket becoming more apparent.

"There's something I wanna ask you," Miles said slowly, pulling away a bit to hold both her hands in his. Panthera's brows pinched closer together as she gave a slow nod. Miles took a deep breath.

"I always looked back at freshmen year fondly. Being a new kid during the middle of the school year wasn't something I was happy about, especially since I managed to crush on a super pretty girl in several of my classes, and I had no idea how to approach her. But she turned out to be much bolder than I could ever be and sat next to me in art class to ask if we could be friends. Her smile reminded me of the sun; I just wanted to stay in its warmth forever. Our friendship was something I would always cherish because she always saw me for me and wanted me just as I was. My parents loved her to the point that they saw her as a daughter. My uncle had basically adopted her years ago and was ecstatic to have her back in his life again. She brought something special to my life..." Panthera could feel her heart thundering in her chest. The heat from her cheeks chased away the chill of the cool night air.

But she didn't dare take her eyes off the boy standing before her.

"Even during my life's darkest point, she shone bright as the sun. Wrapping me in the warmth of her loving arms, smile, and heart. She never left my side. Before papá died, he... he told me how she would be good for me. That she would take care of my heart the same way mamá did his; he would've loved to see the two of us get together. I already know mamá y tio having been dying for us to get together... and to be honest, gatita... I've been wanting to ask you this for a long time. Ever since the night of my dad's party, when we both said we loved each other..." Panthera watched with bated breath as Miles lowered himself on a single knee. He released one of her hands to grab the black box in his pocket.

"Panthera Genesis Stevens, I've had a crush on you even before our first conversation, which only grew with each day I've spent with you. While I always loved you as a friend, I knew my heart saw you as something more. The night of the party, I wasn't confessing my love as a friend but as someone who dreamt about being called yours, where I could show off that I had the heart of a literal angel in my possession. I would love nothing more than to shower you with love, affection, respect, comradery, protection, devotion, and dedication every day for the rest of our lives. That one day, I'll find myself in this very position again to ask you to become my Mrs. Morales. Where one day, we'll wear matching rings and be known as husband and wife. But for now, I ask you this... Panthera, mi vida, mi ángel, la reina de mi corazon, will you be my girlfriend?" Miles slowly opened the box, revealing the ring inside.

Panthera stared at the boy with teary eyes, her free hand holding an overheated cheek. But Miles could see the happiness in her sparkling eyes and her smile.

"Yes, Miles... I would love to become your girlfriend..." The stars couldn't rival the brightness in the boy's smile. Unable to contain himself, he quickly stood up, picking up the girl to spin her around. Panthera's joyful laughter was music to his ears.

"MI! I'm getting dizzy," she shrieked, clinging to the boy. Miles chuckled, slowing them to a stop before setting her down. Miles took ahold of her left hand with a smile, slipping the ring onto her ring finger. He watched fondly at his girlfriend's cute expression of awe.

"It's so beautiful," she murmured, lightly trancing over their names. Miles grinned, tilting her chin up so she could meet his gaze.

"Anything for you, mami," he said, squeezing her close. Panthera gave him a shy smile, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Kiss me, Papi," she asked. Miles inhaled sharply. His hands found her waist, squeezing down briefly.

'Mio dio...'

"Ask me again, gatita," Miles whispered, his tone reminded Panthera of a man starved. Their lips were just an inch apart, teasing the both of them, but they knew that Miles wasn't gonna close the distance until she asked. A canine tooth wore down on the glossy bottom lip as one small hand slithered down the boy's neck to rest over his erratic heart.

"Please, Miles... kiss me..." Who was Miles Morales to deny such a pretty, pretty plea?

Their first kiss was only witnessed by the celestial bodies from up above.

It was the start of something beautiful...

...and the birth of something deadly.

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

"Miles?" It was the next week. Valentine's Day weekend was a weekend Panthera would never forget. Miles had spent the weekend at her place, and the two spent the next two days inside, per Panthera's request. And boy, was she spoiled.

Her favorite chocolate? Miles got it.

The cute purple and black stuffed panda she named Milo in honor of her new boyfriend? Miles bought it (and fought for it, she came to find out).

Her favorite flowers sitting in a pretty vase in her room? Miles.

Her feet hurt? She would find her feet propped up on her boyfriend's lap, his steady hands working out the tense soles.

She wanted to watch one of her favorite movies? She would find herself lying on Miles' chest under a blanket with the said movie playing on the screen.

She wanted a scalp massage? Her boyfriend's gentle fingers would massage circles throughout the roots of her locs.

She was craving something? Miles already got a delivery app open.

Those were just a few examples. Panthera truly enjoyed herself (and enjoyed covering a lovesick Miles in kisses).

It was now Monday morning, and Panthera was just about to leave to head to school when she opened her door to find Miles standing on the other side, hand raised to knock.

"Good morning, gatita," Miles purred, kissing his girl's cheek. Panthera blushed, playfully pushing the boy away.

"It's too early for you to make me blush like this. What are you doing here," she chuckled. Miles cocked his head at her.

"I'm here to pick up my wife so we can walk to school together." Panthera would deny the deepening blush if you asked her. Miles laughed when the girl smacked his shoulder.

"Mi! What did I just say?!" Miles raised his hands in surrender despite the mischievous glint in his eyes. When he kissed Panthera's lips, he wasn't pushed away.

"Sorry, gatita," he said, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend's waist. As much as Panthera tried, she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"Fine, I forgive you. And good morning to you too, handsome," she said, nuzzling his chest.

"Ready to go," he asked. The girl nodded, locking the door before the pair headed to school.

The walk was peaceful enough, and when they got to school, they arrived early enough to where there weren't a lot of people there. Which Panthera was grateful for, knowing the day was going to be a tense one.

Someone literally died. And she was the one who found his body.

Plus, she got into a relationship with her best friend/crush literally that same night? With his promise ring on her finger?

Yeah, she knows she's about to be a hot topic for a while...

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours," Miles mumbled in her ear. The young couple was sitting on one of the many benches that could be found in the school's courtyard. Miles, ever the needy one, had the girl in his lap. Panthera fiddled with her ring.

"Just all the attention I'm about to get today... I'm not looking forward to it," she weakly chuckled. Miles tilted her head towards him so she could look into his eyes.

"Try not to stress over it, mi amor. Remember, I'm with you, Panthera. Always..." The girl smiled, kissing her boyfriend's cheek.

"Thank you, sithandwa sam..."

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

When the school day officially started, and just as Panthera expected, everyone was staring at her. And they were nowhere near subtle about it. Her keen ears could pick their whispers.

'...she was suppose to go out with him that night...'

'...she found his body...'

'...where did she get that ring...'

The situation wasn't much better when Miles picked her up from her math class to go to art together. The kiss on her cheek was enough to enrage the female population of their grade.

If Panthera didn't love him, she probably would've killed him for that stunt. Because now every girl in her classes was giving her the evil eye.

She's just trying to exist. Is that too much to ask for?

"Hey, Panthera." The answer was yes; it was too much to ask for.

Trying to keep the annoyed look off her face, Panthera looked up from her textbook to find Beatrice James looking down at her.

Beatrice was a rather pretty girl: sun-kissed golden skin, cloudy gray eyes, long black curly hair. She was only taller than Panthera by two inches, but she always found a way to look down at the quiet girl.

It wasn't a surprise to find Beatrice in front of her. While Panthera wasn't in drama, she certainly heard about it. So, she was well aware that the girl demanding her attention wasn't pleased about her relationship status change with Miles.

"Good afternoon, Beatrice. How can I help you," Panthera replied monotonelessly. Beatrice placed her manicured hands on either side of Panthera's desk, leaning into the girl's space.

"Don't play coy with me, Stevens. Is it true?" Panthera simply raised a brow at the girl's attempt to look menacing.

The girl literally had death stare at her dead in the face. Besides, if Beatrice were to put her hands on her, Panthera's hands were rated E for Everyone. She was trained to fight, even trained to kill if necessary. If this girl thought she could scare her, she clearly doesn't know Panthera well.

"Gonna have to be a little more specific in what you're referring to," she drawled. She did her best to suppress a smirk at the subtle twitch in Beatrice's left eye.

"Are. You. Dating. Miles." The girl was practically spitting venom at this point. Not that Panthera was particularly concerned or anything: quite the opposite, matter of fact. Something about having the guy that was unattainable to others was a bit of a power trip. While she knew wearing the promise ring was a recipe for trouble... she was proud of her relationship with Miles. She belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her.

"Why? Looking to get an invite to the wedding," Panthera taunted. Beatrice's face steadily turned red; if they were in a cartoon setting, Panthera was 100% sure that steam would be coming from her ears.

"You little-" Beatrice was suddenly cut off by Panthera's hand suddenly thrust in her face. Her ring-cladded hand.

She could clearly make out Miles and Panthera's names engraved on the metal, their birthstone sparkling in her face. 

"Does this answer your pointless question?" 'Oh, this bitch...'

Panthera yelped when she pulled out of her seat, feeling the slight burn sensation erupt on her cheek.

'Oh, is that what we're doing? Bet, hoe.'

Panthera growled, the sound a little more animalistic than human. It was enough to give Beatrice pause and give Panthera the opening to return the favor with a punch to the nose. The satisfying feeling of bone meeting bone made Panthera smirk.

"You bitch," she shrieked, going to scratch Panthera's face again. Two small hands wrapped Beatrice's wrists, grip ironclad. Panthera yanked her towards her, her knee connecting to Beatrice's stomach. Beatrice doubled over with a pained gasp. The girl didn't have time to react before Panthera grabbed her arm and flipped her on her back, her head hitting the floor hard.

Panthera glared down at the girl; blood trickled down her cheek. The girl pressed a foot against Beatrice's chest, looming over the dazed girl.

"I'm not some doormat for you to walk over, Bea. I suggest you learn that," Panthera said softly. Beatrice, stunned, didn't utter a word. Panthera finally tuned in, hearing the teacher yelling at her to get off the "poor girl" and go to the front office. The girl simply rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and walking out. 

She suspected that she was probably gonna get suspended or something. Visions didn't tolerate fighting on school grounds, no matter the reason. Not like Panthera cared; she was ahead of her classwork.

Beatrice was sent to the nurse before being sent to the office. Panthera was glaring sightlessly as she was being reprimanded, her eyes only narrowing when she caught sight of Beatrice. Said girl shivered at the cold look in those dark eyes, opting to sit two seats away from the obvious predator in the room. Panthera fought back a smirk while listening to the principal drone on about her punishment. Her dad was "out of town," but he put her umalume as an emergency contact just in case anything happened to her. So he was called in for a quick conference, and she would go home with him.

Less than thirty minutes later, Aaron appeared in the office. Panthera couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

"Umalume!" The man stumbled back a step when Panthera rammed into him, her arms coming around his waist as she nuzzled his chest. The older man chuckled, squeezing the girl briefly.

"Mr. Davis." The older man made eye contact with the principal with a raised brow. The man didn't partially care for Mrs. Manson until today. He was a bit confused when he received a call from the school. At first, he thought it was about Miles, which to him would still be strange because if the boy were to get into trouble (if he wanted to risk the chance of the wrath of the infamous chancla), they would've reached out to Rio first. 

But no, it was about his little niece.

Hearing that Panthera got into a fight struck the man as odd. As far as he can recall, Panthera was a rather passive individual. He knew Eric taught the girl how to fight; that man was adamant about his little girl's safety. But he knew that knowledge was supposed to be used to protect herself. 

He knew his little cub wouldn't get into a fight for shits and giggles.

"Mrs. Manson," he greeted curtly. 

"Mr. Davis, since you're Ms. Stevens' emergency contact, I hope you'll pass this along to her father when you can. Ms. Stevens will be suspended externally for a week for fighting and injuring Ms. James." Aaron balked at the woman before training his eyes on the other girl in the room. He could see the bandage over the girl's nose and the ice pack she was holding to her head.

"Ms. James sustained bruises on her stomach and back as well as a broken nose and swelling to the back of her head," Mrs. Manson informed. Aaron looked down at Panthera, finding deep scratches on her left cheek. The man narrowed his eyes at the dried blood.

"Any reason why you didn't send my niece to get her cheek bandaged," he drawled, his voice rough around the edges. Mrs. Manson didn't miss a beat.

"Panthera is a big girl, she could handle a small scratch-"

"Nah, you see, that's where you lost me. Those nails on that other girl are literal weapons. Matter fact, who struck who first," Aaron laughed mirthlessly.

"I don't see how that's relevant-"

"Lady, I'm giving you a second chance to answer my question. Don't expect a third." The older woman looked at Aaron with slight unease, eyes quickly scanning him for any possible weapons. She cleared her throat.

"It was Ms. James-"

"And how long is she suspended for?" Mrs.  Manson did her best not to wither under the sharp gaze of Aaron Davis.

"Three days internal suspension-"

"Enough said. Fine, suspend my niece over a petty fight that she didn't even start and got no treatment for while this little girl gets coddled because her daddy got money to fund this place. Panthera, let's go." The girl already had her bag in hand, following the man out the door.

"The nerve of that wrinkly, heartless white bitch, the fuckin' favoritism in this damn place is disgusting. I'm gonna need a fuckin' smoke after that," Aaron grumbled angrily, speed-walking off the school hallways.

"Umalume! Slow down! My legs aren't as long as yours!" Aaron paused, remembering about his little niece. He turned to embrace the girl once she caught up, taking her by surprise.

"Umalume?"

"Sorry, lil cub. You didn't deserve to be caught up in some bullshit by some nigga's spoiled brat that led you to get kicked out temporarily..." Panthera noted the sad look in her uncle's eyes before nuzzling him.

"It's alright, umalume. I expected today to be eventful... but it's okay! I'm still ahead of my classes, and I have some extra days off from school... that is, if I'm not in trouble..." Aaron chuckled, squeezing the small girl.

"Of course not. I know how you are and how your ol' man raised ya. Whatever that girl did mostly deserved it. Matter fact, what did she do?" Panthera nibbled on her lip.

She and Miles had planned to tell Aaron and Rio about their newfound relationship... just not like this.

Just before she could answer, her stomach grumbled loudly. Aaron raised an amused brow.

"Didn't have lunch yet," she mumbled. She always got hungry at least an hour before lunchtime. Aaron laughed, throwing an arm around the girl's shoulders as they walked off to where he parked his motorcycle.

"C'mon then. Let's clean up that wound, and then we can talk this over some burgers and milkshakes. My treat."

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

Miles was sitting in the cafeteria with some of his "homeboys" with a bored look on his face. He actually got there first in hopes of him and Panthera sitting together, but the guys found him first. He was half listening to what they were saying, something about Jamal's death and other random shit he didn't care for, all while looking for his precious girlfriend.

But the girl was nowhere in sight. He glanced at his phone, finding no new messages from her, and let out an irritated sigh. It wasn't like his precious gatita to ignore him...

"Yo, ain't that Beatrice walking up to us? She looks like hell," Kieran whistled. Logan chuckled.

"Haven't you heard? She got her ass beat by one of the girls last period. That one chick with the dreads. She was supposed to go out with Jamal the night he died, forgot her name..." That got Miles' attention.

"Panthera," he offered, finally turning his attention to the group.

"Yeah, her! Actually, it had to do with her relationship with-"

"Hey Miles~" 'Oh for fuck sake...'

"I'm a little busy, Beatrice," Miles said with a dismissive wave. The girl narrowed her eyes.

"But Milesssss, I need to talk to you! It's important," she whined, leaning dramatically on his shoulder. Miles could feel his eye twitch at the contact, shrugging the girl off.

"I said I'm busy-"

"Busy talking about that brute you call a girlfriend?" Miles froze before slowly turning his head to face the girl.

"Excuse me," he said. He finally took note of the girl's bandaged nose and slightly disheveled appearance. He could slightly see the change of colors peeking out of the bandage.

"Panthera's your girlfriend, isn't she," she asked rhetorically. The other boys focused on the duo, silently eager for more details.

"Damn straight she is, but she's no brute," Miles scoffed. Beatrice pouted.

"She nearly cracked my skull in the middle of class! All because I asked if you two were dating. It's not a good look for you to be with such a loose cannon, Miles. Especially with her seemingly violent family." Tawny brown eyes glared into gray ones.

"First of all, Panthera would never fight anybody without someone giving her a reason to, so I already know you're bullshitting me on a few details there. Second of all, what the fuck do you mean by that," Miles asked, his accent becoming thicker the angrier he got. Beatrice continued to try to play into her innocent act.

"The principal called her uncle into the office to let him know that Panthera has external suspension and she's supposed to be sent home immediately. The man looked as if he was gonna murder Mrs. Manson! He had the nerve to defend Panthera as if she didn't beat me up so viciously. My stomach and back are gonna be bruised for weeks!"

Panthera's uncle... Uncle Aaron.

So, not only is she talking shit about his girl, but she talking about his uncle too?

Miles chuckled. Everyone at the table looked at him as if he was crazy.

"Yo bro, what about that is funny? Beatrice got hurt, and Mrs. Manson was threatened," Logan asked, slightly unnerved. 

"So you expect me to fully believe in a girl who basically used other guys as she pleased and wanted me to be her next conquest over a girl I've known ever since I came to this damn school? You want me to believe a girl who is talking shit about my girlfriend but my uncle too? Are you so fucking serious?" Everyone blinked.

"You're dating your cousin or something," Andre asked after being silent most of this time. Miles stared at him blankly.

"No, cabrón. My uncle knew Panthera and her dad ever since they moved to Brooklyn. He's basically an uncle figure to her. My uncle is my dad's brother. As for you-" Miles returned his gaze to Beatrice, who looked a little shocked.

"Hop off my dick and find another to ride. I don't like you and will never like you, perra de dos caras. You already managed to get my baby suspended and disrespected her and my uncle. Lo juro por Dios, if I hear you continue to start some shit about her-" Miles paused, forcing himself to breathe. He simply glared at the group and walked off.

He had a phone call to make...

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

"IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME!" Forget the cigarette; this was the best news Aaron had heard all day.

"Umalume! Not so loud," Panthera scolded as a few patrons turned to look in their direction, though the effect was lost thanks to her flushed face. Aaron playfully cooed, pinching one of her cheeks.

"D'awww, no need to be shy, little cub. I'm just happy for two of my favorite people," Aaron chuckled. Panthera swatted his hand away, looking away bashfully.

"You said my nephew bought you a ring? Lemme see the bling, girl!" Holding out her left hand, Panthera allowed the older man to inspect the metal band on her finger. Aaron whistled in appreciation.

"On the left ring finger, too, haha. Panthera, you sure Miles asked you to be his girlfriend and not his fiancée?" The older man cackled when his niece smacked his arm, her blush worsening.

"You're horrible," she said with a pout. Panthera took a sip of her milkshake in a futile attempt to help her cool down as she waited for Aaron to pull himself together.

Miles wasn't kidding when he said Aaron would be eager to hear they were finally together. She could only imagine how Rio would react...

"You can't blame me for my reaction, lil cub. Do you know how down bad my nephew has been for you? I swear that boy had heart eyes every time he saw you. Jeff, Rio, and I have been dying, waiting for you guys to finally come clean to each other and tell us the good news." Panthera's eyes softened as Aaron mentioned Jefferson. It's been months since he passed, and to think on his death bed, he basically gave Miles his blessings for a potential relationship with her filled the girl's heart with warmth.

"Well, now I know, thanks," she grumbled. Aaron smiled good-naturedly at her, taking a bite out of his burger.

"Soooooo, how long have you guys been together," he asked. Panthera took her time nibbling on her fry.

"Not long, just a few days... I was actually supposed to be on a date with someone else when Miles asked me..." The raised brow silently prompted the girl to elaborate.

"His name was Jamal, Jamal Jackson. He and I had creative writing and music class together. Almost a week before Valentine's Day, he asked me out the night before Valentine's. At first, I told him no since I didn't see him like that, but he was very persistent. So I said yes... the night I was supposed to go out with him..." Aaron frowned, not liking the nervous expression on Panthera's face.

"What? Fool stood you up or something," he asked as he casually sipped his shake. If her answer was yes, then he clearly had another person on his shit list-

"He was murdered." Aaron blinked. Once. Then twice. And then...

"He was what?" Panthera sighed.

"He was murdered, umalume. I found his dead body. He... he had claw marks in his abdomen, and his neck was broken..." A frown tugged on his lips.

'Claw marks, huh?'

"I'm sorry you had to witness that, lil cub... you okay?" Panthera gave him a weak smile.

"I'm fine, umalume. After I called 911 and the police took my statement, I called Miles, and he took me on a date to take my mind off it. He asked me to be his girlfriend on the rooftop of his apartment." Aaron nodded.

"At least something good came out of it. I'm just gonna take a wild shot in the dark and guess that your fight with that James girl was over your relationship with my nephew." Panthera scoffed.

"Yeah..." Another person on his shit list next to Mrs. Manson.

"No need to pay that crazy little girl any mind, lil cub. I know that Miles loves you more than life itself. That boy is not going anywhere-" Aaron was interrupted by Panthera's ringing from a FaceTime call. Aaron didn't recognize the artist by a long shot, but just by the small snippet, it definitely fits his nephew's cheesy, lovey-dovey nature.

Panthera blushed, silently telling him to shut up with a glare before answering the FaceTime call.

"Mamiiiiii," Miles whined. Panthera hid her smile behind a hand, doing her best not to laugh.

"Hey there, Papi," she cooed, snickering at the pout on the boy's usual passive face.

"Don't you 'hey there, Papi' me. Why you ain't tell me you're not in school anymore? Left me all by my lonesome with this bum ass niggas and clingy ass hoes," Miles pouted. The boy was looking forward to holding his girlfriend while she sat in his lap while he stole some kisses. Only to find out he's gonna be without her for a whole fucking week, the boy pissed-

"Not like I had time between getting suspended and getting lunch with umalume. He knew better not to let me go hungry," Panthera sassed. Both males knew how scary or cold the girl could get when she didn't eat.

"Fair- wait a damn minute... what happened to your cheek," Miles asked with narrowed eyes. Panthera let out a nervous laugh.

"Nothing, just a small scratch," she tried to wave it off, but Aaron wasn't having it. Kissing his teeth, he snatched the girl's phone. Miles regarded his uncle with a raised brow.

"Tío?" Aaron used one hand to hold Panthera's wrists so she couldn't get her phone back as he answered his nephew's unspoken question.

"Yo Miles, you know some girl by the last name James? Lightskin, dark curly hair, gray eyes, with some long ass nails that might as well be literal weapons. 'Cause apparently, she was bold enough to use them on Panthera," Aaron asked. Miles blinked at his uncle before letting out a curse.

"That two-timing spoiled bit-"

"Miles, focus." The boy took a breath to cool down his anger.

"Yeah, I do, unfortunately. The puta had the nerve to come up to me during class pretending to "look out for my well-being" by telling me that Panthera's a loose cannon and a brute and how "dangerous" her family could be to me." Aaron raised a brow.

"What was that last comment supposed to mean?" Miles shrugged.

"Something about you condoning Panthera's violent behavior and threatening the principal." Aaron chuckled. Miles knew that chuckle and smirked.

"Ah, so little Ms. James is an actress, okay then. And that old hoe was testing my patience. That little girl had a lesser punishment despite starting this mess first." Miles froze, eyes narrowing.

Panthera frowned, deciding she was done hearing about the two women who seemed to have it out for her.

"Can we change the subject? And can I have my hands back, umalume?" Aaron chuckled, releasing her wrists with a smirk.

"Sooooo... a little birdy told me you off the market, Miles," Aaron started. Miles groaned.

"Mio dio, tío. Don't start." Aaron laughed.

"Oh boy, just wait 'til your mother hears about this. She gonna end throwing a party in y'all's honor."

"Umalume!"

"Tío!"

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

Needless to say, after school, when everyone was in the Morales' residence, Rio was told the news.

At least more than half the neighbors heard her shout of joy—much to Panthera and Miles' fond embarrassment.

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

Beatrice was pissed. Livid. Utterly incensed.

Despite getting rid of her rival for a week and smearing Panthera's name for all it was worth (which, according to Beatrice, wasn't worth much), she still didn't have the boy she wanted. 

Beatrice would be the first to admit that she wasn't looking at Miles Morales twice in the beginning. He seemed to be like the quiet nerd. A cute one, but still not someone she would really give the time of day to.

Then, junior year started, and Miles returned as a changed person.

He had grown a couple more inches since she last saw him during the summer from the funeral. He lost the rest of the baby fat that lingered on his cheeks from their sophomore year. He buffed up a bit, not crazily so, but his lithe form had more muscle than what she remembered. His accent was much more pronounced. He seemed to lose that shy nerd vibe and took on what could be a bad-boy vibe.

Miles Morales became the most desirable boy in their grade, and Beatrice wanted him. She would flirt with any boy she saw hanging around him for more than a week in hopes of gaining some intel on Miles' type.

That turned out to be much more difficult to gain. Miles doesn't talk about his personal interests with the boys, and he gives no real reaction to girls who flirt with him. Beatrice briefly entertained the idea that he might be closeted because how come some of the prettiest girls in their class only get a blank stare and single-word responses from the boy while others would break their necks and ankles to look and chase them?

Then she thought that maybe Miles could possibly have a girlfriend. It almost sounded just crazy as the gay theory because Beatrice had never seen him interact with another girl like that.

Or so she thought.

She finally remembered Panthera Stevens when she saw her and Miles walking to one of their classes together. She remembered always seeing them together in the halls when Miles first got transferred to Visions Academy. She was Miles's first and perhaps the only friend for a long time. The sight of them together now shouldn't have struck her as unusual, but it did. The boy was holding one of her books and was smiling at her—and not just any smile.

It was one of those "Damn, I love her" smiles. One of those "I'm down bad" smiles. One of those "Where have you been all my life" smiles.

At first, Beatrice thought she was reading too deep into it. Panthera was... well... unique. And she didn't mean that in a nice way.

There was nothing eye-catching about the girl's appearance per se. She had regular dark brown eyes, dark skin, and wore her hair in locs. The girl stuck out because she was so plain-looking. Seeing her wear makeup to school or even having her nails done was incredibly rare. Plus, she was one of the only girls who would even wear her natural hair. 

What did Miles see in her that he didn't see in any of them?

Beatrice couldn't wrap her head around it, which pissed her off.

And apparently, Miles wasn't the only one. Jamal Jackson seemed to harbor a crush on the quiet girl and even went as far as to ask her out. It was like a miracle because finally, someone could get the one obstacle to Miles out of the way, and one of the girls, preferably Beatrice, could get with Miles.

The day for their date came...

Panthera found Jamal's body.

And now a promise ring could be found on Panthera's ring finger, with Miles' name on the metal band.

Panthera Stevens became a hot topic overnight, and Beatrice has had it. She wanted to ruin the girl. 

So she started a little rumor that Panthera killed Jamal so she could be with Miles; no other guy was feeling Panthera in the first place. Why would anyone date a murderer?

Now Beatrice doesn't really know if Panthera killed Jamal or not, but if people choose to believe it, who was she to correct them?

This should appall Miles so much that he had to break up with her.

Only... it didn't pan out that way.

It was Friday, and the murder was all anyone could talk about. A lot of people thought it made sense. With word about Panthera's fight with Beatrice and her (and Miles, shockingly) uncle's not-so-subtle threat to Mrs. Manson already circulating, it added some "validity" to the rumor. Beatrice couldn't help but feel pleased with herself. When Panthera returned next week on Monday, she would virtually become an outcast in their class. The attention of it all would eventually be too much for Miles, and he'll break up with her.

And Beatrice would be right there, ready to console him.

To celebrate, Beatrice went out with some of her friends for a night out.

The girls went out for a night of dancing and flirting with a few older dudes. Beatrice may have had a drink or two, but that was no one's business but her own. The girl called a car service to take her home safely since walking in the devil's playground at night while tipsy might as well be a death sentence. Beatrice called one of her friends, Jasmine, to let her know she got home safely. As the girl was chopping it up on the phone and fumbling around in her mini purse for her keys, she had no idea that white digital eyes were watching her. 

Finally finding her keys, Beatrice opened her front door and stepped inside. Beatrice shut the door behind her, completely forgetting to lock it, before walking further into her house. Quickly and silently, the figure entered through the front door, quietly stalking the girl in the shadows of her own home.

"Whew, girl! I'm so glad to be home; my feet are killing me," Beatrice said as she kicked off her heels. The figure watched as Beatrice laughed at something Jasmine said.

"Girl, even when I get with Miles, Imma still make time for my girls. What are you even talking about?! Just because I'm in a relationship don't mean I can't have fun," the girl giggled. Jasmine said something more, and Beatrice rolled her eyes.

"Girl, whatever, bye." Beatrice walked into her room with a yawn. The girl would love to crash in bed and call it a night, but unless she wants her face to look like that back of a Crunch bar, then she better-

White digital eyes met her eyes in her full-view mirror. She could feel her heart freeze in her chest, her blood slowing to a crawl as the cold brush of fear caressed her spine. It was like all the alcohol that was buzzing in her system was fizzled out.

"W-who... who are you?" The mask the person was wearing lit up, neon purple lights flooded her room. Only one entity would light up the night with those colors.

"P-Prowler..." A distorted chuckle filled the quiet room.

"So you are smart, aren't you, Beatrice?" The girl let out a soft whimper. 

"How d-do y-you-" The question died on her lips as she felt a gloved hand grip her waist and a clawed hand around her neck. The Prowler lowered his head, almost resting it on her shoulder.

"Such a smart girl, but yet you decided to make the stupidest decision you could've ever made," the Prowler cooed mockingly. 

"W-what are y-you even t-talking about?" Beatrice watched as the mask pulled back, revealing the cold eyes of Miles Morales.

"M-Mil-"

"I fucking warned you, Beatrice." The girl hissed when the hand on her waist tightened roughly.

"I told you not to start shit about my baby, and what do you do?" The tips of Miles' claw began to dig into her skin.

"You accuse mi dulce ángel inocente of murder?" Beatrice's chest began to rise and fall faster and faster with each breath.

"I-I-I'm sor-" Beatrice was whirled around to face the boy, a sneer tugging on his lips.

"Way too late for a sorry, puta. You all must've thought I was joking when I said not to test me. I guess Jamal wasn't a good enough example..." Gray eyes widened, and Miles smirked down at her as the look of horrified realization could be found in them. His clawed hand caressed her cheek, the tips leaving bloody streams behind.

"Maybe you'll be a better one. And trust me, I'm gonna take my time with you, Beatrice. You'll have my attention, just like you always wanted..."

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

It was roughly 1 AM when Miles finally leaves Beatrice's house. Just as he locked the door behind him, his burner phone began to ring.

"Yo, you took care of her," Aaron's distorted voice filtered through the line. Miles smirked; the memory of stuffing the girl's heart in her mouth as she bled out was gruesomely poetic. 

"Eat your heart out, puta."

To Miles' it was a fitting end for the girl—a vain, selfish heartbreaker who got what was coming to her.

"Yup, you took care of her," Miles asked. Aaron chuckled.

"Oh, most definitely," Aaron said, smirking at the sight of Grace Manson's hanging dead body. Her heart lay in a puddle of blood beneath her feet. 

"Thanks, Unc."

"Of course, I would do anything for you two."

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

The next morning felt like a fever dream. Panthera woke up that Saturday morning to watch the news, trying to see if there was any news on Jamal's murder...

...only to find out that Beatrice and Mrs. Manson were dead. Found by their families.

Their hearts were ripped out.

There were no signs of forced entry and no evidence.

The only thing that tied the murders together was how close the times of death were, meaning these murders had to be coordinated.

It was cold, calculated, and clean. While Panthera was annoyed about the whole ordeal from Monday, she wouldn't want the two people who put her in this position dead.

The girl nearly detached herself from reality, the key word being nearly. It was at that exact moment Miles called. It wasn't unusual for him to call when he woke up, and he was a welcome distraction. While she tried to hide her nerves, her boyfriend could hear the slight tremor in her voice. Plus, the rustling in the background.

Whenever she's stressed or upset, Panthera is known to stress-clean. Miles knows she saw the news, which had shaken her up pretty badly. He knew she would've been mentally spiraling alone if he hadn't spent the weekend over at her place for Valentine's Day. Deciding not to let his little kitten go through this alone, he just kept talking to her over the phone as he got ready to head to her place.

The boy used the apartment key Eric gave him to silently enter the home. Panthera was talking about a father-daughter date she and her dad had planned when he comes back later that week, so she was thoroughly distracted. Listening closely, it sounded like she was in her bathroom. With a small smile, he entered the apartment, her room, and the adjacent bathroom. Panthera's back was facing him as she reorganized her shower. Quietly, he snuck up on his girl before looping his arms around her waist.

As expected, Panthera let out a surprise squeal. What wasn't expected was the hard stomp on his foot and the headbutt to his face.

"AH! Gatita, calm down! It's me!" Panthera paused her attack at her boyfriend's voice, turning to find the boy holding his nose.

"Mi! I'm so sorry, but you shouldn't have scared me like that! There's a bloody killer, for Bast's sake!" The girl fussed over her man, checking to see if she may have caused any bleeding. Miles chuckled, holding her wrists.

"My apologies, mami. I wanted to see you to make sure you're okay, which I know you're not, so don't even try to deny it." Panthera sighed, getting on her toes to kiss the bridge of Miles' nose.  She allowed herself to be picked up and toted to her bed. Miles sat down, maneuvering her so she would be straddling his lap.

"Talk to me, mi amor. I'm here for you..." Panthera pecked his lips before nuzzling his neck.

"It's just that... I know this city has gotten darker after... well, you know. And I've been trained by my Baba to handle myself if need be, but I know it would be out of self-defensive. It would be my life or theirs... I could even understand if the person was terrible and needed to be taken out, but this..." Panthera shuddered. Miles kissed her forehead, gently rubbing her back. 

Silence befell the couple for a few moments before Panthera spoke up again.

"Did you know my grandfather was murdered?" Miles grimaced. Panthera didn't notice this, forging ahead.

"My utatomkhulu, N'Jobu, was a prince in his country. But he did bad things. He smuggled some precious materials out of the country and moved here. Most of the material he sold to a man off the black market, but the rest he kept hidden away. He met my Baba's mother, and they had him. Unfortunately, she died not too long after my Baba was born. It was just the two of them. Until one night, Baba was outside playing basketball with his friends. It wasn't until he looked up at the sky and saw a ship that was similar to the ones he heard in stories. He was excited that maybe our family from our homeland was coming for them, and he ran back to the apartment. That's where he found utatomkhulu's body, lying in a pool of blood. He had claw marks embedded in his chest. My Baba was left alone before he was even a teenager..." 

Miles nuzzled his face in her hair, holding her as tight as he could.

So this was what Aaron meant.

"Boy! I outta smack the shit outta you! You impaled the nigga and left the body for her to find?! Did you not think about how it might impact her? Do you not know her fuckin' family history?!"

When Aaron blew up on him for killing Jamal, he thought it was because he left behind the body. Turns out, it had less to do with Jamal and more to do with Panthera. When Miles showed clear confusion over what his uncle was talking about, the man calmed down.

"So she didn't tell you yet... Look, it's not my story to tell, Miles... just know murder is something her family is familiar with. Especially if it seems senseless.."

"Oh, gatita, I'm so sorry that your family had to go through that..." Panthera finally looked up, finding sorrowful eyes staring back at her. She offered a weak smile.

"I'm gonna be okay, love. I'm just happy that you're here with me." Miles smiled softly, caressing her cheek.

"I'll always be here for you, Panthera. Always..." Miles leaned in, kissing those soft lips he loved so much. A soft sigh escaped the girl's lungs. Her arms found their way around Miles' neck as she pressed closer. Panthera didn't change out of her sleepwear before Miles showed up, which the boy was glad for. The girl's pajamas leave little to imagination, as she preferred crop tops, tube tops, comfy short shorts, or little night dresses to sleep in. Only a brown crop top and brown cheetah print covered her body, meaning access to soft dark skin.

A soft moan left Panthera's mouth as she felt her boyfriend's hands massage her thighs. The small calluses that decorated his fingertips and palms felt good against her soft skin. Miles suckled on her bottom lip, earning a sweet little whimper.

"Miles," Panthera whispered, arching against the boy. He let out an inquisitive hum.

"¿Qué pasa, mi dulce ángel?" Miles started spreading kisses to her chin, jaw, cheeks...

"Just... need a second..." Miles nodded, burying his face in her neck. He could feel her pulse fluttering under his lips as he pressed a kiss there.

"Love you so much, mami," he mumbled against the soft skin, his hands rubbing her waist and hips. The girl let out a shy giggle, playing with his braids.

"I love you too, Papi..."

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

Time passed.

Panthera returned to school, doing her best to ignore the stares from her classmates. Miles had informed her that Beatrice had been spreading the rumor that she had killed Jamal before Beatrice herself was killed. At least she had the weekend to mentally prepare for the amount of eyes trying to flay her skin from her bones.

The students started moving on within a few weeks, much to her and her boyfriend's relief.

Despite the investigations, no clues or evidence that could lead to the killers could be found. Though Panthera doubts they'll ever be solved, the NYPD hasn't been the greatest at their jobs since Jeff died. If her life was on the line, the police would be the last people she would reach out to.

Funerals were had. Tears were shed. Life moves on.

Luckily, no one else was killed. The principal was replaced, and soon junior year was over.

Summer went off without a hitch. With school over, Miles could spend more time with his little girlfriend, much to his evident delight. With all the funds he saved up, he was able to spoil his baby a bit more.

Date nights, gifts, flowers, clothes, whatever he thought she would like, whatever she wanted, and whatever he thought would look good on her. He always loved the cute little surprised expression on her face whenever he gifted her something or where he took her somewhere new.

"Miles, you didn't have-"

"Shhh, I want to, mami. You deserve all this and more..."

Panthera was reluctant to accept a lot of the gifts, mainly because she's not used to getting "just because" gifts that look so nice. Not that her dad doesn't spoil her when he could, but she never expects it nor asks. She was content as long she had the presence of the person she loved. But soon, she felt comfortable wearing a lot of the stuff her boyfriend had got her, mainly the jewelry. Mainly the necklaces with his name on them or the name earrings (pleasing the possessive and obsessive side of his brain.)

Of course, that attracted the attention of some would-be thieves on one of her late-night walks.

Granted, the girl usually wore her necklaces under her hoodie, but she was a bit more spaced out than usual that night. She fiddled with the key-shaped necklace with Miles' name on it; her fingers tracing the letters of her boyfriend's name was the only thing anchoring her.

Her mind was replaying the last few months. As traumatic as it was, she was also happy. She was in a loving relationship with a sweet, handsome, clingy, strong, and protective Afro-Latino. She had a loving maternal figure for the first time in her life. She was reunited with the man she saw as an uncle.

She was happy...

But she couldn't shake the feeling something bad was going to happen... and for the life of her, she's not even sure what it could be.

Maybe she was overthinking-

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?" 'Oh, for Bast's sake...'

Panthera turned, finding three men staring down at her. The ringleader smirked at her.

"Lost, little girl?" Dark eyes narrowed.

"Not little." The men laughed.

"Fiesty, I like her, Rando," The guy on the left said. Rando looked Panthera up and down with gleaming eyes.

"You not the only one..."

"What do you want," Panthera hissed, glancing at the trio. Rando stepped closer with a disarming smile.

"Me and my boys couldn't help but notice that you were by your lonesome and wanted to see if maybe you needed some company..." 

"Not necessary, fellas. Now, if you'll excuse me-" Before Panthera could even take a step away, Rando trapped her arm. Large fingers studied the key charm around her necklace.

"Pretty necklace you got there. Your boyfriend got it for you?" Panthera sneered.

"Yes, not like it's any of your business-" Panthera hissed when the chain of her necklace dug into her skin as Rando pulled at it.

"I'm making it my business, little girl. A necklace like this probably didn't come cheap. It would be a shame if you-OOF!" Taking advantage of her free arm, Panthera quickly punched Rando's abdomen. Feeling the grip on her arm loosens, the girl jumped back, eyes narrowed as she glared the three men down. Rando returned it with one of his own, a sneer tugging on his lips.

"You little bitch. I'm gonna make you regret that." A wicked grin spread on Panthera's lips.

"I would love to see you try."

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

It has been some time since Panthera had been in a fight. Her dad was gone a little more frequently recently, so she didn't train often. Yeah, she trains with Miles and Aaron, but she knows they were pulling their punches because they didn't want to hurt her.

These men didn't know they chose the right one on the wrong day.

Rando's accomplices were out cold; one was shot since he wanted to be big and bad and shoot at her first. The sound of the man's pained scream when her bullet struck true into his shoulder, was music to her ears. 

Now, it was just Rando and her. Bruises were already starting to form on the girl's body, but she learned to ignore the pain. The girl spat out a glob of blood as she stared down the older guy.

"C'mon Rando, I thought I was gonna regret messing with you," she taunted, bouncing on her feet. Rando snarled, trying to appear intimidating, but the girl could see the fear in his eyes.

"You got a death wish?" Panthera grinned; the sight was enough to unnerve the would-be thief.

"No more than you do." Panthera didn't hesitate to rush forward, more than ready to finish this and go home when pain erupted in her back. A scream ripped through her vocal cords as she faltered in her pursuit. The girl glanced over to find the same man who shot at her earlier aiming his gun at her with a smirk. Before Panthera could do anything, two arms wrapped around her in a vice grip—one around her neck and one around her waist. A wince slipped through her teeth as the arm around her neck tightened.

"Why not you take a little nap, yea? When you sleep off all data the aggression, maybe you could make it up to me and my homeboys for all the trouble you caused." The girl could feel something poking at her lower back and started thrashing, clawing at the arm that was quickly taking her oxygen supply. 

She refused to let these guys take advantage of her. She won't allow-

"Let her go." Everyone froze, all eyes trained on the masked newcomer among them. Said mask flickered on, purple lights lighting up the dark alley. Rando quickly released her, backing up from the vigilante.

"A-Aye, easy man. We don't want n-no problems..." The newcomer cocked his head.

"Well, ain't that a shame." Rando didn't even have time to question what he meant as the vigilante slammed him against the nearest wall. The Prowler glanced over his shoulder. White digital eyes met with wide brown ones.

"E-Easy there, Prowler... I-I didn't know that w-was your girl. I-It won't happen again," Rando stammered. The masked being chuckled.

"I know it won't... because you wouldn't be around to attempt such a stupid thing." The soft whirl of the mechanisms and gears was the only sound heard as the Prowler unleashed his claws. Before he could tear into the older man, a loud yell came behind him.

"LOOK OUT!" The vigilante was able to duck, narrowly avoiding the bullet. Rando, however, wasn't so lucky. The man slumped to the ground, a bullet hole found in his neck. Rando let out a pitiful gurgle as his own blood choked the life out of him. The Prowler slowly turned to find the trembling figure on the dirty alleyway floor staring at him with fearful eyes.

"Ballsy, aren't you," the Prowler drawled, fingers flexing in his metal claw.

"I-I-I-" The man didn't get the chance to formulate a response when another gunshot rang out. The Prowler stared at the bullet hole marring the man's forehead before slowly turning to find Panthera holding her gun, albeit with shaky hands.

"Coldblooded, don't you think?" Panthera let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline pumping in her veins.

"It was either him or us. I'm sure you know how that is." He does, but the vigilante doesn't voice his confirmation. Panthera met the soulless eyes of Brooklyn's shadowy anti-hero. Before she could say anything, she felt her body sway, unable to hold her weight. Before she could hit the ground, two strong arms held her up against a solid chest.

"Hey, stay with me. Keep those pretty eyes open for me. I'm going to help you." Despite the disoriented, gravelly voice of the Prowler rumbling in her ears, Panthera felt oddly comforted by him. She struggled to stay awake as the masked vigilante gently set her on the ground. 

She didn't protest when the vigilante lifted her hoodie and shirt to reveal her wound. All she could do was lay there as the Prowler fussed over her.

It kinda of reminded her of her boyfriend whenever she was going through the first two days of her period, where the girl would be dying in bed until her cramps and bleeding lessened. Miles is always so sweet and attentive to her, always looking out for her and taking care of her.

She missed her boyfriend; she just wanted to be wrapped in his arms and sleep...

"Aye, wake up, pretty girl. I'm almost done. Don't close your eyes, stay with me..." Panthera blinked blearily at the vigilante.

"Mmm... s..so tired," she mumbled. The girl obviously couldn't see the nervous panic on the guy's face, but she could faintly hear it in his voice.

"I know you are, but you gotta stay awake. I need to take you somewhere safe. It's not far from here. Just stay awake." The girl could feel herself being lifted up, cradled against the Prowler's chest before he took off running. Panthera felt the fatigue and bruising pain sing from the marrow of his bones; her own eyelids felt like two-ton weights.

"J...just five minutes," she whispered, laxing in the vigilante's grip, despite it tightening on her.

"No, no, no! W...up! P... Damn....!" The Prowler's panicked shouts were the last thing Panthera heard before her world went black.

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

"Will she be okay?" Aaron turned when he heard the small voice of his nephew. When Aaron received an SOS signal from his nephew, he was worried he may have gotten injured while on patrol. When he arrived at one of their secret warehouses, he quickly realized it wasn't him who needed treatment but his precious niece. The man was no medical professional, but he knew his way around bullet wounds and other injuries, seeing how it comes with the job, unfortunately.

He had just finished wrapping Panthera's abdomen where her bullet wound lay. Thankfully, there was an exit point (he would hate to try to dig around his niece's internal organs for the piece of metal), and it didn't touch any vital organs. If he hadn't tended to her when he did, they would've lost her due to blood loss. Aaron turned back to the unconscious girl to tend to the bruises on her body.

"She'll survive the night, Miles. Don't worry," Aaron said gently. He felt arms wrap around his torso, tears wetting the back of his shirt.

"Thank you, tío. I-I-It means a lot..." Aaron's heart seized at the tone of his nephew's voice. The relief tinged with the undeniable tremble of fear. The girl was more loved than she would ever begin to understand. They all did, Miles especially. He knew how deeply Miles loved Panthera, scarily so. 

Aaron didn't want to know what would happen to the boy if the girl was no longer with them. It would shatter him. Hell, it would break him and Rio, too.

"Like I told you before, Miles, I would do anything for you two."

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

The next time Panthera woke up, it wasn't in her bed. Bleary dark eyes tried to take in her surroundings despite fatigue weighing down on her like a million bricks.

"W-Where..." Bits of her memory flashed in her mind. Rando. A gunshot. The Pr-

"Easy..." The distorted voice she faintly remembered mumbling words of comfort sounded in her ears. Squinting in the dark, she turned to find not only one but two pairs of white slits looking at her. She blinked slowly.

"W-who..." Before she could finish her question, the cool lip of a glass cup kissed her dry lips.

"Drink, you definitely need it," the taller man said. Not in any real shape to argue, Panthera took slow, measured sips of the water being given to her. She let out a soft, relieved sigh when she finished. Soon, something was placed in her lap.

"Eat," the shorter stated. She looked down to find scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, sausages, a cream cheese spread bagel, and fruit on a plate. She raised a brow at the duo before chuckling.

"Bossy," she teased before digging into her food. The two looked satisfied (at least she could assume they were; hard to tell with them wearing masks and all) before leaving her alone in the room. As the girl ate, she couldn't help but take in her surroundings. The bedroom was sparse, leaving no clues of any personality from the two Prowlers. At the very least, the room was clean, so it must be used quite a bit. She could see the dark skyline of the broken city she called home outside the barred window.

Finishing her food, she carefully set her plate on the dresser before approaching the window, staring out in silence.

"Finished?" Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as the younger Prowler approached her. She turned to face him as he stood less than a foot away.

"Thank you... for saving me." The Prowler cocked his head at this.

"I can't say I did much. If anything, I should be thanking you. You were the one who kept me from getting killed and finishing off the other guy," he replied. Panthera let out a soft chuckle, hugging the vigilante.

"And if you didn't show up when you did, those guys would've done unspeakable things to me," she whispered. Prowler froze for a few moments, carefully wrapping his arms around her. The two stood there for a bit, neither saying a word. Panthera knew she shouldn't feel so comfortable around the vigilante, but something about him felt safe.

Like she could trust that he would never hurt her.

That he would always protect her.

Panthera let out a sigh before pulling away. She returned her gaze to the city.

"I need to go home," she said. She overstayed her welcome and would love to crash in her own bed for a few more hours. She felt the Prowler take hold of her hand.

"I can take you," he offered. The girl pursued her lips in contemplation before giving a small nod. Hand in hand, the duo walked out of the bedroom and into the main room. The older Prowler was still there, seemingly cleaning his claws when he heard them.

"You taking her home," the man asked. The younger nodded. Giving the infamous vigilante a shy smile, the girl bowed her head.

"Thank you for taking care of me, sir. I wish you well..." The older Prowler gave a nod.

"Take care of yourself, little one."

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

Panthera isn't usually afraid of heights. She took gymnastics at one point. But she supposes it's different when you rely on someone else to catch you rather than yourself.

The girl didn't scream but couldn't help but cling to the vigilante's back like a baby koala as he jumped from building to building, occasionally using grappling wires to help bridge the gap. She provided him with her address to make it easier for him to find. Luckily for her and her stomach, the Prowler didn't take long to reach her apartment. The boy swung onto her fire escape, carefully setting her down.

"There, safe and sound," he said once she got her feet on the metal platform. The girl nodded, glancing at the vigilante through her lashes.

"Uh, yeah. Thank you for taking me home," she mumbled. She turned to her window, carefully pulling it up.

"You shouldn't be wandering the streets at night anymore. Too many dangers." The girl paused, glancing over her shoulder, regarding the Prowler with a raised brow.

"'Fraid I can't promise that. It's not my first time doing this; this hasn't been my first fight. Just the first time I got shot," she mumbled. The vigilante didn't like that answer, his eyes narrowing before letting out a sigh.

"Guess I'll just have to keep an eye on you..." The boy trailed off. Panthera immediately caught onto what he was silently asking for.

"Panthera." The Prowler nodded.

"I'll just keep an eye on you then, Panthera." The girl laughed before hugging the boy.

"I guess I could use more people who worry about my well-being. Especially if he's such an infamous figure in Brooklyn's underworld with a soft spot for me," she teased. She didn't need to see the guy's face to know he was blushing. 

"I-uh..." Panthera laughed as she pulled away.

"Don't give yourself a stroke, I'm teasing. I'll see you around Prowler." The masked face nodded at her.

"Rest up, Panthera." The vigilante watched as the girl slipped through her window before disappearing in the fading darkness. The girl let out a loud yawn, blinking rapidly.

"Check wounds. Shower. Bed," she mumbled, mentally switching to autopilot. It's been a long night, and the girl wasn't in the mood to think about what happened.  She fiddled with her necklace with a sigh.

Never had she ever thought her relationship with the boy she loved would cause her this much hell in such a short amount of time. But she wouldn't trade it for anything.

She wouldn't...

Shaking off that intrusive thought, she went through her mental checklist. Her digital clock read was 8:49 AM when she finally crashed into her bed and fell asleep.

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

"Mio dio! What happened?!" Panthera groaned into her pillow as she was awakened by a loud cry. She tried to roll over onto her back but almost rolled off her bed if not for the strong pair of arms catching her.

"Jesus, gatita, what happened to you..." Panthera blinked blearily. The blurry picture of her worried and terrified boyfriend finally comes into sharp focus. Her sleepy brain took a few seconds to realize a few things.

One, Rio and Miles were in her bedroom.

Two, she was just in her bra and panties since the tired girl couldn't be bothered to put on actual clothes.

Three, all her bruises and wrapped torso were on full display, emphasized by the bright sunlight streaming through her window.

And four, one thing's for sure and two things for certain: the Morales family was known to the biggest worrywarts and busybodies concerning their loved ones. Which was both beneficial and almost headache-inducing. Miles is most definitely Rio's son, from the accent down to the mother hen nature when it comes to her.

This was not something Panthera wanted to deal with this Saturday morning.

"Uh... buenos días Rio y Mi... ¿cómo están?" Rio and Miles looked nowhere near amused at the girl's poor attempt at deflection. Rio turned to her son with a hard look in her eyes.

 "Mijo, set her down on the bed so I can take a look at her and go into the kitchen and see what you can make for her to eat for lunch. I'll pack a bag when I'm finished so she can spend a few nights with us." Panthera was about to protest but decided against it when a pair of green and tawny eyes glared at her.

"Si mamá," Miles replied, kissing the girl's forehead before setting her back down on her bed. Panthera sighed as she was left alone with the nurse, who proceeded to check her over.

"Now. I'm going to ask once, and I expect the honest truth from you, Mija. What happened to you," Rio asked as she looked over the girl's bruises. 

"I went for a walk last night, and these three guys tried to rob me. I fought back and knocked two of them out, but one of them woke up and shot at me before I could finish the leader. Using my moment of weakness, the leader tried to choke me out and threaten that he and his friends were gonna rape me..." Rio stared worriedly at the girl as she robotically told her tale. 

"That didn't happen, though, because the Prowler came and saved me." Rio rose a brow at this. She was aware of the vigilante that roamed Brooklyn's nightlife. He was something of a Robin Hood figure, albeit a dangerous one. To think this shadowy figure helped the girl she considered as a daughter eased her a bit.

"And I'm assuming he had something to do with why your injuries are healing nicely," she asked lightheartedly. The bullet wound was thoroughly cleaned and nicely wrapped; her bruises didn't look so bad either. Though Rio wanted to keep a close eye on her futura nuera to ensure she healed properly.

"Uh, I don't think so. It seems the old Prowler is his mentor? He probably would have a better understanding of bullet wounds and stuff, so it wouldn't surprise me if he was the one that took care of me." Panthera wasn't too sure what to make of the duo. The Prowler was a name that was feared in Brooklyn. While the vigilante isn't known to harm civilians, like any other Brooklyn underworld figure, it was best to steer clear of him. But it's like the two vigilantes went out of their way to help her. While they were rather firm with her, it was clear that they cared for her well-being.

She could trust that if she were ever to see either of them, she'd be safe.

It was kinda of a word thought to have...

"Well, either way, I'm glad that they helped you when they did, Mija." Rio's voice broke the girl's train of thought. The mother looked satisfied with her check over, finally leaving the girl be so she could pack a bag for her. 

"Here, wear this, querida. It's hot outside today after all," Rio said, handing the girl a sundress that she nearly forgot she owned.

The girl blushed. She never wore it because she would have to forgo the comfort of her trusty bras, seeing how it was backless. The material was a bit more on the sheer side. With just enough light, you could see the girl's silhouette underneath.

And considering she's wearing this around her boyfriend in front of his mother-

"You sure that's okay, Rio?" The older woman raised a brow before smirking.

"I was young once upon a time, querida. How did you think I caught my husband's attention, hm," Rio teased, laughing good-naturedly at the girl's growing blush. 

"You're beautiful, Panthera. No need to be afraid or ashamed to show off to your boyfriend every once and awhile," Rio said with a wink. Panthera smiled shyly at her maternal figure before taking the dress from her and changing in her bathroom. The dress complimented her skin nicely and fitted her well (a little snug around the chest, but Panthera wasn't gonna complain about the support it gave her). She looked good, even with her bruises. The girl threw her locs in a messy bun with a few hanging around her face. Applying some of her vanilla and sandalwood perfume oil on key parts of her body, the girl felt ready to leave.

Panthera stepped out just in time to see mother and son chatting in Spanish on her bed.

"I'm ready." Miles looked up to greet his kitten, only to stare with a slacked jaw as she approached.

"Buen Dios y todos sus ángeles misericordiosos..." Rio chuckled at her son's reaction.

"De nada, hijo," she said with a smirk. Miles shook himself out of his lovesick stupor, realizing his mom was still very present. The boy stood up to meet his embarrassed girlfriend halfway, kissing her forehead before leading her to the bed.

"Here you go, pretty girl." Panthera took the plate of some leftover subs she had made a day ago, along with some chips and salsa. The girl smiled.

"Thank you, my love." With a kiss on his cheek, Miles watched as his girl snuggled next to him with a content smile. Despite the hell his precious girl had been through these few months, she was still smiling.

She was still here. 

She was still here with him.

A small part felt guilty for putting her through half the grief and trauma she's experienced thus far in their relationship. He doesn't know how he'll be able to tell her the truth if she ever finds out that he was the reason behind their classmates' deaths. That his uncle helped to kill the principal for her unfair treatment towards her. That his mom now knows all this and was willing to keep quiet about all this (just as long he came to her for daily checkups after his patrols).

"No puedo decir que lo que estás haciendo sea moralmente correcto, Miles. Pero puedo decir que estás enamorado de esa chica. La has amado durante años. Ella te hace feliz, cariño... y eso es todo lo que quiero para ti. Haz lo que tengas que hacer para protegerla y preservarla, pero por favor no intentes matar a nadie más por celos. Eso es todo lo que te pido, hijo."

Despite his guilt, a larger part of Miles felt content. Panthera was his. He loved her. He loves her. And he would do everything in his power to keep her. No one is going to come and take her away from him. 

Not even herself.

Even if she hated him for his morally questionable deeds, they'll have forever for her to learn how to love him again.

"I love you, mi vida," he whispered against her neck, curling around her in a hug. Miles could feel her blush creeping up her neck as her shoulder shook slightly in time with her chuckle.

"Te amo por siempre y para siempre, mi rey," she whispered back. Miles grinned as he nuzzled her further.

They were met to be. And nothing could change that...

...at least, that's what Miles thought.

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

Alright, y'all gonna have to give me some time to drop the next one, I'm tired. Imma add the translations later. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

Dedicated to @444morales and @l0v3morales

[bornhollow]

she'd been planning it for a while; ever since she first met him [ truly first met him, now that she'd remembered, ] he seemed almost sheepish when it came to celebrating himself, for all the self-confidence he carried—he was loud and excitable and one of the genuinely happiest people she'd ever met … even if she knew part of that was solely for the kids' sakes. he'd let himself be the butt of jokes and the subject of the kids' annoyance if it meant keeping them happy or distracted from the trauma all of them had gone through so young. he would always give his all when it came to celebrating everyone else in his life, which meant when it was his birthday? it was her turn.

once the kids were off to school, she'd told isshin she needed some medication picked up from ryū at the hospital, ( even texting ryū a heads up after she'd kissed isshin's pout and sent him out the door, ) before she carefully tied her locs back in a loose ponytail in order to set about her task. having already taken some painkillers, reiko made her way around the living room, decorating as much as she could until a rather well-timed text from urahara-san asked if she needed help. [ it was rather creepy how he always seemed to know things— ] creepy or not, though, she accepted his offer to help, and tsukabishi-san and sora-san's assistance finishing decorating was deeply appreciated.

with the house finished, she only had to wait for him to return from his tasks—she had to add a few more on in order to keep him away long enough, as much as his crying emojis broke her heart to see—but finally, he was home, and not only was the house complete, but her gift, too. greeting him at the door, she held out the wrapped box, ( rather conspicuously wrapped in green and white striped paper, ) its contents nestled safely inside atop some tissue paper. once opened, the box revealed the present, an old scrapbook … one reiko had since high school.

the pictures inside, some older than others, chronicled the journey of reiko as she left hakone in 1976 to attend school in naruki-shi—pictures of jinja hime ryokan, her family, her friends, and finally—pictures of her with a much younger isshin in a gigai. the scrapbook continued on, the pictures growing crisper, more modern, as pictures of her and haruto came in, then isshin and masaki, and their respective families—and finally, culminating in the families joining, filled with a seemingly endless amount of photos of the kurosaki and kan'onji families combined. birthdays, holidays, school year starts, spending time at the beach, a perfect representation of everything that had brought them both together after all this time.

standing on her toes as best she could, pushing up on her crutches, reiko's lips met his chin as he leaned down to meet her, smiling softly as she murmured, " happy birthday, love. "

when it came down to it, isshin's birthday was better than anything he could have hoped for. but that's how it was every year, at least since his current family came to be.

when he was young, birthdays were an excuse for more and more responsibility to be shoved on him. every year that passed, his father expected more from him, expected him to grow up and be the man issei thought he should be; the head of the shiba clan, the captain of gotei 13's 10th division, someone prepared to become a husband, to sire more shiba kids like issei had- birthdays were pretty miserable back then.

now? now isshin felt like he actually was the man he was supposed to be- not by issei's standards, but by his own. he was married to the woman he loved (and had memories of masaki to look back on to as well), he had his kids, who he adored more than life itself, and he had a home and a community he truly felt apart of.

birthdays reminded him of how lucky he was.

he pouted through his errands that day, but when he got home, he was delightfully surprised to see the house decorated, and reiko was there to greet him, like she did every day.

he couldn't hide his crooked grin as he leaned down low, kissing her head with warm affection. "you didn't have to go to all this trouble, honey-" before he noticed the gift she was offering him.

his grin turned softer, warmer, as he opened the gift, slowly starting to go through the photo within. he went slow, examining each one, watching them grow from old to newer and newer. watched reiko grow older, watched himself mature- watched them together and apart and then together again, their families growing too.

by the time he finished the album, he could barely see through the tears.

a shiver ran through his spine from the soft kiss on his chin, immediately leaning down to meet reiko, catching her lips in a kiss. sniffling a bit (he couldn't help it), he smiled against her lips, something he could never resist doing.

"thank you, honey. and have i ever told you that i'm the luckiest guy in the world?"

[promethea-silk]

Informed Consent

Oddly enough, receiving the missive from Ricard brought a sense of relief to have a reason to leave the estate walls. She had cooped herself  up in her room the days following the altercation with her brother-in-law and while she was actually enjoying time alone, Cordelia was itching for time outside. Of course, she didn't necessarily need a reason to leave, she could come and go as she pleased, but this made things a bit more interesting. The woman had, afterall, been eagerly awaiting to hear what her newest business partner had in store for her. 

Thankfully, by this time, the bruising around her eye and neck had faded to soft purples and dull yellows, it made covering them a bit easier though their presence was still noticeable. It bothered her little, though, as she made her way through the streets with her chin high, waltzing directly up to the Milner estate and announcing her arrival. Darkened lips tugged into a brief smirk as she thought of their prior meeting, the last time she had walked through the doors. She had poked and prodded, working Ricard up with tidbits of rumors to coax a reaction from him. It worked.

When the door opened, Cordelia leveled her gaze with the man who greeted her. “I received word that Mister Blythe wished to speak with me, he should be expecting my arrival.”

Vincent offered a quick bow before opening the door further, allowing her space to pass through. “Of course, this way ma’am.” 

Once she was inside and the door was closed behind her, he offered to take the woman’s coat before guiding her through the darkened halls, stopping in front of the two large wooden doors that led to Ricard’s office. The young man cleared his throat before knocking loudly, announcing their presence and started to speak before promptly being cut off. 

“I know who’s here and why, Vincent. Bring Lady Gray in.”

“I…as you say, sir.” The man offered a sheepish grin and another small bow before pushing the door open and allowing room for the lady to pass.

Inside, Ricard was standing next to the fireplace, his vest undone, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest - he wasn’t disheveled, but did look as though he’d been working the better part of the day, perhaps two. He waited for the door to close before looking towards his company, trailing his tongue across one of his canines. “Good evening, Cordelia.”

“Remember we had a very clear discussion about how we didn’t want this business to involve the Cress family?”

The ebony haired woman stood her ground upon entering the room, looking over the somewhat unsettled man. She couldn’t help but grin when his back was to her and once the sound of the door clicked behind her, her feet began to carry her across the room. With each step, she began pulling the tips of her gloves from her fingers, one by one until she could remove them completely to set them aside to a nearby table. “Ricard.”  The two syllables dancing from her mouth calmly as a regard in greeting.

Coming to stand before him, she offered a casual tilt of her head as her lips pressed together in a soft hum. “Hm, actually, I believe it was of agreement that you and your men would go nowhere near the Cress estate. In fact, I believe I stated fully that your ex-betrothed was involved here.” Still, her tone was calm, reassuring even as she looked at him curiously. 

“Well your brother-in-law just made her more involved.” He sighed heavily, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “I just received word that Damien was spotted in Tailfeather with Valeria Cress. The pair…reportedly, spent some time in one particular set of stables together. Didn’t have a man on the inside, the details from there are fuzzy.” 

He looked up, running a hand through his hair. “And this is where it gets…messy. If Vahalia Cress finds out that we knew that this happened and didn’t inform her, then things are likely to end poorly. But that also means informing her how we knew that this happened.” Dark eyes locked with hers, “Which is that I’ve been tailing Damien Gray.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, taking in the bruising and making a note to ask about it a bit later, as he waited for her response.

“Oh, I had every intention of informing Lady Cress of whatever happenings we learned about the two of them.” Her reaction held no surprise and very little concern, she had prepared for this, in large part. “Vahalia has forbidden her sister from spending time with Damien outside of supervised events, or perhaps in general, the details on that I am unaware of. While I hold no ill will toward Valeria, she has no business with my brother-in-law, or rather moreso, vice versa. I have my own dealings with Vahalia, I would rather see Damien not muck it all up.”

 With his gaze locked to hers, she mirrored the look, blinking slowly. The time she had spent the last few days had given her a calm that very little was doing to break through, it had infuriated Eivor and perhaps now would seem confusing to Ricard, yet here she was. 

Ricard exhaled sharply through his nose as he shook his head, uncrossing his arms to lean on against the mantle of the fireplace, cursing under his breath. “That almost makes things worse.”

“I’ve no issue tailing Damien Gray - the man has been drinking a bit too much, gambling a bit too much, typical activities for someone trying to keep their mind busy. Fine, no issue with that. And as long as Valeria Cress stayed at the Cress estate and away from this mess things were fine - but they had to try and be fucking sneaky about things.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “So I’ve got the go ahead to share this information then - both on the same page, no blow back, no secret meltdowns, not gonna stab me after I get back from this meeting or anything, right?”

Her lids fluttered in a few quicker blinks as she fought to stifle a bit of a snicker. “That has really brought you so much concern, has it?” A hand reached out toward his lower abdomen though she held her distance. She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I am not going to stab you, Ricard. I dislike the information as much as you and Vahalia will, truthfully, but you did the job I requested and paid for. I can and will deal with the Cress’ in regards to the blowback on my end on my own.”

His fingers drummed against the stone mantle before he pushed away, pacing the length of the room - arms crossing over his chest once more. “I mentioned before about the road to hell and what that’s paved with, right? I’ll rest easier when the information is in the hands of those it needs to be and I can be done with it. The Cress family is not one I need to be concerning myself with. Not anymore.”  He approached the fireplace once again. “What happened to your neck, and your eye?’

She took a deep breath and nodded, watching as he walked away and began pacing. “I understand.” She replied simply, shrugging her shoulders to herself, though. “With your aversion, I am quite surprised you agreed to take on the task in the first place. I might say it was admirable but I have a feeling as though there was reason far beyond admiration.” When he returned near to her and the question came, her eyes finally broke from his to look into the fire at their side, the flames mirroring in her almost poetically. “Oh, hardly a concern, the man these hands belonged to won’t be doing it again, I trust.” 

His gaze narrowed, the broken eye contact doing nothing to alleviate the nagging questions, “I’d beg to differ - whether the man has thoughts of doing it again or not, I’d argue that the fact he did it once makes knowing his name worthwhile - knowing the type of man he is and all that.” Thoughts drifted for a moment to another house, a front hall, as he lay bleeding, and still, he’d never had thoughts of laying a hand on the one who’d caused the injury - animosity be damned. He broke out of the thought with a quick shake of his head - “You’re under no obligation to share, of course, secrets have their place.”

He ran a hand over his face tiredly, “-and back to the topic at hand, I took the job because I thought, perhaps foolishly, that Valeria would be only peripherally involved and I’d be able to sidestep that information while obtaining what you wanted and needed. I didn’t think he’d do this, this quickly.” A huff of frustration left him as he moved to sit down in a nearby chair. “I’ve done idiotic things, but for fucks sake.”

With a sigh, she returned her attention to him, her ever present somewhat arrogant demeanor about her. “What are you going to do about it? Defend my honor?” The dry tone she carried was far likely uncalled for in that moment but it danced from her lips easily. “Giving you his name would only further make things difficult for you.” She warned with the slight twitch of her brow. 

He waved a hand out towards her, “Depends on who it was and how much I knew about the person, but as I said, you’re under no obligation to share - secrets have their place. Just curiosity born of concern.”

His retreat to the chair simply caused her to turn her body to allow for ease of communication to remain. “Are you… afraid of her?” Finally the question came as her own eyes narrowed over him almost tauntingly. 

The hand fell back to the armrest as his eyes narrowed. “Who? Vahalia? No.” He quickly adjusted his shirt as he settled his head against the back of the chair. “We’re not terribly fond of one another - as I’m sure you could tell, and I don’t particularly want to go have this conversation because I’m sure she’ll find some way for this to be my fault, but I’m not scared of the woman. What makes you say that, Cordelia?”

Her reaction was very pointed as she lowered her gaze to him. Cordelia couldn’t hold back the scoff as she slowly closed the distance and yet remained simply standing over him with hands coming to rest on either hip. She was relieved the topic of her state of being had come and gone quickly just as she had hoped. “What makes me say that? Hm… let’s go down the list, shall we?”

Her hands came together so that with each point she would make, she tapped a finger to the opposite pointer finger. “You vehemently insisted that this job keep you away from the Cress estate, upon learning of Valeria’s deeper involvement you have turned to somewhat of a mess, your immediate concern is angered  repercussions from me following a meeting with her… which, of course, you seem incredibly distressed to see to.” Ending her explanation, she dropped her hands to her side and looked at Ricard pointedly. “I think that sums it up.” 

“My history with the Cress family is complicated, which I believe we’ve discussed to a certain extent. I haven’t known you long enough to discuss all the details of the history, but it’s a tale to be sure. And it is better for all involved and for your business endeavors with Vahalia that anything I’m doing tailing your brother-in-law stays as far away from her family as possible. This -” he waved a hand around indicating the general area, “-could be interpreted as trying to keep tabs on her family and not just on him. Which goes over like a bag of lead bricks.”

“I think it’s the right think to inform her about who Valeria has been seen with - but doing what I thought was the right thing also left me bleed out in a front hall before, so forgive me if I seem a bit skiddish at the prospect.”

Cordelia pursed her lips as she brought a hand to rest over her abdomen around where she had taken notice of the scar on his person the day they happened upon one another at the baths. Raising a brow, her head tilted at this. “So she did that to you.” It was inquisitive in nature but also more of a realized statement.

Ricard shrugged one shoulder, as best he could given his position. “Aye, she did. It was quite the argument that led to it too - as I said the day at the springs - get to know me well we enough and perhaps one day you’ll get the story behind it. For now it’s just a scar, and now you know the person who gave it to me.”

“Mm.” A nod came with her hand falling back to her side, lips pressed together now in a thoughtful hum. “Would you like me to deliver the information? It could be said I had my own people following Damien and happened upon them.” 

“No.” The answer was swift, to the point. “I may not want to have the conversation, but I won’t avoid it. And I won’t hide from Vahalia Cress. I found the information, I’ll deliver it, and if she doesn’t like it, then I’ll have to deal with the consequences.” His eyes closed for a moment before they reopened as he stood, once again running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have to mention I’m working for you - that’s up to you whether I do or don’t, but I need to know your preference before I speak with her.”

Her shoulders rose and fell in a gentle shrug. “Do what you will, the offer will stand.” She eased a bit in her stance as her eyes followed him as Ricard stood to full stature. “I have little preference on if she knows or not, she knows we have connection already I believe…”  Cordelia glanced off in thought for a brief moment. “…either way, tell her if you’d like, I feel there really isn’t a way around the fact the you were working on my behalf. After all, what other reason would you have for tailing Damien?” 

“I just needed to know if you had strong feelings one way or the other - have all the information going on, so there are no misunderstandings.” Another long exhale. “I appreciate the offer, but as I said, I need to be the one to tell her. Doesn’t matter who hired me to do the work, I did the work, therefore I’m the one responsible.”

“Well, as long as you don’t … meet an untimely demise, keep me updated, hm?” Hands came together to rest just below her abdomen as Cordelia raised a brow expectantly as if waiting for anything else. “Was that all, then?” 

“That was all, an update on where things stand and…to let you know I’d be speaking with Lady Cress about what I found.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll send a missive in the next day or so - I imagine it’ll be a brief meeting.”

A simple nod with another hum before she moved to pluck up the gloves she had set aside previously. “Very well.” Her response was simple as she went about putting the gloves back into her hands and though she made way for the door, paused. “Good luck, Ricard.” She remarked with a bit of a playful tone before disappearing behind the door. 

Ricard sighed as he watched her go before returning to his place before the fire. 

He was going to need a hell of a lot more than luck.

[ Collab with @ricard-blythe-ffxiv

Mentions: @vahalia-cress-ffxiv @damien-gray-ffxiv @spirit-speaking]

@sanguinecourt-ffxiv

[gay-for-the-snz]

A First and Last Date (M, Allergy)

I had a need deep in my soul for sundress snz and was once again so thankful that sundress season and allergy season line up so beautifully. And what better excuse to facilitate this than a (relatively unsuccessful) first date?

Elliott, 4k, allergy, modern!AU. vague cw for light mess description and sneezing into hands, mention of divorce

⁂

If there's anything he expected to be doing on a Thursday morning, it's not going on a blind date. He's never done this before--gosh, he feels like he's barely even dated in general--but especially based on someone else's confidence in matchmaking. Matt and Colleen thought that the best way to thank him for helping out at the wedding was to help him find a romantic partner himself, and while he appreciates the sentiment, he isn't sure if this was a good idea now that he's sitting in this cafe.

Perhaps it's just nerves, that fear that things are going to go wrong, but he feels kind of silly, being the guy alone at a table and hoping that his date shows up. Maybe he shouldn't have worn this--was a dress on the first date too much? He'd figured while he was getting dressed that the best way to weed out anybody who wouldn't be able to handle him being flamboyant would be a dress right out the gate, but maybe he should have been more subtle. A nice blouse, or a fun necklace and painted nails--something a little more understated, so as not to potentially scare him off before he had a chance to decide he liked him first, or--God, maybe he should have leaned more masc at first? Was this too much? Is he overthinking this?

He's startled out of his thoughts by a voice behind him. "...Elliott?"

He jumps and nearly tips the chair over in his haste to stand. "Yes! Devontae, hi!" He reaches out, takes one of his hands eagerly to shake it, and oh, he's absolutely gorgeous. A dazzling smile and butterfly locs and a pair of round wire-frames that make his eyes sparkle. "Oh, you're beautiful..."

He flushes immediately, floundering to try and sound less creepily overzealous, but Devontae's gracious enough not to mention it. "I could say the same about you. Here." He offers a slightly flattened bouquet, mums and daisies and baby's breath and who-knows-what-else packed colorfully into the brown paper. "I tried to keep them from getting too flat in the car, but you'll have to excuse that gravity had other ideas."

He has to fight the urge to immediately make a fool out of himself and cry. "...oh!" He gingerly accepts them, looking down at the flowers in his arms like they're wholly foreign.

"If you don't like them--"

"No! No, no, I do, I promise. I just--" he laughs, wipes quickly at his eyes with a little sniff, "I'm just surprised. I don't think anyone's really ever gotten me flowers before, except maybe once for my birthday a few years ago." He's suddenly sheepish, looking back up to meet his eyes. "Gosh, now I feel foolish. Here I came empty-handed when you were so thoughtful."

"You actually showed up, and that's a good start. Sit back down." He grins, taking a seat across the little table from him, and accepts the offered menu. "Have you already ordered?"

"I haven't! I didn't get here too terribly long before you did." That's a lie. He's been here for almost forty-five minutes, so afraid of being late and giving the impression that he doesn't care that he's been sipping on an ice water long enough to make the waiter come nervously check in on him three times. Devontae isn't even late; it's only twelve twenty-one, they weren't scheduled to start their date until twelve thirty-ish, his suggested "ish" granting wiggle room on either side to give flexibility to being late without being late.

"Excellent! I always appreciate punctuality." He looks over the menu, brow furrowing slightly as he takes in the options. "Have you been here before?"

"I haven't! But they had good reviews, and I, uh--well, I'd kind of thought you had suggested it, actually. Matt just told me on Monday that I had Thursday plans, and only told me yesterday what, where, and when." He can't help the nervous, awkward little laugh that bubbles up from his throat when Devontae looks up from his menu in bewilderment.

"Oh! They didn't even--" He smiles ruefully, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You know, that does sound like something they'd do." His smile is sympathetic when he replaces his glasses and looks back to him. "I'm sorry that they did that. They're known to be a little...overenthusiastic, sometimes."

"I'm sure they meant well, I was just surprised to hear that I had a, uhm, date all planned out for me." He sniffs, reaches up to rub at his nose as subtly as he can manage. The antihistamines he took this morning were doing a decent enough job at dealing with the ambient pollen from the mere fact that it's springtime, a tad itchy but more than manageable, but they're already pretty well wearing off, he thinks, and the addition of the bouquet, beautiful as it is, is proving to be over the capacity of a single dose of Costco's off-brand Benadryl.

"I take it you don't do this sort of thing often?"

"A blind date? No." He laughs, takes a sip of his water to ease the scratchy feeling in his throat. "I'll be honest, I don't even go on planned dates very often, let alone something so spontaneous done for me."

"Colleen mentioned that she didn't think you were much one for the dating scene."

"Did she tell you why?"

Devontae takes a sip of his own water, eyes on the menu to ease the pressure of being watched as he speaks, voice low and thoughtful like coaxing a spooked animal. "She mentioned you're divorced, and that it was nasty business."

"I guess you could call it that." He drops his eyes to his hands, fidgeting with his rolled silverware for something to occupy them. "Did she, uh, mention that I'm a parent? That the ex-husband is still in the picture at least a little bit?"

"They didn't mention that, no." Devontae doesn't seem entirely comfortable, the weird tension broken by the waiter's realization that there's finally someone else at the table.

"Can I get anything started for either of you?"

The man rattles off the specials at a rate that makes his head spin, and he takes the opportunity to rub more roughly at his nose, hopeful that the conversation drowns out the worst of the liquidy sniffle. He's already decided he just wants a salad, something quick and cheap (but not here, good Lord), and easy to pack up in case things turn weird again and he is suddenly very urgently needed at Warren's school, so sorry, gotta go!

The waiter moves the bouquet a bit closer to reach across the table and take the menus. He can't help it--he sneezes. "Hh--TSHH'ue! Hih'TSHieww!" He manages to get an arm up in time to hastily duck into his elbow, but it's close.

"Bless you!"

He blushes and sniffles again, making a conscious effort not to unroll his silverware to steal the napkin just yet. "Thank you! Sorry--snf!--you were saying something, right?"

"I was just going to say that I hoped it wasn't too presumptuous to get some bruschetta to share. You seemed a little distracted." His expression is so warm that he can't help but relax a little from it.

"I don't mind at all, you've got great taste." He pinches at his nose, somewhat distracted still by the way the prickling irritation is lingering in the back of it. "Other than that, I still don't--snff!--think I really know anything about you. Tell me a little about you--what do you do?"

He grins, adjusts his glasses a bit, and brushes his hair back from where it's falling boyishly forward towards the space he's disrupted with the action. "Would you believe that I'm a teacher?"

"Oh! That's so lovely, I--snff!--excuse me--I have a lot of respect for teachers. What grade do you teach?"

"I teach art at the high school across town. It's not the most glamorous thing, I'm definitely not making life changing money, but I love what I do. Working with kids and seeing them absolutely light up when they've found something that they love doing is just phenomenal."

"That's so--hh-! So--hH'IISSHH'yue! yiISSHHiew! Hh...hiH-! hiITSSHH'ue! ...oh my gosh, please excuse me--snF!--I think that's amazing. I can only imagine how gratifying it must be to--snff!--get to do something that's so meaningful to you."

"Man, bless you! I guess I've got a taste of what that wedding was like for you."

He flushes crimson, face half hidden behind his napkin. "They told you about that but not that I'm a father?"

"They did, but that's not what's important here. Are you getting sick? Do you want to raincheck this so you can go home and rest?"

"Oh." He blows his nose as softly as he can possibly manage. "Uhm, no, it's allergies."

It registers on his face as he glances towards the bouquet on the table. "Oh. Here, I'm sorry, let me take those--"

"No!"

"No?"

"I want them."

"I guess I can't stop you, then."

"I know this sounds ridiculous, but they just--I don't get flowers much. You were so thoughtful to get them for me, and they're so pretty, and I want to keep them." He picks them up and holds them protectively against his chest. A foolish move, he knows, but the idea of losing them just breaks his heart.

Devontae shows his palms in a gesture of mock surrender with a shrug. "Far be it from me to try and take them if you want them. They were a gift, you can do whatever you want with them. I will, however," he reaches into his pocket, and slides a travel packet of tissues across the tabletop, "give you these."

"You just carry tissues with you?"

"Never know when they might be handy in springtime."

"A man after my own heart." He accepts them gratefully, setting the bouquet back into an empty chair to give it a little space, and scrubs at a reddened nose that's running like a river. "I would've taken a second pill if I'd been expecting anything."

"That unfortunately ruins the 'surprise' portion until you develop that clairvoyance." He rests his chin on his hand, leaning forward a bit. "But you still haven't told me what you do. Oh--thank you." Their appetizer is set between them, and neither of them waits long to try one.

"Oh! You're right, I'm sorry. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to the rest of me. It's, uh, not really much to brag about. I work in a warehouse a little ways out of town. The Captain--uh, I mean, he's not a captain anymore, but I swear on my momma's grave if you think the word 'sea captain' he looks like he just stepped out of an oil painting after making love to the Gorton's fisherman--he owns and operates the warehouse, but he leases space to local business that need it, and then we take care of the storage and getting things moved to where they've gotta go for orders and stuff. I'm hardly gonna have anybody from the paper interviewing because it's so cool and mysterious and interesting of a job, but it's union, and it pays the bills, and I'm really lucky to work for someone that cares so well about everybody working for him."

"Everything is interesting if you look at it the right way." He reaches across the table, takes the hand that isn't busy fussing with his nose, and brushes a thumb over his knuckles. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"Oh, it's fine--I mean--I don't know, it's been awhile since they've passed, I've kind of made my peace with it by this point. I didn't mean to, uhm--I mean, it's kind of a bummer for a first date, I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. Why don't we talk about something else?"

"That might be n--hh-? sorryI'mgonna--hIH--! hyEISSHHue! 'TSHieww! hiISSHHyue! yiISSHH'uhh! hH--!? ...guh! SNF! Oh my gosh, excuse me." Devontae hasn't released his hand this whole time, just holding it through the fit even when he'd gotten distracted enough to not really be holding back, and he blushes at the idea that he may be so accommodating as to do this always. "I hope it doesn't--ohholdon--heITSSHHyue! ISSHHuue! Oh my gosh, sorry. It's uhm--snff!--I hope this isn't too offputting, if this is a deal-breaker for you then you should know right now that it's, uh--what I mean to say is that this is sort of a constant, so if it's too terribly--" he winces, "--icky, I guess, that's fine and it won't hurt my feelings if you'd rather not deal with it."

"Elliott."

"Yeah?"

"It's allergies. I don't think that that, or a cold, or whatever else is gonna be a deal-breaker for most people. But I'm gonna be honest. You seem like a very nice guy, but I don't know if this is really what I'm looking for."

"Oh."

"I don't want you to think it's anything against you--"

"No, I understand--"

"You don't, because you haven't let me explain it to you." He...has a point. He nods in assent, gesturing vaguely to give him the floor. "Thank you. Like I was saying: I don't want you to think that it's anything against you, because I can already tell that you've got a lot going on inside that heart of yours, and it's not because you're 'icky' or 'gross' or whatever else."

"...okay?"

"But I don't think, as well-intentioned as they were, that they really gave us much of a chance for this romantically. Because, no, Colleen didn't mention that you're a parent. And I'm sure your kid is fantastic! But even if they were the most angelic creature on the planet, I'm just not looking for that kind of responsibility right now. I don't wanna be a dad, and I also don't wanna be the dad's boyfriend that doesn't let the kid be around, or only comes around when they aren't, because that isn't fair to either of you either."

"I get it. I'll, uhm--I can just cover the bill, if we're done here."

"I don't see any reason why we can't still enjoy our lunch. We've already put in for an appetizer, and even if we aren't going to date, that doesn't mean we couldn't still get to know eachother. We've already got mutual friends--or acquaintances, at the very least--and who knows? Maybe somewhere down the line we might decide we wanna give this another shot when things are different."

"I uhm...I guess that makes sense, yeah. I'd be silly to deny a friend just because you may not be a boyfriend." It feels odd to admit, but aside from the initial gut punch of rejection, there's something...kind of relieving about this no longer being a date. No fear that he may be ruining his chances or romantic prospects. "If you do find someone, they're going to be lucky to have you."

"Aw, nah, but you're a sweetheart for saying it. So, I actually am kind of interested in what you do. What's your boss just doing owning a warehouse to be able to lease the storage to people?"

"So, the thing is, he used to be a sea captain, had his own ship and everything. but he decided after awhile that that kind of thing was better left to..." The tickle is toying with him, now, making him falter enough to actually bring up a curled hand to rub a knuckle beneath flushed nostrils. "Hold on...I'm going to sneeze."

He laughs and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest while he waits. "I can tell."

He can't help but mirror the grin, though it melts quickly into a look of anticipation, jaw slack and brows pinched in irritation as he wills this thing to hurry up and do something. He rarely finds himself with an issue of not sneezing, so it's frustrating in the rare instances that he gets much warning, but especially a lot of it that leaves him just sitting in limbo as he waits for it. He rubs at his eyes--he shouldn't, he knows it, but he can't help it, trying to both wipe away the tears that have already spilled down over his cheeks and to soothe the itchy, gritty feeling. "Sorry."

"For what? Like I said, I don't mind. Allergies seem like a killer, you're braver than me for dealing with them. Especially willingly." He inclines his head towards the flowers in the chair between them. "Does this happen often?"

"No, actually." He laughs, a light, mirthless little thing. "That's kind of the problem."

"Do you--"

"eiISSHHuh! hH'TSSHHieww! hyYIITSSH'uhh! hHTSSHH'hue!" His lashes flutter, wavering on the edge of relief as the tickle hovers right on the brink of letting him sneeze. Damp nostrils scrunch and flare, before a little sniff seems to do the trick. "hiiSSHH'ue! 'TSSHHhyue! Hh-! Hih--!? ...guh!"

"You poor thing." Devontae brushes the hair back from his face, eyes crinkled in concern as he looks him over. He's sure he must look horrible, all mascara streaked, itchy misery, nose the same shade as the tomatoes on their food. "You said you already took something?"

He blows his nose, embarrassed both from the attention and from how dreadfully wet it sounds. "I did, yeah. It's, uhm--it's kind of a whole thing. It's already mostly out of my system, though--I was probably going to be pretty sniffly soon here anyway. You don't have to worry about it, it's just allergies, they're not gonna kill me."

"Are you gonna be able to drive like this?"

"That is a great question! I think so. And--snff!--worst comes to worse, I live close enough to walk back home and can come back for my car after a shower or something." He can feel how raw his nose is getting from the extra attention on top of the springtime irritation that he hasn't gone away for weeks, now. "I don't want to make this a huge thing, but I might--hh-? ...snf! I might just pay for the food and--andthenhH--! hHYIISSHHuhh! ISSHHue!"

"You will absolutely not be paying, nor am I letting you walk back like this." He gently takes Elliott's elbow and helps him to stand, still occupied by the fit that's taking its sweet time to resolve. "Come on, up we get. Let's get a move on."

He guides him out, pausing by the door just long enough to stop by the front and hand over a few bills to cover the food they've packed up, and then shepherd him out the door. Despite his best efforts, he doesn't respond except to sneeze again, an absolutely sodden triple that doesn't even make a dent in the itch that's invaded every inch of his sinuses and anything else it can get itself wormed into.

"Bless you. You'll have to tell me where I'm going. Just point if you can't get the words."

It is probably not helping, he thinks, that every time he snaps down he is just getting his face that much closer to the bouquet bundled in one arm, practically burying his nose into the soft, fragrant petal each time, but his other arm has been taken, and he doesn't have any other choice unless he wants to turn towards Devontae to sneeze rather than away from him. He can't help the situation much, unless he's willing to give them up, and he'd rather spend the next week sneezing like this than to lose such a kind-hearted and profoundly thoughtful gesture, not to mention how much he's sure they must have caught, given the price of flowers nowadays! No, he'll be fine once he's showered and taken something, and then he'll be able to enjoy how pretty they are until they fade on their own.

He manages to point in the direction of his building, to choke out "few blocks" and "that way" between the desperate sneezes that have him suddenly regretting the choice of a dress, afraid he's at risk of folding in on himself too far and flashing his drawers to anyone behind them. The thought is mortifying. He's never had fantastic posture, always awkwardly slouched or curled in on himself to be a little smaller, take up a little less space, but right now it is as ramrod as he can make it.

He only barely bothers to buckle, the flowers gingerly taken from his arms to grant him the ability to not be practically snorting a line of pollen the entire way there, but also to give him hands to shudder into. It's far from the ideal solution, but he's already reduced the remaining few travel tissues to sodden pulp, and it's better to make a mess of himself than someone else's car--especially when he's going way out of his way to be so kind to him and take him home like this.

"Oh, Ell, are you still going? You poor fucking thing." He rubs his shoulder affectionately, and earns a somewhat breathless groan of defeat in response.

"You should've seen--h-huH'HEISSHhue! hyISSHHieww! Ohh...should've seen the only time my husband ever--ESSHHyue!--took me to the--heIISSHHieww!--the botanical gardens. Snff! Famous last words but I--snff!--think I'm done for now."

He laughs, looking over at him. "I cannot imagine that went well if a bouquet has you this bad."

"To my credit, I d-didn't--snfff!--anticipate this. That I had the forewarning and forethought to be able to take something before we--SNF!--before we went. But we were there way longer than we expected, and as nice as it was to have a date go unexpectedly long, I was a fright by the time we got me out of there." It's a fond memory, horrible allergies aside. One of few he can remember going on at all, but especially that was so genuinely pleasant to have been on.

"Maybe someday you'll give it a shot again?"

"I hope so. It'd be nice to go back and see what they've done with it lately." He points hastily, realizing he's gotten too caught up in the reverie. "Oh! Turn right here. It's the, uh, building back on the corner back there. You can--snF!--get into the lot from this side, the other side's a nightmare since they still haven't fixed that pothole that I think I could get lost inside of."

"You're what, six foot at least?"

"Six-three."

"That should be illegal. I was feeling pretty good about being five-eleven."

"You should see me with my daughter's mom--long story--she's four-eleven."

"That's minuscule. Here?"

"Yeah. You can, uhm--snff!--park anywhere you want--or you don't even have to bother! I can just get out and let you go. There's no point in making you find a spot just to get out."

"It's really not a big deal. I don't have to walk you to your apartment if you wouldn't feel good about me knowing where you live, but you're not putting me out any just to park or anything." He makes the choice for them, pulling into an empty spot and throwing it in park. "So! This was nice, right? We'll have to try lunch again another time, when we both know what we're getting into."

"Should I expect flowers?"

It's a joke, but Devontae smiles at him, some dreamy, half lidded thing that makes heat rush to his cheeks. "You should."

He laughs, dropping his gaze to his lap. "Why? It won't be a date."

"Yeah, but you love them. Why not? It'd be nice to see you smile a little more and apologize a little less." He takes one of Elliott's hands, ignoring the streaks of moisture along the skirt of his sundress where he's wiped them off, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "You take care of yourself, y'hear? I'll be keeping tabs on stories with you in them."

"I will." He reaches back and takes the flowers again, then looks unsure of himself as he leans forward, then back, awkwardly having opened his arms for a hug and then thinking better of it. What's the protocol for a date that's no longer a date, even if it hasn't gone badly?

He pulls him into a half hug, gives him a firm squeeze, and releases him. "You can take the bruschetta with you, it won't be any good by the time I get home."

"Right."

He's almost to the stairway when he hears Devontae yell from the window, paused in the middle of the lane. "Hey, Elliott!"

"Yeah?"

"Bless you, for the rest of the week!"

[sheepishlocs]

(SHEEPISH LOCS)

[whirlybirbs]

Birbs I ate that Silco shit up like it was my last meal on earth. Licked the plate clean and waiting for seconds mmmmmmmmm DELICIOUS

4/4  |  HOBBYISTS & FINER THINGS.   ;   SILCO / READER

summary: dinner is planned, then cancelled. you’re angry with silco, but business is business. as it turns out, distance does makes the heart grow fonder.

rating: 18+ / this chapter includes a mention of physical violence against a sex worker and features canon typical violence when rectifying said instance. this work contains smut.

word count: 9k teehee

pairing: silco / f!reader

a/n: with permission, the header from this chapter is art done by the lovely @/harlot_of_zaun over on twitter! i really encourage you to head on over and show them some love. their silco art is stunning. this piece made me go WOOOO. a special shoutout to them for being kind enough to lend me their art as a chapter header! 

but, here we are! end of the road. there may always be more, but for now, i hope you enjoy a nice little ending to this small story — the reception was really wonderful and thank you so much to everyone who’s read, commented, liked, breathed in its direction... you know how it goes. i love you all!

<  previous chapter  |  read me on ao3

You’ve been trying to ignore the buzz of anxiety in your chest for the last three days.

On the fourth day, you’d finally let the electric storm get the better of you. It’s late, nearly two in the morning, and Lizbeth is with you in your office; she’s crouched by the hearth, feeding in pieces of useless requisition receipts Yeleni left behind. The paper makes good kindling, and the stack beside her is tall.

The work has slowed for the night. Only three rooms are open; they see a slow trickle. By three, most of Zaun will be asleep. Four in the morning herald’s the end of the day for the workers of the Lilac Lounge.

Lizbeth finished her shift an hour ago. She’s fresh from the bath, with rose oil still clinging to her skin.

You’ve known Lizbeth for the better part of your life — she’s a handful of years younger with warm, dark skin. You catch her scoff at a piece of receipt paper (a laundry list, complete with Yeleni’s fur at the top of the order) before tossing it into the fire with a flourished shake of her head.

You’re chewing your lip when she tosses you a look over her shoulder. She does a double-take.

“...You look like you’re about two seconds away from flinging yourself into the fire. What’s wrong?”

“I feel like it,” you rush out, eyes stuck on the dancing flame as you stand there with your hands on your hips; unprompted, you let the secret loose.

“I’m having dinner with Silco tomorrow evening.”

Lizbeth’s attention snaps back around.

There’s silence then — the crushing sort.

Finally, you pull your eyes from the hearth and offer a sheepish look. Her brown eyes are pulled wide in shock.

Lizbeth is... well, hell above. Sure, she’s surprised, but everyone knew something was going on between the Madam of the Lilac Lounge and Silco. Be it his boys who gaurd the door every night, Sevika — lovely, lovely Sevika, or anyone on the street. Of course the courtesans knew, but they knew better than to ask. After all, it was your personal business... Reliable protection and expensive paintings be damned.

“Dinner?” Lizebth asks, albeit in a rushed whisper.

Your face is flooded with anxiety as you nod, parroting her. “Dinner.”

“Oh — oh?” she’s standing now, pulling her robe closer as she serves you an incredulous look and rushes forward, “Like... Like a proper dinner—?” “Like a romantic, proper dinner,” as you ramble, your exasperation catches up to you, “So we can discuss our ‘endearments’,” you quote.

Lizbeth’s whole face goes wide with a surprised look. She pushes a thick loc behind her ear and leans forward as her jaw falls open. Once more, she’s nodding, parroting your words as if to try and parse them. “Endearments.”

Less of a question. More like she’s trying to understand, and you nod. Up and down and up and down — and then pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Lizbeth asks, brows knotted up, “You don’t want to go?”

“No — I do,” you whine as you drop your shoulders and rub the curve of your temple, “Perhaps a bit too much.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly,” you offer up, moving to lean against your desk. You fiddle with the wine-colored cuff of your sleeve and tug the shoulder up and back into place. The loose blouse billows as you throw your hands in the air, “Who am I? Some lovesick little girl—?”

“Calm down,” Lizbeth says, tilting her head and leaning to pop a hip, “You’re being dramatic. It’s alright to be excited — I mean, when’s the last time you went out to dinner with a nice man?”

Your glare is flat. You narrow your lashes. “Paid or unpaid.”

Lizbeth matches your look, however, is significantly less amused. “Be nice.”

“I’m serious,” you say as you push off the desk and move to toss a few more papers into the fire; you’re desperate to burn away this feeling. You mutter, “Also I think, catagorically, Silco would take offense at being considered a ‘nice man’—”

“But he is nice — to us, to you,” Lizbeth supplants kindly.

...It’s a good point.

Your shoulders sag as you squat before the fire. Your fingers trace the edge of a grocery list — complete with Yeleni’s own scrawled notes on a handful of worker’s favorite meals. Some of them no longer work at the Lounge. You decide, last minute, to spare this little note a firey death.

“Why don’t you get some rest, huh?” Lizbeth says as she bows her head to the side and moves to place a delicate hand on your shoulder, “It will be nice — to get out of here, if only for a night...”

She has a point.

When morning comes, you find as though you feel as if you’ve barely slept at all — and the warmth of your bed anchors you to a half-there, half-here state. Morning is more of a subjective term for the hour you and the rest of the Lounge usually rise... It’s nearly noon now, and the heavy curtains in your bedroom do little to keep out the glaring gray of the day.

However, it isn’t the sunlight that rouses you, today. Nor is it a cramped neck or an arm fast asleep or a hot huff when the comforter becomes too smothering. No, it’s a rapid knock on your door — seven, eight, nine, ten times.

“Madam!” comes a rushed voice, “There’s a call! For you!”

What...?

Your eyes are still half-closed when you tumble from bed; the thin chemise clinging to your shoulders hangs low as you yank the door open and blink blearily. It’s Gwen, the young receptionist. She’s flanked by nearly a dozen expectant faces.

It’s clear the trill BRING-RING-RING-A-BRING of the mounted landline in the front lobby had roused nearly half the house.

You’re fast to rub your eyes, sniffling as you step into the upstairs hall.

The whole of the house is watching — heads peeking from doorways, half-dressed workers lining the halls, some even pausing their morning powdering to get a glimpse of their Madam.

“Who is it?” your voice is hoarse as you move down the hall, rounding the corner to the stairwell.

“Mr. Silco, madam.”

There’s a bit of a pause in your step. The faded wallpaper is where you root your gaze — and from the bated breaths of the entire parlor, you suddenly become keenly aware that the little secret you slipped loose to Lizbeth has now become the whole of the establishment’s knowledge.

You cast Gwen a look over your shoulder; expectant and shy. Suddenly, the teenager is taken aback by your out-of-characteristically girlish look.

“What did he say?” you nearly whisper.

She winces. “Only asked for you, ma’am. Nothin’ else.”

Well, that does nothing to quell the rush of a raging fire in your chest. Lovely.

Seems there’s a crowd gathered to watch, too.

You’re fast to fly down the stairs into the lilac parlor room; your chemise’s hem is gripped tightly in your hand the whole way. Slept-on hair does little to paint you calm in any way of the word. When you reach the front desk where the intricately adorned box sits, you find the receiver placed delicately atop the dark wood. Suddenly, there’s a rush of hisses — barks from the older courtesans to be quiet!

You inhale, then reach to wrap your hand around the cool, smooth, obsidian handle.

“Hello?”

Across town, Silco is leaned over the callbox.

It’s outside one of the docking warehouses, a building more commonly used now by his people to load up shimmer shipments for Piltover. It’s just beyond the main dock, and Silco can see the entire harbor as he waits on the line.

It’s a cold morning. Gray as ever. It will snow later, he knows. He can feel it in his knees — in the aches of his palms. In a life long ago, he would venture into the mines on mornings like this and emerge to a world of off-white powder. It was beautiful, a sliver of promise. But even in Zaun, the snow was never as white as it was in Piltover. The smog promised that.

The harbor water sways.

Behind him, Sevika delivers a harsh blow to the face of a man already bound on his knees.

When your voice comes over the static crackle of the telephone, Silco finds his posture easing a bit. He pushes a gloves hand through his hair, tosses a look over his shoulder, and clears his throat.

“Madame?”

“Hello, Silco.”

Perhaps it’s comical.

The fact Silco is here, mid-interrogation. Having just learned a handful of Chem-Barons intended on making their arrival known tonight? All of this riding on the high news that three of his men had effectively disappeared with a month’s worth of shimmer shipment? He had growled so sharp in irritation, the man before him was shocked when Silco stepped back and lowered his knife. Sevika slipped him a knowing look, then. His other men, too, had dawning guilt written all over their faces.

Of course, they knew his plans.

He’d reserved the entire upper balcony of The Last Drop for you and himself tonight. He’d been dealing with a rather jealous little Jinx, and the nervousness that comes with a romantic dalliance after years of settling on avoiding them entirely.

I believe I have to make a call, Silco had said.

Better now than any later. His guilt will eat him alive. But such is the way of a Kingpin. He tries to stomach it.

It’s difficult when your voice on the other end is sweet enough to bring a wry smile to his face.

He lifts his eyes to the gray sky.

“I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“You did,” you say slowly, leaned fully on the desk now, “It’s rather nice, actually.”

The gathered courtesans seem to fly into silent hysterics at the very clear flirtation — you can see the wide smiles and slapped hands as they clamor to gather closer, to listen in, to hear the Kingpin of Zaun’s response. You sway a bit, bouncing on the ball of your foot.

The response earned is a rough, low laugh.

Somewhere in the background, a scream begins — and then it’s smothered by the wide palm of Sevika. Silco tosses a sharp look back at the group, and Sevika roughly tells the bloodied man to shut up, he’s on the phone, can’t you see?

"Well, I admit I wish I wasn’t having to call—”

Your gut sinks.

“Oh?”

“I’m not going to be able to make dinner, it seems,” he says slowly, almost tentatively, and you try to ignore the sudden rush of sheer disappointment that floods your figure. Though you can hear his apology on the other line, it does little to blunt the impact.

The gathered faces who are close enough to hear the exchange suddenly recoil. Their expressions are a mixture of angry, of confused, of bitterly rejected. A bit of how you feel, honestly. Suddenly, there’s a rush of questions being passed silently between the parlor; Lizbeth, looking on in front of you, shakes her head in confusion.

Ask why, she mouthes.

“Is... Is everything alright?” is the best you can manage. Your own thoughts are running a mile a minute.

“I’m sending extra security tonight,” comes his response; it’s thoughtful. Warm, almost. His voice dips a little lower as he leans his palm against the wall and toes his boot against the sea-worn floor of the warehouse, “Chem-Barons have called a meeting, and sadly I’m required to be in attendance.”

“Oh.”

Silco’s heart pangs. Your tone is distant — hurt, clearly. He leans back, posture slouching. From across the warehouse, Sevika can see her boss’ distress. A gloved hand reaches to rub the spot between his brows. He leans a little closer over the receiver. His voice is low. Quiet. Only for the two of you.

Unbeknownst to Silco, the entirely of The Lilac Lounge is eagerly attempting the eavesdrop of the modern era.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I... ” he clears his throat, suddenly realizing how much he had been looking forward to a quiet evening with you. Silco rubs his jaw. “I—”

He’s about to suggest tomorrow night. Hells alive, the sad little quiver in your voice has the Kingpin feeling like he ought to be the one on the receiving end of Sevika’s fists.

But, it seems as though business has caught up to him again.

Suddenly, a scream cuts through the other end of the line and you blinks down at the receiver.

The anger at the interruption ripples through Silco like a rogue wave. He’s decided immediately Rocco will die for that as if his other mistakes weren’t worth that same weightier sentence. His head snaps around, and one void-black eye pins the man in place. The ring of his eclipsed pupil swivels, all burning rage condensed into a single look.

“Silco—?” you call, voice retreating as the receiver slips from his ear for a moment long enough to gesture with deft, gloved hands for his people to haul Rocco up, get the chains ready. He’s going for a swim.

The realization dawns on the once-loyal man as he begins a string of begging — no, no, no and please, please, I promise I don’t know anything!

“I’ve got to go, Madame,” he turns back, with a stoney expression; and you can hear it over the line, “My sincerest apologies.”

Then, the line clicks dead.

And you’re left in the parlor holding a silent, droning line.

⚘     ⚘     ⚘    ⚘

A week.

You hear nothing for a whole week.

The good news is that a week is apparently plenty of time to work yourself up, calm yourself down, then grow bitter, then sad, then enraged and so-on and so-forth — you know, the usual cycle of heartache that comes with an apparent rejection.

You wonder if maybe that’s the curse of expectations — that being excited over new and exciting possibilities inherently spoil the entire rouse.

Admittedly, Silco’s little stand-up (could you even call it that? He had, after all, let you know he was unable to make dinner...? Are you putting too much weight on this? Do you deserve to be upset? ...Hm. You shoo that thought away. Yes, of course, you deserve to be upset) fueled enough of your hermit-like coping mechanisms to hole you up in Yeleni’s office for three days straight.

More good news: it was feeling less like Yeleni’s and more like yours. Clean. Cozy.

The worst news of all: the beautiful, attention-absorbing Friedlingmer was now the sorest spot of woe in all of Zaun, so much so that you’re genuinely considering throwing a bedsheet over it. Seriously. You could just hop up and be done with it. Cover it up! Then, you won’t be thinking about Silco every damn time you walk into your office.

You huff.

That would be cruel. A true disservice to Friedlingmer’s residency in Piltover. All over a heartache? No. No, no, no — fucking hell, Yeleni is probably rolling over in her grave right now. If she knew the current state of you, she’d laugh. And not a nice, cheer-up kind of laugh. No, the mean sort. The sort that tells you to pull up your britches and hike your tits up with a single wheezy, shimmer-lined cough.

So, right. A week.

Granted, on the seventh day, it isn’t as if he finally gives you a callback — he doesn’t soothe your burning anxiety that he lost interest, or found someone better, or finished playing...

No, it’s business that brings you to Silco.

The Chem Baron’s seemed to extend their stay in the Lanes — in turn, Silco had wordlessly extended his promise of upped security around The Lilac Lounge. That much you were appreciative of, but the new faces made you uneasy. Not just you, but the other businesses in the Lanes under his word.

The Chem Barons arrive on a metaphorical litter, dragging along henchmen and staff that support their endeavors. Be it chemists, be it enforcers, be it family. The Lanes are fraught with distinguished members of various affiliations.

Silco’s security is a double-edged sword. It protects his assets and reminds everyone who owns the Black Lanes.

You’re in your office when the commotion begins. It’s nearly midnight. The Lilac Lounge is busy.

“You can’t just go barging in—”

That’s Sevika’s voice.

Someone is arguing with her — which is enough of a shock to get you up out of your chair and away from ruminating on the Friedlingmer.

It's one of Babette's girls. She's a lithe little thing that nearly springs through your office door. You'd heard her shouts, all breathless and wild-eyed, as she barreled through the velvet hallways of The Lilac Lounge.

The prick of instinct has you bristling when she nearly beats your door down. You pull it open sharply, face met with the smoke-filled air of the brothel's back corridor. Beneath the Friedlingmer, a candle snuffs itself out.

"It's Mira — a-and one of Silco's boys," she's rushing out, hardly breathing and hardly making much of any sense as she stumbles over herself and her words; but you can sew together enough from her panic and her fear, "Babette's called for you—"

Mira. She used to work under Yeleni. You knew her. Only briefly. She was younger than you. Sweet. She preferred Babette’s management style to Yeleni’s. You can’t say you blame her.

There are faces, masked and painted-on, that have begun to poke from their lavishly curtained rooms. The haze of lilac smoke makes the air taste sweet. Eyes hang on your tensed figure.

Sevika, at the end of the hall, goes still.

You realize they’re suddenly looking to you — for strength, for an example, for leadership. All of it. All at once.

It wasn’t often that house-calls of this sort came and went. You remember Yeleni, though, when a fearful call for help came. She would waddle on, pulling up her jacket and promising she will be back. Be it Babette’s or Sygyn’s or any of the other working houses in the Lanes... you all worked together. A habitat of coexisting lives and work. You owed it to one another. You keep one another safe. No negotiating.

Eyes blink when you disappear from the view of the doorway. You return with a long, wool coat that's swathed with fur, and begin the arduous task of lacerating your meticulous hairstyle with long, dagger-like hairpins.

Yeleni’s.

They’re cool, smooth, matte metal. Sharp. She’d left them in a pearl case that snapped shut onto your finger like a lobster claw the first time you’d opened it.

The small charms that hang from them on delicate chains swing as you button your coat and pull on your gloves. Your strides are long.

Those expectant, worried faces follow you silently.

"Is Babette with her?" you ask calmly, leading her through the winding hallways that have grown silent.

The girl swallows; her voice is hoarse. She can hardly be any older than eighteen. She looks about Gwen’s age. "Yes."

"Is she alright?"

"Shaken up," she offers as she follows you through the hall. The Lilac Lounge hangs on the anticipation of your first enforcement. These were the expectations of Madams. Handle the business, protect the workers of the Lanes.

You admit you thought you might not be ready for this sort of confrontation. But, as you enter the stillness of the parlor, you realize that Yeleni had prepared you for this.

After all, she taught you everything you know.

She taught you how to be everything she wasn't, too.

In the parlor, you finish pinning your hair. Sevika stands beside you; her eyes are pulled across your face in a snap of tension.

You like Sevika. She’s... She’s an intricate soul with mean left hook. In the last week, you’ve noticed she’s been on door duty consistently. Not that anyone is complaining. Almost the entire brothel clamors to offer her a nightcap at the end of her shift.

“Who was it?” she asks tightly. Her voice is rough.

“I’m going to find out,” you say flatly.

Sevika tightens her jaw, then nods.

“You need me?”

You straighten your posture. You consider it, then inhale. “No. From the sounds of it, it might be best let Silco know he may be getting a visit from me tonight.”

Her nod is terse.

You push onward.

It’s snowing out. Your breath curls around you as the girl leads the way to Babette’s. You blink up at the grey plods of snow falling from the sky.

The snow is always whiter in Piltover.

Babette's brothel is a block down, almost directly adjacent The Lilac Lounge on Zaun's main bazaar. Here the smog carries the light so well you might confuse it for day — the hazy, pink glow of light-polluted signage has your eyes adjusting as you near. Dilated pupils swing around the street.

Seems as though someone let word slip there was trouble.

Your arrival outside on the main strip of the Black Lanes has heads turning, and whispers following every staccato step of your heels. Eyes follow you and the young girl as you step up to Babette's brothel. As quickly as you came, you disappear and leave the onlookers to their gossip.

The yordle is waiting for you inside.

"Is she alright?" is the first thing out of your mouth.

When Babette nods, you ask your next question.

“Who did it?”

"No idea," she heaves; you can see the weight of the evening beginning to wear on her, "I just know he was one a’ Silco’s. Figured you’d be able to help. Come on. Maybe you can talk to her. Poor thing is a wreck."

Babette isn't exaggerating — Mira is sitting on a couch holding a pack of ice to her nose. There are a handful of workers around her, cradled close, but it seems as if the worse of her wailing has calmed down. You can see, though, the creep of purple along her eyes. The bruising has started.

Your fingers twitch.

She seems to soften at your arrival. She recognizes you. Her eyes, big and green, widen as she scrambles to move towards the end of the sofa. Her friends hold onto her as you near, dropping to kneel before her with a sad look.

There is a bond shared between those of you in this line of work.

...You’ve been here — cradling friends after the darker dangers of this life creep in. You know this fear, this uncertainty. You know it well. You can count on two hands the number of times you’ve looked back and been astounded at how close you might’ve come with being snuffed out like candlelight.

You have to look out for one another.

Her fingers are bloodied. You hold them.

“He didn’t want to pay,” she explains angrily.

"Who was it?” is all you ask.

And you get your answer.

⚘     ⚘     ⚘    ⚘

The Last Drop is busy.

Your arrival draws attention — no doubt Sevika had returned and made it clear that they should be expecting your appearance. Security parts, offering no resistance. Maybe it's Mira, who has her chin held high. Her hand is in yours. Maybe it’s the icey look on your face. Perhaps it’s the few of Sygyn’s girls that escort you to the doors, drawn in from the street, who chatter promises to Mira that good Madams sorts this business out. Babette follows.

Eyes falter. Screamed gossip slips past to the melodic thrum of the bar's music.

You're gestured upstairs by a man in a suit that has a whiskey stain on the sleeve.

You can feel the bass in your ribs, rattling your heart around. The haze of shimmer makes your head swim. The air tastes sweet. Better than the grimy sting of smog that the Lanes bring. No, in here? It's sex and sweat and shimmer. Not all that different from The Lilac Lounge. Less gentle though, more fists-to-mouth. Somewhere, a fight begins over a spilled drink. You're high above the dance floor when it ends with a stool coming down over a skull.

The VIP section of The Last Drop is quieter — more light, too, though it's as artificial as everything in Zaun. You recognize that there are Chem Barons here in attendance. Sardonically, you scoff at the fact they’ll be getting dinner and a show. A reminder of how business is done in the Lanes. In Silco’s Lanes.

At the back of the mezzanine, there's a booth swathed in security. Sevika stands to the right, hands clasped before her. Inside the plush, crimson booth there are two men there.

One with white hair. Tattoos. Twitchy.

Then, Silco.

It hurts to see him.

He's leaned back, attention focused on a burning cigar in long fingers. Those knuckles are kissed with scars. His collar is high, starched and sharp like all of him. He looks as if he’s ready to snap. The longer you look, the more you wonder if a kiss would draw blood.

You’re so angry you hardly have time to acknowledge the heartache burning your throat.

He’s put himself together meticulously tonight. His face is turned, speaking to the one you're here to deal with — and a curl of smoke passes around his head like a crown.

Ever the handsome leader.

He’s clearly irritated.

Babette makes a small sound of concern beside you.

Sevika meets your eyes.

Your fingers twitch. Mira, sets her jaw. You pause. Your entourage heels. You turn to Mira, cheek grazing the furs of your collar, and speak softly.

"Beside Sevika, is that him?"

You see the hatred snap in her eyes.

"Yes."

You reach. You brush her knuckles with your thumb.

"We’re almost done, Mira," you whisper, "You've done good."

Then, your eyes connect with Silco's and it's like a match to gasoline.

He knows why you're here.

Of course he does. And he knows, too, why your look burns so hot he nearly flinches. Suddenly, his tenseness thaws. You’re disarming — as always — but tonight you look every bit as powerful as freshly sharpened dagger. You look as if you want to hold it to his throat.

Perhaps he deserves that.

You watch the way he leans back a bit father and crosses his long legs. Gilded toe tips flash in the light. He is dripping in enough power to make most salivate. One eye as hot as ember and the other as cool as a placid lake. They both flick to man beside him.

His brows raise, and he gestures minutely with his cigar.

He's offering him up a platter.

Go on.

As if you needed his permission.

Sevika decides then to step aside. A perfectly timed shift in the guard, allowing you the room to press on and move forward,

The silence creates a divide. The entire balcony seems to suddenly be aware of what is playing out. They’re hanging on the tension, afraid the snap will ripple through the whole of the bar.

You step up.

Your heart is vibrating. Ready.

Mira had said the man’s name was something just as twitchy as him. Zam. It fit him nicely, actually. You wonder if that’s really his name, or if maybe something like Harold or Roger was unbecoming of someone in Silco’s ranks. Too plain, too normal, too easy. No, Zam was just right.

Zam moves to stand at your sudden appearance — too stimmed to really grasp what's going on. He looks like he’s ready to square up. You can see it in the hued ring around his irises. It's Sevika that urges him back down with a single rough push.

"Hey—" Zam cuts out, eyes bouncing between Silco and Sevika in protest.

"Sit down," you roll your words off your tongue slowly as you peel your jacket off and unceremoniously toss it on the table; it comes out steadier than you thought it would. Over your shoulder, Babette sticks close to Mira.

You offer Zam a level look; beneath it is white-hot rage. Your tone is hemlock-licked and enough to kill, "I believe we have business to settle, don't we, Zam?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, lady—" and another attempt to stand up, to weasel away.

Your hand roots itself with the spot where his collar meets. The grasp is sharp and fast, and you slam him back against the booth hard enough to startle him into really paying attention to you.

Zam stills.

You’re leaned in close. You snarl. “I said sit down.”

Silco is watching. There’s a stab of discomfort under his skin. He knows this isn’t in your nature but he also knows better than to assume you aren’t capable. There is a reason Yeleni left The Lilac Lounge to you. You’re doing fine. Making a point. Helping establish control for Babette who has long since relied on Yeleni for things of this sort.

Establishing who you really are.

A week’s worth of longing rushes up to meet him. You're a beautiful thing, and he can see the burn of Zaun in your eyes. It's the pride, the anger, the well-kept facade of luxury.

Your eyes connect with the Kingpin's once more as you speak.

"Mira?" you call, as your eyes bore into Silco's, "How many times did he hit you?"

Mira's voice is as hot as smelted iron. "Twice."

"Twice," you reiterate, "Right."

"Hey, listen lady, I dunno what sort of bullshit she’s been spinnin’—”

Then, with viper-like precision, a hairpin is pulled from your wound-up style and is plunged straight through Zam's hand into the table. The scream that cuts through the mezzanine is silenced when you dislodge the long hairpin with a scowl and, with the metal pin wrapped in your fist, strike him across the face.

As Zam teeters backward in the booth, gripping his mouth, and muttering a half-aware curse, you catch him by the hair. With one swift motion, you bring his face down against the table. The crunch is violent and wet.

Two hits. One more for good measure.

Faces flinch across the sea of onlookers.

Silco's breath is caught in his throat. He holds it there. Then, he lets it loose. Long and slow. Smoke curls from his nose.

Right.

You straighten yourself up and exhale.

Zam has crumpled in the booth, groaning and bleeding, and you mind only the pin in your hands when he falls to the ground. The bar's floor rises up to greet him, whiskey and grime clinging to him desperately as blood from his broken nose begin to run underfoot.

You begin the meticulous task of cleaning the pin on your sleeve.

Your voice is icy.

“I think we’re done here.”

You are. If the point hasn’t been made, then you’re not sure this job is for you. With any luck, this will be the most you’ll have to display for the next coming months. This sort of violence doesn’t suit you. Silco is right about that much.

"A word, madam,” comes Silco’s slow drawl.

Your look is stern as you pause. Silco leans to sip his whiskey.

For a moment, bodyguards led by Sevika pass through the bitter stare you land on him. They’re quick, hauling away the crying mess that’s become of Zam on the bar floor. No doubt he’ll be tossed to the back alley. Left to figure out how to fix his fuck-up on his own.

“I thank you for your time, Silco,” calls Babette, “And you Madam, for helping sort this out.”

She casts you a slow look. Mira frowns. Her voice is soft. “Thank you, madam.”

Mira's thanks are uttered into a kiss of your cheek — her fingers wind around your neck as she cradles you close. The warmth is genuine. Kind. She looks a little less afraid now.

"Go on," you bite, "I’m sure Silco won't keep me long."

He rolls his jaw. His reply is stoic. "Only as long as you'll let me."

There's something awfully romantic about that, isn't there?

...Fuck him.

Silco snuffs his cigar in the intricate, little ashtray on the table.

When he stands, you're reminded of just how tall is he. Waif-like and sharp — he smooths down the front of his vest with long fingers and clears his throat. He smells like smoke and velvet and something cuttingly masculine. Perhaps it's his aftershave or the salve he uses to keep his hair meticulously in place. You're not sure, but you do know that you like it.

You really do.

His hand falls along your lower back as you place your pin back in place. It feels mean now — to cast you aside for so long after a promise of endearments. And now, here he is. Touching you.

Silco gathers your coat from the table.

To others, it must look as though you’re both slipping away to discuss business, to rehash agreements over examples such as this.

The others in The Last Drop don’t hear Silco’s low, careful question posed to you as he leads you to his office.

"I take it you're angry with me, then?"

You dislike that he’s able to read you so well.

He leads you along, towards a back hall. It’s darker here, and you feel his hand flatten entirely against your spine, as if to hold you. You know why that sets you off, but you’re not entirely ready to admit it. The good news is that you’re far enough from prying eyes — you turn sharply and catch him mid-step, sending him backwards against the narrow hall wall. He backs up against it with an oof.

There’s a moment’s pause between you. Silco looks surprised. The music is far away now, crescendoing somewhere to sex and sweat and shimmer.

You find suddenly that... well, the hundred things you’d been rehearsing to let loose on the Kingpin suddenly won’t come out. The adrenaline rush of confrontation has sent your fingers into a wobble — and you try your best not to look as if you’re pouting.

“Yes,” is all you manage as you tilt your head to the side and inhale sharply, “Yes, I’m angry with you.”

The darkness of the hall is a bit suffocating – not that Silco minds.

He’s missed you.

He’s spent the last week wishing the Chem Barons would take their fucking leave from his Lanes so he could spare a moment away — he hardly even had enough time to spend with Jinx.

His good eyes relaxes. His expression morphs into something like acceptance.

Yes. He knew it. If given the reverse, he would be just as bitter. A canceled dinner? And then not a single call nor visit nor word since?

You try to hold his gaze. You do.

"You have every right to be.”

The honest admission has you blinking at the floor.

You turn your head sharply back down the hall and consider walking out then and there. After all, you’re not keen on letting Silco see just how upset you are. It makes you feel childish. Like a lovesick teen.

“Could we...” a slow question, punctuated by a lean into your field over vision, “Discuss the matter? Over sherry, maybe?”

“What is there to even discuss—?”

“Endearments, my lovely,” he breathes, “I assure you mine have not wavered, despite... how busy I’ve been. I owe you an apology.”

It’s low. Soft. Coaxing.

He can see you wavering — and for a moment, Silco’s heartstrings wind themselves so tight he’s sure he will be drowning his thoughts alone tonight. Just him and that expensive bottle of Sherry he bought just for his discussion.

“...Do you mean that?”

“Every word.”

You...—well, you hadn’t anticipated this.

No, no, no, not the relief? The promise of an apology? The softening of his smile in the dim light of the hallway? No, no — you were mentally prepared to skewer him on a hairpin. Just a minute ago the thought had crossed your mind. You could have, probably. Who would have stopped you?

Not Sevika, that much is sure.

Silco would welcome it.

You’re pouting. Truly, genuinely, pouting when you gesture finally to his office door and step back from him.

Silco blinks. Then, curtly, he steps across the gap in the hall with long legs and opens his office door.

You slink in behind him, arms crossed and eyes pulled narrow.

Silco’s office is in a more desperate state of disarray than you’ve ever seen it — not that you frequent it much. But still you remember, the first time you’d come here, how meticulous everything had been. Now, papers are strewn about. You catch a glimpse of the title of one. A territory agreement.

...Now you feel bad.

You’d been so angry and — ugh. Here he’s been, clearly trying to manage the unplanned upending of his usual business by the moguls and sharks that were praying for a single slip.

"You handled that well.”

His voice is warm — it floats into your hearing from the corner of the room. Back by the little cart with all his various spirits and whiskies. It’s looking sparse. You cast a long look at him over your shoulder and note that he’d taken your jacket and settled it over the shoulders of his desk chair. Lovingly, almost.

“I know it wasn’t easy.”

No. It wasn’t. But, the shake in your hands has all but subsided. The center of focus for your anxiety to feast upon is now Silco. Wholely him.

You are suddenly struck with how different this moment in his office is from the first.

You fiddle with your blouse’s sleeves. “It had to be done.”

“That much we agree on,” he rasps out; he turns and has procured to decently poured glasses of sherry in each hand, “Though I’m sorry it ever even had to come to that.”

“Should serve as a reminder,” you mumble, “I remember working after things like that. Was always a bit safer the months following a Madam making an example of someone. It sets a standard. Necessary violence. A means to an end. Whatever it takes to protect my workers.”

“Put quite eloquently for a woman who just skewered a grown man’s hand. Either way, he’ll no longer have a place in my rank and file. That shimmer habit was becoming a spot of bother anyways,” the Kingpin explains as he slowly crosses the dim office; the warm light from the lamp on the corner makes the sharp contours of his face look softer than usual, “You have my honest apologies, madame.”

He hands you the sherry.

Your mouth quirks. You’re quiet long enough to pass the glass between fingers and hesitate to sip. Before you so, you speak coyly.

“Is that really what you’re sorry for?” you tilt your head and then, sip the sherry, “Now that we’re in private, you can speak your piece... you know, about endearments.”

Silco clears his throat. He hesitates to sip his own drink. He finds himself looking you over, critically paying attention to the curve on your lips. You’re playing with him. Toying the apology out of the big bad Kingpin.

The rings along his fingers glint in the warm light. His posture against the desk is relaxed. One hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other raising the glass to his lips for another drink.

You watch, and you catch the smirk there.

“I need not be in private to speak about my endearments for you,” Silco leads with as he straightens up and stalks closer, “You should know as much.”

“Should I?” you ask honestly; for a moment, a clear indication of just how hurt you’d been slips out. You lift your face and flick your eyes across his face, and Silco sees the quiet wound in the light of his office, “I don’t enjoy playing games like this.”

His words dry up.

No, no, he doesn’t either. He sees that — the look of hurt. For a moment there’s a shred of panic that bubbles in his throat at the knowledge that feelings are a fickle thing. If this is to be the future between you, Silco will have to understand that seeing this hurt will not be the last. That’s the thing about love. It’s not always calm. Sometimes, it stings like the water in the harbors of Zaun.

“I should have come to you—”

You shut it down quickly. “Silco.”

He takes another step forward, and his brows are pulled tightly together. “I hurt your feelings, my lovely. It wasn’t my intention. With the Chem Barons in town—”

“—You were busy.”

Yes. Yes, he was.

More than you know — more than you need to know. Betrayal and recruitment and territory disputes and in the midst of it, sweet little Jinx had come down with a head cold that sent him into a spiral of worry deep enough not even Sevika could drag him out of it.

The aforementioned blue-haired terror is one floor up, fast asleep. Feeling better, too. Thank the lights alive.

Silco swallows.

“...I haven’t been completely transparent with you.”

You recoil slightly.

You blink.

“...You’re not married, are you?” you prod lowly, with a comedic hint of concern.

Silco’s worry splits for a moment, long enough for him to roll his eyes. “No—”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Try a father,” he says curtly, bracing for the inevitable reaction.

All he gets is a quirk of your brow.

In truth, you’re pleasantly surprised at this little confession. This wasn’t exactly common knowledge — and it’s clear that Silco has gone out of his way to keep the aforementioned child out of the Zaun spotlight. Probably for the best. Zaun will burn you up quickly if you aren’t careful.

“Stop looking like I’m about to run,” you say with a slow smirk; you sip your sherry and move to lean back against his desk, “Really, that’s... charming.”

“Charming?” he says with a sudden escalation of amusement; you catch him scoffing, “Yes, the constant turmoil of a fifteen-year-old girl in the height of puberty is very charming—”

You laugh.

Fifteen. You remember that age. All fun and games and anger and frustration and loneliness and excitement. All of it, all at once. A whirlwind of everything, all of the time. Suddenly, you find your heart clenching at the thought of Silco trying his hardest to parent through this seemingly alone.

He absently toes your boot with the gilded tip of his shoe.

“...Were you really that worried about how I’d react?” you ask softly.

Silco swallows. “I wasn’t sure. Still, I... she’s not my blood but she’s every bit my daughter. I try to... keep her out of business.”

Business.

You tilt your head.

Your voice is as soft as velvet; Silco is drawn in by it.

“Am I business?”

He lifts his eyes. Standing before you, he looms. He can see the pass of vulnerability in your gaze when the question leaves your lips. Silco leans. As he speaks, a cool hand passes along your cheek. His thumb traces the round curve of your cheekbone. Your bottom lashes kiss the pad of his finger as he marvels in the warmth of your skin, the beauty of it.

“No,” he asserts warmly, “Far from it.”

Oh.

He drops the glass of sherry to the other side of your hip. He leans, bending to brace a hand on the desk and effectively trap you against the desk. The action itself is enough to suddenly stoke something horribly hot and hungry in your gut. You inhale, lip parted, and take the moment to admire him closely. It’s the expression laced in his good eye that leaves you to melt into the affectionate touch of his hand on your cheek.

“I care about you,” he speaks plainly in a whisper, “Very much.”

“Enough to kiss me?”

Silco’s smile is slow.

He — well, he’s thought about this moment for a long time now. In truth, it’s gotten him through the better half of this month, let alone the length of time he’s known you. If he’s being completely honest, he never imagined it would be here in his office, with his other hand landing along the curve of your thigh beneath your skirt’s cool fabric. He follows the plush, giving curve of your thigh, hand landing just above your hip.

“Plenty.”

His nose brushes yours as he speaks, and you’re left to stare at the way his mouth quirks. Charismatic. Charming. Like the man Babette had chortled about in his younger years. A smooth-talking man with a taste for good whiskey and cigars. Could talk a damned, starved dog off a meat wagon.

He puts his mouth to good use.

The kiss is slow — chaste, almost — to start.

Well earned. Tender. Deliberate and welcome.

Embarrassingly enough, it has you reaching to lace your fingers in his vest’s lapel and tug the Kingpin a bit closer. You hike yourself up, propped up on the desk, and happily sigh into the kiss when he steps between your legs and looms closer.

That little dance is enough to give him the permission to deepen the kiss.

It’s hardly his waltz to lead.

You nip eagerly at his bottom lip as you become half-pliant in his hands. One hand cradles the back of your neck while the other firmly plants itself to the curve of your hip. You lean backwards, just enough to have him leaning to chase you, and let him drag you back upwards toward him.

You taste like sherry and sugar. Silco’s lips are smeared red when he pulls away long enough to catch his breath. The disregard for the painted rouge on your lips is alarmingly attractive; it steals your breath right out from your lungs at the sight of it.

He catches you looking and reaches to swipe his thumb lazily across his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded.

“Oops.”

You’re smirking when he crashes down for another kiss, this time holding your jaw in his hand as he does. That other hand has moves to pull your hips closer to his own. He pull rips a small hum from your throat — enough of a pretty sound to have Silco huffing as he breaks to kiss a line across your jaw.

He mutters against your skin, though he isn’t even believing a single word he’s saying, “This is hardly the place for this—”

“I believe I’m owed my apology, at the very least,” you manage to sigh out as your head drops back and Silco nips a lovely little bite into the column of your throat. His hand is settled against your ribs now, effectively holding you still enough that he can dare nose farther down to your décolletage.

Oh.

Silco’s laugh is quiet. Knowing.

“An endearment and an apology,” he says as his hand ventures a bit higher, to ghost the swell of your breast, “If we’re keeping tally.”

“Right,” you mutter highly as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth; his hair is a mess, settling to hang in his eyes as he lifts his gaze. He’s amused. Smirking, “I mean after ignoring me for an entire week—”

He laughs. It’s rough. Low. Lovely.

“Let me make it up to you.”

So, that’s how you find yourself here, now — with one leg crooked and up on his desk, black chiffon skirt hiked up your waist and blouse torn open. Silco’s weight is pressed to your back, a calloused palm passing over your breast and the other hand gripping your hip tight enough you’re sure you’ll bruise. You brace yourself up on your hands, back arching just enough that you’re gasping the second Silco’s cock settles into you.

“Sh—shit.”

You can’t remember the last time you had sex like this – good sex. Sex where a man spends time learning how to touch you, and how to speak to you, and how to work you up and open. No, it must have been years now.

Silco had certainly done just that. With teeth and tongue and hand. You’re littered with little bruises, delicious little reminders of the way you’d arched off his desk with he’d loops your legs around his shoulders and purred into your soaked core.

All for him.

The cool metal of his belt brushes the curve of your ass as you whimper; Silco’s pace is slow, and steady, and he’s truly trying his hardest to keep himself calm enough to remember how to breathe. You’re tight. Warm. Perfect in every way. The most beautiful Madam in all of Zaun, here. His.

He’s sure that invoking his endearments was just as good as signing his death certificate when you lean back and grab his tie; the action brings him over you, spurs him forward. And when you crane your neck to kiss him feverishly with lipstick smeared across your face, Silco swears this is heaven.

He curses quietly, lips parted. You mimic his expression.

Fucking hell, you can’t believe you ever mad with him.

You wrap the tie around your fist a bit tighter, yanking him down for another kiss.

“Go on, then, Silco.”

...This is dangerous. Dangerous and lovely and he’s glad he locked the office door so he can take his time bowing to your wishes — so he can hear your gasp out his name a hundred more times like you just did when he rolled his hips up into yours.

You’re happy for the tie — because when the slow and steady bace yields to a more rough, steady, frenzied one it’s really your only grip on Silco himself. His hold has wound itself around your hips to maintain the very angle that’s making your toes curl, and to occasionally spread your leg a bit wider so that he can see the pretty sight of you bent over his desk.

His mouth slips to your neck and he almost shudders when you angle your hips back just enough to hit the spot that makes you tighten wonderfully around him. You immediately gasp, and Silco takes it as a cue to not slow down, to keep this sustained pace up — and he’s rewarded for it in a desperate kiss as you crane to smother a series of embarrassing sounds as your chest bounces.

Really, this might arguably be the best sex you’ve ever had.

Maybe it’s the setting, but you settle quickly that it’s mostly the man. Powerful and intimidating and Silco — cigar smoke and gilded edges and a glass of sherry knocked to the floor in the fray. Either way, you’re positive that you’re not angry with him anymore. How could you be? You’re going to be sore for days. You know that much.

The best kind of sore.

He says your name so desperately you’re rushing to fix your grip on the desk. He breaths hotly into your neck when you manage a prideful laugh — it’s enough to have him tighten both hands on your hips and press onwards with a touch more fervor.

It’s just enough to send you right over the edge.

It takes you by surprise.

The edge of your pleasure rushes up to greet you so fast you aren’t even sure what’s up or down — all you know is that you’re slapping a hand down to catch yourself on the desk as your thighs quake and your knee nearly gives out. All you can do and writhe and gasp and screw your eyes tight shut as Silco promises the orgasm with a continued pace.

It’s when you say his name, sweet and pleading, that he follows you down the cliff-side in a less-than-graceful tumble of hand and mouth. All gasps and messy, sloppy stutters and forehead-pressed-to-shoulder. Warm. Sticky. A right mess.

You can’t say you mind it.

Son of a bitch.

Silco has to take a second — just enough to blink himself back to Zaun and try to remember the sight. He exhales tightly as he pushes off from you, tucking himself away and buttoning his belt sluggishly; the entire time, he’s watching you with a sex-buzzed smirk.

You’re indisposed at the moment. Looking rather beautiful the entire time as a bit of him runs down the inside of your thigh.

Silco, in all his years, never considered how attractive the sight could be. And now, here he is, trying to ignore the pull to have a go at it all again.

When you finally do lift your head, you blink tiredly at the painting staring directly at you from across the office.

With a smirk, you toss a look over your shoulder as you stand up and straighten your skirt.

“Have I ever told you how much I like that painting?”

He laughs out loud.

When you turn, Silco is kissing you, hands working to easily dress your blouse to its correct state before he laughs. Your legs wobble a bit as you lean from boot to boot. Lazily you tilt your head.

“You can have it,” he mutters into your cheek, “After dinner, we’ll hang it in your office.”

“Dinner?” you ask, perking slightly.

Silco hums. He moves to snatch up your coat.

“I’ve worked up quite an appetite, it seems,” he smirks, “Care to join me?”

“How could I ever say no?”

So, perhaps coming into ownership of The Lilac Lounge was hardly as horrible as it seems. That’s all you can really consider as Silco helps you slip on your coat. A family, a business, a few Friedlingmer’s... Silco and his endearments.

Yes, this was quite alright.

Yeleni would be proud.

[coyotesamachado]

For better days

Javy Coyote Machado x gn!reader

It had been the phone call you had been dreading. Sure, it was just training, it was just a bird strike, it was a bumpy ejection but Javy was still in the medical wing. The only thing you were truly grateful for, was the fact you were only an hour and change away from North Island. That this didn’t happen while he was on a mission, out at sea, somewhere you couldn’t get close to him and see for yourself that he was fine. 

This came about all thanks to @hell0darliing. We had a bit of a chat about how Jake felt when Javy went into G Loc, and what happened afterward. After a brief google, I saw he would have been fine, but I still had the feels so this happened. I'm sorry Phoenix wasn't in this like we discussed.

WC: 760

Warnings: Javy birdstrike. Hospitals. A comforting Jake. Not edited, any and all mistakes are my own. Reader is a bit of a crier. Oh, italics.

The tears on your cheeks have dried by the time you arrive at the Naval Base. You’re thankful that Jake called ahead to security, getting you clearance to go straight through. They direct you to medical and where to park, and you nod, unsure that the tears won’t start again the minute you open your mouth to speak.  

It had been the phone call you had been dreading. Sure, it was just training, it was just a bird strike, it was a bumpy ejection but Javy was still in the medical wing. The only thing you were truly grateful for, was the fact you were only an hour and change away from North Island. That this didn’t happen while he was on a mission, out at sea, somewhere you couldn’t get close to him and see for yourself that he was fine. 

You’d left work the minute you had hung up the phone with Jake, the other man’s voice near breaking you in two. 

“There’s been an accident, he had to eject.” 

“Is he okay?” 

“Yes and no, he’s alive, but he’s not awake yet.” 

You let out a choked off sob at the words he’s alive. It’s bad enough that Jake has to call you, even worse that it warrants telling you that he’s alive. 

“I’m coming down.” 

“Should you be driving right now?” 

“I don’t give a shit about that, Jake, I’m leaving now.” 

“Okay, I'll get it squared away.” 

You could tell he wasn’t impressed with you driving down right now, but you were past the point of caring. You told your boss that there had been an incident and you needed to leave. They didn’t question your tear-stained face, and let you leave early. 

You walk into the building that security explained to you and straight up to the nurse's station. After explaining who you were and why you were there, you follow their directions down the hall. Your eyes search frantically for the familiar blonde head of Jake, trying to find the one person you know in this maze of hallways. You feel the tears well again, this time in frustration that you can’t find him. You walk past a hallway, glancing down for a moment, before moving on. But the name Hangman reaches your ears and you turn back around.  

“Jake?” you call out, the tears in the corner of your eyes blurring your vision. The pilots around him part and he comes into view. You take a few short steps towards him, but he’s the one who take the long strides to catch you as you fall into him. 

You feel the eyes of the other pilots on the two of you, but you really don’t care. 

“He’s okay, he’s awake. I’ve already chewed him out for making me make that phone call. He scared me too.” 

And in your haste to get here, desire to ensure he was healthy and fine, you’d forgotten that Jake was his best friend, had known him longer than you had. They were basically brothers in everything but blood, and you couldn’t begin to imagine what had been going through his brain in the last few hours. 

“I’m sorry Jake, I’ve made this about me. How are you?” 

“I’m better now that he’s awake...” 

“He’s awake? Why didn’t you...” 

“I just said that, do you not listen?” 

You apologise, a sheepish laugh springing from your lips. 

“Can I see him?” 

“Uh, Mav’s in there with him now, but sure.” 

You nod, and allow Jake to lead you back towards the group hanging out in the hall. He introduces you quickly to everyone, an expression of understanding seems to fall across all of their faces, and if you weren’t so worried, you’d find it amusing. 

He keeps his arm around you to hold you steady as he knock gently on the door and walks you in. 

“Mav, can this wait?” he asks the older man standing by Javy’s bed, but it barely registers with you as you pull yourself from him and walk directly to Javy. You take a hand and press a kiss to his forehead, a watery smile on your face. You don’t even notice that Jake and Mav have left as you sit down next to the bed. 

“What’re you doin’ here baby?” he asks, confused by your presence, “you’re supposed to be at work.” 

“You nearly died Javy, Jake thought it might be important to call me.” 

“But I didn’t die.” 

“No, you didn’t, and you’re not allowed to either.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” 

[raynnawrites]

Soul’s Choice °4

Chapters: °1 | °2 | °3

Synopsis: What if your soulmate, the love of your life, and with whom you’re meant to be and live by, happens to be your best friend’s wife?

Warnings: +21

Over the few months that had passed, Erik and Layana fell perfectly into each other. After countless secret dates and time to truly appreciate each other, they could finally say “I love you.”

The soulmate’s bond had been strengthened and properly nurtured. Their little secret had also been hidden well, with no one suspecting a thing. At times, it proved tricky to hide properly or come up with the perfect excuse, but it all worked out in their favor. Even with risky office “meetings”.

“Layana!” T’Challa called for the fourth time, seeing as his wife had been aimlessly staring at their bedroom window. Layana blinked and cleared her throat, embarrassed.

She gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I got distracted. What were you saying?”

T’Challa only stopped and placed his hands on his hips, brow raised.

“You have been awfully distracted lately, entle.” T’Challa spoke as he walked to his wife’s side and sat down, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“I’m sorry. Stress… these elders are impossible to please. Erik’s been needing help from me too. The Outreach Center even got piled up once.” Layana replied as she sighed and rubbed her face. T’Challa chuckled.

“I know the feeling all too well. But when that happens, call me! I am still your husband, I will always help you no matter what.” He replied with a sweet smile. Usually, Layana would feel guilty due to her affair with Erik. But now, she only felt a dull sensation. It didn’t scare her.

“I know… but I should be able to work through the stress too. I am the Queen. I just need to relax for a sec, and I’m gonna be good to go.”

T’Challa chuckled and kissed his wife’s temple. “I know… but now, I have to get going, there is a meeting with the captains again. If you like, start later… take a nap, those help.” He offered as she laughed.

“I just might.”

T’Challa stood and gave a final kiss to Layana. He walked to the door and gave a sad smile, “I love you, my darling.”

“Love you too.”

With T’Challa in his meeting, Layana decided to pay Erik a visit. The Prince was in his office already, finishing his work as he softly rapped along to the lyrics of the playlist he had in the background.

Layana knocked on the door and waited for Erik to reply.

Watching as the door's camera activated, the Queen stood still as it scanned her. The door soon opened. She entered with a smile and made sure to close and lock the door.

Layana was greeted by Erik sitting with his glasses on. His locs were styled to the side and had his favorite denim jacket on.

“Wassup babygirl? What can I do for ya’?” Erik asked, walking over to his soulmate and wrapping his arms around her. She smirked and kissed him. “I was hopin’ we could kinda catch up. Work’s been fucking ridiculous and I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby. Shit’s been busy. I even had to call T’Challa to help me once.” Erik replied, kissing her forehead and walking over to the desk. Sitting on the table, they began to chat and catch up as much as they could.

Between the conversations, Erik would also enjoy the Queen’s presence and asked for her help on certain paperwork.

Later on, when Erik finished and saved his files, he stood and stretched.

“I’m gonna miss you…” she teased as Erik smirked, “no need. You could come down while I train. Make up some dumbass excuse. They’ll buy it.”

Now standing, Layana only smiled as Erik suddenly pressed their lips together. Wrapping his arms around her, he deepened the kiss, content. His kiss traveled to her neck and pulse, holding her close to him, going back up to her full lips and smirking.

“I love you, babygirl” Erik whispered. Layana parted the kiss and looked into his eyes.

“I-”

“You what, my love?”

Jumping out of each other’s arms, they turned to see T’Challa standing in front of the door. His eyes were burning holes into Erik’s head. Erik however, remained calm and kept Layana behind him.

She could’ve sworn she locked the door.

A mix of anger and sadness was evident in the King’s face.

“You what, Layana..? Hmm?” He asked again, taking a step closer. Erik took a step back. Layana began to silently cry as her fear, shame and sadness overwhelmed her. Her nightmare, her fear, came true. The soulmates were somewhat prepared in case they got caught, but they could prepare for any type of punishment the King could possibly have.

Erik had even gone the extra mile and create a new bank account, storing most of his money, should T’Challa banish them from the kingdom.

“T, let me explain.” Erik began as his arm still held Layana behind him. T’Challa scoffed.

“There is no need to shield my own wife from me. Get your hands off of her, N’Jadaka.”

Erik stayed still. He suddenly felt Layana’s cold hand against his arm. Both men became worried looking at the Queen’s fearful, crying face.

“Give me a second, Erik…” Layana begged as she softly cried.

“He can wait.”

“Watch your mouth, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa snarled, trying his best to control his anger.

“Layana, let’s talk about this elsewhere… N’Jadaka should know you can trust your husband.” T’Challa spoke once more, offering his hand.

“Just like she knows to trust her soulmate, T’Challa. Give her a second, you freakin’ her out.”

T’Challa felt his chest sting.

“T’Challa, I can explain…” Layana began, drying her eyes and taking deep breaths. She had taken T’Challa’s hand, which gently closed and pulled her close.

“Let’s go over to my office. I wish to discuss this in a more… controlled environment” T’Challa offered, having Layana closer to him. His office contained a direct signal to the guards and Dora, in case anything happened. Erik only nodded, wanting to avoid a possible, physical, fight with T’Challa.

Now in T’Challa’s office, Layana sat on the couch his office had, terrified of any possible reaction. She had managed to stop crying and tried her best to think of any possible way of easing the situation. Erik was standing in the corner, alert, a slight spark of fear in his chest..

“Layana,” T’Challa called, standing next to his wife.

He looked at her with glassy eyes, still holding some hope and grabbed both her hands.

“Tell me… when did this start? When did you start seeing Erik?” He asked, softly and gently. Closing her eyes, Layana took a deep breath.

“7 months ago… the day Erik came, but we didn’t have anything going on then. We became official a few days, maybe a week, later.”

“I knew your patch had brightened up, but I never thought it was a soulmark.” T’Challa spoke, sadly smiling at his wife.

Silence overtook the room as T’Challa stood, still holding Layana’s hand.

“In her defense…” Erik began, taking slow steps forward.

“I started it. She didn’t want anything to do with me. She rejected me more than once. But I kept insisting… T’Challa, you know how this soulmate shit works. Layana’s my soulmate. She’s supposed to be with me.”

T’Challa scoffed, letting Layana’a hand go, gently.

“Says the man who found soulmates disgusting, the man who even contemplated getting his soulmark removed! Tell me… do you truly love Layana, or is this some cruel plan to get revenge on me? For everything that happened when we were children? Which, might I remind you, I had no control over!” T’Challa snarled, standing at his full height.

“I know. But I don’t hate it now. I love Layana. This ain’t some revenge plan either, it’s the truth. And you know that we would eventually finna end up together.” Erik replied, uncrossing his arms. Standing straighter.

“I wonder if you filled her head up with the same bullshit too. Just like you have always tended to do, promising her a steady life and a good relationship, only to leave once you get tired. I wonder if it is not just makeup to fool her!” T’Challa laughed, looking at Layana’s chest.

“No… T’Challa, it’s not fake… it’s real.” Layana spoke as she stood.

“My love, there is no shame in admitting he used you! I know how cruel he can be with women.” T’Challa told his beloved. His eyes held hope and a heartbreaking sadness.

“He didn’t use me, T’Challa. This is all real… I’m so sorry but I-”

“No… don’t apologize, this is his own fault. It might even be mine. I should have never trusted him with you.” T’Challa replied.

“Only a big enough fool would’ve trusted a womanizer with his wife. If there is anyone to blame here, it is me. For trusting you. For even thinking that you had changed!” The King continued, his voice becoming thick and loud with anger.

“Think what you want, T’Challa. But guess what? She’s happy with me. These past months she’s been happy and eased up. I got her relaxed and away from the bullshit you claim I got. She loves me T’Challa, just like I love her. If it weren’t for you I’d already be married to her!” Erik barked, getting in between them.

He had softly pulled her away from T’Challa, leaving her in between them both. Layana felt her heart break for T’Challa, a man who had given her the world. But her heart and love belonged to Erik, and the soulmarks only proved that Erik was in fact her real love.

T’Challa only shed a single sad tear.

“Layana…” he began, “my love…” he whispered, his eyes silently begging. Begging for her to stay with him.

“I will always love and respect you, no matter what. But tell me the truth… Do you love Erik? Is he truly your soulmate? If you choose him, I will do nothing to you both, but I need to know…” He asked, hoping she would return to him.

Layana looked at Erik, who’s expression had changed into a more worried look.

“I’mma love and respect you too, babygirl. Now you have a choice… come with me, or stay with T’Challa. If you choose T’Challa, I promise won’t ever bother you again.”

Layana’s heart was torn in two.

“Erik…”

“I’m being serious, Layana. If you stay with T’Challa, I won’t ever try nothin’ again. I’mma still be here for you tho, no matter what.” Erik spoke softly.

“If you choose Erik, I won’t do anything… I will still be here for you as well, my love.” T’Challa spoke, his eyes watering again.

Layana’s eyes watered as well, scared of any possible consequences.

“Who’s it gon’ be, babygirl?”

“T’Challa…”

Taglist:

@chaneajoyyy

@amorestevens

@cecereads209

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[calciumcryptid]

BNHA OC | Ojiro Nuru

Ojiro Nuru is the cousin of hero student Ojiro Mashirao. She works as a psychologist, and as a certified therapist. After the overhaul of UA, she is hired to be the second guidance counselor at Ultra Academy.

APPEARANCE

Nuru is a young woman of a lithe and sturdy build, and has long black sister locs with steaks of blonde running through. She has thin pitch black eyes with amber irises and no lower eyelashes. Her legs are built like a big cats and her hands and feet are padded with claws. She has patches of fur around her lower legs, her ears, her elbows, and on her chest and back.

Due to her quirk, she has a long tail that is slimmer than Mashirao's but is just as beefy.

She is of Swahili, Chinese, and Japanese origin.

CHARACTER FASHION

PERSONALITY

Nuru has a very calm disposition, and she is very dedicated and hard worker graduating earlier then expected. She is very sheepish and bashful upon receiving compliments, and tends to stay away from the spotlight preferring to work behind the scenes.

Nuru is naturally very humble due to her strong sense of dignity, similar to that of her cousin Mashirao. The two share many similar moral principals, and both wag their tails when excited.

CHARACTER SYNOPSIS

Upon attending university, Ojiro Nuru moved in with her aunt and uncle to save money on student housing. During her studies, she became quite close to her younger cousin Ojiro Mashirao affectionately calling him 'little cub' and helping him with his studies.

One day, Mashirao invaded Nuru's room in order to interview her for a school project. Nuru recognized the fact that his teacher was probably looking for them to find an interview of a real pro hero, but Mashirao insisted saying that she was a hero. Nuru warned him that he wouldn't get a good grade, but Mashirao persisted.

After getting the assignment back, Mashirao went back home with his head hung only to see Nuru waiting for him on the steps to their house. Nuru took him out for ice cream, where they discussed how no one wanted hear about the mental health side of heroics. Ojiro insisted that he wanted to become a hero so that Nuru would get the recognition she deserved.

After Nuru graduated, she moved away but financed Ojiro's training at a local dojo and anything he needed for his hero training. She was the first one to know about his acceptance to UA, and helped him design his hero uniform.

The two have monthy video calls where Nuru will try to give him advice for dealing with his classmates, and later on was the first one he turned to for help after being diagnosed with depression.

QUIRK

Lion is Nuru's primary quirk having all the abilities of a lion, such as enhanced abilities and an earth shaking roar.

Animal Pattern is Nuru's secondary quirk which allows her to control the texture and pattern of her fur. She mainly uses this so kids she is seeing have an easier time adjusting to counseling.

Carnivore is Nuru's tertiary quirk, confining her to a carnivorus diet.

TRIVIA

Ojiro Nia's family name means Tail (O) White (Jiro) or White Tail, and her personal name means Blessing (Nia).

There is a Pre-UA Ojiro draft that details Ojiro's time before UA, and showcases Nuru's involvement as previous described. The same draft also contains the Ojiro and Hagakure first meeting and resulting friendship, and Ojiro's experience at the dojo.

TAGLIST

@insomniac-jay @pizzolisnacks @floof-ghostie

[pinkja]

Sports, Crushes, College and All Other Things Stressful (Nora x Black Female Reader)

AU where Nora is a stressed out college student and you are a simple black girl who has no time management.

Nora felt like she was a simple person.

She grew up in a small town near Salt Lake City, made it through the akward teenage phase, and graduated high school with honors.

Does it matter that she was always so close to pulling her own hair out in frustration? She doesn’t think so.

She liked to think that her high school years went swell.

She was captain of the swim team, played in both tennis, chess, soccer, and volleyball. She was also co captain of the debate team, won the Reading Bowl in TOME for three years in a row (she didn’t join freshman year) and did a bunch of community service at the homeless shelter every other Saturday from 9am to 3pm.

Yeah, Nora was a simple person, she thinks.

Does it matter that she barely had time to sleep? She doesn’t think so.

She got into college with a full ride scholarship (which her family celebrated for two days straight. It practically turned into a block party.) She was on the Pre-Med track, wanting to become a pediatrician like her grandmother had been, and like her mother had been, and like her older sister had been as well.

Wait…who exactly was she doing this fo–

Doesn’t matter!

She got to get an apartment on the campus housing first year with her best friend, Abby, who’s a biology major of all things, when Nora was pretty sure she was gonna be an English major. Her room was pretty average, but Abby often made comments about how it really needed some personality.

“You don’t even have a poster!” Abby remarked one day while she was laying on Nora’s bed. She had an old copy of Lord of the Flies in her hands, read and re-read about eight times.

“Not everyone needs a poster, Abby.”

“Yeah, they do. Especially when you don’t have a book or a video game, or even something to play music on-”

“Isn’t it enough that I have a phone?” Nora placed her head on Abby’s lap. Abby rolled her eyes and sat up on the bed so Nora would be more comfortable.

“And you had to beg your mother for it. Now hush and let me finish this chapter.” She leaned against the headboard and made a comment about how she was going to buy her a poster for Dirty Dancing or something.

Now that freshman year was almost over, and tennis season for the school had started up again a month prior, Nora, being captain of that and many other teams, was starting to feel even more stressed. She has to aid the coach in training the less athletic recruits, plan their next meeting, and prepare for their next game which was in two weeks, which was a few days before a big biochemistry test.

She was out by the track, the slightly warm early April air hitting the side of her sweaty face after almost an hour of staying out in the sun. There was another hour of practice left, and with a clipboard, a pen, and a timer in her hand, she watched the baby-faced girls run laps around the field.

“Ok, the game is on a Saturday, it takes around 30 minutes to get there by bus, so 30 minutes to get back… but the game ends at 6:30 so I have to give at least another 30 minutes to an hour for traffic, not including the time it takes to shower and pack our stuff up so the latest I’d get home is around…” She looked up from her clipboard, tapping her feet on the floor. “Jackson! If you want to play in the next game you gotta beat your record! Pick up the speed!” She called out to a red haired girl.

God, I really hope I’m not sweating out my hair, she thought, brushing a few stray hairs back in her ponytail. Nora went back to muttering.

“Ok so that means I’ll be home by 8 at the latest, and if I lock myself in my room and pull an all nighter, I could probably get all my studying done by 6-ish? Maybe… I would have to stock up on coffee. I’ll stop by the store on the way ho–”

Nora’s quiet rambling was interrupted by a voice.

“Hey, Captain!” Nora didn’t turn around, already knowing who it was by the voice alone.

(Y/n) (L/n).

Ah, Nora’s feelings for you were…complicated, to say the least. But we’ll get to that later.

“Sorry I’m so late.” You rubbed the back of your neck with a sheepish smile.

“Fourth time this month, (Y/n).” Nora’s voice was stern, exasperated and a bit annoyed.

“I know. I know, but–”

“You know the drill. 10 extra laps and you have to beat your record or else you don’t play in the next game. Go.” Nora didn’t look up from her clipboard, but knew you were pouting anyways.

Your footsteps echoed in Nora’s ears as you ran to the field, smiling at your teammates as they passed you. She marked off your name on her clipboard and wrote “Late” next to it, again, with furrowed eyebrows and annoyance tickling the back of her brain.

When 4 o’clock came, the girls all filed out of the field and towards the locker room, feet tired and sore. You were still running, of course, doing the 10 (plus 10 extra) laps you were assigned. Although you weren’t, Nora felt like you were taking your time, acting as if you hadn’t a care in the world.

“God, I have to get home and study…” Nora whispered and rolled her eyes, even though only 5 minutes had passed. By 4:15, you were done, walking back to her while rubbing your left thigh.

“How’d I do, Captain?” You asked while wiping the sweat off of your forehead. You balanced yourself on the balls of your feet. Nora clicked the button on her timer once again and finally looked at you.

You had sweat stains on your blue shirt, and you picked at the edge of your shorts that rode up your thigh just a little bit.

“Two minutes under your last time. I guess you get to stay in this time around.” Nora said curtly, pursing her lips while doing so.

You smiled as if you already knew the answer. “Aw come on, Captain. Have a little faith in me, yeah? I’m not all bad.” Your nose scrunched you as you pouted.

God your lips were so cu–

“But I do stink though. Imma hit the showers real quick. You coming?” Nora gulped, mind going a little to the left as she snapped out of her thoughts.

“Yeah.” Was all Nora could say in response.

They walked into the locker rooms, all of the girls clean and gone. Nora placed her things on one of the benches, opening and looking into her locker for clean clothes. You did the same.

“Jeez, all that time I put into doing my hair only to sweat it out in less than 10 minutes. I don’t know how you do it, Captain.” You remarked, looking in the mirror of your locker. Nora hummed, but didn’t respond. She grabbed some fresh clothes from her gym bag and started stripping.

Nora peeked into the mirror in her locker at you. Yours was diagonal from hers. You were still looking at yourself, not at her. Part of her wanted you to be.

Once she was done, she wrapped a towel around herself and grabbed some soap and a rag. She showered in silence, only being interrupted by the pat pat of your footsteps on the floor as you hopped in the showers next to her. You tied your hair up and put a bandana around your head before starting the shower, and Nora looked away before she could see anything else.

She thanked whatever god there was that there was a wall between you two.

But what if there wasn’t?

Nora started to feel very self-conscious all of a sudden. She started to take note of the stretch marks and too thick hairs on her stomach and arms and legs.

Oh my god, is my hair presentable?

She went to smooth out her hair with a (thankfully) not soapy hand, but stopped herself. She wouldn’t want to ruin her hair now. She spent all morning getting it together.

Wait? Why am I worrying about my appearance? My body is fine.

After her little realization, Nora started scrubbing really hard at her arms and legs, preoccupying her mind with the upcoming test.

Nora finished before you did, wrapping a towel around herself and waiting until she was out of your sight to start drying herself. She put on some lotion and deodorant, got dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a green shirt and sneakers before grabbing her stuff and going to leave.

“Captain!” Your voice stopped her.

Dammit! She was almost free!

“Yeah?” Nora took a few steps back but didn’t look in your direction.

“Can you…um…stay?” Nora’s spit got caught in her throat. “I mean, until I’m done. I really don’t like being in the locker room by myself. My mom always told me don’t let myself be in a room alone.” You let out a laugh, albeit a bit nervous.

Nora nodded, spitting out a stuttered, “Sure.” She hopes she didn’t sound too excited. She leaned against the outside wall of the showers, facing away from you once more. Nora waited (im)patiently, suddenly remembering how she forgot her glasses at home and that’s why she hasn’t been able to see well all day. She also remembered the stain on the coffee table that she was too busy to clean up because she was rushing out of the house because she had slept through her–

The squeak of the shower faucet snapped Nora out of her thoughts as the rush of water stopped. Nora kept her eyes on her shoes as you passed her, suddenly very interested in the speck of dirt on the toe of her left shoe.

I should clean it later, Nora thought.

“Captain?” Nora’s head snapped up, looking towards you with large brown eyes. You brought a plump lip into your mouth before giving Nora a smile. You were done getting dressed, snatching the now-wet bandana off of your head.

God, is it hot in here? Nora feels like she’s been sweating oceans.

“Thank you for staying. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“No problem.” It’s not like she doesn’t have a test she has to study for or a meeting at 6 for a club that she really couldn’t remember the name of now which was really concerning, but Nora couldn’t bring herself to care because you were smiling at her and Nora’s heart was not working anymore.

Although part of her wanted to be mad at such a carefree attitude and your seemingly lack of schedule, she settled on scolding you instead.

“Practice is next Monday at 3. Try not to be late next time.” You nodded before grabbing your stuff from the bench behind you and walking out of the locker room in silence. Nora followed before you both split off in different directions.

Nora’s weekend was filled with nothing but meetings and studying and homework, with the constant repetition of “Game on a Saturday, test on a Monday” leaving her mouth. She started her mornings at 4 am, going for a 2 hour run around campus. At 6 she went back home and took a shower, answered a bunch of emails about things that Nora couldn’t bring herself to care about anymore, and then she spent a good 3 hours studying old material from her classes, read a book she was assigned for Lit, then she was back studying again.

Wait, did she eat anything?

She wouldn’t have if Abby hadn’t practically shoved a piece of turkey bacon down her throat because, “You literally haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon” which she should be grateful for her friend’s willingness to remember the important things for her when she forgot them. She had meetings for Spanish and French Honor Society, Creative Writing, the school’s green club, and she also had to tutor a bunch of kids who were failing their math classes.

And to top it all off, you were late to practice, again! God, Nora wanted to be mad at you. You were being selfish at this point. Didn’t you know that if you were late she had to stay with you until practice was over?

Well, technically, she didn’t. She could leave practice whenever she wants to but honestly she didn’t want to leave you to practice alone. Plus, you might slack off!

Nora’s eyebrows twitched at the thought. It’s like you didn’t have a care in the world! You just walked around wasting her time, your time even!

You arrived 15 minutes late, better than last time, but still late.

You were already preparing your excuses, but Nora shushed you, telling you to go and practice on your serves. You did just that. Nora had already completed her drills, now just waiting for you to show up. She wrote your name down and the word “late” next to it once again before she went back to observing her team.

Once 4 o’clock rolled around, the girls rolled out and into the locker rooms, while you stayed behind. Your serve was good, Nora thought, you were just a heavy hitter and would forget to try and get the ball into the court first.

After watching the ball fly past the court for the 3rd time, Nora sighed and made her way over to you. You spotted her and gave her a smile.

“Hey, Captain! You need something?” You asked as you threw the ball in the air. You hit it across the net and watched as it flew straight into the wall. You grabbed another ball from the basket next to you and went to do it again until Nora gently grabbed your wrist and pulled it back down.

“You hit too hard, (Y/n). Try it again, but with a little less force.” Nora stated, backing out of the court to watch you once more.

You tried again, only for the ball to land just outside of the court.

“That’s ok, (Y/n), just try again.” Nora encouraged you. You tried again and again, only for you to keep hitting it out of the court.

You let out a huff, frustrated. “Captain…” You whined, turning to her with dragged feet. “This seems pointless. I just keep hitting out of bounds.” Nora raised a brow, not taking you for the type to give up so easily.

“You know we can’t leave until you get it right.” You pouted at her answer before going to try again. Nora stopped you, walking up to you and grabbing the hand you were holding your racket in. “Here. Make your hand face the net. That always helped me serve better.” Nora turned your wrist. “Now plant your feet so they’re in line with your shoulders.” You listened. “Now breathe in, slowly, and as you breathe in, toss the ball into the air and as soon as you exhale, swing. Don’t focus on the force. Focus on how your hand moves to hit the ball.” Nora realized how close she was to you, how weird this must’ve looked to others and what they might think.

She was starting to get self-conscious again.

Nora cleared her throat and backed out of the court again. Once she was far enough, you served again, the ball just making it into the court. You jumped up in excitement, coily hair bouncing with you. Your eyes darted towards her, a wide smile on your brown face.

“Captain! Captain I did it! Did you see?” You spoke with the giddiness of a child with a new toy, and, suddenly, Nora’s anger at you disappeared. Nora nodded with a smile.

“I saw. Good job, (Y/n).” You smiled wider at her praise, going to pick up all of the balls you managed to drop. Nora helped.

After cleaning up the mess you made, you both walked to the locker rooms. You repeated your routine from Friday, with Nora finishing earlier than you once again. Nora remembered how you had asked her to stay, and decided not to leave you behind. She walked to her locker in silence, getting dressed in some jeans, a graphic tee, and her same pair of sneakers she always wore before leaning against the walls of the showers like she did once before.

She was still facing away from you.

“(Y/n)?” Nora called, despite the lump in her throat about having to talk to you while you were naked.

“Yeah, Captain?” You answered, stopping the humming you were previously doing.

“May I ask, um, why are you always so…late?” Nora tapped her fingers on the wall and hoped she didn’t offend you with the question.

You were silent for a moment before answering. “I just lose track of time, y’know?” Nora’s eyebrow twitched again. You spoke as if you knew what she was thinking. “Yeah, yeah. I know that’s not a good excuse. However, I get so caught up in the little things that I just forget to remember the big things.” Another twitch of the eyebrow.

God, was it gonna get stuck like that?

You turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself as Nora moved to sit on the bench. She preoccupied herself with her shoes again and waited for you to get dressed. The buzz of your phone interrupted the silence between you two. You grabbed it from out of your locker and looked at the bright screen before scowling and placing it back in your bag.

“I wanna know, Captain.” You started, as you put underwear on. Nora cursed the human evolutionary habit of looking at anyone and anything that made noise, as she had turned her gaze towards you as you were putting on a dress and oh my goodness you weren’t wearing a bra. Nora’s face burned as she quickly turned back around to look at her shoes. “Have you ever had Mr. Lance before?” It took a few seconds for Nora to register your question, and once she did, she shook her head no.

“U-Um… no. No I haven’t, um… Why do you ask?” Preoccupy yourself with the test, Nora. Focus on the test.

Game on a Saturday. Test on a Monday.

“I wanted to thank you for once again putting up with me and helping me in practice. Other captains would’ve just left me there.” Now she felt bad for thinking about leaving. “You wanna go?” You turned to her with another smile, not caring that Nora wasn’t even facing you.

“You don’t have to. It’s really no problem.”

Game on a Saturday. Test on a Monday.

“Come on, Captain. Please. I promise you it’ll be worth your time!” Nora finally gained the courage to look at you, and you were pouting. Good god you were pouting and it was so adorable and Nora really has to learn how to focus again.

Game on Saturday. Test on Monday.

Nora was in a trance. Your eyes had caught her in a trance and she couldn’t get out but she had to. So she agreed to your little adventure. You jumped up again in excitement and Nora was once again reminded of the fact that you don’t have on a bra. You both walked out of the locker room and you led Nora down the street to one of the coffee shops about 7 minutes away.

“Mr. Lance is just a few minutes from here.” You started as you put your phone in your bag after checking it again. “And I know the name seems kinda boring, however, they serve the best ice cream there is.” You gave Nora another beaming smile to reassure her, even though Nora didn’t need any reassurance.

Once you both arrived at the little parlor, you opened the door for Nora and she was immediately hit by the cool air and the smell of mint. Nora scrunched up her nose a little bit and sat at one of the red chaired booths. You sat opposite of her and folded your hands on top of each other.

“What do you usually get here?” Nora asked you, pushing her glasses up to her face.

“I either get the triple chocolate milkshake or the extra cookies and cream ice blizzard. But that’s my personal preference. Get whatever you want.” You said nonchalantly, not even looking at the menu.

Would it be too embarrassing for Nora to admit that she didn’t know how to choose? Nora thought that yes, it would be. However she couldn’t just not order something after you had brought her all the way here. That would be rude! But it would also be rude to sit there and order something she wouldn’t want and then sit there and pick at it because she had never really had time to–

“And what about you, miss?” Nora jumped at the voice. She looked up from her death match with the colorful menu and at the waiter who was standing there with a notepad in her pale hands.

“Uh…oh! Oh! I would like a…” What the hell was that first thing you said? “A triple chocolate milkshake, please.” Nora’s face burned at her awkwardness. Maybe she didn’t leave that weird teenage phase at all.

“Coming right up! I’ll just take these off your hands.” The waiter grabbed the menus and walked off to the kitchen.

Nora tried to act like she didn’t feel your gaze on her while you waited, and felt grateful when your phone buzzed for the third time that afternoon.

“Guess I’m popular today, huh Captain?” You let out a chuckle as you turned your phone off.

Nora smiled back and she hoped it wasn’t crooked.

You pulled at a curl on your head and frowned. “I’m so glad tomorrow is wash day. My hair’s been so uncooperative lately.” You pulled at the same curl again and watched as it bounced back into place. “Captain.” You called her. Nora answered. “What do you think I should do with my hair? Twists or plaits? Ooh maybe I can do box braids instead.” You shot out ideas to her, hoping she would choose and make your life a bit easier.

“Um… I think you’d look good in–in twists.” Frankly you would look good in anything.

Wait, what?

“Don’t you have to set out the whole day for that? You have classes tomorrow, don’t you?”

“I have one class in the afternoon but it shouldn’t be a problem. I can catch up easily.” You said nonchalantly.

She looked at the clock on the wall to check the time. 5:45 p.m. She cursed how fast this day was going.

Their treats came a few minutes later and you popped open your straw and dug in. Nora did the same, eyebrows raising at the onslaught of very, very sweet chocolate attacking her taste buds.

“See. I told you it was good!” You said, licking a little bit of chocolate off of your lips. You swirled your straw around your glass. “I’m glad you decided to come with me, though.” You said offhandedly.

“Why did you decide to bring me here?” Nora didn’t mean for her voice to sound all nervous. She would roll with the punches.

“Hmm. I already told you earlier that I wanted to thank you for putting up with me.” You took another sip and stuck your tongue out a bit. “But also, and forgive me if I seem rude but, I thought this would relax you.” Nora raised an eyebrow. “You always seem so…pent up. Like a stiff. I just noticed that you might need some sort of release or something, Captain. That’s all.” Nora realized that you were the only one to address her as Captain after practice, and in that moment she started to feel very…different.

Was she uncomfortable?

No, Nora wouldn’t exactly describe it as that.

It was just that the heat creeping up her neck and the sudden realization that you were right and the idea of getting some sort of release, as you put it, was making her feel very, very weird.

It didn’t help that Nora’s gaze went back to your lips and eyes and hands and chest and the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra hit her again and–

Why the hell was she so focused on that? Of all the damn things to focus on? It’s not like the concept of not wearing a bra was foreign to her, she did it from time to time herself but what the fuck was so different when you did it?

Focus on something else, Nora. Focus on something else.

Like the test!

She had a game on a Saturday, and a test on a Monday.

Game on a Saturday, and a test on a Monday.

Game on Saturday, and boy were your eyes cute.

Game on Saturday, test on a Monday.

It’s not like she had a problem with it.

Game on Saturday, test on Monday.

She was fine. Nora was so fine. Nothing to worry about here.

Maybe she did need a release. A time for herself to relax.

Game Saturday, test Monday.

Oh god was she staring at you?

Game, test. Saturday, Monday.

Were you smiling at her? You look so sweet.

Monday. Saturday. Monday. Game. Test. Relax. Release. Relax. Relax. Game. Test. Saturday. Monday. Relax. Release.

Her glass was empty and you were smiling at her and UGH.

Nora stood up, her knees knocking into the booth as she did so.

“Is everything alright, Captain?” You expressed concern over her. Your eyebrows furrowed as your smile went away.

“I gotta go.” Nora managed to choke out. She reached into her back pocket for her wallet as you stared at her with confusion.

“What? Are you sure?” Nora threw $20 on the table and grabbed her bag from the floor.

“Yeah. I gotta… I gotta go…” Nora turned and sped out of the shop, leaving you alone.

She made it back to her apartment and unlocked the door with shaky hands. Abby greeted her from the couch, hair in a low ponytail instead of its usual braid.

“Hey, Nora you–“ Abby stopped herself when she finally looked at her roommate. “What’s wrong?” She turned to her and grabbed her before Nora could sped past the couch. “Come on. Around the couch you go.” Abby pulled Nora by her belt loop around the couch and made her sit down. “What’s up with you. And don’t say you have another test to study for because you’ve already studied enough.” Nora scrunched up her nose and looked away from Abby.

“There’s no such thing as too much studying.”

“Nora…” Abby’s voice was stern.

“Fine, fine… There’s this… this girl and she… she said I was a stiff and treated me to ice cream today and I can’t focus around her and also I can’t stop thinking about her and also–” Nora plopped herself face first into Abby’s lap, groaning loud enough for her roommate to hear.

“Does my Nora have a crush?” Abby teased at her, poking the back of her head. Nora sprung up.

“What! No! Of course not!” Abby didn’t believe her. “I just can’t focus around her, that’s all. And it’s frustrating me.” Nora defended herself, slumping against the couch.

“Hmm. Sounds like a crush to me.” Abby retorted, leaning her head on her hand.

Nora couldn’t have a crush! I mean, when has Nora ever had time to think about crushes? Or dating? Hell, with boys or girls!

“I don’t have time for crushes, Abby.” Nora slumped some more until she sat on the floor.

“You don’t have time for anything, Nora! All you do is work, work, work. And I know we’re in college but that doesn’t mean you have to give yourself to the seeds of capitalism just yet.” Abby kicked Nora in the thigh as a way of telling her to get off the floor.

Nora got up with a pout.

“All I’m saying, Nora,” She started, propping her feet on the coffee table, “is that maybe this could do you some good. You got to enjoy life, and you can’t enjoy it if you’re stuck hunched over a book all day.” Nora rolled her eyes before retreating to her room to take a cold shower.

The next morning, after her 4am run and a long shower, Nora got dressed for the day and sat down at her desk to study. She didn’t have any classes today, her professor for the day sending out an email to cancel class the night before. She opened the giant biology textbook that never left her desk and tried to remember where she had left off last.

I was writing notecards, she remembered as she searched her desk to find them.

Her search was interrupted by the loud ping of her cellphone. Nora chose to ignore it, thinking that it was probably just Abby trying to remind her to eat something. Her phone vibrated again and Nora rolled her eyes with a loud sigh and got up to check it out.

She walked over to her bed and picked the phone off the pillow, squinting her eyes at the sudden light hitting her face as another notification came.

“Hi, Captain!” It was you. You texted her.

Oh my god you texted her!

“I know you said only to use your number in case of emergencies but I guess this would qualify as an emergency because you kinda left in a hurry so!!!”

“Are you ok, Captain? I wanted to check up on you afterwards but I didn’t know whether you’d want me to use this number or not so I didn’t text you but I didn’t know what happened and I was getting nervous so I texted you.” God did you ramble.

“Sorry for rambling.” You sent a few seconds later. You added a crying emoji for effect.

It was then, in that moment, that Nora realized she didn’t know how to respond to you.

Why weren’t her fingers moving?

Why was she just staring at her phone with a stupid face?

Move, dammit! Move!

With a deep breath, Nora let out a big, long groan of, “ABBY!” Said friend was at her door within seconds, hair in a frenzy and protein bottle in her hands, ready to attack someone.

“Nora! Nora what is it? Is someone dying?” With wide eyes, Nora handed Abby her phone, to which Abby lowered her guard and grabbed it out of Nora’s hands. “Nora are you fucking kidding me?” Abby deadpanned after reading the messages, seeing it was only someone expressing concern over her friend and not like…cyberstalking her or some shit.

“I don’t know what to do please help me.” If Abby wasn’t so mad at her she'd tease her for her inexperience and compare her to a lamb. Abby flopped on the bed with a groan and started typing away.

“Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing?” Nora asked frantically as she tried to snatch the phone out of her hands.

“I’m replying. Duh!” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, but Abby! What are you saying to her?” Nora whined, attempting to grab it again only to fall on Abby’s lap.

“You know, for someone who denies that this is a crush you aren’t really helping your case all that much.” She continued typing, and Nora thought that whatever she was typing would be long and embarrassing and stressful.

“Abby!” Nora dragged out her name as she tried to reach for the phone again. “Come on! I know you’re gonna put something embarrassing!” Nora gave Abby a pout and made no move to move off of her friend.

“I’m not! I swear!”

“Then read it to me!”

“What?”

“Read what you wrote to her!”

“Ugh, you’re so childish.” She said as if she wasn’t the one typing something to Nora’s…Nora’s…well…Nora’s whatever. “Hey, (y/n).” Abby paused. “Such a cute name by the way. Good choice.” She continued. “I’m fine. Thanks for checking up on me. I was wondering if we could meet up later and–” Nora started to protest, reaching up for the phone. Abby held it away from her. “And I could, hey quit that–” Abby smacked her hand away. “I could explain why I’ve been acting so weird lately, if that’s alright with you–Nooooooo.” Abby whined like a child when Nora snatched the phone away and deleted the text message. “All my hard work! Wasted! Oh the inhumanity!” Abby fell on the bed, fake fainting.

“I don’t wanna meet her.” Nora muttered as she stared at the phone with a glare.

“And why not? I told you, this is good!” Nora looked at her in disbelief. “This is good! You need a break, Nora. If you don’t slow down now next time you have time for yourself you’ll be a bag of bones!”

“Not a bag of bones…”

“Yes, a bag of bones! So you are going to take this phone, text this girl back, and you are going to talk to her or by god I will throw your planners away. And I know where you keep them. All of them.” Abby pushed the phone up to Nora’s face.

“Even the Scooby Doo one?”

“Especially the Scooby Doo one. That goes first. Now type.” With a cry and a wail about how hard Abby was making her life, Nora started texting you back, giving the phone to Abby for approval.

“Hey, (y/n).” She started typing. “Abby please don’t make me do this.” Abby didn’t budge. “I’m fine. Thank you for checking up on me. I promise I’m ok and you don’t need to worry about me–”

“Don’t put that. You're invalidating her feelings.” Abby interjected.

“…I’m happy you checked up on me. If you want I’d like to meet–”

“Abby I’m nervous! Please can’t I just go back to studying?” Abby told her no.

“…up with you again. Maybe sometime this afternoon. Or whenever you want to it doesn’t have to be today it could be tomorrow or next week or–”

“You’re stalling.” Abby warned her, already reaching for her Scooby Doo planner hidden under her mattress.

“…Is this afternoon good?” Nora closed her eyes and hit send.

You replied within a minute.

“Sure! How about around 5. I should be done with my hair around then.” You sent a bunch of emojis afterwards and Nora plopped down in the bed with a groan after she agreed.

“See? You see how good things go when you listen to me?” Abby put the almost destroyed planner back in its place and patted Nora on the head. Nora groaned even louder. “Now. I want to know what time you’re going so you can have time to look nice.” Abby added emphasis on that last part. “And I mean it. No sweatpants or oversized jackets. I want you looking nice.” Nora’s face dropped at Abby’s constrictions.

“You’re already making me suffer by going outside but now you’re making me dress nice? You’re killing me, Abby!”

“No, I’m helping you. Now hold on for a second. I need to text the group chat about this historical moment.” Nora's eyes widened as she watched Abby get up and run back to her room before she could stop her.

When 4:30 rolled around, Nora patted herself down nervously and stared at Abby with a confused face.

“Come on, Nora. You look fine.” Nora stared at herself once more, her black jeans, light blue t-shirt and black shoes seeming too…boring for this.

“I-I don’t know, Abby. Maybe I should just cancel and say I got sick. Is it too late to hit myself with something?” Nora held her purse in shaky hands.

“No! You’re doing this. Now come on.” Abby dragged her from out her room and to the living room, where their friends, Manny, Owen, and Mel were hanging out and watching tv.

“You guys! Abby’s forcing me to go outside! Help me!” Nora tried to plead as she dragged her feet on the floor.

“Hmm… I don’t see a problem with that.” Manny spoked, looking at her with amusement clear on his features.

“Yeah, Nora. Owen and I for sure thought you were going to turn into a vampire or something if you stayed inside any longer.” Mel agreed while Owen nodded his head.

“That’s not how vampirism works and you know it!” Nora planted her feet into the ground and groaned. “Owen! Hide me! Help me! Save me!” Nora pleaded as Abby pushed her along to the door.

“Sorry, Nora. My expertise is animals not humans.” He said with a shrug and put his head on Mel’s shoulder.

“Traitors! Traitors! All of you!” Abby finally got her to the door and pushed her out with a huff.

“You be back no earlier than 6. Got it?” Abby ordered. Before Nora, could protest, Abby interrupted her. “If you wanna save the Scooby Doo planner you better start walking.” Nora closed her mouth and glared at her before calling her a muscle head and walking away. She heard the chorus of bye’s and have fun’s as she walked down the hall. You both had agreed to meet up at the campus park, and as Nora walked up, she saw you sitting on the bench with a book in your hands. Nora recognized it as Pride and Prejudice, something Abby had read a thousand times.

You looked up and spotted her. With a smile, you said, “Hi, Captain!” You placed the book beside you and waved at her. You had twists in your hair, and it went down to just below your shoulders.

“Hey, (Y/n).” Nora sat down next to you and placed her hands in her lap.

“I’m glad you decided to meet up! I was really worried about you yesterday.” You tried to keep the smile on your face despite the concern present.

Nora’s face burned as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“Yeah, um, sorry about that I…um…” Nora couldn’t really explain herself in that moment.

“No need to explain yourself, Captain. I’m just glad you’re ok.” Your smile never faltered and Nora decided to smile back.

“But-But thank you! For, um, taking me to the ice cream place yesterday. I really appreciate it.” Nora didn’t know why she was stuttering so much. If the group were here they’d be laughing at her.

“No problem. I like going there a lot. Not just for the treats but…it’s calming. Gives me time to get away.” Your phone buzzed and you checked it with a frown.

“Is everything alright?” Nora felt kinda sad when your attention wasn’t on her.

“Yeah. It’s just my stupid ex.” EX? Ex as in ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend? Ex-partner? Oh my god what was Nora thinking? She didn’t have time for crushes! Let alone any time for exes or dating of feelings or–

“Hey, Captain.” Nora perked up.

“Y-Yeah?” She could run. Nora could run and hide and go back to the apartment Scooby Doo planner be DAMNED.

“You remember when I told you about getting caught up in the little things?” Nora remembered, yes. “This is one of those little things. Just relaxing in the park, or going to the ice cream parlor, or staying after practice with you.”

Wait, what? Nora must’ve misheard.

“I could never share those little things with anybody else. Not even a person I had thought I liked. But I can with you.” You turned to her with a smile, moving a stray twist from out of your face. “I’m glad I was able to show you the things that relax me. Hopefully, Captain, they can relax you too.”

“Nora.” She blurted out.

“Hmm?” You titled you head to the side.

“You can call me Nora. I-I don’t mind.” You smiled at her, and Nora started to feel her heart burst in her chest.

“Ok…Nora.” Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Nora liked you.

Holy shit. She liked you.

“I-I’m glad you thought about me so much.” Nora played with her fingers as she spoke.

“Well, Nora. How about we go see a movie? I hear there’s this new mystery movie that’s so intense that people lost their senses when they left the theater!”

Nora laughed at your giddiness.

“Sure. I’d like that.” You stood up and grabbed your book to place it in your bag. You held out your hand to Nora and she took it, although a bit hesitantly.

“Cool. Let’s go, then.”

Maybe, just maybe, Nora could learn how to handle a crush this time around.

[kimbertsurprise]

@taznovembercelebration - Day 13: dinner table

“What is that,” Lup says.

Barry looks up from where his books are strewn about on the table. “Um… pie, I think,” he answers, before turning his attention back to what he’s working on. 

“That is not a pie.”

Angus darts out from where he’s stopped behind Lup and leans closer to the pastry sitting next to Barry. “I mean, technically it has crust and a filling, so…”

“You spend too much time with my brother to accept that as truth, little man,” Lup says, and taps the book in front of Barry’s face. “Babe. Love of my undead existence. Did you make this?”

Barry is bleary-eyed, the way he always is when someone interrupts his research, but he shakes his head. “Nah. Kravitz, I think.”

“Mr. Kravitz made a pie?”

“Skele-dude made a monstrosity,” Lup corrects, but she cocks her head to the side. “Why did Kravitz make a pie?”

Without even looking, she her hand shoots out to cover Angus’s mouth before he can respond. It doesn’t stop him from shouting, delighted and muffled, “A mystery!” 

Lup laughs anyway, and drops her hand from Angus’s face to tug him toward the kitchen. “Alright, yeah, let’s roll some investigation.”

When they step through the doorway, Kravitz is standing in his reaper form, dusted in flour and swearing at a cookbook. “You said no fail pie crust, you piece of – oh.” He cuts himself off, and somehow manages to look sheepish even though his face is entirely bone. “Hi. Um –” he glances down, then drops the cookbook on the counter and covers his face. “Sorry, Angus, I’ll – work clothes, thought they’d help somehow, but, um –”

“It’s all right, sir!” Angus says. “I’ve seen your skeleton form before!”

“Right,” Kravitz says. Dark skin spreads over his cheekbones, and it is barely a moment before he’s standing in front of them in human form, locs tied back and flour still smudged on his nose. “Right, well. Yeah, thats –” 

“Whatcha doing there, reaper-man?” Lup asks, voice somehow gentle and chock full of teasing laughter all at once.

“I was…” Kravitz seems like he’s about to try a lie, before he suddenly deflates in front of them. “I was trying to make Taako a pie. He’s been working so much lately, and all he talks about is wanting something sweet afterward, and he loves those pies from the bakery around the corner, so I thought…” he trails off, looking frustrated.

“You thought you’d make him pie from scratch, rather than cheat and use a frozen pie crust and some fantasy canned pumpkin,” Lup fills in, her eyes dancing. “Let me let you in on a secret, boss –” she leans down, dropping her voice to a whisper, and Angus leans in closer with her – “even Taako uses fantasy canned pumpkin.”

Angus gasps like Lup just said something unthinkable. Even Kravitz cracks a smile. “It was dumb, I know,” he says.

“Not dumb,” Lup says, and steps forward to nudge him away from the counter. “And we can still fix it. Grab that rolling pin, babe. We’re making my brother a pie.”

-------

Later, at the dinner table, Kravitz sets the pumpkin pie in front of Taako with a nervous smile. Half of it is too dark, almost burnt, and the other half is somehow too jiggly, but it’s miles better than his first attempt. 

Taako swivels around in his chair to look at Kravitz. “Did you make this?” 

“Lup helped. And Angus. Team effort, really.” Kravitz settles into his chair, trying not to look at Angus, Barry, and Lup across the table from him, their faces alight with expectation.

Taako hums and grabs a fork, popping a bite into his mouth. “Not bad, bones,” he says, and the table lets out a sigh. Taako continues, “I mean, I can deffo tell this was canned pumpkin, but other than that –”

Kravitz spins. “Lup said –” and then he notices both twins are laughing. He huffs and sinks back, but Taako grins at him.

“I’m kidding, Krav. It’s a good pie. Really. Thank you for making it for me.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Kravitz says. Taako flaps a hand at him and digs back in. He seems happy. The table is warm with love, and Kravitz feels so at home with this new family, even as they poke to make him as uncomfortable as they can. He feels like a part of it already.

So Kravitz sits up straighter. Looks at the pie, then looks at Taako, where he’s sitting with a smug smile and a mouth full of pumpkin filling. Kravitz grins at his boyfriend, and then says, as nonchalantly as he can, “Maybe if you teach me I’ll be able to make one from scratch in time for our wedding.”

There is a clatter, as Taako’s fork drops onto his plate.

A silence, as all other conversation around the dinner table stops. 

Then Angus whispers, “Did he just –”

And Lup shouts, “DID YOU JUST –”

And then Barry’s voice cuts through, saying, “Okay then! I think it’s time to get Angus home! C’mon, bud, Lup.” And he grabs both Angus and Lup by the shoulders and manhandles them out the door. 

Taako’s face is a mask of shock, his eyes wide, but Kravitz can see it – the delight that’s shining through. He picks up Taako’s hand and kisses the back lightly before setting it back on the table. “Just a thought,” Kravitz says airily, and starts collecting dishes to be washed.