#they have matching goatees... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecoochiefairy · 2 months ago

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belle. onyankopon.

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

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

visual. visual. visual.

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

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

COLUMN IDEA DUE TODAY. RUN IT BY YOUR BOSS.

“…Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s until he heard a voice.

“Onyankopon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—“

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Mr. Boudreaux.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My extra sugars?”

She pauses.

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

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

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

“Coming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh—you know him?”

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

“Don’t think so,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s at a loss for words.

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

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

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

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

She turns her head back to look at the building.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She responds, “No, I don’t.”

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

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

NOLA’S BREW.

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

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

“9th ward. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twenty-nine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Editor-in-chief, unfortunately.”

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

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

“You’ nervous or sum’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you tryna’ buy a picture of me?”

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

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

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

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

“Am I—interrupting something?”

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

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

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

“I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nola!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye, Onyankopon from 7th.”

𝓐ᥫ᭡

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

Nola blinks, “Boy? Who?”

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

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

“He was aight.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But he wanted pictures of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

men too, do you?”

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

He sighs, “Too bad. I’m gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What other places did you find?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, they’ reserved just for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You over there messing with him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nola giggles, “Understood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was definitely sound advice.

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

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

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

“So now you gon’ let me do it?”

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

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

“I’m serious, Ony.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just the tables.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, he’s a mess.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that your way of asking me?”

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

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

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

Onyankopon smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

“Look.”

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

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

“You speak French?”

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

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

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

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

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

“C��mere.”

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, no.”

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

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

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

She blinks, “Uh—what should I say?”

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

“Lemme’ hear more about yo’ momma.”

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

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

“Yeah? Why they’ terrified you?”

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

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

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

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

“You miss her?”

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

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

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

“Date?”

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

She blinks, realizing what she’d just said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. You one of them niggas.”

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

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

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

“Well isn’t that boring?”

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

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

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

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

He muttered, “A beer. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I boost your big ass ego?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why does he think that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want sum’ to drink?”

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

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

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

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

“You have a record player?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

She’s unsure of how to answer that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah. You’ fine right here.”

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

Her voice is different.

“…O—Ony…”

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

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

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

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

“Why you callin’ me like that, huh?”

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

“You’re making me wanna’ fuck.”

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

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

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

“Wait.”

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

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

“What you’ doin?”

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

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

“Ony, Jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t help the smirk along his face.

“Spoiled and sleepy, huh?”

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

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

A small laugh escapes from him, “Yeah?”

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

“I got a woman, everybody.”

“Onyankopon?”

“Hm?”

“Sleep.”

“Aight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?! That fuck ass nigga bro—“

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

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

“Everytime I called it went straight to voicemail.”

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

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

That makes her chest feel heavy.

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

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

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

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

“Nola.”

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

“I needa’ talk to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“Nahh, don’t be tryna’ front now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not?”

“Not at all.”

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

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

“We’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

He murmurs, “I feel undressed.”

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

He winks, “Will do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t late for anything, was I?”

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

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

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

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

Yet, eyes were still on her.

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

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

“You miss her?”

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

That was Nola’s voice.

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

Her fingertips fly to her lips.

“Oh my god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Thank you—for this. For you.”

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

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

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

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

“Aight’. I’ll find you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Imma’ get you a bottle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look so good, Ony.”

Yeah—sober Nola was nowhere to be found.

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

“Kiss me.”

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

“Nasty ass.”

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

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

“Want your dick in my mouth, baby.”

“Nola—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come play with em’.”

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

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

“You look so muhfuckin’ good.”

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

Her voice is high, vulnerable.

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

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

“Ony,” her mouth quivers, “Y—yes…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ony…”

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

Her body trembles.

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

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

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

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

Nola’s eyes meet his, she’s whining, “Oohshittt, Ony.”

He pulls his palm away from the back of her neck, finding his fingers swimming back into the ocean of her curls—he yanks her head forward, placing it within a position to give her complete sight of his dick disappearing into her walls.

“Ony what?” he grunts, “You keep callin’ me—Keep whinin’ for me. Open yo’ fuckin’ pussy, watch this shit cum.”

Her mouth drops open, eyes rolling as she does watch—the girth of him somehow becomes swallowed by her walls, the cream of her arousal increasing with each stroke—Nola moans loudly, her hand sliding between her legs, fingers softly rubbing at her clit.

Her eyes are blown, pleasured tears pooling at her brown irises as sniffles, “I’m c—cumming…f—fuck.”

Onyankopon’s tip feels weighted as it’s choked by the snug of her walls, nearly pushing him out as her arousal gushes through the warmth of her folds. His own hand replaces hers as his thumb is lightly playing with her already sensitive clit, watching as her inner thighs fluttered in response. He’s still stroking, “Let it out, baby. Goood muhfuckin’ girl. Keep cummin’’.”

The emotions she feels pooling from her body overwhelms her, arm reaching up as she pulls him down for them to now be chest to chest. Onyankopon buries his face within her neck as she drags her other hand along his back, helping with his continuous thrusts, grinding him forward to go deeper into her.

She clutches along his body, her shoulders trembling as she repeats to him in whiney cries, “I’m cumming…”

She presses her nose against his cheek—her eyes boring into his, her pleasure, her tears, they flush along her face as she whimpers, “I…I need you, Ony…”

Onyankopon growls against her throat, "I need you, too, Mama, “ His thrusts slow, deep, his hips rocking forward, “Youn’ know how bad I need you. A nigga ain’t going nowhere."

He swipes his thumb beneath her cheek, taking in the beauty of her face. Pretty from the moment he met her, pretty from the moment she opened up to him, pretty from the moment he wanted her. He gives her a low moan, his lower abdomen tightening as he glares, “I’m finna’ bust, baby—fuck.”

Nola locks her lips against his, whimpering along his mouth, muttering to him, “Cum in me.”

“Shit got you talkin’ crazy,” his voice is dark, “Quit playin’.”

“Please,” she pressed her forehead to his, her soft cries making Onyankopon grunt at her pleas, “Please, Ony…”

His dick is pulsing, beating inside of her—her voice is like an erotic poison—the warmth of his release makes her feel even more full, moans syncing together in a sultry symphony. Onyankopon presses his nose along her shoulder, latching kisses, giving her an affection he’d never stop giving her.

The pleasure they’d given one another is something neither of them expected. Nola is beneath Onyankopon, staring up at him with that face of hers. The alabaster of her skin is flushed, the caramel mixing between the complexion equally reddened, hair sprawled around the freckles of her cheeks.

He rubs his thumb along the swell of her lip, “You prettier than a muhfuckin’ picture, Nola.”

She digs her face within his palm, shyly giggling, “I probably look a mess.”

“Nah,” he murmurs, “You so fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t no probably.”

His hand drops to the swell of her ass, giving it a squeeze, “Imma’ need you like this all the time.”

Of course, she deflects from his compliments.

“…Wanna cuddle again? And give me butt rubs? I’m sleepy,” her voice is a bit of a murmur, “I wanna talk ‘cause I like you—but I’m sleepy.”

“Aight’—come‘ere.”

He pulls her into his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping her, his hands sliding up and down the smoothness of her thighs.

“You heard me?” Her voice is soft, “I like you, Ony. Youn’ like me?” She questions, face already sunken within his chest, eyes closing at the same time.

“Now you’ all open and shit. You wasn’t like that before—“

A finger flicks on his cheek. He chuckles.

“But forreal’—You know I do,” he murmurs, “You ain’t never gotta’ doubt a nigga again. Go to sleep.”

His fingers brush through her hair, massaging her scalp as she relaxes against him. It’s as if they remake the scene of their first night together—she lays atop of his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat that’s a comforting tune. They seem to have one more thing in common—the want to be like this, again. And again. And again.

#onyakapon #onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon fluff #onyankopon x you #onyankopon x black reader smut #ony smut #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #onyankapon #aot oneshots #aot smut #black characters

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 5 months ago

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where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me!

ft; itoshi sae, michael kaiser, don lorenzo

how he reacts to your cheers after scoring the goal last second.

a/n: hear me out on lorenzo guys--like he's lowkey kinda fine…

------

itoshi sae

3…2…-!

“AND ITOSHI SAE SCORES THE FINISHING GOAL! the ending score is 5-4, with Real Madrid snatching the win!”

screams, tears, and cheers erupted in the stands instantaneously. you jumped up, a large ITOSHI sign printed on your long oversized jersey, cheering like no one else in the stands. some of sae's teammates jumped onto him as they cheered, although sae shoved them off before walking away.

his eyes glided across the crowds, hundreds of banners of his name in the stands. his eyes glossed over each of them as if they were nothing, although to him, those banners truly were nothing. without his skill and looks, those banners would have been nonexistent. finally, his eyes landed on something, and his pupils dilated.

there you were.

those banners and screaming fans were nothing, but you were everything. your messy hair and red face and angelically wide smile, much too oversized jersey that in sae's opinion fit perfectly on you. a tiny, barely even noticeable smile made its way onto sae's face. you looked down at him, eyes meeting his.

i’m so proud of you.

you had only mouthed five short words, but a blossoming feeling of warmth bloomed in sae's chest. and in that moment, to sae, there was no crowd, there was no media, there were no interviewers waiting to bombard him with questions, there were no teammates trying to jump onto him.

it was just you and him.

------

michael kaiser

“AND KAISER SHOOTS A KAISER IMPACT AT THE LAST SECOND! the ending score is 3-2!”

fans cheered, haters booed, but screams were unavoidable. flashes were everywhere, pictures being taken of kaiser soon to increase in number once again. kaiser waved a few times before beginning to look around the field, ignoring his teammates telling him about how the media wanted to interview him.

where were you?

finally, his eyes landed. the oversized KAISER jersey that hugged your knees, which had a drawing of a rose in blue sharpie and kaiser's signature on the part of the jersey that covered your heart. kaiser snickered on the outside, though his stomach was doing backflips on the inside. you came! he had thought that you were too busy in college.

kaiser raised his left his to his mouth, kissing his ring finger and blowing the kiss to you. he could see you laugh, which inflated his ego through the roof, before you also kissed your ring finger and blew a kiss to him back. the paparazzi had a keen eye, however, and they noticed it.

now, the mystery of the ring on kaiser's left ring finger has always had different interpretations by fans. after all, kaiser never denied having a lover or fiancée in interviews, as he often just smiled slyly before just simply asking for the next question. but to many other more soccer biased fans, they believed that kaiser didn't have enough care for other people to love. after all, everyone sees how kaiser treats ness on tv.

but the matching shining sapphire gems on golden bands on each of both of your left ring fingers suggested differently.

“i love you!”

kaiser swore that he just felt his heart explode when he heard you yell out those three familiar words with such a beautiful smile on your face.

------

don lorenzo

to most, don lorenzo was an unlovable creature aside from soccer.

completely golden teeth, messy purple black hair, far too lanky for anyone to be comfortable around, eyeshadow, and a small goatee. truly, his looks are unlovable. only when he scores a goal is he the most loved by people. well, lorenzo himself loves it too; more achievements in soccer means more money for him, right?

“ANDDDDDD LORENZO, A DEFENDER AND MEMBER OF THE U20 GENERATION 11, SCORES! the ending score is 4-3!”

lorenzo waved with both of his arms, a smile wide on his face. after a few seconds of his fans cheers, his eyes scanned the crowd, knowing that the love of his life would be in the VIP section somewhere. and he was right, the LORENZO jersey--possibly the only one in the crowds--was quite noticeable on you. everyone knew that you were lorenzo's girlfriend; in fact, in the soccer fandom, it's become a bit of a meme that “if lorenzo can bag a baddie, then you can too.” (affectionately, of course. but you weren't nearly as fond or accepting of the meme as lorenzo is.) after all, who could pass up the opportunity to gossip about how lorenzo's girlfriend is the girl who gave him money and food back when he lived on the streets?

“good job! i'm so proud of you! you did so good!” you shouted, smiling as both of your arms waved above your head. you blew him a few kisses before a smile crawled onto his face too. a few fans next to you whispered about you, but you couldn't care less.

and you know what? to lorenzo, money was worth the world, but you were worth the universe.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 days ago

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How to Describe Faces in Writing

A human face reveals a lot about a person.

In creative writing, describing a character’s face can uncover information about who they are and how they feel.

Writers can zoom in on individual features, like the eyes or mouth, or describe a face in its entirety to paint a picture of a character.

Develop a character through their most telling attribute—their face.

Tips for Describing Faces in Your Writing

Use figurative language when describing a character’s face. When you’re introducing a character for the first time and want the reader to create an image in their mind, use figurative language to describe the character’s face instead of just stating the obvious qualities. For example, you can use similes and metaphors. It’s okay to simply say, “She has blonde hair,” but you could also use a simile: “Her hair was golden like the sun.” In Great Expectations Charles Dickens uses a unique metaphor to describe a feature of a character’s face: “His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling.”

Create facial expressions that reveal emotions. How a character’s eyes, eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth, and chin move in unison can let a reader in on their emotions. A character can have a facial tic when they get nervous. Whether it’s raised eyebrows and a mouth curved into a smile or a furrowed brow and an upper lip curled into a scowl, you can use a character’s expressions instead of dialogue to reveal their feelings about a situation.

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Realize that eyes are windows to the soul. There are endless ways to depict eyes. Describe obvious characteristics like eye color—green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, gray eyes, or black eyes. Highlight their shape—round, almond, narrow. Think about the entire orbital structure, from eyelids to eyelashes. Illustrate how the eyes are placed in relation to the character’s face—deep-set, wide-set, or close-set. Give eyes their own movements to tap into a character’s feelings. Let a character’s eyes twinkle, squint, gaze, or glare.

Describe your character’s skin. The tone and texture of a character’s skin can provide insights into a character’s life. A child’s face might be freckled. A sickly character might look pasty. An old cowboy might be good looking and rugged with craggy skin.

Give your character unique facial features. Set a character apart with distinguishing facial features. Give them dimples, freckles, or unique markings on their face. Give them poor vision so they need to wear eyeglasses. Maybe they wear heavy makeup or have piercings. Think of different ways you can create unique facial features that help define a character.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#description #writing notes #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #writing reference #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing tips #writing advice #on writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #joshua reynolds #writing resources

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mggslover · 5 months ago

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Reflections

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her. Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: crime x angst? x fluff? Content warnings: post prisoner!spencer (but no spoilers bc i'm still on s11 lol, so sorry for inaccuracies), one time mention of suicide and rape (no details), fade to black smut so suggestive content Word count: 3,8k A/n: my own entry for #lovers1kevent ! bit different from what i usually write. didn't exactly turn out like how i had envisioned it, but i'm still very curious to hear your thoughts!

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I see my reflection in your eyes.” The sound of a clock striking midnight made you jump in your seat, the plastic stool screeching loudly against the cold, concrete floor. The interrogation room was filled with nothing but the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the pounding of your heartbeat. Everything in this room felt eerie: a harsh light shone down on you, irritating your eyes, and there was no escaping your reflection in the two-way mirror in front of you. You observed yourself through the glass, and to put it simply, you looked awful. The dress you were wearing was crumpled as it hung loosely on your frame, the dark circles under your eyes were noticeable from a distance, and your eyes themselves expressed no spark. They looked dimmed, with no emotion behind the colored irises. Though, that had been so for a while now.

The creak of the door jolted you out of your thoughts. You turned your head, feeling disappointment when the same agent as before walked in. He wasn’t hard on the eyes: dark skin, rolled-up sleeves that showed his muscular forearms, a neatly trimmed goatee covering his sharp jaw, and eyes that looked just as cutting as they darted over you. Maybe, in another life, you would’ve considered dating him. In a life where he didn’t suspect you of killing three men.

He stayed quiet as he made his way over to you, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table. He placed a folder in front of him, shoving it toward you. “Still not going to talk?”

You cleared your throat. Nevertheless, the words came out hoarse. “I have nothing to say.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance before crossing his arms. “Do I need to remind you of your rights? You can contact a lawyer, or we can get you one.”

“I also have the right to remain silent.”

A small huff escaped his lips, and you noticed the way he clenched his fingers, as though trying to hold himself back from making a comment he’d regret.

His eyes landed back on you, glaring. “A girl like you won’t survive in prison.”

“Well, then it’s good that I’m not going to prison,” you snapped back with a small smile. You weren’t going to let him intimidate you. You didn’t do anything wrong, yet here you were.

“I’d lose the attitude if I were you because it’s not looking good.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, he cut you off. “Open the folder.”

You inhaled deeply before obeying. You hated the way you couldn’t help the nerves from creeping in. Your hand trembled as you opened the folder. The picture that greeted you was one of three lifeless bodies slumped over each other in an empty alley. A bitter tang formed in the back of your throat, but you ignored it, forcing yourself to look back at the agent.

“Looks familiar?”

Your eyes flicked over the image again. “What exactly are you referring to?”

“The people. Do you recognize them?”

You nodded.

“I want a clear answer,” he said, his voice raised.

“Yes,” you replied, matching his tone. “We went to college together.”

There was no way you could forget them. Unfortunately. The idea that they were wiped off the face of earth gave you a strange sense of comfort. Maybe now you could find the peace you’d been looking for. The peace she was looking for.

The agent seemed relieved to have gotten an answer out of you. “And you met up with them again today. Is that right?” he queried, nodding toward the folder.

You got the hint and pulled the first picture off the pile, revealing another underneath it. It was a selfie taken by two women. You spotted yourself in the right corner by the bar, in conversation with the three men he was referring to. His gaze stayed focused on you, trying to see if you’d reveal any emotion.

“It was our college reunion. As you can see I wasn’t the only one there,” you explained.

“Multiple witnesses have told us you were the last person seen talking to them.”

You shrugged. “Is that something significant?”

“Not necessarily so,” he answered, sitting up straighter. “What is, is that you left through the emergency exit. And what makes it even more suspicious is that you left right after the victims got their drinks served.”

You gave him a blank look.

“The victims were poisoned.”

Ah.

You offered him a tight smile. “I think that’s something you need to bother the bartender about.”

“We checked him out already. The only person we can connect to this case is you.”

A silence followed. It truly didn’t seem like you’d be leaving anytime soon. You rubbed your hands down on the material of your dress, gathering courage.

“It’s an unfortunate coincidence. Like I told you, I had nothing to do with it. I don’t want anything to do with them,” you clarified, the disdain evident on your tongue.

The agent turned his head around, looking at the two-way mirror. The thought of other agents standing behind that wall, all analyzing you full of judgement, made your skin crawl.

“Seems like you’re not too fond of the men.”

You scoffed, “No one is.”

“What about Natalie Fisher?” he wondered aloud. “She seemed close to you. We found multiple pictures dating back to high school.”

Like a gust of wind, the memories came back to you. How you found Natalie standing in front of your college dorm room, smiling brightly as she introduced herself as your roommate. You instantly hit it off: sharing the same humor, the same passions. Only a year younger than you, but a carbon copy. From that day on you were inseparable.

It all came back to that one night — that one time you bailed on her, deciding studying for an upcoming exam was more important than joining her at a frat party. It was only when she called you awake in the middle of the night, her voice shaking as her words tripped over her tongue, telling you she didn’t know where she was and how she woke up in an empty alley, possibly drugged and with her clothes torn — that you knew you made the biggest mistake in your life.

You shook the thoughts away. Pursing your lips as you shrugged. “She was. I don’t know why you’re bringing her up.”

“Her report says she died two years ago from suicide. Or did you kill her as well?”

It felt like he’d knocked the breath out of you. You made a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “You’re sick,” you spat in disbelief.

“I’m sick?” He chuckled sarcastically. “You’re the one who murdered those people.”

“I didn’t murder anyone!”

The sound of your yelling reverberated off the concrete walls, the echo scaring you. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back tears as you bit your tongue. There goes your attempt at staying calm. He was playing games with your mind. You knew this was all a trick — a way to get you to admit to the crimes he was naming. And it drove you crazy that it was having an effect.

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” you muttered.

-`♡´-

Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as he looked through the glass. You’d been sitting there for three hours, forty-three minutes, and twenty-six seconds, counting. He didn’t know what it was about you that made it impossible to look away. Hotch had told him to go home. Hotch was certain that they got the right unsub, and he assured him that you’d confess at some point. But he couldn’t get himself to move. To turn his head even. All he felt was a nagging guilt as he watched you being questioned by Morgan. It was a different experience to see an interrogation when he’s been in one himself. He now understood what it was like. How pressuring their questions can be, how the weight of a sentence is crushed on your shoulders, and how they keep pushing you to the point where you even start doubting your own truth.

All he could think of when he saw you was innocence. A soft, radiant white light surrounded you. You were bright even against the harshness of the room. There was no rational way to explain how he felt, only that he sensed the deepest desire to keep you safe from everything that could hurt you.

“She’s working on my nerves,” Morgan exclaimed, tension visible in his shoulders as he stomped out of the interrogation room.

“We can’t stop,” Hotch stated. “We haven’t gotten an answer out of her yet.”

Morgan let out a deep huff. “It’s clear that she did it.”

Spencer's focus was back on you. Since he’s been to prison he’s been more aligned with his feelings. His heart overpowering his mind at times.

“She’s not our unsub,” Spencer spoke up, surprising even himself with the firmness of his voice.

Everyone looked at him expectantly, waiting for the genius revelation he always had. But the room stayed silent.

Hotch eyed him, “What makes you say that?”

“I just know.” Spencer replied, not caring to elaborate further. He nudged Derek aside and headed for the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

He pulled the heavy metal door open, at once met with your doe eyes as you faced him. For the first time tonight, you didn’t flinch when someone entered.

Spencer had to swallow. His gaze momentarily dropped to the floor, feeling overwhelmed by how beautiful you looked up close. You seemed tired, cold, yet somehow angelic.

His eyes never left yours as he made his way over to you. You held his gaze, observing him with the same intensity as he was. He carried a calm, magnetic presence, which made you feel an unexplainable urge to get closer to him.

“Are you cold?” he eventually asked, his voice gentle and considerate.

You blinked at his question, clearly not expecting it. You remembered how you were only wearing a light dress, noticing the goosebumps that had formed on your bare legs. Inevitably, you nodded.

He surprised you again by taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders. The fabric felt heavy, enveloping you like a warm blanket.

“Thank you,” you silently mumbled, noticing a small dimple appear in his cheek.

He sat down in front of you, resting his arms on the table between you, as though compelled to get as close as possible. The moment felt intimate, your eyes locked on his tender brown ones, making the world fade around you. “I believe you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, a frown formed on your face as you realized he wasn’t about to say more. “What?”

“I believe you,” he repeated in the same composed manner. He leaned forward even further, and it was then that you noticed you had subconsciously mirrored his movement, drawn to him like a magnetic pull.

“They suspect you, but I don’t.”

He didn’t need to rephrase his words for you to understand who he meant by them. You could almost feel the other agents’ glaring stares pressing down on you through the glass.

“Try to forget about them,” he reminded you, as if reading your thoughts. You didn’t look up to face him, instead your focus was on the proximity of your hands on the table, his finger just inches away from touching yours. Spencer noticed the look in your eyes, and moved his little finger just enough to brush against yours.

An electric shock coursed through you. Simultaneously, both of you shuddered, stunned as you saw the other wearing the same stupefied expression. Sure, it could’ve been a static shock, but something told you it was more than that. And by the look of the curly haired agent, he felt the same.

“Why don’t you?” you asked, returning to the subject. “Suspect me, I mean.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “Because I know what it’s like to be in a situation like you are.” He saw the confusion written on your face, continuing his explanation. “There’s something about being in a room like this — being treated like you’re guilty before you even speak — that makes you start questioning your own truth.”

Questions flooded your mind, but you chose not to press further. You had someone who believed you, you weren’t going to ruin that opportunity by being too curious.

“So, what now?” your voice sounded more sure, hopeful even.

“Usually, we ask people if they’re willing to take a polygraph exam,” he explained. “It can also be referred to as a lie detector test, even though that term is often used incorrectly. A professional will ask a series of questions, and as you answer, the device will measure multiple psychological indicators which are associated with lying, like your blood pressure and pulse. I know it can sound scary, but in cases like these — when there’s no clear evidence — it might be the only thing keeping you from going to prison.”

His words hit you hard, though the gleam in his eyes remained soft. You inhaled deeply before nodding. “I’ll do it.”

-`♡´-

“She’s telling the truth.”

You hadn’t known pure relief until now. Your eyes closed, trying to stop the flood of emotions from flowing in when the pressure cuffs and sensors were being removed from your arms and hands. You didn’t know whether to cry or to cheer, but when you opened your eyes and saw Spencer — who had introduced himself as Dr. Reid, smiling at you, you were sure everything would turn out okay.

“Impossible,” the agent who questioned you earlier huffed under his breath.

The chief who had introduced himself as Aaron Hotchner walked up to you. “For now you’re free to go. However, this case isn’t closed yet. You’ll remain our primary suspect until we find more proof.”

The sharpness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. You kept quiet as he and the other agents left the room, leaving you alone with Dr. Reid.

He closed the distance between you two, standing near enough that he could see all the details on your face. He fought the urge to tuck the loose strings of hair behind your ear, to hold you and tell you that you were okay.

“You did really well,” he said with a soft smile. “Your heartbeat stayed on an average of 70 beats per minute, only going up to 86 once, which is still in the normal range.”

“Did you peek at the monitor?” you jokingly teased.

“I- uh, no. I just counted.” Spencer shyly admitted, earning a playful grin from you. You took his hand in yours, his palm slightly sweaty, as if he was nervous about the outcome too. Then you placed his hand on your chest, right where your heart was. “What about now? Higher than average?”

He swallowed, a blush creeping up his neck. “95 beats per minute.”

The tension between you was palpable, though his touch felt comforting. Your hand was placed over his, and you could both feel the way your heartbeat steadily decreased as you brushed your fingers soothingly over his.

“Can I drive you home?” Spencer offered.

You bit your lip in an effort to hide your grin, but then the corners of your mouth slightly dropped. “I don’t really have a place to stay.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but an empathetic twinkle appeared in his bambi eyes. “You could stay at my place.”

Spencer wasn’t sure why the words came out, but he meant them. He could practically hear the voices of his team telling him to not get involved with someone on a case, let alone a potential suspect. But it wasn’t like he was the first person to do so. And he wouldn’t waste the opportunity of getting closer to you. Maybe if he could get to know you better, if he could make you comfortable enough to open up to him, he could prove to everyone that you were innocent. Because deep down, he knew you were.

-`♡´-

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing, man?” Morgan called out, rushing after Spencer, who had just entered the bullpen to grab his satchel bag before heading out with you.

“Hotch told me I could go home,” he hastily replied, stuffing his papers into his bag.

“Yeah, two hours ago. Before you decided to flirt with a suspect,” he exclaimed in frustration.

“I didn’t flirt with her,” Spencer recounted under his breath.

Morgan let out a dry laugh. “Everyone saw what went on in that room, Reid,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I would’ve least expected this from someone like you.”

“Someone like me doesn’t exist anymore, Derek,” Spencer snapped, a sharp edge to his voice. “I’m not who I was before prison, and neither will I ever be that person again. However, I can help her from turning into someone like me. So, if you don’t mind, I am leaving now.”

He left Morgan at a loss of words as he walked off. You were waiting on him; your posture stiffened as you wrapped his jacket closer around you. Gently, Spencer threaded his fingers through yours and guided you to the elevator.

Once inside, Spencer pressed the button to the ground floor, then leaned his head back to the wall, letting out a fatigued sigh.

“I am sorry for causing you trouble,” you apologized, nervously picking at the fabric of his jacket that hung loosely over your arms.

His gaze softened, and he shook his head before he reached out to hold your hand once more. It was ironic how he longed for your grounding touch. “You’re not causing me any trouble. I’m sorry for the way they’re treating you. It’s our job to be cautious, to not easily trust someone.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you trust me,” you stated, though it came out more as a question, waiting for confirmation.

His other hand lifted up to touch your cheek, and his heart warmed at how you instinctively leaned into his touch. “I do.”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Can you prove it to me?”

He responded with a soft chuckle, reaching up to cup your face in his large palms. You rose to your tiptoes, leaning in until his sweet lips found yours.

-`♡´-

Spencer had expected to spend the ride home talking to you. Instead, you spent the entire ride trying to resist the urge to climb on top of each other. Once he tasted your lips, he couldn’t get enough, and neither could you.

Your giggle sounded through the dimly lit halls of his apartment complex as he dragged you up the stairs.

“Hurry,” you impatiently chuckled as he struggled to find his keys in his bag. He joined your giddy laughter as you entered the apartment. The second he shut the door close, he gently pressed you against the wall, his lips finding yours again. You let out a satisfied hum, your fingers sliding into the soft curls of his hair, tugging on it as he bit down on your bottom lip.

“Wait—one second,” he murmured.

“No,” you pouted, capturing his lips.

He kissed you back—then again, and again—before finally pulling away. “I just need to put my gun away.”

“Fine,” you mumbled, pressing one last kiss to his lips. “Just make it quick.”

He gave you a big grin and walked to the cupboard, where his safe was hidden behind his jackets and a row of spare shoes. It felt strange to have someone in his apartment. Strange to be smiling so brightly, to feel so much, after the emptiness prison has brought him. But strange didn’t mean bad. It felt new. And new could be good. You could be good.

His fingers pressed down on the familiar buttons: 62383. With a soft click, the lock opened; he took his gun from its holster on his pants and safely put it away.

When he turned back, he saw you leaning against the wall, a sweet expression on your face as you awaited him. He strode toward you, immediately pulling you in and kissing you fiercely.

Spencer was aware of his actions. Aware that he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do with you. But as his hand made contact with the warm skin of your inner thighs, and as your sweet sounds filled the air, he chose to simply not care.

-`♡´-

The next morning you woke up with messy curls tingling against your face. You chuckled as Spencer lay asleep with his head resting on your chest. Your fingers ached with the urge to graze them through his hair, to press a soft kiss to the top of his head. Instead, you held your breath as you climbed from underneath him.

The golden sun shone brightly through the curtains, illuminating your surroundings. You tiptoed through the room, gathering the items of clothes one by one, until you were fully dressed.

Wearing yesterday’s dress sent a shiver through your body, being reminded of the long hours spent in that bleak interrogation room.

You mumbled a sorry, before opening his closet and fishing a T-shirt out of it, a blue one with a faded Caltech logo, barely visible. You ignored the thoughts forming in your head, the itch to want to know more about the man who was still sleeping soundlessly in the bed that you shared.

Once you found yourself a suitable pair of pants, Spencer started groaning from the other side of the room. You turned around, catching his hand patting down the empty space beside him, as if in search of the heat of your body. It felt irresistible to not check up on him. You slowly made your way to his side of the bed, crouching down and lightly stroking his face. His eyes blinked open, and the way he smiled made your heart churn.

“I need to go,” you softly whispered to him.

His smile faltered. “Where to?” He sat up straighter on the bed, but you gently pushed him back down.

“Will I see you again?” Spencer asked when you didn’t respond.

Your lips curled in a smile, “I’m sure you will.”

And sure you were, because as soon as you left the bedroom, you were headed to the cupboard, pushing aside the jackets that hung on the hooks, until your eyes landed on the shining steel safe.

62383.

The lock sprung open, and in a swift motion you took the gun and hid it in the bottom of your purse. I will be seeing you again, Spencer. Just under different circumstances.

PART 2

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noirsfantasy · 1 year ago

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𝕽𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊 | 𝖕𝖙. 1

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Michael B Jordan as Adonis Creed x Black!Plus-sized Reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Smut

𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 ➛ Creed

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 ➛3.4k

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ➛A chance encounter between you and Adonis at a label party turns into a passionate and intense romantic night.

𝔞/𝔫 ➛Guys, guys, GUYSSSSSS!!! Y'all are gonna love this one, I'M TELLING YOU! You won't be disappointed.

Next Part

My heels click loudly as I make my way into a large bustling event. I had been invited by my best friend, Bianca to attend the label party she set up for one of her artists. As I walk in, my heart races with excitement as the buzz of the crowd fills my ears. I had been to a few of these exclusive events before and I knew how to dress the part. I'm dressed to impress, my black dress hugging my curvy frame and accentuating my hips. My hair, curled to perfection, falls gently onto my shoulders, and my red purse adds a touch of sophistication to my look.

I feel a buzz from my phone and smile, seeing a text pop up.

"Someone's looking sexy," It reads and I see that it's from Bianca. I scan around the room, looking for her as she's already spotted me. When we make eye contact, I smile and make my way over. She smiles at me and gives me a big hug, which I return.

"I'm so glad you made it!" She tells me as we part.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, B. Besides I'm always down to support my bestie." I reply with a wink, causing Bianca to chuckle.

"You sure you not just tryna steal the show?" She questions playfully as she raises an eyebrow. I giggle and shake my head.

"No way, girl. I just threw something on that I thought would match the theme." I assure her but she purses her lips.

"Really? Cus from what I'm seeing all that ass is getting more attention than my artist." She says, gesturing to my outfit and the way it complements my body. I nudge her shoulder.

"Girl, whatever! That is not true." We share a laugh and I shake my head.

"Anyways, make yourself at home. There's an open bar and, you know, just enjoy yourself. I gotta go talk to these producers real quick." Bianca takes my hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go and walking over to do some networking. I sigh a bit, rubbing my glossy lips together as I look around for anyone familiar.

I'd always been a bit shy, but there's something about being in a room full of celebrities that makes me feel like I'm living a dream. I smooth out my skirt as I weave between people, smiling politely at acquaintances. That's when I see him - Adonis Creed, a famous boxer. I've been a fan of his for a while and, I must say, he's even more breathtaking in person. His brown skin gleams under the warm lights, his goatee and large stud earrings giving him a rugged yet sophisticated edge. And those dimples? Those lips? They can make anyone weak at the knees.

I realize I've been staring when our eyes meet and he holds my gaze for a moment. A smile tugs at his lips and I have to look away quickly to hide the blush that is forming.

As the evening progresses, I find myself crossing paths with him a few times. He'd always give me a charming smile and I'd smile politely back, before going back to what I was doing. Each encounter only serves to leave me feeling more intrigued and attracted to him.

I decide to get a drink from the bar and as I order from the bartender, someone appears next to me.

"I'll have what she's having." He says and I look up to see Adonis. I clear my throat nervously and I smile politely at him as I shift in my seat. He smiles back, taking in the way I cross my legs, my movements effortless and sexy. The heat starts to rise in my cheeks as I feel his eyes on me. "I gotta say," He starts, leaning against the bar. "You killing with that outfit." I meet his eyes once more and smile at the flattery.

"Thank you, glad to know my efforts haven't gone unnoticed," I reply as the bartender hands me my drink. I thank him and then look back at Adonis.

"Yeah, you caught my eye from across the room. But I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you before. What's your name?" He inquires, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel a blush creeping onto my face as I take a sip from my drink for courage.

"Y/N. It's nice to meet you." I introduce myself, holding my hand out. He takes my hand in his, giving it a gentle shake before lifting it to his lips and landing a soft kiss on my knuckles.

"The pleasure's all mine, Y/N. I'm Donnie." He replies, his grip on my hand lingering for a bit before letting go. The action sends butterflies through my body. "You a friend of Bianca's?" He asks.

"Yeah, her best friend, actually," I say with a chuckle, taking another sip of my drink and feeling the warmth rise through my chest. Adonis raises an eyebrow in pleasant surprise.

"I thought your name sounded familiar," He says with a smile, his eyes studying my face. "She mentioned you a few times. Said you were important to her." His gaze roams over me, enjoying how the alcohol visibly loosens me up.

"Really? That's sweet. I never knew she talked about me to other people." I hide a bashful smile, appreciating my friendship with the producer.

"Although, I've gotta admit, her descriptions of you don't do you justice at all." The compliment rolls off of his tongue easily, but it's clear he means every word. I find myself blushing again and laughing softly as I look away. There's an undeniable spark between us and, as we speak, my shy nature seems to dissipate. We find ourselves engaging in witty banter, my lips curling into a smile as I match his flirty tone.

"So, you a fan of boxing, gorgeous?" Donnie asks, leaning a little closer, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes seem to see right through me and I get the sense that he's just as interested in me as I am in him.

"Maybe," I reply with a playful grin, enjoying the game of cat and mouse. "It depends on the boxer," I say with a shrug.

"Ah," Donnie shoots back with a wry smile, leaning in even closer. "You've got a type, I see. Let me guess, you're probably into those pretty-boy fighters, the ones who don't get their hands dirty. Guys like Ryan Garcia, maybe?" I tilt my head as if I'm thinking.

"Hmm, no not really. I'm more into the dangerous ones." I say, my eyes locking on his. A wolfish grin spreads across Donnie's lips as I share my preference.

"Ah, so you're after someone who can bring the heat, huh? Someone who gives you that flutter in your chest just by being near them." A pause as Donnie lifts his drink to his lips. "You're not afraid to mix it up and get your hands dirty?" I raise an eyebrow, biting my lip slightly.

"I think getting dirty is part of the fun," I tell him with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, I can promise you, it always is," Donnie replies, his voice low and husky. Our eyes lock, the air between us feeling charged with a heat that wasn't there before. "But be careful, gorgeous," he adds. "Some games can end in a brutal knockout."

"Really? Well, good thing I'm always up for a challenge." A mischievous glint appears in Donnie's eyes as he leans even closer.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Donnie muses, his gaze flickering with a predatory flash. We talk for a bit longer, flirting back and forth until the party eventually draws to a close. I find myself unable to resist the pull between us. With a boldness that surprises even me, I approach him, my heart pounding in my chest.

"So, Donnie," I begin, my voice having a suggestive edge, "are you going to ask for my number, or do I have to make the first move?" A flash of desire crosses his face, and he steps closer, his body radiating heat.

"I think we can skip the whole dating game charade," he murmurs, his lips inches from my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Why don't you come back to my place? I'll show you why they call me Big D." My breath quickens as I slowly nod, unable to speak past the lump of desire in my throat. Taking his hand, I let him lead me out of the event and into the night, a delicious anticipation building inside me.

The ride to his place is a blur of streetlights and adrenaline, my body tingling with eagerness. As soon as the door to his home shuts behind me, Donnie presses me up against it, his lips claiming mine in a passionate kiss. I melt into him, my hands roaming over his muscular back, feeling the definition of his powerful body.

His hands find my curves effortlessly, his touch a perfect balance of firmness and gentleness. My body presses against his as my hands caress his jaw and neck, the stubble on his face tickling my skin.

"Damn," Donnie curses under his breath as he pulls away briefly, his lips moving to explore the expanse of my neck. Each kiss leaves fire in its wake and I let out a soft moan, my eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

Breaking the kiss, he looks deeply into my eyes, running his thumb along my bottom lip. Our lips crash together sloppily as I tug at his shirt impatiently.

"Eager, are we now?" Donnie teases, his breath warm against my neck. He gently pushes my hands away and lifts his shirt, revealing chiseled abs and a defined chest. I trace the ridges of his muscles with my fingertips, feeling every contour, every line. I feel like I'm dreaming, but the heat of his body and the taste of his lust on my tongue are all too real.

He lifts me into his arms and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. I feel small in his embrace, but also protected. The way he easily carries my weight and holds me, all while showering my neck with kisses, sends tingles through me. I moan softly, tilting my head to give him better access as my hand rests on the back of his head, my acrylics grazing his scalp. Donnie brings my lips to his once more, sucking on my bottom lip slightly. He carries me into the bedroom, never once breaking the kiss, and lays me down on the edge of the bed.

Donnie's hands slide down my body, tracing the curves of my thighs and legs as he gently slips my heels off. His hands travel up my back his fingers finding the zipper of my dress, slowly pulling it down.

I lift my hips to help him undress me, a playful thrill coursing through me as I expose myself to his hungry gaze. He strips away my clothing until the only thing left are my lacy panties. His eyes rake over my body, taking in every curve, roll, and stretch mark, before returning to my face, the fire in his eyes searing me to my core. He leans down, cupping my breasts and taking my sensitive nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth as I whimper from the pleasure. He kisses the soft skin tenderly, before trailing his finger along my jaw, ghosting over my lower lip as I look up at him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers, kneeling before me and guiding my legs over his shoulders. His fingers run along my outer thighs as he presses a kiss to the damp fabric between my legs, his touch leaving goosebumps in their path. I bite my lip, watching him gaze upon me in a mix of awe and lust. "I've been dying to taste you all night."

A ripple of excitement runs through me as his eyes burn with desire. He pulls my panties off, discarding them somewhere in the room. Without another word, he lowers his head, his tongue lapping at my core, flicking my clit and driving me wild.

A strangled moan escapes my lips as his mouth sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body. His talented tongue works me over relentlessly, every lick and suck driving me wild with want. My hips buck against his face as I lose myself in the sensations, my hands on the back of his head, pressing him closer.

"Donnie~" I pant breathlessly, aching for more. A low growl rumbles in Adonis's throat as he hears his name fall from my lips.

"That's right, mama," He breaths against my slick folds, sending tingles through my core. His grip on my thighs tightens as he resumes his devouring assault, his tongue lapping and swirling with unyielding hunger. I can feel the vibrations of his moans against my sensitive skin, causing my back to arch off the bed slightly.

A wicked grin spreads across Donnie's face as he feels my body react to his stimulation. He sucks and swirls his tongue around my clit, intent on driving me wild with pleasure. My hands grip the sheets, fueling his desire as he moans against my core. Donnie's strong hands firmly hold me in place as I squirm beneath his grasp.

"Oh god, I'm so close~" I moan as I throw my head back, rolling my hips. Sensing my impending release, Adonis doubles down, his tongue working my swollen bundle of nerves with ruthless precision as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge. My thighs tremble against his grip as I feel my climax rising to the surface. With one final flick of his tongue, he sends me hurtling over the peak into a crashing wave of ecstasy.

My body tenses as my thighs grip his head, holding him in place as I come undone. Adonis laps up every last drop of my sweet nectar, groaning with unbridled satisfaction. When my tremors finally subside, he slowly pulls back, his lips glistening as he lightly kisses my inner thigh.

"You taste so good, babygirl," he purrs, his voice dripping with lust. I pant heavily as I start to calm down, my racing heart beginning to slow. I whimper softly as he moves up my body, pressing his hardness against my thigh.

Adonis's eyes darken with desire as he hears my whimpers and he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over my lips.

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I'm just getting started." His fingers trail up my outer thigh, his touch feather-light but electrifying. "I'm gonna make you feel so good," he whispers before capturing my mouth in a searing, passionate kiss.

My arms wrap around Donnie's neck as I whine into the kiss, tasting myself on his tongue and aching to feel him inside me. He teases me, grinding his clothed cock against my entrance, soaking the fabric. A groan emits from his throat as the delicious friction drives him wild with need. He pulls back just enough to swiftly rid himself of his remaining clothes.

Donnie's cock springs free, thick and throbbing as he positions himself at my entrance. "You feel that, baby?" He rasps, rubbing the tip teasingly against my slick folds.

"Yes-" I gasp as he prods my hole, just barely pushing in before pulling back again. I roll my hips to try and press you deeper, but you don't budge.

"Someone's impatient." He taunts, eliciting a whine from me.

"Please~" I beg, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment at how desperate I sound. A chuckle escapes him as he continues to tease me with his cock.

"Say it again," he demands, drawing his lower plump lip between his teeth while pressing into my heat, only allowing the tip to enter. I grunt with frustration.

"Please, Donnie," I whisper, my voice thick with desire. "I need you. Now." Without warning, he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt with a moan of ecstasy. I let out a yelp as I stretch around him, feeling his dick pressing against my cervix. Adonis's eyes widen as he feels me tighten around his hard length.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight," he growls, his fingers digging into my hips. Slowly, he begins to rock his hips, establishing a deep and steady rhythm as he fills me over and over.

"Oh my god- So big~" I manage to say between moans. I meet his thrusts, my legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper. My long nails dig into his back, threatening to break, but I don't care. I groan as he fills me up completely, stretching me just barely past my limit.

Adonis's eyes flash with lust as I cry out, relishing the feel of every inch of him buried inside me. He groans throatily, driven wild by the sensations of my silky walls clenching around his throbbing length.

"That's right, take it all," he rasps, his hips rolling in a steady, punishing rhythm. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me flush against him as his lips claim mine again. My tongue swirls around his as I pull him impossibly closer, my body melting against his. The kiss becomes more possessive Donni's large hands roam my body.

He tears his mouth from mine only to latch onto my neck as he starts rolling his hips against mine, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin. He uses one hand to turn my neck, exposing more of my skin, and the other to capture my nipple in his fingers, rolling the sensitive peak between his digits. His hips increase to a relentless pace, driving his thick shaft in and out repeatedly. The obscene sounds of our joined bodies fill the air, only rivaled by my mewls of pleasure.

"Fuck, I'm gonna wreck you." He whispers against my skin, his voice hoarse as the force of his thrust urges another moan out of me.

"Mhm, yes please f-" My breath hitches, unable to finish my sentence as he picks up speed. He shifts his weight to his knees, leaning his head back as his cock slams deliciously into my core. Donnie's powerful hips snap forward with relentless abandon, the bed creaking under our combined weight.

I press my hands to the headboard behind me for support as the force of his thrusts move me further up the bed. I look up at Adonis, but his eyes are screwed shut, his brows knitted together and jaw clenched as every muscle in his sculpted body strains with the effort. My whimpers and moans mutate into screams of pleasure as he chases his own release, his thrusts growing more erratic.

"Don- nie-" My words are stuttered as my brain turns to mush from his movements, his hands grip my hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into me, desperate to find his edge.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Let me feel that sweet pussy milk my dick." He urges, his voice hoarse. His words send me over the edge, my body clenching around him as I climax, my back arching off the bed as a flood rushes from between my legs. I let out a whine as he continues to thrust, splashing my fluids back onto me as the feeling of me tightening around him sends him over the edge as well.

A strangled cry of pleasure tears from his throat as his hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he is enveloped in the throes of his own climax. He collapses forward, burying his face in the crook of my neck as his body shudders with the intensity of his release. Waves of blissful ecstasy washes over us, every nerve ending alight with sensation. When the tremors finally cease, he rolls to the side, pulling me flush against his sweat-slicked body.

"Damn, baby..." he breaths, placing a tender kiss on my forehead.

"That was... fuck, I don't even have the words." I reply softly as my cheek rests against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat slowing. Adonis chuckles breathlessly, his strong arms wrapped securely around me.

"Tell me about it. That was..." He trails off, shaking his head in disbelief. I smile to myself as we lie there in bed, basking in the bliss of our pleasure. At this moment, nothing else matters. It's just me and Adonis. Just two strangers, yet it feels like he knows every part of me. I sigh contently, feeling the lull of sleep falling over me.

#noirsfantasy #adonis creed #adonis creed x reader #adonis creed x black!plus sized reader #x reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #x black plus size reader #smut #adonis creed smut #michael b jordan #michael b jordan smut #michael b jordan x black fem reader #michael b jordan x reader #Creed 3

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fandommothfreak · 4 months ago

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Jason Todd's ACTUAL Music Taste

(Someone has probably already done this but I am in desperate need of a reference sheet tailored to me specifically.)

Poison Idea Jason is introduced in Batman #408 (released 1987) wearing a red shirt with POISON IDEA written on the front. Poison Idea is a punk rock + hardcore punk band from Portland, Oregon. We also see a poster of the same band hanging in his apartment, so I think this is a favorite of his.

Pick Your King (released 1983)

Kings of Punk (released 1986) WARNING FOR SUICIDE + SELF-HARM TOPICS

- The Modernettes We see another poster with REBEL KIND written beneath the silhouette of four people. In the first image shown above, we can also see "rebel kind" spraypainted by Jason's apartment door. The closest match I could find for this is a song called "The Rebel Kind" by punk band The Modernettes.

This band sounds more pop punk to me (although I'm not the best at differentiating between musical subgenres), and Jason only shows interest in one of their songs. That, paired with the sound we hear from Poison Idea, makes me think Jason isn't as into pop punk as he is hardcore. This might be one of those songs where the message in the lyrics really resonates. "I know one day we're going to leave this far behind, and we'll be free to run with the rebel kind," as just one example. I think he identifies with the term "rebel kind," especially if he's the one who painted that on the wall. (I'm assuming he did.)

Here's a link to the full album, View From the Bottom (released 1982).

- Eric Peters I have no fucking idea who this is, but he's hanging on Jason's wall. He's got a hat and a guitar and a fuckass goatee (pictured in the second image, next to the Poison Idea poster). I can find one guy who only started releasing music in the 90s and another guy affiliated with DC Comics who doesn't look old enough to be referenced this way.

The hat and the guitar + straight hair combo reminds me a little of Slash + Izzy from Guns n' Roses. They released their first album like a month after Batman #408 was released, but if one of the authors saw their US tour in 1985, it could still make sense. Or they just based it off the 80s rock star aesthetic in general. Point is, I don't know. So. Eric Peters can be whatever fanon wants, I suppose. - Blister Twister (DC's KISS) + Simon & Garfunkel We see a heavy metal band, Blister Twister, perform a heavy metal cover of Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence" in Batman #412. Jason thinks it's cool.

- (UPDATE) Slipknot & Lacuna Coil Jason has posters of what looks like 1999 Slipknot (heavy metal) and Shallow Life by Lacuna Coil (goth/alternative metal) hung up in his room in Nightwing Annual 2021, which is part of the Rebirth relaunch.

Slipknot (released 1999)

Shallow Life (released 2009)

- Some concluding thoughts! (Edited to suit Jason's Rebirth music taste.) Based on what little we get, I think, as a kid, Jason leans more towards harsher music and has a preference for hardcore punk. Punk rock and garage punk are up there as well. He likes music that sounds raw and real. He'll jam to softer punk subgenres, like pop punk and post-punk, but that's more so when he really feels for the lyrics/messaging. Maybe he starts getting into the latter more as he grows up, but hardcore is still his favorite.

Metal music doesn't show up until after the Blister Twister performance, so maybe that's his introduction to the genre? It starts off as more of a superficial appreciation ("Cool!"), but then he gravitates from hardcore to nu metal (which is inspired by hardcore). A lot of people would consider Slipknot a nu metal band, and their 1999 album sounds like a mix of a few different subgenres, so maybe Jason is introduced to more of those subgenres through them. And then Lacuna Coil. I'm not familiar with them, but reddit says it's goth metal. I listened to some of their songs from Shallow Life, and I can absolutely see angsty teenager Jason resonating with those lyrics.

tl;dr I think Jason prefers the harsher subgenres of punk and metal, but still enjoys a variety of subgenres in both. Punk was his childhood; metal was his teenhood; and I'm assuming he still likes both in young adulthood. He likes the more raw, more real-sounding stuff and songs with messages that he resonates with.

Moving even more into headcanon territory: street rap, East Coast rap, lots of underground artists, that's all music Jason likes and listens to. I honestly don't think Jason would feel much of anything for mainstream pop music since it doesn't sound very raw or real and a lot of it isn't very relatable to him, but I do still think he'd jam to it occasionally for the laughs (and there might be the one-off song that does say something that resonates).

And if we're taking Jason's love for classic literature into account, then yes, I will subscribe to the headcanon that he enjoys musicals. I don't think he'd be a fanatic, but he appreciates the story and he might jam to songs that resonate with him like "The Rebel Kind" does. (I still think that's his favorite song, as a young adult.)

If anyone who sees this can find more canon hints of Jason's music taste, please, please show me! I love these little Easter eggs.

#everyone add “the rebel kind” to all your playlists it's great #jason todd #jason todd meta #kind of #I think??#red hood #dc comics #reference #“memory” “I dreamed a dream” and “no one mourns the wicked” are songs from musicals that make me think of jason #batman comics #jason todd hc #punk music

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spencereidluver · 2 years ago

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I is for "I Knew It!"

november 07, 2008

summary: You and Spencer are caught going out by an all-too-familiar face, causing the two of you to have a talk about the logistics of your relationship.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: the fluffiest fluff anyone has ever seen

“Hey hey, put that wallet away,” Spencer says as you pull your wallet out from your purse. He never let you pay for dinner, even though you begged every time. You will admit, it is nice to always have your dinner paid for, however, you felt bad having him spend so much money on you.

“No. I want to pay tonight. You always pay,” you said and opened your wallet.

“My payment is having the world’s prettiest girlfriend. I’m paying for dinner, that's final.” He gently grabs your wrist from across the table, stopping you from making any further moves with the wallet. “Got it?”

“Fine, but I’m buying you a coffee in the morning.” You put the wallet back in your purse and give Spencer a smile. You playfully click your shoes with his underneath the table and take a final sip of your drink. Spencer places a credit card on the small black booklet on the edge of the table.

The waitress comes and collects the booklet, giving the two of you a quick smile and says she’ll be right back.

Spencer hands her a five dollar and two one dollar bills as a tip, and she makes her way to the register.

Spence lets go of your wrist and points his finger at you. “You,” he says, waves his finger at you as he says the words, “should come hang out at my apartment tonight.”

The waitress comes back and hands Spencer his card. “You guys have a good night,” she says as she backs up to let the two of you out of the booth then proceeding to clear off the table.

Spencer laces his hand with yours as the two of you weave through tables to exit the restaurant. “We can watch a movie or something,” he leans into your ear as you walk.

“I would love to, Spence,” you say and open the door to exit.

“Spencer Reid?” a familiar woman's voice says as the two of you walk out hand-in-hand. You feel his grip tighten.

The woman was blonde and very pregnant. She was with a thin goateed man.

“Oh, hey JJ,” Spencer says, stopping his step. “How’s it going?”

“Great, I can’t believe you have a girlfriend and didn’t tell me!” JJ looks at you, her mouth immediately becoming agape. “Y/N?”

Yeah, no one knew you and Spencer were seeing each other.

“Hey, JJ…” You say, happy to see her, but in a little bit of an awkward situation.

“How long? How long has this been going on?” She says, looking over at her boyfriend, Will excitedly.

“Um about a month,” you begin to say before being interrupted by Mr. Exact.

“35 days,” Spencer says matter-of-factly.

“That’s crazy! Oh my god I can’t believe this. Does anyone else know?” JJ would probably be jumping for joy right now if she wasn’t 9 months pregnant. Will just looked at her lovingly.

“No, we haven’t told anyone yet, we wanted to wait until our relationship was solid.” Spencer said, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Seems pretty solid to me,” you say under your breath and lean into Spencer.

“You have to tell the team! They’d be so excited,” JJ exclaims.

“Yeah, we’re going to, we’re just not sure when.” Spencer says.

“It better be before I come back from maternity leave. If you guys aren’t BAU official by the Christmas party you will be sorry.” JJ playfully threatens before being dragged to the door by Will who waves goodbye.

You and Spencer begin walking to his car. “You know, That felt good. To finally tell someone,” you said and lean further into Spencer as your steps match up.

“Yeah, it did,” Spencer says, “What movie do you want to watch?” “The Red Circle is always good.”

“Yeah, but I think I want to watch more of an immature movie. I need a break.”

“How about WALL-E?”

“WALL-E sounds awesome.”

Spencer let go of your waist when you reached his car. He opened the passenger door for you, helping you in by your hand, then hurried around to get in the car himself.

_____

“I think we should tell the team,” Spencer says. You were sat between his legs on his couch leaned against his shoulder. One of his arms was wrapped around you, the other hand was playing with your hair. He halted his movements once the words came out of his mouth. It was almost as if he didn’t mean to say it outloud.

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. The lighting from the t.v. hit his face, bringing attention to the rosy blush bleeding through his cheeks.

“I um… I want to tell the team we’re together,” he repeats. Your mouth falls open, unsure of what to say. “I know it’s early, but I just, I don’t want to have to hide you from them. You’re so special to me.”

“Spencer…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to yet, I know it could put a lot of pressure on a new relationship, but I…”

You need to shut him up. You lean in and plant a kiss on his lips, letting your breath linger on his mouth. “No, if you’re ready to tell everyone, I’ll be there every step of the way.” His eyes light up. He looks so happy.

“I’m so lucky to have you.” He leans his head into your shoulder and gently pecks a kiss on your collarbone. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He looks up at you and smiles, resting his chin against your chest.

You loved when he let you baby him like this. It took him a while to be comfortable enough to let his guard down like this around you, but once he was able to, he basically never stopped. He loved being able to have someone to care for him as it was something he never experienced, even as a child.

WALL-E is playing in the background, the scene where he is showing EVE around his house illuminating the room. Spencer looks up at you, eyes glowing. He nuzzles into your chest, careful not to bump your breasts. He was so respectful; the sweetest boy.

“What, Spencer?” you ask, keeping your voice smooth and calm. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but you had to make sure not to seem annoyed as he was sensitive.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, then buries his head in the crook of your neck.

That’s not what he wants to say, but you comb your fingers through his hair and say, “thank you.” You feel him mumble something into your chest. “What, baby?” you ask him.

“Y/n,” he says, you hum in response, “I think I’m in love with you.”

You can’t help but smile. “I think I’m in love with you, too, Spence,” you say, grabbing his chin and leading his face up to kiss him.

_____

next chapter: J is for "Just So You Know"

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version!

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: hiii :3 i'm currently on break from school and have the next two days off from work, i'm going to try to grind so hard and try my best to get the christmas part out on the 25th, but if that doesn't happen please don't get upset at me... it will 100% be out in december, as the new years part is for sure being posted on the 31st. have an awesome night guys !!

_____

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mihii-i · 4 months ago

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Pookie come here I have the greatest oneshot request idea known to women kind

Y’a know those edits where it’s a wlw Genshin ship with their Honkai look-alikes but in one of the games they’re tragic and in the other they’re happy? Imagine that but with Arlecchino and her Harbinger reader 🤭

Like imagine Pierro asks Arlecchino for help with some weird mission or smth that involves looking into other universes and then boom she sees the most heartbreaking angsty yuri plot but it’s literally just herself and the woman she’d die for

Even better if they kill each other or smth silly like that

Comfort ending tho pretty please 🙏🏻 (not for the other Arle and reader tho PFFT- so like bittersweet I think? Idk up to you pookie)

your wish is yours to keep.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, heavy angst, blood, war, violence, mostly from arlecchino’s pov, wlw, harbinger reader, mentions of death, yes reader fucking dies again, tragedy, I’m very evil kitty writing this, wife for both arle and reader, arlecchino actually crying omg, arle’s real name used yk the drill, fluffy at the end, guys I love writing sfw more than nsfw is that obvious, I am not feeling freaky deaky my apologies for the nsfw likers that didn’t get much detail on my recent nsfw fics, yum yum angst, my fave thing to write is angst, not proofread.

A/N: it’s been a WHILE since I’ve written for arlecchino and honestly I miss herrrr so I’d also like to apologize for the requests that marinated in my ask box for too long because IM SO SORRY I HAVE LIKE 40 but nevertheless I hope those who were older followers and miss my arle content get fed <3 🕯️

Peculiar.

Peculiar was the only word to describe the circumstances in which Arlecchino found herself at the foot of an unending hall, the bellowing noise of her heels hitting the polished marble lingering like a frozen demand that thumped in rhythm with her heart upon each step forward toward Pierro. Everything in the hall remained frozen over in heavy blankets of snow, clouding the area in a heaping white embrace to accompany the stings of frigid air assaulting her.

The gentle scrape of another figure’s feet descending onto the marble followed Arlecchino’s painstakingly slow pace, your own rustling coat, which matched that of the fourth harbinger’s, draped over you in a thick fluff of black fur outlining the back of your neck. Alongside the white silk falling over the rest of your body, center held together at your torso as the metal of the signature Fatui crest peeking from behind the grayish lapels of your coat.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when or why you had taken the position as the sixth harbinger, every time you attempted to recall any coronation of sorts, you could only piece together a blur of jumbled words. As if your memory had been twisted. From what you could at the very least remember, the position of the sixth harbinger had been an empty slot, waiting for a worthy member to slip into the voided imbalance of power within the Fatui.

Arlecchino’s coat shifted uncomfortably as she masked her arms adjusting into a firm front before Pierro, the gleaming crosses on her eyes fixed on the Jester in a deathly silence. Pierro’s singular visible eye bore into the harbinger with what seemed to be a weight of intense scrutiny, icy tones of blue beholding a negative energy you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Worry? Hate? Judgement?

“Ah. The Knave and her wife.” Pierro finally shattered the silence with his flattened tone, taking in a breath to ease himself as he reclined his back to the tall chair towering behind him. Resting his chin on his knuckles as blond streaks of his goatee leaned along the dark glove, he attempted to strike out his usual firm and authoritative tone, all the while maintaining some sort of professionalism in his criticism.

“Arlecchino, I thought we agreed that this task would involve you alone. Not the sixth harbinger as company.”

She furrowed her brows, biting her tongue through her closed blood red lips.

“I didn’t see why I couldn’t. She’s not too far off in the ranks. The circumstances should be suitable for her to come along with me.”

“They’re not. I can assure you that much, Knave.”

His hand that presided beneath his chin slid forward along the circular table, expression staring daggers into his two subordinates stood in a disgustingly close space. Pierro’s coat sleeve brushed along the pearly white of the stone table, biting back the exasperated sigh he so desperately wanted to heave out at the sheer foolishness of what Arlecchino thought she could get away with. She couldn’t be attached to you. Not for this.

“Listen. This mission isn’t meant for two people. Nor does it mean that you can handle it through your physical strength alone.

The Jester’s gaze snapped over to you, even through his eyepiece, that intimadation digging in to seal your airways, freeze every drop of blood coursing through your veins with his commands was nothing short of the Fatui director’s abilities. Shrinking back in compliance, you headed back into the shadowy fogs of the corridor’s entrance, tense with each step back as you could practically feel his eyes on you with every waking moment, scanning every little step you took until the gates parted into the deep cold.

Parting her lips to breathe out a sigh, Arlecchino slumped down into the cushions of the fashionably crafted seats below her, elbows resting along the rugged stone as her nails drew out a few high pitched clinks with each tap like porcelain. Her seat was directly across from Pierro’s on opposing sides, as if the gravity of the situation she remained shrouded in the dark about kept itself as a wavering reminder of fear in the depths of the unknown.

“Are you prepared, Knave?”

Despite the openly austere front he had walled up to drive you out of the hall, his words tinged with a speck of concern in regards to Arlecchino, attempting to solidify his decision in what she would see for the sake of such a simple, yet difficult mission to dive through. In fact, it was clear that although what she was tasked with was no harder than asking a toddler to go count flower petals.

Yet the seemingly effortless and straightforward task of peeping into different universes to gather a solid probability of the Fatui gaining all seven gnoses came with a mind breaking cost. One of which would freeze the stone cold Knave herself in the sights of a full new level of hell she would have to trudge through.

Pierro- no, everyone at this point was well aware of the inseparable nature of yours and Arlecchino’s relationship. Her unyielding nature barring a sturdy wall of protection that surrounded you under any condition that called for it, a rather oddly new trait that was invoked by your presence from the otherwise ‘heartless’ harbinger.

It was fairly surprising whenever Arlecchino was cooped up beside you within the comforting confines of your shared home, snuggled up with you on her chest as one or the other scanned their eyes across the thick sheets of a book, while a steaming cup of tea sat on the glass table sat in front of the sofa. Any other member would assume she had business to take care of that involved some sort of violent slash, when it reality, it was nothing but cuddling up to her wife on the couch.

No matter what, the surging depth of Arlecchino’s bond could stun even the highest of the harbingers. As such a pure, profound budding flower of love that arose from the stems of your chests was utterly impossible in the ugly nature of this mortal realm. Yet it was quite beautiful to witness, much less ponder upon, how two people’s souls were so deeply entangled within one another to where they remained true to themselves, yet attached to the other in a way to which they became complete.

Neither you, nor Arlecchino would doubt that the two of you would remain together across every universe in the endless stream of possibilities, to which a physical manifestation of your love could swim around in rather than drown in the never ending sea.

“Arlecchino. I must warn you to just..mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to see. All I can say is..it’s not pleasant.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m not sure that would be true.”

She scoffed at his words, lowering her eyes as a frown crossed her features.

“Do you believe I’m weak, Jester? I’ve handled worse before.”

“It’s not that. This isn’t a matter of whether your body is strong or durable enough. In fact, it’s if your mind can handle seeing your worst fear over and over.”

He paused, resuming his words to provide information regarding her multiversal travel.

“You can’t interact with anything you see. Nor can they see you. You are merely a spectator…a ghost of sorts.”

“Hm. Does the method of transportation have something to do with Irminsul?”

“Not exactly. Although there may be a different version of Irminsul than the one you know in our Teyvat.” Pierro inhaled, pondering the most ideal way to phrase the complex plethora of information. “You’ll be sent to different universes, different..versions of Teyvat I’d say. Each one, you make a mental note of how many times we are able to successfully achieve all of the gnoses.”

She nodded firmly, her voice unwavering in low, resolute response as Pierro’s solemn look seemed to be disregarded by the absolute tone of voice she had asserted, believing herself to be fully capable of the horrors of her task. After all, she has seen many she’s cared about slip away at her fingertips on many occasions. What could possibly be worse?

You.

You could be worse.

Arlecchino didn’t want to lose you. Not for a second.

—

The world above blurred together into an unintelligible gradient of colorful patterns blended like a work of art, the beauty which Arlecchino took wonder again suddenly broken by a sharp ache spreading across every inch of her body. Shooting her eyes open, her pulse vibrated against her neck in protruding shoves against her skin, lashes fogging her vision as floods of pale sunlight sunk into her bright pupils.

Hands planted into the earth, she weakly hoisted herself up in the familiar drag of Teyvat’s soul along her palm, strands of white hair unkempt and falling over her face as she swerved her head around with caution. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Could it be possible that Pierro didn’t succeed in catching a glimpse of any other universe? However he managed to do that anyway…

Blinking her eyes open, Arlecchino finally caught a clear view of the world around her. Tranquil, basking in the serenity of a soul not in sight within the planes of nature as gentle hums of the breeze cradled the surrounding landscape. If this was what she had to investigate, then Pierro’s warning must have just been false panic stirred up to simply drive her into setting her eyes on the task at hand.

A speck of red suddenly bloomed along the once blue sky.

Then another.

What felt like mere moments plunged into the world she stood in being ripped apart in an instant, pulled forcefully open to engulf her in the now drowned out cries and screams of a war littered field, blood steeled along the blades of once swaying grass replacing the small drops of dew she had seen before. Arlecchino was no stranger to violent conflict, that was for sure. With ease, she carefully stepped through the worn down fields, scattered with the rusted steel of discarded weapons.

Her leg stretched past the limp bodies in a sickening array as to not kick the dead, mangled forms neatly laid out—as if war itself had created an artwork itself encompassing its fury. Quickly, Arlecchino had suppressed her internal disgust to keep her eyes ahead, navigating through the blinding flames swallowing Snezhnaya—likely Teyvat itself, whole.

The screams those impaled in spurts of blood trickling onto the metal to then clatter to the floor were nothing but white noise blocked out in Arlecchino’s head, no matter how gruesome the awful sight of their guts stomped on appeared to her. Pity welling up within her was nothing but weakness, a fate she could not save them from as it mattered naught to Arlecchino in the intense rampage. People die, sometimes you couldn’t save them. That was a lesson she had adhered to for years, holding back was simply the sneak of weakness that tried to leave one vulnerable, and a profession such as one in the Fatui required a ruthless front. One she couldn’t put down.

However, her fear couldn’t remain bottled up for long, as Pierro had warned her of succumbing to weakness. And as if luck had steered clear of her favor, sending a tower of bricks tumbling down onto her, she had been forced to stare helplessly at her own weakness.

“Arle..please..” you hoarsely sighed out, as dribbles of crimson spilled down your chin in a heavy downpour streaming from your chest, the sight of a gleaming scarlet scythe lodged into your body making Arlecchino freeze in horror. Her scythe.

Swallowing back the abrupt dread crawling up her spine upon spotting herself grasping the handle tightly, the black fades of her cursed hands now painted a vile red as she watched herself dig the scythe deeper. You still desperately clawed at Arlecchino’s shoulders like an anchor, fingers digging in to crease and fold the fabric of her blazer stuck to her shoulders in patches of sweat.

Arlecchino’s parallel self only gravitated closer to you in heavy breaths, taking your body in her arms as well as the scythe remained pierced across your other side, her nose digging into the warmth of your collarbone to savor your final moments in her arms.

“(Name)..? Dear? Is there one last wish you want from me?”

You nodded, hand weakly caressing the dusted lines of her cheek.

“Just..kiss me on the forehead and tell me we’ll be okay. Maybe in another universe?”

She sighed, choking back the small hiccup building in her throat as tears burned along the corners of her eyes. Her nails brushed along your nape in false contentment, as you smiled at her lips brushing along your forehead.

“Perhaps in another universe we’re fine. If circumstances were better we wouldn’t be here.”

Arlecchino’s whispers faded gradually, mixing into the howls of wind as yet another breeze that screeched in accordance with each stab of a spear through someone’s ribs. She could only kneel to the ground as she wordlessly grasped your lifeless body like a vice, breathing shaky and ragged with each moment of what she had to do replaying in her head over and over in the repeat of a broken record. It only served to rip out her heart piece by piece sadistically, the pain in your expression etched into her skull and ringing to torment her as the eternal crime of taking her own beloved’s life.

Even if she had to, she felt like shit.

Shallow breaths accompanied the subtle shivers that racked her body in rapid successions, Arlecchino’s eyes wide and hands trembling at the sight of herself hemming your lifeless body in her arms. Finally, she understood the horrors of what she had to trudge through for the sake of a simple task, the heat eating away at her sanity, drying through clothing to burn away at her skin like a manifestation of rage, sorrow, fear, everything that swirled together in her head upon seeing your corpse stained with blood.

Lightless eyes bore into her own as Arlecchino stared at the memory that would forever be seared into her like an accompanying curse, her eyes unable to look away at the way your body was laid besides a singular living lakelight lily on the field no matter how badly she wanted to. Thankfully, even as a small wash of relief for your very corpse’s peace in this god awful universe, she was grateful you were laid beside a singular living flower, away from all the fighting bellowing through the throes of battle off in the distance.

Watching as the other Arlecchino gently masked your eyelids shut, bidding you to rest as she stood up to dart back into the field, Arlecchino stepped forward to kneel beside you. Her translucent body simply ghosted through your splayed out arm, frustration boiling with her as she repeatedly attempted to hold you in her arms, before recalling Pierro’s statement that she couldn’t interact with the other universe, nor could they see her.

“What made you seek death like this my love..?”

She wept silently, that same unfeeling expression locked onto her face through the trickling salty tears staining her cheeks like that of an angel of grief. Unable to understand the motivation for you wanting her to kill uou was natural after all, the details of this universe’s memories and information was all altered in this universe’s Irminsul, yet she didn’t have the heart to check. Not after what she saw just now. She didn’t want to be plunged into an agony of truth just yet.

No matter what your reason could have been, Arlecchino would understand. It must have been painful for this other Arlecchino to come to terms with it, especially if it was in fact her with the same feelings and thoughts. Of course she had carried out every request and wish from you, so who would she be to deny this one? Especially for the greater good of your lives.

In every universe, your wish is yours to keep.

Her lingering kiss ghosted through your forehead only left an empty hole gaping in her chest through the sweltering flames she wasn’t supposed to feel, breaths shaky and jagged as she rose back to her feet to make her way through to any Fatui establishment left intact.

They failed here. The gnoses were not obtained.

—

“In 23 out of 47 universes, we succeed.”

“Understood. Meaning we have nothing short of a decent chance here. Thank you for your cooperation, Knave.”

She huffed out of acknowledgment, sweat pooling up along the corner of her head as she hid her shaky hands in her coat. Pierro, who had taken notice of this, didn’t make it a priority to pry further, pitying the woman who had underwent a flurry of emotions based on varying outcomes from various universes. He had decided to give her some space as he had warned her, dipping his head in acknowledgment of her success.

“You’re dismissed now.”

Arlecchino delivered a brisk nod, yet her swift energy in the nod remained contradictory to her being drained from the inside, everything she had seen of you two opening a pit of despair dropped at her stomach.

Her already soulless eyes beheld an overwhelming tempest of agony, the abrupt cold air batting along her cheek leaving her unfazed as she stared down at the thick snow bundled below her feet, imprints left with each hollow step she crunched into the white blanket over Snezhnaya. The cold’s sting was but a pinch now, passing the pain she had underwent in her own personal hell, no pain could compare to seeing the woman she loved, the woman she’d die for happy in one moment, and dead in the blink of an eye.

By the time she had reached the hotel room that was accommodated for both Arlecchino and you—courtesy of the Jester for your stay in Snezhnaya for the the mission, she only scanned along the patterns of the wooden door in search of something she wasn’t even sure of, blinking rapidly as her draining exhaustion crept up on her. You opened the door to greet your shell of a wife, staring aimlessly at the floor to your concern.

You couldn’t help but notice the dark circles lined beneath her eyes, complimenting her faded lipstick in small tones of pink to accompany the once deep red. Her hair was messed over from her usual well combed style as the thin ponytail behind her draped loose to the bottom, slightly exposing more stray strands peeking out from behind her neck.

“Uh- Arle are you-? Woah!”

Arlecchino’s uncharacteristic hug had thrown you off guard, eyes wide as the other harbinger’s arms pulled you to her in a tidal wave like embrace, nose digging into the crook of your neck.

“I missed you.”

“I- uh- missed you too! But what’s with the sudden hug, dear?”

“Nothing.”

It took quite a bit of strength to pry the stronger woman off of you, grasping her shoulders as you stared back at her signature deadpan expression, now fresh with tear cracks running down her cheeks.

“Wait, Arle..are you crying?”

“I am not.”

“I can literally see a few tears on that dead face of yours!”

“Allergies.”

“Peruere it’s fucking winter in Snezhnaya!”

You sighed, taking her hand as you shut the door behind you in a prolonged creaking noise as you beckoned her to sit on the couch beside you. Complying, the woman merely took her seat in silence, not so much as a hum elicited from her as the only audible noise in the deafening silence was the clock ticking, alongside her deep, drawn out breaths. Carefully, you pushed a small porcelain cup atop a gold rimmed plate on the table in her direction, the small squeak as the fine material scraped along the glass not being enough to cut through the silence.

“Er..I made you tea earlier for when you came back but it’s cold now..sorry.”

Arlecchino took the handle between her thumb and pointer finger, eyeing her reflection rippling in the clear, golden brown waves of the cool cup. She parted her lips in a quiet exhale, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth before sipping the cold tea.

“I love you, (Name). In every universe.”

Your gaze softened as you took the cup from her hands to replace with your own, touch feather light as your thumb circled the callouses of Arlecchino’s palm as they brushed along your own. The reminder of both of your professions as harbingers together.

“Arle..you don’t have to tell me what happened, but whatever did, I promise I’m not going anywhere. I love you forever and ever, okay?”

A wordless nod was all that was delivered from the white haired woman, the cross in her eyes blinding out of sight the further her eyelids dropped as she inclined to the tender embrace of her lover’s arms. Head dropping atop your chest, she pressed her cheek flush to the fabric of your clothing as close as possible, attempting to catch every little heartbeat and breath earned from the silence of her listening in.

She would protect you with all she had.

Anything to give this universe’s version of herself and the woman she adored a life of everything she could desire, one that spanned across every other multiverse that rooted and acknowledged the depth of your bond together.

A/N: OKAY OKAY first half was decent, middle was kinda trash but the third part of the fic ate so id like to say im seldom proud of this fic I’ve crafted anyway Arle fans eat well I missed feeding you guys and I haven’t written her in so long omg

Also uhhhh I kinda sorta haven’t played genshin in a really long time IM SORRY NATLAN WAS BOOTYCHEEKS I COULDNT BRINF MYSWLF TO PLAY IT HOLY SHIT I miss Fontaine but yeah this was fun to dooo <33

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sunlxst · 16 days ago

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hm..grandaddy sylus

gilf! sylus x cartgirl! reader headcannons

sexual content • widee age gap (us early 20s + him early 60s)

Gilf Sylus who looks incredible for his age that no one can guess it down to the number. Silver fox final boss, his hair right above his shoulders, streaked with darker strands of grey at the root. Grey mustache and goatee combo. Crow's feet creasing under a deeper set of red eyes and gentle smile lines by his mouth.

Gilf sylus who’s CEO of OnychinusCo, an international financial conglomerate that has amassed a fortune through not-so-legal methods, a business he grew from the ground up. His children yearn for the position more and more as the years ago by. “Getting a little old father” They say, “ think it’s time to hand over the reigns”. He concedes after further persuasion, though he was more than willing to give his kids what they want, like always. It wouldn’t be a clean transition though, he leaves the company in chaos letting them decide who would take his place.

Gilf sylus who is patriarch of the Qin family with many sons and many more daughters. They're all white haired and red eyed, spoiled, with ambition to make their father proud. They’ve all grown up and flown the nest, starting their own families and making a name for themselves whether in the family business, politics, science, they had influence in every facet of society.

Gilf sylus who didn't care to remarry. He didn't feel like there was any point, all that’s left is to enjoy the time he had left before checking out. Him spending his days drinking expensive scotch while tinkering with his mechanical crow, working out though not as strenuous as when he was younger, and golfing at his favorite country club.

Gilf sylus who at first was rather indifferent to you. Just another pretty cart-girl initially, but you surprise him in ways he didn't see coming. Happily letting you tease him and taking every opportunity to match your energy. He never misses a chance to see you, his schedule gradually aligning with yours, intentionally of course. He refuses to be out there in the sun without you.

Gilf sylus who knows he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. Eyeing the curve of your ass when you bend over to scoop ice in a cup, your skirt riding up a touch too high revealing the slit of fabric at the apex of your thighs. He nearly bends his wedge in his hand, cock twitching to life until you tug the hem down while handing him his drink, “Enjoy," you say. You smile innocent, but your eyes are a different story "hopefully your game gets better” He tips you well over $200 every time, putting the folded bills in your open hand, fighting back a smirk while his eyes dip below your neckline, “I have a feeling it will thanks to you, see you later sweetie”

Gilf sylus who considers you his guilty pleasure. You’re in your early 20s, roughly the same age as his youngest child. it’s so bad of him and he’s not exactly sure when the attraction started, but he can’t help his heart picking up when seeing your cart wind down the pavement heading for him. You're always in a mini tennis skirt and polo tee two buttons loose, a white sports cap crowning your hair, shielding your bright smile from the sun as you wave him down.

Gilf sylus who won't hold back anymore. No longer denying your advances, he splits you open against the seat of your drink cart, bottles rattling in the back from the strength of his waist, connecting swiftly on your ass. He feels like a virgin all over again, almost cumming against your lips the minute his swollen tip kissed your fleshy ring. You were so insistent he wouldn’t be able to get it up. “Are you sure there's still gas in that car, sylus? Should we find you some mighty blues?” you had said with salacious smile, grazing your fingers under his belt. Clearly you’ve eaten your words, lips together yet moans push their way through with every searing kiss to your cervix. Your pussy fluttering with every surge, falling apart in a slick creamy mess that drools down his shaft in white ribbons.

“What was that about me needing pills, kitten? -ngh, remind me again,” he says against your ear with a sinful grin, kissing the side of your mouth until it opens.

“S-shut up,” you moan, tightening your arms around his neck, lips slotting together with his in a breathless kiss. "Mm—you won't last another round."

"I won't?" he echoes playfully, a finger catches on your clit circling, and your body spasms. Heavy waves of arousal stir quickly in your cunt with sylus reaching to kiss your sweet spot over and over again.

"fuck sylus -"

He groans as his cock drowns in another gooey wave of your essence. "I might surprise you, kittenmhm-gonna get what you asked for."

Gilf sylus who hates sharing you. Glaring hellfire at the other party holding you hostage by their endless requests and small-talk. His jealousy fucks with his swing, which fucks with his streak-only adding fuel to his fire. "I'm so thirsty kitten that it’s messing with my putting” he pouts when you finally arrive “Help me fix it," in which you’re cumming on his face once, twice, until you have his hair in a tight fist, body on fire, "sylus n-no more-“

He kisses your clit noisily against his tongue, you croon, head knocking back while your hips buck “see you say that," he teases along your folds, "but you're still grinding on my face. You should make up your mindmmnh-.”

You tug on his hair, pulling him deeper into your dripping heat. His groan reverberates waves of vibrations following after you as he draws out another mind-numbing orgasm, holding your thighs open in an iron grip.

Gilf sylus who reserves the entire course, days at a time, just to play with you. 80% golf, 20% distracting you with handsy make-outs so you don't realize you're washing him. Seems like you've learned quite a bit working on the golf course. Naturally you top his strategy, betting he couldn't score a birdie on the 9th hole, 4 par. If he could, you'd reward him. You know your bet will make him terribly reckless, which it does, but you don't count on it actually working in his favor. You're all pouty by the final hole as you stroke his slick with your spit, gradually swelling up in your hand. "Don't be like that sweetie, my luck was with me today."

"Bullshit," you grumble yet you still tongue kiss up his shaft "I’ll get my revenge," which you do, the sun burning extra extra hot on the back of his neck as you take him between your lips. "good" he gasps. "go ahead kitten t-take it from me." his tip knocks somewhere far within in your throat, your tongue rubbing the puffy vein along the underside, his stomach caves, “shit” your nose nuzzles in trimmed grey hairs at the base as you look up into desirous red eyes, hungry and attentive as pink spreads across his face, sweat glistening like crushed diamonds at his hairline. His jaw tightens as you slide up your shirt, tugging the straps of your bra down "damn" he huffs as you softly moan squeezing your tits, "not playing fair kitten I like that"

Gilf sylus that suggests you quit and let him take care of you. Just stay with him for as long as time allows, his fortune all yours if you accept. You mention about being seen as gold digger, but the concept doesn’t make sense in his brain. Is it really a bad thing if you use him for his money when your dependency is what he craves the most? You spend most of your time with him anyway, either at the country club or wandering through his massive estate in little to nothing as he observes.

Gilf sylus who introduces you at the annual family reunion hosted on their private island. Referring to you as wife because to him, he's too old (and too in love) to be calling you his girlfriend. His kids aren't thrilled at the idea of having a stepmom that much younger than most of them, but sylus couldn't care. He's well over the age gap and refuses to let anyone mention it, and in his eyes they should count themselves lucky to have you as a stepmom. Besides, the two of you have news that may or may not involve a baby shower 28 weeks later.

#my fics #lnds smut #sylus #love and deep space #sylus x reader #love and deep space smut #sylus x reader smut #lnds sylus #sylus smut #lads smut #lads sylus

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skvrpion · 3 months ago

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Study Buddy [M] Oneshot

tw: drug paraphernalia, swearing, general filthiness

“this just something sweet for the fucking kids okay” - Auntie Fee

“London you just came over here to study, that’s it.”

London was quietly berating herself in the bathroom mirror, fingers nervously twirling the same braid she’d been messing with since 8 that night.

It was now 11PM and she was heavily contemplating sucking the skin off of Terrance Richmonds dick – the polite gentleman who was currently waiting on her to return back to their study session in his living room.

The original plan was to come over and prepare for her last midterm of the week, the most heavily dreaded exam in her program to date. Everyone she knew who’d previously taken advanced calculus with Professor Malkin bombed this particular test – everyone but Terrance who’d scathed by with a 92, a low for him but still a pass, nevertheless. For the last few semesters he was known solely around the quad as a mousy brainiac, rarely seen but always heard of from both administration and the incoming PhD students desperate for help.

London herself initially became acquainted with him during a freshman Biology class and for weeks he without question covered her ass when she was running behind, scrambling into her seat with Starbucks, hopes and a dream that she’d be able to catch up to their lectures. What started as frequent texts regarding academia trickled into casual conversation and before they knew it, they were what most people considered close friends. Close in the context that they rarely saw each other outside of the confines of their library’s study rooms, but chatted enough through texts that they knew mostly every mundane thing about each other. No one on campus – including London – thought much of him looks wise until he returned from study abroad an entirely different person.

Over the course of his summer internship in Thailand, he’d bulked up match his staggering height, caught a tan, and traded his scruffy look for a more polished cut low fade and goatee. Though it didn’t sound like much, his confidence had shot up tenfold, and in less than three months he came back to campus an entirely new person. It was noticeable by everyone he’d come across again, his dimpled smile and deadly charm were infectious. Frankly, it made most people want to throw their panties at him; London was one of those people, and here she was ready to send her thong flying.

“Aye, you good in there?”

London almost jumped out of her skin when he knocked on the door. It’d been a solid ten minutes since she disappeared, and he was worried something had happened.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine! I saw something stupid on Twitter and lost track of time.”

“Aight.”

Flushing the empty toilet, London opened the door and awkwardly came face to face with Terry noting the tightly rolled blunt tucked in his ear.

“Is that..a funky ass grape Swisher?”

“Uh yeah,” he smiled innocently, “does the same thing them weird vegan wraps do.”

“It’s not weird. It’s called having taste and being health conscious. Swishers taste like shit.”

“To you.” He said while trailing her back into the living room. London's long forgotten study guide and scratch papers were still spread across the table with no chance of making anything higher than a 67 in sight. It didn’t help that she’d given up on studying ten minutes into being that damn close to him - equally blamed on his piercing seafoam eyes and cologne.

“Well…it’s safe to say my brain is cooked. I mean you did great; it’s just not sticking. I’m sorry T.” London pouted earnestly, “ I really didn’t mean to take up your whole night with this shit.”

“I told you it’s aight, wasn’t like I had shit going anyway. You’ll be fine, even if you bomb it you got enough cushion to bring it to a 75 by the end of term. C’s make degrees, right?.” He nodded before dipping back into the couch, lighting his blunt. To save herself from getting more flustered London focused her attention on cleaning her mess up and shoved her papers into her bag. Watching a nigga smoke was top two and not two in her turn on list – it was actually how she got caught up with running behind he who shan’t me named a month badk. It was really her fault for dating frat, but then again that wasn’t the point of her current affliction.

As soon as she zipped her bag up the smell of chronic seized her nose, Terrance was offering her the blunt as a kind gesture seeing she was going to be stressed the fuck out the rest of the weekend. Knowing she had to be home soon, London contemplated taking him up on her offer. Her group chat would question the hell out of her if she disappeared this late, which would lead to a fight over whether or not she was with her ex.

Terrance wasn’t her ex though.

“Fuck it.” She thought aloud as she accepted the free smoke.

It’d only been three days’ since she last partook – however – whatever Terry had managed to sneak through customs was so strong it tightened her lungs the second she inhaled. Quickly passing (more like flinging) the swisher back to him, she made a dash for her Stanley cup on the counter, shooting him daggers as he flashed his signature cheeky laugh.

Though her burning throat London rasped a “Where the fuck is that from?”

“Being honest? Some hole in the wall in Bangkok; looked better than the shit I had back here for half the price so I bit.”

“Uh huh,” she huffed through ringing ears, “I think I’ll stick to my prerolls.”

Nodding humbly, Terry ghosted the cloud of smoke leaving his lips and briefly turned to retrieve the TV remote. As much as London wanted to continue the banter all she could do was stare lustful rings of fire into him. He was doing nothing out of the ordinary – smoking and surfing Crunchyroll for some anime she was sure to forget – and yet London still wanted to burst into a ball of flames. Whatever happened to him when he left the states was out of this world; it was mind boggling how normal he continued to act despite turning into an unrecognizable hunk of his former self. For what felt like an eternity she couldn’t help but to scan every muscle adorning his frame. That was until his familiar baritone brought her back down to Earth

“London…let me ask you something?”

Shit.

“Why you keep staring like that?”

London tried to play dumb,“What? I just wrecked my brain with equations for hours and hit a rillo’, if I’m staring at you it’s because I’m high and tired.” she mouthed back

“Nah, that’s not what I mean,” he chuckled, “you keep giving me that look.”

“What look, Terrance?”

There was a deafening silence between the two as he ashed his smoke out on the coffee table ashtray. London’s head was now swimming from the additional contact high in the room and the signal he was sending off was insane– to her his playful demeanor had shifted to something deeper in what felt like mere seconds.

Arms folded, London insisted on pretending nothing was happening and proceeded to take a seat back on the couch, this time away from him to keep up the act.

“What look was I giving you Terry?” She said while glaring at him. She watched him exhale with a grin and darkly catch her glance.

“You know I’m not stupid right,” he started, “we been cool for what? Three, four years now and I know you London. You only give somebody that look when you tryna cut – and don’t bullshit me cause you know I’m right.”

She wanted to scream. He was absolutely right and putting her on the spot like it was nothing. Had he done this before? She couldn’t tell and her mind was beginning to race with all sorts of unholy thoughts.

“Look, I know I shouldn’t be putting you on blast like that but it’s obvious… and you ain’t the first person I had this conversation with.”

“Oh, okay. Well…what usually happens after this conversation?” stiffly said London. It was the most she could get out with a straight face.

“We either laugh about it and pretend it never happened, or…” he trailed off.

“Or what?”

Terrance simply eyed the television and deadpanned while continuing his statement.

“We fuck and call it a night. That’s up to you though.”

London couldn’t think straight, hell she couldn’t think at all while processing what the fuck he just said. For a second, she thought he was joking, but considering the growing wet spot in her shorts couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try.

“Oh...sooooo like..before or after the movie?”

————

Terry and London attempted to get through the first episode of Baki - that only lasted through the first arc though. As soon as London's body pressed into his broad side, his lips found themselves on her, anime be damned.

In the moment tried to stifle her moans but quickly faltered once she realized they were alone: no roommates, no problems. Pecking up to her face and stopped to hover at her lips, glaring her in the eye – one hand gripping her cheek and the other tugging at the hem of her button up.

Between soft kisses fluttering her lower jaw Terry mumbled a grumbly, “You sure?”

London could only nod and melt into every single peck they exchanged. Little moans seeped out of her glossed lips and into his own as he popped the buttons on her tank top one by one; it did nothing to hide her lack of a bra and that had admittedly been driving him wild since she’d gotten there. Truth be told he Terry liked her - honestly wanted her as bad as she did him but couldn’t dare lead her on like that knowing who she was with. Why things ended the way they did and how badly he wanted to break her ex nigga jaw for embarrassing his friend like that. With the cards now off the table he had no reason to hold back anymore, and that he no longer would do.

Terrance took a freed umber nipple into his mouth and softly glided his hand past the bands of her cotton shorts. She was painfully warm, her voice raising an octave as he circled her clit with the pad of his thumb. The way her face turned up with each slow drag was as mesmerizing as it was arousing, her eyes never leaving his as she struggled to form coherent thoughts.

“Knew I had you wet,” he said while turning his attention to pulling her bottoms off, “whatchu’ wanna do, you gone let me taste it?”

London nodded to keep from screaming. Foreplay was unfortunately new to her and she’d grown accustomed to her man getting a quick nut and going to sleep, her pleasure be damned. Being teased like this made her absolutely crumble. In a lustful haze London watched Terrance peel his shirt off – then drop his sweats to reveal the thick log tucked across the leg of his boxers.

To her chagrin his face was already between her thighs before she could register the type of night she was in for. In one gentle sweep he pulled her panties to the side and prompt my went to work eating her pussy – thick lips suctioning her clit first to rouse her, then relaxing to lick a stinging stripe up her glistening folds.

“Oh fuck.” Was all she could breathe.

She was soaking wet and throbbing across his tongue, her clit rock solid from the sensation; he was attentive, seafoam iris’ diliating and fluttering as he explored her lips. London almost immediately felt an orgasmic wave creeping up her spine as he sopped her up, however, she was determined not to fuck it up and cum this early in.

Her body wasn’t taking that waiting on that shit though. One sharp shudder after another and she was unwinding all over him and his plush couch, nails raking across his back and eyes clamping shut. Clocking her in intending orgasm, Terry groaned into her clit, vibrations setting off a moan that cut deep from London’s vocal chords. Terrance let her loosen the grip on his head before delivering a messy, slick kiss to her mouth to quell her whimpering. London sucked herself up weakly - the taste adding to her overstimulation as she tried her hardest to recover from her first orgasm. She cut him the craziest look when she settled.

“Who– when the fuck did you learn that?” She rasped, fixating her attention to his now obvious poking erection.

Between a playful shrug, Terry bit her bottom lip and , pulling away to take off his boxers. Every vein trailing his arms and pelvis were rushed full of blood as his dick sprang out of confinement, tapping his stomach and garnering a gasp from London.

She couldn’t believe her fucking eyes; their entire friendship Terry had been hiding all of this dick and was now about to put it in her. Her first thought with a stranger was always a condom – however – tonight she was stuck on stupid and wanted to feel all of it. Raw. Taking no pause London lazily shifted her legs back and waited for him to tear her shit up - prompting Terry to lightly chuckled and shake his head no.

“You want it that bad huh? C’mon, we gon’ need some more room than this. And a rubber, freaky ass frog.”

Once best friends - always best friends.

In one effortless swoop Terrance hoisted London off the couch, hoisting her over his left shoulder marching them to his bedroom. He stopped momentarily to fish a Skyn from his side drawer, then hoisted her down to his neatly made bed. His sheets were pitch black and cold enough to make her perk up from the head-drunk coma she’d been in. She had no time to get adjusted either, as soon as her legs reopened Terrance was back assaulting her clit with his thumb.

She dragged out a “Terry please.” and watched in anguish as he stroked the condom on above her. He looked almost ethereal with his eyes falling down her frame hungrily, muscles contracting, and veins hardened in heat. Giving her a devilish smile Terrance hooked his arm around her left leg and softly ran the head of his dick up and down her folds.

“Please what?” he asked. His free hand snaked its way to her throat and slowly pressed the sides of neck in as she spoke.

“I said please what?” he demanded louder.

A whimpering London strained “P-please T.”

“What’s my name?”

“Terra-“

That was all she could get out before Terrance slid inside of her to the hilt. She could only gasp as he filled her up, her walls gripping his dick with a ferocity, engraving the memory for later. For the first time that night Terry cocked his head back and audibly moaned, making London’s walls grip him up coaxing another one out of him.

He was so fucking nasty.

“I’m finna fuck you up.” He uttered before winding back and stroking into her. Words were no longer forming on London’s tongue at this point, just strained whines of pleasure as Terrance stroked into her, deeply. Their foreheads touched as her hands snapped to brace his arms, the pairs eyes locked together as he slow pounded her leaking core, kissing her deeply as he picked up the pace.

In the moments he let go to admire the mess they were making London’s eyes lulled deep into the back of her head, her grip on his arm loosening at every thrust he made. The way her dollish brown eyes bore into his with each snap of his hips, how she dug her nails into his wrists, how wet and sticky her folds were becoming around his shaft with each pressing moment.

Terrance usually cared to be a tease, however, it was clear neither of them would be making it far tonight. Beneath him London was close cumming again, Terry hoping he could make her hold out for him just a little longer. He needed to stay in it.

“I can’t – fuck I can’t t-“

“Hold on, hold on,” he groaned, pecking at her parted lips, “ just breathe, wait for me Lo. You gone wait for me?”

That whiny baritone made London’s legs tremble around him. There was no way she could stop a second creeping orgasm from knocking her clean the fuck out far before he got to that point. Both gently and quickly, Terry pulled out, flipped her over and wrapped his hand in her braids. With her back arched deep, her weeping core completely exposed, London could only whine back at him as he tugged her by the nape of the neck back to rest in his shoulder, his right hand anchoring her to his slick skin by gripping her throat.

His dick then found its way back inside of her and started hitting an angle she hadn’t felt in months. He wasn’t jack hammering her shit but he damn sure wasn’t going as soft as he had earlier. Between their moans he could hear the sound of her ass smacking against his thighs. Her curves rippled under the pressure of his strokes and his dick was twitching out of control for release.

Blinded again by pleasure filled tears, London could barely hear him as he rattled off curses into her ear and smacked the everliving fire out of her ass. She reached behind her and pulled Terrance in as close as she could, nails harshly scratching up the nape of his neck - a familiar warmth rising from her lower stomach with each earth shattering, sloppy wet strokes.

She begged him,“Terry…p-please. F-fuck right there don’t stop, dontfuckingstop-.”

“Think you got enough,” he snarled through grit teeth, “let me feel that shit Lo...there you go.”

That was all she needed to hear; as the floodgates opened London’s entire body jerked – from her core to the tip of her fingers she completely lost control, walls contracting erratically around the veiny thickness getting stuck in her vice grip. Just as she came unglued, so did Terry; though he could’ve stayed in it for at least another hour he couldn’t dare spoil the moment of unloading into her, the only thing stopping her from getting pregnant being the integrity of the condom she’d long forgotten about.

Terrys voice strained into her ear as his hips jerked erratically into her own, the only thing he whimpered between mourns being London's name. The moment his grip to her throat softened, she took the initiative to free herself, flopping to the mattress and swatting him back by the pelvis to make him pull out before he got the itch for round two. She couldn’t help but to groan and shiver at the sensation, Terry on the other hand finding it funny while trailing kisses down her spine, his goatee scratching her supple skin.

With a final, plush kiss to the side of her neck, Terry fully removed himself from her and flopped to the mattress, the covers and sheets scattered and ruined as they both struggled to catch their breath.

Terry of course was the first to speak, voice deepened out of exhaustion, “We need to shower. Bad,” he smirked, “I’ll get you a shirt, c’mon fore’ you fall asleep.”

It took all of the manpower they collectively had between them to hobble to the bathroom and clean up - both parties shooting sneaky glances between flushed cheeks, pursed smiles and snickers as they rid themselves of the night's essence. London tipped back to the bed first but grimaced at the damp spot in the covers. Terry on the other hand, smirked sheepishly at the mess as it wasn’t his first rodeo and opted to knock the linen off in full - a thick blanket from an older comforter set in tow. He was quick with his set up, carefully eying her as she made herself comfortable in the striped duvet. The wild animal from before, gone, it was back to calm and sweet Terrance doting on every wince. He mumbled apologies as he made the bed dip with his weight, opting to lay his hand on her stomach as London wrapped her arms into his. They would delve into how world changing this dynamic would be for their friend groups in the morning - the only thing mattering now was rest amongst one another.

And as for her midterm? It happily was good as fucked just as she’d been.

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond smut #Terrance Richmond #black writblr #black fem oc #my work

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bokutogoateeenthusiast · 14 days ago

Text

bokuto x reader

funny, kinda suggestive, goatee bokuto, timeskip (MSBY)

it’s not explicitly mentioned in the text but i wrote this thinking of a chubby reader (plump girl lover bokuto agenda).

loud cheers were heard from all over the room. your eyes wandered over the crowd, everybody's face lit up with excitement, their gazes fixated on the court. squeaks and the sound of the ball hitting the floor reverberated in the room while you were internally almost screaming from nervousness.

ever since you've first come to watch a match played by MSBY black jackals, you were fascinated by the atmosphere and energy the people brought.

you focused your attention back to the players, looking for the number 12 with the two toned hair.

the moment you spotted him, your face lit up in a smile as you saw him jump off the orange floor up into the air to hit the blue and yellow ball with full force. the ball shot to the right of the two men blocking in front of him, and landed on the ground with a loud thud. the crowd broke out into cheers and two loud wistles were heard one after the other.

the scoreboard showed 21 to 25 for MSBY. after 4 sets, they finally secured a third one for themselves, winning their game in the process. koutaro, shoyo, kyoomi, atsumu, and the rest of their team gathered together in a chaotic group hug while the audience clapped loudly.

a bit more than half an hour later you were waiting in front of the dressing rooms assigned to the team, waiting for your boyfriend to finish his shower.

just a few seconds later, the door opened for the first time and hinata walked out with his gym bag king over his shoulder.

“waiting for bokuto?” he asked, stopping to talk to you until the dawdle squad was finally finished.

“yeah. i bet he’s monologueing about how great he is because he scored the winning point…” you giggled lightheartedly.

“actually, for the fact that he did score that last point, he’s pretty down right now. i think he said something about a lot of the fans not liking his new look” hinata explained carefully, looking up to think about what else he said. “it’s about that little beard - what did he call it… a goat or something - he’s growing. apparently he saw a few posts after last week’s game where fans criticised the way it looks on him”

you chuckled at his attempt to remember bokuto’s words. “you mean the goatee? that’s what the people have been calling it i think…”

“right, exactly! he said he thought it looked good but i guess it’s not everybody’s cup of tea.”

“i’ll just have to find a way to cheer him up then. it’s not like his mood swings are a new thing to any of us.”

“who has mood swings?! what happened?? anybody need someone to cheer them up?” bokuto energetically said when he opened the door of the changing room. he walked out followed by atsumu and strutted over to you, a hand wrapping around your waist to pull you close and plant a peck on your lips.

you smiled up at him while his eyes slowly scanned your figure from top to bottom. he quickly noticed you wearing his spare jersey, which made a bright smile pop up on his face.

“so tell me, what were you just talking about?” he inquired again, this time calmer.

before you could answer, hinata spoke up. “i guess we’ll leave now! have a nice evening, and bokuto-san, see you saturday at practice!” the two colleagues turned around and made their way to the exit. bokuto watched them leave before turning back to you with a look that made your heart hurt a little. his lips were poured slightly, brows also furrowed a bit.

“do you think i look good?” he finally asked after a while of silence.

you watched him with a confused gaze, but answered truthfully.

“of course, why wouldn’t i?”

“even with this?” he said, his left hand moving up towards his face to point at his little beard.

sometimes you thought to yourself how this man could be so confident and cocky one second, and be all pouty and self-conscious the next. he was like weather on flat terrain - always changing so quickly that nobody could prepare for it.

“want me to be honest?”

he nodded slowly and carefully, fully expecting you to go on about how bad it looked (just like akaashi did the other week when he received a spontaneous facetime call from his dear highschool friend), but it never came.

“it’s so hot. i would to get on my knees right here and right now for you. since you let it grow i’ve had to control myself even more to not just jump you at any given moment.”

his eyes widened a bit. he didn’t expect you to like it that much, neither did he expect you to be this direct.

he took a step closer to you, your bodies almost touching now.

“please-”

“don’t you dare do anything in these hallways. i don’t want to walk through here in a hazmat suit next time. thank you.”

both of you looked towards the changing room, where sakusa stood with his bag in hand. after a few seconds of silence, bokuto started laughing loudly at kyoomi’s comment.

“don’t worry, these types of activities are reserved for at home.” bokuto said.

“good.”

with that, sakusa walked past you. and just when he thought there would be no more trouble, he heard bokuto’s whispered words echo off the empty corridor walls.

“and sometimes for the back of our team bus…”

a/n: this is my first fic in maybe 2.5 years so please be gentle… anyways i got the inspiration for this because i saw so many ppl on tiktok saying goatee bokuto doesn’t look good 😔 wdymmmmm he looks scrumptious i could literally eat him (getting on my knees rn).

do we want a part 2 to this? maybe kinda smutty? idk… maybe i’ll lose motivation again tomorrow but i could give it a try

bokuto goatee starter:

posted on: 13. June 2025

#haikyuu #hq #haikyu #haikyuu time skip #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu ff #haikyuu fanfiction #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto x chubby reader #bokuto koutaro x chubby reader #bokuto ff #bokuto fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kkaur haikyuu ff

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anothermaletfwriter · 4 months ago

Text

Holiday Break Fun

“Look babe, if you wanted me to stay with your over the holidays, you should have let me known,” Said Dario, a Latino hunk, on his Facetime call with his long distance girlfriend.

“I fucking did,” the blonde bimbo on the other side of the call screamed, “I literally texted you several times, mailed literal letters of reminders about it and every time I called you, I brought it up every time as a gentle reminder. And somehow you still forgot!”

“Still, I doesn’t see how it’s my fault but sorry," Dario effortlessly shrugged without much care for his girlfriend of a few years, "Babe, I made plans with the boys first.”

“You literally told me you only made those plans last week. I’ve been asking you to free your holiday up for months.”

“Really? If you reminded me that frequently, I would have remembered.”

“I can’t with this. You are literally an awful boyfriend that doesn’t even care enough about their girlfriend to make time for her. Goodbye.”

“Wait I’m really sorr—“

The call ended. All that reflected was his face on the black screen of his phone.

“Whatever,” he said, mocking his girlfriend, “She’ll be back.” He grinned, flexing his tan arms in front of the mirror on his door. He admired himself. The canyons across his abs could hold liters of sweat and his pecs could be used as comfortable pillows. He was young and at the peak in his life, living in an apartment by himself and owing it to his own success, despite his parents entirely financing his ventures.

He took out fresh produce from the fridge, proud of the constant organic food he received, throwing out any without hesitation if they were not of the perfect color. Perfect food was needed for a perfect physique. He snacked on a few cucumber slices and raw pieces of cold sweet carrot. His stomach rumbled and he felt a pang of soreness, like after a too intense of a workout where his muscles trembled at every moment, shimmer through his body.

He yawned, feeling sleepy at early in the afternoon. On his walk to the bedroom, his gait became slower and gaunter. The fridge he used to see the top off loomed over him, like he had shrunk by half a foot. The door frame he used to slap without jumping was out of reach now.

He reached down instinctively to rub his hand against his washboard abs but he only felt softness. Used to a hard slap, he only heard a meek flap. He looked down to his abs dissolving back into its layer of fat. What was he going to flaunt now? He couldn’t show off his love handles to his girlfriend. Her name was getting out of his head now. He tried to bounce his pecs but found it harder to flex with the fat enveloping around it, turning the hard firmness into a soft flabbiness, more moobs than pecs. His arms and legs followed, losing definition as it became softer and less elastic. His underwear became loose as his member shriveled from a generous double digits to a four incher. He stared in the mirror of the his stockier physique, crying out for whatever force had done it to reverse it and turned him back into the hunk that he was minutes before. As he tried to call his girlfriend back, he was interrupted by a burning sensation.

An itch developed on his chest like a bad sunburn. When he scratched to relieve it, a small yet noticeable patch of pin straight black hair erupted out, along with a happy trail leading down. No matter how many times he used his electric razor, it continued to come back. The more he shaved, the more different his skin had become. The luscious smooth skin with copper undertones of his youth aged into luminous pale pink creases with a golden hue underneath that matched well with his farmer’s tan. His girlfriend’s The stranger’s call had returned to voice mail.

Looking at the bathroom mirror, his face had aged by a few decades and became Asian. Soft wrinkles and smile lines baked into his face with the faint goatee that sprouted. He had lost his luscious curly brown hair and gained a straight black buzz cut. His sense of self as Dario was gone, what remained was Dewei, a middle aged Chinese-American, who worked as a literature professor in the nearby university.

Getting up, he received more of his memories of past hookups, old birthdays and house move-ins. Through scrolling of brand new photos and videos, some of them in Mandarin, which he now understood fluently from his childhood, his life began to refresh itself from what was Dario. All the pictures and videos in his phone changed. His girlfriend no longer there. Why would have a girlfriend? He was gay. Instead of the hedonistic lifestyle the past hunk had lived, Dewei worked hard in university in his degree and often stayed with his parents to save money.

His phone scrolling was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was his Grindr hookup, Tianyu. Another Asian bear but with much a bigger stomach than his. They’ve been hooking up for regularly for years and this was the usual.

Dewei had enjoyed his single life ever since he broke up with his boyfriend in his 30s. After his breakup, he had feared that no one would ever hook up to him due to his already old age. Over a decade and a half later, his fear was unfounded. In fact, he found himself with more messages and hookups than in his 20s, often from other Asian bears like himself.

Dewei opened the door and hugged the other bear, greeting him, “Happy holidays.”

“Happy holidays to you,” Tianyu entered the flat, kissing him. His stomach swaying as he unbuckled his belt.

“Glad that you made it. I don’t like spending my holidays, alone."

“Hey thanks for giving me a headsup in months of advance.” Tianyu said before embracing himself into Dewei.

They fully undressed in his bedroom. Dewei knelt down and sucked on the much larger and fatter member of Tianyu, inhaling each other’s musks. He wrapped his lips and tongues around his like it was muscle memory. It didn’t take long before they got on his bed and fucked as usual. Energy pounded through Dewei’s massive ass as the other man kept hitting his prostate with a heavy swing. Once his hole, loose from the many men that have been inside of him, was filled up, Dewei finished as well, leaking out all the remnants of Darion and his consciousness.

Dewei panted, taken out by the session, holding onto Tianyu, “That was amazing,” He buried his aged face into his soft and flabby chest before making out with his soft lips.

The man smiled and eagerly said, “Ready for round two?”

This was going to be a fun holiday break.

#male tf #bear tf #latinotoasian #racial tf #male transformation #bearification #tf story #muscle loss #straight to gay

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unholyhelbig · 4 months ago

Note

I have a whump prompt I found on pintrest: "Baths were used as a form of torture against reader. They were forced to sit in icy water for hours on end or they were repeatedly held under until they blacked out. When they get rescued, and then are given a bath, they freak out and try to stay away from the water."

Title: Brackish | [read part two]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanov/Romanoff

Word Count: 3280

Warnings: Mentions of torture, mentions of mind control, ice baths, abuse, starvation, drowning, panic attacks, imprisonment, vomiting, blackouts, Canon-typical violence, horrible grammar. I stuck with the request, please respect your triggers!!!

Summary: Agent Romanoff is sent into an interrogation room to break the only prisoner they pull from a Hydra compound, but things don't go exactly as planned.

[A/n: God damn, I haven't written about Romanoff in so long, it truly does feel so good to write about her again and it seems like Tumblr is seriously lacking in fics lately! I miss my bby girl!]

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Natasha Romanoff’s eyes were something cold and calculated that reminded you too much of the cell that the unnamed agency had pulled you from twenty-four hours before. They’d seated her across from you in the darkened room, the cold metal chair digging into your spine uncomfortably, but comparatively comfortable compared to the floor you’d slept on for an indiscernible amount of time.

She regarded you with discontent, an icy type of green that you were sure would give way to a critical glare in a matter of moments. Still, you didn’t waver. Something she wasn’t used to. They’d sent her in after the overly-muscled-man with a soft blue stare and another one with a goatee from the early 2000’s and an attitude that matched.

You hadn’t broken for either of them. It was the classic good cop, annoying cop routine. Natasha Romanoff was clearly the bad cop. They hadn’t pulled her at first and you knew it was because of where they had pulled you from. A facility that was filled with nothing but bad cops. Worse than bad cops. Cops that had dissected you, pulled out all of your organs and stitched you back up incorrectly just for the hell of it.

“Do you speak?”

Natahsa’s own voice was raspy from disuse. She’d given up on the silent game now that it had been over an hour. Her manicured fingers had fallen onto the metal table and left rings of warmth on the surface. You watched as the disappeared.

She reached across the length of the table, movements assured. You tracked her with your stare but still flinched when she placed her warm fingers under her chin and lifted it, eyebrows furrowing. “There’s a scar over your larynx. Did they cut deep enough?”

You leveled her with a glare of your own and wrenched away from her touch. Yes, you could talk. They’d spared your vocal chords. You just didn’t want to speak with her. With any of them, for that matter. They’d taken you from one cage and thrown you right into another. Even if this one had heating and a plush bed it was a cage all the same.

A huff left you, instead. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your seat, lifting a sculpted eyebrow. If you looked hard enough you swore that there was the slightest curve of a smile on Natasha’s lips. You wondered if they were interrogating the others that they pulled from the wreckage of the Hydra base, or if they only had eyes on you. If she only had eyes on you.

“Family, then?” She tapped her fingers impatiently. “Anyone we can notify?”

You tilted your head to the side, keeping your expression neutral. Though the subject matter was a sore spot, something raw like sunburn after a long day at the beach, it was something that your brain had forced itself to forget for your own good. Her tactics were useless.

Truthfully, you could feel exhaustion tugging at the back of your eyes. It would be easy to give up now, to slump forward and lay your head on the cool exterior of the table. Would it be so bad to give up to an agency such as this one?

When muscle-man was in here earlier, you could smell the sweetness of coffee on his breath. It was laced with hazelnut, and it was oh so different than the sour stench of alcohol that often joined the spit that coated your face when Hydra agents swished saliva around their mouths and flung the viscus at you.

Goatee was well groomed and slicked his hair back with a beautifully scented hair gel that carried an evergreen odor. It was the closest you had gotten to the outdoors in decades. You had nearly folded then, for the simple fact that you wanted to close your eyes and imagine what it would feel like to brush the tips of your fingers against the sappy needles.

Agent Romanoff flicked her gaze past your unmoving form to the reflective glass behind you. A two-way mirror, you knew. They’d been watching you for ticks this entire time, some indication that you would break and then shatter so they could pick you back up in your moment of need. They were talking to her through an earpiece that was miniscule enough that you couldn’t see it. Impressive.

“Okay,” She leaned back in her own chair, defensive demeanor seeming to soften in the slightest. Her jaw unclenched and her eyebrows unfurrow. There was a beauty to her that was unassuming even in the blaring lights above. This time her voice was lower. “Alright. Well, if you’re going to be stubborn, we might as well clean you up, get some food in you. We can’t have you rotting away in an interrogation room, can we?”

No- you supposed they couldn’t. Hydra would do the exact opposite. They’d haul you into a cell that was soaked with the scent of urine and cold and desolate and scattered with the blood of others. Already, this was an improvement.

You wouldn’t let them know that. You wouldn’t let Agent Romanoff know that.

There were cuffs around your wrists, bound tightly, but not uncomfortably. The metal was heavy, and your arms hung at your front. You allowed yourself to be hauled to your feet with dizzying deftness. Unsteady, nauseous. Natasha smelled nice and clean, and her body was warm just from its proximity to you. Base instincts told you to flinch away. Baser instincts told you to crash into her. You fought both valiantly and allowed her to lead you into a plain looking hallway.

Neither of you spoke and you were thankful for Agent Romanoff letting you set the pace. It was hard to walk. Whitehall would bark out orders and you were often hauled to your feet, dragged with a quickness that would give you no choice but to fight until layers of tissue ripped from your fingers as you fought. And fight you did. Teeth and nails until everything was raw and bloodied.

Now that you were alone, mostly alone, away from the prying eyes of the men behind the two-way glass, you relaxed your shoulders and felt the breath in your lungs leave with a little less tension. Unlabeled rooms were on either sides of the corridor, yellowed light spilling from select ones, your stare tracing the golden color.

Eventually, Natasha stopped at one that looked like all the others. She used a keycard on her belt until a magnetic click sounded. When she pushed it open it reveled something of a hotel room. Windowless, but cozy: a queen-sized bed, a television with a screensaver of a beach with flowing water, a desk and a closet, a bathroom that was larger than the cell Hydra had kept you in for an indefinite amount of time.

It was a hell of a prison, but the door locking with a mechanical click reminded you that it was a prison all the same, your gaze hardening against the outline of the entrance at the noise. Agent Romanoff watched you carefully. Tenderly. It squeezed at your chest.

“I’m going to take these off now.”

Natasha edged her fingers against the cuffs, pressing the right combinations that released them. Instinctively, you rubbed your hands against the raw skin. They weren’t too tight. Just phantoms of the metal and the freedom that you were craving. She tossed them on the bed with little regard.

You tracked her as she walked into the bathroom, flicked on the lights. “I’m sure you want some privacy right now. I’ll stay in the room but you have to crack the door. Standard precautions and all that. I’m sure you understand. We can’t leave you alone just yet.”

Natasha turned to you, green eyes still filled with a tepid worry. “Bathtub is just through there, already run. Towels and a fresh set of clothes are set out.”

Your fingers tightened around your stomach with fervor. It was an involuntary motion. The fabric that was stained and crusted in your own blood and sweat crinkled under the motion. It would be noticeable to a blind man and it was certainly noticeable to a trained agent. You must have paled. Must have shown some form of trembling panic. Your façade had cracked in the slightest form that piqued Natasha’s interest.

“I can sit with you, if you’d like.” Natasha sounded out.

No, no, no. That would make it worse. She could easily put her hands on your shoulders and dunk you under the water. The second you let your guard down, nothing was stopping her from holding you against the basin until you lost consciousness.

“Bathtub,” The whimper left you. The first word that you’d said since being taken from the Hydra compound. More of a whispered plea than anything. Your nails were digging so heavy into your ribs that they were drawing blood, such a small pinprick.

“Can’t”

Another punctuated word. Your throat was closing. It felt like it was closing, skin cold. They would use bags upon bags of ice in a metal tub. Whitehall claimed the practice taught patience. That sitting until your lips were blue and your skin was numb kept you vigilant. Unfeeling. Trained well and good.

When you did something against his diligent conditioning, he’d shove you under. Wait until the shock of cold made you black out, steal the air from your lungs and make you choke on the icy cold before pulling you back up and forcing you to sit in your own trembling mess for hours on end, just to start the process all over again. Hours morphing into days.

“Bathtub”

You were clawing at your throat now, trying to force air into it, like your nails would slash into the soft skin of your throat and allow the breath to flow freely. You were cold everywhere, nearly numb in the extremities. The stinging had moved from your sides to your collarbone. You were scratching at yourself. Had to make sure you were real, not submerged. Not drowning.

Agent Romanoff, at some point, had moved closer to you. That clean scent pulled into your lungs frantically. You were breathing, you knew logically that you were. Her warm hands gripped yours and pulled them away from your chest as she pressed your back to the coolness of the wall.

“Hey… Easy, easy”

Your arms were crossed over your chest, Natasha applying pressure to the center of the ‘x’ she had formed naturally. She pressed her whole body close to yours. Warmth. Security. The exact opposite of the ice bath that Whitehall would constantly dunk you into.

Tears streaked down your face, small cries escaping you as you let your head drop back against the wall. Natasha held you steady. Her eyes search your expression. She applies just the right amount of weight to you to help you breathe. You sniff hard. Swallow harder.

Soon it’s just the sound of your breath mingling with hers, of the air pumping into the room through the vent in the corner. You’re thankful that the room is fortified for sound. Much unlike the cells at the Hydra compound. Suddenly, and not for the first time today, you’re thankful for a lot of differences between the place you’d been pulled from the and place you’d been pushed into.

“Don’t suppose you have a room with a shower,” You huffed out.

Agent Romanoff scoffed, let her head fall just above your shoulder with a thump. “Yeah. I think I can figure something out.”

‘Figuring something out’ to Natasha meant taking you from the generic room on the basement level of the Avengers tower and moving you without consequence up to what you assumed was her floor. Something of a penthouse that overlooked the city.

A blanket of stars that rivaled the real nighttime sky. It was dizzying to you. You didn’t want to linger on the gesture for too long. She was being kind and had brought you down from a panic attack with the swiftness of a trained hero. You were sure that they made her take a course in that.

It was decorated smartly and smelled of vanilla. The elevator opened directly into her living area, large and stretching and chrome in a way that was not too garish. Agent Romanoff did not seem guarded about allowing you into her home. This was her home.

She removed her earpiece and set it on the table by the elevator as if it were car keys and not her lifeline to the man with the goatee and the muscle-man. There was an ease to her shoulders that showed she trusted you. Or at the very least, that she could take you.

You followed her like a lost puppy, taking stock of the modern art on the walls as she led you to a bathroom. The primary objective. This time, there was no bathtub, an obvious relief. Just a frosted shower that was as elegant as the rest of the residence.

“I can sit with you.” She offered again, this time, less cautious.

“Please.”

It wasn’t so much as begging as a simple answer to her simple question. Natasha was a gentleman and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, making a show of clamping her hand over her eyes and crossing her legs at the knee. You scoffed and stripped and closed yourself into the shower before turning on the water, flinching under the cold spray for just a moment.

There was relief there, in the growing warmth of the water and the way the dirt and blood and grime washed down the drain. Your muscles trembled under the heat as they began to loosen. You breathed. You clenched your eyes shut, letting the drops of water fall from the curve of your nose. It felt safe to close your eyes with Agent Romanoff right outside the glass plating.

Her shampoo smelled like her. Clean. Comforting. Soon the water ran clear, and you accepted the clothes that she gave you with gratitude unmatched. Still guarded but less-so. There was a pinkness on Agent Romanoff’s cheeks, as you dressed in a labored silence that you easily attributed to the thick steam the two of you breathed in. It crept silently past the hand that hid her eyes from the world.

Instead of leading you back down to the cell, to the room, she’d taken you to her kitchen. Told you to sit down. Now that you had a change of clothes, a t-shirt that was soft as if it’d been worn a million times before, and a pair of gray sweatpants that you had to cuff at the ankles, you felt better. Well enough not to curl into yourself as much. Less of a stranger in your own body but still a passenger waiting for instructions that Natasha was happy to provide.

“I don’t have much. It’s pretty late, so if you’re willing to forgive microwave pizza, so am I.” She turned from the fridge and you gave her the smallest bit of a nod that she found endearing. “Perfect. I’m afraid I’m no chef.”

You watched her curiously as she loaded up the plate with cold slices of New York style pizza. Even now, the scent hit you and made your mouth water. It was simple, probably a few days old and certainly not as good as it would have been fresh, but your stomach clenched in want all the same.

At the Hydra compound, it had been the same thing when they decided to grant you food. A slathering of white rice and tasteless gravy. Sometimes a chunk of stale white bread to soak up the soupy gruel if you were lucky. You often weren’t but by the time they’d slide the frothy tray through the bottom of the latch in the darkness you were too starved to care.

The first time you’d eaten too quickly to digest it properly and promptly vomited it back up. Whitehall was not pleased. He’d dug his boot into the tenderness of your ribs as a punishment for being ungrateful for what he’d provided you. You weren’t permitted food again for another three days after that.

Natasha slid the plate in front of you now, watched as you shrunk in front of her, lifted your eyes to her own as if waiting for permission to touch the food. Her eyebrows knit together. She attempted to lighten the mood “Lactose intolerant?”

“No,” You whispered with a laugh, “No, I don’t know. I… why are you doing this?”

The chair creaked as she sat back, a baffled expression on her face. “It’s my job.”

“There’s more than that. You could have left me downstairs to fight off that panic attack on my own, but you didn’t. You walked me through it and then brought me into your own space and let me shower and gave me your own clothes and your own food. I don’t… that’s not part of the job descriptions, I don’t think. I don’t deserve any of it.”

“And who told you that?” Natasha huffed out a breath, lifted her chin towards the plate. “Eat. I know you’re starved.”

She hadn’t answered your question. Not really. But an order was what you needed right now and it was enough to get you to give in to the hunger clawing at the base of your stomach. After the first bite- the first time you had flavor in god knows how long, you gave in and started taking larger portions. The desire for something human swallowed you whole, and happy hums of satisfaction brought a small smile to Agent Romanoff’s face.

Natasha ate slower than you did. With the poise of someone who had once been starved, but had pushed through that haze. When you’d both finished, she moved the plates to the sink, turned to you and rested her palms against the edges of the counter with a question on tip of her tongue.

“I don’t feel comfortable sending you back down there. I have a guest room, more than one, actually. I know that you’ve been through a lot. Too much for any one person to go through in a lifetime. Logically, it’s not safe to have you in my home. I know that and you know that.”

She paused, as if she were waiting for you to object. But you didn’t. She was right. Agent Romanoff was trained. There was good reason to have you locked up downstairs and you were perfectly fit to move back to that room. The idea of the bathtub being just behind a door made your spine stiffen, but it was manageable. It had to be manageable.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat at the thought. Something that the agent again noticed in the quietness of her own home.

“You are the only one we pulled from that compound who was not there willingly, but I assume you know that.” She hugged herself, something subtle. Something grounding. “If you are to stay here… with me. I’d like to know what to call you.”

You squeezed your fingers into the palms of your hands, letting the pressure soothe you for a moment, and then released the hold. A weighted warmth falling heavy on your shoulders, almost as if Agent Romanoff’s body was still pressed against yours like it had been downstairs to quell the anxieties that bubbled up.

“I don’t know,” You shook your head, a small pout forming against your lips. “I don’t think I’m supposed to remember.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x reader #Steve Rodgers #Tony Stark #Hydra reader #Natasha Romanoff x hydra reader #Marvel Fanfiction #Marvel #Reader insert #Natasha Romanoff x female Reader

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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

Text

Double the Fun

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader x Reiner Braun

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.9k

cw: next-door neighbors Eren and Reiner, modern day au, all characters are mid-twenties, explicit language, p*rn no plot, smut – threesome, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal play, spit play, nipple play, cunnilingus, face-riding, blowjob, hand job (M/M), double-penetration, multiple orgasms from the reader, sex toy use (anal plug), cream pies (in both holes), Reiner is a bit of a perv and sniffs panties (just like how he sniffed Historia’s letter in the finale LOL), pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweetie), slight degradation (use of slut, cock slut, whore, and cock sleeve to address the reader), slight breeding kink, sex without a condom (assuming reader is on some form of birth control)

Summary: You’ve been having a bit of a dry spell recently with how busy you’ve been at work. When you finally manage to snag a date with one of your online dating matches, you’re unfortunately stood up, leaving you in a worse mood than before. Lucky for you, your two hot neighbors are more than willing to cheer you up.

Author’s Notes: Phew! This one is a doozy! Please make sure you read the content warnings before reading. This is filthy and shameless; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I LOVE Eren and Reiner together, idk, they just always scratch this everlasting itch I have. I’m still getting used to writing threesomes, so I hope this is okay! Also, this is my first foray into butt stuff and I may have awoken something inside me, LOL. MDNI divider by the loveliest @/cafekitsune. Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @neverlandlostchild @bloompompom @dprkento @a-listaire @man-knees @slvt-for-smut @antique-remains @aiyaaayei

part 4 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sit, like, two tables away? What if this guy is sketch?”

You can spot the obvious concern in Pieck’s voice through the speaker of your phone, which is currently face-up on top of your vanity as you get ready. You finish the last steps of your makeup, inspecting yourself in the mirror, satisfied. “Don’t worry, I’ve got pepper spray in my purse in case he tries anything funny,” you assure your best friend. It’s been a while since you last went on a proper date. Pieck’s always been a worry-wart about you meeting strangers from your online dating apps, constantly reminding you to stay vigilant. Tonight is no different.

“You should at least let your hot neighbors know that you’re going out, so they can keep an eye out for you,” she suggests, throwing that in casually. Ever since you moved in a few months ago, she’s been rooting for you to hook up with either of the two men next door, Eren Jaeger and Reiner Braun. She’s met them plenty of times in passing and would much rather you date one of them instead of the countless of mysterious men on your current roster.

There’s no denying that they’re attractive. Eren with his long, dark hair, striking eyes, and toned physique. Reiner with his sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and well-groomed goatee. They also happen to be incredibly friendly towards you, always greeting you in the hallway with a genuine smile, asking how your day went or what you’ll be up to. They’ve invited you for dinner on several occasions, which has always been pleasant, sometimes leaning towards the flirtatious side. You’re sure they’re just nice guys, cordial neighbors looking out for one another. There’s nothing more to it than that, even if a small part of you wants there to be.

You step back from your reflection, checking yourself out once one more. “I’ll be fine, Pieck.”

“What if I can’t reach you? There should be at least one other person who’s aware of your whereabouts, right?” This is what binging too many true crime documentaries does. Still, you’re grateful for your friend’s concern, knowing it’s all out of love. You can tell she’s actually distressed about this, so you end up agreeing, mostly to appease her. She wishes you well before hanging up as you slip into heels by the door.

You tug at the hem of your skimpy black dress, hand motionless on the doorknob. It’s your first date in over a month. Work has been so busy that you haven’t had time for romance or sex. The variety of sex toys tucked away in your drawer has been your only solace these past few weeks. To say you’re ready for some real action is an understatement. You’re also incredibly nervous, afraid you’ve lost your groove. That’s why you’ve taken extra measures to fully prepare yourself for anything tonight.

With a deep breathe, you step out into the hallway, following Pieck’s advice. You knock on your neighbor’s door and Eren is the first to answer. His expression brightens when he realizes it’s you. “Hi,” he greets you, flashing that charming smile of his. He scans you up and down, taking in your appearance. “Wow.”

“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” you grin, twirling for him.

He swallows hard, checking you out once more. “Definitely a good wow.”

It’s that extra boost of confidence you need for this date, so you’re appreciative of him. “Thank you, Eren. You’re always so sweet.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “So, hot date tonight?”

You decide to be honest with him. “Yeah. It’s been a minute, so I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be. Any guy would be lucky to date you.” His eyes twinkle at you kindly.

You imagine Pieck screaming at you from twenty miles away, begging you to date Eren instead of going out with this random swipe right. Eren is simply a sweet guy paying his neighbor a compliment. There’s nothing more to it than that. Before you get the chance to thank him, Reiner’s deeper voice calls out from inside the apartment. “Who is it?”

Without taking his eyes off you, Eren answers with your name. Soon, the blonde joins him, jaw dropping when he notices you. “Fuck.”

Eren elbows him in the chest, to which Reiner mutters a strained apology. “Sorry. You just look amazing.”

The flattery is almost too much, cheeks warm with embarrassment, stomach fluttering. “Thank you.” Reiner is usually the more forward of the two, blurting out whatever is on his mind, though you’re not complaining.

Grinning, Reiner asks, “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Someone I met online. My friend said I should let my wonderful neighbors know my whereabouts tonight, in case I end up missing,” you explain casually.

“How morbid,” Eren chuckles. “We’ll keep an eye out for you later so that your friend doesn’t have to worry.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Reiner raises a brow at you. “Unless you’re planning on sleeping with him. We probably won’t see you if it does go well.” He hunches forward when Eren lands another blow to his chest, shutting his roommate up.

You giggle, agreeing with him. “No, you’re totally right. I’m going to stay optimistic and say that if I don’t come home tonight, that’s a good thing.”

“We’ll hope for the best, then,” Eren replies, beaming.

You turn to leave, waving farewell to them. Reiner yells out, “Have fun tonight! But not too much fun!”

~~~

You return to your apartment complex less than two hours later, heels clicking loudly on the tiled steps, feet heavy with disappointment. After taking a twenty-minute taxi ride to the restaurant you agreed to meet him at, you proceeded to wait an entire hour only to realize that you’ve been stood up. No text, no reply, no call. You’ve been made a fool, completely humiliated, the night and the rest of your weekend absolutely ruined by this asshole’s no-show.

It takes you a while to dig through your purse for your keys, patience already worn thin. Frustrated, you groan out loud, staring up at the ceiling. “Why me?”

In the worst timing ever, the door to your left swings open. Eren pops his head out, saying your name curiously.

Reluctantly, you turn to face him. “Hey.”

He comes out, dressed casually in sweats, hair wrapped in a messy bun with the few stray strands draping the back of his neck. “That was quick.”

With an unconvincing smile, trying to hide the shame that currently consumes you, you admit, “I got stood up.”

His demeanor changes instantly. The concern on his face is endearing, and when he drifts towards you, he reaches out, then drops his arm, unsure how best to console you without crossing any lines. “No way.”

You nod, sighing. “It’s true.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He steps closer to you, hesitantly placing his hand on your shoulder, testing the waters.

You smile at him, enjoying this simple touch of comfort. “It’s fine. It is what it is.”

The two of you linger like this, Eren gazing into your eyes, holding you. His palm is hot on the fabric of your dress, and for a split second, you wonder how pleasant it’d be on your bare skin. And maybe it’s your wishful thinking or your desperation for human contact after being rejected tonight, but you can feel the heat of a spark between you now. Before you let your fantasies drive you to do something unprecedented, you search your bag again, finally retrieving your keys. He lets you go, watching you shove them into the keyhole, unlocking the door. “Are you okay?”

In all honestly, you’re not, but there’s nothing him or anyone else can do about it, right? “I’ll be okay. Sucks that I got all dressed up for this, though. What a waste.”

He doesn’t respond right away, choosing his words carefully. “Well,” he starts, the faintest blush tinged on his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be.”

You stare at him, heart beating faster, making sure you’re understanding him correctly. “Really?”

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Yeah. Maybe we can get some use out of it.”

“We?”

As if on cue, Reiner emerges from inside their apartment, having heard everything. “Fuck that shitty asshole. You’ll have way more fun with us.” He stands next to his roommate, grinning at you.

This time, you do listen to Pieck’s voice in your head, yelling at you to go for it. To let these two alluring neighbors of yours take care of you the way you deserve. Already feeling better, you give them a coy smile, opening the door to let them in. “Okay, then. Come on in.”

~~~

It’s the first time they’ve ever been inside your apartment, though you save the formal tour for later. As soon as the three of you are inside, door shut, shoes off, they’re both kissing you fiercely. Eren faces you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, hot and heavy. He caresses your sides, squeezing the curves of your body through your dress. Reiner is behind you, grip just below Eren’s, firm on your hips. His lips brush delicately on the nape of your neck, groin pressed to your backside, the bulge protruding from his pants growing harder and harder between your ass cheeks. You moan into the kiss, pussy throbbing in your lingerie, eager to be touched by either man, by both of them. Why did you even bother trying to hook up with strangers online when the perfect matches were beside you all along?

Reiner chuckles, breath hot on your ear, voice low and rugged. “You’re really horny, aren’t you? All dolled up and ready to be fucked, huh?” There he goes again, blunt and straightforward and so fucking sexy, exactly what you need tonight.

And here is Eren, soft and gentle, committed to kissing you, whispering sweet nothings any chance he gets. “You’re beautiful. Such a gorgeous girl. So pretty for us.” Also exactly what you need.

You lead them into your bedroom, Eren flipping on the light switch, keeping his lips on you while Reiner strips out of his clothes, starting with his pants. Eren does the same, hoisting his shirt off, revealing his impressive figure. You attempt to slip out of your dress, but Reiner stops you. “Keep it on,” he rasps, down to his underwear now, boner more obvious, poking out from his briefs.

Eren pinches your butt, snapping the tight fabric to your skin. “We’re not letting this go to waste, remember?”

You nod mindlessly, brain hazy with lust, too eager to be fucked. “Fuck me,” you beg, spit smeared all over your lips.

They both laugh softly, walking you towards the bed. “So impatient, so needy,” Eren coos, positioning himself in front of you, toying with the hem of the skirt.

Reiner sits up against the headboard, propping you up on his lap, your back pressed to his muscular chest. “What’s the rush, baby?” he teases, licking a stripe behind your ear. “We’re going to take care of you. Right, Eren?”

Eren bites his lip as he works your dress up past your thighs until it’s bunched up at your hips, exposing your soaked thong on your wet cunt. “Oh fuck yeah,” he huffs, salivating. “Gonna make you feel so good. Make you come so fucking much.”

You spread your legs wider for him, a pathetic whine escaping your throat, more and more desperate by the second. He hooks his finger on the crotch of your panties, smirking at the string of arousal that stretches between the fabric and you. “So fucking wet, holy shit.”

He tugs it all the way off your legs, tossing it over to Reiner, who brings it up to his nose, taking a big whiff. “Such a slut for wearing these on a first date. Our naughty girl.” He lets your lingerie fall from his grasp onto the floor, sliding to the plush of your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart.

Eren dives in, spreading his wide tongue flat on your clit, moving it side-to-side, stimulating you into your first orgasm. Your knees twitch from the sensation, the pleasure rippling through you like waves of ecstasy. You turn your head towards Reiner’s, opening your mouth, pleading him for a kiss. He obliges, sticking his tongue inside you, slurping up your saliva, hungry for it. “You’re so fucking nasty,” he growls, reaching for the drawer beside the bed. “Bet you have toys hiding in here. Why don’t we have some more fun and play with them?” You whimper wantonly, keen on the idea of Reiner using whatever he wants on you to make you come again.

He finds exactly what he’s looking for: your precious anal plug, tapered on one end, heart-shaped gem on the other. When he pulls it out, he barks out a laugh, almost like he can’t believe his luck. “You really are a whore,” he whispers in your ear, sinister and wicked, about to have too much fun with this. “Did you prep yourself to be fucked in the ass? Be honest.” Even Eren pauses, peering up at you, curious.

“Yes,” you mewl, squirming with arousal, body tingling all over.

Eren’s chuckle reverberates against your clit, releasing you from his mouth to lap at your wet slit. “Good girl,” he muffles, collecting your cum on his tongue. “So perfect for us.”

The dynamic between them spurs you on, Eren playing the good guy, Reiner playing bad. Both of them work together with a common goal in mind: to cheer up their pretty neighbor from what would have been a bummer of a night. But already, you’re thankful that you were stood up; you’re certain now that this is the much better alternative.

“Eren, switch spots with me,” Reiner demands. “And you,” he says, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “On your stomach.”

You both obey him without protest. Eren leans against the headboard with a dazed look in his eyes, licking his shiny, cum-coated lips. He smiles as you gaze up at him, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, stroking him. You open wide, tapping the tip of his dick on your tongue before sinking down on him until you’re too the hilt, swallowing him into the back of your throat. He cups yours cheeks, caressing you gently. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth. My gorgeous girl.” You accept the praise shamelessly, relishing the distinct taste of him.

From behind, Reiner worships you, squeezing your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to ogle at your fluttering hole. Without warning, he hocks a frothy wad of spit directly onto it, teasing his thumb on the rim. “Fuck, baby,” he utters as you moan on Eren’s cock. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”

You nod, taking Eren deeper, your nose pressed to his groin, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth, bracing yourself. The plug is slick with lube as Reiner pushes it in carefully until the heart-shaped jewel is flush to your hole. He swears under his breath, marveling at the sight before him, cock pulsating in his fist. You stay like this for a while, adjusting to the toy inside you. It really did help that you prepared for this earlier.

“So sexy,” Eren murmurs from above you, staring on your backside. “You take it so good, sweetheart.”

“Like an obedient slut,” Reiner adds, using his thumb to push the plug the slightest bit deeper. He lifts your hips to position himself below you so that you’re straddling his face. “Can you come again, baby?”

“Of course she can. She’s our good girl,” Eren purrs, petting your head softly as you continue to blow him.

Reiner eats you out sloppily, different from Eren, who’s intentional with his every move. It sends you into another frenzy, pushing you closer and closer over the edge, especially when he begins playing with the plug, pumping it in and out of you slowly. You’re overstimulated with Eren’s hot cock throbbing in your mouth, clit swollen on Reiner’s tongue, and asshole puckered around the smooth glass of the plug. You reach your climax easily, gushing all over Reiner’s face, riding out your orgasm until you’ve completely soaked him in your juices. He drinks it all up, messy and greedy for every drop of you he can scour. He really is as insatiable as you imagined he’d be.

You release Eren to catch your breath, to which he tips your chin up to face him. “You’re incredible,” he says, the familiar twinkle in his eyes making your heart race. You paw at his chest, crawling up to meet him for a kiss.

Reiner quickly joins the two of you, not wanting to be left out, rubbing his hard cock between your ass cheeks. You kiss the both of them at the same time, all of your saliva mingling together into a hot, wet mess that you’re currently intoxicated by. After a moment, Eren pulls back. “Does our pretty girl want to get fucked now?”

“Show us how big of a cock slut you are,” Reiner grunts, circling the jeweled end of the plug, teasing your hole.

Eren helps remove the dress off you completely, hoisting it off your body. He stretches his arm towards the drawer. “Are the condoms in here too?”

You shake your head briskly, bringing his attention back to you. “I want it raw. Want you to fill me up.”

They both moan, clearly fond of your request, kissing you feverishly. Eren nudges your breast into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. Reiner sucks the skin all along your neck, leaving his love marks, growling, “You want us to breed you, huh? Want all this cum inside these tight little holes of yours. Oh fuck.” His voice is rough and husky, gradually losing his composure.

Eren’s remains tender, his breath soft on your bosom. “We’re going to breed you so good, sweetheart.” He shimmies down the bed, lying flat on his back, peering up at you with adoration. You straddle him, rubbing yourself on his shaft, needy for friction on your aching clit.

Reiner’s embraces you from behind, groping your chest, focusing on his roommate’s dick and your wet cunt gliding along it. He reaches between you and Eren, fisting his friend’s cock with fast strokes. “Look how hard he is for you. He’s going to fuck you so good. Make you cream all over the sheets.” Your pussy is sopping with arousal from the dirty talk alone, but watching Reiner touch Eren has you dizzy.

“Fuck, Reiner,” Eren moans, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “That’s so fucking hot.” He lets his roommate jerk him off while you continue to grind yourself on him. Soon, he replaces Reiner’s fist with his own, cockhead glistening with precum. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Reiner moves to your swollen bud, tapping it with his thick fingers. “Oh yeah, she’s fucking ready. Come on, cock sleeve. Put it in.”

Without wasting another second, you line yourself up with him. Eren slides in smoothly, his entire length in you, pussy stretched around him perfectly. You whimper from the fullness, his cock to the hilt and the plug nestled in your backside. Reiner places his hand on your posterior, urging you to lean down so that your chest-to-chest with Eren, who kisses you passionately, remaining still inside you. “Eren,” you whimper his name, drooling into his mouth. He smiles against you, delighted at how fucked out you are for him.

Reiner adjusts his stance, hovering over you by planting one foot on the bed to prop his knee up, giving him enough leverage. He focuses on the plug, tugging it out just barely only to push it back in, repeating this several times, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Finally, he removes it completely, staring wide-eyed at your gaping hole, oh-so-inviting for his fat cock. “Look at that,” he croons, circling your rim with his finger, sensitive to his touch.

You want so badly to be stuffed full by both of them. In a trembling voice, you whine, “Please, Reiner.”

Laughing, he delivers a harsh smack to your ass, skin immediately stinging from it. He dribbles more of his spit onto you, teasing the tip of his dick on the rim. “Not yet, slut.” You can’t see him, too immersed in kissing Eren right now, but you can practically hear the wicked grin on his face, watching you squirm below him as he torments you.

Eren intervenes, annoyed with his friend’s behavior. “Come on, Reiner. Give her what she wants. She deserves it.” He nuzzles his nose to yours. “She’s been a very, very good girl.”

Eventually, Reiner relents. “You’re right. She’s a good girl. And good girls deserve to get fucked in both holes.”

You shiver at his perverse words, bracing yourself. At last, he guides himself inside you, filling you to the brim. It’s better than any fantasy you could dream of, the sensation so intense, tears begin welling in your eyes.

They start thrusting simultaneously, Eren pummeling your cunt from below, Reiner pounding your ass from behind. It’s messy and raunchy, their hands slippery all over your body from lube, slick, and sweat. The air surrounding you is laden with lust and desire. The collective moans from all three of you echo off the walls of your small bedroom, along with the squeaks of your mattress creaking under the weight of your vigorous lovemaking.

Reiner is rendered speechless now, totally concentrated on pumping his cock in and out of your fluttering hole, the only sound from his mouth being his ragged breaths. Eren slips one hand between you, his digits pressed to your puffy clit as he fucks up into your pussy. The other fondles your tit, thumb flicking your nipple until it’s perky. He continues to praise you, constantly musing about what a good girl you are, how perfect you are for them.

At this point, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. You’re in a perpetual state of ecstasy, surrounded by the two hottest men in your life who are voracious for your orgasms. The sour memory from earlier has completely faded and all you can think about is the sweet bliss you’re currently indulging in.

Eren is the first to come, no longer able to endure it. His even thrusts turn erratic. “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming inside you sweetheart, oh fuck.”

You kiss him languidly, drinking up his moans as he floods your cunt with his load. Soon, Reiner swears loudly, announcing his own climax. “Fuck, gonna breed this slutty hole.” His cock swells, spurting his warm seed inside you.

You relax on top of Eren, who’s equally as spent as you. Reiner pulls out slowly, fixated on his own cum dripping out of you. “Fuck. Let’s see the other one, baby.” You lift off Eren, who almost seems reluctant to let you go. Both of them watch with hazy expressions as his creamy load spills out of you and onto his lap.

The room is musty with the scent of sex, the sheets messy and stained beneath you. Despite that, you’re on cloud nine, soaring high from having the nastiest ménage á trois with your next-door neighbors.

Maybe you should try getting stood up more often.

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