#exhibition dot gif

[matriarchjojo]

" MOVIE NIGHT GONE RIGHT. "

starring! : mikey, draken, baji, kazutora, chifuyu

warnings! : 18+, consent checks, gangbang, praise kink, cuckold, cheating, exhibition, filming, sub!reader, oral, handjobs, pet names, readers skin color is not mentioned

a/n! : This is a part 2 to "movie night gone wrong"<3 (an abrupt end btw)

-> masterlist.

The men in front of you stared at you in a trance, while mikey was walking past them to get his camera.

You arched your back sexily as you sat on mikey's bed with your legs spread and pussy exposed.

Their hot and feral stares made you want to close your legs for just a little bit of friction but, luckily you can just grind down on mikeys bed.

And so you did just that.

Making draken's eyebrow twitch while kazutora was about to drool all over himself.

Chifuyu was leaning over baji to get a better look at your pussy being pressed onto the bed.

You tilted your head as the tiniest gasp left your lungs. "So?..." You looked at the men individually, "You guys wanna be my starring roles this time?"

The men looked at mikey as he opened the camera up and smiled "If you're looking for my permission, go ahead." He clicked the cam on, and the red dot started blinking.

"She's waiting, and she gets whiny when she doesn't get what she wants"

Kazutora was the first to look at you again and spoke up after a big nervous gulp.

"..i-is this really okay?" He asked, reaching out to touch your smooth and beautiful legs.

He was so close to you now that he could smell your enchanting perfume that was dumbing him down even more, tora felt dizzy by your presence alone.

You looked down at your cute tora and lifted the leg that he was caressing onto the bed to expose your pussy even more to the men, kazutora almost passed out when he saw the glimmer of your already wet pussy.

A soft gasp from chifuyu was heard as he also laid eyes between your legs.

Draken was still trying to push his desire to shove his big fingers in your tiny tight pussy away but it was impossible to not think about it when your cunt is exposed infront of him, fuck he knows it's wrong but he thought many times about how pretty your pussy would be but his imagination was nothing to the real thing.

Kazutora got closer to you and looked up at you one last time as if to ask for your consent one more time, he looked so cute, quietly begging for your pussy.

You nodded softly, smiling down at the man "..go ahead" you whispered to him.

To which kazutora just softly grabbed your thighs and kissed them up, making you already gasp and moan. Chifuyu couldn't believe this was happening. he was stiff as a board, not daring to move a single muscle in case this was actually just a dream and he would wake up.

Kazutora looked at your clit when he kissed just next to your pussy, he swallowed the ocean of drool that was pooling in his mouth before he opened his mouth to place his tongue between the valley of your pussy lips, diving right in and tasting you like he hasn't eaten in months. Your hips twitched as you felt toras talented tongue threatening to push into you, but when he went up to suck on your pulsing clit you threw your head back with a loud and erotic moan.

Draken buried his head in his hands, trying to drown your pornographic moans out, but it was no use. He stood up and walked to the door. "i ca-...I can't fucking do this" he groaned, but your whine stopped him in his tracks "Kenny! P-please stay.." You held your hand out as you were now laying on the bed, looking at him with your lustful eyes as kazutoras' head was between your plush thighs.

"Please..I need you, please, kenny" you begged, grinding into kazutoras face, making him moan.

Draken bit his lip, trying hard not to give into your siren calls

"It's okay, ken-chin," mikey spoke up. "I won't tell her if you won't," he reassured draken, to which his heart pounded and sweat started to bead at his hairline.

"Fuck me.." he cursed under his breath before he stomped over to you while taking off his jacket "fuck it." He said sitting next to you, immediately grabbing your face to kiss you as roughly and feral as he could, you moaned into his mouth as you felt draken's tongue against your own, feeling his teeth brushing against your lips every once in a while.

Ken's brain and rational thinking just shut off when the taste of your sweet spit invaded his mouth, his cock was unbelievably hard, straining against his jeans. His hand found your pretty hair to pull at it and keep you on his lips.

Mikey grinned before biting down on his bottom lip, watching his best friend making out with you. You looked so pretty getting ravaged by his two friends, all messy and moaning, legs twitching, your body not knowing what to do.

Baji huffed and stood up before tying his hair back and taking his own jacket off, he looked at chifuyu "c'mon, you wanna stay a virgin and watch us fuck this pretty girl or do you want in?"

Chifuyu didn't really know what to do, honestly. But thankfully, the hungry kiss you, and draken shared, got stopped so you could look at the other two men, while draken began kissing and sucking at your neck "come here, fuyu..gimme a kiss yeah?" You smiled at him with lidded eyes.

You didn't have to ask him twice, no sir. He got up and stormed over to you, kneeling in front of the bed and immediately smashing his lips onto your already wet ones.

Meanwhile, baji got on the bed to lay next to you. Suddenly, he grabbed both sides of your blouse and ripped it off of you, gaining a shocked gasp from you. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart..I'll give you my jacket later, yeah?"

You moaned at bajis rare sweetness and shoved your tongue harder against chifuyus.

Baji looked at your exposed tits and hard nipples, you looked so sexy, so fucking hot. He grabbed your waist harshly as his head went down to lick up from your stomach to your nipple.

Your eyes rolled back at all the mouths and hands on you, Mikey captured the exact moment when your brain shut completely off.

Draken got up to suddenly flip you around, making you arch your back, kazutora was gasping at the loss of your pussy on his mouth, but then immediately sighed dreamily at the new view of your pussy and your ass. Wasting no time to put his hands back on your thighs and burying his face into your inviting and hot cunt.

Draken grabbed your face again as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, his belt already unbuckled and unzipped. Right now, he was pulling them down along with his boxers. Letting his hard and long cock jump out infront of your face, kazutora felt your pussy react on his tongue, to which he just kept his eyes closed and giggled.

"C'mon, baby, open up, yeah?" You complied immediately and opened your pretty lips and sticking your tongue out.

Draken immediately lightly slapped his cock against your tongue as he chuckled, you heard another zipper next to you and baji was now next to draken, also with his huge cock out, waiting for you to give it some attention.

"Can ya take two dicks at the same time?" Your shiny eyes looked up at the men, before you dumbly nodded with your mouth still wide open and tongue out.

You felt bajis cock twitch against your cheek "such a good girl for us.."

Your manicured hand went up to bajis cock to stroke his thick and hard length up and down, making him softly tilt his head back with a rough but quiet moan, bajis strong hand found the back of your head "is this okay?" He softly asked, to which you nodded enthusiastically

He then drew your attention back to draken, by turning your head to his cock.

You immediately let drakens tip slip back into your mouth with a loud grumble "fuck, you feel so good, princess..."

Mikey suddenly walked over to all of you to get a better shot of you sucking drakens cock, the way your pretty glossed over lips wrapped around drakens fat cock looked illegally sexy, your eyes looking up at him through your thick lashes. Eyes quietly begging for someone to finally fuck you, Mikey knew that look too well.

"Flip her over again, she wants to get fucked" the men perked up at mikey's request as you whimpered.

Baji's strong hands grabbed your waist to flip you around, being manhandled into multiple positions made you go dumb and let your pussy feel so empty, you needed one of them inside you, if not two.

Kazutora looked so lovestruck with your pussy juice and his own spit covering his mouth and chin, he gave your pussy one last kiss with a big "mwah".

You felt so exposed, having all the men just sitting around you with your pussy aching to cum and the men's hungry gazes, just ready to fuck your mind into the Astral plane.

But instead, they just stared down at you, chuckling when your hips began to twitch. "See how desperate she gets?"

Mikey chuckled, looking down at the camera displaying your pretty and teary eyes looking up at draken.

Baji then suddenly grabbed your face to make you look at him. "Pretty girl needs some cock to fill her up, hm?" His husky voice asked you while softly squeezing your cheeks.

You didn't even think before you nodded. your body just acted on impulse.

Obviously, all of the men wanted to be inside of your pretty pussy, but they aren't going to fight about it so baji just looked up at mikey, urging him to decide.

Mikey looked at draken. "Go on, kenchin" to which draken looked back down at you with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and a sly grin as his lidded eyes stared into your glossy ones.

He got up to place himself into position

"Hold on," mikey stopped draken. "She has two holes to fill." He grinned, making you sigh at the thought of having two cocks inside you for the first time.

"B-baji...please," you quietly begged, looking up at the dark-haired man who was more than ready to fuck you in the ass, it was always his favorite part to look at of you, aside from your pretty face, of course.

"Fuck, if you ask me like that.." he chuckled, draken softly put his hand on your waist to sit you up before letting baji help him to hold you up for them.

You put your arms around drakens, strong neck while you felt both his and bajis hands on your soft thighs, sinking their fingers into the plush flesh.

As you were face to face with draken and being so close, he mindlessly started kissing you again. With deep and horny grunts coming from him, his cock was prodding at your pussy.

Baji started kissing down the back of your neck to your shoulder, softly biting down into your flesh. You moaned into Ken's mouth when you felt bajis sexy sharp teeth in your shoulder.

Kazutora and chifuyu just sat on either side of you, just watching you getting kissed and teased by their friends. It was weirdly hot to chifuyu, just watching you.

"So pretty for us, princess.." baji whispered against your soft and messy hair before spitting into his hand to slowly stroke his aching cock, though he was good at hiding it, he was going feral. He could just ravage you immediately until all you can do is cry as you cum and cum and cum over and over again.

Draken's tongue sensually swirled around yours, and his lips were so soft but so firm against you. It was making you feel like you were drunk.

"Want us inside now, pretty girl?" Draken asked against your wet lips, slowly letting his hands run from your thighs to your soft ass. Making you moan softly before you nod.

Draken shook his head tutted at you. "verbal answer, honey.." he reminded you as his thumb was softly caressing your ass.

You put your head on drakens broad shoulder. "I want it so bad.." You then kissed his neck softly, "please.."

He was so weak in the knees that he almost fell over if baji wasn't also holding you, he sighed and looked over at baji "ya heard her," he began before letting baji tilt your head up so you were looking at the long haired man "let's give her what she wants" he said, voice deep and sending shivers down your spine straight to your pussy.

Seconds after baji said it, he was slowly sliding inside you, you found it cute how he was restraining himself. You could hear by his deep growls and moans that he'd rather be having you face first in the bed and him pounding you until you can't even stand afterwards.

A loud and deep moan erupted from his thick throat, "fuck.." he hissed through gritted teeth as his cock slid all the way into your tight asshole. "So fuckin' tight-fuck me..." he cursed

Kazutora grinned, "she's so tasty too, our pretty girl.." he hummed as he got up and took your hand to guide it towards his mouth to suck on your thumb, feeling your long nail on his tongue got his eyes rolling back and his hand inching inside his pants to slowly stroke his rock hard dick.

Your brows furrowed together as your pussy begged your attention as your ass was filled to the brim with bajis big dick.

"K-kenny-" his soft smile made you whimper and whine "I know, baby..I won't let either of us wait any longer, kay?" He said, giving you one last kiss before turning his attention to his cock being pressed against your most holy.

"Please, please, please.." you sighed and whined, baji grumbled behind you "fuck, just get inside her..I need to fuck her"

Draken just chuckled "fine, fine.."

His tip lined up with your pussy and his thick head slowly slid inside you "oh shit- I can feel you coming in" baji mentioned.

Your eyes rolled back as your head fell on bajis shoulder, you felt every single centimeter of their cocks inside you as draken bottomed out.

"F-fuck..oh shit..I've never felt anything like it-" draken groaned as sweat started so slide down from his temple, baji didn't want to wait any longer than he needed so he just suddenly started fucking into you at a feral pace, making you moan with your mouth wide open, letting chifuyu no other choice but to grab your face and kiss you as rough as he could, moaning into your mouth as nothing but the wet sounds of your two holes in a trance and toras wet cock making obscene noises filled your mind. It's like you were getting fucked into another dimension..

Your mind was blank as you already felt the coil in your stomach tightening, kazutora suddenly stopped sucking on your finger and just grabbed your tiddy to suck on your hard nipple, moaning around it. While chifuyu had his tongue down your throat, his kissing felt even more feral than bajis ferocious thrusting.

While you were getting fucked into oblivion mikey recorded every single movement, reaction and facial expression you made.

You are the star, you are the main focus.

Mikey could never concentrate on anyone else but you, anyone who met you could agree. Even draken, who has a girlfriend.

You are just enchanting, making every man lose his composure. No matter how strong they are.

You are a sex symbol, mikey's pretty little pornstar.

Your eyes suddenly rolled back as your nails dug into drakens back, and mikey knew you were gonna cum. "M-MIKEYY!!" you wailed as a strong wave of Stimulation and ecstasy wahed over your nerves and set your body on fire.

Hearing his little princess scream his name as you're getting fucked by other men let's him know that you're completely his.

Mind coded to think of him when you cum.

Completely his <3

[tteokdoroki]

hi hi !! :3 first off ur new theme is soo so cute!! n for your valentines event i wanted to send in one for satoru + an amusement park date as the gift !! you can make it sweet or spicy but i don’t have a specific kink in mind for it so that’s free range for ya ehehe

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SATORU GOJO. swipe spicy: high on you.

about. boom, it’s a match! satoru gojo has always come up with creative ways to celebrate the most romantic day of the year. this time, he decides to make things a little naughtier atop a ferris wheel ride ( 1.4K ).

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, established relationships, fingering, public sex, exhibitionism, also ik ferris wheels don’t exist at amusement parks shuddap!! fem!reader.

・:〃⤥ bumble date, swipe right event !

every valentine’s day you’ve spent with satoru has been unique. different. 

for your first, he’d filled every corner of your apartment with every type of flower he could possible find because he wasn’t sure what type was your favourite (he was too nervous to ask). for the second, he’d rented out an entire aquarium for you to walk through and dragging him through each exhibition with pure unfiltered joy. for the Valentine’s Day that he had proposed — your third or fourth, satoru had rented a plane that carried the message ‘will you marry me?’ to fly over your rooftop dinner date. you’d said yes, of course, and every day with satoru since had been a wild ride. 

even now, years into your life together, he remained just as crafty and as adventurous as satoru’s gojo had always been. 

“s-satoru!” you squeal needily, tucking your face into your lover’s shoulder in a weak attempt to muffle your weak cries and trembling voice. “‘toru please. n-not here. n-not now,” you add when his slender and inquisitive fingers dip past the waistband of your jeans and the scalloped edge of your cotton panties. he’s been like this all day, feeling you up in line for different rides, licking the sugar from your fingers outside overpriced concessions stands dotted across the amusement park he'd taken you to. and now, satoru’s ravenousness has come to a head — with him trying to finger fuck you at the top of the ferris wheel. “p-people are around!” 

while typically a romantic spot to watch the world go by, the white haired man has his heart set on making you squirm and cry at the highest peak of the ride. “that’s what makes this all the more fun, right baby?” his digits flex under the rough denim of your jeans in an attempt to get a feel for your wetness all while  gojo whispers sinful words against the shell of your ear — hot breath cascading down the back of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. “relax for me, we’re too high up for anyone to notice. let me make you feel good, yeah?”

your hips buck down against your lover’s hand for a taste of friction — chasing the blistering hot sensation that spreads through your lower tummy once his fingertips come into contact with your swelling, pulsating clit. the very notion of your body succumbing to a few of gojo’s simple touches has him chuckling breathily in your ear, his voice an octave lower than usual. you can’t help the instinctual response of your quivering, a stream of wetness gathering in the seat of your underwear too. 

“do you think i can make you cum by the time we reach the top?” satoru mumbles huskily, lowering his head to your neck so that he can place hot, sloppy kisses to your exposed skin — contrasting with the night air. tufts of white hair tickle at your jaw, sending you into a fit of shakes and shivers that make your cart of the ferris wheel rock back and forth. “don’t answer that, i know i can.” he’s cocky when he teases you and has every right to be, your thighs twitch apart instinctively to make space for satoru’s hand between them. 

he skilfully massages your pretty little pussy even from underneath tight denim jeans, circling in your entrance as it dribbles sweet salacious nectar for him. so much so, that you might soil the fabric of your clothes. if your arousal seeps through, would you drip and gush on all those people below? the thought crosses your might and only serves to turn you on even more — evident in the way you clench around nothing as gojo plays with your empty hole. 

“m-mph, satoru,” you hiccup, only tilting your head to face his. your noses nudge slightly, lips ghosting over one another’s while your hot breath mingles. to anyone else — you appear a couple in love, innocently kissing, enjoying a date to the amusement park, and a ride to the top of the ferris wheel. but you’re far from that, and you know it, two delightfully sinful individuals who can’t keep their hands off of one another. “m-more!” 

gojo obliges, and you thank whatever diety is up above for blessing him with such magical fingers. two of them slide past your entrance without resistance, stretching your gooey and sensitive walls around their length easily. “hm? what’s the matter, baby?” comes the silver haired man’s lazy response, a sleazy smirk spreading across his plush pink lips at the sound of you squelching around him already. you shake your head at his question, eyes screwed shut since you’re too far gone with the pleasure to answer coherently.  

from your side, gojo uses his free hand to keep you nice and spread for him — sapphire eyes glowing in the dark night whilst remaining trained on the way your hips jut down to push back against his fingers inside of you. “god you’re so fuckin’ wet. you really like this, huh? all tbose unsuspecting people below…having no idea that i’m fucking your pussy open right above their heads,” he purrs hungrily and curls his fingers, instantly finding your g-spot because he’s mapped out every inch of your sopping walls and knows them off by heart. “taste yourself for me.” 

your lips part on command and tongue rolls out of your mouth to make room for the fingers that have been inside you — sucking on them diligently when satoru presses down on the palette of your tongue. he gets off to the way you taste yourself, moaning around him nastily. you should feel shame and humiliation for acting like this in public, all desperate and needy, but you’re as ravenous and as depraved as satoru is. it’s what makes you a match made in heaven. 

with his fingers now tainted with a crude mix of your saliva and arousal, satoru returns them to your temperate and sopping mound — stuffing you full of him once more. he’s knuckle deep in your cunt before you can even moan his name, stroking your insides into the shape of him while you drool syrupy evidence of your arousal into the seat of his palm. 

“we’re almost to the top, brace yourself, pretty girl. i gotta see you cum. it’ll give me the prettiest view.” satoru coos to you patronisingly, making sure to grind his wrist against your puffy clit — refusing to let it go unattended. “can you do that for me?” 

everything is so sticky and hot, especially with all of the layers of clothes in the way — shielding your dirty act from any onlookers on the ground or in the carts below you. strings of your slick tie satoru’s fingers to your honeyed sex and glue this thumb to your sensitive nub, tucked away between your puffy pussy lips. you claw at the silver haired man’s arm trapped in the middle of your quivering thighs band writhe around in the cart so much so that it creaks with the weight.

you whimper into the cool night air, but satoru lights your body on fire from the inside out — your gut lurching and twisting with an unbearable sense of yearning. “‘m close… think i’m gonna—“ you begin to stutter, bleating like a lamb being sent to the slaughter. you remain at the mercy of your boyfriend’s fast paced fingers, pumping in and out of you with no regard to the painful stack of ecstasy building up inside of you. “please, i can’t hold it, ‘toru,” 

“you don’t have to,” your lover tsks in reply, never slowing the speed of his digits stroking at your ribbed walls, slipping and sliding against pleasure spots only he knows exist. “why don’t you let go for me, yeah? there you go. that’s it… just like that and all for me,” satoru’s mouth find yours in the final stretch, sloppy praises whispered against your kiss swollen lips while he rubs over your luscious and equally swollen folds like his life depends on it. “let the people down there know how fuckin’ good i finger fuck this sweet pussy. cum for me baby, i know you can do it.” 

each syllable, each impassioned word that escapes him and that he pours into you drags you by the ankle towards your high — and you don’t even try to fight it. once you reach the very top of the ferris wheel, your peak reaches a crescendo. satoru flings himself over you, arm arm wrapped around your shoulders to keep you in place in the cart as your orgasm crashes over you in drowning waves. you slip beneath the surface of pleasure, your cunt rushing like a river while you cum all over satoru’s masterful hand with a muffled cry of his name. 

“satoru!” 

“shh, quiet…that’s my girl, my sweet sweet girl.” he sighs dreamily, fucking you with your fingers throughout your high — only pulling out of your greedy cunt to slap down on it, dragging more spurts of arousal out of you. you squirt through your jeans, onto the metal seat in your ferris wheel cart and all over satoru. who happily praises you through it all. “i bet you’re just drippin’ on all those nasty strangers below. i’m sure they’d love it.” 

catching your breath, you tuck your face into satoru’s neck while you come down from your high (and literally too — your cart begins to make its descent back town from the top of the ferris wheel). “y-you’re sick.”

satoru smiles, slow and sexy. “but you love me,” 

“mhm, sure,” you quip, somehow finding the energy to pull away from your debauched lover to shift to your knees in front of him — the cool metal digging into your knees. “maybe i love you just a little.” 

“only a little? then why are you on your knees for me?” he asks, spreading his legs to make room for you between them. 

“it’s your turn, i want to see if i can make you come before we get to the bottom of the wheel.” you say breathlessly and with mirthy eyes, teeth descending on gojo’s zipper while you bat your eyelashes up at him. 

celebrating valentine’s day with satoru was always…unique. different…but you’d be lying if you said you failed to enjoy his unconventional methods of gift giving with the person you loved most. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[iz1331]

The "Weird Dream theory" of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice may be plausible based on this name connection.

If you haven't seen the film yet, then go freaking watch it already! It's been out for 3 weeks now. Spoilers below.

Exhibit A

The two songs that Betelgeuse lip-synced sang to Lydia are "Right Here Waiting" and "MacArthur Park".

The former being a timeless love song, and what I think is probably the best song that Betelgeuse could ever choose to convey his everlasting love for Lydia. And the fact that the song got released in 1989? A year after they met? It may does come across as creepy, and kinda scary, than romantic. (I personally thought it was romantic).

The latter being a stroke of genius as a climax musical choice. It definitely has the Beetlejuice touch to it like with the Banana Boat (Day-O) song, where you think it has no business being in the film, and then suddenly you can't imagine the film not having the song in it. The message and story behind "MacArthur Park", while sad when you hear it, is Betelgeuse wacky. The Juice boxes (Beetlejuice fans) have talked about how the song is Betelgeuse knowing that the wedding ain't gonna come to the conclusion he wants it to be, but still brought the song on to drive home his feelings to Lydia, him saying farewell (for now) and telling her she's the only one, ever, for him whether she wants to be or not.

Exhibit B

The names of the singers who sang the songs.

"Right Here Waiting" - Richard Marx

"MacArthur Park" - Richard Harris (and note that in the wedding scene, Betelgeuse used RH's version, not Donna's or any other covers)

Exhibit C

The name of Lydia's former partner who she once loved, the father of her only child.

RICHARD!

In conclusion

It was all a dream that Betelgeuse shared/gave to Lydia. He serenaded her with a RICHARD Marx song, coordinated a musical performance centering on RICHARD Harris' version of MacArthur Park for their wedding, and named the guy she had a kid with (then made him dead) in the dream RICHARD, the same name as the singers.

Call me out if this has been posted or mentioned before in other platforms. I'd like to read the discussions.

Again, this is a theory and must be taken with a grain of salt, it's just fun to connect the dots and give potential fanfiction and headcanon worthy material.

[vorfreudevortex]

a portrait of us - eight

a nanami x reader smau

masterlist

warnings: angst lol, slow burn, swearing, a little ooc, a typo or two

notes: ngl i am starting to hate this story but it's okay!! also I'm drunk but I'm posting this anyways idc. also - written portion - 1.3k words (?!!). i'm finding it impossible to not write long ass parts. also pls feel free to request or ask me anything bc i don't like this smau and need something to distract me in between writing it <3 love u bye

as the car pulled up to the museum’s front entrance, you shakily smoothed your hair and dress with one hand, the other clutching a crumpled sheet of paper with your speech.

you couldn’t decide which was more pitiful. the frizzy flyaways escaping your hastily curled hair? or the piece of stationary, painstakingly flattened but still creased, one of the thirty-two drafts you’d written, retrieved reluctantly from the hotel floor?

the driver parked as an attendant opened the door, offering a hand to help you out. the museum director approached with a reassuring smile, and a suit probably worth more than thirty of your paintings combined.

the driver parked an attendant opened the car door and offered you a hand to help you out. the director approached you with a comforting smile and a suit that probably cost more than 30 of your paintings combined.

“welcome! how are you feeling?”

“to be honest,” you replied with a nervous smile. "I'm terribly anxious.”

he chuckled, holding the front door open for you. “that’s perfectly natural. don’t worry! the patrons will love you and your work. anyone would be foolish not to.”

“thank you, director…” you murmured, his words doing little to calm your trembling hands.

the head assistant joined your walk to the gallery hall, peppering you with one question after another.

“the catering service has just finished setting up. would you please take a final sample of the gyoza and ohitashi? they don’t look quite the same as they did during the original tasting…”

“we have a very important guest from malaysia… would you like me to introduce you two when she arrives? it would be a shame if you didn’t at least find time to say hello…”

“are you absolutely certain about the painting for the final reveal? i know you said it’s special to you but the other assistants and i agreed that the other one would-”

“alright, that’s enough questions,” the director interjected as you neared the gallery hall. you let out a small breath of relief. you thought you might burst if another word came out of the assistant’s mouth. “please go make sure the waiters have the champagne chilled and poured.”

“thank you,” you whispered to the director as the assistant walked away.

“please, don’t thank me. they can be so overbearing. sometimes, it’s better to just let things flow as life means them to,” he replied with a smile.

“yeah…” you replied, glancing at your paintings, their eyes seemingly judging you.

“i can see you’re terrified, and that’s okay. you’ve never done this on such a big stage before!” he laughed. “but truly, it’s not all that different than a smaller exhibition.”

“i don’t think i deserve to be here.”

“if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be.”

you looked at the director, letting his words calm your nerves a bit. your gaze wandered to one of your paintings, a vibrant reinterpretation of jeanne: spring by édouard manet, now alive with bold reds and yellows. 

it was both different and familiar, evoking nostalgia even in those who knew the original. the abstract strokes depicted a striking dark-skinned woman you had met in the park, with bright orange braids cascading down to her waist, her skin glowing against the polka-dotted umbrella she carried.

upon meeting her, you had eagerly asked to paint her, offering what little savings you had left in return. she had given you a sideways smile and agreed, letting you capture her portrait for free.

over the next week, you posed her in your small apartment, finding moments between both of your busy schedules. when you finally showed her the finished piece, she grinned again and said, “oh sweetie, you’re gonna be big one day.”

though she couldn’t be here in tokyo, her spirit was with you, embodied in the painting with that sideways smile even the umbrella couldn’t overshadow.

"onee-san!"

your attention shifted from the painting to the other side of the room, where a group was led by itadori yuji and his toothy grin.

"itadori-kun!"

“and me! hello?” satoru added playfully.

“of course, you too,” you smiled. “thank you for coming, i'm so thrilled you’re here. you all look amazing!”

“no, you look amazing. and i wouldn’t miss this for the world,” satoru said, hugging you. "onee-san, i want you to meet all my students!”

as he finished introducing you to the first and second years, a warm hand rested on your shoulder. you turned to see an old classmate, now with long hair and a familiar pair of boots.

“shoko ieri, take my shoes off right now!” you laughed, throwing your arms around her.

“um, no way. you never even wore them when you had them,” she teased.

shoko's expression softened as she noticed the tears welling in your eyes. she looked just the same, but you couldn’t help noticing the worry lines between her brown, evident even with her smile.

“i didn’t think i'd see you again,” she said quietly.

“me neither… i'm so-”

“-stop talking,” she interrupted. “we brought gifts for you!”

you let go of shoko while yuji held out a large bouquet of blue and pink daisies.

“oh, stop it!” you exclaimed, taking the flowers. “they’re beautiful. thank you all so much!”

“we’re not done yet! there’s more,” satoru said slyly, holding out a small black box.

your heart nearly stopped when you pried the lid open to reveal a large pearl pendant on a gold chain.

“you-”

“-there’s more. look under the velvet,” shoko urged. you carefully lifted the padding to reveal a check with the note “a commission for the staff and students” made out for…

“ten million fucking yen?!”

“whoa, language!” satoru laughed. “kids, go run and play or something.”

“shoko, did you know about this?” you panicked as the students filed away with quiet giggles. “i seriously can’t accept this!”

“yes, you will,” shoko retorted, crossing her arms.

“a commission for what?”

“girl, did you even read the check?” satoru huffed playfully. “you’re gonna paint a portrait of the staff and students at jujutsu high. and hopefully, instead of ignoring us, it’ll cover a plane ticket back so you can visit us next year.”

tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling down your cheeks.

“no. seriously. i-no! i can’t accept this! this is an insane amount of money for a commission like that. i'll paint for you guys for free. and you’ll return this necklace because i know you spent too much money on it, too.”

“stop talking and just accept the gift,” shoko urged.

“but i don’t deserve it.”

“now you’re just spouting nonsense,” satoru said as he placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you toward the gallery entrance. he pointed at the large banner bearing your gallery information. “what does that banner say?”

“it says my name,” you sniffled, still clutching the flowers and box.

“no, idiot. i'm talking about the quotes.”

“um…” you blinked away tears. “someone truly exceptional…?”

“and?”

“a modern-day van gogh…?”

“one more.”

“art that every being should hope to be privileged enough to experience.”

“good job, you can read!” satoru smiled, giving your shoulders a slight shake. “some snobby rich art critics said that about you. now, stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself and make sure everyone has their attention on you tonight.”

“and deposit the check when you get home,” shoko added.

“yes, please deposit the check,” satoru agreed. “if you lose it, i'll be pissed.”

you wrapped your arms around satoru and shoko, squeezing tight in tearful appreciation. they had no idea… the check would cover over a year’s worth of rent, premium canvases, all fine-haired brushes you could ever want, and even a payment on a car. you swore to yourself that you’d pour your soul into painting them a fucking masterpiece.

“now let go,” satoru said, pushing you away. “and go impress all these high-class art people.”

“okay, okay, i'm going!” you smiled with a sniffle.

wiping your tears away, you waved at your classmates as you walked further into the gallery to greet the small crowd that had arrived. sometime during your conversation, your hands must have stopped trembling.

“you’re gonna be just fine,” you thought to yourself with a grin.

next: part nine

tag list // @bubybubsters @sad-darksoul @corvid007 @kenqki @ikon-teen

[jadeazora]

We got new info on HZ055! There'll be some exhibition battles with Poppy vs. Iono and Dot, and Hassel vs. Roy and Brassius.

(I wonder if Liko gets one the following episode maybe teaming up with Katy? Rika did take an interest in her...)

[willowsages-blog]

public restaurant: Dbf Sebatian Stan x female reader

summary: against your better judgment, you somehow falter and let Sebatian, your dad's best friend, do what he will with you at dinner, right underneath your parents' noses.. without your father finding out

warnings: swearing, exhibition, public fingering, daddy kink, dbf.

"Stop it, we're in a nice restaurant." You softly smack his hand from traveling to your inner thigh, mumbling your words in a cruel manor.

"I don't really care," Sebastian glides the tips of his fingers up your leg slowly and somberly, resting his big hand severely close to your aching heat.

"Well, I do care.." Once again, you remove his warmth from your own, humiliated that the softest touch of a man could make it so difficult to focus.

"And just because my parents are in the restroom, doesn't mean we can mess around, Sebastian." what if someone finds out looking around trying to see if your parents were close by especially your father would go crazy if he saw the two of you together close.

"They're probably fucking." Blandly, he says, staring at you with an ornery glint in his florescent eyes.

"Gross." You blow a disgusted huff through your teeth, watching your parents emerge from the back of the building, looking pure as ever.

"If it were up to me, I'd have you taking my cock in the bathroom too." His words slipped right down through you and caressed your arousal with his grueling words, forcing an unwanted, tainted red to spread among your cheeks like wildfire.

"You shouldn't say things like that.." Wary, you kept your eyes lowered, fully ashamed of the affect he had now bestowed upon you.

"Flustered, my Love?" He gave you a convincing look of concern, but he had "arrogance" written all over his face, settling his damned hand atop your knee smoothly.

"Y'know, you shouldn't wear this," He pulled the small, delicate strap of your dress off your shoulder, "Makes me want to ruin your nice little dress.."

"Stop, Sebastian..." You pull the loose strap back up to its former place, grimacing once his hand crawls up the slit of your dress and settles against the molten cove, he calls his own.

"Stop what, Y/N?" He shifts his eyes on yours, raising a brow in question. "I've hardly laid a finger upon you.." He curled his finger under the silk fabric of your panties, massaging your little rose bud soft and nice.

You fall silent to his wishes, eyeing your parents who had made a stop at the bar and were laughing with another couple while you sat there, a mistress to whatever Sebastian decided to do.

He rolled your clit between the pads of his fingers as you let your head fall back slowly, chewing on the pillowy softness of your bottom lip to suppress your pleas for more.

"Sebastian.." He slid his long index into your pulsing folds, and you wrapped both of your hands around his bicep,

anchoring to him as he deflowered you amongst the eyes of the public. You struggled to keep your legs still from under the table, and his pace of pleasure quickened.

Softly, you whimpered through your lips, undeniably hushed by his arousing acts of unbidden desires.

You squeezed your thighs together, whilst enveloping his hand at your very center. It was terribly hard to keep quiet, and even Sebastian struggled with the want to praise his little princess for doing so well.

"Such a naughty girl," Sebastian chides, watching you fall apart so delicately, amidst the oblivious beings that scatter the room. His eyes travel down the lengths of you, the sore throb in his cock swelling each time your thighs shook around his hand.

He pumped his thick digits slow and masterfully, while sweat dotted your brow, sweeping your hair with a gleam.

Your chest fell rapidly, and you felt the overwhelming sensations of his languid touch begin to brink at your nearly come orgasm.

, please.” Involuntary bucks broke from your hips, and you let your head fall to his shoulder, a cascade of whimpers and cries quietly evading your wordless mouth.

“Go ahead, princess, come on my fingers. Let everyone see how messy you are.”

His lips moved against your ear, and you couldn’t help but free yourself from the bondage wrapped around the pit of your stomach in several knots, and he unwound everything single one of them with ease.

Careless of what eyes could be scouring you, you let your body rattle through your orgasm, coating his fingers with your juices and an unapologetic moan emptying from your lips with passion.

It felt so good.

You sigh as Sebastian removes his fingers from you, hazily watching as he slips them in his mouth unbothered.

You let your breathing smooth back to normal, eyeing him with the same lustful desire you withheld still only minutes ago.

Confident, you led your hand right over his hardened erection, sliding your palm tenderly against the noticeable indent in his trousers. Sebastian gave you an evil look,

dismissing whatever silly little idea you had in your mind. He swept your hand away, intertwining your fingers together instead.

“Not now, baby.” Concern lathered his voice and the both of you looked up, watching your parents make their way back to the table you all were sharing.

Though Sebastian would stare with intent, you kept your eyes lowered, ashamed of the escapades that went on right under their noses.

"Oh honey, what's gotcha so wound up? You look like a tomato." Your mother, bright as always, ponders aloud, making you shift your eyes in her direction.

"It's really hot in here, Mom." You fan your hands at your face, Sebastian's shit-eating grin in your peripheral's.

"Well, maybe you should cool down with some desert! I'm sure a little ice cream and pie would help you out." She widely smiled, taking her former seat in front of you and signaling a waiter over. You were going to decline your mother's suggestion, but she looks so happy, and pie sounds just too good...

He stands from his seat, yea do you mind driving me home were right beside each other I just think Mom and Dad would like to have a little more time to themselves, Honey are you sure' No you say it no biggie I'm little tired and I'm sure Sebastian wouldn't mind,

bidding your parents goodbye and forcing you to do the same. You walk beside him through the restaurant, confused but nonetheless glad that you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of knowing what the both of you had done.

“What the hell was that? You frown as the two of you exit the restaurant, met with the humid air that engulfs your bodies tightly. Sebastian grabs your hand firmly, coyly pulling you into his hard,

“And I want a taste of that pussy, been craving it all night.”

[tangerinesgirl]

Used

***Spoilers for Abigail (2024)***

Fem!Reader x Frank/Adam Barrett (Abigail)

Word count: 1.2k

Rating: 18+, explicit

Synopsis: Frank corners the reader when he is turned, his animalistic urges take over.

Warnings: holy moly where to begin...

DEAD DOVE, non con, yandare, Frank is a literal monster, p in v, blood as lube, spit kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, degradion, exhibition, Stockholm Syndrome, creampie, lots o' body fluids, squirting, major character death, hanging, asphyxiation

Notes: PLEASE note this is a dark fic and to proceed with caution! I can't emphasise this enough. I apologise in advance. This is also so much porn with very little plot. Spoilers: it's a bad ending for reader (or is it, maybe they get turned, who knows, it's ambiguous, it's up to your imagination)

The person who walks in on you and Frank doing the dirty can be anyone you like, gender is non specific, so have fun with it.

A lot of this is inspired from the Theatre des Vampires in Interview With The Vampire (1994) and also Fright Night (2011) where Jerry kills Doris in his basement.

🦇

Frank starts walking quickly towards you, throwing the stake he just used to kill Lambert to the ground. You trip and fall as his sudden movement makes you jump, not thinking or looking where you're going. You scuttle backwards into a wall, helpless, as Frank looms over you.

"Gotcha". Is is all just a sick game for him now? What happened to the Frank you met earlier? He bends down to meet your eye line and tuts.

"Why are you fighting this? I mean...I've seen the way you look at me...and look at the way you're dressed. It's like you're asking for it." Frank rips off your short black polka dot dress, and aggressively shrugs you out of it. He hooks his fingers into your underwear and removes them roughly too.

You clench at your breasts trying to find some decency. Frank leans down to shush into your ear, as he reaches down behind your back to remove your bra. A tear rolls down your face as he does so. He bites the corner of his lip as he wipes it away with his thumb. He looks at his thumb then to you as he takes it and wipes it around his lips. His eyes on you at all times, he tilts his head like he's calculating his next move.

Suddenly Frank lunges towards you, you startle backwards and are pinned to the wall. He stops and takes your hands at your breasts. He removes them and takes one of your fingers around his face, lips, and into his mouth. You kick and flail out, hitting Frank in the shin. He looks down then at you, the kick doing nothing with his new found strength.

He pins your hands above your head with a grunt. You can hear him breathing heavily into your ear, the occasional growl like a wild fucking animal. Everything Frank was is gone.

With his other hand, Frank traces his fingers down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His fingers trail down towards your breasts as he massages a handful. Your body betrays you and you let out a small moan as he starts to roll your nipple between his thumb and index finger. He notices and looks at you with a smirk as he sinks his fangs into your chest.

You wince in pain at first, but as Frank settles down, your body starts to relax, your heartbeat lowering. Pleasure starts to mix with the pain as the excess blood Frank hasn't ingested travels down your body, lower...lower...pooling at your entrance.

Frank grabs your hip as he drinks deeper, getting more and more messy as he does. His hand slides down your body and notices the puddle forming at your core. He uses it to swirl around your swollen clit. Frank notices how wet you're getting and laughs, "dirty girl..."

He swipes two fingers along your folds, collecting blood and your juices. He holds them out to you for you to lick. You scrunch your face and turn away. Frank grabs your neck forcefully to look at him as he wipes the liquid over your face. "You're going to look at me as I claim you as mine, kill you, and then all your friends", he threatens you. He holds your mouth open and swirls his digits on your tongue. He tilts your head up and slowly spits into your mouth. As the drop of sputum enters into your mouth, he closes it until you swallow the concoction. While he waits squeezing your mouth shut, he undoes his belt and trouser buttons.

His penis bounces free, pre cum already leaking out of him. He's quite well trimmed, average girth wise, but longer than average...but oh so veiny. You swallow, and Frank catches you staring. He smirks at you as he starts palming himself at the sight of you.

You wine as he does this, even though you hate Frank's guts right now, you're desperate for him to be inside you. A touch of Stockholm Syndrome maybe, you think. Or your mind is just broken from bloodloss.

Frank starts swiping himself between your folds, using your blood as lube. Suddenly he slams into you and you jerk against the wall, your fingernails clawing at the floorboards. Frank, still inside you, moves your legs to give him a better angle. One on the floor, the other up and bent, giving him somewhere to lean on and forcing you as wide as possible, as he aggressively fucks into you.

You look towards the door and see one of your friends, standing agape at the sight and frozen in fear. You look towards them, putting a finger to your lips, telling them to be quiet. They back away slowly, nodding.

Frank is too busy to notice as he throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing deeper into you. He moans as he looks down at your stomach, seeing the bulge of himself.

You can feel yourself closer to orgasm, arching your back, as you come undone. Your walls start to clench around him, but his aggressive thrusts force out extra liquid from inside you. Your toes clench as you feel yourself squirt, your cheeks growing bright red. It's bad that you've orgasmed with the creature that was Frank, but squirting??

You curse yourself as you look down at Frank who is quietly laughing manically to himself, knowing his power over you, as he starts to reach his climax. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he groans out his orgasm. Your liquids mixing with his seed. Frank continues to thrust into you, feeling the bulge in your stomach as he somehow continues to release into you.

As soon as he's satisfied you're full enough, he starts to spill into your stomach, mixing with the blood from your breast. It seems to last forever. You look at him, his body twitching, milking himself of every last drop of cum, as he continues to stroke himself. He places a palm on the wall behind you to give himself some leverage and to remain somewhat standing up as his cum leaks all over your naked body, going up towards your face. He starts to slow, coming down from his high. He can't help himself but to try some of his cum mixed with your blood and licks up your stomach, some of his strength coming back to him. He moans audibly, "Fuck, we taste so good. It's a shame I'm finished with you now".

As Frank stands up, you look at him, pleading to stop. He looks around the room and finds a nice length of rope, and starts to wrap it around your neck. He drags you to the top of the stairs, the floorboards grazing your back, your hands clawing around your neck trying to escape. But Frank is too strong. He starts tying the rest of the rope around the bannister as you're crying at him, unable to speak. He then lifts you like you weigh nothing, to sit on the rail of the stairs. He takes one last look at you, with a hint of disgust, as he pushes you off the rail.

Your neck instantly snaps, your blood and his cum that was on your chest starts dripping onto the floor. Frank disappears into the house as the remaining survivors run to the lobby to see what all the noise was. They stop in fear, one person slips over, one throws up. Another takes a step back to see the message written in your blood on the floor: "I'M COMING".

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Kazuki and Rei with an s/o who's a mermaid?

“Mermaids! Mermaids! Mermaids! Mermaids!”

“I’m gonna tell her.”

“Don’t you dare!” Kazuki hissed, with his finger pressed to his lips, at Rei as they followed behind Miri.

She’d been excited to see the new exhibit at the aquarium. One all about mythical underwater sea creatures and their origins, and, most importantly, mermaids. The exhibit was so popular that it had been sold out from the start. Luckily for them, however, [Y/N] was working at the exhibit and was able to get them tickets. Their typical ‘job of the week’ as they called it because every time Kazuki or Rei turned around they seemed to have a new one.

Sort of like their line of work. Just with much less violence and more menial tasks.

They made their way through the aquarium. Stopping now & then to look at some other fish and exhibits, but Miri was on a mission. “Do you think they’ll have blue mermaids?!”

“I’m sure they will.” Kazuki replied optimistically.

“Mermaids aren’t real.” Rei muttered. To which Kazuki scowled and he shut up.

“I hope there’s a pink one so we can match!”

“I’m sure there will be all kinds of mermaids Miri-chan. But you’ll need to be patient when we get inside.”

Even with the tickets, the line through the ‘mermaid cove’ was long. A slow moving train of adults and children going through a glass aquarium tunnel to gawk at the fish and swimming mermaids. Even as jaded as they were, Kazuki and Rei had to admit, it was pretty impressive.

“Look! Look! A pink mermaid!” The two men look to where Miri was pointing and both gained equal expressions of shock.

There, floating angelically in the water, with an ornate yellow tail dotted with orange and pearl studded seashell bra was [Y/N]. She was wearing a wig, and painted up to look more fish like, but they could tell it was her. And, apparently, she could see that it was them because she waved.

“She’s so pretty! I think she’s my favorite.”

“Mine too.” Rei said in his usual sullen voice. To which Kazuki pouted.

“You wish pal….”

They finish the exhibit, and look at some more fishes, before stopping in the food court for lunch. By the time they had finished, [Y/N] was coming up to them. No longer a mermaid, but just a regular girl in sweats with wet hair. “Hey guys! Did you like the exhibit?”

“It was so pretty!!”

[Y/N] chuckled at Miri’s enthusiasm. “Good. I’m glad you liked it.”

“That’s a pretty intricate costume you have to wear.” Kazuki commented. “Do they ever let you take it home?”

[Y/N] rolled her eyes at his eyebrow wag. “That tail weighs a ton. It’s not as fun as you think it would be.”

“I didn’t know you could hold your breath that long.” Rei mentioned. Sipping his soda.

“Yep! We’ll I had a job here like….4 summers ago scrubbing tanks. They knew that I could stay underwater a long time so they offered me the job. Definitely more glamorous.”

“You’ll have to teach me.” He told her. “…for missions…”

[Y/N] chuckled again. “Of course.”

“If you’re off now, do you want to come home with us? You can tell Miri all about your mermaid training.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Miri answered for her. Jumping up and down in her seat.

“I guess I have no choice. Let me grab my bag.”

She gave a little wave as she went back to the employee lounge to grab her things.

“So, we’re still at an impasse then?” Kazuki asked Rei when they were alone.

“I guess so.” Rei agreed. Sipping his soda casually.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a fight this long.”

“We haven’t.”

“May the better man win then.”

“I will.”

Kazuki turned to snap at him, but it was too late. [Y/N] was back, already collecting Miri to head home, and they couldn’t let her in on their secret contest for her.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Three: Fate Rewritten

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After bumping into Sharon, you're escorted back to her apartment in High-Town. What lies in wait is way more than you'd anticipated in store for your night.

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Partying, Alcohol, Power Dynamics, Semi-Smutty, Inferences toward sex, Age Gap

Mentions of: Government, Betrayal, Treason, Hypocrisy, Grief

A/N: I've been waiting so long to get to this part! Ahhh, I feel like this is really when things will start to change, considering the reader's backstory and her growing relationships with the guys. Not to mention that some of the main plot points are finally being set in motion. I decided to not fully wind up writing them together since the chapter got so long, but I'm sure it'll def pop up in flashbacks later on down the line.

It's safe to say that you're more than a little out of it by the time you guys get into Sharon's vehicle. She insists on driving, and the guys need a good view of Zemo to make sure he's in check. That leaves the three of you in the back: Sam, you, and Bucky. As your journey takes you back a similar way you'd come, you can't help but still be fascinated with the lights. What's Sharon got in store for you all? What's her plan? While you're not super familiar with her, you wonder what she was doing in Low Town Madripoor in the first place. Surely, she hasn't been following you all this whole time.

Once she parks outside a luxury-style apartment, you follow Sam out the back door and follow Sharon into her place. "Woah," you whisper, taking in the fact that not only one security guard--slash--doorman stands out front, but two. Through a big metal sliding door lies an art exhibit, glass containers lined with neon blue lights illuminate different sculptures and craftsmanship. Real antique and pricey-looking things.

"Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well," Sam comments as he walks beside Sharon alongside the containers. Whatever she'd been going through when you'd first had your run-in has clearly dissipated as she seems to come to life upon Sam's teasing.

"Well, at some point I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I can get for a real Monet?" She asks, gesticulating with her arms as she explains her situation. While Zemo lingers a few steps behind you with Bucky trailing, you can't help but slow your steps upon this information.

"Easy, deactivate your hustle mode," Sam warns, "You sell fake Monets." He wants to clarify. While Sharon might pretend to allude to a profited criminal life such as Zemo, Sam clearly thinks she's a goodie-two-shoes.

"No, she means real. This gallery specializes in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics," Zemo explains nonchalantly as he follows Sharon, continuing to round the exhibit.

"So it's true then? What they say..." You ask them, eyes shifting from Zemo onto Sharon, then finally Bucky who stands a few feet before you while Sam occupies the space by your side.

"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this," Bucky answers, eyes still taking in the pastel-dotted canvas.

"There's no way," you whisper to yourself, voice trailing off as you take in the scenery. Heading down the two steps, you approach Bucky's side, eyes scanning over the Monet painting before you. You've seen his other works in museums, though now you know they were fakes. Regardless, you don't think you'd be able to tell the difference.

"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good old Sam," your friend complains, still stationed where you stood a few moments ago.

"Yeah? What's Google say?" Bucky asks, a playful tone curling around his words as he physically rounds Sam. This elicits your attention as you shift your gaze onto Sam, glad he's now enlightened onto the, well... not-so theory of conspiracy you and Bucky both seem to know about.

"No shit," Sam exclaims, clearly bewildered by the thought. In all honesty, you can't blame him. To think people would do something so greedy and frivolous? Useless? It takes seeing it firsthand to really believe, and it seems Sam's eyes are finally opening to that aspect.

"Come on, guys-" Sharon calls from the stairs, Zemo waiting a few steps behind her as they stare in your general direction. "You need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour," She informs.

While you don't question her, you are curious as to what sort of clients and business she does... besides selling art, that is. There's a world of art, of course, yet you know that there's only so much a lifestyle of it can afford. Following the group upstairs, you're taken aback by the fact that this whole place is starting to seem like Sharon's.

"Of course, I've got all this stuff out here for you guys-" Sharon eyes the men, "-but I've got a few things you can borrow for tonight. Come with me," she commands.

Following Sharon through a series of archways and pristine doors you find yourself in a massive bedroom. Intricate patterns are embroidered on the comforter, and through an open doorway, you can see that there's a walk-in closet. It's precisely where she's led you, her hands gesturing for you to follow. "I know. Nice right? Every girl needs a walk-in," she comments before chuckling to herself.

Taken aback by the wide array of shoes on the shelves, purses on hangars, coats, dresses, pants, and shirts all hang neatly in their place, their own rack for each category of piece. Though you aren't sure where to even start, let alone if you even want to. Everything is too expensive, you couldn't possibly use them. Sharon speaks up.

Her fingers run across the fabric, only stopping once she spots something, though her back is to you and therefore your view is obscured. "Try this on, I have the shoes to go with them and together? I'm sure you'll have a great night!" She says over her shoulder before winking. With a quick hand she tosses the hangar to you, which you scramble to catch. "I'll see you downstairs, then."

The dress is a plain black fabric, a halter top cut, two slits on either side of your hips at the start of your thighs. It's a little more exposing than what Zemo had picked, though with everything that's happened tonight, you feel for some reason that you can't bring yourself to care. If someone sees something, it's not like it's the end of the world. Besides, with this dress you could wear a thong or panties. Though the panties would have to be matching or sexy, intentionally meant to be seen as a fashion statement. Deciding to just go for the dress, no bra needed and your panties already discarded, you're glad for the comfy snug fit the fabric offers. It's far more stretchy and accommodating than Zemo's. The shoes you have on work, the only thing left to do is to put your hair up. Finding a claw clip on Sharon's vanity, you figure she won't mind if you borrow it for tonight. After all, it's a lot less intimate than a dress.

With a wet wipe from the bathroom, you're all good to go. Makeup is natural enough to pass as anyone, hair is different, so is your dress, and while the shoes may not be, with the darkness of the gallery you're sure no one will notice. Especially not if there's going to be drinking; and no good party lacks a variety of drink. Heading back to the foyer Sharon had originally brought you to, you find the guys settling in nicely.

Taking in the intricate pieces placed throughout the room, you inspect each one carefully. "Much better," Sharon comments, heels clicking against the wooden floors announcing her return.

"What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam asks. The shuffle of fabric and the faint tinkling of metal tells you he's changing his shirt again! Trying to find something suitable for him is practically impossible, and this, you swear. Out of your peripheral vision, you see Sharon place something on the arm of the couch while Zemo stands by the bar.

"They'll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition," She informs.

"Good to know," you joke to yourself. Fingers running along the smooth wood of the desk behind the couch, you don't notice how the comment seems to have everyone's eyes lingering on you for a moment before Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

"Look, sorry I didn't call, but after the Blip and the chaos, I just..." He attempts. This piques your interest, not initially intent on eavesdropping, though this sounds like something a lover might say. Did Sam and Sharon-? You don't wanna know... do you?

"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?" Her tone softens, a genuine question reaching out to form some sort of connection. An attempt to regain a friendship, you think. "I mean the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it's all hypocrisy."

Eyes rising from the necklace displayed by the clothes rack, your eyebrows furrow in surprise. Wasn't Sharon CIA? To join the government so outright, then denounce it only a few years later? Something's fishy about it and eerie in a way you don't like. Even if what she's saying elicits a subconscious subtle nod of your head.

"He knows. And not so deep down," Zemo comments with a raise of his drink. This garners everyone's attention for a moment. You can't help but stare as you linger on him. Curious... Questioning.

"By the way, how is the new Cap?" Sharon asks, hands in her pockets. You aren't CIA by any means, but you know how to read body language. She's clearly got her guard up, but for what? You're not sure.

"Don't get me started," Bucky groans.

"Please, you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit," Sharon argues. You round the room, peeking through the windowed panes of the glass doors into surrounding rooms to see what goodies lie there. If the rooms you've seen so far are anything to go by, you're sure the rest of the apartment complex is loaded with treasures. "Before you were his pet psychopath-" it doesn't take looking to know she's referring to Zemo, considering her positioning and emphasis, "-you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend."

Although you don't comment, you can't help the way your lips curl inward in a silent attempt at holding back any sort of chortle or chuckle from emerging.

"Wow. She's kind of awful now," Bucky comments. While you might guess he may be joking sarcastically, you can't be sure. Is he just insulting her? Being passive-aggressive? You can't tell.

"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum," Sam informs, passing you as he rounds the couch the other way and sits across from Bucky.

"You guys really should steer clear of all this for your own safety," Sharon warns. Being in Madripoor and clearly in a position of wealth and selling artwork underground, she must know the rumors.

"We know it's a risk, but we won't leave until we find the person who cracked the code," Sam responds, unfazed and defiant of her advice. Elbows on his knees he leans in closer.

"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel," Bucky discloses. Sharon gets up and crosses Bucky to get to the bar, Zemo gets out of her way and walks toward you to sit in the lone chair by the side table.

"Nagel works for the Power Broker," Sharon replies. A dissatisfied hum rumbles in your chest. You don't want to think about the past, nor worry about how you're going to find the Power Broker to stop the supplier.

"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared," Sam offers, all the men's eyes intent on her as she pours a drink. Fingers running over the edge of a tapestry hung on the opposite wall, you listen intently.

"You haggling with my life?" She asks, tone sounding genuine to you.

"Not like that," Sam corrects.

"I don't buy that," She responds, and really, you can't blame her. "You pretending like you can clear my name."

You have to admit that Sharon is starting to grow on you in some sense. She's smart, that much is clear. While you don't outwardly boast the things you know will be demonized, she does, and you can respect her for that, if anything. Though you haven't weighed in much, you've been listening. Of course everyone has their judgments and suspicions, and while you may be leaping to conclusions, there's a fishy suspicion brewing in your mind. You only wonder if anyone else is catching onto what Sharon is putting down. Eyes flickering over to Zemo for a moment, you notice him meet your gaze. Immediately looking back to Sharon, you can't help the tiny smile that snags at your lips, blush forming on your cheeks. Originally intending to gather intel, for some reason you couldn't handle the pressure of his gaze.

"-I'm willing to try if you are," you zone back in on what they're saying. "They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he's met," Sam points out. A chuckle escapes your lips and you shrink in on yourself, not having expected that.

"-I heard that," Bucky comments to Sam, though his eyes and dissatisfied look are aimed at you. You don't even have to see it from your peripheral to feel his stare, the sense of it sending an internal sort of shiver down your spine.

"I don't trust charity," Sharon posits, intent on finishing their conversation.

"All right, a deal then. You help us out, and we get your name cleared." Sharon accepts Sam's extended hand and they shake on it. Downing her drink, she places the used tumbler aside and starts toward the door you'd entered from.

"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find." With that, she's out of the foyer and onto whatever business it is that she's doing.

"Trouble," Zemo repeats playfully with a shrug of his shoulders, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what you better not be," you warn. Eyes meeting his, you can't help but find that his playfulness has spread to you, even if you know you can switch into gear and act in accordance with the mission if need be.

"Well, you know me," Zemo taunts. With a swig of his drink, he lays the finished glass atop the coaster on the table beside his chair.

"That's the problem," Bucky quips, standing as Zemo moves to follow where Sharon had gone.

--------

You have to admit, with wherever Sharon stands in your likes, she can throw a good party... that much is clear. Originally determined to view all the authentic art pieces lingering around the gallery, it hadn't actually taken as long as you'd have thought. With a drink or two offered along the way, you can feel yourself start to loosen up. Hors d'oeuvres are littered throughout the party, and with Sharon being such the great hostess, you hardly feel the usual sense of guilt for indulging when it comes to fancy parties. It also doesn't help that they're really good and you hadn't eaten a lot, really, since Zemo's jet was scarce of in-date snacks. Eating expired foods wasn't really a risk you were willing to participate in today.

As the night goes on you find your way to the dance floor after a little persuasion from Sam. While you all might still be focused on your mission, the excuse of blending in is one of necessity. It's not really a party if there isn't dancing, right? The Avenger eventually decides to ditch you in favor of making small talk with some of the other partygoers. He's most likely trying to seek information, knowing him.

Dancing with Sam was different than dancing with Zemo. You hadn't anticipated for this to happen, but considering he's maintained a central viewpoint for the boys, that just so happens to be the dance floor. He's discarded his jacket at some point clearly as his chest is in full display in the plum sweater he's donning. It'd started off friendly, simply busting out your lamest dance moves for fun in the same vicinity. Yet, as the songs played on and you grew closer in distance to make conversation, the vibe between you shifted.

There's a reason they say not to mix drinks... and now you know why. It takes a matter of a half hour for your resolve to break, the inner dialogue, the constant fighting of the comical angel and demon on either shoulder bickering with one another. Overall, the devil had won- there was no use in denying what you want, that you have a plan, and are pursuing it. You're going after what you want. Using any chance to get closer, any excuse to feel his hands on you. the recent memory of his hot breath fanning across your neck, the spark when your lips met... it's still heavy on your mind and hot in your blood.

"You should know this one," you joke across the few feet between you as you sway to the music, the beat of the music ramping up, the bass and beats getting faster and faster toward that familiar climax you all know so well. 'There's not a soul out there-' bouncing to the rhythm, you let your hips sway as your arms find their way above your head.

'Give Me,

Give Me,

Give Me A Man After Midnight~'

It's a remix, the techno music is very different from the original, however, you can't deny you enjoy the song. It's fitting if nothing else. If anyone were to ask why you want this, you couldn't explain it--not rationally--and looks aren't a good enough reason, you know that better than anyone. While there are certain characteristics that could be said of his mannerisms and personality, you wouldn't dare to compliment or lead to the ego of a madman overextending its peace. Many would argue it already had, after all.

He doesn't seem to mind either. Whether you're simply keeping up the act, even if it's unnecessary here, you both find yourselves indulging in the ambiance around you. Breath heavy with the adrenaline of dancing and the higher temperature of lots of bodies on the dance floor, you're being bumped and jostled by the people around you. His hand extends at some point, loosely wrapping around your waist as the two of you draw nearer to one another. Over all, it's safe to say that Sharon may just have predicted your 'great night'.

As it draws closer to the wee hours of the morning, Sam makes his way around to advise you all of making it an early night. Tomorrow is supposed to be busy, so it makes sense. While the four of you head upstairs in a staggered manner, you find that once you're changed and sat on the bed that you still don't feel ready to officially end the night. Eyes drawn to the red dress and accompanying apparel you'd borrowed earlier, you can't help the thoughts that follow. However lewd they may be, it doesn't stop your mind from drawing up a vague plan.

Part of you knows it's a bad idea, that you shouldn't do this, but then again... what's the worse it could lead to? A one night stand? There's no reason that leads you to believe, rationally, that any of the same thoughts are going through his head at all. Therefore, you continue your trapse down the hallway. The wooden floors creak every so often, and you don't miss the way that Sam's clicking fingers on the keyboard come to a momentary halt before returning to its previous pace. It'd go unnoticed if you didn't know better, but you know he's well aware of your presence, just as you are of his.

You'd already thought this through--the excuse--the lie. It's a shame, really, to have to lie to a friend whom you love dearly... yet, you know there's no telling the truth in this circumstance. Yet, there is... isn't there? After all, you know it'd be taking a play from Zemo's book, you're sure, no doubt, but anyone who's smart knows that all lies hold some semblance of the truth. Hence, your excuse; smooth and comforting material weighing your hands down by your stomach, you're about to walk past the back of the couch when his soft voice stops you.

"You're going to visit him?" It's a reasonable question, a check-in. Something to note, since, he is a criminal... a dangerous person. Someone to be kept in check. Unpredictable, as they'd said.

"Just returning these," you answer, lifting the bundle of clothing and the accessories of your disguise for Sam's viewing.

"I'm sure he could care less, but, by all means-" Sam extends his hand in the direction of the hallway. "If he tries anything-"

"-call out, I got it. I'm only planning on dropping this off. Maybe asking him something if he's up for conversation. But it shouldn't be too long. Don't worry," you attempt to reassure him. "You should get some sleep soon, too, you know? Especially if we're to do this in the morning," you shift the topic, intent on reminding him of what you hope is tiredness showing, even if the bags under his eyes grow heavier with the hours.

With a nod in your direction, Sam lets his attention drift back to the computer screen, intent on whatever work it is he has waiting within the digital world. Though you'd like to say this relieves you, lifts a burden from your shoulder, it only makes the weight on them sink further into you. Whether it's dread, guilt, or shame at all of the incredulous scenarios that run through your mind in possible what-ifs of the conversation to play out between you and the Baron, you can't do anything but shake your head in an attempt to dissuade them. Bare feet padding across the wooden floor, you notice how the dim light that peeks from under the door gives your heart a reason to speed up. Really, its the realization that you've never truly been alone with this man since you've met. The rumors, perhaps, the danger they claim he holds... the possibility of a supposed madman snapping at any point is equal parts exhilarating and yet, still terrifying. At least when you let yourself truly contemplate this fact.

With a hesitancy at the door, you lift your small fist up to the carved oak, lingering... debating. While you'd thought all resolve had fled the moments after you'd downed your fifth shot... the buzz of alcohol has long since seemed to dwindle away from your mind, the accelerating carefree feeling emptied from your veins and replaced by the cautiousness of someone who Sam would tease is entirely, all you. Determined to defy the limits of the box your closest friends place you in for one reason or another, you gently knock on the door.

There's no response. Something you'd expect, if not for the way that there's a shuffle of fabric and then a sigh on the other side. "Come in." Cold golden ornate knob within your grasp, you turn it and push the heavy door open enough for you to slip inside before quietly closing it behind you.

"Hi." It's the first word that comes to mind, the only thing you can think to say, to break the silence between you as he takes in your bare goosebump-riddled legs and the satin robe you have on.

"Hello," he returns the sentiment, unmoving from his position, torso upright against the headboard as he lies in bed, legs outstretched before him. "What a surprise to see you, Schön. Though I should've guessed from the light footsteps and quiet knock. James would certainly not allow me a moment of privacy, nor Sam." Sitting up a little straighter, his hands clasp in his lap. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Swallowing your shyness, as you can't simply stare at him forever--that'd be far too embarrassing--you lift your arms a bit for emphasis. "I thought I would return these to you." There's a wooden chair with a striped pattern of cloth covering the cushiony seat standing by the vanity. That's where you place the pile of folded clothing and shoes. Although you're no longer facing him, you can feel his gaze lingering on your figure. When you turn around again, he has his head tilted, no doubt thinking about something.

"You can keep the clothes, Schön, I don't need them back. However, I'm sure you knew that. Why are you really here?" He questions.

"What if I really was just here to return the clothing?" You offer, mirroring him unconsciously with a little tilt of your own head.

"Then I'd say you're courteous, and ask how you liked the outfit I picked out for you," he retorts. Even from across the room, you can spot a flicker of something within his irises. Whether he's playing with you, toying with you, or testing you, you're unsure. This question, however, puts you on the spot. A bemused smile graces your lips and you don't try to hide it. Taking in his state of wealth, you decide not to comment on how expensive you thought everything was, as you'd rather not know. It's better to play on his level.

"I... thought it was very nice. Not something I'd normally wear, but for a nice evening out, I think it was a good pick. The shoes were cool, the gems on the back," you recount.

"The color suited you wonderfully. Brought out your features, just as I'd predicted," he comments with a somewhat smug look upon his face. Seemingly half-placated with the notion, though there's still something gnawing at the seams of his resolve. "There's another reason you're here, whether you're willing to admit it or not." This is a test, you're well aware.

"Mmm," the hum leaves your lips before you can even begin to think of a retort. Turning on your spot, you can't help but run your fingers along the carved wooden back of the chair, walking your fingers along it and taking a step further into the room as you think. "Am I?" You stop moving, offering a look in his direction. "What if I said that you intrigue me? That I wanted to ask you how you do it?" You posit.

Tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, the Baron listens intently. Though he silently chuckles to himself at you returning his question with another question, the second half of your thoughts elicit a narrowing of his eyes. This notion has caused pause for his own thought. "Do... what, Schatz?" He plays along, subconsciously leaning a little closer despite being across the room.

Though the various thoughts and moments from tonight race across your mind, there's one theme that you can't bear to continue reliving. One thought, one realization that you know will have you getting nowhere in the coming days. Jaw threatening to clench down on itself, you can't help but sigh as your hands ball up into fists by your sides. "I... tonight, I just noticed how... in every instance, no matter what seemed to be going on, you... didn't seem scared. Like nothing fazed you," it comes out a whisper. Those final words. Though you'd been trying to search for the right words, everything came out how it wanted to, yet in the end you couldn't help but whisper the truth. It seemed like nothing fazed him. Meanwhile you... were downright terrified. Scared in a way no one has made you feel. Ever. And the worst of it is that you know it's not over. Tomorrow you will get up, alongside the rest of your friends and acquaintances and get geared up and ready to face a man who's only haunted your past.

"Oh..." Zemo responds, your name falling off his lips as if you were simply a child, a silly girl that he feels pity for. Something shifted in his demeanor by the time you finally raise your eyes to meet him again, not sure when you had dropped your vision to the floor. Possibly too embarrassed to admit the truth.

It's this moment... that's when things changed, you think. Time settles in the space between you, the air thick and heavy with confusion and a cluster of effervescent emotions bubbling up and out of you both into the air, a swirling and confusing domination of raw emotion. There's no denying what's there; the truth, the matter of your age held right before you in time like a reflection of your souls. While you'd both endured a heaviness of trauma encumbered in your life time and time again, there's no denying that he's the older man, that he's experienced more... seen more, done more, lived more. And you... well, let's save the stereotype for literature digests, will you?

"Don't-" you warn, the rise of embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall as you begin to march toward the door with a speed that leaves him in a whirlwind. What surprises you both, however, is the way that as soon as your hand is reaching for the doorknob, his is roughly placed atop it. His hand effectively trapping yours underneath. You hadn't even heard him get up, yet you can feel the heat coming off his body only inches away.

"Come," he beckons, "listen." With gentle hands he peels yours away from the knob as he guides you over to the side of the bed, simply sitting. A pat of his free hand on the empty space beside him lets you know what he wants. Really, you'd want it too... if it weren't for the conflicting emotions in your stomach making you want to tear up.

He seems to pick up on your hesitance as he stands once more, hands tentatively moving to ghost over your shoulders, tacitly asking for your permission. When you don't push him away, he places them on you, hands encompassing your satin-covered shoulders. "You have to understand, Meine Süße," he starts, voice holding a softer tone than you've ever heard him use. "I joined my country's military as soon as I was eligible. From the time I was a recruit to the time I eventually became a Colonel..." Zemo sighs as he tears his gaze from you, the motion eliciting your gaze on him in turn. "The point is, I have been through more, seen more, than you and anyone will ever know. And despite my training, the truth still remains... disregarded by most."

Soft hand sliding down your shoulder to your wrist, his long fingers gently wrap around it as he guides you toward the bed. Sitting, you follow suit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as his arm winds its way around your shoulder. "As I see it, there is only reason to be afraid of death if one feels they have something left to live for. Would you agree?" While speaking you'd noticed his gaze, even if no longer stationed on you, become more far off and glazed over. As you silently ponder on his words, his eyes find your face, gauging you no doubt.

"Yeah, I suppose so... though are you saying you don't have anything left to live for?" You prod, eyes shifting between his as you attempt to read him, the two of you finally making eye contact once more.

"I did, once, yes. Though your friends would most likely also claim my recklessness only provides evidence for this theory," he answers. Zemo may not mention it explicitly, but you know that he's referring to his family. You'd heard the stories from Sam, the details from Bucky. That's why he tried to destroy the Avengers. Or did, considering the rift he'd created.

"Maybe... but you know that most people would argue that when you don't feel you have a reason to live anymore, that's an opportunity to find a new one, right?" You offer. Brushing your hair behind your ear, your vision drifts from his face toward the wall before you both. "And don't get me wrong. I understand. I do, really... I'd be lying if I said that I felt I had any sort of reason right now, but... I also think there's a certain cynicism in giving up hope. Maybe it's my naivety... my lack of experience in life comparingly... but I believe there's hope for everyone."

He hums in contemplation, "Perhaps." It's the only answer you receive, his eyes still lingering on your face for a moment before he, too, finds his own spot on the wall across from the bed. Neither of you move, still stuck in quiet consideration.

Held safe within his warm arms, there's a relaxation that finds you in the blue. You hadn't anticipated the night going this way, and yet... you wouldn't change it for anything. The answer was unexpected, but you can't deny that you'd gotten an answer. Heart thumping steadily in your chest, you finally take in a deep breath before leaning back just enough to peer up at him from underneath your thick lashes. "Thank you, Zemo," you whisper. There's no reason to be loud, not when the night is so quiet, so still, and there's only so much room between you.

"Helmut," he offers, a slight nod of his head downward in your direction, a squeeze of your hand in reassurance.

"Thank you, Helmut," you repeat, teasing slightly as you use the name he'd offered. An amused smile graces your lips and his grip on you loosens, glad to see you're no longer feeling beaten down. Unbeknownst to the both of you, while his grip has loosened, the distance between you is increasingly closing. In a matter of seconds, you can't help but jump off the ledge you'd been teetering off all night long- diving into the ocean that is Helmut.

Pressing your lips to his gently, the shocked gasp that resonates through his closed mouth easily turns into a hum as he returns the kiss, then draws out into a growl as his hand roughly finds your cheek, gripping it tightly with a desperate need. A whimper involuntarily leaves your throat as this happens, unsure what you've unearthed. Slowly forcing himself to pull away, his forehead rests against yours as you both breathe deeply, in need of the oxygen that streams into your lungs and filters through your blood. "Why?"

It's a question you hadn't anticipated receiving from him. An answer that you weren't prepared to give. Even if you both knew of the inklings and sparks that'd been building and dancing around you all night. "Because you were right," an airy laugh echoes in the space between you, "earlier. I did want something else, even if I wanted this, too." A smile stretches upon your lips, and the contagion spreads, Helmut mirroring it as an amused smile of his own tugs at the corners of his lips. The moment is short; a brushing of your noses against one another as you breathe in the same light-hearted air. Each of you tempting the other to be the first to lean in and capture a kiss from the other. Some unspoken instinctual game, perhaps.

Lips darting in for another peck, you're not surprised when his hand moves from cupping your cheek to rounding your head in search of a hold, a grasp of some sort. His hand winds into your hair, fingers gripping it tenderly. Pulling you in with his lips, he draws back, making you careen after him in search of his lips. Yet the instant he lies back, hands moving mindlessly down to your hips to help you straddle him and stay steady, the spark is interrupted. Helmut lies on the bed, a look crossing his face that leaves you knowing.

How can one read a stranger like they're a book they'd left open on a coffee table, passed by dozens of times? The heat where your clothed sex meet his undeniable erection. a spark sated in nips and kisses you'd been teasing each other with all night, yet there's something unsaid. "We don't have to," you voice it. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to." The hand that's not secured on his chest and holding you up runs down the front of his robe, the thick and cozy material running beneath your fingertips.

"I want to..." his voice trails off, "I just..."

"Don't want to offend her. I understand," you answer for him. Lips pursing into a thin line, the upward tilt of the inner corners of your eyebrows betray that semblance, showing your empathy. Even if to him it might appear as some sort of pity. "Though... if I may?" You inquire.

"You may," he encourages, curious to hear your thoughts. Warm splayed hands lie on your thinly robed hips keeping you steady and preventing you from grinding down on him and teasing further, even if you aren't presently doing so. A precaution, nonetheless.

"I know I didn't know her, and I've only heard a little, but... if there's anything I can say, I'd think she'd want you to be happy." The sentiment lingers in the air, and you offer him a saddened smile, quickly intent on clarifying. "And I'm not saying that to get you to sleep with me, I just... I think you should know. If anyone hasn't said it, I think any wife that truly loves her husband would eventually want him to find happiness again. However, it may be."

Silence settles in the air for a moment, and his lack of response elicits a spike of anxiety as you continue to voice your thoughts. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me, a stranger, but I still do believe in what I said," you chuckle, "and that includes people some may otherwise consider criminal, but... I believe there's hope for you. To find another reason."

"Verdammte Hölle," he curses. One of the hands on your hip squeezes for a moment. "I know," he acknowledges, "I just..."

"Haven't since?" You question, noticing the slight pinch of his brows. It's a guess, a posture in relation to the circumstance you both come from.

"Exactly," he affirms. Searching your eyes, you leave him no room for doubt as you lean down so you're chest to chest.

"Then we'll take it slow. If that's what you want," you reassure him, eyes searching his for some sort of clue into his thoughts.

"Yes, just bear with me, Schatz. It's been a while for me," He reveals, a hint of red tinging his cheeks. Whether it be from blush, embarrassment, or lust, you can only think of how handsome it makes him look in the golden light pouring from the bedside lamp.

"Me too, don't worry," you reassure. Hands resettling themselves on his chest, you both lean in, lips easily finding their way back to one another.

~~~~~~~~

translations:

Schatz = treasure, sweetheart, darling

Schön = lovely, beautiful, nice

Verdammte Hölle = fucking hell.

Meine Süße = my darling, sweet, dear, honey

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit

[buckybarnesss]

Look what I found!!!

I cannot believe I forgot about the cookies for sterek campaign. God, what a wild time.

ah yes. what a piece of fandom history right here. a lot of people considered this cringy and got second hand embarrassment from it.

myself included but that's because i was and still am very wary and hesitant about fourth wall breaking and could see that the relationship between fandom and creator was going to sour when expectations were not met.

here's the ontd post that brings up the campaign prior to s3.

700 cookies were sent. 700!

picture from that post of jeff davis with a cookie:

the cookies for sterek campaign that started with a twitter exchange with teen wolf creator, executive producer and prime suspect in my possible murder for libel jeff davis where he encouraged and engaged sterek fans but there was no baiting we were just delusional! 🙄

here's the screen shot from the daily dot article i linked:

"If the campaign can seem a little like zealotry at times, it’s important to remember that Teen Wolf’s production marks the first time in history that the creator of a U.S. television show has not only courted fans of a queer pairing, but informed them that it might actually happen."

this doesn't even touch on the teen wolf fanfiction contest. there were 10k submissions received and a lot of them were sterek. like 5 of the finalists were sterek fics.

here's the daily dot article on the contest.

but sterek fans were just delusional and there was no queerbaiting us! the production totally didn't encourage and engage with us at all. 🙄

they also totally didn't put fan art up in their offices and have the actors pose with it.

there was even a teen wolf art exhibition in nyc hosted by mtv and attended by posey and davis before s5.

[an-ambivalent]

Can I get headcanons for Yandere Deidara, pls? I love you!❤ Your writing is wonderful hun!

sure you can luv! thank you !

Yandere Deidara Headcanons

Warnings: As this is yandere fiction, this deals with behaviours  that can be uncomfortable and triggering to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl. By clicking the 'read more/keep reading' you are consenting to read this at your discretion.

Type: clingy and obsessive.

~Deidara has a sore loser personality and is really good at holding grudges for a long time: exhibit a) him being a sore loser when Itachi beat him, holding that as a grudge against Sasuke and trying to kill him. If you're his darling, you need to take as many precautions as you can to not anger him. Every rule you break, anything you do to infuriate him, he will remember. And, he will make you pay for it with punishments he knows that you hate.

~Deidara is very temperamental. The moment he decides you are his - the sooner you learn how to navigate the person he is, the sooner you can start to avoid being the victim of his anger. However, in some situations, even when you try to just keep to yourself and not interact with others, they might approach you just to goad him i.e. one of the other Akatsuki members wants to get on his nerves so they flirt with you, or Tobi 'accidentally' talking to you; these types of situations may not matter for them, but mean a lot to you because Deidara is susceptible to taking his anger out on you and that is never fun. Speaking of his temperament, you often feel like you have to walk on egg shells around him.

~As temperamental and sore loser that he is, he is also very passionate and boastful about the things he loves - one of them being you. There are times when its so easy to forget that you are in a toxic relationship with a S-rank criminal just because of how he spoils you and dots on you. As long as there is not a mission, Deidara dedicates to at least one romantic night a week. And each time he returns from a mission, he always brings back something for you.

~He likes to create little clay animals that stay with you anytime he is not there for you.

~He's very receptive to your needs - when you are sad or feeling down (as long as he's not the reason behind it), he does anything to cheer you up and elevate your emotional wellness - whether that's giving you all of your favourite snacks, flowers, etc - whatever floats your boat.

~Most of the time, sex is overwhelming with him - he has four mouths on his body (so you know what I mean, right?).

[master-sass-blast]

Step By Step -Old Dogs and New Toys, Part Two.

Part One

Summary:

“That’s the problem!” Vi interjects, throwing up her hands. “Cait’s mom already thinks I’m this big, nasty burden on her daughter. If –if Cait has to get me the right clothes, and teach me how to dance, and eat, and talk, and drink, and everything, that’s only going to prove Mrs. Kiramann right. Plus, Cait’s up to her eyeballs in casework. I don’t want her to have to take extra time just to teach me the ropes. I just want to be able to show up, have everything down, and… and surprise her a little. And, well, you’re the only other person up here who doesn’t look at me like I just crawled out of a sewer grate–”

“I understand why you came to me,” Grayson assures her. “Can you make weekends work?”

“I’ll make it fit.”

or, alternatively, Grayson helps Vi prepare for the Snowdown Gala and lowkey-highkey adopts Vi.

Pairing(s): Grayson x Reader, implied Vi x Caitlyn.

Rating: G for fluff and worldbuilding.

Word count: 9.6k.

You’ve always said her precinct office is something of an archaeological exhibition. 

She agrees, but she thinks it’s because of the elaborate, gilded gold and blue trim everywhere –around the door frames, the windows, along the baseboards and crown molding, even along the built-in shelves that boast a scant few personal touches that she’s added over the years (a few potted plants that seem to live off spite alone, books, a couple pictures of you and her over the decades, and a couple trophies from shooting competitions). It’s regalia at its finest; a shrine to Piltover’s abundance and the institutions funded by it.

You maintain, however, that it’s because of the countless coffee mugs, case files, and old newspapers with half-finished crosswords scattered everywhere. “It’s like walking through history,” you joked the first time she’d shown you her office –though that had been a cubicle, way back in the day, when she was just a Sergeant. “Judging by the number of coffee cups and how dark the stains are, I’m going to guess the last time you slept was some time last year.”

She’d laughed then, and she laughs thinking about the memory now.

Grayson’s never been the tidiest person; she’s not terrible, but keeping up with menial cleaning when she’s knee deep in bureaucratic headaches and attempted coups by the Undercity just takes too much energy most days.

She has an assistant, now that she’s Sheriff. Lana keeps track of memos and calls, schedules her meetings, and clears coffee cups and old newspapers from her desk without complaint. Still, even with Lana’s help, her office still happens to be something of a disaster zone. Such are the hazards of often being hip deep in any variety of figurative shit.

So, when Lana opens one of the double doors that separate her office from the outside vestibule and announces that Grayson has a visitor, only for Vi to walk in, Grayson’s momentarily grateful that her office doesn’t look too disastrous. She doesn’t peg Vi as the type to mind clutter, but still. Standards, and all that.

The gratitude, however, fritters away to guilt when she catches Vi openly grimacing at all the filigree and expensive accoutrement. Can’t say I blame her. Grayson swallows, then offers Lana a smile and thanks before her assistant closes the door. “It’s good to see you, Vi. How can I help you?”

Vi jams her hands in her pockets and rocks back on the heels of her worn boots. “I need a favor.”

Grayson pauses, then pretends to glance over some paperwork Lana had laid out on her desk that morning. “Is it your sister?”

“No. It’s me.” At Grayson’s wary glances, Vi  holds up her hands in a reassuring gesture. “It’s not anything illegal. It’s that–” Vi snaps her fingers until the words come to her. “That snowfall party.”

Grayson blinks, then nods when she connects the dots. “The Snowdown Gala.” She sets the paperwork back on her desk, then checks her calendar. “That’s… at the start of next month.” Shit. That’s sooner than I thought. I need to make sure my tux still fits. “What about it?”

“I…” Vi swallows, throat flexing, then looks away. “I –I don’t know what to do for it.”

“...It can be a lot to take in,” Grayson agrees, trying to reassure her, when Vi doesn’t offer any additional information. She studies Vi for a moment, then leans forward and crosses her hands against her desk. “Not that I’m unwilling to help you, but I’m certain that Caitlyn would–”

“That’s the problem!” Vi interjects, throwing up her hands. “Cait’s mom already thinks I’m this big, nasty burden on her daughter. If –if Cait has to get me the right clothes, and teach me how to dance, and eat, and talk, and drink, and everything, that’s only going to prove Mrs. Kiramann right.”

Grayson grimaces, but says nothing. Unfortunately, she’s not wrong.

“Plus, Cait’s up to her eyeballs in casework,” Vi continues without waiting for Grayson’s prompting. “I don’t want her to have to take extra time just to teach me the ropes. I just want to be able to show up, have everything down, and… and surprise her a little.” She takes a moment to catch her breath, then continues explaining. “And, well, you’re the only other person up here who doesn’t look at me like I just crawled out of a sewer grate–”

“I understand why you came to me,” Grayson assures her. She leans back in her leather desk chair, considering. It could work, she reasons as she checks her mental calendar. There’s enough time for fittings and some dance lessons, provided it can wait for the weekend. “Can you make weekends work?”

“I’ll make it fit.”

Grayson nods and smiles. “Then my wife and I would be happy to help you.”

Vi’s eyebrows spike upwards. “You have a wife?”

“I do.” Grayson grins and gestures to the picture frames on the bookshelves, then grabs a pad of paper and writes down her address while Vi examines them. “We’ve been married for… oh, nearly thirty years now. And we’ve known each other closer to forty.”

“Damn.” Vi nods, approving, then offers Grayson a crooked grin. “You scored.”

She laughs. “That I did.” She tears off the piece of paper and holds it out to Vi. “We’ll start with dance lessons, that way you can practice during the coming weeks. That is my personal address, so I appreciate your discretion.”

Vi nods, expression solemn, and tucks the paper into the pocket of her red jacket. “What about suits and shit?”

“I’ll have to schedule an appointment for a fitting consultation,” Grayson says as she makes a note to do just that. “But I should have something booked by next week.”

“‘Consultation?’” Vi’s face scrunches up. “What, we can’t just… I don’t know, go and buy one?”

Grayson suppresses a smile. “It’s not that simple, no. Shall I see you around one, on Saturday?”

“Sure.” Vi nods, then turns and walks towards the doors. She stops halfway and turns around again. “Uh, Grayson?” When she raises her eyebrows in question, the younger woman ducks her head, then nods. “Thank you.”

Grayson smiles and nods in return. “It’s my pleasure.”

…

There’s a knock on the door at a quarter past one on Saturday.

Vi grimaces when Grayson opens the door. “Sorry for being late. Got turned around a couple times.”

“No apology necessary.” Grayson ushers Vi inside, then closes and locks the door behind her. “I’m sorry for not giving you better directions.”

Her apology goes completely over Vi’s head; the younger woman is too distracted by the inside of Grayson’s home. Vi pivots slowly, staring at the decor, plush furniture, and various paintings decorating the walls. “You live here?”

“For nearly forty years.” She only got this place to make a life with you, after all. Grayson motions for Vi to follow her, then starts walking deeper into the house once she’s got Vi’s attention. “We wanted something small.”

Vi lets out a quiet, shocked laugh behind her. “‘Small.’”

Grayson grimaces, having caught her faux pas too late. “Relatively speaking.”

You’re in the back of the house, narrowing down record choices. You look up when Grayson walks into the room, then smile warmly when Vi follows. “Oh, good. I was worried you got lost.” You set the small stack of vinyls down, walk towards the two of them, then hold out your hand and introduce yourself. “You must be Violet. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Vi returns the handshake with a wary smile. “Everyone just calls me ‘Vi.’ And I’m sure the Sheriff has a few opinions about me.”

“Nothing negative, I promise.” You glance at Grayson, then wink teasingly before looking back at Vi. “Maybe a little exhausted at times, but that’s probably the caffeine withdrawals talking.”

“There’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Grayson fires back with a smirk.

You laugh, then go back to your collection of records. “So, Vi, how much experience do you have with dancing?”

“Uh…”

You bite back a smile when Vi’s voice trails off, then put a few records back on the shelf. “We’re starting from scratch, then.”

Vi’s shoulders hunch up. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, not at all!” You wave one hand, then pull a record out of its protective paper covering and place it on the gramophone. “It’s not a problem. We’ll just start with learning how to pick out rhythm in a song.”

Grayson peers over your shoulder. “Oh, ‘River’s Waltz.’ Good choice.”

“Well, I figured a waltz would be best,” you explain as you move the gramophone arm and set the needle in place. “They always play one at the gala, and it’s an easier dance to pick up.” You turn the gramophone on, then turn to Vi once the sound of melodious strings and horns starts flowing from the speaker. “Alright, so what you’re listening for is the beat of the song. That’s the measure you’ll use to pace yourself during the dance. All waltzes are in three-four time counts.” You start clapping your hands along to the beat to illustrate your point. “Each measure in music has four counts, but a three-four count only uses three beats, then leaves the fourth as a rest –so, one, two, three, rest. One, two, three, rest.”

Vi nods, head bobbing in time with your counts. “I can kinda feel it with how the music flows.”

“Good! Very good!” You motion for her to step into the space and have her stand next to you on the rug. “So, right now, we’re just going to get you familiar with feeling that beat. Can you feel the emphasis on the first beat of every measure?”

“A little.”

Grayson watches you for a moment with a soft smile. Such a natural.

But then, that’s why you’re the Professor and she’s the Sheriff.

She picks up a book and settles in her arm chair after a couple minutes. The last thing she wants to do is make Vi uncomfortable with her staring. (Though, if she happens to steal a glance every now and then and smile at your enthusiasm, or Vi’s earnest attempts, that’s between herself and her novel.)

…

By the time the day’s lesson concludes, Vi’s advanced from finding the rhythm of a song to practicing a simple waltz.

“You’re doing well,” you assure her when Vi seems discouraged. “You’re already good on your feet. Just keep practicing and you’ll have it down handily before the gala.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” You pluck a record from your extensive collection, then hand it over to Vi. “This is the Snowflake Waltz. It was one of the most popular pieces written at the height of the jazz movement. It’s played every year at the Snowdown Gala as part of tradition. The steps we worked on today will work fine with the song.”

“Right.” Vi nods, looking somewhat shell shocked. She stares down at the record case, eyes wide, then swallows hard and nods again. “Right.”

“You’re going to be fine.” You place one hand on her shoulder and smile warmly. “Look, between the two of us, if Gray could learn how to dance, then you’ll be a master by the time of the gala.”

“Slander,” Grayson fires back with a grin. “I was more than adequate at the start.”

You glance at her, then back to Vi and shake your head before laughing. “You’ll be just fine. I promise.”

“If you say so.”

“You will,” Grayson agrees with a reassuring smile. She sets her book on the coffee table, then stands with a grunt. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the trolley.”

Vi blinks rapidly. “Oh –no, it’s fine. I can –thank you, but I–”

“It’s alright. Call it safety in numbers.”

Understanding settles over Vi’s features, followed by exhausted frustration. “Yeah. Thanks, uh, Sherriff.”

She chuckles as she heads towards the front door to grab her coat. “Grayson is fine, dear.”

…

The walk down to the trolley is brisk. Even with the sun still hanging in the cloudless sky, the late Autumn wind cuts through everything in its path.

Grayson winces when a particularly biting breeze tries to snake under the collar of her coat. “How is your sister?”

“She’s… coping,” Vi answers with a pained twist of her lips. Despite wearing significantly fewer layers, the younger woman seems practically unaffected by the chill; the gifts of youth, perhaps, or just standard Zaunite hardiness. “She’s gotten good marks at the Academy this term.”

“Good. Give her my congratulations.”

“Yeah –sure. Thanks.” Vi sidesteps a Piltovan man in a light gray suit that nearly bowls her over. She scowls and jams her hands in her pockets. “Asshole.”

Grayson glares over her shoulder at the man –not that he notices, since his back is to them both–then carefully places one hand on Vi’s shoulder. “And how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Vi answers quickly, automatically.

She doesn’t buy that, but a frigid stroll to the trolley is hardly the time or place to dig into one’s psychological well-being. Grayson files the topic away for later, then moves on. “I’ve scheduled an appointment for a tuxedo fitting this coming Saturday at nine in the morning.” She nearly gives Vi the address, then reconsiders. “Perhaps I could meet you at the trolley station around half past eight?” She watches as Vi tenses, chafing against the notion of having an escort (an Enforcer escort), then squeeze’s Vi’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I trust you. But you know how things are up here. I’d rather you not get in trouble over nothing.”

Vi scowls, nostrils flaring in irritation and disgust. “Yeah.” She glares at the ground for a few moments, then cracks her neck before asking. “Half past eight?”

“I think that would be best, yes.”

Vi works her jaw, then nods once. “Alright. Half past eight on Saturday it is.”

…

Progress Haberdashery is nestled into a towering, multi-story, sandstone behemoth in Piltover’s fashion district. Located on the first floor on the building’s front face, the window that boasts the shop’s name in elegant, swirling gold script seems like every other shop alongside it. If you aren’t looking for it, it’s easy to pass by.

Grayson knows the shop’s location by heart; she’s been a patron of the haberdashery for decades now, after all.

Agatha Wainwright is just as Grayson remembers her –short, stocky, with large, thick, round-rimmed glasses that give her an owlish appearance. Her short, steel-colored hair is neatly styled and smoothed down with pommade, and she has a measuring tape draped over the back of her neck and a pencil tucked behind one ear. She’s scribbling on a notepad, hunched over the desk behind the front counter when Grayson ushers Vi inside, but she lifts her head and turns around when the bell for the front door rings. “Grayson!” She perks up and smiles, then bustles out from behind the front counter.

Grayson grins easily, then accepts Agatha’s hearty handshake. “It’s been too long, old friend.” She glances over at Vi –who’s distracted, unsubtly gawping at the displayed suits, accessories, and photos–then gestures at the younger woman. “This is Vi. She’ll be needing a tux fitting today for the Snowdown Gala. Vi, this is Agatha Wainwright.”

Vi starts at the mention of her name, then recovers and shakes Agatha’s hand. “Hey. Uh, nice to meet you.”

The corner of Agatha’s mouth ticks up as she nods in return. “Glad to have you. Come on back with me.” She motions for Vi and Grayson to follow her, then turns on one heel and motors towards the back of the shop. “Remind me, Gray, the Snowdown Gala is considered black tie?”

“Technically black tie creative,” Grayson replies, lengthening her stride to keep up with Agatha’s quick clip.

“Oh, good.” She half turns, still walking, and gestures loosely at Vi. “I wasn’t liking black for her. That gives us options!”

“I, uh–” Vi pauses to clear her throat. “I thought the rule was ‘black looks good on everyone.’”

“Yes and no.” Agatha turns on the light for one of her fitting rooms, then ushers Vi and Grayson inside. “Yes, black is a neutral color, which means you can pair it with any other color and it won’t clash. Yes, a lot of people wear it because that means it won’t clash with your hair, or eyes, or accessories. It’s an easy color to style with. But when you get into the chromatic value system–”

Grayson smirks teasingly when Vi shoots her a slow, wide-eyed look. “You just had to get her started.”

“Fuck off,” Agatha fires back with a grin. She rolls her eyes when Grayson chuckles, then returns her attention to Vi. “In fashion, there’s a whole system of color theory that relates to a person’s skin tone. It focuses on what colors look most flattering with which skin tones and undertones. And it’s not just about hue, but also the boldness of the color. Some people can wear really bright, bold colors, and they look absolutely wonderful in them. Some people, on the other hand, either wash out or get all shadowy in the face when they wear bolder colors.” She gestures to her own face to demonstrate. “Especially around the mouth and eyes, which ages them. And black, even though it is a neutral color, is a bold color. So, for people with such skin tones, more muted shades of gray are often more flattering.” She clasps her hands together, waits until Vi nods (albeit uncertainly), then continues. “So, in your case, just at a glance–” she gestures up and down Vi “–my immediate instinct is that black would probably look harsh on you, and that a dark gray would likely suit you better. Although…” She leans back on her heels, puts her hands on her hips, then glances at Grayson. “You said she was from the Fissure?”

“I grew up in the Lanes, yeah,” Vi answers, somewhat curt.

Agatha purses her lips, then sighs. “Black might be better, then. It’s more traditional.”

Vi frowns, upper lip curling in confusion and frustration. “I thought you just said black wasn’t a good choice.”

“If we’re working strictly off what colors best flatter you, then no, probably not,” Agatha agrees. “But it’s the most traditional choice; even though it’s black tie creative, a lot of people are still going to be in black tuxedos. A lot of people are still going to expect others to wear black tuxedos.”

“It might help deflect unwanted criticism,” Grayson adds when Vi scowls. “Think of it as a precautionary measure.”

“Do you really believe that?” Vi arches one eyebrow, then shakes her head and laughs bitterly when both Grayson and Agatha hesitate. “Let’s be realistic. The color of my damn suit isn’t going to do shit. They’ll just find something else to gossip about.” She smirks, frustrated, then gestures at herself. “I mean, it’s not like they’re lacking for choices.”

Grayson remains silent. There’s not much else to say.

“The only person I care about in all of this is my girlfriend,” Vi continues, facing Agatha. “The only reason I’m doing any of this is for her. All I care about is looking good for her and making her feel like she’s the only woman in the room that matters. Fuck tradition, pick the colors that look best.”

Agatha smiles slowly and nods. “I can respect that.” She directs Vi to stand on a wooden podium surrounded by mirrors. “First, let’s get your measurements.”

…

It starts off simply enough.

Granted, measurements aren’t generally the hard part (relatively speaking). Vi holds still, cooperates, even chats amiably with Agatha.

“Got a lot of bulk in the shoulders,” Agatha comments while scribbling on a yellow notepad. “That’ll make taking in the waist… interesting.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Vi asks, glancing between Grayson and Agatha.

Agatha shrugs. “Does your girlfriend think it’s a bad thing?”

Grayson smothers a chuckle when Vi smirks. “It just means the tailoring will be a more involved process.”

“But I am a professional,” Agatha assures Vi as she crouches to measure Vi’s inseam. “And it won’t be the hardest job I’ve ever done. You have very nice lines, by the way. Have you considered modeling?”

Vi goes wide-eyed, then looks over at Grayson. “Uh…”

Grayson merely smiles and waves one hand.

And then there’s choosing between tuxedos.

“They look the same,” Vi says with a shrug when Agatha lays out five different, dark gray sets of tuxedos, slacks, and vests.

“It might be easier to see the difference when you have them on,” Agatha assures the younger woman.

Vi, in fact, does not see the difference.

“They still look the same,” she declares after trying on the fourth suit. “I mean, they look fine, but they’re all just gray, right? I don’t know, why not…” She twists, then points at a mannequin dressed in a pinstripe gray suit. “Why not something like that? The stripes look cool.”

“Oh.” Agatha looks at the mannequin, then back at Vi. “Well, we can look at something with a faint pinstripe, if you want, but that particular one is a suit, not a tuxedo.”

Vi blinks, expression blank. “...Aren’t they the same thing?”

Agatha blinks, then turns on one heel and picks up the fifth tux. “I’m going to pretend she didn’t say that.”

“Don’t torture the poor kid,” Grayson admonishes the seamstress when Vi shoots her a panicked look. “The easiest difference to spot is the cut of the lapels. You see here, how the buttons come up higher?” She gestures to the suit on the mannequin and waits until Vi nods. “Now, look at what you’re wearing.” She traces the line of the left lapel with one finger. “This section is larger and angled differently from a standard suit, see?”

“There’s also a difference in the fabric,” Agatha adds as she takes the fifth option out of its protective plastic covering. “The lapels and pocket trim are made from satin, and the buttons are covered in satin as well.”

“And that… matters?” Vi asks, face scrunching up in confusion. She glances between Grayson and Agatha when the two older women nod, then sighs heavily and sets her shoulders resolutely. “Alright.”

Vi opts to let Grayson and Agatha pick the most flattering tuxedo (in terms of color, since Vi’s take is that all the tuxedos are “gray”). “Sweet.” Vi starts to shrug the tuxedo jacket off. “Is that it?”

“Uh–” Agatha goes a little wide-eyed and gets the jacket back on Vi’s shoulders. “Not quite. We need to do some pinning for alterations.”

Vi frowns, confused, and glances between her own reflection and Agatha. “It looks fine, I promise.”

“It will look much better tailored to you,” Grayson interjects. “Trust me.”

Vi sighs again, then straightens up and lifts her chin. “Okay.”

And then, part way through deciding what alterations need to be made, Agatha has a realization. “Ooh, it’s black tie creative! We can play with color!” She looks up from Vi where she’s adjusting the length of the slacks. “What color dress is your girlfriend wearing?”

“Uh…” Vi looks towards the ceiling, then shrugs. “I think she said blue?”

“...Okay.” Agatha waves one hand. “Powder blue? Royal blue? Progress blue?”

“...There’s a difference?”

“We’ll have a color sample the next time we come in,” Grayson interjects when Agatha pinches the bridge of her nose.

Eventually, the two of them leave in one piece, but Vi looks almost haggard.

Grayson takes one look at the younger woman, then smiles sympathetically and clasps Vi’s shoulder with one hand. “Would you like to get something to eat? It’d be my treat.”

Vi balks. “I wouldn’t have the money to pay you back, most likely.”

The response activates her mind’s eye; it’s a dim, but still visible memory of one of the first times she asked you out for coffee. She hums and slows her pace as she reflects. “You know, my wife said something similar to me the first time I asked her out for coffee.”

Vi glances up at Grayson –then, the penny drops and she does a double-take. “Is she from Zaun?”

“Yes,” Grayson says with a nod. “Her family lived on the Entresol level.” She stops and squeezes Vi’s shoulder. “I should clarify: I would like to spend some time with you outside of the fitting. That’s why I offered up lunch. If you’d rather not, you won’t hurt my feelings by saying so.”

Vi nods slowly, looking away while she mulls it over. After a bit, she looks back at Grayson and raises one eyebrow. “Nowhere too fancy?”

Grayson chuckles and grins. “I think I know a place you’ll like just fine.”

…

She takes the Vi out to the fringes of Piltover, where the City of Progress starts to blend into the Promenade levels of Zaun. Things aren’t near as modernized out here. The buildings are smaller, more humble establishments made out of white-washed bricks and granite. The roofs are still blue, but the edges and various trimmings aren’t capped in gold. The roads are rougher, not quite so neatly tended to as in the city’s main districts.

She takes Vi through a marketplace, stopping as Vi gets distracted to tell the young woman about what the various stalls boast. She buys a bag of dried mango for them to share, then guides Vi down a side street to a shop where the front door is painted green.

Cheriqui’s has been around since her parents were children. She can still remember her grandmother and mother bringing her here for traditional tea services and Farsi practice on Saturday afternoons.

Grayson inhales deeply as she sets foot inside the deli. She’s greeted by a veritable perfume of spices –saffron, cumin, garlic, ginger, cloves. She’s carried back to memories of home –of her family working in the kitchen–and she smiles.

“Wow.” Vi gawks, staring at the deli case of breads and pastries, the bins of bulk spices along the wall next to the deli case, and the shelves of various foreign goods not typically found at “traditional” Piltovan markets. She rolls up on the balls of her feet, then lets out a low whistle at the sight of meat roasting on vertical spits and the grills in the kitchen behind the deli case. “Damn.”

Grayson ushers her towards the deli case. “How’s your tolerance for spicy food?”

Vi shrugs. “Everyone blasts their food with hot sauce in the Lanes. It’s the only way it tastes like anything.”

Grayson nods, then straightens up when a portly man with tan skin and a thick, silvering mustache approaches the deli case.

“Grayson.” The man raises one bushy eyebrow teasingly. “And here I’d thought you’d forgotten us.”

“I’d be hard pressed to forget you and your family, Abdul,” she replies, slipping into easy Farsi. She introduces Vi and Abdul to one another, then returns her focus to Abdul. “We’re here for lunch. This is Vi’s first time trying Persian cuisine.”

Abdul nods, expression lifting in understanding before settling into serious contemplation. “How’s her tolerance for heat?”

“She says it’s good.”

Abdul shoots a wayward glance at Vi, clearly skeptical, then holds up one finger before bustling back into the kitchen. He returns a few moments later and sets a tray with little cups of soup and a plate with small pieces of meat and bread atop the deli case. “Try first,” he explains to Vi in heavily accented English, “and decide how well you tolerate it, okay?”

“Right.” Vi stares at the tray, then looks over at Grayson. “What am I working with here?”

“It’s traditional Persian food,” Grayson explains, gesturing to the tray. “It’s a bit of a melting pot; many countries fall into the fold of Persian culture, so there are many regional cuisines. These–” she gestures to two of the soup cups “–are adasi, or lentil soups. The yellow one is milder, and the red one will be spicier. This one–” she gestures to the third cup “–is aush, or a thick noodle soup.” She switches her attention to Abdul. “What’s today’s recipe?”

“Chicken and barley noodles with seasonal vegetables.”

“It’s good.” Vi nods along, already halfway through the cup of yellow adasi. “What’s the meat on the plate?”

“Lamb,” Grayson answers after checking with Abdul. “But they have goat and chicken as well, if you prefer.”

“Oh, I’m not picky.” Vi lifts the sample dish of red adasi and smiles at Abdul. “This is good!”

Abdul beams, then nods his head in appreciation. “Thank you.”

There’s a commotion in the kitchen –the sound of quiet chatter, followed by dishware clacking. Then, footsteps approach. One of Abdul’s sons-in-law, Badir, appears with a small dish of shawarma style chicken. He places the dish atop the deli case, on the tray with the other samples. “She should try shawarma.”

“One moment!” A few seconds later, Badir’s wife –a short woman named Shohreh—jogs out of the kitchen with a small plate of pickled and fresh vegetables. “You forgot the toppings, silly,” she admonishes her husband. She rolls onto the balls of her feet to set the plate on the crowded tray, then smiles at Vi. “You take the bread,” she explains in English, holding up her hand as an example, “and then you add the meat, and then the vegetables. There’s pickled onion and cucumber, sauteed spinach, and tomatoes.”

Vi nods along as she follows the instructions, then folds the flatbread around the meat and vegetables and crams a decent bite into her mouth. She chews, and then her eyes roll back in her head. She lets out a pleased groan. “Oh man.” She holds the back of her hand over her mouth, then continues once she’s swallowed. “I could eat this every day.”

Grayson finds herself smiling along when Abdul, Shohreh, and Badir all grin.

There’s more noise from the kitchen –and then Abdul’s youngest, a son named Hashem, pokes his head around the corner. “Do you want to try a goat eye?”

“For shame!” Shohreh hisses and swats at her younger brother while scolding him in Farsi. “Don’t gross her out. Have some sense!”

“Wait, like, actual goat eyes?” Vi’s eyebrows spike towards her hairline. She looks at Grayson. “They have those?”

“The practice is to use the whole animal –or as much as possible, at least,” Grayson explains. “So, when you have the head, you can roast it whole, then break it down afterwards. Jowl meat, tongue, and the brains are all fair game. The eyes are edible, but they’re not necessarily… common ingredients, as it were.”

“Huh.” Vi mulls it over, then nods and turns back to the counter. “Yeah, sure.”

Abdul, Badir, Shohreh, and Hashem all freeze.

Abdul recovers first; he blinks rapidly, then frowns cautiously. “Are –are you sure?”

Vi shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Hashem laughs and sticks his tongue out at his sister, only to get shooed and berated back into the kitchen. He returns a couple moments later, though, with a roasted, cloudy, glistening eye and still attached, cooked through ocular muscles on a small plate.

“It should have a meaty flavor,” Grayson says as Vi gives the eye a once over.

“Yeah, it's the same with fish,” Vi reasons. “Tastes like what it came from.” And, with that, she plucks the eye up with her fingers and pops it into her mouth. She chews, nods, and grunts with approval. “‘S pretty good!”

Grayson chuckles, then shares a shrug with a slightly stunned Abdul.

…

They wind up in the corner of the deli, sitting at a table clad in a fine, white linen tablecloth.

They start with some yellow lentil aush, taftun bread, finely sliced lamb seasoned with spices, and a side plate of fresh and pickled vegetables. Then, Badir comes out with shawarma style chicken and a small dish of borani for Vi to try. Another family member follows a few moments later with a dish of savory saffron rice. A few minutes later, Shohreh comes out with two cups of fragrant mint tea.

“You’re going to have to roll me out of here,” Vi jokes. She follows Grayson’s lead, loading up a piece of taftun with some shawarma chicken, greens, and borani as a sauce, then folds the bread around her fillings of choice and bites down. She groans, nods, then chews and swallows before saying, “Janna, this is fucking good. I gotta tell Cait about this place.”

Grayson swallows, then chuckles. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’d eat this for the rest of my life, if I could,” Vi says, unabashedly earnest. She takes a sip of her tea, then asks, “You’ve brought your wife here, yeah?”

“Many times,” Grayson answers with a nod. “She met my mother and grandmother here, and we’ve been here on several dates.”

“Oh, shit.” Vi glances at the reversed lettering on the front window, then frowns, confused. “Is this your family’s place?”

“No, no.” Grayson waves one hand dismissively. “No, the Cheriquis are just old family friends. My mother and her mother used to bring me here for tea and lessons in Farsi every week –to keep me connected with our culture.”

“Oh, okay.” Vi nods, mulling the information over. Then, she laughs and smirks. “Did your lady ever take you to Jericho’s?”

Grayson laughs and nods. “That she did.” She leans back in her seat and shakes her head. “It was… quite illuminating.”

“I bet,” Vi laughs. “Did you get sick after?”

“Like a dog,” Grayson answers with a grin. 

Vi cackles and shakes her head. “I bet. You gotta grow up with that shit, or it just goes right through you.”

“You aren’t kidding.” Grayson smirks ruefully, then shakes her head when Vi laughs again. “She took good care of me while I was sick. And it was a good experience, in sum. It was… eye-opening.”

“Yeah.” Vi leans back in her seat. She watches Grayson for a long moment, drumming her fingers against her thigh, then asks, “Was that your first time in the Lanes?”

“It was,” Grayson answers with a nod. This was bound to come up eventually. “It was my first time in Zaun, actually. I’d only been on patrol in the Piltovan shopping district before then.”

Vi’s jaw tightens. “Why’d you become an Enforcer?”

The venom dripping from the word “Enforcer” is palpable, but Grayson keeps her expression neutral. “To be honest, it was a way out.” She shifts her gaze to look out the window, towards the shoppers passing the deli by. “My family…” She grimaces, then lets out a tired laugh. “They were planning on having me marry well. Do all the things that daughters traditionally do.” She looks down at the table, gaze scanning the fine texture of the tablecloth. “My father hadn’t come around by the time I was eighteen, so I enrolled in the law enforcement academy.”

“...Did your father disown you?”

“No. However, things weren’t exactly happy for a long time.”

Vi nods, expression solemn. “Did you get what you wanted, in the end?”

“I did.” Grayson nods and smiles. “I met my wife, married her, had a life with her, a career… I don’t think I could ask for more.”

“So, your dad came around?”

She shrugs and chuckles faintly. “More like my mother put her foot down.” She grimaces, then sighs. “I don’t think their marriage ever really recovered.”

“Shit.” Vi shifts in her seat. “Sorry.”

“It’s old history,” Grayson assures her with a wave of her hand. She sits forward in her seat and starts filling her plate with rice and lamb. “And, once I was old enough to know better, I stopped worrying about what my father thought.” She meets Vi’s gaze and smiles ruefully. “Some people just aren’t worth the stress.”

Vi shrugs, then loads another piece of taftun with chicken and lamb. “What’d your mom think of your wife?”

“Oh, she adored her,” Grayson replies without hesitation. “I think my mother liked her more than she liked me.”

Vi laughs, but it trails off into a strained sigh. She spoons more borani onto her plate, then mutters, “I don’t think I’ll ever have that problem with Cait’s mom.”

Grayson goes still. She considers for a moment, then reaches across the table and places one hand over Vi’s. “For what it’s worth…” She waits until Vi looks at her, then smiles reassuringly. “Her father likes you.”

Vi’s face scrunches up. “How would you know?”

“Word gets around. Official functions, that sort of thing. And everyone on the council is a massive gossip.” She retracts her hand, but when Vi’s despondent, disbelieving expression doesn’t lift, she adds, “Besides, it’s clear that Caitlyn adores you.”

Vi’s face goes as pink as her hair. She ducks her head briefly, then grins, crooked and bright. “Yeah. Cupcake’s really something.”

‘Cupcake?’ She quickly bites back a grin, but still makes a mental note to tell you about it later. That is precious–

“How is everything?”

Grayson looks up, then bites back an amused smirk when she sees Abdul approaching the table with yet another plate in hand.

“It’s amazing,” Vi gushes. “At this rate, I might just move in.” She takes note of the plate, then leans forward and cranes her neck. “What’s that?”

“Goat kebabs.” Abdul lowers the plate so Vi can see. “Would you like to–”

Vi nods and starts moving plates and bowls to make room on the table. “Bring it on!”

Grayson helps make space, then waves to Abdul as he heads back to the counter. “Alright, so there’s an easy way to get the meat and vegetables off the skewer. Hold the kebab on one end–” She picks one up to demonstrate. “And then you take your fork and push from the base so everything falls on your plate.”

“Right.” Vi mimics her, then stabs a piece of meat and grilled squash with her fork before shoving the food into her mouth. She lets out a satisfied sigh and slumps back in her seat.

Grayson grins. “Good?” She chuckles when Vi lets out an enthusiastic groan, then adds some pickled vegetables and onions to her plate.

“I hope your wife knows you’re here, Grayson.”

Grayson turns in her seat, then smiles when she sees a squat, white haired woman clad in a flowing skirt and royal blue blouse with gold embroidery shuffling over to their table. “Aunt Roshie.” She stands, steps around the end of the table, and greets the elderly woman with a kiss on each cheek. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

Despite being nearly ninety, Roshanak Cheriqui’s dark eyes are still clear and bright. “It’s good to see you, too, kid. And I’d be a hell of a lot better if people stopped asking me how I am. It’s the only thing anyone asks you when you’re my age! It’s boring!”

Grayson chuckles, then turns and gestures to Vi. “This is Vi. I was helping her with a tux fitting for the Snowdown Gala today, and I thought it’d be nice to bring her here for lunch. Vi,” she says, switching to English, “this is Roshanak Cheriqui. She opened this place with her husband.”

Vi glances between them, then blinks a few times before standing. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cheriqui,” she says, holding out one hand.

Roshanak shakes Vi’s hand, but scoffs all the same. “Everyone knows me as Aunt Roshie,” she insists in heavily accented English. She clasps Vi’s hand and pats the back of it warmly. “You are enjoying lunch, yes?”

“Oh –it’s amazing,” Vi confirms with an enthusiastic nod of her head. “Everything tastes incredible.”

Roshanak beams, eyes crinkling around the corners. “Good!” Then, she glances at Grayson before leaning towards Vi and smiling conspiratorially. “You know, I have known Grayson since she was this big.” She gestures to her knee. “She used to come here every Saturday with Mahshid and Nasrin for our traditional tea service.”

“Yeah.” Vi nods. “She told me about that.”

“Did she tell you that she hated the dresses her mother made her wear?”

Grayson sighs and places one hand on the back of her chair to steady herself. “Aunt Roshie, I don’t think we need to–”

“One time,” Roshanak continues, undeterred, “when she was three, Grayson decided that she had enough–”

“I don’t think Vi needs to–”

“–and she got halfway out of her dress at the table before her mother stopped her.”

Vi presses her lips together and nods, though she can’t quite stop the slight snort that escapes her.

“You didn’t stop there, either.” Roshanak grins, entirely amused, up at Grayson. “Once you were older, you kept trying to sneak your tights off and get rid of them in the bathroom trash.”

Grayson sighs, resigned, and grumbles under her breath in Farsi, “They were itchy and terrible.”

“So you kept saying.” Roshanak winks at Vi, then faces Grayson. “What is it about my deli that turned you into a stripper?”

Grayson stares down at the elderly woman (who looks like the cat that caught the canary). She can feel her eyes bugging out; if you were here, she knows you’d be falling over in gleeful laughter.

Vi, to her credit, is far better versed in stoicism. She coughs quickly and presses the back of her hand over her mouth. Her shoulders and chest jump in jerky movements, but otherwise she stays composed.

Apparently satisfied with the carnage she’s wrought, Roshanak turns back to Vi. “You come back anytime you want, okay?” Once Vi nods and promises that she’ll return, Roshanak turns to Grayson and pats her arm. “As for you, bring your wife here, soon. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”

Grayson briefly clasps the elderly woman’s shoulder as Roshanak starts to shuffle off. “Yes, Aunt Roshie.”

“And keep your clothes on!”

Grayson closes her eyes, inhales deeply, then lets out a ragged sigh. Decades of service to the city and devotion to my wife, but that’s going to be my legacy, isn’t it? She opens her eyes, then points at a red-faced, silently snickering Vi. “Not one word.”

Vi holds up her hands in a placating gesture, then sits when Grayson does. She giggles a little, takes a long drink of mint tea, then asks, “So… Butch from the start?”

“Decidedly.” Grayson shakes her head, then drinks some tea to soothe herself. “You couldn’t move in those damn dresses. I would’ve given my left eye for a pair of trousers.” She takes another sip of tea, then adds, “I cut my own hair when I was ten.”

“No shit.” Vi cocks her head to one side, like she’s trying to envision it. “Was it long?”

“It was down to my fucking ass. It took ages to brush and braid! It was completely impractical!”

“So, you just–” Vi mimes a pair of scissors with her fingers “–had at it?”

She nods. “I took my mother’s sewing scissors, snuck into the upstairs bathroom, and started cutting everything until it was above my ears.”

“Oh, I bet that looked great,” Vi teases with a grin.

“It looked terrible,” Grayson admits with a laugh. “I think I made my mother cry. She loved styling my hair when I was a young girl.”

Vi nods, then smirks. “I tried my first side shave when I was thirteen.”

“Oh, really? How’d that go?”

Vi laughs and shakes her head. “Well, I didn’t know to cut the part I wanted shaved first–”

“Uh-oh,” Grayson interjects with a grin.

“Yeah. And, to make things worse, the clippers I were using were real fucking old, so they kept dying, like, every five minutes!”

Grayson chuckles. “Oh, great.”

Vi snorts, then shakes her head. “Vander caught me halfway through. The entire left side of my head looked like it’d gotten caught in a blender, the sink was full of hair–” She cuts herself off with a laugh. “Vander helped me finish the job, in the end. It didn’t look half bad.”

Grayson nods and chuckles. Then, she lifts her cup and holds it towards Vi. “To unconventional style choices.”

Vi grins, then lifts her cup and lightly taps it against Grayson’s.

…

They finish lunch with saffron ice cream and bamie –deep fried dough soaked in sugar syrup. Once they’re done eating, Grayson leaves a semi-comatose Vi at the table and heads to the deli case to pay the tab.

“No, no.” Abdul holds up one hand and shakes his head. “I’m not going to charge you for what we brought out to you of our own accord. It’s dishonest business.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she argues back in Farsi, “but we nearly ate the whole menu. It’s not reasonable–”

“As the person in charge of the business, I think I get to decide what’s reasonable.”

Grayson levels him with a flat look. “We both know that your wife decides what’s reasonable. If she didn’t, you’d still have those ridiculous sideburns.”

“They were perfectly stylish! Besides, Esther isn’t here, so that leaves me.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that leaves your daughter.”

“Well, she isn’t part of this conversation.”

Grayson raises one eyebrow, then leans to the side so she can see into the kitchen. “Shohreh!” she shouts. “Come talk some sense into your father!”

“What?” Shohreh’s voice echoes out of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Abdul shouts back. “Ignore this poor, senile old woman.” He grins when Grayson glares playfully at him. “She has dementia! She’s imagining things!”

“I’m not imagining those ugly-ass loafers you promised Esther you’d get rid of.”

Abdul purses his lips together, then shuffles closer to the deli case to better block any view of his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smirks. “If you don’t want your wife to know what I’m talking about, let me pay the tab.”

Abdul places one hand over his heart and feigns a gasp. “Blackmail? From the Sheriff?”

“If we’re talking misconduct, what you’re doing could technically be construed as a bribe–”

“Oh, enough, both of you.” Roshanak shuffles to the front and fixes both of them with a stern, matronly glare. “I could hear you two from the pantry. Aren’t you two too old to be bickering like children?”

“Sorry, mama.”

“Sorry, Aunt Roshie.”

Roshanak purses her thin lips as she looks between the two of them –apparently none too satisfied with their unrepentant expressions–then scoffs and waves one hand. “Brats, the both of you. And as the co-founder of this establishment–” she turns her focus to Grayson alone “–I say our hospitality is ours to give.”

Grayson relents with a sigh (and makes a mental note to put what’s left of the tab in the tips jar Hashem has out for his Academy fund). “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

Roshanak nods, then sets a pale yellow, square box on the counter with the family name in dark green on the side. “And these are for your wife.”

Grayson peeks through the cellophane window on top of the box –more bamie and baklava–and smiles. “Thank you. She’ll enjoy these.” She considers, then says, “But I am paying for these.”

Roshanak shakes her head. “No–”

“She would want me to,” Grayson insists –because you would. She smiles when Roshanak relents with a sigh and a wave of her hand, then turns back to Abdul. “Now, what does this leave us at?”

…

She walks Vi back to the trolley, then takes a longer route home. It does a world of good –if only because she’s less likely to pass out on the couch from the sheer volume of food she ate for lunch.

You’re in the back of the house, where the two of you keep the bulk of your books and the record player. You’re curled up in your arm chair –a plush, quilted emerald green seat–with a book in your lap and a cup of tea on the end table between your chair and hers. You smile and look up when she walks in –then your jaw drops when you see the box tucked under her arm. “You went to Cheriquis?”

“I took Vi there for lunch,” Grayson defends herself. “She was a bit overwhelmed after the initial tux fitting –speaking of, don’t let me forget to sleuth out the color of Caitlyn’s dress; Agatha needs a swatch to work with.” She walks over to your chair, bends to give you a kiss, then holds out the box to you. “Aunt Roshie sent these home for you.”

“Oh, bless her.” You slide your thumbnail through the sticker holding the box shut, then lift the lid. You select a perfectly round bamie, bite through half of it, then close your eyes and let out a blissful groan. “I haven’t been to Cheriqui’s in forever and a day. And, if we’re on the topic of reminders, don’t let me forget to book a reservation there for my senior’s final’s study group.”

“I’ll do my best.” She sits in her chair with a muted groan. “How has your day been?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “Literally nothing has happened. I’ve been utterly unproductive.” You grin when she chuckles, then finish off your bamie before holding the box out to her.

Grayson holds up one hand to turn you down. “Gods, no. We practically ate the whole damn menu.”

“Oh.” You blink, then smile. “Oh. Was it Vi’s first time trying Persian food?” When she nods, you laugh lightly. “That was a dangerous admission to make. I nearly passed out the first time you took me to Cheriqui’s.”

“Vi was in a similar state to you when we left,” Grayson says. “But she enjoyed herself –and the family enjoyed her, too.”

“I can’t fathom how she wouldn’t. I’m glad they liked her, though!”

“I’ll say.” She smirks. “I think they were all impressed when she ate a goat’s eye.”

Your eyes widen, and your brows spike towards your hairline. “Yeah, that’d do it.” You laugh. “How’d she handle it?”

“Apparently, she’s familiar with fish head stew, so it didn’t faze her.”

You nod. “The food in the Lanes is definitely rustic.”

“You don’t say!” She grins when you laugh, then shakes her head. “She met Aunt Roshie, too –she wants you to stop by soon, by the way.”

“Oh, twist my arm. What did Roshie think of Vi?”

“I think she liked Vi –but I think she liked telling Vi stories about me trying to get out of my dresses and tights as a kid.” She pauses when you snicker, then sighs and adds in a resigned tone, “And she definitely liked asking me ‘what about her deli turns me into a stripper’ in front of Vi.”

You burst into delighted cackles and clap your hands together. You rock back in your chair –hard enough that your chair scoots back slightly. “She did not!”

“Oh, she did.” Grayson grimaces. “In English.”

“Oh, Janna!” You clutch at your sides as tears of mirth stream down your face. “Bless that woman. I absolutely adore Roshie.” You wipe your cheeks, then your eyes, all while giggling. “Oh, I wish I could’ve been there for that!”

She can’t help but smile, exasperation aside. “I don’t doubt it.”

Once you regain some coherency, you shift so you’re sitting properly in your chair once more and look at her. “How’d the fitting go?”

“It went alright. I think Vi was overwhelmed, though.”

“By Agatha, or by the process?”

“By the process.” Grayson drums her fingers against the arm of her chair. “I mean –I know how things were for you, at the start. You certainly know how they were for you.”

“I do,” you agree while nodding slowly. Your expression is grim, lips pressed into a tight line. “I also know that they don’t always get better on a bigger scale.”

“I know.” She sighs, weary, and folds her hands in her lap. And Vi doesn’t seem like the type to take the route of “blending in.”

The first few years of your relationship had been a brutal, rude awakening. Not just in seeing the destitution of Zaun for the first time –and being lightly hazed with what Jericho thought was passable as food–but realizing just how much Piltovans hated anyone from the Undercity.

You’d had to scrape and fight your way through university; she hadn’t witnessed it personally, but you’d told her horror stories about professors docking points because you didn’t have a surname to list on your assignments. Or marking you down during presentations because your accent was different. Or refusing to let you attend office hours without security present because they were “concerned” for their “wellbeing.”

She’d heard stories about you getting harassed at work by colleagues and bosses, only for human resources to do nothing. She’d witnessed the harassment once –one of your male coworkers had slapped you on the ass–and she’d had to go up the chain of directors and presidents as a Captain in the ranks of the Enforcers before any recourse was afforded.

She’d had extended family members sit her down for countless interventions when she’d proposed to you. They’d cited rampant crime and drug abuse in the Undercity, how you’d bring unbearable baggage with you, how your reputation and “status” would harm her career and ability to climb the ladder. Hell, she’d had ex-girlfriends come crawling out of the woodwork and try to interfere with your relationship, only to later find out that several meddling aunts had orchestrated the whole nightmare. She’d married you anyway –and sent them all notices in the mail that they were not invited to the wedding or reception.

People used to nearly walk over you in the streets. Men would catcall you, or call you a “bitch in lady’s clothing.” Women would whisper to their companions and laugh at you, regardless of whether you were in earshot or not. People would come up and talk to her without once addressing you, or even looking in your direction.

There was one glorious incident, shortly after she’d been promoted to Lieutenant, when she’d gotten a call from her patrolmen about a drunk and disorderly complaint. She’d shown up at a local shop, only to find you in cuffs –and utterly sober, no less.

She doesn’t remember much of what she said while dressing down her patrolmen. She’s heard, however, that she made one man throw up afterwards, just from sheer terror.

It’s not as bad as it used to be. The people who remember you as an Undercity hopeful aren’t really around anymore. You’ve got the right clothes, a respectable career, and several awards and accreditations in journalism under your belt. People know you as a professor now. As her wife.

Somehow, I don’t think Vi wants to be known just as Caitlyn Kiramman’s wife, she thinks to herself.

“Gray.” You squeeze her hand. “Where’d you go?”

She inhales sharply as you drag her out of her reverie. “Nowhere, really.” She clears her throat. “I was thinking about how things were for you when we first got together. How… how hard it was.”

You smile reassuringly. “It wasn’t all bad. I had you.”

Grayson smiles back, then takes your hand in hers. “I’m flattered, but we both know it was terrible.” When you wince, but don’t say anything else, she continues. “I suppose I’m worried that Vi will have a harder time of it. You…” Her voice trails off, and then she grimaces. Shit. How do I say this without being insulting?

“I blended in better?” you surmise with an arched eyebrow and a smirk.

“I don’t see Vi adopting popular hairstyles or covering her tattoos,” Grayson allows in an attempt to be tactful. “Or attending university.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” you point out.

“I know,” she agrees. “I just…” She sighs, then squeezes your hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt powerless like this. I haven’t missed it.”

You coo softly and cock your head to one side. “You’ve become very fond of her.”

“She’s a good kid,” Grayson admits, emphatic. “She has a good heart. And I’d hoped this city had grown out of its prejudices over the past couple of decades, but…”

“But it hasn’t,” you finish, soft and sympathetic, when her voice trails off.

“But it hasn’t,” she echoes wearily. She rubs the bridge of her nose with her other hand. “I’m so tired of the fucking bureaucratic bullshit.”

“Easy, love.” You rub small circles against the back of her hand with your thumb. “Focus on what you can do, not what you can’t.”

I’m the Sheriff of Piltover. I should be able to do whatever I damn well like. She huffs, but sets aside the mental grousing for more productive lines of thinking. “I might get a new tux for the gala.”

You blink a few times, then frown. “...Okay?”

“Vi went with a charcoal colored tuxedo,” she explains. “In all due fairness, Agatha recommended it.”

“Ah.” Your confused expression settles into a small, melancholy smile. “A non-traditional color choice.”

“I think I’ll pick up something non-traditional, too. Just so Vi isn’t the single odd duck out.”

Your eyes crinkle around the corners as your smile grows. “That’s sweet of you. What color do you think you’ll get?”

She shrugs. “Maybe silver. It’d be a winter color, at least.”

“Ooh.” Your eyes light up. “You’d look good in silver. Very distinguished.”

She grins at you. “I’m glad you have your approval.”

You grin, then wink. “I bet you’ll look good out of it, too.”

Grayson laughs, heartfelt. Then, she leans over and kisses you.

[andordean]

Embarrassing Personal Ask Game

@tigerlyla-of-metinna has a tag game going (sorry friend for not doing the other games you tagged me in, I literally played three videogames in the last decade 🙈😂) about embarrassing crushes, only I personally don't think any of mine are embarrassing. They're all quality. Anyway.

"We are going to talk about obsessions CRUSHES! Name 3 (celebrity crush, fictional/ cartoon/ videogame crush, and your current crush (may be real or not). And please give a brief (or lengthy) explanation or backstory."

Celebrity crush:

The one and only Pedro Pascal. The most adorable Muppet, by all accounts a wholesome human being, I want to see him slay in everything he touches and live his best life. Obsessed with him ever since Oberyn Martell sluttily sauntered through the room. (The Curse of the Beard, exhibit A.)

Videogame crush:

Surprise surprise: Ciri in TW3. The chokehold she's had on me since 2015 has loosened a bit (sniffle), but hasn't disappeared.

Disliked her in the books, her game version rewired my brain. If said brain, inspiration and energy allows, will write her snogging hot people of the continent till she lets go of me fully (hope it never happens).

Current crush:

Someone said in thirsty tags that once Asian men embrace beards it's over for the white guys, and between the recent examples of Dev Patel and Justin Chien, that person cannot be more right.

What can I say. The Curse of the Beard, exhibit B. Presenting: Justin Chien in "The Brothers Sun":

Honourable mentions: the prickly baby, the golden retriever wife, and the Curse of the Beard, exhibit C.

Tagging (no pressure, this is me waving hi): @jikanet-tanaka @starlight-and-thunder @kuwdora @keyrousse @poetikat @witch-and-her-witcher @nibi-nix @nikita-not-nikola @just-a-dot @justanotherdmdammit @lemurianstarship @otemporaetmores @alynnl

[tonyglowheart]

following up on this post though where I pinned down that by Chap 23/24, Shen Qiao already exhibits a shift in attitude wrt Yan Wushi. Which isn't to say he still doesn't rise to Yan Wushi's provocation, lol, because he very much does. But clearly by Chap 24... like, if he wanted to leave... he could? (Yes maybe Yan Wushi would stalk him and pop up wherever he went like :3 owo did you miss me? :3c) But he doesn't

And so that begs the question for me of like... why. Why doesn't he just leave? There's that line later in the chap about how if it were just a few days earlier, then he'd be uncomfortable all over (with Yan Wushi's provocation), but stuff like the goosebumps (he got), they decreased bit by bit until they were gone. - so yes he got used to it, but by early chap 24, he hadn't yet gotten to the point of, like... habituating to Yan Wushi's provocations?

so. really. I can only conclude that actually.... Shen Qiao likes it, lmao. Cuz, like, sure if Shen Qiao gives an inch then Yan Wushi will take a mile, but I also don't get the feeling that Yan Wushi really crosses any boundaries that Shen Qiao ultimately doesn't concede.

It's not like with Bai Rong - who he sets very clear boundaries with and doesn't really yield on them - or with like Huo Xijing or Sang Jingxing or the rest of Huanhe, who I think we can all agree are on another level of Bad, and who clearly SQ also sees as a different breed than Bai Rong (and tbh I think he sees Yan Wushi as being more akin to Bai Rong than like Yuan Xiuxiu or Sang Jingxing etc.)

With Yan Wushi, it's like... clearly Yan Wushi pushes his buttons and pushes his boundaries, but so far anyway, YWS doesn't seem to have done any pushes that are just a step too far beyond what Shen Qiao can tolerate.

So. Where does this leave us. Shen Qiao finds Yan Wushi irritating and but also stimulating I would guess? And at least tolerates his provocations if not continues to tacitly encourage it by being so permissive to Yan Wushi's antics. But also it gets his blood going and gives him jitters... hm why does this sound familiar........

Is. Yan Wushi. like a caffeine high that Shen Qiao is chasing lmao?? *insert all of the coffee memes of like it's so good but at what cost, sometimes it gives you accelerated exhaustion etc* i've connected the two dots dot.jpg

Which also means that, any time anyone asks Shen Qiao about Yan Wushi and like, what the heck clearly he just pushes your buttons and tries to get a rise out of you, why are you even sticking with this old man,. this is him:

[undrgrnd-nft]

UNDRGRND DIGS 054

Laresagara by Yogkus

ORIGINALLY POSTED DECEMBER 5, 2022 ON UNDRGRND.IO

5 Artists From the UNDRGRND Collection 

UNDRGRND DIGS is a periodical feature showcasing artists that the UNDRGRND curators dig. We sift through the social media and NFT platforms to find the best artists waiting to be discovered. UNDRGRND believes in the artists we feature and we will purchase NFTs from each artist featured.

View the Tezos UNDRGRND Collection

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Yogkus

AVAILABLE ON OBJKT.COM

The lack of knowledge we have about the world we inhabit is overwhelming. Delving into the art of Yogkus creates one of those moments when you realize there is so much more to the world than what you know. Yogkus’s work depict Javanese Wayang (poorly translated: puppet shadow show) characters each telling a different story. Classical Javanese puppet dramas use the shadows thrown by puppets manipulated by rods against a translucent screen lit from behind. Each piece by Yogkus is a brief glimpse into a culturally rich history of Indonesia, updated for the world and the modern era of technology. We could dediCate an entire article, class, or gallery exhibit to Yogkus’s work. Hopefully, soon, we can.

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Daukante

AVAILABLE ON OBJKT.COM

The humor alone should be enough for anyone to become a fan of Daukante’s beautiful work. Playing on a childhood-favorite book The Giving Tree, Daukante creates The Taking Tree. Daukante’s work asks important questions and provides answers. It’s not clear why Cher and Cockroaches will survive the apocalypse, but it’s not hard to fathom considering Cher has proven to be indestructible throughout her life. One of the fascinating motifs in Daukante’s work: ears. It could be written off as simply a fascination with Van Goh, but what do we make of Ear Inflammation? There are more questions than answers and the more you look the more questions you find.

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Photoevaporation

AVAILABLE ON OBJKT.COM

Photoevaporation. The name is a perfect description of the style of art. Combining glitch art, animation, and creative coding to create these randomized pieces. The series Circulation looks like thermal radar showing the jet stream moving across the topography in a digitally corrupted screen while liquefying works as a top-down view of the image being liquefied and dropping to the floor beneath. Each series creates a new way to look at the name Photoevaporation and see the artist’s interpretation of what that could look like.

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aBieKrasH

AVAILABLE ON OBJKT.COM

Trash, glitch, and flash all combined to make the art of aBieKrasH. This collection of works all connects through what can only be described as world nightmares reminiscent of “The Upside Down” in the series Stranger Things. Most of aBieKrasH’s work feature silhouettes of characters all living in this alternate dimension composed of dreams. And now matter how desperate the pleas become in Wake Up! aBieKrash continues to fall victim to the nightmares that consume him. Let’s let him sleep a little longer so he can continue creating.

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Van Guard Design

AVAILABLE ON OBJKT.COM

The dots are alive, most of the time. Van Guard Design sends dots in motion in most of their work creating variations of distortions and effects that are mesmerizing each in their unique way. With an endless supply of iterations and desire to experiment there is more than enough art to catch any collector’s eye.

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Each UNDRGRND DIGS will feature artists our curators have purchased for the UNDRGRND Collection.

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[conkniving]

the sapere aude exhibition, frankenstein's house of wax ft. @anchoragestarters

the last time fallon had been at an art exhibition, she had been scouting the joint for weakness in security, formulating escape routes, and calculating the most valuable pieces that would tie over the families adjoined to the bastards for the next handful of months. to say the thought wasn't still there even while perusing the macabre recesses of her oldest friend's mind would be a lie...

"this is more my pace," the dark femme hummed, selecting the next glass of red to come her way while perusing the waxed forms. licking the salt from her fingers after devouring nearly a platter's worth of delicious beef tartar, "should i be worried about this one?" gesturing the now free hand in a manner that also fixed the frayed strap of her dress from slipping off a bare shoulder, she pointed out the molded cat design, head splitting fascinatingly but albeit grotesquely in several segments. "i read something about displays like this, although the studies were done more in children. maybe i should just ask atticus point blank — are you having strange dreams? bloodlust?" it was dotted with a sinister chuckle of her own.