#help the side characters are distracting me again

[camficdiner]

1.5, 2.1, 3.5, 4.3 enemies to lovers with my baby will

so my idea is that her and will do NOT get along at all and everyone knows it. they are in the same friend group, and the whole group is at a party together. maybe someone in the group doesn’t get along with the host and they go there to get them back but need a distraction. since literally the whole world knows will and her hate eachother, the group says they need to be the distraction where they’re kissing in a public space. they do not want to do it but it inevitably is a good plan so they do. maybe the kiss gets VERY heated like it’s a little much for just a distraction but once it’s over they go their separate ways and pretend it didn’t happen. later she is in the bathroom and she sees her neck full of marks and of course will walks in on her and sees them too. he didn’t even realize he left them but now they’re arguing about it and one thing leads to another and they’re on eachother once again.

omg i went a little overboard���😭 love u & ur writing!!

☕️ cams fic diner — order 097

🍒 thank you:to the girlies who crave tension so thick it snaps. enemies to lovers. hallway kisses that go too far. bruises on your neck and his name in your mouth. this one’s yours.

💬 “Don’t Act Like You Didn’t Like It”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Will Smith (hockey)

prompt: you get caught kissing in a hallway…and suddenly it’s not just kissing anymore

type: enemies to lovers, jealousy, possessive smut

wc ~1.8k

🧁✨🛼🍒

You weren’t even supposed to be at the party.

That was the first problem.

The second? Will Smith was there — standing too close to the drinks table, leaning too hard against the wall like he owned it, and flashing that smug fucking grin like he knew exactly how much you hated him.

And the worst part?

He did.

Everyone did.

You’d been in the same friend group for over a year. Close enough to share group chats, game nights, Uber rides. Close enough to make things uncomfortable whenever you and Will had to be in the same room. Everyone tiptoed around it at first. Then came the chirps, the jokes, the tension so thick it practically became entertainment.

“Get a room,” they’d tease. “Or a boxing ring.”

You’d always roll your eyes. Will would just smirk.

Tonight was no different.

Except this time, there was a plan.

“Okay, hear me out,” Cat said, sliding between you and Tyler near the half-empty beer pong table. “You know how Jeremy wasn’t invited? He’s outside.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“He showed up with his dumbass friends anyway,” she said. “And the host is freaking out because she specifically said no drama.”

“And you care because…?”

“Because we want to help her kick him out,” Cat said, already scanning the room. “We just need a distraction.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “What kind of distraction?”

“Something dramatic,” she said. “Something that’ll pull everyone’s attention to the other side of the house.”

Then she turned.

Looked at you.

Then at Will.

Who was, of course, already watching.

Your stomach dropped. “No.”

“Oh come on,” Cat said, already grabbing your arm. “It’s perfect. You two pretend to hook up in the hallway — just long enough to cause a scene — and everyone will look away while I sneak her out to deal with Jeremy.”

“Pretend to hook up?” you snapped. “We’re not actors.”

“No,” Tyler said, sipping his drink. “But you’re both petty enough to make it look real.”

You glared at him. “I hate you.”

“You hate Will more,” he shot back.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

—

The hallway was narrow, dimly lit, and already too hot when you got there.

Will was already leaning against the wall when you arrived, arms crossed, smirk in place.

“This is stupid,” you muttered.

“Agreed,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

You stepped closer.

Too close.

He didn’t move.

The air between you buzzed.

Then, before either of you could chicken out, you grabbed his face and kissed him.

It was supposed to be quick. Distracting.

Just a show.

But the second your mouth met his — the second his hand slid to your waist — everything went sideways.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

Teeth. Tongue. Breathless, heated, angry.

You moaned without meaning to. His grip on your hip tightened.

You pushed him against the wall. He pulled you closer.

His mouth dropped to your throat. You gasped.

And somewhere behind you, someone cheered.

“Jesus,” someone muttered. “Get a room.”

You broke apart like you’d been slapped.

Breathing hard. Lips swollen. Your body buzzing.

Will stared at you like he didn’t recognize what just happened.

Then he turned and walked away without a word.

And that — you told yourself — was that.

—

Until twenty minutes later, in the bathroom.

You leaned toward the mirror to reapply your lip gloss — only to freeze.

Because there, clear as day in the yellow light:

Hickeys.

Not one. Not two.

A whole trail of blooming red and purple across your collarbone.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered.

You tried to dab them. Hide them. Swear them into disappearing.

But the second you turned your head, the door swung open.

And he walked in.

Will.

You both froze.

His eyes dropped to your throat.

His expression changed.

“You didn’t even notice?” you snapped.

“I—” He blinked. “No. Shit. I didn’t—”

“You left marks on me, Will.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, you just accidentally sucked on my neck like a fucking leech?”

He stepped closer.

You backed into the sink.

“You didn’t stop me,” he said.

“You didn’t give me a chance.”

“You liked it.”

You should’ve slapped him.

Should’ve stormed out.

But instead — you grabbed his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him again.

Harder this time. Meaner.

He lifted you onto the counter, hands already sliding under your skirt, mouth hot and heavy on your throat — right over the bruises he gave you.

“You hate me, huh?” he whispered, dragging your panties down.

“Absolutely,” you gasped, grinding against his palm. “You’re the worst.”

“Then why are you dripping for me?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He was already pushing into you, both of you moaning at the contact — the stretch, the heat, the sheer wrongness of it.

You wrapped your legs around his waist.

He bit your shoulder.

You clawed at his back.

Neither of you were gentle.

Neither of you wanted to be.

He fucked you like he was trying to prove something.

You took it like you didn’t care who heard.

When you came, it was with his name in your mouth and your hand tangled in his curls.

He followed seconds later, breathless, eyes wide, body pressed flush against yours.

Then silence.

Your chest heaved.

His hands stayed on your thighs.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Finally, he looked at you — dazed, wrecked, wild.

“…We’re gonna pretend this didn’t happen too?”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

[holylulusworld]

Happy birthday, old man

Summary: It’s time to celebrate Steve’s birthday, and more..

Pairing: Stucky

Side Pairing: Wolverine x fem!Reader

Characters: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Sam Wilson, the reader/Y/N

Warnings: fluff, secrets, party planning, sneaky reader, kind of coming out publicity?

This story was written for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s “Built-a-birthday for Steve.”

I used: Who’s invited? Reader, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff

What kind of decoration do you use? Heart Ballon’s (best friends to lovers)

Music you want to play? Happy Birthday

Don’t forget the birthday card! ��Happy birthday, birthday boy.”

Andddd what are you going to do? SURPRISE PARTY?

Steve Rogers is not an old man. At least when it comes to his appearance. He barely feels the years in his bones or has lines on his face.

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel old, counting the birthday candles on his cake. That’s only one of the reasons he stopped celebrating his birthday. Steve lost too many people over the years to age, war, or enemies working in the shadows.

He just doesn’t want to celebrate a life filled with losses and battles. It’s not worth it to him, and there are more important things to take care of than a birthday.

You, on the other hand, won’t let the old man get away with his sour mood and sulking in the corner of a dingy bar on yet another birthday, especially because he cannot get drunk.

“Alright, gang, this is the plan,” you proudly present your neatly prepared battle map to your fellow conspirators. You roll out the map on the table, grinning like a lunatic. “Tony, you are my man for the booze. Only the good stuff.”

You move the little Iron Man figurine toward the liquor store on the map. “I know you are hiding the expensive stuff, but don’t be a Scrooge, Stark.”

“Natasha, you are my woman for flowers and decoration. You can take Yelena with you for backup.” Moving a figurine looking like Natasha toward the flower shop, you grin. “Wait, I have a little Yelena somewhere too!”

They both look at the figurines you place on the map. “Wait…that one looks like me!” Natasha picks the figurine up. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it myself, no biggie,” you shrug and move toward the next spot on the map. “Sam, I need you to help me with picking up the cakes. I made a lot of stuff and need a strong man to carry it into my car.”

“Got it,” Sam grins when you place two figurines and a car on the map. “I bet the owner will give you a discount with me around.”

While Natasha and Yelena play with their figurines, fighting a little battle over the best spot on the map, you try to remember all the details of your plan.

“Easy, because it’s her bakery,” Tony points out, huffing because he must bring the booze this time. “She won’t pay one buck.”

“Hey, I paid for the ingredients and, with my hard work, tears, and sweat,” you mutter, pointing your index finger at Tony. “I can degrade you to arranging napkins and plates.”

“She’s not joking,” Natasha says, stopping the fight with Yelena for a second. “You better bring the good stuff.”

“What’s my job?” Bucky looks at the map and the little figurine you made yourself. He admires the metal arm you gave the figurine, smirking because you put so much effort into creating it.

“Oh, Barnes,” you finally grab the figurine and place it next to the Steve one you bought. “Your job is the most important one and top-secret.”

Bucky excitedly rubs his hands. "What do you want me to do? Get the fireworks? Master the grill? Decide on the food? What will it be?”

“Bucky, your job is to keep the old man distracted. Talk about anything but his birthday with him.” You smirk at Bucky. He sighs, and his face falls. “What? You are my most important man! I cannot plan the party and prepare everything if you do not distract Steve.”

“Secret mission,” Bucky says, looking at the map again. “What do you want me to do? I can’t distract him all day.”

“I need you to…” You whisper in Bucky’s ear, making him chuckle. He became a good friend too, after returning from his winter sleep, as you like to call his time with Hydra. “I’m counting on you, Sergeant.”

“I’m your man,” Bucky says before walking off to fulfill his mission.

Tony follows suit, not wanting to get involved in decorating or such.

“Alright! Now it’s time for the more secretive part of the plan.” You lower your voice, smirking like you have something evil in mind when you look at your fellow conspirators. “We need to…”

“Heart balloons?” Tony cocks his head as you check on the decoration one last time. “Alright, what’s going on? Do you have plans to propose to Capsicle or something?

You roll your eyes at Tony. “Duh, I’m not into Steve,” you sigh and shake your head. “This is not only a surprise party for Steve, but for Bucky too.”

“Barnes? Cyborg-brain gets a party too. It’s not his birthday, Y/N. Are you bad at memorizing dates and birthdays?”

“Shush now!” You tut, hearing Steve and Bucky talk outside the ballroom. “Everyone get ready!” You shut off the lights, holding your breath as Bucky opens the door, walking with it to hold it open for Steve.

“SURPRISE!” Everyone cheers when you switch the light back on. Steve stands in the middle, gasping as his friends sing “Happy Birthday” to him. He looks around the room, wondering why there are heart balloons and not the usual Stars and Stripes balloons you get for him every year. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE!”

“Thank you all,” Steve chokes out. He wipes his eyes, and Bucky grabs his hand to squeeze it. “This is too much.”

“We are not nearly done.” You look at Bucky, silently asking if he’s ready. Bucky nods, hands trembling as he turns toward Steve. He swallows thickly before going down on one knee.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice trembles, looking up at Steve, the love of his life. “When I first found you, I saved you, but then…” He sniffles. “You saved me more than once. Steve, you risked everything for me, never letting me down.”

“Oh my… What’s going on?” Tony whispers, but you slap his bum to stop him from ruining the sweet moment. “Wait…are they…a thing?”

“I love you,” Bucky continues. “Back then, it was forbidden, and I brushed it off as friendship, maybe brotherhood… But I wanted more. Back then. Now. Always and forever.”

Steve swallows thickly. He secretly loves Bucky but never openly talks about the nature of their relationship. “Buck…”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky gets a little emotional, and tears fill his eyes. “Would you give me the honor and wear my ring?” He asks, getting a ring out of his pocket.

“Wait…they are…” Tony whispers something dirty, and you slap his bum again. "Ouch!"

“Shut up, Stark. I can explain the flowers and bees to you later.” You snarl through gritted teeth. "Let them have their moment and shine!"

You’re moved to tears watching Steve and Bucky finally admit their love in front of their friends. “Are you crying?” Tony asks. “Really?”

“It’s romantic. They have overcome so many struggles and had to fight for their love. Now they can officially dick each other down, and it’s so cute.” You sniffle and loudly blow your nose.

Close to starting to cry even louder, you watch the door open again.

“Babe, uh—you forgot the birthday card and gift.” Your boyfriend walks into the ballroom, looking at Bucky and Steve kissing each other. “About damn time, bubs.”

He cocks his head to look your way, holding up the gift and birthday card. “Happy birthday, birthday boy, and…happy coupling, I guess.”

Logan snickers as you rush toward him to cover his mouth. He bites your finger, making you yelp.

“Until a few months ago, I believed Steve was after my girl. Man, was I wrong. I walked in on these two doing the nasty.” You love your man, but sometimes he just can’t stop talking.

Steve and Bucky are unfazed. They are in their little world, wrapped around each other, and they openly celebrate their love, making Steve's birthday even more special.

Happy birthday, Steven Grant Rogers.

[pharawee]

"What if they know we're dating? It's exciting."

—JACK & JOKER: U Steal My Heart! · Episode 04

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Me, trying to write a sanguine: What would Chester Arthur do?

[mercvry-glow]

Busy Bee

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

summary. you and your son take a trip to the pitt after an encounter with a bee. unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your husband's working.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader is allergic to bees, overprotective!jack, boy-dad!jack, typical hospital setting, no death, hurt/comfort but mainly comfort, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther hopped into the pitt fandom, but this popped into my mind and I haven't been able to let it go. these will probably be a set of drabbles and one-shots if it gets enough traction, but please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated! also I am not a medical professional, but I tried my best to sound realistic.

wc. 2700+

side drabble of the aftermath

part two: where we fit

“We got a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, went into anaphylactic shock at the park due to a suspected bee sting. Vitals stabalized after we gave her Epi, but the swelling in her throat and the hives covering her chest, neck and arms is pretty extensive.” 

Just another normal day in the Pitt. 

“It is starting to be that season,” Dr. McKay said lightly as she did her own assessment while a few interns watched, “Did she have anyone with her? Who called?” 

The EMT gave a small gesture to her partner who was walking in behind them with a small boy, maybe five or six, who looked worried. “Couple of joggers passed them and found him with her failed EpiPen, they called after that.” 

Cassie could only nod as she thought about her own son experiencing that, “Alright Mohan come with me we’re gonna take her to south-15. Mel, can you talk to the boy and see if there’s anyone we can call for him?” 

Going to their respective tasks, McKay and Mohan took the young mother and Melissa went to introduce herself to the boy. He was still standing with the EMT, clutching his hand tightly while watching the hustle and bustle that was the emergency department. 

“Hey… Can I talk to him?” Mel approached slowly and the EMT squatted down to look the kid in his eyes. “I have to go now but uh- Dr. King here is gonna take really good care of you while your mommy gets help, okay?” The boy just nodded, going to hold his own hand. 

“What’s your name?” Mel asked, offering her own hand for him to take as they walked away. His grip was soft, if not a little clammy, and he toddled behind her as she led him to the family room. “Lucas…” he took his own deep breath, unsure of himself and the situation. 

“I heard something pretty scary happened at the park. Are you doing okay?” Lucas gave a little shrug, giving her hand a squeeze at the mention of the incident at the park. 

“I think so, is my mommy gonna be okay? Daddy says bees are bad for her, and the pen is supposed to make her better but it didn’t...” 

Mel opened the door to the family room, having Lucas sit in one of the chairs near the small coffee table. She had learned in the past couple of months that children liked to be distracted in situations like these. Clearly the little boy was feeling down, his once peaceful day at the park now ruined by an unfortunate accident. 

She sat down beside him, helping him take off the backpack he was wearing hoping maybe there were some more identifying clues lying within the blue cloth.  “Well your dad must be very smart, but your mom is being taken care of by some really cool doctors and I think she’s gonna be okay and excited to see you again.”

Unzipping the bag, Mel gave Lucas a gentle smile as they pulled out the contents together. Inside were the usual kid essentials — a juice pouch, a small sketchpad with dinosaurs drawn in crayon, and a pair of cleats and matching socks balled up and forgotten at the bottom. She sifted carefully, searching for anything that might tell them who else to contact. A pair of car keys sat in the front pocket, but no wallet or any other identifying placards. The EpiPen sat visibly in the mesh side holster, unadministered and effectively useless now. The air was light between the pair while the Intern thought of her next moves, and Lucas had started coloring next to her to keep his mind off of things. 

  She thought about askin Robby or Dana for next steps, and definitely wanted Kieara to stop by. “Are we able to contact your dad? I’m sure he’d want to know what happened,” Mel said, stumped at what to do next. 

“He’s pretty busy and um- his number sheet is in my other bag in the car… Mommy was supposed to make two, but this is the fun bag so it wasn’t supposed to matter.” Lucas explained, though that’s fair considering he’s only five or so. 

“Oh! Well where does he work? We could try calling them and he should be able to come here,” 

Lucas closed his eyes and wiggled around in his chair as he tried to remember the name, “Uhhh- oh Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!” 

Mel’s eyes lit up at the mention of the very hospital they were in. “Well that’s where we are! Let me go grab someone real quick and we can start asking around, how does that sound?” Lucas silently agreed and went back to coloring as the blonde woman left the room. 

The Intern succuried around, hoping to find Dr. Robby in a moment of peace where she could talk to him about the situation. Thankfully, the older man was sitting near the nurses station typing away at one of the computers. 

“Dr. Robby! I uh- I have the son of a patient who was admitted not too long ago, he said his dad works here and I was hoping you could help us locate him? He’s only about five so he doesn’t remember too much besides that.” Mel stood expectantly, as the older man got up and pushed his chair in. 

“Lead the way Dr. King, let's find this boy's dad.” Robby ran a hand down his face as he followed after Melissa who was leading him to the family room. Putting on a brave face, he hoped to god this wasn’t going to lead into a hospital wide manhunt. They kept a steady pace, pausing outside the door. “What was the other patient admitted for?” He asked, needing to know if this would be bad or not. 

“Mom was taken to South-15 after experiencing anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. The uh- EpiPen failed and some joggers helped them out, Dr. McKay was trearting her and everything was stable when we left besides the swelling and hives she had.” she explained keeping her recounting of it short, really wanting to find Lucas’s father as soon as possible. 

The two stepped inside the small room, the young boy sitting in the same cramped chair, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Lucas. This is Dr. Robby he’s gonna help-” Mel could barely get the rest of her sentence out before the boy looked up and rushed into the arms of the man beside her. 

“Uncle Mikey!” he cried out, latching onto the older doctor who scooped him up. 

“Hey Luke, what are ya doing here buddy?” Still a bit shocked, Robby gave the boy a quick scan looking for any sign that something could be wrong, “I heard your mom got stung by a bee.” 

Lucas let out a small sniffle, resting his head on the shoulder of his uncle. “It was scary… an-and mommy left her phone in the car so-so I couldn’t call anyone!” He kept his little body close, fists locked onto the blue hoodie Robby was known for wearing. He was still scared, just now beginning to process everything that had happened in the past hour or so. 

Mel stood off to the side, letting the two talk amongst themselves for a few moments. “You know Dr. Robby, Lucas?” 

The pair turned to her and Robby adjusted the boy so he could see the woman a bit better. “Dr. King meet Lucas Abbot, I’m surprised he didn’t say so sooner-probably the nerves.”  The older man looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him, the only familiar person he had seen since arriving to the PTMC. “You wanna go find your dad?” 

Lucas nodded a resounding yes, keeping his face buried in the neck of the older man hoping he would keep carrying him. 

“Dr. King, I got it from here if you want to go back and work,” Mel took her leave after that, giving Lucas a small wave goodbye before going back into the fold. 

Robby set the small boy down, repacking the scattered items back into the bag. He tried not to think about the faulty EpiPen, or how Jack was going to react upon finding out what had occurred. If anything that man was protective, and if hearing that his wife had been admitted didn’t set him off—hearing his son was here and hadn’t been able to contact him definitely would. 

“Yo Dana, we have a visitor with us today.” The brunette gave the curls on Lucas’s head, a trait he got from his father, a small rub, as they got to the charge nurse’s attention. The blonde let out a small gasp as she bent down to give the boy a hug. 

“And what are you doing here, little man? Where’s your mama? Your Dad’s running all over the place today, have you seen him yet?” She looked back up at Robby, holding the boy close. 

The older man gave a small shake of his head, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “She’s uh- She’s in south-15 and we were actually looking for Jack, have you seen him?” 

Dana glanced at the board, “He was about to discharge a patient from north-8, you could probably catch him before the next Ambo pulls up.” 

“Alright, buddy,” Robby said, offering his hand to Lucas again. “Let’s go find your dad before he disappears on us.”

Dana gave the boy one more quick squeeze and a wink before standing up again. “Tell him to take five once you find him. He’s been running around since before you got here.”

They made their way toward the north wing, weaving between carts and stretchers, the bustle of the hospital constant. Lucas stayed close, wide-eyed but silent, clutching Robby’s fingers like a lifeline.

As they rounded the corner near North-8, Robby spotted him—Dr. Jack Abbot clipboard in hand, shoulder leaning into the doorway of a patient room as he gave discharge instructions with that familiar composed intensity. Even from here, Robby could see the stress around his eyes. Whatever calm Jack projected, it wasn’t rooted deep today. The patient stepped away into the crowd of people and Robby stepped into view, catching his eye.

Jack nodded a little when he saw him, expecting a routine update—until he saw the small figure beside him.

“Lucas?”

The clipboard hit the counter with a clack.

Lucas let go of Robby’s hand and ran straight into his father’s arms, the impact knocking the breath out of Jack for half a second.

“Hey—hey, what—” Jack crouched down, holding Lucas tightly, searching his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Lucas clung to him like a koala, cheeks red and eyes glassy. “Mommy’s sick,” he whispered. “The pen didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

Jack’s face paled. His arms tightened instinctively. “Where is she?”

“South-15,” Robby answered quietly, giving the man a moment before continuing. “It was a bee sting. The EpiPen failed. She was treated right away, vitals are stable, McKay’s with her.”

Jack didn’t move at first, just held his son close, forehead resting against Lucas’s curls as he processed it all—the sudden fear, the guilt, the helplessness. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“I didn’t even know—no wonder she wasn’t answering her phone.” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay,” Robby reminded him gently. “And your son? Absolute champ. Kept his head until the crews showed up.”

Lucas pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t cry. I was gonna, but I didn’t.”

Jack smiled through the tightness in his chest. “Good job, bud.”

He stood up slowly, Lucas still in his arms, and turned to Robby. “I need to see her.”

Robby nodded. “Go on, Brother. I’ll let Dana know what’s going on, let her know you’re clocking off early.” He handed over the backpack and let the father/son duo head off. 

Making their way to you, where you were taken was a bit more private than other rooms and the soft beeping could be heard from outside. The two stopped outside, Jack prepping the boy for what he was about to see. 

“Hey…So mommy’s probably gonna be sleepy and she might have a hard time talking okay? We should be able to see her though.” Lucas nodded into his dad’s shoulder, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Jack’s black scrub top.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I won’t be loud.”

Jack gave a little smile at that, brushing his son’s curls down gently before reaching for the door. The soft click of the handle felt louder than it should have, and as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—like adrenaline and the memories embedded within the room.

The room was dimly lit, with only the overhead light above your bed on. You were propped up slightly, eyes closed, an oxygen cannula under your nose. Your arm had an IV line, and Princess was quietly making notes on the monitor screen.

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat.

Lucas didn’t say anything right away. His gaze was locked on you, his brown eyes wide and unreadable as he stared at his mom, so happy and full of life only hours ago, now tucked into white sheets with wires and machines surrounding her.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, sluggish but aware. You turned your head slightly, the movement slow and pained, but unmistakably focused on him.

Jack stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed so Lucas could see you better.

“She’s awake,” Jack said softly. “You can say hi, baby.”

Lucas’s lip trembled, but he leaned toward you. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly. “I tried with the pen but it didn’t work and I was scared and I couldn’t call—”

Your fingers twitched and slowly reached for him, and Jack gently helped guide Lucas’s hand to yours. Holding the both of yours within his strong grip.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, your voice hoarse but warm. “I’m okay, and you were so brave.”

Lucas crawled gently onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into any of the cords or wires. He curled up beside your arm, still holding your hand tightly.

Jack sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his face and finally letting out a shaky breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to you. You gave him a tired smile, and Jack reached up to brush your hair from your face.

“But you’re here,” he said. “And we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky we weren’t closer to Pres, would’ve really lost your shit…” you gave him the best smile you could muster, while he gave you a knowing look. 

He let out yet another sigh, still keeping your hand in his. “We need to get you another EpiPen, and put my goddamn number in that park bag.” 

“You have fun with that, babe,” you murmured, voice still rough but tinged with just enough sass to draw a soft snort from Jack.

“Oh, I will,” he said, dragging the chair a little closer to the bed. “You’re gonna have a laminated emergency list in every bag we own. Backpack, baseball bag, glove box—hell, I’ll sew one into your damn jacket lining if I have to.”

Lucas perked up a little at that, lifting his head. “I can start baseball?”

Jack looked over at him, mock-serious. “Only if you promise not to spill a bunch of stuff in the bag again.”

Lucas giggled for the first time since they got there, that tiny sound easing something deep in Jack’s chest. You chuckled too, though it ended in a soft wince as your ribs reminded you what happened.

Jack leaned forward instinctively, hand pressing lightly over yours again. “Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, but your grip on his fingers said another thing.

I love you, I’m sorry. 

The room fell into a quiet rhythm after that—the soft hum of monitors, Lucas gently dozing off against your arm after hours of turmoil, Jack watching both of you with an expression halfway between exhaustion and fierce devotion.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a moment, just for him.

He looked up.

“For having such good doctor friends, for loving me… For being a good dad,”

Jack leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[tbaluver]

GAME OVER!- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader summary: the lads men try to get your attention when you're busy playing a video game genre: smut a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ if you're the anonnie that requested something similar to this im so sorry but i may or may not have accidentally read it too fast and did not realize you wanted this as a headcanon .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. but im working on making a headcanon version for this one! anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

tags: mentioning of nipple play and fingering

you lost.

you lost the moment his fingers hooked onto your clit.

this wasn’t the usual way he’d get your attention. usually, he’d curl up beside you, his head resting in your lap, gazing up until you gave in with a gentle pat or pulled him closer. 

no, this time was different. he was clearly getting frustrated by how much the game was getting more of you than he was.

“xavier..” you murmur, only to get a hum in return from him. his hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, and his fingers brush the smooth skin of your stomach. you lean your head back slightly, resting it against his chest. your mouth nearly parts as he moves further up when he notices your eyes remain fixed on the screen.

his fingers roll your nipple between his fingers. a flicker of amusement tugs at his lips when he catches the way you fumble in your game. it was enough to give you away and only encourages him to keep going.

you bite your lips in frustration. you were so close to reaching your goal, only to slip at the last second. but it’s hard to stay upset when his fingers teasingly drag back down to your body and slip in between your shorts.

you tried. you tried to keep your eyes locked on the screen for as long as you can manage but you eventually slip. you let your head rest against his chest, letting him stroke and rub at your clit in delicious patterns, making your grip on the controls loosen.

xavier watches the way your eyes flutter shut and you breathe heavily as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. as much as he’s fascinated by the sound and the way your cunt takes him in so easily, the sound of your character dying on the screen catches his attention for a second.

a small bright idea pops up in his head. he picks up the controller with his free hand and effortlessly guides your character through the round you were struggling with one hand.

this earns a whine from you from the loss of contact from him and he was quick to press open mouth kisses on the bare side of your neck. his growing bulge presses against your back.

“now that i helped you..can you help me?” 

Zayne:

tags: mentioning of kneading your breasts, nipple play and fingering

you’d think by now you’d know not to ignore a doctor’s orders—especially when that doctor is your boyfriend.

you were so locked into your game that you canceled everything outside of it. zayne’s voice barely registered to you—questions, little comments, and even a suggestion to take a break. nothing. not even when he reminded you to sit up so your shoulders and back wouldn’t ache later. all to get the same distracted hum as your eyes stay glued to the screen.

a shift on the bed behind you made you aware of him again. he lets out a quiet sigh as his hands find your shoulders, guiding you into a better position. zayne makes quick work, his fingers expertly finding the spots that had gone stiff from sitting too long without support.

you shift beneath his hands, stretching slightly as you lean into his touch. the subtle reaction doesn’t go unnoticed making him quirk a brow. “if that was sore..” he murmurs. “then perhaps you’re aching somewhere else too?”

his hands slide a little lower as he pulls you closer, his hands slipping inside the hem of your shirt. you’d be lying if you were to say you weren’t heating up when his hands found their way to your breasts. his thumb drags slowly over the pebbled nipple before kneading them both slowly.

zayne never fails to miss a thing, even if it were the smallest reaction. he catches the subtle twitch of your thighs, the way your grip on the controllers falters, your thumbs moving just a little slower than before. a quiet inhale escapes him. “i see..” he murmurs.

one hand stays latched onto your breasts while his other moves down to your waist before dipping into the waistband of your panties. he watches how his fingers slowly disappear when his fingers press against your clit, circling around the swollen bud.

“z-zayne..” you whined, grinding your hips into his palm. the screen you’d been so focused on becomes a blur in an instant as your eyes slowly flutter shut, a gasp slipping past your lips as you arch into him.

the pace he’d been building up begins to slow slightly, drawing a soft whine from your lips. you lean back further into his chest, searching for him with desperate eyes. 

“now, won’t you be a good girl and listen?”

Rafayel:

tags: eating you out

it was amusing to watch you get hot and bothered just by a simple touch of his.

what could be more entertaining about a video game when he’s right there? you didn’t even bother to reply to most of the things he said. or the way you didn’t even notice the way he crossed his arms, puffed out his cheeks and pouted in front of you.

with a small hmph, he shifted his attention elsewhere, deciding two can play that game. he flopped down in between your legs, his hair tickling over your skin.

it starts with a small innocent kiss on your inner thigh that leads to another and more which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he inches in closer, letting his hair brush against your soft skin. each one a little further up and a little bolder. it was as if he was a dried-out fish and the ocean was calling him.

“cutie..” he murmurs teasingly, drawing your attention just enough to make you glance at him over your controller. without a word, you lift your hips, letting him slip your shorts down. now it was only the thin material that separated you both. actually, it was that stupid game and the thin material separating him from you.

you knew how clingy rafayel could be—it was one of the things you found adorable about him. you’d promised yourself you’d give him your full attention the moment you beat your game. but every passing minute only made it more frustrating.

what you hadn’t expected was how far he’d go to get your attention—not that you were complaining. if anything, you were starting to realize that you needed some way to release this pent-up frustration.

he licks a long stripe from your fold up to your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, making you gasp. you taste divine, rafayel thinks. your fingers are almost sliding off the buttons and your grip on the controller barely hangs on when he spreads your legs a little bit more to dip the tip of his tongue inside you.

it only takes a few thrusts with the top of his tongue before he hears you moan and in his head, he knows that he has already won.

Sylus:

tags: fingering

“winners finish”

those words echo in your mind as you watch the big red ‘DEFEAT’ flash across your screen again. he clicks his tongue, tauntingly. “aw. that’s too bad.”

he slips his fingers out, earning a whine from you. one by one, he savors the sweet rich taste of your arousal to his lips. he’s never letting you finish after a loss-- not when you weren’t paying attention to him. 

and with the way he’s distracting you, you’re not even sure you can win. you were already struggling to finish your game before you stopped paying attention to him for a split second and now, now it’s nearly impossible.

“go ahead. finish your little game, sweetie,” he whispers lowly in your ear, his hot breath against your skin, sending that familiar heat traveling back down to the lower half of your body. your legs were wide apart, your panties pooling down to your legs while your back against his chest. 

a new round of the game starts. this time, the sounds of the game faded into the background—ironically, just like how you tuned him out a few minutes ago. but now, your focus was entirely on him and the way his fingers expertly work their way around your clit.

a wicked smirk curls on his lips as soft whimpers of his name leave your lips when you feel his fingers slide up to circle your clit, rubbing over it. “that’s right,” he whispers teasingly into your ear. and you know damn well that he’s not encouraging you about the game at all, especially when you think you got back into the rhythm of the game.

or so you thought. his wet fingers drag against your folds before dipping back to your fluttering weeping cunt. sylus doesn’t even need to look at the screen to know you’re losing. with the way you’re trembling with the controls, tells him everything.

his fingers sink further inside you as you clench tightly around him, your hips matching the pace. your eyes struggle to stay locked on the screen, after countless failed attempts, you’ve grown desperate. your grip on the controls loosened, leaving your character on the screen on idled as you melt deeper into him. 

you lean back further into his chest, head tilting up to meet his lustful eyes, lips parted as shaky breaths escape you. one look is all it takes for him to surrender.

his two digits drag in and out of you and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to roll back. the little pants turn into a final gasp that slips past your lips as you ride out your high on his fingers. this time he lets you have it. he lets you win. after all, he’s already won many times.

Caleb:

tags: cockwarming

“how about you let me help you?”

- 

bad ideas. one after another. you didn’t think much of it when he suggested there was no need for an extra chair when you can just sit on his lap so you both can share the desk. 

you barely even registered the things he said after that, his encouraging comments, his teasing questions, that were meant to pull your attention from the game. you were so wrapped in the screen that you failed to notice the small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. or how you definitely didn’t notice how much you kept shifting on his lap, unintentionally making him hard.

-

this was not your idea of help at all, but you weren’t exactly complaining.

you can feel caleb’s cock twitching inside of you as you continue to play. caleb suggested this would be better. that the game would be easier when he’s deeply buried in your cunt to help keep you steady while you play.

you shift on his lap ever so slightly, making sure to not rock against him. you want to move so badly, desperate for some more friction. you feel so full, so full of him that warm precum dripped out of your soaking cunt.

or so you thought. your breath would hitch, your fingers on your keyboard coming to a halt whenever he would lean forward, hitting just a little more deeper in you.

“hey, c’mon pipsqueak what’re you doing?” he murmurs. “let’s finish this together, alright?” and you’re not sure if he’s talking about the game anymore. “keep going. i got you,” there’s a faint hitch in his voice, his warm breath ghosting over the bare skin of your neck.

his large hand settles on top of your shaky hand, guiding your fingers across the buttons. the other moves further up your inner thigh. your arousal is growing further, both your heart rate slowly picking up.

he’s trying so hard but he just can't. he felt so warm inside of you and it didn’t help whenever you would clench around him. he lets out a pathetic groan, filling you up with his seed. his hand on your falters, messing up the entire gameplay.

he quietly pants behind your shoulder before leaving soft kisses. you could hear him softly groan when you feel him becoming harder inside you again.

“sorry pipsqueak, guess we gotta start over huh?”

ʚɞ cr. for the dividers @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but like i barely know how to use it )

[thecoochiefairy]

belle. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.7K word count. black original character, onyankopon, photogrpaher!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, aggressive dirty talk, oral [f] [m], slightly tipsy sexy? nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ had this one in the vault for a minute, and i feel like this tapped more into my romantic side + y’all may find that kinda boring, ugh. sorry. anyways, this is inspired by another black film me + bestie recently watched, the photograph, + i just hope you enjoy. song for this one is fade away, by lucky daye.

visual. visual. visual.

BRENT FAIYAZ’ FUCK THE WORLD ALBUM PROTRUDED ALONG THE PROJECTOR, multicolored lights waking him a minute before his alarm. He raised a tattooed arm over his face, equally greeted by the sunlight coming into his high rise apartment. It was the way he’d always wanted it—a sense of peace he’d perfected—but he couldn’t lie, it was lonely at times. Silent all the time. 

A small grunt falls from his lips as he forces himself out of bed—the warm water of the shower glides down his muscular frame, minty soap sticking to his skin even as he steps out. As he rubs a soft cloth along his dampened face, a ping comes on his phone. 

COLUMN IDEA DUE TODAY. RUN IT BY YOUR BOSS. 

“…Shit.”

Pressing the volume button on his phone to ignite the ceiling speakers, Been Away is the next song on the track list. Leaning closer within the mirror, he cleans up the sides of his hairline, redoing a couple of his cornrows—Another ping on his phone.

GOOD MORNING, ONYANKOPON. I’LL BE READY FOR YOUR COLUMN PRESENTATION TODAY. BRING ME SOMETHING GOOD.

The white tee he pulls over his head clings to his broad frame, leather jacket being paired with cargo shorts, tying the look together with his burgundy Nike dunks. He couldn’t help but to match the vibe of the weather outside, as he always enjoyed autumn in New Orleans—the atmosphere, people, food, it all flourished within October. 

He decided to make a quick stop today. Grabbing a blueberry muffin from the bakery close by his place, his blacked out G—Wagon sped down the road, screeching the tires entirely too early in the morning. 

If Onyankopon’s driving was too early for the bustle of New Orleans’ downtown area, the office he worked in wasn’t anything better—Cheery co-workers, coffee cups within their hands as they tapped along their computers, shifting in and out of the red room to present their ideas to their boss—it’s unfortunate that her attention was on her best editor this morning.

Unlocking the door to his office, he tosses the keys against the table, body thumping into his chair. Fingers running across his braids, he felt for a millisecond that he was in the clear. 

That’s until he heard a voice.

“Onyankopon.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, hand over his mouth to stifle the groan he has to restrain. Guess he wasn’t so lucky this morning. 

“Did you think I didn’t see you coming in?”

Her salt and pepper bob swung with each movement she made, pointed red glasses along her face, a singular eyebrow raised as usual. 

“I was tryna’ avoid you. Not gon’ lie,” he mutters.

“And you thought buying me a muffin would distract that?” 

“Better than all that black ass coffee you be drinkin’,” he retorted, lifting the bag towards her.

She snatches the bag from his hand, “Don’t be cute with me, Onyankopon. Do you have your column idea ready?“

His nervous energy spreads in a way that’s more subtle, his nails scratching at the bottom of his goatee. 

He murmurs, “Not exactly,” eyes shifting to the side as he said it.

She raises both her eyebrows, “I know my editor-in-chief didn’t just say he doesn’t have an idea for this month's column— Clearly his degree wasn’t just for fun?” 

“I—“

He sighs into his hand again, sitting up straight as he speaks, “It’s ain’t a lack of effort, aight?” his hand waves to the side, “I’ve been tryin’ all week—I got nothin’.”

She presses her lips together, giving him a one over. Onyankopon had been one of her best employees, which was why she’d given him the promotion months before. He not only had a degree in journalism, but was caught having an eye for taking pictures, which led him into being the one responsible for not only taking photos, but creating a story behind them. Don’t get him wrong—Onyankopon loved his job, and he loved taking pictures even more—but both could be exhausting, especially when his passions were becoming more of a demand.

She closes the door to his office, making the conversation more intimate as she questions, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was tryna’ figure it out myself before talkin’ to you about it. You know I don’t like to ask for help,” His voice was lowered, a whisper of a confession from him, “I’ve never not had an idea. Shit is irritating.”

The older woman sighs, “It’s okay to feel stuck, Onyankopon. Everyone here has gone through it. It’s also okay to say when you need help.” 

“I know. I know that.”

And really, he does know that. It was just the stubborn side of him that didn’t want to ask for it. He’d worked hard enough to even be in this position, and he wasn’t going to mess that up by asking for handouts. 

With a sigh, she says, “Look—we were originally gonna do a piece on black owned businesses last month, but scrapped the idea last minute. How about you do something with that?”

Onyankopon pauses at the idea, his brain turning it over silently. 

“Yeah. I can work with that,” his fingers scratch along the length of his cornrows, “Got sum’ in mind for the photo portion yet?”

She shakes her head, “That’s all the help I can give you. Take today to look around at some places, talk to some business owners, and you can decide what you want to do from there—but I’m counting on you, Onyankopon.”

He nodded in response, forcing a small smirk as he reassured, “I got you. Don’t worry about it.” 

But as quickly as the smirk appeared, it disappeared the minute she was out the door—Hell, this was going to be a pain.

A couple blocks down from the business district sat a cafe right on the corner of Decatur street, planted in the middle of the art district. It was quieter than places like Cafe Du Monde, but just as busy, if not more at times. 

It was the perfect mixture of calm and chaos—customers coming in to sit within the shop’s library to read the books off the shelves, inhale the scent of coffee grounds as they waited for a cup, or enjoy the sugary fluff of beignets—she let out a huff as she held a tray with one hand, going over to a crowded family table.

“Okay, I have a coffee—dark roast, two sugars, one cream?”

The father of the family takes a sip of the coffee she’d previously labeled, a satisfied groan parting from his lips as he compliments, “You are the only person I’ve ever met to get my order correct. You’re amazing.” 

A soft smile comes to her heart shaped lips, “Is there anything else you needed?”

The man shakes his head, his daughter and wife doing the same, too invested into their food to request anything else.

The moment she turns, her smile drops a bit, as she pushes back the wavering exhaustion that wants to hit her body. Her eyes flick to her only employee—seeing him glancing down at his phone per usual. 

“Eros, if it’s something that ain’t emergency related, imma’ need you to get off your phone and act like I pay you to be here—“

He holds up a finger to pause her rant, “Aht—honey ,” he taps on the screen of the phone, “I’m on break.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh? Taking a break you decided to go on yourself, nor clock out in the process. You’re nearly employee of the month!” 

Eros huffs in response, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He questions, “Am I not employee of the month already?”

“In your delusions? Of course,” she pulls the handle from beneath the coffee machine, tipping the pot over into a chocolate brown mug, “Please go check on your tables.”

He calls out over his shoulder, “We’d go out of business without me here!” before disappearing amongst the tables.

Her eyes glance along the rustic interior of her shop—wooden chairs with intricate designs carved into them, round tables with miniature lanterns sat within the middle, green plants hung along different corners of the cafe—this was home to most people that came in and out, a serene place that she couldn’t be more happy to provide to her customers. She places a plate under the cup of coffee she’d just made, carrying it over to one of her favorite customers of all.

“Good morning, Mr. Boudreaux.”

She greets the elderly man, gently sitting the cup of coffee across from him, “How are you feeling today?”

The man’s wrinkly face softened at the sight of her, returning her greeting with a bright smile of his own, “Hello, Darlin’,” he responds, his thick accent slipping into each word that he spoke, “I’m doin’ wonderful. An’ how ‘bout yourself?”

“Tired—but here,” she replies, pulling the towel over her shoulder between her palms, wiping off any stains against her fingers, “You sure you don’t want anything else? I don’t need you just drinking coffee when you come here.”

Mr. Boudreaux chuckles, waving a hand in dismissal at her words, “I’m sure, sweetheart. Just my coffee is fine.” 

He lifts the mug closer to his face, breathing in the strong scent of it, “Wouldn’t want to ruin my waistline with your sweets,” he adds on, winking.

 She gives a soft laugh, “Of course—oh, I’ll bring you your extra sugars.”

 “My extra sugars?”

She pauses. 

Turning back towards him, she says, “Yes, Mr. Boudreaux. You always keep two sugars next to your cup in case your coffee is too bitter, remember?” 

“Oh…yeah. ‘Course. I remember,” the old man murmurs, his voice trailing off, a smile still on his face, but smaller than before. 

“Love? We might need another pitcher of the chicory,” Eros calls from the counter, leaning down to check if they had any more in the front.

“Coming.”

She gives the older man a weak smile, hand against his shoulder as she pulls away from him. Going into the back to grab a bag of the powdery root, she pushes her palm against the door as she’s back in the front to hand the ingredient over to her friend.

Eros questions, “How’s Mr. Bodreaux doing today, more senile than usual?” 

“He’s not senile,” she reminds, “He has Alzheimer’s. Don’t do that.”

Eros sighs, lifting the bag of chicory into the air as he shrugged, “Semantics,” he mutters, “Anyways, that’s not the only thing that’s empty—we need more espresso beans.”

You sigh, “Dammit. I knew I forgot to order something this morning. Uh—you can grab the emergency stash from the back, I’ll order some later tonight—“

She pauses, noticing as the customers within her shop are looking in the direction of outside. Her eyes follow to where they all stare, noticing a tall figure—but she can’t even look at him, all she sees is the camera pointed at her cafe, soundlessly snapping photos from the outside.

“Uh—you know him?” 

Eros squints against the sun outside, standing on his toes as he attempts to get a better look. 

“Don’t think so,” he mutters. 

She watches as he backs onto the curb, camera covering his entire face as he snapped more photos. But when she noticed the uncomfortable looks of her customers—she had to think quickly on her feet. 

Throwing the towel she holds, the bell jingles above the door as she exits the building. She’s a bit breathless as she waves, “Hi—Um, excuse me?”

Even when she tries to go unnoticed, she’s hard to not look at. 

A swirl between cinnamon and burnt orange sprawls around her head, the color outstanding even with being swathed under a loose scarf to pull her curls from her freckled cheeks. 

The pinstripe blouse she wears hugs the curve of her waist, squeezing the poke of her hips beneath the fitted cargo pants that pull the look together. Olive. It had to be one of her favorite colors. Her reddened hair mimicked the color of her eyebrows, equally matching her lashes—she was committed to gingers, browns and greens—pretty. 

But nothing was more pretty than her face. It was round like a doll, eyes feline, the caramel of her skin contrasting with the milky clutter of a birthmark surrounding her left eye, nearly swallowing that entire part of her face. 

She gains his attention as she questions, “Hello? What are you doing?” 

Onyankopon takes the camera away from his face, letting it hang around his neck as his head turns in her direction. His eyes roamed all over, trying to take in the entirety of her form as she stood within his site—The soft shade of her cheeks, the curls that peeked from their silk cloth, the color of her skin. 

He’s at a loss for words. 

Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers along the back of his neck as he replies, “My fault. I’m just—takin’ pictures of the building.”

His voice is low, attractive. Their native accent has his voice by the throat, heavy with every word that drops from his mouth. She’s quick to brief him over—even if she wanted a second longer to stare. There seem to be more tattoos along his body than clothes, even if his arms were covered by the leather jacket he wears. They start from his neck, dancing beneath the cotton material of his shirt. His brown skin is smooth, melting, complimenting the shine of the silver jewelry from his nose, ears and fingers. The cornrows on his head fit his face perfectly, jaw aligned by the goatee on his face—he was finer than fine. 

She clears her throat, crossing her arms, “I see that—But why, is what I’m asking.”

He hums softly, hands within his pant’s pockets as he responds, “You own this place, huh?”, nodding his head in the direction of the cafe.

She turns her head back to look at the building. 

Her breath exhales, “It’s mine, yeah.”

Onyankopon raises his brows, a small smirk crawling along his face as he responds, “Impressive.”

Stepping closer to her, his hands still tucked inside his pockets as he looked up and down her figure, “How long’ you been runnin’ it?”

“Why you’ askin’ so many questions? I’m the one tryna’ figure out why you’re taking pictures of my building.”

He gives a soft chuckle at her defensive tone, “Aight, aight. Chill. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

He tilts his head to the side, “You got a body hidin’ in there or sum’?”

The lower of her eyebrows soften. She flicks her eyes to the bustle of people walking, suppressing the smallest smile. 

She responds, “No, I don’t.”

“The world finna’ go cold—I think that was a smile I almost saw. You gon’ tell me yo’ name, or imma’ have to find it under a crime case?”

The sound of her laugh was soft, sweeter than what he expected. She points up at the sign, “It’s Nola, like the sign up there.”

NOLA’S BREW. 

She pushes a flyaway behind her ear, “My mom was a little too in love with her hometown as you can see.”

He chuckles, “It’s cute though. You was’ born here?”

“9th ward. You?” 

Nola pulls the scarf from around her hair, giving him a chance to see the color frame the shape of her face—she quickly ties it back as he looks a little too closely. 

“7th,” he replies, “You’ a long way from the West Bank. Whatchu doin’ over here?”

“My momma owned this shop since I was a baby, passed it down to me before she died—so…yeah,” she plays with a curl along the side of her shoulder, freckled cheeks flushed in her explanation.

He observes, “You’ gotta’ be a couple years my junior with that accent of yours.”

She raises an eyebrow, “What you’ tryna’ say? I’m twenty-five—although you ain’t supposed to ask a woman’s age. How old are you, stranger? Since you still haven’t told me your name.”

He grins, “Onyankopon. And I’m twenty-nine.”

Twenty-nine. 

It wasn’t anything crazy, but a man four years older than her might’ve been a little intimidating. Nola keeps her composer as she reminds, “You still never told me why you’re taking pictures of my cafe.”

“Imma’ photographer,” he explains, pulling the camera up from his neck, gripping it by the strap as his thumb rubs against the side of the device.

Onyankopon continues, “I’m doing a column on black businesses’ in the city, wanted to find something less local—smaller, ended up finding your shop.” 

His eyes won’t stop boring into her, “I’m glad I did.”

Nola didn’t want to be insecure. But she was, especially with a man staring at her the way this one did. She suddenly wants to swipe the birthmark off her face, shrink her hips to be slimmer, look more presentable then she did at this moment. 

She ignores his last comment, “You write on the column too? Not just take the pictures?”

“Editor-in-chief, unfortunately.”

The height difference between them now becomes a bit more prominent the moment he takes another step towards her. 

He notices the way she starts to shrink, the way she avoids meeting in his eyes—it’s almost cute.  

“You’ nervous or sum’?”

Nola blinks at the question. She twists a curl in her finger, coiling it as she responds, “No, I’m just—cold.”

Onyankopon then lifts his camera from his neck, angling it right on the entirety of her. Her body flares in panic, and she shrieks, “Woah!—What are you doing?”

“I gotta get some shots of the person who runs the place, right?”

“No—no,” she steps forward, pressing her palm along his lens, pulling it down, “Please don’t do that. I’m, um—not a big fan of pictures.”

The smirk on his face drops. The way she reacts has him confused—maybe even a little Concerned. 

His fingers lower the camera away, his voice lowering too as he questions, “What you talkin’ ‘bout? You’ pretty as hell.”

Nola still holds his camera within her fingers, close enough to smell the scent of cocoa musk. Giving a nervous laugh, she gently shakes her head as she replies, “That’s a bit overzealous.”

He frowns, “You serious? You really don’t like gettin’ yo’ picture taken?”

“No.”

Nola clears her throat, birthmark glowing under the sunlight coming from within the clouds as she gives a polite rub to his palm, “Look—um, maybe you should find another business. I can recommend some food trucks, other coffee shops. I don’t think my place fits your column.”

His hand still hadn’t moved from her wrist, the heat seeping through her veins—She smelled of everything that was good. 

Onyankopon rolls his full lips together, “You run a black owned coffee shop on the busiest street in New Orleans—prime real estate—and you’ tellin’ me your place ain’t good enough for my column?”

“Sounds a little local then, don’t you think?” 

She turns his words back on him, gently pulling her hand away from his, “You want something that’s special, Onyankopon.”

“You’ right. So let a nigga take a picture of you, Nola.” 

That causes her mouth to part open a bit. She sighs, “Onyankopon—“

Her eyes glanced back to her shop, “I should go back inside.”

Onyankopon gently finds her wrist before she could take another step, pulling her back into place, “Nah, hollon’. Don’t be tryna’ run from me.” 

He’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy the way the sunlight bounced off her skin, the flush of her cheeks darkening from being nervous. 

“I’ll buy a coffee if you need me to.”

“Now you tryna’ buy a picture of me?” 

“I’m tryna’ get yo’ attention, girl. You’ stubborn as hell.” 

Nola tugs at the dark pink of her lips, tinted with brown as she glances over his face. Her curls fall against her shoulder as she tilts her head, “I’m sure they’ll be another woman’s attention you can find in another coffee shop.”

She hears the jingle of the door, Eros peeking his head out, “Nola! We need that espresso—“

He halts, glancing over his friend standing across from an extremely attractive man. 

“Am I—interrupting something?”

Nola shakes her head, “No, you’re fine. I’m coming.” 

She turns back towards Onyankopon, “I really have to go.”

Her soft spoken—yet stern—voice was like honey. She was a little difficult to figure out, which made her more intriguing in his eyes. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

She raises an eyebrow, “I never said I’d be in your column, Onyankopon.”

He shrugs, “You didn’t say you wouldn’t, either.”

Now both of her eyebrows raise, “And you think an additional twenty-four hours is gonna change that?” 

“I’ll wait an eternity if that means talkin’ to you.”

The sight of him hovering above her smaller frame has her heart thumping again. His words are stern, meaningful. She hates how they make her feel.

“Nola!” 

Eros becomes impatient this time. She pushes out a huff at the sound of her name, still racking her brain on even agreeing to his words.

She then says, “Tomorrow. But no pictures—you can only pull that camera out if I say so.”

He gives a lopsided smile, his eyes lighting up at her response.

“Aight, Mama. Nothin’ that ain’t on your terms,” he agrees, “Promise.”

The term of endearment makes that thump in her heart jolt. She pulls a curl behind her ear once more as she turns away, “I mean it!”

“Heard you. Imma’ see you—Nola from 9th Ward.” 

Her hand pressing along the door slows as she looks back at him once more, and that’s when the softest giggle pulls from her lips.

“Bye, Onyankopon from 7th.”

                                       𝓐ᥫ᭡

LOOKING WITHIN THE MIRROR WASN’T SOMETHING NOLA DID OFTEN. It became a habit of hers today—from looking into the reflection of the coffee maker, the small mirror on the counter, bathroom breaks—she was unsure why she had prepared for today’s new customer to enter the cafe. Maybe a small part of her was anticipating him to come. 

But as time passed throughout the day, and each jingle of the bell atop of the door wasn’t him, she began to think their entire conversation wasn’t anything she should’ve taken seriously. 

“You okay?”

Eros wipes the toaster on the opposite side of the counter, raising his eyebrow as he looks over at Nola who stares into space.

“Hm?” She turns, “Oh—sorry, yeah,” she looks to the door that opens, seeing as another customer comes in, “I’m fine,” her shoulders deflate a bit. 

“You thinkin’ about that boy, ain’t you?”

Nola blinks, “Boy? Who?” 

“Come on now,” Eros rolls his eyes, “I see the way you look every time the door opens.”

He comes closer, placing his chin over her shoulder, “I saw the way you were lookin’ at him yesterday. He was foiinneee.” 

“He was aight.”

He snorts as she gives her simple reply, “Oh bullshit. You were blushin’.”

His elbow knocks into her side, “What were y’all talking about anyways?”

“Said he’s a journalist—but it seems like his main passion is photography. He’s doing a column on black owned business’, ‘wanted the shop to be a part of it— I didn’t really give him a yes to that idea,” she briefly explained, beginning to brew a mug of coffee written along a sticky note.

Eros’ expression falls with her words, “You tellin’ me a fine ass man like that came in here asking you to be a part of his column— and you said no?”

“He asked for the cafe, Eros. Not me.”

“But he wanted pictures of you.”

“Yeah? What kinda pictures?” she retorts, “I’m good on’ being in his onlyfans portfolio. I told him I’d think about being in it, that’s it.”

Eros rolls his eyes, “You’re killin’ me.”

He leans in closer, “What’s the problem, Nola? Is this about your—“

“Eros,” Nola warns, “I just—let’s not get into that, okay? I’m allowed to say no to someone wanting to take photos of me. Can he just come, propose this column idea, and go about his business? Is that alright with you?”

Eros’ expression becomes solemn. He sighs, “Fine, Fine. I was just saying. But can I ask, when’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Nola rolls her eyes, “I went out with that lawyer that came here a month ago!” She points out, giving a polite smile as she hands off the warm mug to a customer, “Beignets, please.”

Eros moves to the display case. He scoffs, “Wrong—That don’t’ count, boo. That man was boring as hell. He talked about the history of coffee for two hours, and the date was here while you were on shift!” 

He grabs the beignets from within the glass casing, placing it on the tray.

She shrugs, “He said he was busy that day.”

She sighs, realizing how she sounded. Maybe she did need to loosen up a bit. She needed to give herself the opportunity to flirt with an attractive man—And Onyankopon was attractive. 

The moment she goes to reply—the jingle of the door catches her attention. 

A plaid black and brown button up covers the wife beater he wears, alabaster cotton clinging to the sculpt of his abs under the patterned material. He wears a pair of brown dunks today, cargos pulling together the entire outfit. His nose ring shines under the light atop of the door, cornrows always looking as if they were freshly done.

Her eyes flicker down to the bouquet of Lilies and delphiniums mixed within his palm, wrapped in sea green paper—Eros’ mouth parts a bit at the sight, “Just pictures, huh?”

Nola was a bit lost for words—Which wasn’t a thing for her. 

She looked different today. The sunset ginger of her curls are fuller, flowing down to the hips of her corseted dress she wears. The straps continuously slip from her shoulders, bustier full beneath the sweetheart neckline, lace trimming the drawstring tied between her breast. 

Nola’s face is already flushed. She gives him a childish wave as she greets, “…Hi.”

Onyankopon practically glares at the sight of her. He was unsure of what to say, but the feeling of holding the flowers in his hand gives him a bit of courage.

 His low voice greets, “You look pretty, Mama.”

Her full lips curl into a nervous smile. With eyes peering down to the flowers, “You forget to drop those off somewhere?”

Onyankopon glances down with her, his lips stretching into the lazy smirk that Nola hated to love, “Nah. They’re for you—Thought you could use some color outside of them’ plants you got around here.”

“Flowers after the second interaction, huh?” Eros questions, “Y’all hear them’ wedding bells?” 

Nola flicks her eyes towards her friend, “Eros—go away, yeah?” 

He gives a wink, “Already gone,” making his way around the counter, he stops, “You don’t happen to like

men too, do you?”

Onyankopon chuckles, “Nah. Just pretty women, like yo’ shy ass friend.” 

He sighs, “Too bad. I’m gone.” 

Eros goes to check on customers, blowing a kiss towards Nola’s death glare.

She apologizes, “Sorry about him. Um—thank you, for these,” she gently takes the bouquet into her hands, “Was traffic bad? It’s nearly six.”

Okay, she tried to say that without sounding like she was waiting for him, but she couldn’t help but question his whereabouts.

“Bad as hell. Why you’ askin’? You’ thought I was finna’ stand you up?”

“No!—No. I just—I figured you would come earlier this morning—not around the time I almost close up shop. It’s not my business to know what you were doing,” she shakes her head.

He leans against the counter, watching as she places the flowers onto the edge, “You cute as hell,” he grins, “I just got caught up with some other parts of

the column. I wanted you to be my last stop.”

“What other places did you find?” 

She turns towards the sink to fill a jar up with water, bending her body a bit to reach further.

Onyankopon eyes immediately drop down to follow the arch within her back, the way the fabric tightens around her hips, the shape of her ass—

He looks back up to her, biting the inside of his cheek as he forces his eyes back to her face, “Couple food trucks, and some clothing businesses.”

“That’s good. Hopefully you didn’t ambush them like you did me,” she teases, unrolling the flowers from the paper they’re wrapped in, beginning to place them within the water stem by stem.

“They were all friendly enough—One nigga didn’t even want the money I offered, just wanted his pictures taken.”

“Money?” she blinks, “Why the hell you ain’t say that when you first approached me—I would’ve been real friendly if I knew I was getting paid!” 

He raises his hand to his chest, “Is that all I’m worth? A dollar sign?”

“I was worth a cup of coffee if you recall,” Nola reminds, leaning herself against the counter, “I’m not pretty enough to be paid off?”

“Hell nah. You’ the prettiest fuckin’ belle in New Orleans.”

“Such a sweet lil’ southern boy you are,” she hums, leaning her face against her palm, “These lines work on all the belles of New Orleans?”

“Nah, they’ reserved just for you.” 

Onyankopon watches as Nola smiles, a flush spreading over her cheeks, “You got a cute ass smile. Got a nigga nervous— lawd,” he flaps the wifebeater he wears, making Nola giggle in return. 

She shakes her head, “You’re a mess. Want anything to eat?”

“Now you know I ain’t finna’ leave Nola’s Brew without her famous beignets. I asked around the city.”

She dips down to grab for a plate, “You wanted to know about me so bad that you asked around the city? Stalker, much?”

“More like a researcher. I was doin’ what any good journalist would,” He watches her place the pastries from the case onto the plate, “Besides, I ain’t think you’d ever agree to me comin’ back, so the only solution was to ask around.”

“Hm. I guess that’s fair,” Nola slides the plate over to him, “Want me to feed them to you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “That’s what you want? You tryna’ drop sum’ on my tongue already?” 

She rolls her eyes, “I was hoping that stuffing your mouth would keep you quiet—Feed yourself.”

Nola takes the vase off the counter, leaving him with that final comment. She begins to circle around the cafe, Onyankopon only able to watch as she hands the flowers out to each woman sitting within the building. He wasn’t used to being so starstruck by a woman, but damn, here she was. 

The moment she leaves, Eros comes speed walking in replacement, glancing over the shop before he quickly lowers his voice, “Nola will kill me if she ever knew I told you this—but she seems to like you, and I just don’t want her fight or flight to kick in if you pry on her issues with pictures.”

He makes sure she isn’t looking in their direction before he continues, “She had a girl throw acid on her back when she was a teenager—it caused really bad chemical burns that triggered her vitiligo.” 

Onyakopon’s eyebrows lowered, shock within his expression at the words that Eros spoke. Everything was starting to make sense. He glances behind himself, watching her face a customer with a cheerful giggle. 

He murmurs, “Is that why she was so uncomfortable? ‘Bout the whole picture thing?”

Eros nods, “She still has a hard time—being okay with the way she looks. So—just be patient with her. She acts like she doesn’t like the sweet stuff, but she’s really softhearted.”

“You over there messing with him?” 

Nola brings her attention back to where both men stand, crossing her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow. 

Eros frowns, “Moi? Messing with somebody? Never.” 

Onyankopon shakes his head, grinning as she places her vase on the empty table, “He straight lyin’. He was in the middle of sayin’ how cool I was.”

He couldn’t lie, that story was still stuck on his mind. Something in him wanted to make her smile—Make her feel safe. 

Nola looks between the two, narrowing her eyes a bit. She says, “Hm. Okay. Anyways, how are you doing, Mr. Boudreaux?”

Sitting next to the elderly man who’s distracted in his own game of solitaire, she leans her curls against his shoulder, “You need another coffee?”

Mr. Boudreaux gives a huff, waving it off, “No, no. I’m fine, darlin’. If I drink anymore, I’ll be up all night.” 

Nola giggles, “Understood.”

She then look over to Onyankopon, “This is Mr. Boudreaux—He’s been coming in here since my momma owned the shop, but I’m starting to think he just likes my company,” she hums, wrapping her fingers around his arm, “Mr. Boudreaux, this is Onyankopon—he’s trying to do a column on black businesses in New Orleans, said he wanted to do a section on my cafe.” 

Mr. Boudreaux gives a hum, “Nice to meet ya’, young man.” 

Onyankopon gives a polite nod, “Nice to meet you, too, sir. How she’ treating you here? ‘She as friendly as they say?” 

The older man looks down at Nola, patting her head with a small smile, “That and more.”

“Maybe you can write about Mr. Boudreaux instead? Take the spotlight off me that you wanna shine so badly,” Nola suggests to Onyankopon, playfully spinning one of the cards on the table.

Onyankopon chuckles, “I want the world to know the good things ‘bout this place and the people inside— but you’ ain’t getting off the hook that easy. The owner has their own section.” 

Nola sighs, leaning further into the older man as she adds, “It seems he’s also trying to court me, Mr. Boudreaux.” 

Mr. Boudreaux chuckles in response, beginning to shuffle his cards as he says to Onyankopon, “I may not remember much, but I do remember one thing—my wife also hated a mass amount of attention. Barely enjoyed mine. She couldn’t see what I saw. You have to be a woman’s mirror sometimes— remind them why you’re always lookin’.”

Onyankopon watches Nola’s expression soften, those pretty freckles on her face shining under the lights of the shop as she listens.

That was definitely sound advice.

The last couple of hours were spent checking on customers that lounged around the cafe before closing, talking to other regulars, and even trying to reach Onyankopon how to make the perfect cup of coffee—Nola giggled as he politely served the cup to a customer, the older woman talking his ear off as she repeated how handsome he was.

She didn’t expect to enjoy his company with the short time of meeting him, but he was—sweet. He knew how to make her laugh, and he seemed to be interested in what she had to say. She might’ve liked him. 

Nola hands him a glass cup to wipe, using her own rag to clean the counter as she questions, “Anything you thinkin’ about saying in your column?”

“So now you gon’ let me do it?” 

She tilts her head, “Hm—not yet. But if I did let you, what would you say?”

“I would say that you got a real pretty cafe. Good ass beignets, Nice people, better coffee—And a boss who’s real’ easy on the eyes.”

“I’m serious, Ony.”

He chuckles, placing the glass back in the case, “I’m forreal’. Why ‘you always think I’m frontin’?”

“Cause a nigga that wants something will say anything to get it,” she replies, handing him another cup.

“And you’ think I want sum’ from you?”

“You want that picture, right? Maybe you’re all flirty so you can do your job, then suddenly I never hear from you again.”

She goes to place her final cup in the cabinet above the counter—but that’s when it’s snatched from her fingers, Onyankopon placing the cup above her reach, closing the cabinet before she can fully protest. 

His eyebrows lower, “Can I just wanna talk to yo’ cute ass cause I want to, or it always gotta be something malicious?”

Nola tilts her head to the side, curls falling against her shoulder as she sees his face. She sighs, “Okay, maybe I’m being presumptuous.”

She pushes a rag towards his free hand, “Wanna wipe down the tables to seem less malicious?”

Onyankopon smacks his lips, “Got a nigga doin’ free labor to prove that I like you? That’s crazy,” He takes the rag into his fingers, nodding nonetheless, “Yeah, aight. You good with sweepin’, or you need me to handle that too?”

“Just the tables.”

Nola watches as he begins wiping down the booths, muscles flexing beneath the plaid button up he wears. She hated how good looking he was. 

“So, you actually like this one or you just wanna make him a new employee?” 

Eros pushes the door open from the kitchen, gathering all of his stuff within his hands as he prepares to clock out. 

Nola keeps her eyes on Onyankopon. She replies, “He’s sweet.”

“Ain’t never heard you say a man was sweet before. He cleans, listens, calls you mama. You sure we can’t keep him?“

Nola nudges her shoulder against his, shaking her head as she mutters, “Get out of here, Eros.” 

Eros chuckles, throwing an air kiss to her, turning towards Onyankopon as he winks, “Later, Papi.”

Onyankopon shakes his head, “See you, Eros. Be safe.” 

He watches the bell jingle above the door, turning his attention back to Nola, “Yo’ friend is sum’ else.”

“Yeah, he’s a mess.” 

Reaching out for the rag, her voice is soft as she tells him,  “Listen—I wanted to say thank you for helping me close up tonight. It was kinda busy today—I hope I didn’t hinder any of your plans?”

“You good, Mama. I had this jazz lounge to head to later on—but the owner is on a business trip, so he won’t be able to do the column anyway, said I was more than welcome to go snap a couple photos.” 

Nola raises her eyebrows, “A jazz lounge? Don’t think I’ve ever been,” she murmurs, adjusting the seats under the smaller tables, “Sounds cool.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout it sounds cool, you thought you wasn’t’ comin’ with me?”

“Is that your way of asking me?”

“Maybe you was’ right on yo’ lil’ theory about a nigga wanting somethin’ from you, Ms. Nola from’ 9th ward—I might’ve helped you clean up ‘cause I want you to come with me to this lounge—Smart, huh?”

She’s unable to hide the amusement along her face. Nola barely remembered the last time she’d gone out with a man—besides that boring lawyer—and she enjoyed spending time with Onyankopon. A couple more hours wouldn’t hurt. 

She glances around the restaurant once more, a sigh passing her lips as she questions, “Do I need to change?” 

Onyankopon smiles. 

 Nola dropped her keys within the miniature purse she carried, tucking it under the seat of Onyankopon’s car as they parked at the end of Bourbon street. Beads hang from the top of multicolored buildings, street performers catching the attention of people walking by—an all around experience awaited each time someone peered at the corner of the French Quarter. 

The thinness of her golden heel stumbled as a group of drunken party goers passed by in shrills of laughter, Onyankopon’s attention on his camera, making sure his lens was focused. 

Nola’s fingers slipped into the warmth of his palm, leaning a bit closer to calm her nerves. She gives an apologetic exhale of, “Sorry—it’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

Onyankopon adjusts his grip to tighten around Nola’s trembling palm, her skin soft against his rough fingers as he continues to focus on the viewfinder, “You’ fine, Mama. Don’t apologize.” 

The beads of the buildings clatter in the distance, her nerves calming slightly when she leaned closer to him. Safe.

“Look.”

She tugs him in the direction she stands, now in front of a painted mural—it’s simpler than the ones planted all around New Orleans— clouded captures of green trees through an arched doorway that represent a forest. 

“Tromp l'oeil—means to trick the eye,” the French term rolls off her tongue effortlessly, staring back to the painting.

“You speak French?” 

 His camera lens focuses on the mural, capturing the trick in the painting, “You full of little surprises, huh?”

Nola giggles a bit, “My momma spoke it fluently— most creole people do. I wasn’t willing to learn it though,” she shrugs, “How’s it showing up on the camera?”

“You’ so interesting,” he murmurs, looking through a different view finder, “I’m tryna’ find the best lens for it.” 

His fingers fiddle with the focus, tilting his head back and forth to the painting, “Remind me to ask you to speak some French for me later.”

She rolls her eyes. Turning back to see his focus along the camera, she comes closer as she questions, “Can I see?”

“C’mere.” 

He turns the camera towards Nola. The lens captures the vibrant colors of the paint, the illusion creating a deeper archway with trees inside a building. His eyes watch as a slight smile forms on her face, admiring the work.

She clicks through the photos he’d already taken, stopping at a particular one as her acrylic nail gently taps the screen, “I like this one.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. The colors compliment the shadows. Makes it all look like a dream.” 

Onyankopon’s chin nearly brushes against her shoulder, but not quite. His voice is a bit huskier than before as he murmurs, “I like it too. Looks good in color.”

When she turns to look at him, their faces are now very close—The heat radiating off Nola’s skin is almost felt. Onyankopon’s eyes flit down to her lips.

Her heart is back to thumping within her chest. A new feeling progresses within their interactions—his glare down to her face makes her clit throb, and she has to blink herself out of the fantasies that course through her mind like a flash. 

She clears her throat, pulling her curls behind her ear as she questions, “Wanna try a picture of me?”

His breathing becomes more of a soft, almost deep rasp, but he pulls a smirk as she suggests the picture, “You finally lettin’ me take a picture, huh? That mean you trust me now?”

She leans herself against the brick wall, “Hush. I just—I wanna know how you get people to be comfortable.”

He closes the camera lens, raising an eyebrow at her statement, “Comfortable? Nah— that ain’t my goal.”

Onyankopon moves forward, gently guiding her hands behind her back, his gaze lingering on the curves of her shape. 

He murmurs, “I want the people I capture to seduce the camera—not look comfortable.”

Nola frowns, “You want me to fuck the camera is what you’re saying?”

“Nah, no.” 

His fingers move to brush over her curls, gently pushing her hair to the side to expose her neck, “I just wanna see you natural—like how you’ be in the cafe—Just keep talkin’ to me.”

There’s a hesitance within her face as Onyankopon pulls the camera back up, Nola glancing around the area, feeling the shyness tensing through her body. 

If only she could see herself. Her hair frames her face perfectly, freckles daubed along her cheeks as the neon lanterns glow in between the snowy and caramel mixture of her skin. 

She blinks, “Uh—what should I say?”

His camera clicks in her direction, studying each soft feature within her face. The shyness in her expression makes his hands itch—but he wanted to see it. He wanted to capture her most vulnerable moments. 

“Lemme’ hear more about yo’ momma.” 

His voice was a bit more of a husk, but his focus never once left the lens.

Nola glances at him from behind the lens. She takes a deep breath, looking back at the crowd of people as she responds, “Um—My momma used to take me here when I was younger. She used to get her palm read by the ladies on the street. They terrified me,” she softly giggles.

“Yeah? Why they’ terrified you?”

“I think the idea of someone knowing my life before I did was a little spooky for me—Momma was worse than those women at times. Always telling me what I’d look like, who I’d be in the future.”

The softest smile is along her face, reminiscing at the thought of her mom. 

“…She also told me there was gonna’ be a time where I wasn’t gonna have her. I didn’t know she meant so early on in my life—Probably should’ve listened a little harder.” 

Her smile goes a little faint, almost forgetting the camera was there.

“You miss her?”

“…It’s hard to miss her when she’s always with me. In my mugs, my books, my plants, my beignets,” she softly laughs, “She’s everywhere with me. So, not too often.” 

The cool air of the night begins to wisp around her hair, it’s as if the temperature brings her back to reality—she finally sees the camera.

She walks up to him, covering the lens as she exhales, “Alright, boy. I’m done being your lil’ muse. Ain’t this supposed to be a date?”

“Date?” 

He chuckles at the term, “You callin’ this a date? You tryna’ get a nigga’s hopes up?”

She blinks, realizing what she’d just said.

“Did I say date? I meant—you finna’ be late to see this jazz lounge!” 

Her heels click against the ground as she walks, “C’mon!”

Onyankopon’s grin follows at her quick attempt to cover her words, letting the camera hang at his side as he follows after her, “Girl—you already called it a date—you can’t take that back now!” 

He follows behind as they approach a white-bricked, historic-looking building, a hum of jazz music slipping from inside as it draws them closer. A live band plays on the stage towards the back of the dimly lit lounge—Couples and friends moving to the rhythm, a mixture of flavor scented cigars dancing in the air.  

Onyankopon guides Nola to an open table, pulling her chair out for her before sitting across from her. His eyes glance over the interior of the building, the various people of differing ages laughing and socializing. The vibe feels—romantic.

Nola watches his fingers nearly itch for his camera. He peers through the darkness, clicking photos of the art above the walls, the dancing figures, the intimate tone the club sets for itself. 

“So,” her eyes flick from the candle in the middle of the table, up to his handsome features, “You never told me how you got into journalism.”

Goddamn her, he thought. Her freckles looked almost like constellations within the candle light, “That’s a bit of a story.”

“Oh. You one of them niggas.”

His eyebrow raises back at her, “What ‘you mean by that?”

“The one that wants to know everything about a woman, but the moment she wants to know something about him—he’s silent.”

“Maybe I’m just not a nigga who likes to talk about himself.”

“Well isn’t that boring?”

Nola’s voice is sarcastic, eyes turning away as she waves for the attention of a waitress. Her shoulders deflate a bit at his vague response, and that small speck of dismissiveness might’ve proved him too good to be true. 

“Can I have a frozen sangria?” she politely asks, handing the menu back to the woman as she smiles, “Thank you.”

He watches her order, his eyes narrowing as she avoids his gaze. He was a bit thrown off by how quickly her mood had changed. 

The waitress nodded at her drink request, turning to Onyankopon, “And for you, sir?” 

He muttered, “A beer. Thank you.” 

He waits until the waitress disappears, “So you don’t fuck with me no more?”

“You said you didn’t have anything to say, so why you’ still talkin’ to me?”

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow. His gaze becomes a little cold, “I didn’t say I ain’t wanna’ talk to you, Nola. I just said I wasn’t someone who like talkin’ about themselves—there’s a difference.”

“And if I said some shit like that to you, yo’ ass would’ve been all in my face lookin’ for an answer,” her accent becomes heavier the more she’s annoyed, “But you can say you don’t like talking about yourself and dismiss my question, huh? Yeah— okay.”

“Nah, shawty. I wouldn’t have been all in yo’ face. If you said you weren’t comfortable talkin’ about yourself—I would’ve left you alone. I ain’t pry about them’ pictures, did I?” 

She huffs, “Well maybe I just wanna know something about the nigga I like. I ain’t’ think that was a crime.”

His eyebrow raises at her confession. The cocky bastard has a grin along his face, “So that’s why you trippin’. ‘Cause you like me? Why you’ makin’ yourself all frustrated when you could’ve just said that?”

“Why would I boost your big ass ego?” 

He can see the way her face flushes despite her attitude. He can’t stop looking at her, Onyankopon’s gaze more serious as he confirms, “I like you too, Nola.”

Yeah, she was blushing. Again. Her eyes watched as people began to flood the dance floor, the band beginning to play a more calming tune rather than the upbeat instrumentals they carried on before. 

She reaches for his hand as she questions, “Come dance with me?”

Maybe this was her way of apologizing. She pulls him to a corner of the dance floor, placing his arms to the lower part of her back. Nola giggles as he places her feet along his shoes, noticing that she stood on the tips of her heels to wrap her arms around his neck.

He gives a soft chuckle as he pulls her closer, “You still mad?” 

She sighs, “I might’ve been a little mean earlier. I’m sorry. I just—I like you, and I wanna know things about you.”

He didn’t need her to apologize. He wanted to know everything about her, so it wasn’t wrong for her to want the same. Nola leans herself more into him, pressing her curls against his chest as she follows the rhythm of the music. 

That’s when Onyankopon says, “Imma’ photographer that went to school for journalism, and my pops thinks I’m wastin’ my life away. That don’t’ sound too interesting to tell anybody.”

“Why does he think that?”

His fingers tightened against her waist a bit, “He wanted me to be a doctor, and all I wanted to do was take pictures. He ain’t’ believe me when I said photojournalism was a real profession—you know how it goes with parents.”

“Are you happy though? That you followed your dreams?”

Onyankopon pulls her even closer, his nose lightly running against her curls as he murmurs, “I wouldn’t be here with you if I ain’t always go’ for what I wanted.”

Nola blushes, covering it with a snort, “You’re so corny.” 

He chuckles at her snort, keeping her body close to his, “Corny? Nah. Delusional? Maybe.”

Nola had noticed something about Onyankopon. As the night went on, drinking, dancing, she couldn’t pull away from the look upon his face each time he snapped a photo. He was almost—elated. 

It was the same eyes she had each time she opened her cafe, each time she made a customer happy—like she was exactly where she needed to be.

However, being exactly where she needed to be didn’t apply at this moment—as she was now standing at the doorway of Onyankopon’s condo, heart beating within her chest as she’d agreed to come over when the weather began to get bad outside. His place was closer to Bourbon street, and she’d decided to camp out here until he could drive her back home. 

It was a modern-styled condo. White walls, leather furniture, and wooden frames throughout the home. He seemed to love the color brown. The coffee table was covered in books and magazines, along with vinyls that he’d collected over years of traveling. 

“You want sum’ to drink?” 

Nola’s heart continuously thumps in her ears. She gives a weak smile, “Sure—a glass of wine would be nice.”

He gives a nod, his hand gripping her fingers to lead her onto the couch, “I got you. Make yourself comfortable, aight? I’ll be back.” 

The silence of the place was almost deafening. The only sounds Nola could focus on were the occasional car passing by outside, the rain, and the clinking of the wine glasses. 

She picks up a book off of the glass table, mindlessly flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures, distracting herself. Placing the book back down, she clears her throat as she places her heels next to the door, adjusting her dress as she comes down the foyer leading to the kitchen.

“You have a record player?” 

Her eyes caught sight of the machine first, but then she caught sight of him—his back was facing the hallway, plaid button up now removed for her to see the muscular bulge of his arms, coated in tattoos. Nola swallows.

Her gaze scans over his bare skin, his body chiseled,  muscular and strong. The black cotton boxers under his cargos ride a little below his hips, showing more of his tattoo work upon his skin. Down, down, down—

“Yeah, my pops said music sounded better on em’. He put me on.”

She needed another distraction. Squatting down, Nola pulls one of the vinyls—Al Green, Love And Happiness—pressing the button up top as she places the disc within the slot.

The needle moves around the record, playing in soft strums, mixing with the sound of the rain falling outside. It fits the moment well, but doesn’t seem to help the tension she feels.

Her eyes fall to the other corner of his living room—a makeshift backdrop hangs from his ceiling, another camera posted on its stick across from the white background. 

She calls from down the hallway, “You um—take pictures here, too?”

“Yeah, I do most of my test shoots here—Better than havin’ to rent a studio and the client says they don’t like their pictures.” 

He comes out of the kitchen, a bottle of chilled wine in one hand, her glass of Stella Rose Black within the other.

She gives a soft smile as she takes the glass, “Thank you. Um—does that happen a lot? Having clients not like their photos?”

“Unfortunately. Most people think they’ finna’ look exactly like they do in real life, but that’s impossible. They’ just picky sometimes.”

“Well—maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be the one in front of the camera and not behind it.”

She tugs him onto the backdrop, stepping back as she locks her fingers around the camera. She giggles, “Lemme’ get one of you. I’m sure you know how to take the perfect picture.”

Onyankopon stands in the center of the white cloth, his arms folded over his chest as he reminds, “This ain’t ‘bout me. I thought you just wanted me to talk?”

“We can multitask,” she mutters, looking at him through the camera—he seems bigger in the frame, taking up the entirety of it. Nola then prods, “So, tell me something, Onyankopon from 7th Ward, what do you love about photography?”

He keeps his face down, eyes almost glaring as he looks towards the camera, “That’s a broad question.” 

Onyankopon’s fingers itch, his expression hardening a bit more, “I like the control I get from behind the camera.“

Oh.

 Nola’s smile faintly drops from her face. Her heart was back to thumping in her ears, almost having the skin singed.

A photo clicks through her swallow, her eyes still peeking through the camera as she softly replies, “Control is a…word choice.”

He’s focused solely on her. Onyankopon murmurs, “Don’t try to act like you don’t get the same thing from yo’ lil’ cafe.” 

His voice is huskier by the second, “We all like bein’ in charge.”

“So that’s what you want? To be in control of the person you’re taking pictures of?” 

“You sayin’ you don’t want the same thing when you deal with people?” 

His gaze burns into her, “When they walk through yo’ doors, don’t you want them to know that you’re the one controllin’ the place? That you’re the one that runs shit?”

His words make her tense. The darkness of night begins to consume the room a bit, the moonlight coming through as the rain slows down. 

She’s back to playing with the curls of her hair, a nervous giggle spilling from her lips as she says, “I don’t think I’m too good behind the camera,” stepping herself back from the lens.

His eyes follow her every movement, his expression almost dark. 

“Why not?”

She’s unsure of how to answer that. 

“…You said you have a sense of control when doing so, but I feel a little awkward tryna’ take photos of you. So—maybe I’m more submissive, in that sense. Better at taking direction then giving it,” she pulls her hair to one side, coiling a piece beneath her finger.

The words out of her mouth have his eyes lowering to watch the motion of her fingers. He murmurs, “Submissive, huh?”

She wants to facepalm herself. She realizes how she sounds, shaking her head as she corrects, “I just meant—um, you know what I was saying.”

Nola steps forward, keeping her fingers twisted under her curls, “Listen, Ony. I just wanted to say that I—I had a really nice time with you today.”

He watches her stumble over herself, finding an adoration within her nerves. Cute. He steps closer to her. 

“Now she wanna’ be nice, ain’t that sweet?”

Nola softly laughs, “I’m serious. The time I’ve spent around you has been nice, you’re sweet—and—admitting again that I like you was a little embarrassing, so I’m hoping you didn’t say it just because I did— That you meant it.”

Her eyes waver as he’s closing the distance between them, his tall height looming over her frame to look down at her.

“I’d love to be in your column, Onyankopon.” 

He’s close. His breath almost brushed over her skin, “I like you too, witcho’ pretty ass.”

Onyankopon watches her stare up at him, her curls still in her hands, “And I still mean it.” 

That other feeling returns once again, a throb coming between her legs from the vibrations that pool through her lower stomach. Nola flicks her vision from his low eyes, to his lips. The nervous part of her encapsulates her brain, and her face lowers a bit as she nervously giggles, “Um—the rain slowed down—Maybe you should take me home?”

He hears the shudder in her voice, that giggle she does when her nerves get the best of her. His hand finds a tiny curl along the back of her neck, fingers gently placing there. 

“Nah. You’ fine right here.”

Her mind seems to spin like that record playing— Onyankopon lowers his jaw, rubbing his lips onto hers—which makes Nola release the quietest gasp, a small pout forming along her mouth, lashes fluttering in return. 

Her voice is different. 

“…O—Ony…” 

The moment he hears a whimper escape her, his thumb pushes up her chin to meet the pout of her mouth, kissing her. He’s gentle, the tone shifting into something—passionate. He can feel her heart hammering through her chest.

The taste of his tongue makes her feel drunk, almost in a daze. He won’t stop.

Another shift in the air—his tongue is now everywhere it doesn’t need to be—he’s in her ear, gliding along the sensitive shell—then, he’s dragging down her neck, a place that was generally her spot. She reaches up to tug at his cornrows, the sounds pushing from her lips intrusive—louder than she expected, a broken gasp stuttering from her lips as she pleads again, “Ony…”

Her neck is sensitive. The sounds spilling through her mouth are filthy, the way her fingers twist around his hair gives him a small sense of satisfaction. It gets his mind racing, just imagining what kind of sounds he can have her making later on.

“Why you callin’ me like that, huh?” 

He’s snatching pieces of her skin into his mouth.

“You’re making me wanna’ fuck.”

Her voice is a whine, pouty in the full sentence. She didn’t even think about those words before she said them. 

He grunts at that, Nola jolting out another gasp when his free hand spanks her ass from beneath her dress, gripping the flesh with a shake, “You whinin’ like you need this dick. You want it?”

Horny, Horny, Horny. That’s all she can think of. But somewhere, somehow, her senses begin tapping the back of her brain. She didn’t want to make any decisions based on temporary emotions, despite how intense they were—despite how she anticipated that side of him. 

“Wait.”

She tugs at his hair, able to pull his mouth off her skin. 

“S—stop…” she breathlessly instructs, “Hold on.”

“What you’ doin?”

His voice is rougher than usual, like it had been grated and sanded between sheets. But his grip softens on her waist, letting her pull away from him. 

“I’m tryna’ put you on this sofa and eat yo’ pussy the fuck out.”

“Ony, Jesus.” 

She now presses both hands to his chest, her tone still breathless as she admits, “I just— I really don’t wanna fuck this up by moving too fast.” 

Nola presses her forehead to his chest as she squeezes her eyes shut, “I’m sorry.”

Onyankopon stops. His fingers find a way to her hips, holding her in the gentlest way he’d done before. He refused to ruin this moment, and if she wanted to stop, he would. 

He’s looking down at her, a small smile lifting at the corner of his mouth, “Ain’t nothin’ you need to apologize for.” 

Nola’s quiet for a moment. Her voice then whispered, “…I think I should go, since I probably ruined the night.”

“Aye, nah. You ain’t ruin nothin’, girl. Chillout’.”

He takes her chin, lifting her head up to look at him, “Just ‘cause you got boundaries don't mean ruined it. I’m still fine, aight?” 

She nods her head. Her arms slowly make their way around his neck, “Um—well, can I just—we can cuddle, if you want? You’ can give me butt rubs?”

He chuckles. He’s amused by the request, her soft arms wrapped lovingly around his neck—His face is still close to hers, “You’re spoiled, mama.”

“I’m not spoiled,” she frowns, laying herself atop of his body, gently pulling his palm beneath her dress, “Your hands are just warm.”

She’s soft. He can feel her against his chest, sinking into him like she’s meant to be there. His words are rough, but his touch is careful as his palm grips the flesh of her ass, “Just say you wanna’ be spoiled. It sound’ better.”

Her eyes feel a little heavy. She can barely give him a reply, feeling sleepy as she murmurs, “I’m a lil’ spoiled…”

He can’t help the smirk along his face.

 “Spoiled and sleepy, huh?”

He lifts a strand of her hair, curling it between his fingers, “You really finna’ pass out on top of me?”

“Mhm,” she breathily whispers, “Your heartbeat is like a lil’ lullaby—They say if your heart is slowed, it reflects how at peace you are.”

A small laugh escapes from him, “Yeah?”

His body is like an oak tree, hard and sturdy, still.  She’s laying softly over it, almost like a leaf, the beat of his heart slow and steady against her—He murmurs to her, “Lil’ mama owns a shop and apparently got a degree in psychology,” which makes her softly giggle.

“I got a woman, everybody.”

“Onyankopon?”

“Hm?”

“Sleep.”

“Aight.”

Being with Onyankopon was different. He was patient—When she got frustrated, when she got nervous, when she just needed his comfort—he was there. He’d driven Nola to her apartment the next morning to shower and prepare for work, laying against the sofa as he rubbed his palm against her white Persian cat, Snowball, inhaling the scent of vanilla as she got dressed. He was constantly affectionate, pulling her into kisses that made her giggle, holding her hand as she rambled to him, keeping her talking as he snapped photos of her behind the counter of her restaurant. A kiss along her forehead was what he left her with as he had to go back to work—and then, he was gone.

Nola didn’t know she wouldn’t hear from him for the next five days. 

She told herself she shouldn’t have cared, but she did. It was when he didn’t answer the phone the first couple of times, nor a text message—she’d die before leaving a voicemail. 

Her emotions ran through her body as the days passed—from worried, to concerned, to irritated, to pissed off. Nola was trying not to jump to conclusions, but she was two days away from not hearing from Onyankopon for an entire week.

“Why you’ staring in the mirror like that?”

Nola pulled her face towards Eros as she made an espresso, not realizing her eyes peered directly within the small mirror they kept on the counter.

Her voice is soft as she murmurs, “I’m good.”

She didn’t want Eros to dramatize the situation if she’d told him, so she hadn’t. But, this was her closest friend, and she felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t express how she was feeling. Maybe she would only tell him a small part.

“I haven’t heard from Onyankopon in almost a week.”

“What?! That fuck ass nigga bro—“

Nola was pleading with her eyes for him to not make it worse—Eros’ expression softens, knowing Nola well enough that she was probably thinking of the worst case scenario—his anger wouldn’t help. 

He leans against the counter, his expression curious as he gently pries, “You’ve called him? Texted him?”

“Everytime I called it went straight to voicemail.”

She presses her lips together, “I probably should’ve stopped calling after he didn’t answer the first time.”

“You don’t think he blocked you, right?”

That makes her chest feel heavy. 

She admits, “I don’t know, Eros. Maybe? I just—“

She feels her throat becoming tight. She felt stupid to wanna cry, considering she’d known him for less than two weeks. Her fears of something like this happening kept her from saying yes to him, and when she did, it now felt like egg on her face. 

“—I’m fine. You mind bringing these sugars over to Mr. Boudreaux? I need a bathroom break.” 

She drops the sugars within his palm, already walking towards the restrooms placed within the front of the cafe— the moment she turns for the hallway, the bell jingles atop of the door, that cocoa musk scenting the entire shop in milliseconds. 

“Nola.”

There he was. Now, roses appeared within his palms. It wasn’t as sweet as the first time he’d done it. 

That deep voice would’ve made her shiver, would’ve sent warmth through her body—but she felt nothing of the sort. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I needa’ talk to you.”

“About what, Onyankopon? Whatever you wanted to talk about you could’ve said five days ago.” 

She’s already dismissive, flicking her eyes over the cafe to her customers, “I have to get back to work.”

He steps a bit closer, the flowers in his hands hanging low towards the floor, “You ain’t even gon’ hear me out?”

“You were too busy? You didn’t have time to text me back to let me know you were okay? You’re not ready for anything serious? Which one is it?” She crosses her arms, eyes narrowed at him.

Okay, he fucked up. Onyankopon had been working on his column, and when he got into his mode, he was nowhere near his phone—But that wasn’t an excuse to ignore her. 

“What you’ talkin’ bout?” He frowns, “It’s none of that. I just been workin’, Nola—That’s it.”

“How am I supposed to know that, Onyankopon?” She squints, “Look— you don’t owe me any type of loyalty to tell me what you’re doing every millisecond of the day, but if you say you like me as much as I thought you did days ago, a simple text wouldn’t have stopped your fuckin’ paycheck.”

Onyankopon eyebrows lower, “Look— I’m a grown ass nigga, Nola. You know that. I was just handlin’ business, I can’t sit there and be on my phone every five seconds.”

“Did I say that?” She raises an eyebrow, “‘Cause ion’ think I said that. You—“

She stops, realizing she was actually about to get upset.

“You know what? You’ right. I got a shop to run, so gon’ head and be grown, Onyankopon. I gotta go.” 

She attempts to step around him, irritated eyes flickering up the moment he moves in front of her.

His voice is lower, “So you’ done with me?”

“You ‘was done with me the moment you ignored me, Onyankopon. If I ignored you for nearly a week, I would’ve apologized, like a grown ass nigga actually would have!“

“And ain’t that what the fuck I’m doin’ right now?” 

“So you pursue me, decline my calls, don’t text me back—Five days later, you bring some stupid ass flowers and say you a grown nigga that got things to do? That’s your apology?” 

She gives a dry laugh, “Get the fuck out my face, Onyankopon.” 

“You finna’ piss me off, Nola—You know I want you,” he dips his face close enough to catch her scent, “Why you actin’ like this?”

She’s frustrated. Irritated. But ultimately, she was hurt. She hated being emotional, but she felt stupid for being this upset. For liking him. Nola’s throat felt heavy, her fingers trembling as she turned into the hallway leading to the bathroom, a glare of her tears shining as she dismissed, “I’m not finna’ get upset right now.” 

He takes the initiative to grab her hand, pulling her fully behind the wall as he grunts, “Nah, you about to start cryin’,” his expression softens, “Don’t do that, c’mon. I’m sorry, baby. Aight? I’m sorry.”

“No,” she whimpers, placing her palms beneath her eyes, “I shouldn’t even be…c—crying about this…”

“Quit it, Nola. C’mon,” he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, “Don’t start cryin’ over me. Not over this, baby—please.”

“I just don’t wanna feel stupid, Onyankopon.” 

She can’t help the small cry that escapes from her throat, but she tries her best to keep her tears from spilling—He’s holding her tight, his hand running up and down her back as he murmurs, “You ain’t stupid, Nola. I’m bein’ stupid, and I ain’t tryna’ fuck nothin’ up with you. I promise I won’t do it again, aight?”

Nola takes a deep breath, swiping her fingers beneath her palm as she stops herself from crying. She’s silent for a moment, a deep exhale pushing from her lips. 

“…Sorry.” 

He rubs the tip of his thumb against her cheek, “‘Preciate you apologizin’, but you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, aight? You got’ every right to be mad at my ass.”

She’s still pulling herself together, her face flushed and red. Onyankopon brushes his mouth against her jaw, “You want yo’ stupid ass flowers?”

The smallest giggle falls from her lips. She can hear Onyankopon grin, “A giggle? Hell freezin’ over again?”

She flicks her eyes up to him, “You ain’t funny, Ony.”

“Nahh, don’t be tryna’ front now.” 

He lifts his brow, grinning even wider. That’s when his fingers cup her flushed cheeks, his nose brushing against hers as he murmurs, “You missed me, crybaby?”

She shoves his arm, ignoring his chuckle as her entire face is still red. He smelled good—damn, she did miss him.

Onyankopon brings his eyes down, “I was tryna’ come tell you’ the expo for my column comin’ up this weekend.”

“You just now tellin’ me a couple days from it?”

“Three days—and I’m just now tellin’ you ‘cause you ain’t lemme’ talk before.”

She reaches her arms to find the comfort of his shoulders. Nola sighs, “I’m sure you have a million pictures of me for the column—you want me there too?” 

“Nah, ion’ just want you there—A nigga need his ole’ lady there.”

Nola tilts her head, a small smile spreading along her face. She rubs her palms against his neck, “I guess I can get pretty and come—Or, maybe I’ll disappear for five days. We’ll see.” 

Onyankopon gives her a glare, smacking his lips as he says, “You playin’. You ain’t funny.”

“I’m not?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m a lil’ funny,” she pinches her thumb and index finger together. 

“Yeah, aight—disappear and see what happens. Deadass.”

“We’ll see.”

Okay, maybe she was just messing with him. Three days later—her nerves were bundled within the tips of her fingers as she stood in the opening of a matte black building, cream marble floors reflecting the golden melt of her heels. 

It was like being in an art museum—multicolored lights blared along the alabaster walls, photos displayed under oversized lamps—colleagues standing around, conversing quietly as wine glasses clinked politely.

Eros adjusts the button up he wears, eyes slightly wide as he exhales, “So—this is an art expo.” 

Nola breathily whispers, “…Yeah. It is.”

Eros gives a smile to a waitress passing by, snatching a glass of wine from atop of her platter. The gallery itself held a bit of an intimidating air—the way the people around them held their chin up, the way they carried themselves—it was intimidating.

He murmurs, “I feel undressed.”

“You look nice,” Nola hums, adjusting the silk of his top, “Go find you an artsy cutie. I’m sure he’s in here somewhere.”

He winks, “Will do.”

Eros gives her a hip bump, and the moment he finds his interest in a man standing next to a painting, that’s when the scent hits her—cocoa musk. 

There he is. His attire was different from the streetwear he usually sported—the sleek black suit fitted to his muscular frame, watch along his wrist, jewelry along his fingers. His nose ring shines beneath the lights, looking as handsome as ever.

But Nola, she was pretty. God, she was.

Her caramel complexion glowed, contrasting with the dewey shine against the lighter parts of her skin, ginger hair perfectly tousled in a way that was careless yet elegant as is framed down to her hips. The cedar toned dress she wears clung to her curvy silhouette as it flowed to her ankles, sheer that it gives the slightest show of her areolas. 

And her eyes—gorgeous, honeyed and captivating to the point of wonder.

Nola’s smile spreads at him, that same breathless, “Hi,” spilling from her lips like the first time they’d met, “You look nice.”

Her scent wafts up his nose like the sweetest perfume. He can’t help but stare at the smooth curves of her hips, the way the dress wrapped perfectly around her body—her brown nipples seeping through the fabric a bit, peeking by the covering of her curls. 

Onyankopon leans down to press his mouth to her ear, “You look too muhfuckin’ pretty, love.”

Her face drops down to her hands as she hums, “Thank you. Um—I didn’t wanna come empty handed, and it may seem corny, but—“ she giggles a bit, “You like to bring me flowers, so I thought I’d bring you a lil’ plant.”

Her palms hold the tiniest succulent within a dark green pot, “It’s a jade plant— for good luck.”

Ony’s expression is gentle as he takes the pot within his hand, “Thank you, Mama. Shit is thoughtful—Lemme’ have a kiss, a nigga been thinkin’ about you all day.”

She leans against the tips of her heels as she gives him a peck—but she feels a little strange, as she notices that she has the eyes of other people within the gallery.

People acted as if seeing her vitiligo was like an animal walking on their hind legs—and now, Nola had the urge to cover her face with her hair. 

“I wasn’t late for anything, was I?”

His hand drops to the small of her back, fingers lightly rubbing in a circular motion as he can instantly feel her discomfort, “Nah, you ain’t miss me or nothin’. As much as I wanna enjoy this gallery with you—I gotta go find my boss to talk about sum’. You want me to go find Eros? Ion’ wanna leave you alone.”

Nola shakes her head, “I’ll be fine. Go put my plant somewhere safe, and come find me later, yeah?”

“Aight,” he murmurs, placing a final kiss to her forehead—his fingers finding her chin to make her look up at him, “You be good.” 

The moment he leaves her, a small exhale passes through her lips. Nola decides to take this moment to explore the gallery alone. It was interesting to see the other presentations, professional pictures under a beautiful capture of words to represent the photos. 

Yet, eyes were still on her. 

She was used to a strange glance here and there, but this was a little abnormal. She nearly had the urge to go find Eros, but when she turns for the next hallway—she stops.

Her ears catch a familiar voice, replaying on a loop through the static of a television. It’s low, soft, feminine.

“You miss her?” 

“It’s hard to miss her when she’s always with me. In my mugs, my books, my plants, my beignets. She’s everywhere. So, not too often.” 

That was Nola’s voice.

She picks up her dress as she follows to where the group stands, eyes peering through the ocean of people.

Her fingertips fly to her lips. 

“Oh my god.”

She was expecting to see a multitude of other black owned businesses’ within the biggest gallery of Onaynkopon’s expo, but she never expected that she was the muse for this entire column. 

Every picture he had taken of her was here. At the cafe, at the jazz lounge—she was everywhere. 

Nola’s eyes flicker down to the paragraph written below the TV that repeatedly loops the video. It’s bold, brown. 

The essence of a black woman is a unique blend. She is confident but not pretentious, soft on the outside but not a pushover, strong in her convictions, but not harsh. She is gentle with others, but she isn’t meek. She’s humble in her happiness and even in her anger. She’s sensitive. She over-thinks. She’s insecure. She grieves. She cries.

I was lucky enough to capture the essence of what that authenticity had to offer. To my southern belle—a woman who doesn’t even realize the depth of her beauty. Thank you. 

The moment she sees Onyankopon, there’s almost a shy look along his face. It was the first time she’d ever seen it. She’s unsure if her feet are still planted along the floor. 

Her head turns, voice shaken as her eyes gloss, “How did you—I thought this was a—it’s about me?”

He chuckles, hiding his face a bit as he looks down to her, “You’ been on my mind since I first seen’ you, Mama. You’re my inspiration.” 

She doesn’t know how to reply in words. So Nola grasps his chin, kissing him, unable to show her appreciation any other way. Her heart feels full—she can’t describe it.

“…Thank you—for this. For you.”

Onyankopon didn’t expect it—but his heart jolted. 

The moment he goes in for another kiss—a coworker apologizes as she interrupts the moment, “Sorry—um, a couple of people want to speak to you, Onyankopon.”

Nola readjusts his tie, wiping the lipstick along his jaw as she nods her head, “Go. Come find me later.”

He takes her chin in the grip of his fingers once more, the expression on his face is one of the softest she’d ever seen. 

“Aight’. I’ll find you.”

He gives one last lingering kiss to her cheek, disappearing off into the gallery.

In that same moment, Eros appears—choking on his champagne as he eyes the exhibit, “Holy shit—Is that you?!”

Nola had a confession to make. She was very much someone who enjoyed a man taking action, and this was an overstatement of what she expected of him. Not only did it make her feelings grow, but she couldn’t lie—she was now horny. 

She eyed him from across the building, watching his every move—the way he smiled, talked, chuckled, glared. It probably didn’t help that she was on her third glass of champagne, and it was going straight in between her legs. 

Onyankopon wasn’t stupid, either. He took her around to meet some of his colleagues, and he could feel her energy. In the way she fixed his clothes for him, rubbed her fingers in his facial hair as he spoke, pecking his mouth every chance she could, rubbing his arm—it was different.

Nola was tipsy by the time they made it back to his place, giggling as Onyankopon carried her bridal style into the house, “You’re so sweeet. My feet were hurting.” 

His voice is a low hum as he chuckles, “You tipsy as hell, baby.” 

He sets her down against the sofa, Nola groaning, wrapping her arms against his neck so he can’t fully sit her down.

She’s giggly, her face flushed, eyes glossy as she pulls him against her, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him even closer. 

“Mama,” he chuckles, gently pulling her legs from around him, “You need some water?”

“No,” she breathily replies, “You actin’ like I’m drunk or  sum’.”

“Imma’ get you a bottle.”

Nola rolls her eyes, leaning herself against the sofa as she watches him disappear down the hall. She sighs, “You ain’t take my shoes off, Ony…”

He comes back moments later with a full glass of water; “C’mere—I’m takin’ yo’ shoes off right now, aight?”

He kneels down to her feet and unlaced her heels, sliding the material off, “This how you gon’ act every time you drink?”

Nola leans her chin within her palm, hair sprawling around her body as she exhales, “I’m fine.”

A grin spreads along her face shortly after, “You’re so handsome, hm?”

He rubs her arch with the pad of his thumbs, taking the opportunity to feel the smoothness of her skin, “Yeah? You think so?” 

Her eyes are low, lashes nearly covering the brown of her pupils as she nods, “Mhm.”

“You been starin’ me down all night. Why can’t you keep yo’ eyes offa’ nigga, huh?”

He gives her ankle a kiss, which makes Nola giggle again.

She hums, siren eyes searching his face—Nola wraps her fingers along the back of her thighs, pulling her legs up as she sultrily giggles, “You make me horny.” 

The smirk on his face is lazy, gaze languid as he rubs her calf, “That’s how you feelin’—You’ crazy.”

He stands above her as he chuckles, beginning to remove the chains around his neck.

She sits up as she pouts, “No, don’t take em’ off,” running her fingers against his abdomen, touching him. She can’t stop touching him. 

“Aight,” he grabs for her hand, “You gettin’ touchy.” 

Her chest is flushed, fingers running along the cotton material of his shirt, rubbing the muscles of his abdomen. 

“Look so good, Ony.”

Yeah—sober Nola was nowhere to be found. 

She reaches for his chain as she tugs him down by it, sticking her tongue out with a giggle, awaiting for his mouth.

“Kiss me.”

He was trying to be good. But at the sight of her, Onyankopok licks at her tongue with a groan, fingers wrapping along her chin to keep her in place as he kisses her back. 

“Nasty ass.”

He’s murmuring against her mouth, Nola jumping as she gives her ass a harsh spank—he’s tonguing her down all the while, wavering the temptation he’d been holding back.

She’s hornier by the second. Nola’s eyes are like stars the moment she pulls her mouth away from his, breathless as she tugs at his briefs, dipping her fingers beneath the material to brush her palms against the veins of his dick. 

“Want your dick in my mouth, baby.”

“Nola—“

She moans as she molds her lips around his tip, eyes fluttering closed as she begins eagerly sucking him into her mouth. She’s lost within a newfound pleasure. 

Onyankopon groans, unexpected of her craving for him—he takes a grip of her fiery curls, her mouth spreading around his dick as she bobs her head back and forth—He can hear the wet noises of her saliva sucking him in and out, and it just makes him grunt, “Shit, mama. Hollon—you’ tipsy as fuck.”

He’s throbbing within her mouth, Nola’s tongue massaging the ripples of each vein within his length—she won’t stop. 

Her eyes are rolling as she rotates her palm at the base of him, low eyes flickering up as she whimpers, “Fuck my mouth.”

Onyankopon can barely comprehend her words, feeling the intoxication from her voice and the drunkenness of her expression. Her eyes are round, glowing beneath him. 

Her throat is hugging his tip at this point, Nola widening her jaw, parting her tongue further away from the roof of her mouth as she drops her nose to nearly kiss his abdomen—his girth knocks the air within her windpipe each millisecond. 

His voice is a husky rumble, "God damn," he exhales, "I ain't even got you naked yet."

Nola can feel the cheeks of her face begin to burn, but she can’t focus on the discomfort—the room nearly spins the moment she gags along his dick, sultrily panting as she pulls him halfway from her lips, slapping his tip against her tongue.

She then yanks up at the material of her dress, the brown of her nipples smooth against the lights pouring down onto the sofa. 

“Come play with em’.” 

Her mouth trembles a gasp the moment his full lips come down to lap at the bulge of her nipples, rotating in his mouth with the nudge of his head. 

“You feel so good,” she softly whines, lightly grinding her hips forward to meet his body.

“You look so muhfuckin’ good.”

His hand finds her ankles again, lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder, spreading her legs open for him as he buries kisses at the apex of her thighs—warm.

Nola feels like her entire body is buzzing. Her thighs shudder the moment he spanks the side of her ass, spreading her legs even more—a bubblegum pink shines beneath the caramel brown of her folds.

The sight of her—thighs spread, cheeks flushed, hair framing her blushed face. She’s trembling—Warmer.

“Pussy pretty as fuck, baby. You gon’ lemme’ drop my tongue on this shit?”

“Please.”

Her voice is high, vulnerable.

The sound of it causes Onyankopon’s jaw to lock. He’s unable to help himself as he buries his mouth in between her legs. His tongue drags against her pussy, giving the slowest lick, allowing her to feel every trace of his mouth.

She shivers, Nola pressing her fingers against the back of her thighs to hold them within the air, lips trembling into a pleasurable frown at the sight—Onyankopon’s just slurping her up, head shaking in her folds, nodding up and down as secretion sops against her flesh.

“Ony,” her mouth quivers, “Y—yes…”

His tongue winds around her clit before he sucks it, letting it pop free as he continues eating away at her.

“Shit tastes like muhfuckin’ dessert—a nigga ain’t never had no shit like this,” he muffles, spanking her skin—now, he’s becoming lost within the pleasure of her body. 

The wet noises of his mouth against her core is the most erotic thing she’s ever heard—she’s never had anyone taste her, touch her, or even smell her like this.

It’s as if she’s completely intoxicated—Like a bottle of champagne had been doused within her liver—she’s grinding herself against his tongue, placing her fingers along the top of his head to rock herself down to meet his mouth. Seeing her be so shy, sweet—to this, it felt like a dream. 

“I’m gonna c—cum,” she softly cries, “Put it in. Come fuck me, baby.” 

His tongue nearly wags along her pussy, a glare along his face as he pulls up, “That’s what you want, huh?”

His palm wraps along the base of his dick, smacking his tip along her clit— it makes her whine, “Yes.” 

Nola’s lower back hangs off the edge of the sofa, the strength of Onyankopon’s palms holding the back of her thighs to keep her from falling. Her knees press against her chest, head tilted as she watches his body hover above her.

They wanna take their time—but they can’t. It’s a burn at this point. 

Onyankopon’s tip slowly sunk in between her folds, spreading her apart, splitting her in a slow drag. Her mouth parts—her eyes lightly roll back as her lower body ignites on fire—it’s a rush of discomfort, mixed with a deep sense of pleasure. 

She reaches her hand up for his abdomen, her hips rotating a bit as he spreads her opening farther apart. She groans when he snatches her hand down. 

“Ony…”

“What you’ callin’ me for? This how you’ wanted it,” he grunts. 

Her body trembles. 

“You’re filling me up so fuckin’ good.”

He can’t help himself. He darkly chuckles, “You horny as fuck. Keep lookin’ at me with them fuckin’ eyes.” 

He snakes his hand lower to clutch the back of her neck, head knocking down, nearly cradling her by the strength of his arm, dropping her down onto his dick. The back of her thighs clap against his abdomen.

His eyes are locked with hers, and he can see her expression changing—her lips parting, her eyes rolling, her hands reaching for something to grab onto. 

Nola’s eyes meet his, she’s whining, “Oohshittt, Ony.” 

He pulls his palm away from the back of her neck, finding his fingers swimming back into the ocean of her curls—he yanks her head forward, placing it within a position to give her complete sight of his dick disappearing into her walls. 

“Ony what?” he grunts, “You keep callin’ me—Keep whinin’ for me. Open yo’ fuckin’ pussy, watch this shit cum.” 

Her mouth drops open, eyes rolling as she does watch—the girth of him somehow becomes swallowed by her walls, the cream of her arousal increasing with each stroke—Nola moans loudly, her hand sliding between her legs, fingers softly rubbing at her clit. 

Her eyes are blown, pleasured tears pooling at her brown irises as sniffles, “I’m c—cumming…f—fuck.” 

Onyankopon’s tip feels weighted as it’s choked by the snug of her walls, nearly pushing him out as her arousal gushes through the warmth of her folds. His own hand replaces hers as his thumb is lightly playing with her already sensitive clit, watching as her inner thighs fluttered in response. He’s still stroking, “Let it out, baby. Goood muhfuckin’ girl. Keep cummin’’.”

The emotions she feels pooling from her body overwhelms her, arm reaching up as she pulls him down for them to now be chest to chest. Onyankopon buries his face within her neck as she drags her other hand along his back, helping with his continuous thrusts, grinding him forward to go deeper into her. 

She clutches along his body, her shoulders trembling as she repeats to him in whiney cries, “I’m cumming…” 

She presses her nose against his cheek—her eyes boring into his, her pleasure, her tears, they flush along her face as she whimpers, “I…I need you, Ony…” 

Onyankopon growls against her throat, "I need you, too, Mama, “ His thrusts slow, deep, his hips rocking forward, “Youn’ know how bad I need you. A nigga ain’t going nowhere."

He swipes his thumb beneath her cheek, taking in the beauty of her face. Pretty from the moment he met her, pretty from the moment she opened up to him, pretty from the moment he wanted her. He gives her a low moan, his lower abdomen tightening as he glares, “I’m finna’ bust, baby—fuck.” 

Nola locks her lips against his, whimpering along his mouth, muttering to him, “Cum in me.”

“Shit got you talkin’ crazy,” his voice is dark, “Quit playin’.”

“Please,” she pressed her forehead to his, her soft cries making Onyankopon grunt at her pleas, “Please, Ony…” 

His dick is pulsing, beating inside of her—her voice is like an erotic poison—the warmth of his release makes her feel even more full, moans syncing together in a sultry symphony. Onyankopon presses his nose along her shoulder, latching kisses, giving her an affection he’d never stop giving her.

The pleasure they’d given one another is something neither of them expected. Nola is beneath Onyankopon, staring up at him with that face of hers. The alabaster of her skin is flushed, the caramel mixing between the complexion equally reddened, hair sprawled around the freckles of her cheeks. 

He rubs his thumb along the swell of her lip, “You prettier than a muhfuckin’ picture, Nola.”

She digs her face within his palm, shyly giggling, “I probably look a mess.”

“Nah,” he murmurs, “You so fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t no probably.” 

His hand drops to the swell of her ass, giving it a squeeze, “Imma’ need you like this all the time.”

Of course, she deflects from his compliments.

“…Wanna cuddle again? And give me butt rubs? I’m sleepy,” her voice is a bit of a murmur, “I wanna talk ‘cause I like you—but I’m sleepy.”

“Aight’—come‘ere.” 

He pulls her into his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping her, his hands sliding up and down the smoothness of her thighs.

“You heard me?” Her voice is soft, “I like you, Ony. Youn’ like me?” She questions, face already sunken within his chest, eyes closing at the same time.

“Now you’ all open and shit. You wasn’t like that before—“

A finger flicks on his cheek. He chuckles. 

“But forreal’—You know I do,” he murmurs, “You ain’t never gotta’ doubt a nigga again. Go to sleep.”

His fingers brush through her hair, massaging her scalp as she relaxes against him. It’s as if they remake the scene of their first night together—she lays atop of his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat that’s a comforting tune. They seem to have one more thing in common—the want to be like this, again. And again. And again. 

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[literaturemeetsreality]

Rafayel turning to mush while you plant kiss after kiss on his face. You’re straddling his lap while he leans back against the couch. The contents of your makeup bag are spilled out next to you. A smaller pile dedicated just to the task at hand.

Testing lipsticks, you said. Have to find our perfect shade.

Our. He loves that you said that, wanting to include him in something mundane as swatching your makeup, wanting to make sure the color looks good both on your lips and the marks you’ll leave on his skin, showing everyone that he belongs to you as much as you do him. A variety of colors paint his face, neck, and chest with varying degrees of intensity since you were testing the fade and longevity as well. Rafayel loved how thorough you were being.

“Hmm?” He looked up at you in adoration, responding to you with a hum at your soft call of his name.

He tried to return your kisses with his own but you’d pull away and giggle at his pout. You need to hold still, my love. And, well, how could he not absolutely melt at that. He’s boneless, completely content with just softly running his hands up and down your sides, switching to playing with the hem of your shirt or squeezing your waist every so often.

“What about this one?” You asked again, lifting his face up to inspect your work. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the feeling of your lips on his skin, but they were able to zone in on your mouth anyway. The slightly faded color on your lips no doubt matching the marks you’d just left under his chin.

“You’re beautiful.” His thumb came up to rub the slight smudge on your bottom lip, the color transferring to his skin. “I like this one.”

“That’s what you said about all of them.” Heat pooled in your stomach while you watched him lick the makeup from his thumb. His eyes were still glazed over, and you couldn’t tell if he wanted to elicit that reaction from you on purpose.

“Can’t help it, you’re a vision. Colors were made to complement you.” He dragged you higher up his lap and tried to pull you down to meet his mouth, whining again when you pulled away.

“Please,” Rafayel begged, his hands resuming their position on your sides, this time sliding under your shirt. It was the combination of his cool hands and the heat in his eyes that made you shiver.

You leaned over and grabbed your phone. You took a few pictures of your canvas before flipping the screen to show him.

“You look so pretty.” His breath hitched. “If we’re talking art, then I can’t decide what color looks best. You make them all look good.”

You giggled. “I might have to start all over and try them all again.”

He groaned and dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch. You ran your fingers through his hair and over his shoulders, careful not to smudge any of the marks littered across his skin. “Fine, fiiine,” he said. “We’ll just have to wear them all out. We obviously will look amazing, no matter the shade. As long as we match, there will be no doubts.”

You grin while he threads his fingers through your hair. “But I am going to explode if I don’t kiss you right now.”

He pulled you in- no resistance this time- and dragged his mouth across yours. “It’s your turn now.” You hummed as he deepened the kiss, barely noticing him pluck your phone from your hand, more distracted by the way he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m using this as reference. You’re going to get every kiss mark you placed on me tenfold.”

And as a true artist, he filled his canvas.

This was def done before but I can’t remember which characters. If someone has a whole fic, please link it bc I have a NEED for this trope

[vaaaaaiolet]

Anxiety left you sleepless all night. Leon figures his favorite dream of you might help.

mdni CIAO CHILDREN!! f / m smut w established relationship. put bluntly, leon fucks the worry out of you 😭 he talks you through sex by retelling a dream, tiny bit of character study, PRAISE!! TONS of fingering, 0.5 sec of cockwarming, light angst, p in v w/ a happy ending iykwim, aftercare and i love you's awww. also strawberries 🍓

a / n: req fic from my event!! i took the premise from isle of strawberries by edwin raphael and you can find a playlist for this fic here. motivational smut is a first for me LMFAO but i hope this works w your vision, anon <3 also PEE AFTER SEX YOU GUYS

word count: 2.5k // read on ao3

The 5 AM sun shines rays through the cracks in your plan. You thought you’d been convincing enough with your face pancake-flat against the pillow and your left arm thrown out of the blanket just so. You’d even made sure you had a foot poking into Leon’s side the way he always grumps about, but somehow, your boyfriend always seems to see right through you.

Just like now. 

A busybody poke on your shoulder. “Sweetheart,” follows a drowsy whisper, “what’re you doing?”

Sleeping since last night, thank you very much.

“No use playing possum. You haven’t moved an inch since we went to bed and you, ma’am, can’t sleep still to save your life. C’mere,” and you’re tugged to Leon’s side of the bed, the top of your head peppered with slow, sleepy kisses as he hugs an arm around your middle. “Did you sleep at all tonight?”

You clutch his forearm like a safety bar on a rollercoaster. “A little.”

“Enough?”

“Um…” 

Leon kisses his teeth. He’s usually the one on the receiving end of these questions, but he’s picked up a couple things from you. “Too hot? Too cold? Anything I can get you?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just can’t fall asleep.”

A quiet sigh from you, a hum of understanding from him.

“Because you’ve been thinking again.” He asks if you want to talk about it.

“It’s just a bad night,” you mumble, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “Overwhelmed. Been getting into my head about everything I should be doing but don’t. I feel like I’m letting everyone down all the time.” 

In the champagne pink of the early morning light pouring through the bedroom window, your eyes trace the corded muscle of Leon’s arm around you – a testament to the strength it takes to do his job every day. There’s scars here, burn marks there, a plum-hued bruise.

Your words stumble to a halt. Embarrassed color rises to your cheeks. 

The matter is that scars from his missions to the ends of the earth litter the chest cradling your back right now. Leon must be sore and aching, listening to you whine like a child with too much food on your plate. What could be keeping you up at night when he shoulders your worst nightmares for a living? All while you lay cuddled and coddled? You don’t know the first thing about worry, the paralysis in his bones that must pale to yours.

Guilt creeps up your spine, and Leon frowns at your sudden silence. You’re retreating into a shell he’s called home too many times. He won’t have any of that with you. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he soothes, smoothing back your hair. “I’m still here. You don’t wanna talk right now?” 

You let go of his arm and burrow into your pillow, mumble about how you like sleeping late on weekends anyway.

A scoff sounds behind you. “Sleep late, my ass.” 

Leon’s arm comes circling back over your ribs in an instant. He squeezes you so tight to his chest that you feel his heart thump behind your back, and you can’t help the unexpected laugh that bubbles up your throat when he lets go. It’s his favorite reflex of yours.

“If you won’t talk, I will.” Leon presses a kiss to your cheek. “Gonna distract you for a bit, sweetheart. Humor me?”

“Hm?”

“I wanna tell you about my favorite dream. You’re in it.”

You can’t pretend that doesn’t catch your attention like lightning to a rod. Leon doesn’t dream much, not besides the nightmares that have him scrambling to throw off the covers in the middle of the night. 1998 hangs thick in the air of your bedroom some days, but for him to have a dream where you don’t die for a change? That’s new. 

So is his hand starting to creep under your sleep shirt, playful circles tracing on the soft skin below your navel. Part of his distraction strategy. A successful one, if the skip in your heart rate has anything to do with it.

“This okay?” he rasps.

More than. 

You reach behind, cradling his cheek to kiss him a proper hello; allow yourself an anticipatory inhale when Leon’s hand dives under the waistband of your shorts. It takes exactly three seconds for his middle finger to pinpoint the pearl of your clit, and he circles it twice, maddeningly slow, before sliding right under to trace along the seam of your entrance. 

Leon keeps the pressure light. He needs your head clear so you listen. 

“It always starts the same.” He shifts his hips so yours widen for him. “I’m standing in the middle of a huge field, a strawberry farm. There’s nothing around for miles, just rows of bushes full of berries and storm clouds in the distance. I find an empty basket in my hand.”

You imagine your mountain of a boyfriend holding a basket like Strawberry Shortcake. Adorable. “You dream about picking strawberries?” you giggle, arching your back to fit more comfortably against him, and your consideration earns you a searing dip of his finger into your pooling arousal. 

“That,” Leon chuckles, “and a nagging, sinking feeling that I should be doing something but I can’t.”

Oh. 

“Mhm. It hits me that I have to pick as many strawberries as I can before the storm rolls in, and I can’t even move, sweetheart.”

You swallow the returning lump in your throat. Push down a sigh that was building at the upward roll of his fingertip inside you. Leon tuts at your effort, coaxing the sound out anyway with a press of the spongy spot he knows is tucked at the back of your walls. You crumple at the delicious nudge; it leaves you open to welcome another finger into your warmth.

“But this is a good dream because,” Leon smiles at your next gasp, “then I see you at the edge of the field standing next to a little house, waving at me.” 

He scissors you open like he’s got all the time in the world. You clutch the corner of your pillow when you hear it through the comforter: the soft, rhythmic squelch of his fingers curling into your cunt.

Pretending he can’t hear your whimpered little curses as he coos in your ear, “There you go, listen to that,” Leon continues. “That’s when I start thinking. There’s no way I can save all these strawberries in time. You’re standing there, smiling at me without a clue there’s a storm brewing, and suddenly all I can think about is getting you into the house before you get hurt.”

His lesson becomes one of endurance the more he talks. The fingers pumping into your pussy melt your brain into mush that’s chanting, more, more! Exactly the root of your problem.

“So then I- oh, poor baby. This isn’t enough?” 

Shit. You forgot you talk in your sleep. And apparently when you get fingered too. 

“Guess I can’t blame you. I get distracted in the dream too, fuck.” There’s a pause, a sputtering stop to the lovely fullness when Leon pulls his fingers out and promptly sucks them off. 

Even a worm will turn; you certainly do. You whine Leon’s name when he makes a show of it, gazing at you with half-moon eyes and a boyish grin pulling at his lips. “What, it’s my fault you taste better than the strawberries did?” 

No, for leaving you hanging. You were paying attention — maybe a bit too much.

“It was you, by the way,” Leon chuckles, lifting the comforter so his knees can bracket your thighs. 

“I distracted you in the dream?” you gasp, sliding your hands up his shirt.

“In the best way, angel. You helped me get moving again.”

The peachy light of dawn caramelizes gold as Leon climbs on top of you. It doesn’t warm the bedroom quite yet; Leon makes sure the comforter is tucked over your bare skin after he finishes kicking off his pajama pants. He’s back to murmuring sweet nothings, gently tugging your shirt over your shoulders so he can kiss down the swell of your breasts. You’re so toasty under the covers that the goosebumps now speckling your chest are entirely his fault. 

“I remember you picking a few berries off a bush,” Leon looks fondly up at you under golden lashes, pressing a gentle kiss over your heart, “and you just looked so content eating them. I was fretting over saving the whole field and you were fine with a handful.”

You’re itching to ask: but the storm’s still coming, isn’t it? Thunder, rain, your aching cunt dripping onto the sheets right under him. 

Leon is all too happy to answer. 

One hand cradles the back of your head so he can drop his mouth onto yours, leaving the other free to slip under the blankets, rub consolation over the hood of your clit, and finally, finally, notch the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. You cry out, clutching at Leon’s hair when he sheaths himself in a buttery-smooth stroke – as if it could be any other way with how you’ve melted like chocolate in his hands. You both gasp at the stretch.

Leon’s jaw works as he kisses you, savoring you. Spit bridges your mouths in between split-second gulps of air. Your heart thumps against your ribcage like you’re hanging off a precipice, no difference in the dizzying drop that waits ahead. His length sits adjusting inside the squeeze of your plush walls. 

Leon’s sentences come out chopped and desperate as he alternates sucking berry-toned love bites between your breasts, and he admits, “I don’t save all the strawberries.”

You wheeze as if you’ve dashed across the field yourself. “No?”

“Just enough to last us the storm. Fuck the rest, figure they’ll grow back. Only need to focus on what matters – getting enough for you – so I pick a couple,” the thick of his cock is suffocating when it’s this still, “run,” Leon pants at the first snap of his hips against yours, outrunning the storm all over again, “and pull you inside the house before lightning strikes.”

Electric pleasure curls up from the base of your spine, spreads to your head and flickers down to your toes as Leon starts pounding into your pussy. No room in your chest for anxiety to linger when your eyes are rolling skyward. The edges of your vision melt into vignette as your lover sinks into you again and again. 

Tunnel vision. 

“Keep those pretty eyes open. Focus on what matters,” he repeats in a frenzied whisper, and the tunnel closes in.

All you see are Leon’s eyes. Smack dab in the middle of his blown out pupils is your reflection.

That’s it.

Coherency goes flying out the window with all your brainpower used up to connect the dots. “Leon, you-!”

“Tell me what you see, sweetheart,” he breathes sharply. “I know you can.”

You beg for mercy at each dig of his blunt cockhead. “Me, I get it, fuck! Please- just let me come!”

Course he can, he just has to drill something else into you first. 

“Need to hear you say it,” Leon grits. Nips at the base of your neck as your nails claw stinging holds on his shoulders. “Shit, I’ll make you see stars, don’t worry, I just need to – oh, you’re so fucking tight! – get it in your head. You can’t shut down on me.”

You thrash under him, make more space for bruising kisses to bloom up your neck. “But you’ve had it worse,” you sob out, overwhelmed. 

“How else do you think I know?”

He’s not letting you head off into your own storm alone. Not when you’ve saved him from his.

“Tell me you’ll let me in next time you get in your head, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so fucking good, baby,” Leon hisses, stealing one last kiss from your panting lips. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

“I will.”

And you ought to thank your lucky stars your levees don’t hold. 

It starts with spiraling cracks. Leon reaching down to press his thumb over your swollen clit. One shaky thrust away from dislodging the last brick holding you together. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flutter of your cunt, choked breaths torn from his throat when the silken clutch of your walls sends him into that final crescendo. 

Leon’s fraying at the edges, obsessive in how rolls his thumb at the bundle of nerves that make you shriek his name, and you, hand in hand with him, finally let the swelling tsunami in the pit of your stomach topple your walls. 

Turns out he’s right. Stars explode across the night sky when your eyes squeeze shut. 

You can’t pay attention to much except the rolling tide of pleasure. Leon’s soon spilling into you, his brow pinched as he blindly works his spend into your cunt under the covers. His forehead glistens with sweat, hell, your baby hairs are a dripping mess, but strangely, you think you’ll spend the rest of your life chasing this warmth again. 

Your heart’s never felt more weightless. 

Glowing seconds sail by. Leon’s shaking arms eventually give way and he collapses onto your chest. You let out an “oof!” at the drop. 

“And then the dream ends,” you hear him sigh, eyelids fluttering shut.

About time, you think, smiling as you brush a thumb over his cheekbone. “Then you wake up?”

“No.” Leon cracks open a sapphire eye and grins. “Sometimes we do this.”

In the little hou- Oh. “Fuck you,” you laugh.

“It’s my favorite for a lot of reasons!” 

He sits up, keeping his touch featherlight when he pulls himself out from between your candied thighs. Tiny aftershocks jerk your thighs once, twice, and Leon takes the time to whisper soft apologies when he reaches for a tissue on the bedside table. 

“I meant it back there, y’know?” he hums, gently wiping off the mess between your legs. “I hate seeing you so hard on yourself.”

“It just feels like I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Especially when you’ve been through worse,” you mumble, picking at the covers.  

The tissue gets tossed into the trash, and Leon shoots you a small smile. “Worse to you, maybe. To me, the worst thing I’ve seen is watching you lose your spark and not being able to help.”

“You really think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I love you.”

So you remember your promise. 

You tell him you love him too, no more secrets to keep in your head. The bedroom blooms warmer than you remember it ever being, a little slice of summer straight out of both your dreams.

You remember the strawberries from the farmer’s market in the kitchen, and that Leon makes killer Sunday pancakes.

You remember how much you love afternoon catnaps with your limbs tangled between his. Infinite possibilities pile high like the papers on your work desk. So much to get started.

Focus on what matters. The rest will grow back.

You turn the other cheek, and kiss your lover on the mouth.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[iris-qt]

𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔

ꜱʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ʙᴏʏꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ

I. Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo freezes mid-bite of his chocolate frog, giving you the kind of look someone reserves for a talking cat. "You can’t pay the what now?" he says, mouth still half-full.

When you repeat it, his eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into his curls. "Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve been paying the rent this whole time? Babe, what rent? Where are you sending this money? Do I need to send the lads to go 'talk' to someone?"

You insist you’re serious, and he bursts into laughter so loud it echoes around the room. He’s clutching his stomach, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, this is rich! Next, you’ll tell me you’ve been working overtime at Flourish and Blotts to afford my ‘extravagant lifestyle.’ What’s next, huh? Selling cauldron cakes on the side?"

When you try to keep a straight face, he leans forward, his expression deadpan now but his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, seriously, though. Should I sell my broom? Start knitting scarves for a Galleon a pop? Maybe I can busk on Diagon Alley…play the ukulele or some crap. People love that."

By now, you’re wheezing with laughter, and he just shakes his head, smirking. "Merlin, Y/N, if your acting career doesn’t work out, at least we know you’ve got a future in comedy. But seriously…rent? That’s cute.”

By now, you’re gasping for air, struggling to hold it together, and Mattheo’s smirk only grows wider as he watches you. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone. "You know," he says with a glint in his eye, "If you really need help with the rent... maybe I could offer you a private lesson in how to make some extra Galleons."

II. Theodore Nott

Theo looks up from the chessboard he’s been meticulously studying for the last half hour, an eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "What do you mean you can’t pay the rent?" he asks, his tone calm but with a dangerous edge of skepticism.  

You repeat it, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.  

He blinks slowly, as if trying to process whether you’ve gone mad or if he missed some critical detail in your relationship. "You’ve... been paying the rent? Since when? Because I distinctly recall handling all of that."  

When you insist, he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like he’s analyzing a particularly tricky potion. "Alright, either you’ve been scammed by an exceptionally creative con artist, or this is your latest attempt to distract me from beating you at chess."  

You pout, staying in character, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, do you even know where the rent money comes from? Because I can assure you, it’s not your side gig selling those questionable potions on Etsy.”  

The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a grin. Finally, when you can’t hold back your laughter anymore, he rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Honestly, I need to start charging you rent for all this nonsense. At least make it worth my while.”  

As you finally break into laughter, Theo sets his chess pieces down with a dramatic sigh, his eyes softening just a bit. He leans in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "You’re impossible," he mutters, his voice a little quieter now, though there’s still a teasing glint in his eyes. "But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He gives you a small, almost shy smile, then leans back in his chair, his usual cool demeanor returning. "Now, let’s see if you can distract me enough to win this game."

III. Draco Malfoy

He would look at you like you’ve gone MENTAL

“Haha funny joke, y/n,” he rolls his eyes, going right back to reading his book and munching on his green apple.

When you reiterate it, Draco squints at you, lowering his book slightly, the crunch of his apple freezing mid-chew. "Excuse me? You what?" he says, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

When you repeat it again, this time with extra drama, he sits bolt upright, his apple rolling forgotten onto the table. "Wait, wait, wait…you pay the mortgage? Since when? Did I suddenly get amnesia and forget we’re Muggles now? Because last I checked, the Manor doesn’t even have a mortgage!”

He grabs his wand, waving it theatrically. "Accio sense, because clearly you’ve lost yours!”

You keep the act going, insisting you’re serious, and he just gapes at you like you’ve declared you’ve taken up dragon wrestling as a hobby. Finally, he narrows his eyes.

“Y/N, love, if this is about that handbag you wanted last week, just say so. No need to concoct elaborate tales about rent payments. Merlin’s beard, you're ridiculous.”

When you burst into laughter, he leans back in his chair, scowling but unable to hide the faintest smirk. "I’m marrying a lunatic," he mutters, reaching for his apple again. "At least the lunatic has good taste in handbags."

IV. Blaise Zabini

Blaise looks up from his cup of espresso, one perfectly arched brow lifting as he tilts his head at you. "I’m sorry, darling. Did I hear that correctly? You can’t pay the rent? You mean the rent that I, Blaise Zabini, the man with seven vaults at Gringotts, didn’t even let you look at, let alone contribute to?"

You double down, trying to sell your story, and he exhales slowly, setting his glass down with the exaggerated care of a man trying to keep his composure. "This is new. Tragic, even. Shall I sell the antique Italian sofa to keep us afloat? Or, Merlin forbid, cut back on the imported silk sheets?"

When you keep insisting, he leans back, crossing his arms and giving you a slow once-over, his lips twitching with amusement. "You know what? You’re right. It’s all gone. We’re destitute. Better start knitting socks and selling them on Knockturn Alley. Maybe I’ll start charging Draco for advice. He’s overdue for paying his mate tax.”

Finally, when you burst into laughter, Blaise smirks, shaking his head and snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/N. If anyone else tried this nonsense, I’d have them banned from my flat and my life. But you? You get away with everything.”

V. Regulus Black

Regulus doesn’t even look up from his book, clearly too absorbed to even register your words at first. But when you repeat it, his eyes flicker briefly to you, a quizzical expression crossing his face. "Wait, what do you mean you can’t pay the rent?"

You try to explain, going for maximum drama, and he sighs, setting his book down with a soft thud. "Y/N, darling, I pay the rent. I handle everything. You’re telling me you’ve been struggling to pay it all this time?" His tone is flat, not even slightly concerned, just bemused. "I’ve already transferred the payment for the month. Did you forget?"

You continue the joke, and Regulus glances at you again, narrowing his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to convince me that you…you…have been paying the rent? Did you somehow think I’d believe that, or did you just want an excuse to create drama?"

He picks up his book again, unfazed. "You’re lucky you’re charming, because if anyone else tried this, I’d seriously reconsider their grip on reality." He sighs with exaggerated patience, "Don’t you remember? I’m the one who handles the bills. The whole thing is already sorted. No need to panic, love."

When you can’t keep it going anymore and laugh, he glances up once more with a slight smirk, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Y/N, your attempts at theatrics are as bad as your cooking. At least make the drama more believable next time.”

As you laugh, Regulus's serious expression softens just a touch, and he leans over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re impossible, you know that?" he mutters, but there's a warmth in his voice. "If you ever do run into a problem, though... just tell me."

You smile, and he sighs, shaking his head with a hint of affection. "I swear, you’ll be the death of me." But there’s a small, barely noticeable smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the kind he only gives when he’s not trying to be all stoic and mysterious.

VI. Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle doesn’t even flinch when you announce that you can’t pay the rent, simply pausing for a moment before his sharp, calculating gaze turns to you. "What are you on about?" he asks, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of annoyance. "You’ve been paying the rent? Since when did you even have the opportunity to pay it?"

When you repeat it with exaggerated seriousness, he leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, clearly trying to make sense of it. "I’ll admit, you’re certainly creative...but no. I’ve always taken care of the bills. I don’t recall a single instance where you were involved in such matters."

You continue the joke, and he chuckles darkly, though it’s clear he doesn’t fully buy it. "If this is your attempt at gaining attention, it's a poor one, darling. Do you think I’m so easily fooled?" His tone softens just slightly, a flash of something that could almost be affection in his eyes.

He stands and steps toward you, leaning in just close enough to make you feel his presence, but not too close to be truly comforting. "Next time you need a distraction, don’t go around pretending to pay rent," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear ever so slightly. "It’s beneath you. If you need something, ask. But don’t insult my intelligence."

When you finally start laughing, Tom smirks, his eyes glimmering with something softer, though it’s well hidden behind his usual cold demeanor. "You’re insufferable, Y/N. And that’s probably why I... let you get away with it."

A/N: Thank you to @fanfics4ever for this idea ♡

[babysfirsthaze]

Pent up... (Ekko x reader)

Synopsis: you and Ekko have been caught up with responsibilities, haven't had a whole lot of time together. You get needy. He takes care of you.

Content: the most vanilla sex of your life, soft kissy missionary, fem!reader, p in v, unprotected, very light nipple sucking, established relationship. Not very proofread. Probably extremely out of character.

A/n: first fic ahhh idk..!!🥹 this is lowk so vanilla it's boring idk. Trying 2 ease myself into it. Please lmk if I made any mistakes, I did this instead of homework so I hope it's good smh</3 enjoy

Sex isn't that important to you.

Really, it's not.

Ekko's always had a higher libido than you, not that you don't wanna fuck him, it's just not really on your mind much. You're fine without it, as long as you get to hold him at night. But– fuck.

It's been almost two weeks. You've both been busy with responsibilities, leading the Firelights isn't easy, even with the weight on four shoulders. You find yourself looking at his body a little more than his face, getting distracted, thoughts wondering away to hot, steamy places, when you're supposed to be paying attention. It feels a little dirty, you've never been one to sexualise people. But you can't help it. He's hunched over a desk at the moment, shoulders tense and legs spread absent-mindedly.

Your mouth waters.

"Ekko," you start, the word soft, your fingers fidget with your top as you sit on your shared bed. He looks up, eyes curious and a bit tired. "Hm?" He sits up a bit and you bite your lip, unsure how to go about this, but you've never been a shy person.

"That work important?"

"..Not really," he hums, tilting his head, looking at you curiously. You open your mouth, close it again, trying to get your thoughts to shut up. Dick dick dick dick. Come on now, you're better than this, right? Surely you're better than this.

"I need somethin'," you mumble, thighs squirming together a little. "C'mere."

He does, and you look at the way his arms flex when he pushes himself off the desk, instead of his face. He frowns, bemused. That's new. Then you're tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer to you, and looking up at him with those big, sweet eyes. Shit. He starts to smile, standing over you where you sit on the bed. "Yeah? What's that?"

You tilt your face up at him, raising your eyebrows a bit. "Kiss me?" He grins, first instinct to tease you a bit, but then you tug at his shirt again, thighs pressed together and a sort of need in your eyes neither of you are used to. He doesn't have a lot of resolve, that man.

Your mouths connect, and he's smiling a bit, and he's got his hand rested on the side of your neck, and he smells good, and ohh, god. You sigh into his mouth, hand curling tighter around his shirt. The kiss is slow, filled with an affection and closeness. But the mood changes before long, and you tug him closer, the kisses becoming hungry, heavy and hot.

Ekko leans further over you, scooting you back a bit so you're more on the middle of the bed. He knows what you want. The two of you don't have much free time these days, and yeah, teasing is fun, he'd love to work you up, make you wait, but – it's late. So he's climbing over you, movements slow, the kiss unbroken.

You trail a hand down his waist, tugging at his shirt. "Missed you," you hum into his mouth, and he sighs, enjoying the hands on his skin. He kisses a line down your jaw, mouthing onto your neck. "Yeah?" He sucks and gnaws gently on your pulse point, making you whine. "Been neglectin' you, huh? Sorry, baby."

You forgive him.

You tug at his shirt again, and he gives in, helping you tug it off to reveal his toned, heavy body. He takes yours off in kind, careful hands unclasping and slipping off your bra. Then his mouth is back on your neck, kissing down your chest, before latching around your nipple, brown eyes closed as his mouth works at you, making you sign and moan.

"Pretty girl," he murmurs, and he comes back up to look at you. His hands trail over your body, gentle but hungry. You hook your arms over his shoulders, chewing on your lip, eyes all hazy, full of need. Your mouths connect again and he groans, right hand creeping under your waistband. You whine, bucking your hips up eagerly, needing his touch.

"Please," you sigh, and he doesn't deny you, dipping two fingers down into your panties. You're already wet, and he grins. Running his fingertips gently over your clit, squeezing the small nub gently between them, like he knows you like. "I got you, baby," he mumbles, his voice all breathy, and you can feel him straining against his pants, his hips brushing against your thigh thanks to the position you're in.

You mewl, squirming under him. You really have been needing this, shit, your clit twitches, and you bite your lip.

"Don't tease me," you mumble, your voice a little strained. It feels good. But you want more, you wanna get off, you want him to fuck you. "Please, just fuck me." He chuckles, cooing softly at you, his fingers dipping down, teasing at your hole. You whine, and he swallows it eagerly into his mouth. "Sorry, baby. 'M gonna fuck ya."

You'd both need more foreplay than that, on a different day. But it has been a while, and you look so pretty, and he tugs his hand out of your panties, sitting up a bit. Then he's pulling your pants off, hands gentle, careful, and he groans, eyes trailing over your pussy.

"So pretty," Ekko says again, almost to himself. He runs a soothing hand over your thighs, watching hungrily as your arousal drips down your folds. Shit. He reaches for his belt buckle, pushing his pants down efficiently, he's just as worked up as you are. His boxers are on the floor and by God that dick.

He's hard, pre leaking out of his sensitive slit.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his hand wrapping around his shaft, and he thumbs at his tip. Just looking at you. He thinks you're so pretty, could look at you for hours. But there's more important things to do.

He kneels back down on the mattress, tugging your knees apart and settling between them. He spits lightly on his hand, spreading it down his length, using it like a lube as he pumps himself slowly, other hand pressing against your clit. This draws a soft whine out of you and he smiles, chewing on his lip.

He shifts, leaning forward to stroke his tip over your clit, teasing it. "Shit," he grunts, and he grabs your hand, holding it against the mattress as he enjoys the feeling, brow furrowing slightly. "Fuck, Ekko," you whine, squeezing his hand.

"Shhh, baby, I got you," he mumbles, pushing his tip inside you, before pulling it out again with a soft pop. Then he starts to fuck you. Slow, gentle strokes, filling you up all nice, shifting and hoisting your knees till he hits that good angle, the one that makes your mouth fall open and your eyes go fuzzy. "Yeah, baby? That feel good?" He cooes, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He nudges against that spot inside you, groaning softly and pressing a thumb to apply gentle pressure to your clit. It's been too long, both your heads are going hazy, and he just wants to make you feel good, to feel good in turn. "Shit, I missed this fuckin' pussy."

You moan, and he shushes you with a kiss, squeezing your hand. "People are trying to sleep." You can't find it in you to care, not when you're finally getting the dick you've been craving for days, but you feel compelled to listen to Ekko, so you keep quiet. Just sigh into his mouth, whining softly and allowing your hands to trail up and down his back.

The pace is slow, gentle and full of affection. Just rocking into that warm, gooey spot inside you, he's only a couple inches deep, but he doesn't mind. Ekko kisses you, sighing sweet nothings into your mouth and right down to your tummy. His thumb still working at your clit, just rocking back and forth on top of it, in time with his hips, sandwiching your most sensitive parts between your favourite boy and turning your brain into mush.

It doesn't take much, to push you over the edge. God knows you've waited long enough. A few careful, practiced touches, whispered praise and reassurances, and sure enough that feeling is bubbling into your tummy, spilling over when he starts to rub little circles on your clit. You cum holding your breath to keep quiet, face twisted up in pleasure as Ekko fucks you through it. So pretty.

"Good girl, good girl...bet that feels good, huh? This what you wanted? Sweet girl just needed a fuck, yeah, I know, I know..."

Then he's pulling out, still touching you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He nuts with a groan, pumping himself to the same pace, warm cum shooting out of him, onto your tummy. He rests his forehead on your shoulder, placing small kisses to the skin there.

You just lay there for a moment, both needing a second to recover, get your bearings again. Not the most intense orgasms of your lives but exactly what you needed. He nuzzles into you, nudging his nose against your jaw.

"Round two?"

Published on 12/2/15 by babysfirsthaze on tumblr

[always-just-red]

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, okay? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d’you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, okay?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you okay?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, okay? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.  

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, okay?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

[httpsserene]

red carnations — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 charles leclerc x florist! fem!sri lankan!reader (fc: maitreyi ramakrishnan) smau. requested! fluff. strangers to lovers. kika and pierre playing cupid. original female character (océane). implied unhealthy work-life balance. slow burn. chapter one; view the (flower) arrangements table of contents.

synopsis: kika refuses to let you waste another night holed away inside your shop, arranging bouquets that will never be gifted to you, since you’ve become “too busy for a relationship.” she discovers that charles might be willing to assist you in improving your work-life balance.

༊࿐ ⊹ lwk...spain was just as boring as monaco; i'll say it if you won't. great triple header for the 481 side of me, and the 1644 side of me is conflicted. love y'all, xoxo

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents | next↻

instagram • kikagomes • ⚑ galentine's day

♡︎ 100K 🗨️193 ➤ 239

liked by pierregasly, haileybieber, charles_leclerc, and others

kikagomes to all the girls i've loved before 💝

thank you bouquetiere for the beautiful flowers, and happy belated birthday to the owner. she's my best friend—and the most hardworking, stubborn, driven, ambitious woman i know. wishing you many more years, endless growth and success, and many relaxing vacations in the future 😘😘😘

𖤘 bouquetiere | y/ninstagram | lilymhe | océaneofc | inesreiss_ | christinanadin

view comments

pierregasly: do you even love me ☹️

kikagomes: sorry meu armor, today is for the gals 😋 océaneofc: don't worry, we'll let you have her to yourself for v-day 🙈 pierregasly: how kind of you to let me to see my girlfriend on the day of celebrating love user1: remember your place pierre lolll user2: the girls before hoes always 💅🏽

user3: lindaaaa 😍😍😍

user4: you look so pretty in pink! love you kika 🩷🩷🩷

christinanadin: love my galssss 💓

christinanadin: i'll host next year! kikagomes: love uuuuu y/ninstagram: 💞 lilymhe: can't wait!!! océaneofc: love you more xxx inesreiss_: te amo 😘😘😘

user5: I LOVE THOSE FLOWERS!!!

user6: i ordered flowers from bouquetiere for my little sister's graduation and the bouquet was absolute perfection! y/n was so kind and patient as she helped me decide which flowers looked the best! 100% going to use her services for my future wedding :)

user7: omggg we should totally plan a hangout like this user4

user8: YESSS SEND IT TO THE GROUPCHAT !!!

user9: 😍😍😍

user10: happy galentines kikaaaaa 😚

user11: where's your dress from? i neeeed it 😫😫😫

y/instagram: best birthday party i have ever had :)

y/ninstagram: and i do not need a vacation.

lilymhe: yes you do christinanadin: you do 😐 inesreiss_: do you realize whenever we visit the shop, we're performing a wellness check on you? kikagomes: you need to go on holiday with something to distract you from doing or thinking about work kikagomes: or someone to distract you. like...idk a boyfriend? y/ninstagram: i don't need a vacation or distraction. and, i definitely do not need a boyfriend. ↳ charles_leclerc requested to follow you.

instagram • bouquetiere

♡︎ 2.5K 🗨️30 ➤ 89

liked by charles_leclerc, kikagomes, océaneofc, and others

bouquetiere last call to all singles located in monaco! join us on valentines day for a flower arranging workshop 🌹🌺🌷

alcohol, snacks, music, and flowers will be provided. you'll be taught how to craft a beautiful bouquet without feeling like you're falling behind in life because you're lacking a romantic partner—i'll provide a listening ear, tissues, and a shoulder to cry on free of charge, as well.

last day to sign up, don’t miss out! once again, anybody who is single is welcome! see you on february 14th, at 1PM 💞💞💞

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user12: yk i'll be okay if i never find love. as long as bouquetiere hosts the singles workshop 💀 ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: haha! i'll make sure we keep doing this until your special someone comes and sweeps you off your feet ✨

user13: i wish you were located in paris! i'd defintely attend if you were < 3 ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: thank you for the support! i hope we grow big enough to open a store in paris ☺️ user13: i'll be the very first customer in line when you do! bouquetiere: 😚

user14: je suis très enthousiaste (i’m so excited) !!! ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: a bientôt (see you soon)!

user15: are men allowed to attend?

bouquetiere: of course! bouquet making is a skill everyone can learn. i hope to see you there? user15: just signed up 💪🏻 ♥️ by author

pierregasly: do this instead of third-wheeling kika and i on valentine’s day 😂😂😂 charles_leclerc

joris_trouche: 🤣🤣🤣 charles_leclerc charles_leclerc: you are both terrible friends 😐 charles_leclerc: i have blocked people for less. joris_trouche: 😭😭😭

arthur_leclerc: sounds like the perfect place for you 💀charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: i should have ran you over with my kart at the very first chance i had when we were kids. charles_leclerc: you all are making it sound like i am sad about being single and that i am desperate for love 🤣🤣🤣 charles_leclerc: which i'm not, by the way! being single is okay and love is something that you cannot force. i am completely normal about being single and having no one to come home too, and i like it that way hahahaha charles_leclerc: not that i need anyone to come home too lol. relationships are sooo overrated 😌 charles_leclerc: but, like, i'd be the best boyfriend. i respect boundaries, i clean, i plan very good dates, i'm a great listener, i have so many sweaters that can be stolen, i have many ferrari's that you would look very pretty in the passenger seat of, i would learn to cook your favorite meals charles_leclerc: but being single is better, obviously 🤣🤣🤣 arthur_leclerc: …righttt big bro.

user16: why did charles leclerc just have a mental breakdown in the comment section of my favorite flower shop :D

user18: will there be mimosas 🥺

bouquetiere: i'm offended that you had the nerve to ask me that question. of course, there will be mimosas. bottomless mimosas. user18: i love you 🤩 ♥️ by author

messages • kika -> pierre

message • two lovers & kika gc • charles -> pierre & kika

instagram • bouquetiere

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bouquetiere another year, another successful valentine's bouquet workshop! most spoiled themselves with mimosas and moscato, some found the courage to use their handmade bouquets to ask their crush to be their valentine, and some found their valentine while they argued over flower combinations.

and others, like charles leclerc came to today's workshop for the sweetest reason: to learn how to make the perfect bouquet for his mother.

wishing you all a happy valentines day, from bouquetiere 💓

𖤘 user23 | user32 | user33 | charles_leclerc

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📌 charles_leclerc: ahhh the bouquet turned out perfect because i had the best florist in monaco teach me her ways! ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: the bouquet turned out perfect because you were easy to teach :) thank you for coming, and i hope your mother loves the flowers. bouquetiere: i don't know if i have earned the title of the best florist in monaco yet 😅 but i'll wear it like a crown! charles_leclerc: you carry yourself like a queen so i think a crown is fitting ♥️ by author user19: let's play a little game i like to call: flattery or flirting 🤗 océaneofc: she really is the best 🥰🥰🥰 ♥️ by author

user20: charles 🥹🥹🥹

user21: happy valentine's day bouquetiere !!! ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: happy valentine's day 😚

user22: that's so fucking sweet of him why am i sobbing rn

user23: she said yes!!! bouquetiere thank you for teaching my how to make a bouquet and for encouraging me to ask my crush out !!! ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: so happy it worked out for you 🥹 your next bouquet for her is on the house ! user24: omg love thisssss user25: i've never been happier for complete stranger!!! user26: i love love!!!! thrilled for u friend 🥳🥳🥳 pierregasly: i wish someone else found the courage to ask out their crush... user27: who pierre ⁉️ what do u know !!!

user28: don't think about how charles is getting his mother flowers for vday because his father isn't here to give her them anymore 🥲

user29: fun fact! saying don't think about it, doesn't actually stop people from thinking about it 🙂‍↕️ user30: m sobbing wtffff user31: 😭😭😭😭😭

user32: peonies are superior to hydrangeas! and just because we like each other, that doesn't mean that he's going to change my opinion bouquetiere !!! ♥️ by author

user33: i can't believe i like a woman who refuses to admit that hydrangeas are the perfect flower 😟 ♥️ by author bouquetiere: wellllll peonies and hydrangeas are a beautiful combination in a bouquet! happy valentine’s day 😇😇😇 user34: at this point, i need to go to bouquetiere because it sounds like it's the best place to find love user36: something's in the air at bouquetiere and i'm not talking about pollen 🙅🏽‍♀️

messages • charles -> pierre

messages • y/n -> kika

charles_leclerc uploaded a story!

[caption; bouquetiere is pascale approvedddd!!!! happy valentine's day everyoneee]

allow replies from followers you follow back.

océaneofc: joyeuse saint-valentin 💓

bouquetiere mentioned you in their story.

bouquetiere: glad she liked the bouquet 🙂 ↳charles_leclerc: she LOVED it 😌 she's thinking about getting some of your flowers to decorate her hair salon! ↳bouquetiere: i'd be honored to make custom flower arrangements for her. ↳charles_leclerc: i will let her know! i think i will be stopping by more regularly to pick up flowers. it shouldn't need to be a holiday for me to get her a bouquet 🫠 ↳bouquetiere: it's very sweet of you to do to that for her, charles. most people only gift flowers to apologize or for special occasions but i think the best reason to give someone a bouquet is just because you want to ♥️ by author ↳charles_leclerc: i will keep that in mind ☺️

pierregasly: dis à ta mère que je lui souhaite une joyeuse saint-valentin (tell your mother i wish her a happy valentines day) ↳charles_leclerc: bien sûr (of course)

kikagomes: charlie 😱 that bouquet is beautifully made! tell your mother i said hello and that pierre and i will come over for dinner soon! ↳charles_leclerc: i will 😊 the bouquet only looks good because of your friend lol ↳kika_gomes: duh obv i know that 🙄 but, she did tell me that u were a good student so ig you can take partial credit ↳charles_leclerc: she said that 🤭 she talked to you about me 😳😳😳 ↳charles_leclerc: kika what else did she say about me???

messages • please excuse my french gc • océane -> kika & y/n

instagram • bouquetiere

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bouquetiere working with my clients to bring their version of a perfect wedding to life is something i'm very honored to be trusted with handling. from selecting the best flower combinations, to curating the ideal bouquet, to designing tasteful centerpieces, to crafting intricate arrangements for venue decoration—we do it all, at bouquetiere 🤗

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📌 charles_leclerc: telling all of my friends in serious relationships to get married and to book you for their weddings so i can see the intricate flower arrangements you curate for them!

charles_leclerc: are you planning on proposing anytime soon pierregasly pierregasly: your best man status has been revoked 🙎🏻‍♂️ charles_leclerc: can't revoke it if there's no wedding for me to be a best man at 💆‍♂️ océaneofc: when i find the perfect man to settle down with, i'm totally booking my girl bouquetiere to do the flowers! i'll make sure you have the best view of the bouquet charles :) user32: girl what is u talking about 😒 océaneofc user33: 😭😭😭 user32 she's a friend of charles irl—or friend of kika, pierre, and y/n, who's the florist and owner of bouquetiere. user32: omfg i thought she was a rambling fangirl or smth LMAOOO my fault sis 🙂‍↕️

user34: i'm a wedding planner in monaco and i always recommend that my clients book your services or at least visit your shop! your taste in flowers is immaculate bouquetiere ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: i appreciate that! dm me, i'd love to chat and have a stack of your business cards to display in the shop :)

user35: that bouquet in the third slide 😲 ♥️ by author

user36: omg that bouquet in the 3rd pic paired w the multicolored bridesmaid dresses 😍😍😍 ♥️ by author

user37: i had no idea you did flower arrangements for venue decoration as well! i might have to do a destination wedding in monaco so bouquetiere is my florist 😆 ♥️ by author

user38: do you work with artificial flowers? my girlfriend (soon to be fiancée) has an allergy to most flowers, but she's obsessed with the bouquets you design! ♥️ by author

bouquetiere: hi! i currently have a limited selection of faux flowers in store—but, when the two of you are ready to start wedding planning, reach out to me and i'll gladly order more faux flowers that the two of you like, to craft allergen-free arrangements :) user38: leclerc wasn't lying when he said you were the best florist in monaco 😁 we'll be reaching out soon!

charles_leclerc uploaded a story!

[caption; bouquet making is becoming my faaaavorite hobby, thank youuu bouquetiere for the flowers 😁😁😁😁😁]

allow replies from followers you follow back.

bouquetiere mentioned you in their story.

pierregasly: you don't even promote your sponsors this much and they PAY you to advertise for them 🤣🤣🤣 ↳charles_leclerc: shut up ☺️ ↳charles_leclerc: and this did not work anyway. she didn't even reply, she only reposted it to the flower shop account. ↳pierregasly: she’s a busy woman, she may not have the time to respond to you 🤷‍♂️ ↳charles_leclerc: yeah maybe

océaneofc: great choice in flowers! how'd this bouquet turn out?

carlossainz55: i don't think you used enough smiley faces in the caption 😂😂😂 ↳block carlossainz55 ? | instagram won't let them know you blocked them.

imessage • two lovers & kika gc • charles -> pierre & kika

kika's lockscreen • please excuse my french gc • océane -> kika & y/n

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I make a one shot request of Ena Dream BBQ, Meanie Ena x Fem Reader when Ena is jealous for Reader?

Reader can be a human that somehow got in this unique world so she tries to socialize with the other NCPs ending up getting along with many of them as she always makes new NPC friends this might make the work more easy but also a distraction as well

I hope the idea isn't too long, if you want to change something I'm totally Ok with it 👌✨️

Hope it's okay that I made these headcanons! Writing characters being jealous is always fun haha

..........

Ena isn't one to get too distracted from her job.

Although ever since you two began your mission in the Lonely Door, she noticed something.

It was happening a lot more frequently--something that, with each instance of it occurring, gave her Meanie side feelings of unpleasantness.

It became hard to stay focused. Even her Salesperson side had trouble acting like nothing was amiss and maintaining her charm.

The problem? It's that 99.5% of the people you've met so far were more eager to speak to you rather than her.

At first you didn't see any issues with this (not that your girlfriend gave you any signs that there are to begin with).

Despite being a human, and therefore being an anomaly in all of their eyes, somehow they are more comfortable conversing with you.

You figured that since you're stuck here, you might as well socialize with whoever you meet--and since language barriers didn't exist in this world, you had no troubles or miscommunications.

Ena said something about how maintaining connections was essential to completing your job, so you didn't see anything wrong with talking to a few clients so casually, especially as it helped you get the work done faster and line more chocolates into your pockets.

You made friends out of strangers fast, all of them wanting to know more about your human culture, and you'd share little stories here and there.

Salesperson Ena didn't mind this so much, although she'd lose her typical sales pitch tone and feel a little disheartened if she got ignored. But anytime you asked her if she was alright, she'd perk right back up.

Meanie Ena, on the other hand...wasn't one to express any emotion that wasn't anger, sarcasm, or strictness. But for a while she stayed unusually quiet, so you had no idea.

Or at least until the moment a client outright dismissed her, pretending she's not there when she's trying to conduct serious business.

"We will do our utmost to assist you, valued customer! Could you direct us to where we may perchance find-?"

"Quiet! Can't you see I'm talking to [y/n] here??" They snap, scowling at her deeply, before turning to you with a smile. "Oh, do tell me that story again. I haven't had a laugh like that in eons!"

"Haha, well..I believe I've spoken about it two...three times now? And besides, I have a good idea about where to go. So whenever you're ready.....Ena?" You turned back to her, only to see that she froze up.

She was stuck in an odd pose, geometric fingers twitching, mouth agape in shock with static white noise filling her eyes.

Of course, you knew that she wasn't exactly...a stable entity. She'd have sporadic movements here and there or do something incredibly insane and act like it's totally normal--or you'd have to deal with Meanie yelling out of nowhere.

But this was new. And rightfully alarming.

A snap of your fingers is all it takes to "reboot" her, in a sense, but that's when you see her paler half's scowl.

Deep down, those unpleasant feelings have finally clawed their way to the surface--and like a volcano, her emotions explode in the face of the customer. As though they called your services a scam and prayed to the Genies themselves that you got fired.

"Your business is no longer welcomed! We're terminating this stupid contract--EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!! Have a horrible, no good, very bad day, jerkface!!" She grabs your arm unexpectedly and drags you off, bringing you somewhere out in the desert, away from all the people you could possibly interact with.

"Ena! What the hell was that all about?" You dust yourself off, looking annoyed. "We just lost out on a good deal-"

"Screw that!! We have deadlines! Deadlines that were, and deadlines that have yet to exist!! But you're just LAZYING around! Cozying up to these ungrateful shits!! We can't get distracted when we're trying to find the Gen--bathr000-oom." She paces around, trying to keep her head from literally spinning out of control.

"....I thought you said having a friendly demeanor was great for boosting our services." You frown. "Unless...you think I'm being too friendly with them?"

"......that's...irrelevant.." She mutters, but this time she doesn't sound so sure of herself.

Judging from the way she hugged her torso and glanced away from you, you had a feeling something else was going on.

And just like that, it suddenly clicks in your mind.

"Wait. Ena, are you....jealous that they're talking to me more?"

She says nothing, although her small huff gave you the answer you needed.

Well, it made perfect sense. She's had quite a negative reputation--one so bad that people acted rude and were more than okay with ignoring her presence--yet she didn't wanna elaborate on why that is.

But you loved her regardless of what others think. She was the one who showed you this wacky world and all it could do, doing everything in her power to make sure you felt welcomed here, and you've put your trust in her.

And you trust that in due time, she'll be comfortable enough to explain everything.

For now, business calls...but apparently she was battling a distraction of her own, one that you are now aware of.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me that sooner, honey?" Pouting, you pat her humanlike shoulder. "I'm sorry. I would've eased up and kept things strictly professional had I known. I didn't mean to make you feel ignored."

"It's...It's fine. I-I got carried away, too...so it's not all on you." She mumbled, fidgeting with her hat. "'m not gonna stop you from making friends.."

You've never seen Meanie so quiet and flustered before--this was a rarity.

And in all honesty, it was quite cute, but you didn't wanna say that out loud-

"Cute?!! Did you just....I'm not...!!!"

You blink, having forgotten that sometimes she could hear your thoughts. Yet you weren't ashamed. "Hey, I stand by what I said--erm..thought. It's cute how jealous you easily get. But I feel really bad, still. So....lemme make it up to you." You kiss her paler side, watching as she glitched out a little, her scowl faltering into a look of shock.

Luckily she didn't have a total system crash.

That's right...she was also getting used to this whole "affection" scene.

"Am I absolved?"

Her reply is a very glitchy and distorted "yes".

Froggy called a few moments later, but you picked up the phone instead as she was still simmering in her embarrassment.

"How's the mission coming along? This smoke is clogging my eeaaaaars..."

"I know it sucks, but we're making good progress."

"That's a relief. But where's Ena?? She should be picking up!!"

"She's fine." You glanced back at Ena, who was now sitting on the ground, her Meanie side staring down at the list of tasks--only to hide her face behind the paper when she caught you staring.

But you just shake your head in amusement. "We're just...taking a short break."

"Eh?? I can sense you smiling. What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing at all."

[angelltheninth]

Can you write the Arcane women taking care of their girlfriend when she's on her period?

My own period is getting closer so I am feeling this ask right now.

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn Kiramman, Maddie Nolen, Grayson, Sevika, Mel Medarda, Ambessa Medarda, Cassandra Kiramman

Tags: fluff, periods, bleeding, feeling sick, period cramps, comfort food, massages, cuddles, working out, suggestive content

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: If there was a button to opt me out of periods for the rest of my life I would press it so fast. It's not fair.

Jinx would run around frantically, literally burying you in supplies that she doesn't even know if you need. The type to try to distract you by talking your ear off and making you laugh. She feels guilty when she sees you cramping up in pain and briefly considers offering you Shimmer to make you feel better. If she needs to she will break into Piltover medicine shops to get you some better medicine.

Vi hasn't had the best experience with periods herself so she doesn't know how to take care of you properly. She offers you messages that worked with her when her cramps were really bad and makes sure you have enough water to drink since you're bleeding a lot. Kisses your stomach when she feels it flexing from cramps. When she feels you relax under her touch she smiles, knowing she's doing it right.

Caitlyn knows when your period is close so she takes days off work to tend to you. Piltover won't fall to pieces if she's not working for a bit, taking care of her girlfriend is more important. She can get you anything you need, be it medicine, pads, food you're craving, just ask her and she'll take care of it. Doesn't want you walking alone when you're feeling sick so she always follows you to the bathroom.

Maddie always makes sure she has your favorite comfort food ready for when you're on your period. It's a small comfort maybe but it's something she always wanted to have while she was on her periods, someone taking care of her. To make sure you don't get sick again she feeds you the food little by little. When a bit of food stains your lips she leans in to kiss you, distracting you for just a moment longer.

Grayson gets worried when she wakes up and you're not in bed next to her but in the bathroom holding your stomach. She knows what's wrong right away and carries you back to bed, telling you to stay put while she goes out to buy what you need. Helps you change into clean pajamas and kisses your legs, hips and stomach while doing so. Makes sure you get lots of rest, and lots of tea to help with the pain.

Sevika thinks that a good workout is a great way to help with your period pains. Obviously she won't push you past your breaking point or push you if you're feeling sick but a little work out will do you some good. She rewards you with food and drinks she knows you like, and those that keep your energy up so you're not as sluggish. Kisses are on the table too, and more if you're feeling up for it later.

Mel prepares you a big, warm bath and yes she will take the bath with you once you washed up. Pampers and spoils you rotten while you're on your period, she's even more attentive than usual. She makes sure you know that she doesn't think the blood is gross or unsightly, she might look prim and proper but she'd seen her fair share of blood. And she would never be grossed out by you, especially not now.

Ambessa lets you see her secret softer side when you're on your period. Her duties can wait a bit, she wants to spend a good chunk of her day with you instead. Physical activity is a good way to help with period pains and you already know she's not grossed out by blood in any way, so if you want to spend the day in bed with her it's more than welcome. Or you can just cuddle, that's on the table too.

Cassandra didn't have regular periods when she was younger but she knows how painful they can be. The last thing she wants is to see you in pain so she always has tea ready, it's right next to your bed, might not be tasty but it helps. She cuddles up next to you on the bed or on the couch, constantly kissing your cheeks, your forehead, kissing you on the lips, comforting you. Will even take a day off from the Council.