#if it was brown he would have blended with the background way too much

[byooregard]

persona 5 manga is like a coloring book to me

[shrtcakeprncess]

skin. ino takuma.

𝐜𝐰 𐙚 nsfw link, drabble-ish, black reader , creaming, explicit language, underage drinking, cannabis consumption, high/drunk sex, kissing, oral, fingering, age-gap, ino is 21 reader is 18. . . i think that’s all? as always mdni . . .

𝐚/𝐧 𐙚 all fifteen ino fans rise up! but like seriously, he’s so underrated. no one writes about his fine ass.

"boo!"

a cheeky grin pulls across your face as you feel the familiar inked arms wrap around your frame, the intricate designs on his skin a comforting sight. you can't help but lean back into his warm, protective embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. the scent of his cologne fills your senses, grounding you in the moment. with a playful glint in your eye, you turn around slowly, your movements deliberate and teasing. your arms drape over his shoulders, fingers gently gliding into his soft chestnut hair.

he looks so pretty, brown eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief as he gazes down at you. his black beanie is snugly pulled over his tousled brown hair tucked behind his ears, showcasing small silver hoops, two on each side, as well as an eyebrow piercing that catches the light and adds a touch of edgy elegance to his look. his lips curve into a soft smile, making your heart flutter, and you can't help but admire the effortless charm he exudes.

"my dad will kill you if he sees you in here," you mutter against his lips. ino hums, shrugging his shoulders, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he pulls you closer.

"good thing he’s not here then beautiful." he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, you giggle. never did you think you’d be messing around with the pool boy, yet here you were, sneaking behind your father's back doing just that. there was something about ino takuma that you couldn’t resist—maybe it was his mysterious aura, or maybe it was the way you’d always catch him sneaking glances at you while you sunbathed in those too-tight bathing suits. not that you minded him looking, anyway.

your dad would have his neck if he knew ino was sleeping with his precious daughter, which is why you and ino snuck around when your father was out, which was often. the thrill of secrecy added an intoxicating layer to your relationship. every stolen moment felt electric, charged with the risk of being discovered. you relished the way ino's touch sent shivers down your spine, the way his lips felt against yours.

you remember the first time you noticed him, his quiet demeanor and the way he seemed to blend into the background. it was intriguing, and you found yourself watching him, curious about the stories behind his reserved nature. despite his efforts to remain unnoticed, there was an undeniable pull between you two.

ino's lips pressed against yours, soft and demanding, sending a thrill down your spine. you melt into the kiss, fingers further tangling in his hair as his hands roam your back. the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this stolen moment. you pull back slightly breathless, and gaze into his eyes, seeing the same fire reflected back at you.

"you're trouble, you know that?" you huff, tracing a finger along his jawline. ino chuckles, hands tracing shapes on your back. you looked so damn enticing, wearing a pink tube top that clung to your skin, your nipples subtly pressing against the fabric. your leggings accentuated every curve, highlighting the beautiful dips and contours of your body. ino loved seeing you barefaced, never understanding why you felt the need to wear makeup. to him, your natural beauty was captivating.

"and yet, you can't stay away," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. it's true; no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. there's something about his quiet strength, his mysterious nature, that captivates you. you want to peel back the layers, to understand the man behind the reserved exterior.

"maybe i like a little trouble," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. ino's eyes darken with desire, and he leans in to capture your lips once more. this time, the kiss is deeper, more urgent, as if he's pouring all his emotions into it. you respond in kind, losing yourself in the sensation.

a sudden noise from the front door startles you both, and you pull away, hearts pounding. "dad's home," you whisper, panic setting in. ino's eyes widen, and he quickly steps back, adjusting his beanie.

"i'll go out the back," he says, his voice calm despite the situation. you nod, trying to steady your breathing. as he slips out the back door, you can't help but feel a pang of longing. taking a deep breath, you smooth out your clothes and attempt to compose yourself.

“hey honey,” your dad calls out as he enters the kitchen. “how was your day sweetheart?”

"good, thanks.” you reply, forcing a smile. "just doing some reading."

“that's good. totally forgot to tell you i have a work dinner to go to in a bit, so i’ll be gone for a few hours. will you be okay here alone?” he quips an eyebrow at you as you laugh. “dad, i’m eighteen not twelve. i will be perfectly fine.”

he nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and heads upstairs.you let out a sigh of relief, your heart still racing from the close call. your mind drifts back to ino, grabbing your phone from the counter you send him a message.

dad’s leaving 2nite, bring booze and weed ♡︎ i’ll text u when coast is clear!

ino takuma looked so damn pretty when he was high, brown eyes half-lidded as he nursed the blunt in his hand. he was sprawled out comfortably on your bed, his legs spread out in a casual yet confident manner. his grip on your waist was firm and reassuring as you sat on his lap, creating an intimate connection that made your heart race. the soft glow of the room highlighted the contours of his face, adding to the captivating aura he exuded in that moment.

“your face is so pretty, y’know?”

“so sit on it.”

it was almost comical how fast you began stripping after those words left his mouth, hungry lips on ino’s as he assisted in peeling off your clothing. his hands gripped your hips with a possessive intensity, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. the kiss was deep and demanding, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine. you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the raw desire evident in every movement. his teeth grazed your lower lip, eliciting a gasp from you that only seemed to fuel his passion further. it was a kiss that spoke volumes, filled with a lustful need.

“mmmngh,” you’re an incoherent mess as you grind your wet folds across his face, eyes low with pleasure. ino was a man of many talents, and one was eating pussy. the way he’s dragging his tongue over your sensitive cunt has your stomach churning, his hands holding a tight grip on your quivering thighs. ino knows you’re a runner, and rest assured he’s not letting you out of his grip.

“eating my pussy so good,” you breathlessly whine, lips caught between your teeth as you attempt to stifle your moans. the slick sound of your folds meeting his tongue is lewd, ino’s a messy man, a combination of spit and arousal coating his face as well as your inner thighs.

ino moans into you, the deep vibrations making your clit tingle. you fail miserably to swallow back a moan, ino’s cock twitching against his sweats at the beautiful sound. it’s like music to his ears and it spurs him on, teeth grazing your bud, sending waves of pleasure up your back. “inooooo,” you mewl out his name in complete ecstasy, every tug, every nip at the sensitive bud igniting your senses, toes curling in pleasure.

“w-wanna feel your f-fingers inside o-of me,” you hiccup out, mind foggy.

almost instantly, your legs are pulled to each side of your head, stretching you to the brink of your flexibility. ino's fingers move with a relentless rhythm, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, each thrust deeper and more intense than the last. his other hand wraps firmly around your neck, the pressure adding an intoxicating blend of control and desire to the moment.

“such a greedy thing” ino groans watching as your lips latch around his digits each time he withdrawals, “stuffed to the brim with four fingers, yet you still want more.” you moan at his words, knowing he’s right. ino’s name fumbles from your swollen lips multiple times in a daze, he could get drunk off the way your mouth rolls the syllables.

“tell me how you feel baby,” ino coo’s, fingers curling into your cervix, lips attaching back to your clit. the combination of his tongue lazily gliding over your throbbing clit along with his fingers working in relentless rhythmic harmony has you shuddering in pleasure. “so fucking good!” you sob, hands entangling in his hair as he devours your pussy.

“you’re so wet,” ino mutters into you, fingers coated in cream, ass lifting off the bed with each thrust of his fingers. “this all for me?”

“yes,yes,yes. all for you daddy!”

mymanmymanmyman.🫧

[jolalibrary]

10. cranberry cocktail

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3k chapter warnings: SMUT. 18+. jo's bad use and knowledge of DIY. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo made herself horny. see author note at the end.

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It’s difficult not to smile as you approach.

His voice, mid-singing—almost competing with the radio that lingers under his voice—had been travelling out as you walked up to the building. Louder when you pulled open the door, sliding the sunglasses from your face.

A few blinks and your eyes capture his, singing dying out, leaving the original artist blaring around in the background.

Still, you're unable to stifle the smile. Not as you walk closer or as he puts down the tool in hand; least of all when you realise he's looking only half as abashed as you would be if he caught you mid-rendition, watching him dial down the volume on the radio as the door closes behind you.

Frankie had shown you this place once before. Your voice, light, teasing, hand in his: “You’re showing me where the magic happens?”

“I’ve shown you where that happens.”

“Not that magic—or, well, I hope you’re not about to tell me there are even more videos on a different site I need to watch. I’ve been forced to rewatch things lately.”

He’d explained, with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye, how he’d turned the garage into a workshop. The hours, the pieces he’d started with and the things he’s managed to build, find or bargain for along the way. Even lingered his thumb over the height chart for Luca, the one he told you he began when he first bought the run-down house he made a home.

It was impressive then, but you hadn’t appreciated it as much as you do stepping in today.

You'd been too busy then, watching, studying him. Spotting the way he trailed his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes widening as they tried to smile before his lips as he pointed out highlights he knew you’d have seen from certain videos you’d mentioned.

Now, it's all lit by soft, mid-morning sunlight, looking homely, loved, worn in and appreciated—everything you’d expect from him.

Even if things are out, such as plasterboard and wood leaning against odd edges, everything else has a place. Just like the scent that wanders around and flows as if there’s a constant candle burning, one which includes notes of freshly applied paint, the essence of sawdust and leather. A blended aroma that subtlety clings to his clothes—and then lingers inside your own. A thing which brings comfort, until it seeps in sadness upon the realisation that it's faded from a sweater, bedsheets or your throw after a few days of not seeing him in person.

"Hi, handsome."

He grins, a hello escaping out as his knuckle tips your chin up, your smile back presses to his mouth. Tasting his lips, how they’re tinged with coffee. Frankie planting it more intently as your hands find their way around his waist, heightening it, fingers grasping your cheek.

You swear you could kiss him forever. A thought you know you have continuously, almost every time his mouth finds yours. But you mean it.

Completely. Utterly.

Your palms sliding around, fingers brushing over dry, hard paint specks buried into the soft, beloved cotton of his tee.

“So,” you say when you pull away, teeth biting your lip—finding yourself staring at him, as though his face alone answers everything.

In some ways, you're adamant it does. In others, you know it will.

A feeling that thrums more and more intensely as weeks rack up into months, as your heart flutters in your chest when his eyes hold yours for a second longer than normal.

“What has prompted this little requested visit?”

Grinning, he traces his thumb along your jaw. “Thought you could drill some holes—for your cupboards?”

Smirking, dragging your tongue in a sweeping motion across your lip, you tap your fingers on his waist. “Drill, ay? I didn’t… exactly come dressed to be in your workshop.”

“Wait,” he says, eyes widening, mouth pulled into a line as he brushes his fingers down the fabric of your summer dress that rests along your collarbone. “This isn’t an everyday DIY outfit?”

Grinning, you nudge into him, head shaking—hand grasping a handful of his tee. “No.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice dropping, charm encasing each letter as his hands find a home on your hips, “I’ll make sure you don’t get messy.”

A soft laugh escapes you, feeling the way his thumb continues its gentle circling on your cheekbone.

“You on cleanup duty, then?” you reply, the words muffled against his lips. He hums in response, a sound of agreement that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Without pulling away, he gently guides you towards the bench—hands on your side as his chin rests on your shoulder.

One glance at him, and he offers you a comforting smile. Before it comes over him, that voice—the one from the videos. All lightly, but sternly instructing you. Talking you through the steps, before he tells you to pick up the black and orange drill from in front of you.

A lick of warmth slides up your spine, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you press closer to him, your body beginning to buzz from the way he’s pressed against you—his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist.

“We’re going to begin with drilling the holes for the handles.”

Rolling your lips, you rest your head against his. “Okay.”

“What you’re gonna do is lightly ease the drill in.”

“Is that so?”

Clearing his throat, you swear you hear your name, it followed quickly by a “Stop.”

“Stop what, Frankie?”

It’s a grunt. A thing buried in his throat before he takes a measured sigh. His hand rises, gripping the top of the power tool before lining the drill bit with the marked wood.

“Being a tease—now, lightly pull the trigger.”

Blanking your face, staring at him with confusion. “So, push it in and out?”

You watch it hit him—slowly. It washes over him in a few blinks, your hips wiggling against his before he groans again. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m very innocent, Morales.”

“Mierda. You’re the opposite of innocent. And no, it’s straight down. Not in and out—we’re not… we’re not fucking it.”

Giggling, you bite the inside of your cheek, adjusting your stance as you swear his groin pushes into your ass on purpose. Finding a way to mumble an okay, you shift your shoulders in preparation. Asking, finger hovering over the trigger of the drill, if you squeeze it lightly as you feel him nod.

Swallowing, you give it a test. A little click. Hearing it, before you see thin crinkles of wood coming away from the pressure.

“Like that?”

Somehow, all beyond you, you manage to keep your voice steady. It all unwilling to tremble—even though his breath is dancing over your neck. Even though his hold on your hip is tightening.

Then there’s the heat pulsating through your dress—the warmth settling into your bones, skin and muscle from his touch. Your body remembering, recalling—able to know just from his presence what he can do, what he has done, how he can unravel you and make you become a mess all from his fingers, mouth and—

“Bit more pressure this time, baby.”

“You can’t say that.”

Snorting, the air dances over your skin as you swear you feel him smirk. “Oh, Rainy. I can.”

You swear his voice drops an octave.

Sweeping the words over you, making your body tense, muscles twisting in on themselves as you try to focus on the drill in your hand. Stare down at the piece of wood he’s set up for you until it’s a blur. Nodding. Finger over the button, knowing you just need to squeeze—

Perfect, he whispers.

And fuck it makes your thighs press together. Makes something rumble inside of you at the same time as the drill fires to life.

The noise is all loud, alarming—deafening. A hole deepening in the wood.

“That's it, just like that. Perfecto, hermosa.”

Even with how loud it is, you can only hear him.

How he layers so much emphasis on the P, the letter is still skating over your skin by the time the rest that follows it has left his tongue.

You can only swallow. Remaining aware, and yet focused in, on how his hand slides down, fingers teasing the end of your dress—a quickly thrown-on thing, an easy option that meant you could arrive here sooner.

“You’re perfect,” he says, kissing it against your neck as his hand slides under your dress, palm flat to your thigh, dragging it up, and up.

Some part of you, all distant, feels him take the drill, hears a click, before it’s out of sight, out of fucking mind.

Then it’s just thick fingers you focus on, how they slide, rub, torture over your underwear—feeling like minutes, hours, days before he manoeuvres. Before he’s forcing elastic to cut into your skin, before you feel him trace along the places you need him desperately.

“Frankie…”

He drags his nose against the side of your face, feeling the exhale flutter against your jaw before he makes you gasp before it grows into a shameless whine.

“This not what you wanted?”

Swallowing, your eyelids quiver. Some part of you, a present part of you that isn’t lost in the way he’s stroking up and down your slick folds, occasionally catching your clit, that he isn’t going to let you come like this.

Even if he's told you he likes the way you sound, has confessed that he likes watching you unravel; his favourite pastime, his favourite movie and soundtrack.

“Need to hear you, Rainy?”

“Want you,” you pant, breathless.

He fans hot breath on your skin. “Want me to fuck you here, baby? On my bench. Hmm?”

You’re fluttering, desperately to squeeze him—fingers or cock, you’re not in a frame of mind to be fussy.

Mind changing, singing, practically bellowing: please, please, fucking, please. Body thrumming, vibrating, legs desperate to shake—if not for the fact they’re keeping you upright. Your fingers find a place on his bench, digging, barely making a mark against the rest on his workbench. But it’s stable, rigid.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, softer, dripping it into your ear like honey—all encased in air that seeps inside of you and makes you forced to chase his lips.

It’s against them you say please. Kissing a y, an e and a s against his mouth, licking past his teeth, hips rocking into his fingers as he circles and circles and circles—

Then, nothing.

Retraction, emptiness. A desperate whine emerges, rising from the back of your throat until it fuses with the air.

An explanation almost demanded, but his belt buckle undoing silences you. His clothed cock presses against you, feeling how hard he is, the size of him making you clench your thighs as cool air kisses the back of your legs when he grabs a fist full of your dress.

“Gonna get rid of these.”

It’s deft, his finger—hooking in the band of your panties as he drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting it fall the rest of the way as the fabric finds a home around your ankles. For a moment they just remain there, not entirely confident you can step out of them until he holds you steady, talks you through it:

One foot, then the other. That's it, baby.

Because your body is on auto-pilot, doing things for you, for him. Like parting your thighs as his hand rests on your back as he softly urges you down. Your forearms find the bench, hingeing at the waist, lying your chest flat on his bench, sawdust filling your nose and stitching itself into the upper part of your dress as you turn your head, flakes sticking to your cheek.

And for a moment, an expanse of time, you forget how to breathe, how to be, where you are as you stare at him.

This man, this person who one day you didn’t know and the next you did—is now yours, all yours. Mine, he’d said in bedsheets after the conversation in the kitchen. Like that you’re mine, Rainy. A man you trust, like, lov—

Frankie, who is all handsome, broad and fucking kind, is now looking at you as if you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to devour in his life. Do it, you silently plead, beg, metaphorically getting on your knees as he washes you in almond-brown eyes.

He’s a sight you couldn’t have ever made up, least of all this one. Fingers, thick—one wrapped in a bandaid—pulling down on the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes, casting half of him in a shadow that makes you almost moan. There’s just the tip of his nose, just his mouth on show, lips spread and curled into a smirk as he lines his cock at your entrance.

You sure? He asks, fingers brushing over your hip, keeping the fabric back, as you smile, nod, and whisper for him to make you feel good before he eases the head of his cock in. It's then your mouth parts around a silent cry of his name, pussy welcoming each inch of him, opening, as you let him slide all he wants to give.

“Know you can take me,” he hushes, “I’m good at measurements, calculations—“

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, you like that.”

Whining his name, he smirks. Because both the feel of him and the act is something you couldn’t have ever concocted. Fuck, a year ago you wouldn’t believe the person you are either. Not this confident being almost laid down on his workbench, feeling this good, this attractive, all bold—asking for this, for what you want. No flicker of shyness or nervousness.

Then there’s him. A sight your mind is struggling to process. Frankie with his teeth glistening with spit as he stares down at you, as he sweeps that burning gaze over you and grunts at the feel of you. One hand, large, slightly calloused, finding meaning on your waist, the other holding your dress up your spine, pressing down, light, but firm—don’t move, baby, stay still.

As if you ever would.

The stretch is welcomed, a dull ache answered, all buried to the hilt. Remaining there, still.

“Move, please—fuck, Frankie, I beg of you.”

He chuckles. A low laugh.

But he does, pulling out before driving back in, making your vision swim, blur. It all overwhelming. Both the sensation and everything else—scents, sounds and touch. His hips slowly moving, his belt buckle clanging and it’s easier to find yourself draped over the bench, cheeks on the wood, inhaling it—the scent that lives in his clothes, in his fingers and aura.

Frankie, just Frankie. Your Frankie—

“So g—fuck—good for me.”

Your fingers dig, grasp—his cock kissing that spot inside of you that forces your toes to curl in your shoes, your mouth managing half of his name before it fades to a moan. All breathy, doused in whimpers and yes’s falling in a verse that leads to a chorus.

“Feel so—oh, good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Perfect. Feel perfect.”

He moans—low, tinged in a grunt, a hiss, your name etched somewhere in the sound—as he pulls almost all the way out, drawn out, an emptiness beginning to register before he thrusts in. Somehow deeper, somehow filling you more perfectly as you squeeze your grip on the bench.

And you’re close, all light and boneless—but heavy and alive, so alive you feel like fire courses in your veins and you could become more flame than a person.

“Come for me, baby. Right on my bench—fuck, you feel good, so tight—need y’to come. Right here.”

And it crashes against you, all of it. Suddenly unable to smell a thing, hear a thing—you just feel. Feel the sensation of just him and the tip of him hitting that spot which makes you arch as pleasure, all blinding and molten lava rushes through your blood, and flows into your muscles.

All numb and yet tingly.

It takes a moment, but your senses come back one by one, panting, breathless—muscles tired and depleted—as you feel his hips stuttering, the strained noises from behind forcing your eyes open.

He’s a picture, a work of art—a statue that should be carved by someone with talent. Sun streaks in and basks him in a golden hue, illuminating that heart patch on his jaw—the way his tongue is pinned between pearly white teeth, and the vein in his neck throbs angrily as he reaches his own climax.

You clench, aware of it, ogling and admiring pushing him over the edge as he curses, tensing, rigid, pace lost as he spills inside of you, happily taking it all, wishing to wring him dry and ensure he’s empty. Greedy, desperate and fucking needy.

Before his body finds refuge on top of yours, heart hammering against your spine—hat falling, tumbling off onto the floor as the two of you catch your breaths. His hand finds your cheek, stroking his thumb against it.

“Never… I’ve never done that before.”

Smiling, you gaze at him as best as you can. “I like how you drill,” you say, playfully, feeling his laugh rumble through him before he kisses your hairline.

It’s light—perfect.

Feeling the laugh bounce from bone to bone inside of you before he turns and eases you up, chest to chest, murmuring against your lips about a shower, about cleaning you up. And you keep smiling, even more so when he checks your chin and cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing over and over.

“You promised me I wouldn’t get messy.”

Thumb pausing on your cheek, he smirks. “I can clean you up, baby?”

Smirking, you shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “How are you planning on doing that?”

He tilts his head, before slowly grasping the bench, descending to his knees. Your mouth unable to stop itself from falling open, all wide, surprised as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“Might want to hold onto something, baby,” he says, writing it against your inner thigh. “Might take me a minute to make sure you’re all cleaned up.”

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while we still have some more chapters of these two, I've been experimenting with a few things and while it won't have any bearing on the main series, there will be some smutty-one-shots that can be read as and when, and if so people wish. they won't require reading of the series, but rather allow anyone to enjoy two people who are becoming comfortable with one another, exploring a few different things. i'm not sure on when the first will be out, but it won't replace normal uploads for them. but rather just be small little things i'd love to include but would feel shoe-horned into my plan. also if there's anything you'd love a bit more of, whether it's a bit more on rainy/frankie or their relationship, my inbox is always open. thank you for letting these pair into your heart.

[kairiscorner]

omds i luvvvvvvv your writing so much 🤭🤭 could i req a earth 42 miles or a hobie brown fic where reader gets bullied for dating miles/hobie (whichever one u pick 🖤) because people think she’s “not good enough for him” because she’s like one of the quiet kids she doesn’t go to like parties and stuff like that she’s always studying and that kinda stuff and miles/hobie finds out when one of his friends confronts him ab it (you can write this however u like!!!!) and he talks w reader and stuff just a bunch of htc!! 🖤 thank you sooooo much

OH DAMN, sure thing anon !! i am just like y/n fr it's just that i don't have bitches 😭😭😭 but i hope u like this rahhh !!!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

they're more than worthy of me. – miles 42 x reader

nobody ever has a perfect life, let alone a perfect love life, but when you were with miles, everything felt just right. he loved you with a love that wasn't overbearing or possessive, he gave you your space when you needed it and supported you from the sidelines in every endeavor you dared to try. you didn't stand out much though, really, you blended in quite well into the background. you were used to not being recognized or acknowledged immediately, and you were fine with it—though you were confused why recently, a few of your classmates were acting a little mean to you.

you never harbored any ill will towards these people—as far as you were concerned, you doubt that more than half of these kids would even remember your name. every time you approached a classmate of yours for a question, they'd immediately walk away the minute you walked over to them, others would ask you in sarcastic voices if you couldn't even do something so simple with a smile that tried to get you thinking they meant no harm when in reality, they wanted you away from them. you couldn't even pretend and think that they were just busy or being realistic—that you should be able to do something as simple as the question to an activity that you were stumped on, but you couldn't—this was because a lot of those classmates of yours adored miles.

they liked miles and having his attention on them, angry if anyone else were to get his attention away from them. before you entered the picture, they were all over him—devoted and loved him like a friend, some had loved him in more than just a friendly way, but none of his friends and admirers in your class took it very kindly when they noticed you and miles getting along a bit too well back then; when you two became a thing, everything just got worse. miles still hangs out with some of these people, though he doesn't consider them his friends—tonight, he'd be attending a party of theirs with ganke, with you opting to stay behind and catch up on school works.

late at night, as you were finishing up your studying session, you got a text from miles, asking you to come down and meet him by your front door. you got up from your chair and walked down to your front door, and there he was, battered and bruised in the face—looking into your eyes with hurting in them. you asked him in worried stammers about what happened to him, who did this to him, if he was even okay. you checked his face all over, and when you saw the backs of his hands, they were reddened and scarred, you couldn't tell if the blood was his or someone else's, because you knew this was no accident that happened to him—he got into a fight, a serious one.

"miles, what happened?" you asked him in a shuddering voice, with miles bringing his red, bloody knuckled hands to your shoulders and wrapped you in his arms. he didn't answer you quite yet as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tightly as his initial response. "how could they not accept that i love you?" he murmured as you gently placed your hands on his back, reciprocating his hug despite your confusion. "i... miles, what?" "ganke told me he heard a bunch of the guys at the party talking shit about you behind my back. i... i confronted them, asked them why they said what they said, but the last thing they wanted to do was cooperate and be honest. so i... i did some things i wasn't proud of. i'm sorry, i'm just so sick of people hurting you all for my sake–you deserve better, mi cielo..." he whispered as you pulled away from him, watching the tears form in his eyes as he frowned up at you amidst the cuts and bruises on his face.

you brought him into your house and sat him down on the couch, hurriedly getting him a first aid kit to treat his wounds. you wrapped his knuckles up in gauze, with him mindlessly following your hands with his gaze–him taking in all the gentle and softness of your touch. "i'm sorry, again, mi vida. i shouldn't... i should've handled it better." miles apologized to you again as you were tying up the gauze on his hand. "love..." you called out to him, placing your hand on top of his with concern and love filling your gaze. "i'm just glad you're alive and well. i wish you didn't have to get hurt or hurt anyone, but... i'm glad you love me enough to defend me like you did even though i wasn't there." you said in a quiet voice, smiling up at him with tears in your own eyes, matching the tears in his as he looked back at you and nodded, his lower lip quivering.

"i'd do it all again, and more, for you–mi cielo. i swear, you... you won't ever shed another tear... because of another person being an asshole to you–i can't not love you, cielo, i can't..." miles murmured with a cracking voice as he got more vulnerable. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close as he sobbed, muttering to you how he'd love you forever, that much would never change–no matter if the multiverse demanded you two cannot be, he'd make a world for just the two of you, even if everyone else would disagree.

tags !! @k4tsu3 @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @popeheywardssecretgf @solecitoszn @onginlove @euphovlq @meowmoraless

[maounteighn]

Overanalising Moral Orel: Clay, Bloberta and the Colour Theory

p.2 Bloberta

p.1

In p.1 we have already established that Bloberta's colour is red and it remained red throughout her whole journey. Her sense of Self was untouched neither by marriage nor by parenthood. When we are taking about relativity of her identity, she doesn't base it around or against anyone in her current family.

Her style barely changes, always containing red and white. However, she gradually loses white in her garments the more she decides to walk on her own. Her younger self up to that wedding in Help wears the most white – visually it softens the boldness of her red skirt. At the reception party she wears mostly red, white is only her belt and headband – red is also more saturated. The same red remains in her post-wedding daily wear. While white is not only in her collar, but also her apron, it is a completely different piece of clothing. Underneath the apron there's still her red dress. White apron dilutes red too, making it look less assertive, but it's only for the time she wears it. It's like a mask of a housewife and a mother, that she willing puts on for a meantime. Underneath it it's still her real, very persistent Self, that she is not particularly trying to hide. She also water down her true Self to appear less threatening to the society – she is a woman who has desires, attitudes and strength she shouldn't demonstrate. So not to apper a deviant, she has to adopt a socially acceptable Persona for herself.

Despite common beliefs that woman's true identity is of a wife and a mother, Bloberta is never changed by acquiring these statuses. Quite opposite, it's Clay who shapes his identity in relation to her (against her). It a simple visual storytelling, he is nothing significant to her, he is an instrument to her goals and desires, a tool. And a useless tool, too.

What has actually influenced Bloberta's sense of Self had done it way before she and Clay met. Take a look at her family.

Her mother Regina wears a mix of brown, red and very dark-green. Everyone else wears a variation of her colours. Modella – red and yellow-green, Lunchbox – green, Raymond – brown. Together they look very homogeneous too. They don't stick out, they don't clash, they don't take attention away from Regina. In comparison, their wardrobes are also similar and very simple, mostly plain l, while hers is quite busy and speckled, ornated. She is the center of attention. Raymond blends with the background, Modella and Lunchbox are like an extension of her perfect aesthetic. And all together they look classy, a very much dark academia family. That to be said, literally no one on the picture is allowed to diverge from the selected route (even their interior is in gren/brown/red) – they HAVE to be inside the borders of The Family Aesthetic or else...

In other words, they are constantly putting up a show, a collective Persona. The are not a perfect family by any standards, but Regina tightly manages their public image. Even at the reception the are like this.

But Who we have across the table? Bloberta. Her bright red skirt and white patterned blouse. She doesn't fit in the family approved hue of red, she wears too much white – she reflects too much light, her red looks even brighter again it. She is just that bright. Her reception dress is also bright red. If she was ever allowed to stand closer to them, they would look dull. So she never is. She is a family outcast. It's also reflective of a talent that she possess so naturally but is never able to utilise bc no one is interested. Despite her constant search of love and acceptance, she adopts this identity of a black – or rather red – sheep of the family that functionally casts her aside. She doesn't change to appeal to her mother's taste, probably bc it's senseless. Regina is not interested in Bloberta or her success, so it wouldn't matter anyways.

See, also, if her father was truly affiliated with her, he would have won a bit of her red maybe. It would've been a nice touch. But we know that he was too reluctant to defend his daughter even if he felt sorry for her. Her siblings are not on her side either. Lunchbox is actually her antipode – completely in green, a contrasting, complementary colour to red from the opposite side of the colour wheel – a son, a youngest child, a talent her mother actually wants. He is everything Bloberta is not. Modella, despite being closer to Bloberta in colour theme, in tone is closer to their mother. She may be not so aggressively opposite, but she is too reluctant to align with her. She has softer colour, she might be on good terms with her personally, but wouldn't risk standing up for her to Regina. Thus, Bloberta is completely alienated from her family.

Also, Bloberta's clashing style can be interpreted as her subconscious attempt to separate herself from her siblings in a desperate attempt to get attention too. Bloberta is a middle child, moreover she is a middle daughter inbetween an older sister and a younger brother. It's socially acceptable to deem her invisible – you already have an excellent daughter and a son™, this one is spare. Red is a very noticeable colour, it attracts attention. In Bloberta's case, it can also be so that she is noticed even if looked at passively. This way, her bright red is imprinted on someone's retina, even if they barely acknowledge her presence. This way, her mother, despite looking past her every day, never forgets that she is there. Thus, red is her only chance to be noticed by somebody, anybody. It's a survival tactics for her. Her depressed, meek attitude at home, and everywhere where she is with her family, doesn't allow her to come to her own character. To avoid being an afterthought, she wears bright red and contrasts it will white.

Now, let's take a look at her friend group. They all seem to have a similar style of colour combination. Pastel tones, dark-light, no more than two colours etc. But you see, no one is so on the nose like Bloberta. Even that one girl, that wears red too – it's not the same. Her red is darker, closer to brown and contrasted with light green, that is also with red plaid. The all are colourful, of course, but tame. It's just Bloberta who is standing out, and not only bc she's the only single friend now.

Also, there's another character, who stands out just like Bloberta, but in an opposite technique. Censodoll and her in this instance actually (and in general) share some similar characters despite such a dramatic difference in colour identity. They are both single, their Self shaped by actions of their mothers, the Self so strong, that they keep it throughout the whole life. However Censodoll approaches her existence with black – colour that absorbs light. She is not susceptible to the influence of her environment, but she is acutely aware of it – subsequently she can exploit it for her own gain. (Censodoll deserves her own separate paragraph).

White is a very reflective colour, it reflects light from its surrounding. Pre-Help Bloberta is very much receptive of what her surrounding thinks and expects of her and she reflects back exactly that. The slow decline of white elements in her clothes can signify gradual maturing, jadedness. Young Bloberta is still sensitive, naïve and youthfully innocent. She's of course already lost most of her expectations, learned to accept that little consideration she's given and not object or ask for more. At the reception she wears mostly red because the earlier encounter with her friend group gave her a motivation – to get engaged asap to be included again. The tone is more saturated, the white belt or headband does very little to counteract it – she drops the act she does without her family around, she is confident in her actions too. Subsequently, this becomes a colour of her victory and her downfall.

I have to say, the only time Bloberta ever abandoned her significant red was during her affair with Stopframe. It's a sportswear, so it's usually white. But on a storytelling side, it tell us about her (and his) motives a lot.

She wears all white with a tiny bit of blue. You see, we already established how white is a reflective colour. Story wise she is trying to be someone different too, just this once. It doesn't necessarily mean that it's unauthentic for her, just that it diverges greatly from her original and by that time setted colour identity. Its probable, that she is also putting a very strong and exaggerated act – she's desperate after all. It's been at least 4 years of her marriage to Clay, that was a horrible mistake from day 1, she knew it instantly, too. So this act here is targeted to secure her a better relationship (or so she thinks). It's actually the same approach she used on Clay in Help + longevity. The one thing she definitely has learnt was that she shouldn't immediately jump to a conclusion. So here, she is expanding her act in time and also putting more effort in her reflection. A tiny bit of blue is her way of associating with Stopframe, blue is one of his signature colours, especially to her. (Notably, he also has a tiny bit of red – he is also putting up an act here, they are quite the same in their tactics. He wears white, just like Bloberta, for the effect of reflection – he is whatever she wants him to be, an affinity to her. But notably, he keep an element of his own colour, while she drops it completely. He is not that dedicated to the initial act, not as much as she is.)

So, Bloberta holds her identity in a death grip and wears red as a trophy. However, she became a product of her own environment first, and locked it on herself second. Red is what she needed to survive among her family and friends, not necessarily what she truly was. Now, of course, it's what she it, the Self she accepted and built up.

Her red is very different from Clay's red too. She has a potential to be whatever she wants actually, she has much more agency than Clay in terms of independent existence. She is versatile and resilient, she is flexible and capable of big achievements if she puts her mind to it. In her case, red = strength, power she actually has, and, in extension, the power of Self that Clay actually desires but lacks.

They are different in their approaches and attitudes, routes the took etc., but in the end they arrived to the same result. They are two parts of the same disaster, one whole broken system.

Orel is next.

[dearsnow]

THOUGH I KNOW MY HEART WOULD BREAK

Part 1 || Part 2

- your best friend has come to collect you after your first true night out, and you can’t keep your feelings in any longer (patrick verona x gn!reader, angst that will be resolved ⚠️ strong themes of alcohol / being drunk and smoking, there will be a second part)

word count: 1,187

a/n - aaa my first patrick fic!! i’m definitely going to make a second part because i absolutely cannot leave this unresolved lol. lightly inspired by “francesca” by hozier :)

Partygoers whirl around you, blending flesh with flashing lights and the strong smell of alcohol. You laugh at the feeling of people brushing by your shoulder, the slight touches sending shivers through your skin. You’ve had way too much to drink, and you revel in the feeling.

God, you never knew how good being drunk felt. That’s the problem with never getting out- you won’t get to experience how light your feet are after a couple glasses. You hardly even notice the arm slung around your shoulder.

“There you are. God, you got me worried sick! I can’t leave you alone for one night, can I?” The man half-grins. You instantly recognize him. It would be hard not to, with his brown curls and gorgeous smile.

“Patrick! What are you doing here?” You slur, melting into his touch. Your best friend has come to rescue you. The thought, slippery and soft, sets butterflies loose in your stomach. Patrick Verona is at a party for you. And you love him more than your voice could ever say.

“Oh, you know, just to mingle.” You begin to nod before he cuts you off. “No, I’m here to take your ass home.” His expression turns sullen as a hint of worry lingers in his eyes. His eyebrows are pinched, and it takes your last drop of willpower to avoid reaching up to smooth them with your thumb.

You scrunch your nose. He’s yelling over the cacophony of noise in the background, but his voice is all you can focus on. “But I’m having fun for once in my miserable life.” You poke his chest. “You can’t take that away from me, not right now.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going home. Your goody two-shoes butt will not appreciate waking up in a stranger’s house.” You frown. “Trust me.” He’s speaking a bit quicker than normal, but you’re so focused on how his eyes reflect the light that you barely notice. Nothing in the whole entire world is prettier than this moment. Not the mountains, or fresh dew, or that perfume bottle you saw in a thrift store once. He is beautiful.

You let out a sigh, slightly disappointed that you won’t be able to revel at the strobe lights for much longer. The mess of color around you was abstract art in your mind, a canvas splattered with paint. In any case, however, you will always follow Patrick. Even to the ends of the Earth.

“Ok…” You trail off as he leads you out of the stranger’s house. He’s been smoking again, as told by the lingering scent on his shirt. You’ve always hated his smoking. The smell, however, lights some sort of fire inside you. You just wish it didn’t hurt him.

When you get outside, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. The night is cold, but the stars are out. They twinkle above your head, and your breaths form clouds in the air. The noise of the party is muted, and the sky is spinning, and Patrick is worriedly waving his hand in front of your face.

That’s really the last thing you remember before you’re walking through your front door. Your parents aren’t home, thank God. There is no chance they would be happy with this situation- you, drunk, and Padua’s most feared boy bringing you home.

“Careful,” He mutters as you stumble into your bedroom. How he got you in a car is a mystery, considering the fact everything in your line of sight is blurry. You could hold a book two inches from your face and not be able to see a word. You sit down on your mattress, patting the spot next to you. He sits, and you feel the familiar little jolt in your abdomen that you always feel when he’s close. You can hardly look him in the eye; not just because you’re drunk, though that is certainly a factor.

Your room is dark, and your floor is messy, and so is his hair. You suck in your breath. You want to say something, anything, and your mind can only come up with one idea.

You need to do this. You’ve been thinking it for so long, and he deserves to know. Something in your mind is telling you not to, but the liquid courage in your veins is telling you ‘yes, yes, a million times yes’. Even though it might break your heart, the words slip past your lips like a snake to hang in the heavy air.

“I love you.”

“What was that?” His eyebrows raise as he looks at you like you’re insane. That didn’t really come out of your mouth, did it?

“I love you, Patrick. Always have.” You smile, eyes slightly unfocused. “In a more than friends way.” He can smell the alcohol clinging to you, and he hates it.

He laughs, though the sound is laden with sorrow. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, I really mean it.” You put your hand over his warm ones, and he doesn’t pull away.

He’s been waiting for this moment for the entire time you’ve known each other. He loves you so much it makes his heart ache. He knows the sound of your voice like his own, and he’s convinced your hands fit his like they were always meant to. Patrick fears that his head might explode until he realizes one sad little thing. It was too soon, too intoxicated, and too uncertain.

“Get some rest, girlie. I’ll find you in the morning.” He stands up, eyes burning. He needs a smoke, a drink, and a place to let himself feel the self-pity coursing through his veins. This means nothing, he tells himself. You make a pitiful sound, trying to follow him, but he can walk faster than you can stumble.

You’re so drunk you probably don’t even know what you’re saying to him. He can’t accept it, and he can’t reciprocate. If he did, he would be the biggest douche in the world. The kind of douche that preys on his drunk friend the minute they say something they would never mean while sober.

You grip onto his t-shirt, but he gently pries your hands off. You’re near tears now, and you wish he would just stay. Why can’t he, you wonder. You love him. You love him so much, so intensely it puts poetry to shame. You love his cologne, the way he speaks, his humor. You know him so well you could find him in any life, and your hands do fit his like gloves, and he can’t just leave you like this.

But he won’t let your drunk words ruin what you have. It’s too precious to be tossed out after one little slip-up. He’s not one to scare easily, but this moment is more terrifying that anything he has ever had to do in his entire life.

He needs to leave, and he needs to pray that he can get over this.

As he closes your bedroom door, separating you from the only boy you’ve ever truly loved, he mutters, “I hope you don’t remember this tomorrow.”

[pablitosgf]

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! — OP81

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! — oscar piastri x fem!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 ! — in which you and oscar bake some cookies only for it to end up burnt.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ! — none. only fluff!! jk maybe some grammar mistakes and other things, but thats it. i didn't proofread so lmk if you spot other mistakes!

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! — I LOVE this dancing in the kitchen. its so good! i would say the dancing bit is okay but i love the rest. btw, requests are open! please make sure to check my guidelines for my request rules. ty <3

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ! — writing

You were currently wrapped in Oscar’s arms, playing with his light brown hair, his face stuffed in your neck. You both could feel the heartbeats of one another and the warmth the two of you produced with your bodies. Your breathing synced with his, and your arm snaked around his waist.

“Do you wanna do something else?” you asked, Oscar, who was once hidden in your neck now looked up at you. Looking at his moles, he had quite a lot. Every time the both of you cuddled you couldn't help but kiss the moles on his face. A habit you picked up ever since you guys started dating.

He scrunched his eyebrows, “What do you wanna do? I'm up for anything.” many ideas raced in your mind, suddenly you had an idea. It was as if a lightbulb had lit up.

“Maybe we could bake something. Like cookies,” you said, knowing that chocolate chip cookies were your favorite dessert ever. Oscar knew that. Any time you guys went to a bakery your #1 pick was always chocolate chip cookies, they always brought a smile to your face.

Oscar immediately knew your ideas for baking some chocolate chip cookies. “Do we have the ingredients?”

You quickly nodded, you’d stocked the food supplies a couple of days ago. Swiftly, you took one motion to get up and go to the kitchen, Oscar just right behind. Opening the pantry you grabbed some flour, chocolate chips, and other necessities while Oscar turns on some music.

“Okay let's wash our hands!” you exclaimed, making your way to the sink and of course, do as you said. Oscar followed your words and too washed his hands.

“I’ll do the wet ingredients and you do the dry ones,” you said, knowing that if you left him with the more "complex" one it would instantly contort into complete disarray.

You began microwaving the butter and putting sugar in the bowl while waiting. Mixing up the butter and sugar blend you look over at Oscar who just had to measure and put flour in a bowl. You emit a sigh, he already messed up. A faint of flour was in his hair, fluffing it up to hopefully get rid of it.

“Oscar…” you mutter, trying to stifle a laugh. A huge white patch which was obviously flour on his shirt. You tried your best to wipe the patch off, but there it was still there. Looking up at your boyfriend you could see he was pouting. He could tell you were about to laugh.

“Stop… Baby, don't laugh at me!” he whined, and those exact words made you erupt in laughter. His pout soon contorted into a smile. Your boyfriend enjoyed hearing the sound of your laughs, chuckles, and guffaws. Your laugh with the faint music in the background was perfect for him. As if he was in a movie.

“Babe!” he groaned, he too trying to suppress a laugh. You tried to stop laughing and say something.

“You… Look… Aha! I can't.” you manage to say while laughing. At this point, Oscar was frowning and cracking up at the same time. You then looked at the ground which was all a mess, and your jaw dropped.

“Oscar!” you playfully slapped his arm, most of the flour was now on the floor. Rolling your eyes you look up at him, signaling for him to clean it.

Later, you both finished making the cookie dough and were currently waiting for it to be done baking in the oven. The once messy floor was now cleaned up, looking clean and new. Unexpectedly, you and Oscar’s favorite song played. You looked at him and smiled.

“Shall we dance?” he asked, sticking his hand out for you to grab. The song held so much importance to both of you. It was the song that played when you two first met at a café.

“Of course.” you smiled, taking his hand and whirling into his embrace. Your feet moved along with the slow beat of the music, the sound of steps reflecting off your wood floor. The sound of your heartbeat was fast and you couldn't contain the amount of love you had for Oscar. Resting your head on his shoulder, you could only smile. Young and in love, was what many people said to you. And it was true. The growing infatuation you both had for each other was immense, you were each other's rock, soulmate, and love of course.

Oscar twirled and dipped you as you both danced, a smile playing on each other's lips. And with one single twirl, you were enveloped in his arms. The song soon ended with both of you staring at each other. You couldn't help but connect your lips with his.

“I love you,” he whispered with a toothy smile.

“I love you too,” you whispered back and gave him a peck on the cheek. You stood there in love until realization hit you both…

“Oh shit, the cookies!” you both exclaimed, rushing to the oven.

[imperator-titus]

Some personal Astarion headcanons because I'm bored.

Some are rooted in my experience as a player or digging in the files, some might be from other player discussions, and others are purely made up. I don't take any of it seriously

Astarion is not ORIGINALLY from Baldur's Gate. Where is he from? idk. I don't know that much about Forgotten Realms/DnD. But I think Cazador is too smart and paranoid to not vet his potential spawn, if they were Baldurian they'd have to be "forgettable" and it seems unlikely anyone in the Gate is forgetting Astarion. I think it was smart for them to nix the Noble background for Astarion because of this, although he could be a noble from somewhere outside of the Sword Coast.

That being said, Cazador compelled Astarion to forget everything about himself from before he was a spawn, so to spawn Astarion, he IS Baldurian and after 200+ years, he blends right in.

Astarion came to the Gate as a fresh-faced adventurer rogue, which explains... being a rogue. Why? I don't have a real why, I've considered everything from "rebelling/getting away from his family" to "for fun, maybe his family is full of retired adventurers"

"I was a magistrate" was one of many stories to lure victims. Even if he was for even a brief time, I don't think he'd remember that. also possible Cazador told him that.

Astarion may not have been the only one luring people back with sex but I think he learned it was the most effective way. When you're getting tortured for failure, it doesn't matter if success turns your stomach.

Cazador carefully seduced Astarion, but not with the promise of eternal life. His resemblance to Vellioth caught Cazador's attention. Cazador lured him with promises of patronage or just good ole "rich powerful man wants me?" energy. Cazador attacked Astarion himself and sold him a lie that Gur (easy to blame, as they are widely disliked and considered barbaric) attacked him.

The graveyard Astarion was buried in is small and has a mix of noble mausoleums and paupers' graves. Likely Cazador had enough sway and money, through a intermediary ("oh, the poor boy, Lord Cazador hired him for tasks and he did so well, what a tragedy"), to get Astarion an expedited burial with no questions (seeing as anyone with eyes can see he's got 2 big bite marks in his neck). Astarion says he's never been there since he came out the first time, but I believe Cazador has put him back in there on occasion as punishment (along with putting him in a proper tomb, possibly borrowed from the Hhunes), he just represses it. That's why Cazador keeps the plot and headstone, to torture him, but it remains overgrown.

Astarion's original hair color is silver, but it was a bit more lustrous, and his skin was already fairly pale but now it doesn't have the glow of life/blood (and they should have picked a paler skin tone, but it is what it is). I know that this would probably make him a Moon Elf, who commonly have blue or green eyes, and while I love me some vibrant blue or green eyes... I am a "golden brown" fan, sorry. They looked dark while in the shade and turn golden when hit by the light. I really enjoy the brown hair/brown eyes fanart and edits though, good job everyone

They say vampires feel only hunger. They are paranoid, loveless, and cruel. They believe they are superior to all living creatures, even the spawn. In a fucked up weird way, Cazador really did love Astarion and his spawn (but especially Astarion) and believe they were like family. The Szarrs were a vampiric family in blood and... well, more blood. Cazador took out his hate and twisted love for his master Vellioth on Astarion. Cazador hated that Astarion constantly wriggled out of his grasp, testing him. Sometimes Astarion would play along just to get Cazador to cool off, but Cazador would find out it was a lie and punish him harder for "breaking his heart."

Astarion is THE MOST self-interested person in the party and it's perfect that he is. He is paranoid, hungry, cruel, and superior. He needs to get back as SOON as possible to Baldur's Gate because Cazador will probably scalp him and hammer bamboo shoots under his fingernails for disappearing. Then he realizes that he could feasibly BEAT Cazador and the sooner it happens, the better. Stop helping orphans, I need to get home, tick-tock! He also has no foresight, even though that would be a GREAT trait for a fucking ROGUE. He wants you to stop helping and saving people even though they will help you in the future because he projects his own personality on others: they're selfish and won't do shit for you.

I could probably go on forever but I've forgotten some things at this point. I'm supposed to be doing math right now.

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

The Detective & The Dark Knight - Chapter 4

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal m*rders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f! main character

Author’s note: Prepare for soft Bruce getting in his feels over Marie. They go on a date, Marie overthinks their relationship (bestie needs to chill), and she nearly gives Batman a heart attack when she puts herself in danger. This is my favorite chapter so far! 

Word count: 4k

Warnings/tags: mentions of murder, mentions of police bribes, fighting

Marie Manning’s apartment was bathed in a warm, amber glow as she moved around, preparing for her date with Bruce Wayne. She hadn’t ever expected to find herself in this situation, but here she was, picking out an outfit and checking the clock every few minutes. 

The doorbell rang, and Marie jumped, almost knocking over a nearby stack of case files. She hurried to the door, smoothing down her satin dress and taking a deep breath.

“Hey, Detective Manning.” Bruce greeted with his signature charm, holding out a bouquet of tulips. “These are for you.”

Marie’s face lit up. “Oh, thank you Bruce, that’s really sweet. You definitely didn’t have to. Come on in.”

Bruce took a moment to truly see Marie, appreciating her as she was—without the gala gown or her usual detective gear. She stood tall, her long dark hair cascading in soft curls down her back, and her brown eyes, usually so intense and focused, now seemed to hold a softer, more vulnerable light.

He had recognized her beauty during their first encounter at the docks. There was a raw, captivating charm about her, a blend of strength and grace that made his heart ache with admiration.

Bruce stepped inside and took in the stacks of paperwork and case files scattered about. His gaze landed on Marie’s cat, lounging comfortably on a pile of files.

“You really do have a cozy setup here,” Bruce said, nodding toward the cat.

Marie laughed as she arranged the flowers in a vase. “‘Cozy’ is one way to put it. I prefer ‘organized chaos.’”

Marbles stretched lazily before heading over to Bruce and rubbing against his leg. Bruce smirked. “I see your cat’s already made himself comfortable with me. Is that a sign of approval?”

Marie grinned and gave Bruce a playful nudge. “Well, if Marbles trusts you, then I guess I can too. So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

Bruce’s smile widened. “I’ve got a nice place in mind. It’ll be much better than our last interaction together.” He was thinking about their recent meeting at a crime scene for the Red Lotus case, but quickly corrected himself. “I mean, way better than the gala.”

Marie raised an eyebrow. “You’d better live up to that promise, Wayne.”

“I’ve made reservations at this little bistro I think you’ll like. It’s quiet and quaint—perfect for a night away from the organized chaos.”

Marie nodded, grabbing her long overcoat. “Sounds perfect. Lead the way.”

The restaurant's ambience was intimate, with soft jazz playing in the background and flickering candlelight lighting up the area. They settled into their booth, and Bruce raised his glass with a grin. “To a night free from crime scenes and paperwork.”

Marie clinked her glass with his, chuckling. “And what would you know about crime scenes and paperwork, Mr. Billionaire?”

He laughed softly. “You’d be surprised. Even billionaires have their share of chaos.”

“At least tonight, we get to enjoy a break from it all.” Marie responded.

Bruce nodded. “Absolutely. Here’s to a peaceful evening.”

Bruce’s words carried a subtle irony. He savored this rare moment of calm with Marie, yet guilt tugged at him. While she saw him as just Bruce Wayne, unaware of his alter ego as Batman and the battles he fought, he couldn’t help but feel a mix of selfishness and remorse for keeping that part of himself hidden from her.

“So, Marie,” Bruce said, “Tell me about your first days on the force. I bet they were something.”

Marie’s smile wavered slightly. “Shit, where do I start? My first big case was a robbery-turned-shooting, and I was completely clueless. I remember stepping over blood and broken glass, and thinking, ‘Yep, this is definitely not a drill.’”

Bruce leaned in, fascinated. “That sounds intense.”

“It was,” Marie said, “I remember one night, a few months in, I was chasing a suspect. I tripped and fell, and suddenly, I was staring down the barrel of a gun. I just froze.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Did anything happen?”

“Yeah,” She said, thinking back to that night, “A patrol car showed up just in time to save my sorry ass. But that moment… it made me realize how real this job is. And how easy it is to feel vulnerable.”

Bruce listened intently, his expression thoughtful. “I can’t imagine how tough that must have been,” he said, offering Marie a reassuring smile. He continued, “You know, Marie, you’re one of the best detectives Gotham has. And one of the few truly honest people at the GCPD.”

Marie looked up, feeling grateful, but surprised. “How do you know that?”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Oh, you know, Gotham’s a city where corruption is... pretty evident.”

Marie smiled, “I guess that’s true. It’s nice to hear someone appreciate the hard work we put in.”

Bruce looked at Marie with genuine curiosity. “What made you choose law enforcement?”

Marie’s eyes clouded with a brief, distant sadness. Bruce noticed and gently placed his hand over hers. “It’s a bit of a story,” she began. “My dad was a detective. He was killed on the job when I was a kid, going after some small-time crook. It was shitty—really shitty. It nearly shattered my family. Becoming a detective was my way of making sense of it all and staying connected to him."

Marie took a breath before continuing, "He loved his work, and I like to think he’d be proud of me for carrying on.”

“I understand that more than you might think. Losing parents is something I'm familiar with. It’s different, but I get the drive to honor their memory.” Bruce said, feeling enormously grateful that Marie opened up to him.

She gave a small, appreciative smile. “It’s comforting to hear that. It’s not always easy, but it’s what keeps me going.”

To lighten the mood, Marie took a sip of her wine and leaned in with a playful glint in her eye. “So, Bruce, what’s your life like outside of the high society events? What’s the billionaire playboy up to when he's not dazzling everyone?”

Bruce looked slightly taken aback but quickly recovered. “Oh, you know, just the usual—business meetings, philanthropy, and the occasional quiet evening at home.”

Their plates of spaghetti arrives, and Marie began twisting her fork in the noodles. “Sounds pretty standard. But surely there’s more to it than that. What’s a typical day like for you?”

Bruce hesitated, his fork pausing mid-air. “Well, I... I like to stay busy. There are always new projects and challenges. But I also try to make time for things that matter.”

Marie nodded, “Like what? Do you have any hobbies or interests outside of work?”

Bruce smiled, clearly choosing his words carefully. “I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I enjoy activities that get my heart racing. Keeps me on my toes.”

Marie laughed. “Adrenaline junkie, huh? Sounds like you have a taste for excitement. I can relate. I guess we both like to keep things interesting.”

Bruce’s smile grew, and he raised his glass again. “Here’s to finding balance, no matter how chaotic life gets.”

Marie clinked her glass with his once more, her eyes warm. “Cheers to that.”

They spent the rest of the evening lost in conversation, their bond growing stronger with each shared story and laugh. When they finally left the restaurant, the cool night air felt invigorating. Bruce walked Marie to her apartment, her hand wrapped in his.

They reached Marie’s door, and she turned to Bruce with a smile. “This was a lot of fun. I never thought I’d get a date with a billionaire.”

Bruce grinned. “And I never thought I’d get a date with Gotham’s top detective.”

Marie glanced up at Bruce, her fingers idly playing with the edge of his jacket as she gathered her thoughts. “Bruce, can we talk for a sec?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, what’s up?”

Marie took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his jacket against her fingers. “I’ve really enjoyed tonight. You’re... well, you’re great. But I need you to know something before we get too ahead of ourselves.”

Bruce leaned in slightly, his gaze softening. “Okay, hit me with it.”

Marie fiddled with the fabric, struggling a bit with her words. “My job is... kind of all-consuming. I can get pulled into work at any hour, and some days it’s like working a double shift. I just wanted to be upfront about it. I know we’ve only been on one date, but—”

Bruce reached out, gently placing a hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Marie, I get it. You don’t need to worry about rushing into anything.”

She looked at him, feeling a rush of relief. “Thanks, Bruce. I just wanted to be honest about what you’re getting into.”

Bruce smiled, his hand still resting on hers. “I’m no stranger to unpredictability. My job can be like that, too.”

Marie’s eyes softened as she felt the warmth of his touch. “It’s really good to hear that. It’s nice knowing someone understands.”

Bruce chuckled softly. “I’m here for whatever comes next, whether it’s more of these nights or the craziness of your job.”

Marie's heart pulsed, “That means a lot to me.”

Bruce took a small step back, his hand lingering on hers for a moment longer. “I’ll see you soon, Marie.”

She nodded, feeling a mix of warmth and anticipation. “See you soon, Bruce.”

With a final, reassuring smile, Bruce turned and walked into the night. Marie watched him disappear, still in disbelief that she had just been on a date with Bruce Wayne. She lingered by the door, a gentle smile on her lips, savoring the moment before finally closing it behind her.

—-------------------------------

The next morning, Marie was back at the precinct, surrounded by the usual clamor of ringing phones and clacking keyboards. Marie and Gordon had taken a quiet moment in his office to discuss their next steps on the Red Lotus case. The blinds were drawn, casting long shadows across the desk, making the room feel calm amidst the usual unrest of the station.

Marie sat across from Gordon, fidgeting with the edge of a case file. She looked up, her expression uncertain. “Gordon, I need to talk to you about something. Something outside of work.” Gordon broke his focus from the paperwork on his desk and met her eyes.

“I’ve been seeing someone. Bruce Wayne. We went on a date, and it was… well, it was great.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Bruce Wayne, huh? The billionaire playboy. I didn’t expect that. Guess you guys really hit it off at the gala.”

Marie sighed and rubbed her temples. “Yeah, it’s been... complicated.”

Gordon looked surprised. “I thought you said the date was good?”

“It was. The date was amazing. He said he wants to see me again.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“My job is a mess. Balancing it while being in a relationship is tough. I’ve never had time for anything serious before.” She felt a pang of insecurity upon revealing that detail.

She continued, “It’s not that I don’t want to be dating someone, but honestly, I’ve never even had time to download a dating app. And it’s not like I’m meeting guys while working late nights at the precinct.” Marie glanced out the window into the precinct’s lobby, where Harvey Bullock and a few other cops were hunched over, shoveling chips and sodas into their mouths. “Well, not any halfway decent guys, at least.” 

Gordon sighed, “Let me guess, you’re worried that work might affect this budding relationship with Mr. Wayne?”

Marie nodded, looking troubled. “Exactly. I could be on call at any hour, and I can’t just turn off being a detective. I’ve never had a life outside of this job. It’s like the moment I try to have something normal, it feels like it’s going to get swallowed up by work."

Gordon leaned forward, his tone firm but gentle. “Marie, this job will take everything from you if you let it. It’s a beast, and it’s never satisfied. But that doesn’t mean you should let it destroy everything else in your life.”

Marie looked up, surprised. “You think so?”

“Absolutely.” Gordon nodded, “You’ve earned this time with someone special. You deserve a balance, and you shouldn’t let the job dictate every aspect of your life. Hell, even I’ve had to learn that the hard way.”

Marie’s eyes widened. “How do you manage it?”

Gordon shrugged slightly. “It’s not easy. There’s no magic formula. But I’ve learned to make space for what matters, even when it feels impossible. You need to protect those parts of your life that give you happiness. Otherwise, you’ll end up a shell of yourself.”

Marie’s shoulders relaxed a bit, a small smile forming. “I’m just scared that if I let my guard down, things will fall apart.”

Gordon’s expression was encouraging. “You’re not alone in this. There’s no shame in wanting a life outside of this job. If Bruce is someone who makes you happy, don’t push him away because you’re afraid. It’s okay to let yourself be human.”

Marie nodded, feeling understood. “I guess I need to figure out how to make room for both parts of my life.”

Gordon gave her a reassuring smile. “You will. You’re one of the best detectives I know, but you’re also one of the best people I know. You deserve to be happy. Don’t forget that.”

Marie stood up, feeling a bit lighter. “Thanks, Gordon. I really needed to hear that.”

Gordon gave her a nod as she headed for the door. “Anytime, Detective.”

—-------------------------------

A few hours later, Marie was at her desk surrounded by a chaotic array of case files. The Red Lotus case had her on edge. Upon studying her most recent notes, she was convinced the next murder would occur at an old industrial plant near Gotham Hospital.

She found Commissioner Gordon in his office, packing up to head home for the day. “Boss, I need to get in touch with Batman. I’ve got a lead on the Red Lotus case.”

Gordon checked his watch before looking at Marie, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “It's awfully late, don't you have a cat that will miss you if you're out too late?"

When Marie's expression didn't change, he continued, "There’s a broken floodlight on the roof. It’s not exactly high-tech, but it’s how I usually get his attention.”

Marie’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Really? That’s… oddly brilliant. I’ll go up there and give it a try.”

On the roof, Marie fumbled with the old floodlight, trying to get it working. After a few awkward attempts, she managed to get the light beaming into the night sky, resembling a crude Bat-Signal.

She stared at the light, feeling a mix of anticipation and impatience. “Come on, Batman. I’m not exactly an expert at this.”

Minutes ticked by, and Marie’s anxiety grew. She muttered to herself, “Maybe he’s caught in traffic. Or maybe he’s just not into following broken floodlights.”

Frustrated, she decided to head to the industrial plant on her own. As she drove up to the location, she noticed the place was as ominous as she had imagined. The shadows and decaying machinery made it feel like a scene from a horror movie.

Marie approached the entrance, her nerves increasing with every step. The shadows seemed to stretch everywhere, and the dim, flickering lights cast unsettling shapes on the walls. Her stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and determination. She had expected Batman to show up by now, but he was still nowhere in sight. The unease gnawed at her; she felt exposed and alone.

As she neared the entrance, the sound of engines roared behind her. Marie turned to see black SUVs pulling up, their headlights slicing through the gloom. She braced herself as Falcone’s men emerged, their intimidating presence amplifying her sense of dread.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” one of Falcone’s goons said with a sneer. The man had a brutish face, a scar running down his cheek, and his eyes were cold and menacing.

Marie tried to steady her breathing as she faced them. “Falcone,” she called out, her voice wavering slightly despite her best efforts. “Let’s cut the bullshit. Are you behind the Red Lotus murders?”

Falcone stepped out of the shadows with an air of casual arrogance. His sharp, tailored suit seemed out of place against the backdrop of the crumbling industrial plant. He looked Marie up and down with a dismissive smirk, making her skin crawl. “Why would I be behind those murders?” he drawled, his gaze lingering uncomfortably. “I’m being set up. Someone’s trying to pin this whole mess on me.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed, her anger bubbling to the surface. “Framed, huh? For what reason? Why would anyone go through all the trouble to set you up?”

Falcone’s smile widened, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Well, darling, that’s a question for someone with a bit more brain power than you. But it’s definitely easier to pay people off than to deal with nosy detectives.”

Marie’s jaw tightened. “So you’re saying you’re just handing out bribes to keep people quiet? Sounds like you’re more worried about covering your tracks than finding out who's framing you.”

Falcone chuckled, shaking his head. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But really, it’s easier to silence people than deal with the mess they cause. Especially when they’re poking around where they shouldn’t be.”

Marie’s patience snapped. “Enough with the crap, Falcone. If you’re not behind the murders, why are you trying to bribe me to back off? You’re hiding something.”

Falcone’s demeanor darkened. “Listen, detective, I’m not here to play games. It’s called ‘business.’ Sometimes you have to grease palms to keep things running smoothly. Doesn’t mean I’m behind every fuckin’ mess that happens in this city.”

She felt a surge of anger. “Business? Is that what you call it? Paying people off and getting away with murder? I’m not buying your bullshit.”

“I’m done with this, take her out.” Falcone announced, waving his fingers towards his groupies.

Before she could react further, his men moved in. One of them threw a punch, catching Marie off guard. She staggered, the blow hitting her squarely in the ribs. She gritted her teeth, trying to fight back, but the sheer number of attackers overwhelmed her. Each punch and kick seemed to blend into a haze of pain. She was able to land a few good punches before they overpowered her.

“Fuck you,” Marie gasped as another thug slammed her against the wall. A punch to her jaw brought the sharp, coppery taste of blood to her mouth. She spat the blood onto her attacker’s face, her struggle to defend herself growing more desperate with each agonizing second.

Just as the situation seemed dire, a grappling hook shot through the air, and Batman descended with a powerful landing that sent Falcone’s goons sprawling. The Dark Knight moved with expert precision, his strikes a blur of efficiency and force. Each of Falcone's thugs fell or fled under the relentless onslaught.

“Perfect timing,” Marie muttered bitterly, falling to the ground as Batman’s intervention ended the assault. The thugs were either incapacitated or running for their lives, leaving the grimy, derelict plant in an eerie silence. Falcone was nowhere to be seen.

Batman’s focus shifted immediately to Marie. He knelt beside her, his expression hidden but his concern evident in the harsh lines of his posture. He gently examined her injuries, his gloved hands careful but firm. His breath came in heavy, controlled bursts as he took in the extent of her bruises and cuts.

“This is what happens when you don’t wait for backup,” Batman said, his voice low but laced with frustration. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here alone? You could’ve been killed. This isn’t a damn game.”

Marie winced as he touched a particularly sore spot on her jaw. “I didn’t have time to wait,” she snapped, trying to mask her pain with defiance. “I was on a lead, and I needed to act before it got cold.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. “You’re not invincible, Detective. You’re lucky I showed up when I did. What if I hadn’t been here? You were losing that fight. These guys will end you, and you'll never be seen again.”

Marie tried to sit up, but the pain kept her laying down. “You think I don't know that?" Batman didn't respond.

She spoke up, "Oh, and where were you when I used the floodlight? I waited, but you didn’t show up. You think I can just sit around and wait forever? What kind of detective would that make me?”

Batman’s anger was palpable. “I was following another lead. I didn’t realize you’d be in this much danger. This city is dangerous, and you should’ve known better than to come here without backup.”

Marie’s gaze was filled with pain. “Well, maybe if you were more reliable, I wouldn’t have had to face this alone.” Moments passed as Bruce continued scanning her wounds.

His voice softened slightly, though it remained stern. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here sooner. But you have to be more careful. Gotham’s not a place for heroics without a plan or backup.”

Marie’s irritation didn’t wane, but she nodded, recognizing the truth in his words. “Fine. Let’s just get out of here. I don’t want to hang around for another round of thugs.”

Batman helped her to her feet, his arm securely wrapped around her waist to support her. Marie couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of his muscles pressing against her, and she felt a surge of irritation. "Great," she thought, "as if his stupidly amazing physique wasn’t already impressive enough." The tension between them was palpable as they made their way out of the industrial plant, Marie’s anger simmering beneath the surface.

Once outside, Batman glanced back at the ruined plant, his mind racing through the night’s events. His voice was quieter, almost softer, as if Bruce Wayne was momentarily taking over. “You need to be more cautious,” he said, struggling to articulate the depth of his concern. His words fell short, unable to fully express how much he cared for her and how deeply it hurt him to see her injured.

“I’ll make sure you get medical attention,” he continued, his tone firm yet caring. “Don’t think that you can keep doing this without consequences.”

Marie met his gaze, her own concern mirroring his. “I get it. I’ll be more careful. But remember, I’m not just another asset. I’m out here doing what I can to stop the madness.”

With a final, pained look at the darkened plant, Batman and Marie disappeared into the night.

[carriedawatermelon]

Just saw the Ronancetober prompts, so here’s some T-rated Ronance. Heads up, this involves non-specific homophobia from Ted Wheeler (he’s dead here) but is almost entirely about Nancy being loved very deeply, as she deserves.

Prompt: Ghost

Steve’s kids call her Auntsy, a blend his oldest, Robin, had proudly stuttered from her high chair when Steve pointed to Nancy and asked, in his dad voice, “Who’s that, Robbie?”

“Auntsy, Auntsy!”

His wife, Melissa, lovely and kind, caught it on video, along with Steve’s attempts to stifle his laughter and Robin’s cackle in the background. Nancy, for her part, had simply clapped and said, “That’s right, darling. So smart.” With an eyebrow to her partner and Steve, she’d turned to the camera and said, “All you, Melissa. Clearly.” 

“Clearly,” she’d agreed. 

The name stuck, all five little Harringtons writing birthday cards and calling to give updates to their Auntsy. 

Four of the five young Harringtons proceed through the line now, giving her big hugs and whispering variations of, “I’m really sorry, Auntsy.” She hugs them and thanks them and loves them and sends them all to eat something. “We’re here, Nance, whatever you need,” Melissa says, the end of the Harrington line. “Steve and Robin are going to stay to help after, and I can come back too, once I get everyone settled at home.”

“Thanks, Mel.”

“We love you,” she says seriously, big brown eyes on Nancy before they make their way around the room with a barely concealed scowl. “And if you want to leave…”

Nancy smiles at her and hugs her again. “I love you,” she says. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“Mmm,” she says, squeezing Nancy’s hands. “You’re a saint, is what you are.” Leo and Allie, the two youngest, are in a conversation that looks to be quickly approaching a fight, and Mel sighs and gives her an apologetic look. 

“Go,” Nancy says. 

“I have so much wine for you at home,” she says with a kiss to her cheek. 

The smile that breaks across Nancy’s face is real, even though she’s exhausted, and it seems good enough for Mel, who has her arms around two sets of little shoulders, bent and whispering furiously, so fast that Nancy can hardly process it. 

Robin’s handling logistics, eyes on Nancy every few minutes, a hand against the small of her back anytime she passes and Nancy isn’t in the middle of talking with someone. She’s a hero. Nancy wants nothing more than to curl up against her in their bed and tell her so. She tries to convey her gratitude now, eyes catching Robin’s, and by the way Robin’s mouth turns up at one side, the way she winks, Nancy thinks she gets it. 

“You fell for a real nerd.” It’s the fifth little Harrington, working her way into a hug. She’s got more than six inches on Nancy, finally surpassing her namesake last summer. “I’m really sorry, Auntsy,” she whispers into the space near Nancy’s ear, and Nancy holds her tight for a moment, this human she’s loved since before she was born. 

“Dad went to help R1,” she says when they pull apart, coming to stand beside Nancy and leaning into her. “What can I do?”

Nancy catches sight of Steve with his arms around Robin, feels gratitude and affection bubble in her chest. This has been a shit time for Robin, too. The thing that almost made Nancy step away entirely, actually, except her perfect nerd had looked her dead in the eye and told her that they could all fuck off, that she would do exactly what Nancy wanted and anyone else could “eat shit, Nance. I’m absolutely serious.” Nancy loves her profoundly. 

“Being here is a big help.” At Robin’s raised eyebrow, she shakes her head, smiles. “Don’t try that with me. I taught you that. I’m serious. There’s nothing right now. Robbie’s got logistics, Mike stepped out for a smoke and Holly’s with Mom getting her kids situated, but they’ll both be back soon. It’s more than enough that you’re here.” Wrapping an arm around her, she lets her voice be tired as she says, “It’s a big help. Believe me.”

Robin wraps her own arm around Nancy, and watches, mouth turning down, as a series of mourners walk past Nancy like she’s not there. When Mike shows up a few minutes later, and Holly a few minutes after that, people begin to wander over, Nancy getting a nod or nothing at all more often than not. Holly, bless her, always tries to correct. “You remember my sister, Nancy,” and Mike, true to character, waffles between ignorance and a deep scowl. Nancy can’t blame him, really. It’s a rough day. 

“Auntsy, it looks like they need you,” Robin says loud enough for Mike and Holly to hear. They wave her away, and Nancy tries not to ache at the relief Holly can’t quite hide. 

Robin directs her to the kitchen area and then walks them both right through it and out into one of the courtyards, small and quiet in the cold of Indiana November. “Wait,” she says, and a minute or two later appears in her coat with Nancy’s in her hands. Nancy shrugs it on, and Robin guides her to one of the little benches near an empty fountain. 

“God, that was bullshit,” she huffs, looking so much like her dad that for a minute Nancy sees him there, patented indignation and furrowed brow. “Sorry,” she says with a wince. “Shit, sorry. I probably shouldn’t have just dragged you away like that. I just…they’re awful. And Mike and Holly are literally no help, like what the actual fuck? These people are walking around you like you’re a fucking ghost at your dad’s funeral.” She takes a breath, such a blend of the people Nancy’s loves, and grimaces. “Sorry. Again.”

Nancy doesn’t try to hold her amusement back, feeling lighter than she has all day, smile tugging at her mouth. “Well, college has really given you quite the vocabulary.” 

Robin groans and Nancy laughs, nudges her arm with her shoulder. 

“You know, I was always going to love you. No matter how you turned out. Part of the aunt gig. But you really are one of my very favorite people, you know that, Robin Harrington?”

Robin blushes like Melissa, whole face coloring, and she presses back against Nancy as she says, “Yeah, well, you’re one of mine, too. I can’t believe someone so cool dated my dad.”

Nancy laughs again. “Your mom’s very cool.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin concedes. “Well done, dad, I guess.”

She kicks at the gravel with her worn Docs, paired unrepentantly with her black tights and long sleeved black dress, and looks over at Nancy. 

“It’s okay,” Nancy says. “You can ask, if you want.”

She does, quietly. “Auntsy. Why are you here? Why are you doing so much for him when he…when he…”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, smiling at the look of surprise on Robin’s face. “You know, they called me first. He and Mom are officially divorced, and I’m the oldest daughter, so. Next of kin. They had no way of knowing we hadn’t spoken in fifteen years, and I’ve always been…Robbie once called me Emergency Barbie.”

“Yikes,” Robin says with a snort.

“Mmm. She meant it as a compliment. We were young. She was, as she told me later, an absolute idiot over me.”

“Yeah, well good to know some things don’t change.” 

Robin Harrington’s eye roll is on that list, and Nancy tells her so, gets another one for her efforts. 

“Anyway, I fell into it, into the organizing, into the doing, and suddenly I was the one speaking with the funeral director and picking dates and talking to the preacher.”

The preacher, who’d asked Nancy what she’d loved about her father in some well-intentioned attempt to write a personal sermon and had only forced Nancy into a corner. “He was a great driver,” she’d said, and instead of understanding that as the flashing red light that it was, the signal that not all had been well, the preacher had included that in his sermon, along with Holly’s fond reflection on his sense of humor and Mike’s generic sports stories. 

Robin had squeezed her hand and tried valiantly to bury her laugh in a cough, while Nancy had flushed bright red and fought tears. 

“You’ve got two siblings,” Robin says pointedly. “Two siblings who still talked to him. For some reason.”

“I do.” Nancy confirms, with a gentle hand to Robin’s knee. The vicious, unyielding loyalty is more precious than she’ll ever be able to tell her, but she never, ever wants Robin carrying her burdens. “And I made the choice to do it anyway.” 

This is where she straddles the line between recognizing that her niece is a young adult and still her niece. She doesn’t tell her that if she’d left it to Mike there would’ve been no service at all, which might’ve been fine, on reflection, but didn’t feel like it at the time. She doesn’t tell her that Holly has young kids and still treats Nancy like a third parent even as she pushes her away. She doesn’t tell her that she’ll always be their big sister, Ted and Karen’s oldest, and that means something that Steve and Melissa have tried to make sure it doesn’t mean for Robin. She certainly doesn’t tell her that she might always feel the need to show she’s good enough, better than good enough, or that this is in some ways her last fuck you to her father, his dyke daughter the only one willing and able to do this for him. 

“Yeah, no.” Robin’s not having it. “They’re grown ups. Not saying you didn’t have a choice, or whatever, but whatever the fuck’s going on in there is totally ridiculous, especially because they let you do all the work.”

“It’s complicated,” she concedes, and thinks of the days she used to sit with her dad and read the newspaper, the smiles that became rarer and rarer as she got older, the way Holly didn’t seem to grow out of his affection the same way. 

“I’m sorry,” Robin says. “I don’t mean to make it worse.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” She hugs her, and Robin makes herself smaller, tucks her face into Nancy’s neck. “You didn’t. You have made this day so much better. Thank you.”

“It was his loss.” Her voice is wavering, and Nancy holds her tighter, tears pricking at her own eyes. “He missed out on one of the best people in the world. I’m sorry, Auntsy. I’m sorry he didn’t do better.”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too.”

Robin finds them there a few minutes later, little Robin talking through her course selection with Nancy, matching frowns of concentration on their faces. 

“Big bird,” she says with a nod to Robin and doing a terrible job of concealing the worry in her voice. “Love of my life,” she says, bending to kiss Nancy’s forehead and ignoring Robin’s retching noise. “It’s cold and the service is about to start.” 

Robin scoots closer to Nancy, and her other aunt fits herself onto the seat with them, linking her fingers with Nancy’s along the back of the bench. 

“Do you want to go back inside?” 

Nancy considers, has no interest in feeling like a ghost, in feeling the presence of any others. “No,” she says, and both Robins grin. 

“Understood. Give me five.” She presses a kiss to Nancy’s lips this time, and Robin gives a long suffering sigh but she’s smiling when Nancy looks over to her. 

Five minutes later, the rest of the Harrington crew arrives carrying hot chocolate. “It’s the shitty church kind,” Steve says, and Melissa rolls her eyes. “But at least they’re the ones with marshmallows, and I stole the coffee supplies to make it with milk, so.” He presses a cup into Nancy’s hands and then kisses her head, does the same to little Robin. 

“I brought cookies,” Robin says, triumphant from the doorway to the fellowship hall a minute later, and Nancy’s pretty sure the delighted cries of the kids can be heard at the service, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

She finds herself sandwiched between her favorite Robins, Melissa scooting another bench close while Steve starts a game of soccer on the grass outside the courtyard with the younger kids. 

“Need anything?” Robin says quietly, while Melissa and little Robin chat about dinner plans. 

“You,” she says, kissing Robin’s flushing cheek.

“My god.” 

“Oh, hush,” Melissa says. “Have you told your aunts about how the front porch swing broke?”

“She has not,” Nancy says, linking her arm through her Robin’s and settling back into her. “But she was telling me about her spring class schedule and her summer plans.”

Little Robin smiles gratefully, and Robin oooohs. “I wanna know! You know I love a class schedule.” 

The two of them start in, and Nancy closes her eyes and lets herself be. 

[zaiixoxoo]

Pairing: HoodShurixFemReader. {Pt 2}

Warnings: Or@l sex, Praising, Degrading, Biting, Use of !Str@p, Blood drinking, Violence, Dirty Talk, “Princess, Baby, good girl, her Mamas, her Baby.” kinks, etc.

Background: The sun had already sunk into the horizon, leaving the sky a mixture of dark blue and black, with stars that twinkled softly above. The neighborhood was pretty active on a Friday night, with people making plans, going out, and just enjoying themselves in general. You were hella Lonely, bored. Why not go out? Enjoy yourself, go wild, get all drunk, maybe you’ll even find a pleaser.

@shurismainbxtch @shurislover @shurisbathwater @shuriszn @axailslink @prettymrswright @inmyheadimobsessed @ihearttish @babyboiboyega @bbbbbbrilliantly @desswright29 @gweelczz @kisskourt @sapphicvqmpires @lesbianlores @damisarki

One week later, after you and Shuri’s encounter, you found yourself avoiding her and you blocked her number AND deleted her contact. It was supposed to be a one night stand… right? but As you were out and about, it did not take long for Shuri to find you. Despite the three days you had spent trying to avoid her, Shuri had eyes everywhere. Whether it be on the street, where her men would keep her informed, or at your home—She saw everything and everyone. For as much as you tried, it was not easy to avoid her.

So imagine your surprise with how easily she managed to get to you.

It was Around 12:00 am at night, and You had just finished running errands, and Also being over another Nigga’s house. You smelled Exactly like his ass too. but Sadly, you were too damn high from the blunt you had just smoked a few minutes ago, not even knowing you smelled like another man.

He was a average lookin’ nigga too, his name was Naveen and he gave good head, but that Dick size was a hell to the no. Y’know, Naveen from princess and the frog? Yeah, real cute. But damn, what the fuck will Shuri think about the fact that you just been just giving yo’ shit away to some average ass nigga? She ain’t taking THAT news too well. Especially when she was the one having you all whiny and begging to be taken care of.

You were too lost in thought, to even see that She had been patient, waiting in the dark on your couch, since the moment you had walked through the door. She knew about your tryst with another man, and it only made her grow even more possessive than she had been before. She was ready to pounce, just waiting for the right chance to get you alone.

And now that time had come.

“I don’t appreciate you smellin’ like another man Mama. you know that though right?.”

Shuri’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence without hesitation. She didn’t bother standing, choosing to remain seated as if it were her throne. Her arm was sprawled out along the back of the couch, an aura of dominance radiating from her with ease.

It was the fact you had the Audacity to dress up for His ass. Your outfit, a dark blue velvet number, was anything but modest. The short dress clung lovingly to your curves, emphasizing your ample assets and leaving little to the imagination. Every movement you made seemed to ripple through the fabric, making the jewels on your nails glitter in the light.

Your hair framed your face in a way that perfectly accentuated your natural beauty. The honey brown tresses were wavy, with a loose pattern that seemed to caress your face. Long and flowing, the ends rested gently just above your shoulders, their weight adding to the air of seduction and mystery that enveloped you.

The air seemed to thicken with the scent of your perfume, a perfect blend of vanilla and coco butter that was enough to leave anyone intoxicated by your presence.

Shuri loved how you Looked, but the fact that it was for him pissed her off.

Your head snapped at the voice, seeing the dark figure sitting in your couch, with a bottle of Hennessy in their hand.

She brought one arm out to gesture to your figure. That same hand lifted the bottle of Hennessy to her lips, taking another slow sip before lowering it back to the couch.

“You been ghostin’ me Mama.”

She accused, giving you a glare as she put the blunt aside and turned her body slightly towards you. Even then, there was no mistaking the tone in her voice. You could hear the thinly veiled possessiveness laced through it.

“Don’t you know that you belong to me? Well I thought you did Mami, but you hurt my soul givin’ my Pussy to some other Nigga, and dressing so fucking Pretty for em’. Naveen is it?”

You knew She was making fun of Naveen, and hated every second of it.

“First off, how the FUCK did you get into my Shit? And No, I don’t belong to you Shuri it was just a One time thing okay? I was needy.. and horny. I didn’t think you would take this shit seriously.. and how the fuck do you know I’ve been with another man?” You asked arching a eyebrow.

Shuri just laughed softly, because your tone was hella outta line, and because she trying to be nice and hold back her anger.

“Who are you talking to Mama? Don’t you remember who had you moaning my name? Don’t you remember who had you acting like the needy Slut you are? Let’s not forget how you had your legs wide open like a messy fucking whore for me Sithanwa Sam.”

You wanted to open your mouth to speak, to oblige, to back yourself up, but the words died in your throat because it was True.

But when She got up to turn that light on, WHEW.. you almost lost your damn mind at how good she looked.

As she stood before you, the light illuminating her features, you couldn't help but gasp at the sight.

Her scalp braids were styled back into a neat bun, adorned with a single gold ring. The fang grills in her mouth glistened as she spoke or smiled, adding an enigmatic edge to her sharp features. Her eyes, red irises surrounded by a deep crimson, were captivating in their intensity. Her nose piercing and the fresh Xhosa tattoos on her hands only added to her edgy allure.

She was a vision of both beauty and power, her entire aura radiating a magnetic charisma that was impossible to ignore. She moved with confidence and assurance, her presence filling the room and demanding your attention.

Even with her simple outfit of a Black hoodie, black sweats, and black and white Nike dunks, she still managed to look like a Fine ass Woman.

The Hennessy bottle hung loosely from her fingertips, an accessory to her overall look. She took another slow sip, her lips curving into a smile that revealed the gleam of her fang grills.

She was perfection in every sense of the word, a true force to be reckoned with.

“Shuri look, what me and you had was a one time thing, we ain’t a thing Shuri. Please leave my damn house and leave me alone.”

You tried to make it sound like a demand but it really sounded timid, which made Shuri crack a small smirk.

“You seem a lil scared to get me outta yo’ house Mamas. You scared I’m gon’ do sumn’ to you?”

Shuri’s smirk faded as she Went back to being serious.

“You think I don’t see how easy you give yourself away Umntwana?”

She took a slow drag from her blunt, inhaling the smoke and holding it in for a moment before blowing it out with a sigh. Her eyes were on you, not at all leaving your figure in spite of the lingering tension in the air.

“What are you saying? I’m a hoe or sumn?! Well I can do whatever the fuck I want to. you ain’t nobody to be worrying about who the fuck I’m with and that Concludes Naveen.” You snarled sternly.

Her lip twitched to a smirk in the dim light, a flicker of mockery flashing across her face. She stood from her spot on the couch, moving towards you with slow and calculated strides.

“That’s where you hella wrong, babygirl. And who said you was a hoe Mamas? Pfft… anyway, The only thing that nigga can give you is head, but I bet he can’t Pound and abuse that Pretty Pussy with his so called “Big dick” that’s the size of a fucking baby carrot can he Mami?”

Damn! his shit wasn’t what he said it was, it was about 5-6 inches. but damn? how the fuck does SHE know that?!

“No! It’s actually 10 inches long! His dick is the most amazing thing in this fucking world actually! You wouldn’t know since you don’t have one!” You snapped at her, your voice filled with annoyance and frustration.

You were lying like a fool. he couldn’t even fuck you right, he fucked like a disabled ass dog that’s humping their pillow trying to seek friction or some shit. you felt like a damn fool tryna argue with her over dick sizes when she already knew about the size.

Shuri looked at you crazy, and burst out laughing in your face like you were a damn clown. Well, you felt like one at that moment because you and her both KNEW that his dick was literally the size of a baby carrot and he couldn’t give back strokes even if it was to save his damn life.

“Oh shit! you are fucking hilarious Usana, You got a muthafucka in here crying!”

Hell, You actually wanted to cry at the fact that she KNEW you was lying.

Shuri continued to laugh in your face, holding her stomach as tears streamed down her face. Aight now, she getting too carried away with the shit. It ain’t that damn funny for you to be holdin’ ya stomach.

“Imma hold yo’ hand when I say this, but Mama.. you know damn well he doesn’t Have the biggest dick in the world. Hell, couldn’t even fit in a condom if you ask me, but that’s just my personal opinion. If you like average lookin’ lil dick boys, then hey? It ain’t my business but I know everything bout lil ole Naveen. Bet he thinkin’ he fucked you so good didn’t he Mama? You know you ain’t enjoy that trash ass shit.”

“Fuck off, what the fuck do you even want hm? You just come here, all mysterious n’ shit tryna tell me that I’m yours all that bull fuckery. Then, you just teasing me about a man’s Dick size like it fucking matters!” You said snarling in frustration.

You knew damn well it did matter, but you didn’t wanna let Shuri know and give her the satisfaction that she wants do you?

“Mama, I really want you to be my Baby. if you don’t wanna be mine then Okay, cool. Go be with Naveen ugly ass, he bout the most average nigga I ever seen anyways. That sex game he be flexin’ ain’t good and you know it ain’t Ma, but if that’s how you wanna live.. all unsatisfied and needy, so horny, wanting someone to Keep that Pussy smiling, then okay.”

“And then you don’t know what you missin’ out on Baby. You can be my Woman, my baby, my sweetheart.. we don’t gotta be fuck buddies, when you can be Mine. But, sadly it seems like you just wanna go keep looking for someone to satisfy your needs when you can just come to me… every. damn. time. You’re Horny, needy, and wanting to be loved by someone. And I’ll treat you like a princess you are Mama, but only if you’d just let me. Hell, I’ll give you a good time right now if you let me…”

“Stop tryna manipulate me into wanting you..” you shakily replied trying to look away.

“Just.. leave…. the shit ain’t gon work anyways.” you whispered, crossing your arms.

“Aight then Umntwana, I’m gone.”

Shuri turned on her heel, and walked towards the door, but you couldn’t STAND to see her fine ass leave you.. were you THAT desperate for her? The things that she said about you being her woman, do you want that to happen? Do you need her that badly?

“Nah, w-wait.. don’t leave.” You mumbled under your breath.

Shuri turn her head slowly, looking at you with that same teasing smirk.

“Yes Mama? What is it Baby?”

“You can’t just leave..”

Her tone was soft and velvety, filled with hidden desire and longing.

"Missing me, Already baby girl?"

You nod your head slowly, not even giving a fuck about hiding the fact that you really want her to stay. You could never let her leave, ever.. Not when you desire her love.

And she desired your affection too.

She felt it deep in her bones—this undeniable desire and hunger that burned within her every time she was near you. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew that she needed you. She needed your touch, your scent, your voice...

She didn’t care about your reasons for ghosting her. All she cared about was having you back in her arms and in her bed.

She was becoming lost in her thoughts, her mind consumed with nothing but thoughts of you and the things she wanted to do to you.

She could barely control the urges that burned within, everything about you had her hungry—needy. All she needed was you now.

"You gon’ keep playin’ games with me? Or lemme love and take care of you?” she asked, her voice laced with playful teasing, but a bit of seriousness.

“Mhm..” you mumbled trying to act as if her hands on your ass ain’t affecting you.

“Mmm aight.. can I tell you sumn though?” She asked now looking down at you.

Those fucking red irises.. and those low high eyes always get to you…

“Wassup..?” You asked arching your eyebrow.

The sudden contact of her lips against yours sent a shock through your body. It was like an explosion, a burst of something powerful and possessive. She deepened the kiss, her hands finding purchase on your hips, as she pulled you closer to her.

Her hunger for you surged through her. She kissed you like a starving woman, her lips slanting against yours, her tongue seeking entry past your lips, desperate to taste you, to claim every inch of you as her own.

Shuri’s hands roamed your body, possessive and claiming. She wanted to feel every inch of you, to remind herself why she craved you so badly. The more of you she touched, the more she needed.

There was no denying the raw hunger in her voice. She needed you—in all the primal ways. She couldn’t deny her instincts, her need to possess you and make you hers completely. She craved your touch, your taste, your very existence. Everything about you was intoxicating.

“Mmmh.. I’d give you what you been wantin’ but no, you pissed me off tonight. Dressin all for Naveen two faced ass.. looking all pretty n’ shit. Why though? Just so he can fuck you terribly?”

A/n: True, True.. you betta pray girl, cuz she bouta’ fuck you upppp 😭😭.

Damn, you thought you were off the hook for the night, but Fuck that, Shuri ain’t finna let that shit slide like it was nothing.

She took another drink before setting the bottle down.

“Sit yo pretty ass down.”

It was a demand, not a suggestion.

Oh how you wanted to listen so badly, but you absolutely loved pissing Shuri off.

“You do realize I don’t gotta do shit you say right?” You said shrugging, while looking down and your Long blue acrylics nonchalantly.

Shuri was done.

Without an immediate response, the hand that was around your throat tightened. There was no mistaking the feeling of her rings against your skin but the pressure was not so hard that it would hurt.

“Strip right here, right now. in yo’ muthafuckin’ living room and don’t make me say that shit again Ma.” She commanded, her voice smooth as ever.

You stared at her, Too stunned to speak, too scared to be defiant. Because you knew that if you did, she was gon’ handle that ass and make it very unpleasant.

Shuri cocked her head to the side, her red irises Narrowing at you, daring you to oblige.

“ lmma strip..” you whispered softly, as you start to strip off your dress.

Shuri watched you, as she leaned back on the couch manspreading before you.

“And I mean Everything. Including them lil underwear and bra too love.” She added, smirking mischievously.

When you were undressed, your naked breasts were revealed within the naked eye, along with your Laced black underwear.

But Shuri absolutely fucking loved, your pretty stretch marks. To her, they showed how thick you were.

She peered at you, her eyes trailing over your naked chest, her eyes drawn to the black lace of your underwear as you moved to remove that too, slowly.

Your bare pussy was now at view. Glistening and very wet, ready to be touched by her.

You felt a little bit insecure about your stretch marks, but Shuri just scoffed and looked at you with an annoyed expression.

She peered at you, her head inclined at the expression on your face.

"Baby girl, you listen to me when I say this now."

She murmured, her hands moving to your hips.

"I don't care. In fact the stretch marks are sexy as hell."

She pulled you forward, her hands going to your ass, but they got lost in the thickness of it.

"Baby girl, all this ass… all this thickness.. just makes me wanna fuck the shit outta you Mama. You know that don’t you Umntwana?”

You nod, your expression giving off how needy you were for her. The way she looked at you made your Pussy so wet.

Shuri pulled you on her lap, your bare ass on her leg and your pussy scraping her knee causing you to whimper softly.

Shuri smirked, bouncing her knee purposefully trying to tease and make you even more aroused for her.

“Shuri please stop playin.. I want you love.. can’t you feel the dampening of my pussy on your knee..?” You said whining like a baby.

“I know usana, but the fact you tried to play with me got me wanting to punish that ass. So with that, do me a favor and stop whinin’ like a baby and keep grindin that pretty Pussy on my knee yeah?” She chuckled, massaging your titties with her slender fingers.

You whined louder, causing a sharp smack to your thigh.

“Aye, what I just tell you Mama? You so disobedient… you really be wanting me to be rough wit you, don’t it Baby?” She asked, bouncing her knee faster causing a loud moan to escape your lips.

Shuri felt her knee get wetter, letting out a soft chuckle as she rubbed and pinched your nipple.

“Shuri please… I want you, I need you.. baby don’t keep teasing me like this..” you whimpered with pleading eyes.

“Now you wanna call me baby? Mm.. wasn’t you callin’ that nigga baby? He would be so damn disappointed to see his lil precious girl rubbing her pussy all on my knee, getting wet n’ shit.” She laughed, patting your thigh softly.

You knew Shuri wasn’t playing fair, and she Loved every minute of it.

Just then, Shuri’s tatted digits delved into your soaked folds, rubbing against your clit in tight circles. She adds another finger, scissoring them to stretch you open. Her thumb presses against your clit, applying firm pressure as she fingers you roughly.

“Ouuu fuck! Ahh!! Shuri!” You moaned loudly, throwing your head back.

“Mhm, wassup Mama? You can’t handle this baby? I bet lil Naveen wasn’t havin’ you like this was he?” She chuckled, pinching and rubbing your clit in tight circles.

Shuri's fingers picked up the pace, thrusting harder and faster into your tight pussy. Her thumb pressed down harder on your clit, rubbing it in tight circles.

“You been missin’ me Mama? It’s okay Baby, lemme make you feel what you been missin’ out on…” Shuri said smiling, as she watched you squirm in her lap.

hand continued to move, her fingers pumping into you hard and fast, her thumb pressing down hard on your clit.

“Talk to me mama.. I wanna hear your pretty voice Baby..” her voice was low and seductive, looking you dead in your eyes as she thrusted her fingers into your pussy.

Her fingers continue their relentless pace, curling inside you to hit that sweet spot deep within your pussy. Shuri’s other hand reaches up to grab your Left breast, as She squeezes it, pinching your nipple between her fingers.

“Mmm and look at these pretty ass Titties Mama… I can’t wait to have em’ in my mouth Baby..” She whispered as She leaned down to the crook of your neck, gently placing a kiss on it before she let her fangs sink into your skin. A sharp pain mixed with pleasure, as she gently sucked on the area she had bitten.

Shuri’s face disappears between your breasts, her mouth latching onto a nipple as she sucks hard, her other hand still buried in your pussy. Her fingers move faster, adding a third to join the others. The sound of your wet pussy and Shuri’s hungry sucking fills the room.

“Mmm shuri.. I’m bout’ to cum…” you whined, feeling your legs beginning to shake.

Shuri’s mouth moves to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention as she continued to pump her fingers in and out of you. She could feel your walls tensing around her fingers.

“Nah, don’t cum just yet Mama. Hold for me yeah? be a good girl for yo’ Panther.”

Shuri’s touch becomes more insistent, her fingers moving faster, curling deeper. Her mouth latches onto your neck, sucking hard as you writhe against her. Her thumb rubs furiously against your engorged clit.

“Aww, she misses me don’t she? Look who easy she sucks in my fingers Mama. See, I always knew this pussy was mine to begin with.”

Mhm, all yours panther.

“Aight, you can cum Mama..” she smirked softly, giving you a gentle peck on your lips.

“F-FUCK!!!!” You screamed out, your mouth slightly agape, a loud gasp escaping your lips.

Shuri muffles your cries with her mouth, her fingers continuing their unrelenting pace until the last wave of your passion subsides. She slowly extracts her fingers, bringing them to her mouth to clean off your essence.

“Mmm you taste so good baby, but I ain’t even done with you, But you know that don’t you Mama?”

You knew she wasn’t done with you, but yet you still wanted to push her.

“But-“ Before you could even oblige, Shuri picked you up, carrying you to your bedroom.

She carries you to your bedroom, carefully laying you down on the bed as she began undressing herself.

“You always gotta be so damn stubborn and disobedient. Why the fuck can’t you just listen to the shit I be sayin’ to you Usana? Ohh, I see what it is. You don’t give a fuck bout shit I say ain’t that right Mama?”

“N-No.. that ain’t-“ but before you could say anything, Shuri wrapped her slender hand around your throat, giving you that stare that meant “Shut the fuck up.”.

“Guqa, ngoku.” (kneel, now.)

She chuckles quietly, watching you kneel in front of her after her command. Her thumb swipes across your lower lip, pressing down on it gently.

She enjoyed seeing you like this, so well behaved and listening to her every word.

She stops when she was stood right in front of you, her eyes roaming over your body as she looked down at you.

One of her hands reached out, gently touching your jawline this time, before she lifted your head up in an admiring manner.

“Look at you, so pretty down there.” She coos, using that tone she had whenever she wanted to act more possessive with you.

Her fingers run along your jawline, her thumb running over your bottom lip, before she pulled it back.

”You gon’ put that pretty ass mouth to use for yo’ Panther Mamas?” She asked, running her index finger over your bottom lip.

“Yes ma’am..” you muttered obediently.

She watched you for a moment longer, before unzipping her pants, letting the strap be in full view.

It was obviously too big for her, but that’s how she liked it. The way it stuck out of her pants, and she only wore boxers to avoid it from flopping around too obviously.

She knew how much you loved the color purple, it just happened to be your favorite color. So, she always went that route with her strap and outfits when it came to you.

It was a deeper purple, the shade of a violet to be specific, with almost gold and silver veins in it. It’s size was pretty big, in every sense of the word.

Shuri smirked as she saw the purple strap fling out, revealing her impressive length. She slowly pulled down her zipper even more, her other hand now tangling in your hair.

“Go on, show yo’ Panther what that pretty ass mouth can do Mama. Show me you a good girl Baby, let yo’ Panther know that you hers only.” She whispered, watching as you wrapped your hand around her length.

It was a custom made one, hand crafted by vibranium with the strongest elastic ever. It was specifically designed that way so she could feel you around her, feel all the sensations. Even the slightest movements you made.

“Mama, this ain’t no ordinary regular ass strap either. You see, I made this myself Mama cuz’ I wanna feel your lips wrapped around me, along with that pretty Pussy…” She purred softly.

Fucking genius..

Shuri's grin widened as you wrapped your hand around her Dick. She watched intently as you slowly pumped it a few times, feeling it grow even harder in your grasp. She let out a soft moan, her hips bucking forward slightly.

“Mmm.. Ungandigezeli Sana..”

(don’t tease me baby…)

Shuri's breathing grew heavier as you continued to stroke her. She gripped your hair tighter, guiding your head down slowly.

"Now open that mouth... stick out your tongue. Lick it, baby... taste me." She moaned, guiding her length in your mouth.

Shuri's breath hitched as you lapped at her length, your warm, wet tongue tracing patterns along her shaft. She let out a low groan, her hand guiding your head down further.

"Mmm... good girl... just like that... now, take me in, baby. Deep..."

“Does it feel good Baby?” You muttered, with your mouth full of her Dick.

Shuri's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as you took her into your mouth, the warmth and tightness nearly overwhelming her. She nodded frantically, her hand tightening in your hair.

"Oh Bast, yes... it feels so good... so fucking good... don't stop, baby... don't stop… Mamas.."

Shuri’s breathing grew heavier, her voice hoarse as she guided your head bob up and down on her lap. Her hips bucked forward, meeting your mouth with each thrust. She looked down at you with hooded eyes, her face contorted in pure pleasure.

"Touch yourself, baby... Touch yo’ Pussy for me Mama.. be a good slut for yo’ Panther.."

Shuri's gaze never left your face as you began to touch yourself, your fingers moving quickly over your clit. She could see the pleasure spreading across your features, your eyes half-lidded and your lips wrapped tightly around her Dick.

"Fuck... just like that... rub yo’ pretty clit... Ma.."

look in your eyes told Shuri everything. the way they sparkled, how dilated your pupils were, how your eyes got a bit wide, and how your breath deepened within every thrust. You were enjoying getting treated like a Slut, because you loved how Shuri called herself “your Panther.”

Shuri’s hips began to rock gently, thrusting shallowly into your mouth as she watched you pleasure yourself. The dual sensations of your mouth and the erotic sight before her were driving her wild with lust.

"Don't you dare stop, Mama... I'm so close... gonna fill this pretty mouth..."

The way she said those words made your Pussy even wetter by the second..

Shuri could see your arousal growing, your fingers moving faster and more insistently over your slick folds. The wet sounds of your self-pleasure mixed with the obscene slurping noises of her shaft plunging in and out of your mouth.

"Oooh fuck, I'm Bout’ to cum Princess..." she whimpered, her eyes rolling back.

“Cum for me Shuri… please fill my mouth baby…” you begged, with a mouthful of her dick.

With a low moan, Shuri's body convulsed, her hips bucking forward as she spilled into your mouth. She gripped your hair tightly, guiding your head down onto her as she rode out the waves of her intense release. She panted, looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Oh Bast, ooh fuck…” she panted, looking down at you with those low red irises.

Shuri's body shuddered with aftershocks, her shaft pulsing against your tongue as the last spurts of her release filled your mouth. She slowly pulled back, her length slipping from your lips with a soft pop. She cupped your face, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Swallow my shit Mama.. swallow all of it.” She murmured, tilting your chin up.

As you swallowed, Shuri watched in fascination as your throat bobbed, taking down every last drop of her seed. You made a soft, mewling sound in the back of your throat, the taste of her salty, slightly sweet essence coating your mouth and sliding down your throat.

“Look at you Ma.. swallowing my cum like a good fucking slut… them pleadin’ ass eyes of yours..” she whispered, running her thumb over your bottom lip.

“Panther please fuck me. do it like you fucking hate me Shuri, Make me cry yo’ name.. make the whole neighborhood hear my voice..” you pleaded, looking up at her.

She reached her hand out and grabbed your jaw between her thumb, index and middle finger, her purple painted nails gripping into your soft skin. Her eyes hardening with malice.

“Beg for it Mama, beg for yo’ panther to fuck you Baby, and I’ll consider it.”

Oh, how she Fucking loved when you begged..

“Panther, baby…” You let out a whine, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes. You had no restraint or shame when it came to her.

“Please.” You couldn’t stop that one word from leaving your mouth. You needed her, you wanted her.

You whimpered, the desperation in your voice clear. She was the only one who got to see you like this, and you were practically begging her.

The way you called her by that nickname, and the way you so shamelessly begged for her, it was all something she adored. It only added fuel to the fire and only got her riled up more.

“lakho elikhuselekileyo nkosazana?” (Your safe word princess?)

“Lirozi.” (Roses.)

“Good Girl Mama..” she cooed softly pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Without a word, she guided you to turn around, pulling your back against her front.

Shuri's other hand reached down to guide the strap-on to your waiting entrance, rubbing the thick head against your soaked lips.

"Goba phezu komntwana.” (Bend over Baby.)

you arched your back beautifully, presenting yourself to her completely. The new angle allowed her to sink deep inside you, her thick Dick stretching you deliciously. Your back was arched almost painfully, pushing your ass up and out, inviting her to take you hard and rough.

"…Nnnngh Mama…!" Shuri's voice rose to a loud, desperate wail as she finally pushed past your tight pussy and sank into your welcoming warmth. Her body tensed, her fingers digging into your hips as she buried her face against your back, moaning uncontrollably.

“Ouuu mmmf.. f-fuck Panther!” Your voice shattered, breaking into needy whimpers as you begged for more. Your hands clenched on the bedsheets, your arms straining as you pushed back against her demanding hips.

"You like that, baby?... You like the way I stretch your pretty hole?..." Shuri hissed, her breath hitching as you tightened around her. She spanked your ass hard, the sound echoing in the living room as she increased her pace, jackhammering into you from behind.

“Jonga wena Nkosazana, uthatha i-dick yakho yePanther kakuhle...” she muttered in your ear.

(Look at you Princess, taking your Panther's dick so good...)

"That's it Baby, take this Dick! Fuck, your pussy feels so good squeezing me Mama..." She panted, sweat glistening on her brow as she pistoned in and out of your soaked heat. Her fingers dug into the flesh of your ass as she gripped you harder.

“Oooh look at that pretty Pussy get fucked baby! look how she swallows my Dick Mama! Nigga ain’t got shit on me baby, and you know Why Babygirl..?” She asked, palming a sharp smack to your ass.

“W-Why..?” You muttered, gripping the sheets tightly.

“Because your Pussy will be used to me, than she’ll ever be to him Babydoll.”

“You see how yo’ pussy swallows my dick within a heartbeat? Hear how wet she is for Me. She knows me baby, and she’ll forever love this Dick I promise you.” She muttered in your ear chuckling softly.

She flexed her hips, churning deep within you as her other hand reached down to strum your clit roughly.

“MMMF... YES FUCK YES PANTHER! FUCK ME LIKE YOU FUCKING HATE ME BABY!” Your voice boomed out, echoing off the walls as you let out a deafening roar of pleasure.

“F-Fuck..! Ah fuck! I hate you Baby! I hate you so Fucking much..” she muttered, rubbing your clit harder.

“Say it again…! Say you hate me Panther! Fuck me like the Slut I am Baby!” You moaned, arching your back putting your ass even higher in the air for her.

Shuri's face contorted with rage, her eyes glinting with anger and lust. She gripped a handful of your hair and yanked your head back painfully, her voice low and maliciously.

“I hate you, Ma. You know that? I hate how beautiful you are. I hate you Baby!” She snarled, palming a very firm smack on your ass.

Shuri raised her hand and brought it down HARD across your ass cheek with a resounding SMACK. She continued to spank you rhythmically as she fucked into you, each thrust accompanied by a sharp smack to your tender flesh.

You bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain, but it felt so good.

Shuri snarled and continued to pound into you mercilessly, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The leather strap made obscene slapping sounds as it hit your ass and pussy.

“I hate how you make me feel. How you make me want you all the time. How you got a nigga all desperate for you n’ shit, and how you out here givin’ my Pussy away to some average lookin’ ass boy who can’t even fuck you properly!!” Shuri fumed, with a low malicious tone.

Shuri smirked cruelly, as she continued to piston in and out of your pussy.

“look at this fucking pussy, so sloppy and stretched out by my dick. But, you love that shit though.. ain’t that right nkosazana?” She grinned with cruelty, her fang grills gleaming.

Shuri's body tensed as she felt her release nearing. She leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear.

“I hate that I love you, Ma. I do. I hate you so much for makin' me love you!! Even though you piss me off so badly, I still fucking love yo’ ass!”

That sentence made your heart melt… making you moan loudly at the thought of her actually loving you.

“F-Fill this Pussy Panther! Make it yours forever baby! make this Pussy overflow!!” You cried out.

And with that, Shuri's body shook as she reached her climax, her hips bucking wildly as she pumped her load deep into your spasming pussy.

"Fuuuuck!!" She screamed, holding you tight as she rode out her orgasm, her fingers never leaving your clit.

Shuri held you close as the waves of pleasure washed over her, her hips still twitching with small aftershocks. After a long moment, she slowly pulled out of you, admiring the way her release dripped out of your well-used pussy.

“Ah, fuck…” Shuri muttered, trying to catch her breath.

Shuri was laying on the bed next to you, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, a sweaty, happy mess. One arm was thrown over her eyes as she did her best to calm herself down, her whole body still trembling.

“Ulungile, nkosazana?” (You good, princess?)

“Yea, I’m aight Panther.” You muttered under your breath.

Both of you were breathing heavily, the aftermath of everything that just happened still coursing through your bodies. Shuri had her arms around you in a loose embrace, still trying to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling.

Shuri was breathing hard, her chest heaving, her body glistening with sweat. She reached up and pulled you close to her, her arms wrapping around your middle, holding you right up against her.

“Mama… that’s… that’s how a princess should be… Fucked Baby.” She softly said, with a contented sigh.

After a few moments of silence, Shuri spoke, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.

“Mama, can I tell you somethin’?”

You arched one of your eyebrows at her, waiting for her to say whatever she’s about to say.

Shuri opened her eyes, her gaze locking onto yours.

“I want you to be mine. Completely, fully mine. I don’t want you to leave, or go somewhere else. I want you here, beside me, in my arms, forever Baby.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as Shuri spoke, her words hitting you hard, causing a wave of emotions to wash over you.

A mixture of elation, desire, and the beginnings of love filled you, making your chest ache in the best way possible. To know that this magnificent woman, strong and beautiful and powerful, wanted you with such intensity, wanted to claim you and keep you, was almost overwhelming.

Shuri shifted a little closer to you, her hand coming up to rest on your cheek. Her eyes were soft now, almost vulnerable.

“Mamas… you have no idea how hard it has been for me. Seein’ you all the time, wanting you, wanting you more and more every day, but not being able to have you. Not being able to touch you the way I want, or have you in my arms. It’s… it’s been hell.”

She shook her head, her thumb tracing over your cheek as she continued speaking, her voice holding a hint of sadness and frustration.

“I don’t like it when you avoid me. When you ignore me. It kills me inside every time, it reminds me that you don’t want to be mine, that you don’t feel the same way I do. It’s like a knife in my gut, Mamas.”

Your heart ached in sympathy as you heard Shuri’s words. You knew you had been avoiding her, ignoring her, pushing her away, and for the first time, it occurred to you just how much it had hurt her.

But now, as you listened to her speak, to the pain and frustration in her voice, you felt something new begin to stir in you. A hint of empathy, a hint of realizing the depth of her feelings, her desire for you.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like an absolute bastard for what you had put her through. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to be ignored, to be avoided the way you had ignored and avoided her.

Your voice was contrite when you finally spoke.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Baby. I’ve been treating you horribly and it wasn’t right. You didn’t deserve that...”

Shuri’s expression softened as she listened to you apologize, a flicker of vulnerability passing over her face, followed quickly by relief.

“I know, Mamas… I know that. I just… you don’t know what it’s been like. Wanting you, needing you, and not being able to have you. It’s been hell.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before opening them again, her gaze locking onto yours.

“But I want you to know how I feel about you Usana. I need you to know that I want you to be mine.”

She took a deep breath, her hand slipping down to rest on the curve of your hip, pulling you closer to her.

“Can I have you, Baby? Completely, and fully be mine? Please? Can you be My princess forever?”

You felt your breath catch in your throat at Shuri’s words, the possessive way she spoke, the way she looked at you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to her, and when she stopped speaking, you only waited a moment before whispering softly.

“Of course, take me Panther. I’m yours. Only yours.”

And with that being said, Shuri kissed you passionately, wrapping her slender hand around your throat as she deepened the kiss.

After 10 minutes of sharing tongues with eachother, Shuri spoke up, but her tone was more of a command than a statement.

“Delete and block that nigga number Baby. Since you are My Princess, there should be no reason why you got his number and why he got yours. So in that case, cut his ass off.” She commanded, as she gave you your phone.

With that command being told, you deleted and blocked Naveen’s number.

(A/n: yoo I’m sorry it took so long for me to make a pt 2 lol 😭😭 I been at workk. But, hope y’all enjoyed tho..)

[kaigarax]

Exactly As You Saw

Sero Hanta x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone gentle." & "Fall in love with someone you can love."

Someone You Loved Featuring: The Hero

Sero Hanta wasn’t quite sure how he got here.

Well, that wasn’t entirely correct.

He remembers receiving your text. Asking him if he was free and if he was in town; and Sero, of course, could never turn you down. All you ever had to do was call his name and he’d come running.

But how he ended up at the wedding of perhaps one of the wealthiest men on earth Sero wasn’t too sure. Well, it was like he always said - best to live life as it comes to you instead of questioning why things aren’t the way you want.

Sero had thrown on whatever suit he’d found, though if he’d known just exactly who’s wedding he’d attend he likely would have dressed better. Or at least attempted to get his suit cleaned a week prior. But too little too late. Sure he may have looked a little on the shabbier side but he had what many other people didn’t.

He had you.

You chose a pretty outfit. Something light both in colour and style - likely both in an attempt to keep cool and blend into the background as you take photos. You said something, practically gushing, about how you thought the bride was just the most absolutely beautiful girl here earlier but Sero disagreed. Personally, he thought it had to have been you.

On another personal matter, Sero also thought that it was a little weird that he’d been invited to a wedding as plus one where you were working but he supposed you could always count on rich people to be abnormal.

You spent most of the wedding reception taking photos but Sero was sure you would eventually find your way back to the small table Sero and you shared in the back of the room. Unlike the other tables there were no nametags but there still were several chairs if people wanted to join them. So far, Sero had spent most of the night alone.

At least the music was good.

And the staff were nice.

Eventually, a short dirty blonde haired male ended up taking a seat next to Sero. They talked briefly before Sero finally realised that the man standing in front of him was The Chef. He looked different from the photos but Sero supposed that was normal. Without the lens of a camera most people looked different. Overall Sero thought he seemed like a good person. Soft spoken, thoughtful and polite. Not much more one could really ask for when speaking to strangers.

Finally, when you made your way back to your small corner of the room, a tall purple haired man trailing you like a puppy with a pout on his face. He acted as though you were the one dragging him alone despite the fact that he was the one clinging onto your sleeve. It was almost cute. Sero would’ve laughed if hadn’t recognized the man as the Pilot. Your most recent must and apparently admirer.

People like you always had admirers.

Sero would know.

“Ah, unrequited love,” you smiled wistfully, as you took a seat down at the table.

Sero’s heart did a little flutter. The same kind of flutter it always did when he was with you. The same kind of flutter he hated the most. Not because it was a bad thing, no something like this could never be bad, but because it was exactly as you said. Unrequited.

He wonders if you can hear his heart beating through his chest.

If your eyes are resting on him as the tips of his ears are tinted red.

The Pilot takes a seat beside you, frowning slightly, “who?”

You pointed over to the far side of the room where a group of young folk sat. All three men follow your gaze. Sero’s pretty sure they’re mostly teenagers; not just from the youthful look on their faces but the playful expressions as they throw teases and insults at one another. It’s enough to make his own heart ache for his days of youth.

Specifically, Sero notes, you point out a pink haired boy

“Who’s he in love with?” The Chef asks.

You smile playfully, “guess.”

Sero’s the first to ask, his voice coming out both smooth and curious, “the brown haired girl?”

Your eyes flash from Sero’s face to the group on the other side of the room before shaking your head. Sero finds he’s more disappointed than he thought he’d be. At first he thinks it might be because he got something wrong but that can’t be right. He used to answer questions wrong at school all the time.

Then maybe it has something to do with the fact of his pride. He has always considered himself a people person. Someone that notices the little things. He supposes that’s not so much the case now.

“The blonde girl?” The Chef suggested.

The Chef, like Sero, is met with a disappointing shake of the head.

“The girl,” the Pilot pauses for a brief moment, “with the golden eyes?”

Your own eyes seem to light up, “what makes you say that?”

The Pilot shrugs, “a gut feeling, I guess.”

You shake your head like a parent scolding a child, “I expected better of you, Mr. Airplane.”

Sero notes how you smile fondly when you say it. As if it’s an inside joke between the two of you. Makes him feel worlds away despite sitting beside you. He supposes you always did have a knack for being so… far away. If not the distance of a country away then at least a breadth. Forever so close yet so far.

The Chef clears his throat, “Mr. Airplane?”

The Pilot, unamused, rolls his eyes in response, “just a silly nickname.”

“It suits you~” Sero teases, “being the Pilot and all.”

“Ah yes,” you smile as if hearing it for the first time despite coming up with the nickname yourself, “the Pilot.”

“You’re such a brat, (Y/n).” The Pilot mumbles, hiding his face in his hands.

“At least I don’t rely on gut feelings to know when someone’s in love.” You tease back.

The Chef, sitting every so politely, swallows quietly, seeming to take your words deeply into consideration, “how do you know when someone’s in love, (Y/n)?”

“Well,” you begin, “I would recommend years of observation - as experience is the most sure way of figuring this kind of thing out - but I’ll give you guys the sparknotes.” Your calm expression turns into something more befitting to amusement, “to know if someone’s in love you just have to follow their gaze.”

“Why?” Sero asks.

“Because the gaze never lies.” You finished.

The gaze never lies?

Sero supposes he’s never thought about that much before - but it makes sense. People, when they’re in love (at least from Sero’s experience) like being around the person they love. Care about the opinions, wants and needs of that person they happen to be in love with so it only makes sense that that’s where their gaze would fall.

Sero’s eyes make their way over to you.

You’re fiddling around with the glass of water that had been set out for you earlier in the day looking almost like a petulant child. Sero has half a mind to poke your side playfully but refrains as you suddenly perk up, “do any of you plan on getting married?”

The Pilot is the first one to speak up, muttering a simple, “eventually.”

“Eventually?” You ask.

“Well, obviously whoever I get married to is going to have to be okay with being in the public light. Constantly being harassed by the paparazzi whether they’re famous or not just because they’re associated with me. I don’t plan on getting married until I’m ready to settle down in my acting career.” The Pilot declared.

Your eyes sparkle in amusement, “very mature of you.”

“Besides,” the Pilot continues, “actors and models are more popular when they’re single anyways.”

You laugh playfully, “and he drops the ball.”

Sero would’ve laughed alongside you if he either weren’t so polite or better acquainted with the Pilot. The Pilot’s expression is a funny one with his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in on you. What really finishes the look though is the softness behind his glare. It’s a kind of look that you don’t often see in other individuals. Well, at least it’s the kind of look that Sero doesn't see very often.

“What about you, Viking Boy?” You ask, “you are the oldest of us four. You plan on getting hitched anytime soon?”

The Chef scratches the back of his neck sheepishly as his eyes linger on you, “I guess I never thought much about it.”

Sero wonders if that’s a lie though he isn’t quite too sure why. Perhaps it has something to do with that brief pause before answering? Or maybe it’s a gut feeling in his chest? Who knows? All that Sero can really think about at the moment is how pretty you look right now as you smile at the Chef. It’s a pretty kinda smile that Sero hasn’t seen on your face before. It sends his own heart throb pathetically.

“Any girl would be lucky to have you,” you smirk, “or guy, if that’s what you’re into.”

The chef blushes, “well I-”

Sero abruptly cuts the Chef off with a gentle pat on the back, “come on, Sweets, don’t tease him.”

Your playful gaze falls to him next, “and what about you, Cellophane?”

Cellophane. It’s been ages since you’ve last called him that. Ages since anyone’s called him that. His nickname back when he thought he was too cool for school. Well he was already out of school at that point but the statement still stands.

He swallows, attempting to play coy, despite already knowing the meaning behind your words, “what about me?”

“Any special someone in your life?”

“Na,” Sero smiles, “it’s a bachelor’s life for me.” The smile doesn't reach his eyes and Sero finds himself wondering if anyone notices. Finds himself wondering if you notice.

No.

You definitely notice if that sappy look you have on your face means anything. Which it usually does. It’s that look where your eyes narrow in on something and the corners of your lips tilt downwards. It’s something so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice it. Something so simple that most people disregard it.

“Well no shame,” you clear your throat, “not everyone in this world gets married.”

“What about you, Sweets?” Sero asks.

“Marriage,” you say the word as if tentatively tasting it for the first time, “what do you think?”

Yes, Sero thinks, you most definitely will get married. You’re too bright, too brilliant, too sweet to not get married. In fact, he’s surprised you haven’t already been swept off your feet by now but he supposes you have always prioritized your career over love. He feels as though he’s done the same. Sero thinks you’d probably be good at being married. That you’d be the kind of person to indulge in your spouse’s wants and needs. Bets you’d be such a pretty bride; sees you taking photos of you wedding guests rather than stopping to take photos of yourself. The idea would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so you.

Sero follows your gaze back to the group sequestered at the other side of the room. They’re laughing about one thing or another. Sero finds himself wondering if you’re thinking about asking one of them to be your next muse. Sero can’t really find anything in common between the different muses - he supposes that none of them are from the same industry? Oh, but didn’t you take photos of two different athletes?

He doesn't ponder on it for too long as the pink haired boy catches his attention.

There’s a soft look in the eyes of the pink haired boy. That despite him being the one telling a story to the rest of the group (evident through the way he moves his hands dramatically) he keeps his gaze pointed directly on the girl with the golden eyes.

The golden eyed girl sits politely and smiles softly, leaning back in her chair. She kind of reminds Sero of a girl he knew back when he was young.

Out of everyone else at the table the only other person that manages to catch Sero’s attention is an orange haired boy. He reminds Sero of himself with an aloof and playful personality. Has that playful look in his eyes.

“What makes you think he has an unrequited love, (Y/n)?” The Pilot asks.

“Don’t think, Mr. Airplane.” You say, “I know.”

Sero raises a brow, “oh, do you now?”

“Of course. I know people’s hearts.” You smile in a way that makes people’s hearts flutter, “why else would my works be so popular?”

Sero has to look away from you in an attempt to calm the erratic fluttering of his heart. To think, after all these years, you still manage to get his heart to act in such a dramatic way.

“Because you’re good at taking photos?” Suggest the Chef.

Anyone else would have said the suggestion teasingly - because of course it was the obvious answer. The candidness in the Chef’s voice though would suggest otherwise which is probably what prompts Sero to laugh, patting the Chef on the back, “I like you! You’re so straightforward! Not like this little missy here!”

The Chef blushes, “thanks I guess.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed.

Sero notes that the Pilot smiles softly at your reaction but his voice is teasing, “people like your photos because you pick such good looking muses.”

You take the tease in stride, smiling fondly with your eyes closed, “very true! The muses I pick have excellent hearts.”

Sero ignores the loud beating of his heart as he pulls your attention back to himself, “hey, you never answered the question, Sweets.”

“I haven’t, have I?”

“This is what you mean, ain’t it?” The Pilot says, nudging Sero playfully, “she hates answering questions directly.”

“Hey, you’re ganging up on me!”

Sero chuckles, “that’s because you make it too easy.”

“It’s okay, (Y/n),” the Chef says softly, “you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” effectively directing the playful teasing towards himself.

Sero sighs playfully and dramatically, “you’re too easy on her.”

“A total simp.” The Pilot adds.

You roll your eyes in an attempt of feigning annoyance but Sero’s notices the hint of a smile, “the two of you could learn a thing or two from him.”

Sero laughs, patting your head, “doubt it, Sweets.”

You grab his hand, bringing it down into your own as you smile, “love is such a mysterious thing.”

Sero feels his face heat up dramatically.

Your hands are softer than he remembers.

Warm.

He clears his throat slightly, seeing that your gaze has moved from the group across the room to the centerpiece of the reception; the bride and groom.

They’re a handsome couple, the groom's eyes never wavering from his wife’s form as he drags her over to the centre of the room for their first dance of the night. Well it wasn’t their first dance but it’s the first dance they’re going to take now that everyone has finished their meals. Sero wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as the groom seems to love his wife.

No, that’s a lie.

He doesn’t wonder.

The Chef pokes your side gently, “I thought you said that love was a well understood thing?”

Your frown ever so slightly, “I did?”

The Pilot nods, “yes.”

“You sure?”

Sero hums playfully, “very~”

“When?”

“During my exhibit.” Explained the Pilot.

“Oh, I guess I have.”

The Pilot leans in towards you, giving you a gentle flick on the head. Something reminiscent a parent would do when gently scolding their child. It’s an action as intimate as it is surprising. No, what's really surprising is the sappy look that the Pilot gets as he watches you reel back, feigning annoyance. Sero personally finds your reaction rather cute - though he supposes he finds most of the things you do cute.

“Perhaps,” you begin, “I should say fate is such a mysterious thing.”

Fate.

Sero doesn’t believe in Fate. Doesn’t believe in most things that he couldn’t see, touch or feel. It was the, for lack of better words, pragmatic way of living. And that in itself is usually surprising for strangers. It’s almost contradictory for Sero to be such a carefree person yet look at things in the most pragmatic way possible.

“Do you think they’re each other’s first love?” Sero asks, watching as the groom spins the bride around.

He’s met with both a “yes” and “no” from the Chef and Pilot respectively.

Sero isn’t all too sure, more distracted with the fact that you’re still holding onto his hand instead of the dancing couple on their floor. Sero wonders if you want to dance. If you’d dance with him or one of your other muses.

“She’s his first love.” You say.

Sero raises an eyebrow, “hm?”

“It’s the way he looks at her,” you smile, “you always look at your first love differently from everyone else. There’s a certain kind of softness in his eyes.”

“It’s too bad his best man doesn’t seem to like her very much.” Adds the Chef.

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

The Chef points to the best man who is sitting alone at the table, his gaze stuck on the dancing newly weds, “because he’s sitting so stiffly.”

Sero nods, “he does seem rather annoyed.”

“I get that impression too.” The Pilot said.

Your eyes get this curious look in them, “elaborate.”

“I guess it has something to do with the way he acts around her,” the Pilot pauses for a brief moment but continues quickly after, “it’s like he’s stepping on eggshells.”

“He could just be shy.” The Chef suggests, despite being the one to bring up dislike of the best man in the first place. Ever the optimist, Sero thinks.

Sero chuckles, playfully suggesting, “or maybe doesn’t like her and is upset the groom is marrying someone he doesn’t like?”

“He’s in love with her.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing.

“And what makes you think that?” The Pilot asks, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

“Follow his gaze.”

Fall in love with someone gentle.

---

Exactly As You Saw

My Dearest,

I think I dream of you, sometimes. And sure, maybe now I can barely recall your face or the sound of your voice but I know for certain it’s you. I know it’s you because I love you.

Yours Truly

---

Sero Hanta was, in the words of everyone else, a good person. A friendly dude. A talkative and charismatic fellow. He wasn’t ever much of a thinker. Didn’t ponder very long when it came to the harder hitting topics of life - but he did, as Sero likes to point out, think about you.

Thought about you when he was alone in his room, staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night.

Thought about you as he looked over at the photos you sent him.

And, he thought about you as you walked beside him. The back of your hand brushing up against his own every so often. You’re smiling warmly at him as he rambles off about one thing or another. Finds his heart warming as you listen so intently to his words. Most girls usually tune him out after an hour or two of his rambling but he can’t fault them too much. He’s not even listening to his own words, much too distracted by you.

You look so pretty today. Your hair pushed back in a baseball cap that Sero managed to win for you earlier today. He had been pretty disappointed that he hadn’t been able to win you a stuffed bear but thought that this, if anything, was a good consolation prize. Seeing you wear something that he had managed to get for you.

It makes his heart skip a beat in that dramatic way it does when he’s with a girl he likes.

The baseball cap looks good on you despite it not going very well with your outfit. You had decided to wear a yukata so the entire look is thrown off but you manage to pull it off. Moderately. Sero himself had been torn between the new yukata his mother had gotten him for his birthday and the hoodie you’d bought for him during one of his photo shoots with you. He’s happy though that he ultimately decided to wear his yukata because he thinks he matches pretty nicely with you. That the two of you almost look like a-

He can’t bring himself to finish that thought aloud. So instead he’ll leave it there. Unfinished. Waiting for his subconscious to scoop it up instead and convert it into a dream of the prettiest of sorts. But Sero thinks that that is where you always manage to look your best. Captured within the loving memory of another.

You’re the kind of girl that he used to think wasn’t real. The kind of girl that people wrote sonnets for and sang ballads of. The kind of girl that never noticed guys like him. Or at least not the kind of girl that would settle for a guy like him - as pathetic as that sounds.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your shoulder nudging against his gently.

Sero smiles fondly as he looks at you, “mhm.”

If you don’t believe him you do a good job of hiding it as you lead him further through the festival grounds.

        I know a girl         Who likes to drink her coffee black         ‘Cause sugar, no, she don’t got time for that         Leaves her desires at the welcome mat         When she walks in

The festival is beautiful. The warm light from the sunset quickly being replaced by the orange lighting of candles and lanterns set up over the festival grounds.

Sero had always been a big fan of lanterns. He loves all the different designs and colours that they came in. Mostly though he loved that they all came together for a singular purpose. To light up the world for the people that had so lovingly created them.

Sakura trees hang over the festival grounds, their bright pink flowers tinted purple and blue in the quickly fading light of day. Sero notes that the trees are placed meticulously apart from one another. So even and orderly - reminding him of the military. Personally, Sero has always been more fond of a more chaotic look to things but can appreciate all the love and effort that must have gone into cultivating and upkeep this forest of Sakura trees in the first place.

Bright red tables are set up beneath most of the Sakura trees, either selling products or conducting games for people to play. Children run between the stalls with bright smiles on their faces, pushing past the crowds with reckless abandon because they can.

He wonders if he was just as rambunctious as a kid.

No, he must have been just as rambunctious if all the white hair on his mother’s head said anything. Oh, his poor mother.

But Sero likes to think he turned out well.

That his parents are proud of the person he’s become.

‘SNAP’

Sero’s head jerks over to you, smiling slightly when he sees you holding a camera up to your face.

“What ya got there, Sweets?” Sero asks, a mischievous smile playing on the edge of his lips.

You smile playfully in response, “wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I, in fact, would.”

“Well, I don’t want to show you.”

Sero pouts, “why not?”

“Hm,” you let your camera fall from your hands and hang loosely around your neck as you hold the picture in your hands, inspecting it as the photo seemingly begins to slowly appear. Most of the time, if Sero’s recalling is correct, you prefer to use a digital camera or your phone.

He’s pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that you lost a bunch of the photos you took last year in a tragic accident when your briefcase filled with photos was misplaced causing you to have to call a bunch of your muses together for an impromptu photoshoot. It had been your most successful year yet despite the mishap but your manager was quick to make sure something like that would never happen again.

It seemed that you weren’t as nervous.

“Well?” Sero asks expectantly.

“Some things are better left as a secret, don’t you think?” You asked.

Sero swallowed, “I guess so.”

His response makes you smile as you pull out a silver compact from your pocket. Most girls carry compacts in their pockets right? To touch up their makeup or something? Truthfully, Sero isn’t too sure. He’s never paid all that much attention.

Instead of looking at yourself in the mirror of the compact you put the photo inside before closing it. It looks like there were quite a few photos inside the compact but Sero can’t find it in himself to ask. Either choosing to agree with your earlier statement or too nervous to hear what your answer would be. Likely a little bit of both.

        And I know a boy         Who likes to keep his burner on         He’s always running with no one to keep warm         It’s like he’s flirting with the smoke alarm         His fire’s fading

“So, where are you from again, Sweets?” Sero asks, as he takes a seat on the bench beside you.

You smile, in that way that usually do, and it sends Sero’s heart into a tizzy of a flutter, “guess.”

He imagines you’re originally from a coastal town. Somewhere where you’re familiar with the foreign and exotic. Somewhere romantic. Something so different from where he had gone when he was young. Somewhere that authors write stories and explorers seek to find. Somewhere it’s so distinctly you that Sero would know the moment he first landed.

But then again, you do seem rather at home in the city.

And you wouldn’t be very familiar with city life if you lived in a coastal town now would you.

He can see that. You, having a fast and bright childhood. Born in a place where everything is always moving and the people never stop. And that’s romantic in its own sense. A brilliant place where brilliant people gather together to live. Something where people like you come together to meet and compare notes. A kind of city that could cultivate someone as brilliant and amazing as you.

Yeah, that sounds realistic.

Sounds like you.

But, ultimately, Sero says, “a coastal town near the edge of the city?”

The answer feels more of a cop out than something substantial but it’s the only thing that Sero can think of to explain someone as amazing as you existing at all. The only place he can see someone like you being able to grow up in.

Ah, but that’s where he messes up.

“Na,” you smile softly, “I grew up in the suburbs. Nothing too small or anything too big either.”

“Oh.”

“Pretty regular, huh?”

“I…” Sero smiles apologetically, “I guess so.”

“I don’t think I’d ever be able to leave if I grew up somewhere like what you said,” you begin, “honestly I had a pretty hard time leaving my home town at all.”

“Really?”

“I would’ve been happy to have lived a boring and mundane life. To never be someone special.”

You, living a mundane life? It feels almost blasphemous to imagine such a thing. To live in a world where you aren’t someone that draws in the attention of everyone else. That there might be a timeline or universe out there where people all around don’t know your name or are familiar with the works you’ve given to this world.

Would you have been a mom?

A housewife?

Or would you have worked. Maybe you could have been a nurse or doctor. Someone that’s so attuned to the needs of others. Or maybe you would have been another office worker. Someone working a 9 to 5 to support their family.

It feels almost like Sero’s thinking of a different person.

No, that’s not exactly right. It does feel like something you could’ve done. Something you could’ve been if you had gone down a different path in life. He’s been thinking about this all the wrong way. Just because you live a mundane life doesn't mean you would be a mundane person.

Finally, Sero smiles fondly at you, “you could never not be someone special.”

        But still we laugh, we cry         We fall, we get high         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids         And when I am feeling small, you get me through it all         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids again

“Sweets,” Sero props his head on your shoulder as he watches you type a message into your phone to your manager. He feels a smile pull at the corner of your lips as he reads the message ‘K’. Nothing more or less than a simple letter in response to the long paragraph that your manager must have taken the time to painstakingly write. It’s something so very you that it can’t help but bring a smile to Sero’s face.

You tilt your head towards Sero, “hm?”

“What do you have my name saved on your phone?”

You hold your phone out to him, “Cellophane.”

“Why?” Sero asks.

“Why Cellophane?”

Sero nods.

“Because it’s your hero name.”

Sero’s cheeks flush at that. Of course that’s what you saved his name as. The two of you had been indulging in drinks at the bar the other day when Sero had gotten off work when the topic of Hero names had come up. Specifically, what his hero name would’ve been if there ever was a world with superpowers and hero names. You’d said something along the lines of ‘Fifteen’ (or maybe it was ‘Sixteen’) for one reason or another that Sero can’t remember off the top of his head. Sero was kind of bad for that - not remembering the reasoning behind things.

He, on the other hand, had been too embarrassed to say his own at first. It was a name he had thought about since he was young. Something so near and dear to his heart. Something he wasn’t so keen on sharing with the pretty girl he met at the bar, no matter how pretty you were. You had, of course, managed to wrangle the name from him by the end of the night but the two of you were wasted by then. Needing to be brought home by your friends.

It warms his heart to think that you not only remembered but that you had kept it like that all this time. There were many things you could have changed his contact name to and the fact that you kept it as something so near and dear to his heart was enough to make his heart flutter. Well, you always did things to make his heart flutter but this was different. This was you.

“And that’s what you are to me,” You say, “a hero. So of course I’d have you saved as your hero name.”

“Sweets!” Sero nuzzles his face into your neck, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of red.

He’d always known you were a sweetheart but he hadn’t realised that you were such a sentimentalist.

“Oh,” you stand up abruptly, “it’s almost time!”

“Almost time for what?”

Your eyes sparkle, “the firework show.”

Sero smiles. Quite the sentimentalist.

“Come on,” you say, as you begin making your way towards an empty part of the field. Let’s go watch the fireworks out in the open grass.

And what can he say but, “okay” in response.

There’s no way that Sero could ever say no to something when you look at him like that. Sero has always had a weakness for pretty girls but you seem to take the take. It probably has something to do with the way that you manage to make his heart skip a beat and the butterflies in his stomach flutter.

“So,” Sero hums, “you look pretty excited.”

“Yeah, I love fireworks,” you say softly, “they remind me of my youth.”

“And who doesn’t love getting a glimpse back into their youth?”

“Exactly.”

You don’t talk much about your past unless Sero brings it up first so he always finds himself indulging in moments like this. Wants to know as much as he can about you but can never seem to find the right words.

So he stands silently, the back of his hand brushing against your own.

“Have you ever been in love before?” You asked.

Sero nods, “just once.”

        I know a girl         Who’s never tried to settle down         She wears her loneliness just like a crown         But when she smiles, all the kinds will bow down, down, down

Fireworks.

Sero had never considered himself the biggest fan of fireworks but he wouldn’t go as far as to say that he disliked them either.

He liked fireworks as much as the next person.

He’d gone to see a few firework shows when he was young. There were firework festivals held in the summer of every year near where he lived but they never seemed to spark the same wonder in him as it did the people around him. Sure, they were pretty but there was nothing about them that inspired brilliance. Or at least nothing of the level of brilliance that other people seemed to give it.

He remembers the day when he first came to this realization like how one might remember the back of their hand.

Around the age of eight, when Sero’s parents had finally decided he was old enough to attend the summer festival himself, he and a few of his friends had decided to meet up and hang out. Play a couple of the festival games (and lose miserably because they’re all rigged), catch some goldfish (because he absolutely wanted a pet) and eat some sweet treats with the pocket money his parents had given him. And it was at the height of the festival when the fireworks had first begun that Sero had turned and looked at the faces of his friends instead of up at the sky. It was here that he realized that he didn’t look at the fireworks the same way.

In retrospect, Sero supposes that maybe he didn’t like fireworks because they didn’t hold the same level of importance in his life as it did for others. Didn’t have a nostalgic bond that other people seemed to have.

“Are you still in there?” You ask, waving a hand in front of Sero’s face playfully.

“Hm,” Sero perks his head up, his eyes meeting your own.

You always did have such pretty eyes. They have that sparkle in them that makes someone’s heart skip a beat. A certain brilliance that encourages even the most hesitant of people to charge forward in just the hopes of being noticed by someone as brilliant as you. Sero certainly knows. Better than most.

“Sorry,” you say softly, “you looked pretty deep in thought. I know I hate it when people interrupt me while I’m in the middle of thinking.”

Sero laughs, “then why’d you disturb me?”

“Because I wanted your attention.”

Sero’s cheeks flush red in embarrassment and the candidness of your words. Or maybe it was because of the brazenness of your words.

“What’re you thinking about?” You ask.

“One thing or another,” Sero hums, trying his best to feign indifference, “you know. Things that I want to do but don’t have the courage to.”

“You should do it if it’ll make you happy.”

“Hm?”

“Good times come and go so take advantage of the things that make you happy while you still can.”

        And I know a boy         Who’s broken every vow he’s made         Who’s spoken every cowards phrase         But he can listen like a rainy day         And drown it out

“If you could be anything, what would you be?” Sero asked.

“Everything.” You said, your answer coming out quick and easy - as if you’ve thought about something like this hundreds of times before. And because you’re you, and not anyone else, Sero thinks that maybe that might just be the case.

“Everything?” Sero raises an eyebrow, “isn’t that kind of an intense answer?”

“Well,” you hum, “it’s not a usual answer.”

“You never did like usual things, though.”

“Exactly! Who wants to live life being ‘usual?’ It’s boring and mundane.” You leaned back, looking up at the sky, “there’s so much I wish I could’ve done and so much more that I would change. There’s still so much that I want to do. I mean, I like where I am at this point in my life but I can’t help but constantly be caught between wanting everything else that I chose to not take. I sound like a total glutton, huh?”

“You do.”

You pout.

“But I don’t mind.”

“I imagine everyone has something in life they regret, either doing or not doing,” you begin, “a moment where they wish that they’d chosen to take a different path in life.”

“I don’t,” Sero smiles, “I’m quite happy with the way my life turned out.”

“Boring~”

Sero pouts, “well excuse me for being someone that doesn’t regret the way their life ended up.”

“Well you’re not boring but it seems like a pretty cliche answer.”

“You just said that most people have at least one in their life that they’d like to change. So how can my answer be cliche if it’s not something that everyone answers?” Sero challenges, “can’t be cliche unless it’s overused, Sweets.”

You frown, “then I guess I just don’t like your answer.”

Sero nods approvingly, “see, doesn’t it feel nice to just admit your feelings?”

“Don’t be a jerk about it.”

Sero laughs heartily in response, affectionately rubbing the top of your head, “don’t like it so much now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?”

You huff in response.

Sero’s heart flutters dramatically as he rests his head atop your shoulder, “come on, Sweets. It’s not that serious.”

“Brat.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one being a brat right now, Sweets.” Sero moves his head so that his chin is propped up on your shoulder as he gets a side view of your face. You really are such a pretty girl. Even when you’re upset and pouting. It’s nice. Refreshing almost when you’re usually the one doing all the teasing.

Sero supposes that even you can have trouble admitting your feelings.

Eventually, when the muscles in your face relax, Sero gives your cheek a playful poke, “so, Sweets, why don’t you like my answer?”

“I guess it makes me feel inadequate. Makes me feel a little greedy for wanting so much and life and feel stupid for not being able to make the choices that I wanted. Though,” you smile softly, “I suppose you can never make the choice in life that you really want to make when you want to make both choices in the first place.”

“Mhm,” Sero nods, “quite the predicament.”

“Does it make me a bad person?”

“It might.”

“I figured as much.”

“But it’s okay.”

“And why is it okay?”

“Because I’ll still like you, whether you’re a bad person or not.”

Before you can give Sero a response you're cut off by a loud blast sounding off from the field in front of the two of you.

        But still we laugh, we cry         We fall, we get high         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids         And when I am feeling small, you get me through it all         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids again

The fireworks, like they always do (and always will), begin dramatically. Dashing up to the sky like mad men.

Rising up passionately.

Loudly.

Dramatically.

Soaring to heights that seemingly no one else ever has before. So bright and brilliant as they reach their peak. They are hopes, dreams and wishes turned into passions, ambitions and desires. Everything that someone hopes to be when they look up to the sky. Everything they will ever be.

And then they slowly fall.

Ever so gently and softly.

Down.

Down.

And down.

Until they’re gone.

And the moment when everything is done and gone Sero feels both a moment of reprieve and disappointment. Relief that such a passionate moment is only but a moment. Disappointment that such a passionate moment is only but a moment.

But that moment of reprieve and disappointment is only but a moment as the next firework makes its way up in the sky hoping to be just as brilliant and bright as the last. Wishing to burn for just as long and dreaming to be what it was made to be.

“Have you ever been in love before?” Sero asks, finally mustering up the courage to take your hand in his own.

Your hand feels so nice in comparison to his own. Not as rough as his own are from years of working as a firefighter. He supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised. Your hands are, afterall, ones of a photographer. Ones that recently so lovingly maneuvered his own into the right position for the perfect picture. Ones that slowly traced over the edges of the camera, gently pressing over the different buttons as you adjust for the lighting and placement. And currently the ones he happened to be holding on his own.

You smile, “of course.”

Your answer makes Sero happy yet sad at the same time.

In all honesty, Sero isn’t certain what he was expecting. He imagines someone like you would have fallen in love before. Knows for certain that there must be tons of people that have already fallen in love with you. You’re the kind of person that is meant to be loved by others. But, just maybe, a small part of him wanted to be the first person to be loved by you. And it’s a selfish thought. The both of you are adults but he allows himself to indulge in his selfish thoughts for just a moment longer. Afterall, while the two of you are adults you also happen to be adults attending a children’s festival.

He wonders if he should lean over and plant a kiss on your lips.

Wonders if you’d smile in response and kiss him back.

Confess your love to him in the midst of the fireworks. Love him because he’s the one here right now standing beside you.

He doesn’t.

Can’t bring himself to. Not while his heart is beating erratically like he’s once again a green kid out with a girl for the first time.

You’re not even his first love.

But you are presently the girl he loves.

Maybe you won’t always be the one he loves. Won’t always be the one who makes his heart skip a beat and the butterflies in his stomach flutter but you are that girl now. And that’s all that matters. Right now, it feels as if that’s all that will ever matter.

It’s enough.

You’re enough.

This is enough.

        Just like we were kids         Just like we were kids again         Just like we were kids         Just like we were kids         Just like we were kids again

“What’re you thinking about, Sweets?” Sero asks, his hand still holding your own.

You smile in that way that always makes his heart race, “you.”

Sero blushes, “Sweets!”

“Is that what you have me saved as in your phone?” You asked.

“No.”

“Oh.”

You watch him curiously, as if you’re waiting for him to say something more. He doesn’t. Not that he doesn’t want to, Sero loves talking, but he’s finding the current topic increasingly harder and harder to avoid.

“So are you going to tell me?” You ask.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell you.

Sero feigns indifference “tell you what?”

It’s just that he hadn’t had a chance to change it. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change it. Honestly it was more embarrassing for him that it was you.

“What you have me saved as in your phone.” You explain, “you already know I have you saved as Cellophane.”

It’s not his fault that he misheard what you said back when the two of you first met. Well maybe it was a little bit of his fault but it was loud in the bar where the two of you first met and he was distracted by your pretty face.

Sero blushes, “Cam - Era - Girl.”

“Cam - Era - Girl?” You repeated, “camera girl.”

Sero nods slowly.

Then you. Brilliant and amazing you, laugh. As if it’s the funniest joke he’s heard in a long while. Sero’s cheeks are flushed red hot again - but he’s gotten rather used to that sensation. At least while he’s around you.

“That’s funny!’ You smile, “way more creative than some of the names that other people have me saved as.”

“I suppose so.”

“You think I could be a cam girl?” You do a dramatic pose of some sort and give a playful wink, “think my reputation could uphold going into a business like this?”

“Oh, (Y/n)! I didn’t mean it that way!”

You turn to him and smile fondly, “you used my name.”

“I suppose I did.”

“I like how it sounds when you say it.”

“You do?”

“I also like it when you call me ‘Sweets’ but the way you say my name makes it sound prettier.” You tilt your head to the side cutely, “do you know what I mean?”

Sero nods.

He doesn’t but you don’t need to know that.

“(Y/n) is the precious name that someone who loved me dearly gifted to me. It seems only fitting that someone I love would use it as well.”

You love him.

That very idea itself makes his heart soar.

Sero knows for certain that he loves you.

Fall in love with someone you can love.

---

Song: Kids Again Artist: Artist vs Poet

---

Her: Do you love me?

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 4

Pairing: Professor!Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: none (if there are, please let me know)

____________________________________________________

The crisp weekend air hung with a sense of anticipation as you sat by the Great Lake, watching the ominous dance of Dementors patrolling the sky. Lost in your thoughts, you took a drag from your cigarette, the smoke swirling into the air. The haunting memories of the recent train ride to Hogwarts lingered, casting shadows over the present.

"Nasty things, they are," a voice interrupted your contemplation. Startled, you turned to find Remus standing nearby, hands in his pockets, a deep brown and green sweater pulled over his body, looking much like he did as a teenager. He looked timeless.

You glanced at your cigarette before huffing out a short laugh. "I know. I tried to quit, but old habits die hard," you replied with a half-smile.

Remus chuckled before clarifying, "I meant the Dementors," as he produced his own pack of cigarettes. He asked if he could join you, and you nodded in agreement. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the lake stretching out before you.

"So," Remus began, "how has the first week been treating you?" His eyes held a warmth that invited openness.

You sighed, exhaling a plume of smoke. "It's been a whirlwind, to be honest. The whole Sirius Black situation doesn't make it any easier."

Remus nodded in understanding. "I noticed you on the train," he admitted. "Didn't want to disturb your thoughts, but I felt the tension in the air."

You arched an eyebrow. "You were on the train too? Didn't see you."

He shrugged. "I have a way of blending into the background when I want to."

It suddenly got you wondering if that was the man you saw walk past your compartment after the Dementors glided past before you drifted off to sleep. You wanted to ask him but decided that it was the only thing that made sense to you.

You take a thoughtful drag of your cigarette, your eyes narrowing slightly as you change the subject, "So, I heard you brought a boggart into the classroom."

Remus bursts into a hearty laugh before taking a drag from his own cigarette, "Yes, guilty as charged. It went rather well, I must say."

Curiosity gleams in your eyes as you ask, "How did it go? Any surprises?"

Remus smirks, "Well, I did have to step in for young Harry. I assumed his boggart was supposed to be You-Know-Who, but it turned out to be a Dementor."

Your eyebrows furrow in concern, "A Dementor? Why in the world would that be his worst fear?"

Remus takes a contemplative drag from his cigarette before exhaling, "Harry had a rather unpleasant encounter with a Dementor on the train ride here."

Horror fills your expression as you lean in, "What happened? Why did it affect him so much?"

Remus leans back, exhaling a plume of smoke, "It's not just any encounter. Harry's faced horrors in his life that most can't even fathom. Dementors, with their ability to bring forth your worst memories, can be especially harrowing for someone who's been through so much."

Your gaze lingers on Remus, a mixture of concern and empathy pooling in the pit of your stomach, "Poor kid. I can't even imagine."

Remus nods, "It's a heavy burden for someone so young. The effects of trauma can linger, especially when faced with creatures like Dementors."

You look at Remus thoughtfully, curiosity burning in your eyes as you venture to ask, "What about you, Remus? What's your biggest fear?"

Remus hesitates, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again. His response is cryptic, "We all have our shadows, (Y/N). Sometimes, it's better to let them remain in the dark."

The air between you holds a tinge of mystery, leaving you with more questions than answers about the fears that lurk within the depths of Remus Lupin's soul.

_________________________________________________

As you leave your classroom on Monday, your stomach grumbles rather loudly. You had skipped breakfast, so you were looking forward to lunch when you unexpectedly cross paths with Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher. She stops you with a gentle touch on your arm, her wide, mystical eyes fixed on yours.

"My dear (Y/N)," she murmurs, her voice carrying an otherworldly quality. "The spirits have spoken to me, and I sense a foreboding presence around you. Things are not always as they appear."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but also slightly skeptical. Trelawney continues, her gaze unfaltering, "Beware of illusions, for they may lead you astray. The threads of fate are intricately woven, and what seems clear may be shrouded in shadows. Trust your instincts, my child, and tread carefully."

A chill runs down your spine as she imparts this cryptic warning. Trelawney's words linger in the air, leaving you with a sense of unease as you make your way into the Great Hall.

As you enter the Great Hall for lunch, the weight of Professor Trelawney's cryptic words still lingers in your mind, leaving you distracted. You find a seat at the staff table, your face twisted in worry. Professor McGonagall notices your demeanor and, concerned, takes a seat next to you.

"What's the matter, (Y/N)? You seem troubled," she observes, her keen eyes studying your expression.

You force a smile, dismissing her concern, "Oh, it's nothing, Minerva. Just a bit tired, I suppose."

Professor McGonagall isn't easily swayed, and she narrows her eyes, "Tired, or something else bothering you?"

You sigh, relenting a bit, "Alright, there's something on my mind, but I don't want to burden you with it."

She gives you a reassuring look, "Nonsense, my dear. We're colleagues, and we look out for each other. Now, what's troubling you?"

You glance around to ensure no one else is listening before leaning in to share your concern about the cryptic warning you received from Professor Trelawney. McGonagall listens attentively, her expression growing serious.

"Divination can be… enigmatic. But do not let it consume you, (Y/N). Trelawney has a weird message for everyone. Claims the grim looms over a student or two every year," McGonagall rolls her eyes and waves a hand around. "Now, how are your classes going?" she changes the subject.

Relieved for the shift in conversation, you respond, "They're going well. The students seem to enjoy my lessons."

She smiles, "I've heard nothing but praise for the new Charms professor. It's good to see you settling in."

Trying to deflect attention from yourself, you ask, "And how is Professor Lupin doing?"

McGonagall smirks ever so slightly, "Ah, Professor Lupin. He's adjusting quite well, though I must say, some students find his classes rather… interesting."

Minerva, however, isn't quite finished. She slyly remarks, "And what about our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? How's he finding his return to Hogwarts?"

You feel heat creeping up your cheeks, realizing she's subtly bringing up the subject of your interactions with Remus. “Oh, well, I haven't spoken all that much to him, you know. We're just colleagues. With very busy and different schedules and all."

Minerva, ever the master of subtlety, smirks knowingly. "Just colleagues, you say?"

Before you can respond, the familiar voice of Remus interrupts, "Hello, (Y/N), Professor McGonagall." He takes a seat next to you, offering a warm greeting to both of you.

Minerva looks positively smug, her eyes darting between you and Remus. "Ah, perfect timing. We were just discussing the camaraderie among our esteemed staff members."

You shift uncomfortably, attempting to downplay any insinuations. "Just casual conversation, Professor."

Remus, unaware of the undertones, joins the discussion. "Well, I'm glad to be back at Hogwarts. It's been a while."

Minerva winks discreetly at you before turning her attention to Dumbledore.

You shift your focus to Remus, observing him as he cuts up his meal. His appearance doesn't go unnoticed; there's a disheveled air about him, an unmistakable weariness etched on his features. Despite the exhaustion, there's an enduring handsomeness that hasn't faded over all these years. Feeling your gaze, Remus looks up, catching your eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, embarrassment creeping over you. Clearing your throat, you decide to break the silence. "How are you doing, Remus?"

He looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh, I'm fine, just a bit tired. The start of the school year is taking some getting used to."

Nodding, you empathize with the sentiment. "It's been quite an adjustment for all of us. The students are lovely, though."

Remus chuckles softly, a genuine warmth in his tired eyes. "Yes, they are. Hogwarts has a way of making everything feel like home, doesn't it?" You hum in agreement.

The conversation with Remus flows, a comforting rhythm in the bustling atmosphere of the Great Hall. As you delve into discussions about magical theory and the quirks of your respective classes, a thought nags at the back of your mind, demanding acknowledgment.

"Remus," you begin tentatively, choosing your words carefully, "what do you make of the situation with Sirius? The Ministry seems quite concerned."

Remus's expression tightens imperceptibly, a shadow passing over his features. You catch the subtle change and press on, curiosity mingling with concern. "I mean, you were quite close with him."

A flicker of hesitation dances in Remus's eyes before he responds. "Yes, but, (Y/N), it's a complicated matter, and I'd rather not dwell on it."

His guarded response raises your curiosity further, and you can't help but press a bit more. "Complicated? Remus, we're friends. You can talk to me. I've noticed something's been bothering you."

Remus lets out a soft sigh, his gaze momentarily distant. "It's just… Sirius and I have a history. You know this. Hogwarts was both the best and the worst time of our lives. Seeing him plastered all over the newspapers, under these circumstances, brings back memories that I'd rather keep buried."

You nod understandingly, sensing the weight of his words. "I'm here for you, Remus. If you ever need to talk or share, I'm a friend. Colleague or not."

A fleeting expression of gratitude passes through Remus's eyes, and for a moment, it feels like you've breached a barrier.

In a moment of serendipity, your fingers graze against Remus's, the contact fleeting and unintentional. Both of you pause, eyes meeting briefly in a shared acknowledgment of the gentle touch. It's a heartbeat, a whisper of connection.

Time seems to momentarily suspend, the world around you fading into a soft blur. The contact, though brief, carries an electric charge, a spark of connection that resonates in the depths of your being. A subtle warmth blooms in your chest, a blend of nostalgia, curiosity, and a hint of something more.

You watch as Remus's eyes flicker with a subtle recognition as your hands accidentally touch. For a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—a fleeting mix of surprise and vulnerability. His gaze lingers on your hand for a fraction of a second longer than expected, as if the contact stirred forgotten moments.

[battlfofendorr]

Second

Christopher – Rio - is six foot one, so there’s never been any hiding in the crowd – no blending in – as if he ever would have had that chance, anyway with his jawline, his cheek bones?  He slinks low, hands in pockets, duck that head, minimizes himself with that trademark black-on-black-on-darkness wardrobe, the knit beanie – even as he makes sure it’s all pristine and brand name, the lot of it, because really, there isn’t any hiding.

As if the soccer moms in the neighborhood haven’t seen him often enough, haven’t already puzzled out their own reasons for him to be darkening their street corner.

And if there weren’t enough reasons for people to stare, there’s all that ink – a neck tattoo, and hands, arms, a roadmap on his body of all the places he never wanted to go. It enhances his looks – makes him not just good-looking, but slightly edgy. Slightly dangerous.

There’s scars, too, but isn’t that just a byproduct of life lived? Not that the old biddies peering around curtain panels can see the scars.

There’s something insubstantial to his attitude - the way he alternates between cocky and trying to fade into the background – as if he ever could? – that confuses them.  

It’s not the swagger of a fuck-buddy on his way to get some.

Maybe that’s what causes the old ladies to get the most gossipy – because he’s as good-looking as the mother-of-four he’s there to see, and everyone knows, beautiful people belong together.

It’s a silly notion – the kind you see on all that Hallmark crap that people pretend to buy in to.  

As if plans ever played in to it – as if he’d ever even planned to be exactly where he was: a former – and ongoing -  felon, part-time raising his kid, mostly not, and running – or at least managing – the better part of a crime empire, half his men on double payrolls, allegiances – loyalties – mutable as all hell?

His foundation’s rockier than a gravel pit, and the only part he’s absolutely sure on – besides Marcus, his boy – is her. The naïve little housewife with her foot sliding inch by inch into his world.   

Rio looks down – those cool brown eyes that make so many ladies giggle or back away, nervously skimming toward the ground, not avoiding eye contact exactly, or scrutiny, just moving out of the line of sight,  almost guilty as he cuts down the walkway to the back of the house in the too-nice neighborhood he’s spent far too much time in for his – or anyone’s – liking.

Maybe once that had been the dream. But if he’da known, then, what he knows now, how could he have even wanted it?  And maybe he wouldn’t have even gotten it, anyhow?

It’s the eternal question, though.  Would he have washed out as a boxer? Gotten his own gym, slipped into the role of coach?  Would he have his own proteges, and not just lackeys waiting to become statistics?  Would he have the house, the family?  Not just one kid, but the soccer team worth?  The naivety that let some people drift through life on a cloud of happiness?

Would it even have made him happy?

Doesn’t matter – he’s greedy as fuck, and he wants it – just for a moment – but then the bubble pops as his phone rings.

No point wanting what you ain’t got, right?

“Hey, Grams,” he says, answering the phone quickly, smoothly, prepared to dodge the many questions she’d bound to ask: how are you, where are you, are you being smart?  As if he’d ever had a choice.  “Wha’s up?”

But it’s not Grams on the phone – nah, his life ain’t that easy. It’s his best friend. Business associate. Right hand man.  Mick – because that’s who it is, Mick -  doesn’t have to say a word, because just the breathing – the quiet – tells him that much.

“Mick,” he says, and it’s a bullet to the gut. There’s only one reason for him to be calling on her phone. On her number. “Where’d they take ‘er?”

And for a minute, he’s so sure it’ll be a hospital, because crime life might be his inheritance, but Grams – the OG boss lady – is untouchable.

But that quiet – that stillness – it stretches on too long, then the phone goes dead, and just like that, his plans shift again. 

Maybe Mick hadn’t thought he’d be ID’s quickly. Maybe he’d ran out of words, or the strength to say them.

Didn’t matter, because the only other man that could pull Mick’s strings was incarcerated.

And if Nick was starting the old games up all over again – if he was putting Rio in the place he’d built for him, the cage he’d built on lies and slander – well, at least he had a second for the upcoming duel.

Rio glanced through Elizabeth’s window – just a glimpse of her moving canisters and bake wear in the kitchen, all done up like she's waiting for someone. Him, probably, because he really has made too much of a habit of dropping in.   It's like watching other moms do yoga. A zen space, all of her own. He could ruin it - pop her bubble like the phonecall popped his - but like a gift, he'll let her have that – let her have the night. If they're going to war with his brother-cousin, she’ll need the stored-up inner peace bullshit baking always gave her.

And really, he wasn’t a monster. Even he could admit she was damn good at it. In the morning, he’d need to rally all his troops. For better or worse, that means her – and her two little flunkies. Because really. If they can turn Mick, they can turn everyone else, too.  

Everyone but her. Might as well let her bring snacks to the war room. And maybe a juice box or two.

[negative-speedforce]

Club Night

Ft. @vexic929's Berrie and Eoland

Eoland almost didn't recognize her doppelgangers' brats when she got back from another satisfying day of stalking (and tormenting) Barbara Allen. She could hear the music from the house from down the street, some loud, repetitive track with a heavy bass that seemed to be saying not much else than "I'm your number one".

"I'm ready to go-" Berrie noticed Eoland in the corner. "-oh. Hi, Auntie Eoland."

"Come on, hurry up!" Sivonne, who appeared to be at least six inches taller than usual due to the massive platform heels they were wearing, dragged Berrie along by the hand. Berrie finished applying small, sparkly gems to his face, then turned to Siv.

"Don't call me that."

"Let him have his fun." Siv tossed a lock of their cherry-red wig over their shoulder. "Aren't you going to ask where we're going?"

Eoland narrowed her eyes. "No."

"Good, because you're not invited. You'll probably end up... murdering the DJ or something."

"We're going clubbing! Siv got me a fake ID!" Berrie twirled, her glow necklaces-turned-belts clacking around her waist. "How do I look?"

Eoland didn't even bother looking. Both their outfits were eyesores, composed of far too much glitter, fishnets, and glowsticks. "Fine."

"Hey, before you say anything, it's a rite of passage, sneaking into somewhere underage." Siv said. "Then again, even if you were to say something, it'd be rich coming from you, since ID fraud is a far less serious crime than being a serial killer."

Eoland's eyebrow twitched. "Sometimes I wonder why I don't kill you and get it over with, obnoxious brat."

"Oh, shut up, you know you love me." Siv elbowed Eoland. "Now, come on, let's go get wasted- or not. Because we're speedsters."

"You're sure this ID isn't gonna get us busted?"

"Absolutely, I had my friend Cat make it. It even has a dead person's social security number attached to it." Siv waved Berrie's concerns off, stopping in a mirror to apply sharp, winged eyeliner. "Fuck, I never dress femme, this is so hard."

"Here, stand still." Berrie offered, approaching Siv. He carefully matched the wing on Siv's right eye to their left, taking an extra moment to make sure the line stayed straight while it went over the dimpled scar over their eye.

Siv looked in the hall mirror again, throwing their hair back dramatically. "Berrie, get your ass over here."

Berrie scampered over to their pseudo-sibling, looking in the mirror. "Wow. We look hot."

"You two brats left without a designated driver." Eoland explained.

"Damn right, we do."

In twin streaks of lightning, the duo vanished. Eoland breathed a sigh of relief, going over to the couch. Finally, some peace and quiet.

She was never going to admit it, but the 'Instagram' that Siv had signed her up for was absolutely addicting. She'd sit down and look at it for a mere moment, then look up and realize hours had passed. Damn you, 21st-century social media.

Eoland scrolled through the phone Siv had bought her, until she reached a recently posted photo of Siv and Berrie. The duo were laughing and dancing, and Siv had two giant margaritas clenched in her hands.

But what was that in the background? Long legs, red dress, brown hair? Could it be....

Eoland tore through the house, raiding a gold crop top and matching shorts from Siv's closet. She didn't want to dress so revealing, but in an environment like that, where Barbara would be sure to notice her if she wasn't careful, she had to blend in.

When Eoland reached the club, the pounding bass and bright lights immediately assaulted her senses like a jackhammer into her temples.

"What are you doing here?" Siv danced closer to Eoland.

"Sure." Siv raised an eyebrow. "And you totally didn't see my Instagram posts and get jealous of how much fun we're having. Not to mention we're all speedsters and I don't own a car. Well, not since the cops found out the last one was stolen. You look great, by the way. Other than the fact that you're wearing my clothes."

"I can't exactly come in wearing my suit, can I?"

"You have other clothes." Siv narrowed her eyes. "But never mind. We're here to have fun."

Eoland waited for Siv and Berrie to dance away. Then, she spotted her. I have you now, Barbara.

She stalked the brown-haired woman to the bathroom, where she put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thought you could hide from me here, did you?"

"Jesus H. Bartholomew Christ, back off!" The lady, who was definitely not Barbara, pushed Eoland away.

Eoland's first instinct was to smash her fist through the woman's chest, though she ultimately resisted it. In a crowded place like this, she'd only draw attention to herself- attention that she didn't need.

She turned to the mirror, sneering and baring her unnaturally sharp teeth. She gripped the edges of the sink until her knuckles turned white. The porcelain threatened to crack under her grip. She looked ridiculous. What was she doing here, anyway?

Eoland heard giggling and whispering from outside the bathroom. A group of three young women came in, followed closely by Berrie, a poorly-concealed bag of white powder in one of the unfamiliar women's hands.

Eoland sighed, grabbing Berrie by the collar, dragging them out of the bathroom faster than anyone could react.

"You're not doing cocaine in a bathroom stall with strangers." Eoland scoffed. "Your speed is unstable, so who knows how that'll affect you? And they could have laced it with something, you don't know that. Has no one taught you anything, brat?"

"They were hot!" Berrie retorted. "There goes my chance..."

"No amount of physical attractiveness is worth your life. Know that."

"That's rich, coming from you." Berrie mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

[scionheart]

Closed RP || Following Tracks

{ Background Ambiance - OPTIONAL }

Ambiance filled with conversation, occasional laughter and the clinking of drink glasses surrounds him. Walking with one hand behind his back, he uses his free hand to adjust his tie. Despite the suit being tailored to him it remains one of his least favorite things to wear. The occasion, however, called for it. A celebration of a sort, held at Oasis. Vishkar Technologies is holding the event in honor of their graduate students from their program. An elaborate send-off, if you will, before they’re integrated into the workforce.

This isn't an unusual assignment for the assassin. The amount of times he's had to do this is rather low, yet he still has the training. Talon sent him, as his target would recognize any of the other agents. The archer is relatively new to their collection. They'd have a better chance to get close. Somewhat.

Gliding by a table containing drinks eyes shift between the options. Wine. Chardonnay... More wine. He could kill for some saké right now. He quietly sighs. Can't be too choosey. Gently taking one of the Chardonnay glasses by it's stem, he then walks over to the side, lifting the edge to his lips. His brow creases a little with the first sip.

It's... a little much for his taste. Well, it's just to blend in, anyhow. His eyes scan the crowd now and again. The image of the objective in his mind bounces around until that image meets a visual match across the way. He stays put in his spot for a few minutes, observing them in his peripherals. The other a male seemingly about the same age as him, brown hair, good bit taller. He integrates back into the crowd, taking his time to path his way over without gaining any immediate attention.

As soon as there becomes an opening from guests passing between them, he steps over next to the other man. Looking down at his glass, he speaks up, rather nonchalantly.

"You seem to know your way around these events,"

He takes another small sip before sharp eyes shift up to meet their face.

"Cassidy."

@colecassiidy