#because this is black romance at its finest

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#ahhh im really sorry this is late;; got busy with life like those ao3 authors but much less impressive #i really like jazz i feel like not enough people do #just listen to persona music sometime. its worth #sometimes i make up words but thats ok as long as people buy it. i speak english first language trust 👨‍🔬 #i feel like reader is kokomi or whatever her name is from saiki k #at that one ramen place but its a thrift store.. pretending it’s not all that bad except reader doesn’t rlly try LMFAO #for megumi!!! everything we do is for him 💐 #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x y/n #billet-doux #and via thinks her titles r bad #I CAN FINALLMY. WORK ON MY CHRISTMAS EVENT

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

don't hold hands, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You're fucking your ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend. You also now own a condo with him and owning this condo has made you house-poor. Yeah, it's not the usual love story and it's not going to be one. Not until you paint the walls black, that is.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mostly conversations and feels tbh; minor smut (fem reader, marking / scratching, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; guitarist!music producer!Yoongi x novelist!reader - fwb / roommates-to-lovers

just a story about two people who shouldn't fall in love falling in love, I have plenty of nasty smut so this is a different beat for ya lmao

--

“Is it fun being tortured?”

“Not really, no.”

It wasn’t fair to be this critical but, as long as you didn’t let these words travel outside this room, it was fine, right? At least, you kept telling yourself that. Delusion at its finest.

“It’s so stupid that people enjoy sticking their nose in drama that doesn’t involve them only because their lives are too boring to have any,” you sighed, tossing your phone across your desk, letting it skid into a pile of post-its covered in scrawled notes. “All because I deleted some photos.”

Notifications were now blocked.

“Some people mistake privilege with right.”

You glared at your phone even though the contents were the offender and not the device. Rolled your eyes, knowing you would be coming back to a shitstorm, but you couldn’t take it anymore. There had to be a limit. And the voice beside you had been telling you to put the damn thing down and stop deleting comments one by one, but the stubborn ram in you thought you could just headbutt through the bullshit.

And that imagery was gonna end there, thank you very much.

Your forehead found the palm of your hand and you sighed again, suddenly feeling the weight.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Minutes passed.

Silence never felt so serene.

Then it was cut through by steady, slow acoustic guitar, the notes drifting out from behind you. It almost made you feel more guilty. Almost. How fucked was that? You, sitting here right now, staring at nearly bare walls and a table covered in notes and your trusty laptop, almost feeling guilty for the guy that had backed out of the joint loan for this condo in the city that you didn’t even fuckin’ want, but you had been too far into the process to not lose a whole lotta money and too angry to let yourself lose.

How ironic, feeling guilty for the guy who cheated on you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” was the guitar player’s response. “And you shouldn’t be either. For anything.”

You knew you shouldn’t apologize. It just felt like the thing to do, because you hadn’t been wholly right either and, even if you weren’t more in the wrong, you were still wrong, and wasn’t that fucked, putting levels of blame on a situation that, at the end of the day, was all said and done and left everybody bitter and full of scars.

The shitty part was everyone was on your case now and blaming you.

This was what you got for dating the lead singer of a punk band that skyrocketed to popularity on social media. Looked all elegant dark romance on TikTok and Instagram, just screaming and hate-fucking behind closed doors. Constant content to cover up the toxicity. And maybe it was your fault too, letting it get to your head that maybe you really were the beautiful, mysterious muse that the followers painted you out to be. You glossed over red flags – late nights, drugs and drinking, sleeping in rooms of girls that called themselves fans – all part of the industry. Nothing happened. Honest. But the greatest mistake was letting him tag you on Instagram. How cool was it that you were an author?

This bastard.

Not only had you given him some of your best quotes for his lyrics, but now you couldn’t publish those words as your own because this bastard would fuckin’ sue you for plagiarizing.

The guitar continued behind you, on the mattress on the floor.

So, not only were you getting crucified on social media at the moment because he had called you a backhanded bitch in his Instagram stories but also because you had deleted all photos of him on your profile and said fucking nothing. Silence to be polite and all that. He cheated on you, he was leaving you for some whore you had plenty of suspicions about, and, worst of all, he waited until you and him were finalizing the down payment for this expensive-ass-fuck high-rise condo – that money was out of your own pocket, not his, how convenient – and backed out of the loan for the mortgage. His reasoning?

You cheated on him first.

Hello?

With his former guitarist.

Hello?

Your ex-boyfriend had fired his former guitarist ages ago because you and him had gotten too friendly.

Alright, man.

You liked the guy, sure. Talked to him when he was in the studio and found you had a lot in common. Plus, he was crazy talented. Made most of the melodies, self-produced a lot of the songs for the band so they could save money, even contributed to lyric writing so they didn’t have to spend on that either. He even had a good voice, although sadly the band rarely used it. Your art of words paired with his knowledge of music made some viral hits. But then tensions rose between him and your ex when they started butting heads for no reason (there was a reason and it was ugly jealousy). Then arguments rose between you and your ex, but instead of breaking up, you buried yourself into writing your next novel to let the situation cool off.

Sigh, okay, call a spade a spade.

You were avoiding the confrontation.

He fired his guitarist and got a new one.

Then things were good.

Until they weren’t.

Of course, they weren’t. You didn’t solve shit, and he was fucking every girl that threw themselves at him behind your back. Good thing you had strict rules about condoms, otherwise you would probably have some lasting consequences right now. So, when the ground cracked and split apart from under you, what did you do?

Yup, this was the part that made you no better.

You found that former guitarist and fucked him.

Word travelled around. Word also travelled around that somehow you got someone to be part of that insane loan you got talked into. And, oh, shit, did things get messy once a certain someone knew who it was.

But here you were.

Feeling guilty.

You probably couldn’t publish for at least six months to a year because, harrowingly, your demographic was young adult – you had even relied on social media for self-marketing, fuck – and the half of a novel you had now had to be scrapped considering that so many of the quotes were now distressed in dark venues by the lips of an egomaniacal dick that you allowed into your pussy far too many times. Once was already too many.

Fuck.

You didn’t even want to live in the city.

It’ll be so much easier for me to get bigger opportunities. Don’t be a selfish bitch and only think about yourself.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to throw your laptop into the wall and break it into smithereens, but you didn’t because this piece of technology was currently your only chance of making money. Fuck. Me. Always talking about himself like he was only important member of the band, even though it was the other guys who wrote most of the music and lyrics. No one sided with you, obviously. This was their job and technically not their romance. They were sympathetic but not empathetic to the point of jeopardizing their jobs. Obviously, you hadn’t signed any contracts for royalties or credit. This was supposed to be your soulmate.

Soulmates weren’t so generous to give you pennies.

You’re being greedy and self-important. Oh, so you’re only in the relationship for the money? I’ll give you money once we make it big. Once we get it all, I’ll buy you everything you want. But you gotta help me out now. We’re starving artists, ya know?

You should have asked your parents for monetary help, but you didn’t. Your pride didn’t want to hear the told-you-so speeches for dating a guy they didn’t choose for you. You also didn’t want the arranged marriage appointments back in your life either.

So.

Trapped in white walls, post-its of false starts, and impending doom.

Dramatic, but you were a writer.

“Come here and sit down with me.”

Some part of you didn’t want to face him. It was really dumb. He was your new roommate now. You were fucking him when you were too sad to avoid it, and it was pretty obvious he knew. You were living off his money. Sure, he only paid for half the rent but then food mysteriously appeared in the fridge, bathroom necessities were stocked when they were running low, cleaning supplies neatly sorted into the closet, and all that other shit. None of that wholesale stuff either, but the nicer things normal households could afford.

It wasn’t an exaggeration that you cried into the soap during your shower last night.

All because you finally acknowledged it wasn’t one of those shitty bars that made skin feel like plastic but actually fragrant lathering liquid that you could put on the dense, not-falling-apart-in-one-use loofah that you hadn’t bought. You would have been satisfied with cutting coupons and living on the dregs of the bare minimum, but someone cared enough to not let you do that, and you currently couldn’t do anything to contribute and probably couldn’t for a while.

And that made you feel undeserving.

Maybe you were only fucking him because that was all you could offer.

Pathetic.

The guitarist called your name softly.

Like a beaten dog, you got up and sat down beside Min Yoongi.

He continued to play a melody you didn’t know on his black acoustic guitar. He hadn’t moved in all his instruments and equipment yet. You had told him he could have the whole living room for his studio. He had asked if you were sure and you responded that you were sure that you weren’t going to have anybody over ever so, unless he wanted a living room space, you didn’t want one.

“Shit always happens, you know,” the deep voice reminded you.

“This happening was of my own doing and now I’ve ruined my own life,” you muttered, bitter over a boy and hating that you were bitter over a boy.

A small chuckle. “You have to admit you had help.”

Stupid boy.

“Can’t be helped. Humans are animals of regret.”

It stung to regret.

The guitar playing stopped and now you were met with silence.

Don’t cry.

But it was so tiring to be angry. So easy to be sad. So easy to think, my fault, for being swept up in what he was but not who he was, for believing that you knew what was best when clearly it wasn’t, for being spiteful on purpose. For avoiding looking at Yoongi in the face because you were too ashamed to acknowledge what was going on here.

For being too afraid to ask what he thought of it.

“I regretted not stealing you from him sooner. Thought you were too fuckable for that loser from the first day we met.”

A strange feeling.

Skin prickling, glancing the that pale hand of graceful, callused fingers simply resting on the neck of that guitar, not looking at Yoongi’s face even though you knew it quite well in profile.

“That’s one way to make me feel better,” you replied.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Just being honest,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “You are ten times too talented and a hundred times too pretty for a guy like that.”

You twitched. “Are you shitting on my standards?”

“Back then? Yeah, I am.” A calm hum, setting aside his guitar and placing his elbows on his sweatpants-covered knees, charcoal gray and worn. “Pretty clear you went full desperado for a guy that didn’t deserve it. Also, he ain’t hot shit like he thinks he is.”

Ow and what the fuck. “Fuck off.”

You felt movement and tracked his hand raising, spinning a finger around his temple. A brief glance and the details sank in. Long, windswept black waves, light cream skin, pointed gaze directed forward and not at you, pensive slight frown of pink lips. You looked away again, past his loose white t-shirt and to your hands.

You used to be proud of them.

They used to be able to type prose like no other.

Now they were twisted in an oversized, olive-green sweatshirt that you picked up from the sale bin of the convenience store for dirt cheap and they didn’t write jack shit.

You also hated olive-green.

Nothing personal. It just wasn’t your color.

“You’re a psycho bitch to put up with him,” Yoongi commented.

He wasn’t wrong. “I’m a psycho bitch all the time.”

“Yeah, and I don’t date crazy.”

You thought you would feel insulted, but you were past the point of caring. Also, there was something about the way his calm voice said it. Like he knew what he was doing. Huh. That was a silly thing to think. Of course, Yoongi knew what he was doing. He did it. He let you in his studio when you tracked it down and camped out until he showed up. He had listened to your psychobabble and didn’t back away when you pinned him to the wall.

This wasn’t dating.

“At least, I thought I didn’t,” Yoongi added, not touching you.

He fucked you too. He wasn’t a starfish in bed, that was for sure.

“I wanted to get back at him too, you know,” that deep, hazy voice murmured beside you. “That bastard turned my friends against me, stole my mixes, and cut out all my connections. Made me start from the ground up, alone.”

Yeah, you did know that. You helped badmouth Yoongi. In the name of love.

Shit.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

Ouch.

“And you shouldn’t be, ‘cause what’s done is done and being sorry isn’t going to change anything.”

You untwisted your hands from each other, realizing your knuckles were white from anxiousness, and relaxed them on your bare knees. Best you could, anyway.

“Yeah,” was the best response you had. This fucking boy ruined your life and stole your eloquence too, apparently. Motherfucker. “You’re right.”

Neither you or Yoongi said anything.

Minutes passed.

Another night in the condo and both of you were sitting on a mattress with a single blanket, deflated pillows, and a box of condoms on the floor.

You touched his forearm the same time his hand moved to grip your thigh.

And then it was the don’t-look-him-in-the-eyes challenge, and he was doing the exact same thing, eyes averted, black hair over them, lips grazing your jaw. Breath against your ear. Hot. His neck under your lips, flexed, fair skin with remnants of bruises, and your teeth sank in, making new ones, listening to his hiss and feeling his hands slide under your sweatshirt. Weighted palms and blunt nails. Digging in.

“Harder.”

He scratched you up as you climbed into his lap, tasting flesh.

Those firm hands gripped your hips and forced them down. Grinding. Softness to growing hardness, unhooking your bra, hands all over like you had lost your mind, your thighs squeezing his sides, yanking his shirt collar down and licking up his collarbone, dripping spit, shivering as you saw it glisten over his marred skin.

Clothes coming off, thrown aside. Guitar sliding to the hardwood floor as bodies tumbled. Your hands on his chest, your hard nipples pressed into the sheets as Yoongi slipped his hand into your hair and shoved your head down. Mouth open, tongue curling around. Moan striking the air, echoing in the nothingness.

Hard, hot, now wet.

Up, down, hitting the back of your throat, unable to choke in the adrenaline of lust, in need, in desire for pain, rubbing your tongue all over as Yoongi face-fucked you hard and fast, thick cock swelling in your mouth, your lips grazing the swollen head and making him shudder, saliva slipping down your chin that was smacking into his balls.

Was it shameful that you were good at it?

Sex solved nothing but you sure had a lot of it as if it did.

A sharp gasp and salty cum filled your throat, drinking, swallowing with effort and the burning sensation of your locked jaw, maintaining the soft tightness. Tongue tracing the contours, keeping him hard, hearing the rip of a foil packet above your head.

You hadn’t even realized that Yoongi had let go of your hair, letting you lick him all over at your own pace.

“What position?” Yoongi panted, husky and breathless in the mostly empty bedroom.

Mattress, chair, desk, laptop. Oh, and guitar.

Bodies on the floor.

You didn’t say anything.

You just turned around and slid down, elbows on the bed, knees spread, ass up.

“Alright then.”

You bit your lower lip.

You almost turned your head, almost looked back, just to check, right, just to check he was okay with it, and then strong hands gripped your hips, lifting them, sliding in, condom on and stretching you out right away, his knees pushing your knees apart and forcing you to arch your back for the angle.

No chance to look back.

You gasped, gripping the sheets, blinded by pleasure and the fading resonance of pain.

Hard.

Deep.

You pushing back, deep not deep enough, hitting your preferred depth and letting your eyelids flutter, veins burning with the repeated ecstasy. One of your hands lifted and reached back, squeezing his hand on your hip, and the grip became tighter, fingertips digging in, smacking his hips into your ass, and your body threatened to throw him back, carnal power meeting his every thrust, clenching around his hard length, and you could hear Yoongi growl your name, low and deep and voracious.

Somehow, his name fell from your lips too.

Rough and sinful, no better than an animal.

His nails dug into your back and dragged down, burning lines into your skin.

Your head tipped back and you moaned, a clear, shameless sound that would become familiar to this ceiling. Pooling wildfire, tightening muscles, wasted nectar sticky between joined thighs, surge after shivering surge of orgasmic apex stinging your veins as you barely registered Yoongi’s shudder and blissful groan, feeling the pulse inside you made than hearing the sound.

The rush of blood roaring in your ears was far too loud for you to hear anything.

Your face felt hot, so hot.

Gripping the sheets, twisting them, pulling them off the edge of the bed.

This moment.

Very few things were as intense and exigent as an orgasm. Fleeting, but a violently memorable. Pure nothingness of soaring high. You chased it. Again. And again. And again, your fingers tangled in Yoongi’s dark hair, pulling it over his face but he didn’t look at you anyway, eyes closed and teeth trapping his lower lip, breath trapped in his chest, driving his hips into yours again and again.

You both kept going until the limits were reached.

The darkness willingly swallowed you up.

-

Min Yoongi always considered himself a rational person, which was precisely why he found himself entangled in the break-up between his former best friend and the only woman he ever considered committing a felony for.

Yeah.

He also didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She was still way too hot for that idiot though.

His eyes could communicate well enough with his dick. The short skirt and exposed thighs didn’t really help either. Still, Yoongi had let it be. Respect was keeping his distance despite racing heartbeat and keeping calm despite shaking hands. He got used to it once the late-night talks about music and wordplay became a regular thing. Sometimes they talked about general life and were surprised on how well they aligned. Still, she never spoke poorly about her then-boyfriend even though there was plenty to talk about.

Scorched earth was their sacred ground.

It was painful to witness.

Yoongi regretted valuing the friendship, mostly because it didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. He regretted believing in the elegant, age-old saying.

Bros before hoes.

Tch.

But mostly, Yoongi regretted pretending like nothing was wrong.

He would see the pain in her expression and not say anything. Watch her pack it all away and greet him with warmth that he didn’t deserve because he had a racing heart and shaking hands every time they met. He would watch his former best friend disappear into hotel rooms without explanation and Yoongi knew damn well it wasn’t right, but he kept his mouth shut because he was a coward, something he figured out later.

He could have washed his hands clean of that shitshow, but instead his hands had held her shaking shoulders and watched her struggle not to cry on that cold night.

Yoongi considered himself a rational person, but never a good one.

Too many ways to judge, and her lips had already connected with his as soon as his shoulder blades hit the wall. He didn’t stop it. Maybe it was bitterness. Vengeance. Hate.

No, it wasn’t any of that, actually.

He didn’t know exactly what but, in that moment, Yoongi knew that he would murder that asshole if he saw his former best friend’s face right then, ready to commit a felony all because those beautiful eyes couldn’t look at him, closing instead to blink back the tears that bastard didn’t deserve.

That meant something, all right.

He knew it could take a long time. He knew it would almost certainly be hopeless. He knew he would probably end up with a broken heart and broke as hell. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew it was going to tear him up, this spiral, but when he found himself looking up to the ceilings of these mostly empty rooms, this condo he now half-owed with the woman that was formerly his best friend’s girlfriend, and Yoongi found he didn’t know and he didn’t care what the future held.

She had trouble sleeping.

Less trouble after exhausting themselves.

He had trouble sleeping too, but that was because he was staring at the ceiling and wondering just how rational he really was. One hand behind his head, under the pillow. The other resting on the blanket, on the curve of her hip, feeling the steady hum of her breathing.

She never cried in front of him.

He knew she did cry, because he heard her in the bathroom sometimes. But never in front of him. Showed anger, yes, but never acted helpless even though it was perfectly reasonable to feel that way after everything that happened. Living on the least for his sake, even to the point of skipping meals and spending all her time trying to write, trying to get back to her livelihood, trying to get past all the false starts. Personally, Yoongi felt that she should give up for now and heal herself, but he also knew how it felt to feel stubborn and useless.

Hah.

It was weird, being so close and yet so far away.

He felt it most in the nighttime, even though that was when he was closest to her.

He was never going to be the same. He knew that. He already wasn’t, surprising himself with his own recklessness, and for what? He didn’t even know what she was capable of reciprocating after receiving all those scars. Didn’t even know if he was the right one, if he was better or worse, if…

If he was believing in something that wasn’t there.

Yoongi closed his eyes and went to sleep.

-

Livid.

It was weird. Feeling it. In the past, you buried it, numb, and promptly lived in delusion. But now you could feel it. What was more, you let yourself feel it. There wasn’t anything to stop you except for the occasional mental peanut gallery of you’re a bad person if you feel jealousy, but anger could overtake anything if you let it.

You stared at the scene before you, several meters away.

Seething.

It felt good.

Mostly because it was honest.

It surprised you. You hadn’t expected to feel anything. Sad, maybe. You had already been cheated on, so naturally you assumed the cycle would begin anew, just with less promises and in the gray area of uncertainty. But, no, instead of being distraught and delusional, you felt maddeningly, viciously, nearly on-the-edge of making a fist and dislocating Min Yoongi’s jaw from his skull because he was speaking to a female-presenting human at the entrance of the building that housed his and others’ music studios.

Did you lack context? Yes.

Would that get you arrested? Yeah, probably.

Would that probably not get your laid anymore and label you as an unhinged psychopath? Without a doubt.

But would it feel good?

Don’t know.

You had never punched someone before, although maybe you should have practiced on your ex-boyfriend. He was probably a more deserving candidate. In any case, you remained frozen in perplexation at your willingness for violence because you were pretty sure your… relations… with Yoongi were nothing more than a lonely bitch and a spiteful silver tongue executing revenge, so the amount of fucks you should give about Yoongi speaking to any human being – other than the obvious health and safety precautions – should be zero.

None.

Basket of fucks empty.

And yet.

Clearly wasn’t since you were mentally calculating the angle and force for jaw dislocation while having zero experience in doing so. In any sort of non-virtual manner, that is.

Hm.

Your hands were firmly in the pockets of your black cargo pants. The hip ones, although you had plenty of choice. You kept them there for the safety of passerby or, maybe deep down, yourself. This caused your jacket to fall open, the outlines of the sew-on patches and thick, bunched-up black denim crowding the space between your forearm and waist, your black cropped tank exposed to the chill evening air. You used to wear a plethora of band t-shirts, but, well, those were probably in a landfill or rotting in a secondhand shop.

You figured you would be cold. Unsurprisingly, the anger kept you warm.

Huh.

You thought about turning around and just straight up leaving, petty and picturesque of course, and then Yoongi seemed to sense your projected violence, looking up from the conversation. Dark waves over his cheeks, striking body line, backing away, hiding his eyes for a moment, not that you could see them that well from this distance. You twitched.

The girl reached out.

Yoongi simply bowed, out of reach, and pushed the glass door open.

Honestly, her role in this moment was so miniscule that you completely ignored whatever she did or possibly could have said to Yoongi’s retreating back. Sharpened gaze, and then he crossed the street with the crowd, walking past oblivious bystanders who may or may not become the harrowed audience of the next thirty seconds.

He stopped before you. Bomber jacket, white shirt, black track pants. Monochrome elegance.

You looked up at him, saying nothing.

Over one shoulder was his usual guitar bag that held said instrument and his yellow notepad sticking out of the pocket. He used it to jot down whatever came to him. You almost said something. Almost. Then you remembered that if this, this between you and Min Yoongi, if this was supposed to be nothing, then weren’t you supposed to do nothing but voice your casual annoyance for making you wait rather than, well.

Admit insecurity?

You looked away quickly.

No, it did not matter how reasonable it was, you didn’t like knowing that somehow you had been weakened by an ex-boyfriend, barely a man, no, a mere locust at best, so it was better to not say anything and accept that this was–

“Sorry, I got caught up with the staff about ending my lease.”

Compromised.

You didn’t look at him. “What?”

“Gonna end my lease this month and move my studio stuff to the condo. I can’t afford both.”

He had told you this already. It had been your idea. You already knew you were overreacting to a situation that you created in your head rather than reality. And, yet, the best your mind would allow was uh huh, a plausible explanation, sarcasm included.

“Ah. Right,” was your sharp, mildly frigid reply.

“I can’t read your mind.”

Do you intend to be exhausting?

Your mental peanut gallery was super annoying.

You breathed in. Cool, crisp air. The sound of cars and people bustling in and out of stores. You breathed in again. Did you really intend to be exhausting, irrational, and, worst of all, dishonest? Really, after all that had happened? After getting here, standing here, arriving to pick up Yoongi at his request to do the grocery shopping together?

You turned back to look right into black-brown, piercing orbs.

“I just realized that I have the ability to be jealous,” you exhaled, draining your lungs. “It’s unpleasant and not nearly as delightfully pivotal as the media makes it out to be.”

Something fluttered in those orbs.

Or maybe it was the wind catching his bangs, drifting black strands over his eyes shadowed by dark circles.

Yoongi half-smiled.

“Makes for good songwriting material though.”

There was an air of helplessness to his words. A tone you couldn’t define, except for the understanding, which left you both baffled and with a sense of guilt. There were emotions in that barely-there smirk on those familiar lips. Relief. Maybe a slight bit of shame. A shadow of guilt too. You realized people were glancing at you and him as they walked past, wondering why you both were at a standstill on the sidewalk. Yoongi seemed to not notice them or care.

You pulled your hands out of your pockets.

“Come on. We should go before it gets dark.”

Before you noticed it, your hand was rising.

You pulled it back, but not fast enough.

Yoongi’s free hand reached out and grasped around yours, strong fingers enclosing. Sliding up, calluses on your palm. Your hand lowered, slowly, your eyes moving in the opposite direction. Lips parting. His hand was colder than yours.

You stared at Yoongi.

He looked back, expression unreadable.

“I don’t hold hands,” you said, suddenly breathless.

You tightened your grip.

“Neither do I,” Yoongi replied, taking a step, on the cusp of walking past you, his hand around yours. “I simply just don’t like the idea of yours getting cold when I can do something about it.”

Previously, when you held hands, it was always with a purpose of showing public affection. The look-how-real-this-is-because-there-are-clear-witnesses show. Front row tickets nobody asked for. But this.

This.

You blinked hard and the sting was inside.

The sting of wasted time.

Your name in that raspy, soft voice. Familiar. You looked up, not saying anything and hoping the eye contact was enough. All Yoongi did was smile lightly and tug your hand.

“Let’s get take-out and shop tomorrow. We have plenty of time to eat healthier.”

-

“You can cry in front of me.”

Min Yoongi heard her breath hitch and still.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. It was the dead of night. Or maybe one could call it the time when honesty came to life, if the conditions were right. He knew this time well usually with a drink in his hand, but this time he was laying on his side with bruises of bites and carnal memories lingering on his fingertips.

“I wasn’t crying.”

Her voice was thick and strained from trying to keep it even. Her moment of jealousy had happened days ago. He had recognized it right away. Call it personal experience. He also recognized that she didn’t like to feel that way. It was obvious from her torn yet furious expression. It confirmed a lot of things for him. Still, she seemed pleased to help him move and set up his things in the bedroom. They found the living room to be a bit too echoey due to the large space so they switched the two, pulling the mattress to the living room and setting up his equipment in the center of what was formerly the bedroom.

He told her to paint the condo.

She had mentioned in passing that someday she would like to paint her entire living space black. Not this place, because he owned it too, and you probably think I’m crazy for wanting a dark space, huh, Yoongi? He asked her, why wait? No one lives forever. We’re just passing through.

She had given him a weird look.

We own this condo. Paint it.

There were cans of black paint waiting.

Yoongi had intended to go visit his family over the weekend. His parents and his brother who had recently been promoted to head chef at the classy restaurant he worked at. Someone in the family needed to have prestige. Well, that was his own personal feeling. Surprisingly at this point his parents had even up on telling him to get a higher-paying job. They told him to simply be happy.

And get married.

Yeah, about that.

He was still trying to get used to the music producer thing, for fuck’s sake.

“Are you afraid I won’t understand?” Yoongi let himself say, not turning around yet.

Sometimes, people didn’t want you to see them weak. He could understand that.

Call it personal experience.

A shuddering sigh. Deep breaths. Words bogged down, drained.

“I can only be so pathetic before I lose my mind recalling the past,” she mumbled. He felt her weight deepen on her side of the bed, as if she was trying to melt into the mattress. “I made things hard for myself. For you. It’s pointless to cry about it anyway. In the end, it only makes me look ungrateful.”

Yoongi thought about it.

“It’s true that you probably shouldn’t have involved me.”

He shifted, laying on his back now.

“But I’m not a good person either. I agreed, after all,” he murmured, his skin tingling with bruises and carnal memories. “Hm, to be honest, he was always a dick though, from high school till now. Always will be, I fear.”

“You’re easygoing enough not to be affected by his asshole behavior.”

“Not my job to change people. I leave that to parents and clueless fools.”

A pensive silence. Surprisingly not an irritated one. She seemed to accept it.

“Why did you become his friend?” she asked, staring at the ceiling with him.

“We just happened to like the same thing. Music.”

“I’m lucky you decided to become his friend.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I’m lucky that somehow he managed to bamboozle a hot and clever girl, two things he’s obviously not.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“Who the fuck uses the word bamboozle?”

“You had to admit you were bamboozled, because you sure as hell weren’t dick-drunk.”

“Oh? You think you’re that good, huh?”

“No, I just know he’s that much worse.”

The faintest of chuckles.

“You… You get better every time,” she admitted. “I think I just caught you off guard the first time.”

“Firstly, I don’t like wasting time and, secondly, I had given up for a while before…” I met you. “Romance seemed like an expensive, worthless distraction when I could be using that time and money trying to push the band forward,” he pivoted, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Then that went to shit.”

“Sorry.”

Automatic.

He chuckled darkly. “I’m confident I got the better deal.”

A trembling pause.

“Why do you think that?”

He reached over and placed his palm on the top of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair. Messing it up.

“Tell me the truth. Was he good at sex?”

A burst of laughter. “Really? Alright. No, he wasn’t. He sucked. Thought he was a piston of a muscle car instead of a human being. Oh, and once he fell asleep on top of me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. Turned his head and forced hers to turn as well.

She was smiling.

Yoongi found his chest tight and breath shallow.

“And you didn’t leave him then… why?” he pressed.

She winced, albeit playfully. “I yelled at him. A lot. I don’t know, maybe he was tired.”

“Not an excuse.”

“I know, I know…” Sigh. “I… I didn’t want to believe I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes shifted, but her body was still turned to face his. “I… It made my entire family angry, dating him. Especially my parents. They would never forgive me and hold it over my head forever. I had to make it work. I thought, if only I worked hard enough…” Another heavy breath, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I know it was pride, but I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could do anything. Bad choices? Maybe. But they were mine. I don’t want my life decided by what is best for me. If I suffer for it, those are my consequences.”

Her eyes opened, but barely.

Yoongi kept his hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.

“I… I feel like shit because now you’re stuck in my mistakes,” she breathed.

He liked to touch her hair. It felt comforting.

“You know what your problem is?”

She glared under lashes and dared him.

Undeterred, he continued. “You blame yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened.”

A disapproving frown. “Hah?”

He tapped her forehead. “You think it’ll bother me if you cry, but what truly bothers me is that you cry alone.” Pushed back the strands, and now he was closer, sharing breath. “You think I’m stuck in your mistakes. Mistakes don’t inherently have only negative consequences. They almost always exist in a gray area.”

“I... I know that,” she grumbled, face against his chest.

“I did say you were clever.”

A drifting, drowsy silence.

“I’m not clever,” she whispered to his skin, pulling her body closer. “I just like you.”

Yoongi felt himself losing to sleep.

“I’ve always liked you, since the moment I saw you,” he muttered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if he said it at all.

-

“Ah? Yes? Sorry about that. Oh, yes, uh, I’m painting. Everything. Yes, I’ll be sure the keep the windows open. Thank you.”

You closed the front door of the condo. Well. You had expected nervousness, but somehow the conversation between you and the downstairs neighbor had been very calm. Apparently, he worked from home and wasn’t expecting the loud crash of the ladder from your unit.

In your defense, you hadn’t expected it either.

Thankfully, you hadn’t been on the ladder, only trying to figure out how to set it up. It was one of those compact ones that saved space but required some innovative thinking to get the taller height you needed. One crash and a YouTube video later, the ladder was now secure, and then came the knock on the front door.

The thoughts flew by – I don’t belong here, I can’t do this alone, they’re going to scold me and I haven’t even done the upper half yet – but the guy just seemed curious and confused. Didn’t even comment on your awkward outfit of navy boys’ basketball shorts and ill-fitted gray sports bra. Both on super sale. You were still wearing your bra because of the incorrect size, so the gray blob was bordering on ugly-ass tank top.

Look.

Some people had clothing they didn’t care about to paint in and some people had to dive in sale bins because they left behind most of their wardrobe and, with the clothes, their bad memories.

That was the intent.

Things rarely go as intended.

For instance, you thought you were going to feel imposter syndrome for a neighbor knowing that you were painting your own goddamn walls. You turned away from the door after you locked it, frowning. That’s right. Like it or not, bad decisions and minus an ex-boyfriend later, these were your walls. You looked up, out the large, floor-to-ceiling living room windows, and saw the sunlight sparkle over the sprawling city, walls painted half-black and half white surrounding you, and you could say that you never wanted to be here, but.

It was a sick view.

We own this condo. Paint it.

Your muscles were sore from the repeated swiping motion of the paint roller, but there was still this inexplicable energy coursing through you.

“What if it doesn’t look good?” you had asked Yoongi.

He had shrugged. “Then we paint it again.”

“It’ll be dark.”

“Wow, really? I thought black was supposed to be bright and cheerful,” was the sarcastic quip. “Just believe you have good taste and paint the damn walls.”

This condo was an investment that made you poor.

That was the truth you needed to face.

You have good taste.

You scrunched your face slightly as you remembered Yoongi’s facial expression. Was he… praising you or himself? You squinted. This guy. Picked up the paint roller again and saturated it with ink black, making crispy crinkly sounds as you shuffled over the plastic. Good taste. Well, that was relative, wasn’t it? Everything was at the end of the day. You climbed onto the ladder and began the repetitive, monotone motion once more but at a higher elevation. You should have put your music back on. Your phone was on the plastic-covered mattress and you were not about to go back down until you finished this section or ran out of paint. This was going to be a long process, but you had several days and too much time as Yoongi had already left to visit his family.

Now you were alone with a lot of paint and mind-numbing fumes.

Shit, you should have opened the window.

You would have to paint a second coat anyway. Who cared if the first coat was shitty?

Sigh.

Climbing down and doing your due diligence before returning to your post.

You had forgotten once again to put your music back on. Hah. Well, that was fine; you had yourself. You didn’t mind being alone. Heh, sometimes it was better to be alone. You continued rolling away, hardworking in the consistent rhythm. Thinking about it now, this might have been the first time in a long time that you were okay with being alone. Before, you had felt guilty whenever you weren’t thinking about your relationship. Huh. Odd. Was it some kind of mental self-reassurance when you knew something was off? It was hard to tell, but possible.

Everything was off about that relationship. You just had too much pride to admit it.

You sighed, climbing back down to reload.

Wait a second. Was this why there was that wider step towards the top of the ladder? You poured some more paint in the tray and carried it up with you. Oh shit. Wow. Innovation. You coughed and went back to a different patch of wall. No one saw that. See, perks of being alone.

Well, you didn’t hate Yoongi being here.

You stopped painting.

You didn’t just think that.

You went back to painting. Shut up, nagging feeling. You furiously painted on, ignoring your soreness, telling that little voice in your head to shut up, because there were plenty of reasons not to think stuff like that. Firstly, you weren’t ready to think stuff like that. And what if it was only hopeful transference rather than genuine feeling? Asshole or not, your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of trust was not something so easily overcome. It wasn’t fair to Yoongi either, pretending to like him if you weren’t sure.

You liked Yoongi before you broke up, too.

Wasn’t that fucked up?

You sighed and came back down, careful to scoot the ladder without spilling and causing a mess. Back up and at it. Of course, it was fucked up. And you knew it was, which might have been why you let it get that bad. Might? Was why you let it get that bad. Two hypocrites were meant for each other. You huffed, puffing your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to hold the ticking grenade; you had needed confirmation it was a, in fact, a bomb.

Maybe even hoping it would end you.

It didn’t.

For some reason, you thought Yoongi could see that in you.

Damn, he’s really living in your system, hm?

You frowned.

Your phone rang.

You almost jumped, startled at the sudden sound of an old song you used to enjoy. Back when you were a teenager, and the memories came back as you climbed down. A kid who just really liked rock’n’roll, and parents who did not, but that kid didn’t care, annoyingly setting it as her ringtone on her shitty flip phone. Couldn’t you be her again? Before you had time to ponder, you checked your hands for paint and picked up your phone, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you eat?”

You blinked, sitting down on the crinkly plastic upon hearing that deep, raspy voice. “Uh, no. I was gonna stop by the convenience store when the first coat was done.”

“No, you weren’t. You were gonna skip a meal,” Min Yoongi tutted. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance and use the money I had left you.”

Damn. He knew you, all right.

“If I forget, I forget,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pick up the food order from the front desk when it comes. They told me about thirty minutes.”

“You don’t have to order food for me. I’m not a kid,” you hissed.

“It’s the pho spot you like and if I don’t put food in front of you, you won’t eat. You intend to do all that hard work without some fuel?” A pause. You made a disapproving noise. “And I know you’re not a kid. By the way, what’s your waist measurement?”

You remained a grump. “Why?”

“I’m here, so I’m going to buy you some clothes.”

“Don’t buy me clothes. Don’t spend money–”

“You need things,” Yoongi cut you off. “Unless you want to come with me? You don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it and you know it,” you snapped back. “It’s not worth–”

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s vain and silly and superficial. And I’m still going to buy you things, so tell me your waist measurement.”

“Yoongi, this is your hard-earned money,” you puffed out, exasperated.

“Yeah, and I make money to provide you with a good life because I think you are the most important person to me. So, do you want me to guess with my hands or are you going to meet me halfway?”

Dead silence.

He called your name, softly.

You told him in centimeters.

“Got it. Don’t forget to check the front desk in thirty minutes.”

-

“I love you.”

His hair was stuck to his face due to sweat. “What?”

“I said I love you,” she said, staring right at him, their chests shuddering from exertion.

Yoongi couldn’t believe it, but also he wasn’t surprised. The room still smelled faintly like paint. The windows still had no curtains or blinds. They were still fucking on the mattress in the center of the living room and he was holding the used condom when she said I love you.

The walls and ceiling were all black, covering them in darkness as the city below glimmered with light.

“I love you,” was his reply.

It startled him, the suddenness of his response. He knew he did. Of course, he did, and he turned away quickly, making his way to the kitchen and throwing away the condom, skin tingling, cheeks aflame, and he was startled by the feeling that remained. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth even though he was sure of his own feelings. Yoongi had resigned himself to not hear it from her lips. He also didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true.

He saw her head to the bathroom.

Time was funny sometimes.

Suddenly they were both staring at each other on the mattress, the usual ritual completed, and the moment suspended.

“You didn’t have to say it,” he finally said. “For my sake.”

“I didn’t.” Her hair curled over her shoulder, caressing her curves. “I said it for my sake.”

Blankets and pillows and questions.

“I wondered about the validity of it,” she admitted to him. “Been wrong before and all that. Might still be wrong. So, I said it just to see if I regretted it.”

“Ah.”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Do you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

He half-smiled. How very simple yet complicated. He understood. “All the paint fumes really got to your head, huh?”

She looked up at him and he realized with a start that she, too, was half-smiling.

He reached out, smoothing her hair.

“You have a pretty face, Yoongi,” she teased, eyes sparkling.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be too cliché, you and me,” she continued and the tone was different now, softer and more serious. “I thought you would get tired.”

She meant, of me.

He had thought this was cliché too. Cliché didn’t mean worthless though. His hand fell, and rested over hers without a second thought. Warm and against the sheets. “If I felt that way, I would have stopped speaking to you long ago. You could take care of yourself too.” Not safely, but could. “Except for money.”

She smirked.

“So you’re saying I need a suga daddy.”

Yoongi twitched.

“Part of me wanted to sell the condo as soon as possible,” she went on, casually glossing over the comment. “But the realtor said it would be a bad idea. I wouldn’t have any buyers without a minimum of six months or a year. Too many superstitions. Part of me thought I should…”

She looked up to the ceiling.

It was a high-rise, after all.

“All the reasons to move here were his. More convenient, better opportunities, owning rather than renting for the investment… I believed in it, more than myself.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because all those things had benefitted him already. He didn’t only agree to move in help her out. He was still a working music producer. But she didn’t seem to be saying it to condone him.

“I didn’t really think this place was mine until I painted the walls.”

Yoongi thought he should at least confess this part. “That’s why I told you to paint them.”

A small laugh. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Don’t you remember the walls of the old studio were dark gray? That was my doing. I always resented the last place I rented because they didn’t let me paint the walls.”

“Ah… He painted over the gray.”

“I bet he did.”

They had fallen to the bed now, side by side.

“I didn’t think this would work out,” she breathed.

“I thought it might,” he hummed.

“Why?”

“You’re hot and clever and I wanted you from the first day I saw you.”

A warm chuckle. “Just like that?”

“Well, you had to give me a chance. Couldn’t make the first move due to the circumstances.”

“It was a convoluted and confusing one.”

“Eh, life’s unfair.”

-

“Your husband already paid.”

Your what?

“What?”

The cashier waved you away. You shuffled back, dazed, seeing Min Yoongi emerge from the bathroom in the corner of the restaurant, tucking a bit of his long black hair behind his ears and finding you in front of him.

“The cashier just called you my husband,” you declared.

He shrugged.

“Surprise.”

You blinked at him.

Patrons chatted and laughed as if this was a normal day. The music was horrendous covers of cheesy 2000’s pop. It was very strange, but the pho was good and well-priced, which was why Yoongi and you came here often after his meetings with music companies. Popular talent was in high demand.

He ticked his head to your outfit. “I know you like this dress I bought you, but you’ve left your coat at the table.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You’ve been scatterbrained ever since you started writing again.”

“Shut up.”

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts smut #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[daisynik7]

Hi can I have nanami with a reader who has severe daddy issues(self projection at its finest🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️)

cw: romance and smut

Author’s Note: Hi nonnie! Thank you for this request, I hope I did it justice! Let me know what you think!

You meet Nanami for the first time at a bar one Saturday night. Or maybe it’s a Friday night. The details are fuzzy, mostly because all you can focus on is the warmth of his tongue inside your mouth. The delicate graze of his hand on your cheek. The faint taste of liquor on your lips as he kisses you against the front door. You’re both tipsy, enough to loosen your inhibitions, not enough to regret what you’re about to do. 

He goes home with you tonight. It’s not supposed to be special. Another run of the mill one night stand, something you’re familiar with. One of the few things you have control over. It’s always just sex, nothing more. You’re not a commitment type of person. There’s not a man out in this world that you can trust anymore, not after the issues you inherited from your shitty childhood. Life is easier being alone, only having yourself to worry about. It’s better. 

You can admit, though, that he’s a fantastic kisser. He moves his mouth against yours so seamlessly, even in the pitch black of your apartment. You guide him deeper into your home, leading him into the bedroom, where he fumbles with the wall, trying to find the switch. Before he can, you grab him, pushing him forcefully onto the bed. You don’t say it explicitly. There’s no need to, not when you’re done with him after tonight. The thing is, you don’t fuck anyone with the lights on. It’s too intimate, makes it all seem like something more than what it is. You don’t need him to see you, and you don’t need to see him. It’s better this way. 

Luckily, he doesn’t question it. He probably thinks you’re too horny and too eager to even bother with lights, and you let him believe that. With both of your clothes stripped off, him naked on top of your bed, you straddle him, positioning his hard cock at your entrance. 

“Wait,” he says.

You stay still as he stares at you, cupping your face, thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. The moon shines dimly through the shades of your window, barely making out your silhouettes in the dark. His eyes are open, watching you intently, gaze following your figure up and down, back up again. “You’re beautiful.”

Before he can say anything else, you sink down onto his cock. He’s an even better fuck than you expected. He bounces you easily on his lap, fucking your sweet spot until you’re unraveling above him. Body more pliant now, he repositions you flat on your stomach, pulling your hips towards the edge of the bed, where he stands. He fucks you again, doggy style, mouth biting into the pillow to mute your wanton moans. His hips thrust into you erratically, sending the both of you into a fucked-out frenzy. He pulls out, shooting his load onto your back.

He mutters an apology, blindly grabbing at the tissue box on your nightstand to clean up his mess. You ignore him, not because you’re upset, but because you have nothing else to say. In theory, this should be over. He should leave. That’s the way it always goes. You don’t like letting your hook-ups spend the night.  

It shocks you when he wraps his arms around you, spooning you from behind. You almost want to shove him off, yell at him for breaking your secret rules. But even you can admit that this feels nice. He holds you with such tenderness, despite his primal behavior just a few minutes ago. He doesn’t speak, understanding that he doesn’t need to. It’s like he’s got you figured out, or he thinks he does. You’re too spent to overanalyze it, so you let him stay.

The next morning, he offers to cook you breakfast. And sure, you could easily do it yourself. But he’s insistent on it, so you let him, watching him mosey around your kitchen, cooking perfectly scrambled eggs to go along with avocado and toast. It’s not as uncomfortable as you thought it’d be. In fact, it’s not uncomfortable at all. Maybe because he doesn’t pry into your personal life. 

Eventually, he says, “I’d like to see you again.” He sits across from you on the dining table, plate clean of the meal he just prepared.

You fold your arms over your chest, swallowing your last bite of food. “Look, Nanami. I don’t really do this. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

He copies your stance, matching your energy. “I’m not either. That’s why I think this could work out.”

“How so?”

“Two cynical people, not looking for love. Sounds like a perfect match.” The assumption doesn’t bother you because he’s correct. It also helps that he admits it about himself, too.

You scoff. “More like a disaster.” You lean back against your seat, thinking out loud. “If you’re trying to fix me, you can’t.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t need to fix someone who isn’t broken.”

You lean forward, studying him. “You don’t know anything about me. What if I hurt you?”

“I think I can take it,” he says, a small grin on his face. 

It’s silent for a few moments as you ponder his proposition. It’ll take the work out of trying to find a new boy toy to fuck every weekend. Besides, Nanami is leagues above any of the other flings you’ve had, though you’ll never admit that to him. Finally, you agree to give it a shot. You’re certain it’ll end soon anyways, what’s the harm in giving it a try? You exchange numbers, granting him free reign to contact you whenever he’s in the mood and vice versa. It feels like a business deal, especially when you shake on it, his grip firm, eyes locked on yours.

For the next couple of weeks, you and Nanami meet frequently, either at his place or yours. It’s the best sex you’ve ever had. Tonight, he eats you out through your lace panties, soaked in your slick and his saliva. His fingers slip past the fabric and inside you, curling towards your G-spot. The lights are off again; you never do it with them on. It’s a rule that he’s followed loyally, still without question. He makes you come within minutes, lips now wrapped on your swollen bud, panties stretched to the side. “You taste so good,” he muffles against your skin. “Love it when you come on my tongue.”

You giggle, fist in his hair, his soft tufts between your fingers. “You love this pussy?”

He nods, staring up at you, still lapping at your clit. “I do.”

He makes you come once more before moving up the bed, beckoning you onto his lap. This time, he reaches for the lamp, fingers on the cord, looking at you. “Can I?”

It’s the first time he asks, and surprisingly, it doesn’t catch you off guard. Without a second thought, you answer, “Yes.”

When the light turns on, you expect some type of epiphany or mental breakdown. But in all honestly, it’s none of that. Nothing really changes. It’s normal. 

Before you lower yourself onto him, he caresses your cheek, giving you the same expression he’s given you before. Eyes roaming up and down your body, indulging in this erotic sight of you on top of him. “You’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t look at you any different in the glow of the lamp light. You’re beautiful with or without it, still unbroken, perfectly imperfect, just like him. The only difference is that it’s easier to see. And while you’re exposed and bare for him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel safe. 

Soon after this, your little arrangement fizzles out and blossoms into something real. 

#requests #nanami smut #kento nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami

[desswright29]

Fell Together

Word Count: 11k + (I-I don’t know)

Pairing: Shuri X reader

Contains: Fluff, Romance, Slight Angst(nothing major), Friends to lovers, Smut, slightly inexperienced Shuri, Masc/Sub Shuri, Fem reader.

A/n: Hey guys! I HOPE Y’ALL FEEL LIKE READING!! 😁 So someone asked me once if I would write Sub Shuri and Uhhhh yea I would apparently lol. I just wanted to write a sweet love story because I haven’t wrote one in awhile. And we need one. I REEEEEAAALLLYYY hope y’all enjoy this one. It really beat me tf up! Anywho! Enjoy! And if their are errors blame @imjusthere2readbruv. She was rushing me 🤣🤣🤣

On lawns, we laughed, we played Sweet smiles along the way Under stars we gazed Under moons, memories made Good times, some sad, on lawns

Two hearts, a warm embrace And our love has grown each day And in time, we see that life is a dream A dream that holds two hearts

The water lay still. Placid. A blanket of stars twinkled amongst the otherwise black moonless sky. A soft plop and a light ripple of waves could be heard as Shuri tossed a small rock into the lake, while sitting knees to chest at its edge. With a slow inhale she closed her eyes, letting out it’s counterpart, a shallow exhale, soon after. Her eyes fluttered open, staring into the black abyss. A deep gaping hole filled with a liquid that could take away and also give life. Complicated, yet sincere in its danger; simple in its necessity. That only scratched the surface of things Shuri had in common with the water. With all that had transpired within it, it still created a calm within her. That alone gave her a sense of pride.  She’d conquered the water. But now… she was exhausted.

Although she was at her physical peak. Mentally, she could be better. After the death of her mother desperate for company she attached herself to the first woman that gave her any type of attention. Her first real girlfriend. Solah. The woman was gorgeous. Her body perfectly proportionate. Skin speckled in gold. Her face was almost as sculpted as Shuri’s. She kept her hair beautifully braided, and she was always dressed to perfection. It was also painfully apparent that she didn’t genuinely like women. Status though. That was definitely her speed. Shuri found herself always at her highest level of masculinity now a days. Ruler, scientist, Black Panther. All suits and ties. And in the bedroom she was the giver. 

Today she decided to leave Solah behind. Left her sitting at the best table of one of the finest restaurants in Wakanda, after coming from the restroom finding her slipping her number to the chef of all people. And so she found herself by the water. Just wanting to feel human again. She was more than a superhuman, Queen with no feelings. She wanted to feel like a Woman. Her eyes shut again, her chin falling against her chest. As she wrapped her arms around her legs in a hug. “Bast. I’m tired. I need some sort of reprieve.” She spoke aloud not sure if anyone heard her words, but hopeful nonetheless. The chiming of her beads cut through the silence like a spear. “Panther, y/n y/l/n is trying to contact you.” The recently rare sound of her best friends name brought a slight curve to the side of her mouth before her face slightly scrunched in confusion. She willed Griot to answer. 

Your face lit up the darkness. Wild curls framing your pretty face and settling onto your shoulders. Glasses perched at the tip of your cute nose. Your face scrunched in a squint. A breath of fresh air. It was good to see you. “Hey Shu shu! Where you at? I can barely see you.” Still slightly taken aback that you reached out to her at this moment she answered slightly stumbling over her words. 

“I-I’m at t-the lake.” Your face relaxed only for a moment before your brows immediately raise in an expression of worry.

“What happened?” You still knew her like the back of your hand. Of course you did. No one knew Shuri quite like you.

“Does something really have to be wrong everytime I’m here?” Shuri asks . She’d never let you know you were right straight away. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow it. Your lips turned down as you feign a look of contemplation before nodding. “Absolutely.” Shuri rolled her eyes before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“I broke up with Solah.”

The other end of the call got extremly quiet. You stared at the shadow of Shuri through the projection. Stuck. Expression unreadable. You wracked your brain trying to find the proper words to console your friend, but before you could, as always she read you like a book.

“Let it out y/n.” Shuri huffs  

You let out a long exhale. “Pheew, good lookin’ out man I was summoning all the acting gods from every realm to come help me pretend to be upset about that shit.” Shuri stared at you her expression blank.

“I-I don’t understand why we’re friends.” 

“Eeeasy! See number one I’m honest. Always give it to ya straight no chaser. Im funny as fuck, let’s seeeee smart, can’t forget that one, aaand I’m pretty cute.” You look over top of your glasses and flutter your lashes for dramatic effect. Shuri twists her mouth in faux disgust.

 “Naaaah…Still not getting it?”

“Well maybe it’s because you’ve been a little less than a friend lately Shuri. But usually all those things combine into one and create that deep rooted love you have for me. Duh.” Shuri chuckles lightly, picking up a rock rolling it inbetween her fingers. Staring off into the distance.

“I had that one coming.”

“Yes you did…But really, are you ok?” She shruggs, nonchalant.

“I always figure it out. Glad you called honestly.” Your bottom lip curls inbetween your teeth. As ecstatic as you were that Shuri left “Soda” or whatever the fuck she wanted to call herself behind. And though majorly perturbed by Shuri’s behavior while with her, you’d never want to see her hurt.

“Why don’t you come over. We got a lot to catch up on and you look like you can use some company. Do Queens get to have girls nights? I’ll even bring out the good wine and an expensive ass charcuterie for just for you your highness.” Shuri scoffs. “Make it Rum and Jollof and I’m there.” The corners of your lips almost reached your ears with the smile that spread across your face.

“That Shuri..That right there is why we’re friends.” 

“Yo! I’m home!” Shuri announced chuckling to herself shuffling into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind her, arms filled with bags. An overnight bag hanging from her shoulder, grocery bags filled with snacks in her arms. Her eyes scanned your apartment a faint smile appearing on her face. Dropping her overnight bag to the floor with a thud, she kicked off her shoes at the door. The energy in your home was always so warm and inviting, always putting her at peace. Photos of your family hang on the walls, several of you and her as well. She’d always been like family to you and you to her. A pang of guilt hit her chest as the fond memories welcomed her like a hug. The definition of bitter sweet. 

When Shuri left the lake she decided to pick up a few snacks, and took time to shower and change out of her clothes from her miserable date. Opting for grey sweats, a white t-shirt, a black jacket with a grey hood attached, and a black fitted cap, covering her braids. The padding of feet coming toward her from the direction of the kitchen interrupted her thoughts. You appeared wearing a large graphic tee, the back tucked into your bra and the smallest shorts you could find. A smug smile covered your face as you walked over to greet her. It’d been almost a year and something was different. Shuri noticed her heart skip a few beats. She had always seen you as a beautiful girl, but had you always been THIS beautiful. You held a glass filled with a dark liquid and one round ice cube. As you approached her one hand reached for the groceries, the other extended the cup of alcohol to her. Shuri gave a grateful lopsided smile, taking two steps forward handing off the groceries and taking the drink. 

Muscle memory took over as she quickly brought the bottom of the cup up to her mouth, licking the cup from bottom to top chugging the contents with a hiss. A routine you’d started when you began college in Wakanda. Whenever one of you had a rough day you’d meet at the others place and take a shot immediately upon arrival to destress. You smirk with a raise of your brow. “Okay, I see you Queen Panther.” Impressed, guessing the herb assisted her in handling her alcohol a bit better. “I’m not new to this little one.” She responded with a sly smirk that was, dare you say, kind of sexy. When did that happen? Sitting the groceries on the floor you wrap her up into your arms. Hugging her waist as she wraps her arms around your shoulders resting her chin on top of your head after placing a sweet kiss where her chin would rest. Both of your eyes closed as you began to rock while holding one another. “I’ve missed you tattoo.” You grin at the nickname you hadn’t heard in almost a year. 

“I missed you too Shuri.” Finally you pull away taking the empty glass except for ice from her hand. You look her dead in the eyes. Making sure you’re warning is heeded. “Don’t you ever leave me hanging for ANY bitch. Ever again.” You pick up the bags and turn heading back towards the kitchen. Shuri’s eyes trailed the length of your body eyes stopping at the swell of your back. The tiny shorts you wore barely containing your plump cheeks. Shuri found her lip in between her teeth as she appreciated the view, before correcting herself with a shake of the head “I promise.” She calls behind you as she heads into the living room. Shuri plopped down onto the couch manspread her head falling back, eyes closing. Though it had been awhile since you’d both physically seen each other due to her new titles and her insecure ass ex, it felt as though no time was spent apart. Easily falling back into your easy comfort around one another. The two of you never had to do much to have fun. 

 Your mother had been a pop sensation, back in the days, and Queen Ramonda had been a huge fan. In fact you and Shuri met as young girls around 11, when Shuri took her first trip to America with her mother to attend one of your mothers shows. Romanda requested to meet your mother after the show, and she graciously accepted, when they made it back stage there was little genius, arrogant Shuri. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, curious about every detail of her surroundings. As your mothers gushed over one another back stage, you watched the curious Princess wander around, in her mini skirt with her graphic T-shirt tucked in, chains gracing her waist as a belt, a black leather jacket and matching gloves with the fingers cut off, her braids stacked high onto of her head. She was the coolest person you’d ever seen and she was giving the scary looking bald women hell. You continued peering at her from the slightly cracked door of your mothers dressing room.

“Shuri. Stop touching things. You cannot tinker with things here the way you do at home in your little lab.” The one you would soon know to be Okoye chastised. “Okoye, you’ve got to loosen up. Are you not tired of yelling in vain? Obviously I’m going to continue what I’m doing when you’re not looking.” Your giggle caught Shuri’s attention, her confident upright stride immediately headed in your direction. “I heard you, you might as well open the door.” Slowly you opened the door coming face to face with the Princess of Wakanda. Who gave you a hard once over before introducing herself. “Hello, I’m Shuri.” She held out her hand for you to shake and you reciprocate. “Y/n.” You spoke matter of factly. Posture just as upright as the royals. You returned her a once over. Admittedly she was even prettier up close. “You’re the Princess?” 

“Yes I am.” She stated proudly. 

“You don’t look like a Princess.” Shuri cocked her head to the side brow raised in a question, waiting for you to proceed. “I mean your pretty but you don’t dress like a Princess.”

“Did you expect a ball gown?” Shuri said sarcastically, lips upturned in an obnoxiously arrogant smirk. You smiled back genuinely. 

“You’re an asshole. I like it.”

And the rest was history.

Your mothers became fast friends just as you and Shuri. As you both grew older everyone instantly saw the chemistry between you and Shuri, determined that you would be more than friends especially once you came out. Shuri never came out officially. She’d always gave lesbian and everyone just went with it and accepted her. You envied that about her. Oddly enough you grew to be more experienced than her romantically though. Contrary to popular belief, her title as princess didn’t exactly make dating easy. But Shuri grew to be your bestfriend easily with you and your mother spending ample time in Wakanda thanks to her friendship with the Queen. When T’Challa met you he fell head over heels. “I’ve never seen anyone more perfect for you little sister.” T’challa would always say to Shuri. She would always brush him off with an “Ew” or something along those lines. Neither of you had ever shown that type of interest in one another. You were too much alike, and both of you being rooted in logic knew that that didn’t usually work out. 

So, you spent your summers in Wakanda forming an inseparable bond with the Princess, and ended up deciding to go to college in Wakanda as well. You and Shuri had been by eachothers side every step of the way. She was the bestfriend you’d ever known, and both of you loved one another with all of your heart. You’d created your own life here in Wakanda and were excepted and loved by the community. And even though both you and Shuri were aware of eachothers attractiveness, you were perfectly content in your friendship. 

Resurfacing from the kitchen with another drink and the jerk chicken with Jollof you’d ordered for the night you heard light snores coming from Shuri’s mouth that was slightly ajar. “I just know this girl is not sleep.” You took the opportunity to get a good look at Shuri. Taking note of how much she’d changed since the last time you’d seen her. Her jaw was a bit more chiseled than you remembered, her neck showing signs of the muscle she’d packed on. From the interaction at your door, you’d become acutely aware of the change in her aura. Shuri had always carried a bit of an arrogant air. Her intellect and beauty had always been unmatched. Now, there was more of a maturity to her, growth, experience. It’d evened out her arrogance into a smooth confidence and wisdom. Though she carried a heavy load. She carried it well. You place her drink and food on your coffee table and walked back around behind your couch standing over her. You lifter her hat a bit before you pinch her nose. Her eyes snapped open as she choked on a deep inhale. “Are you really asleep. I was gone for like 2 minutes.”

“Why would you do that! Fucking weirdo!” She coughed while stretching both hands above her head until her body shook. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“You were snoring.”

“Well shit I’m tired y/n.” She said annoyed. You jump over the couch next to her and laugh.

“Atleast get comfortable and eat something before you fall asleep on me.” You suggest motioning to her hat and jacket. Shuri removed her hat. Revealing her fresh braids and then removed her jacket. Showing off her muscular arms and forearms, veins protruding. Swallowing, your eyes linger a bit longer than they should’ve. Shit. Your friend had grown. Shuri shook her head waking herself up. “Ok I’m up. I’m up.”

Now, full and on both of your third round of rum and coke of the night, you guys were back at your usual mischief and bickering. Shuri now lie against the armrest of the couch, with you lying back inbetween her legs while she massaged your scalp through your curls. “Greys Anatomy” playing on the television. 

“That is impossible! This is not medically accurate!” 

“Shuri! That’s not the point of the show. It’s about the relationships.”

“So why do they begin the show with these cases? Why not only focus on the relationships since they’re doing such a poor job with medicinal accuracy.” You turn your head awkwardly and look up at her as she stares down at you with her brows raised as though she’s waiting for an answer. “Give me the fucking remote. I hate watching shows with you.” You turn your body to try and reach behind her for the remote on the arm rest. Laughing she grabs it before you could, reaching it above her head tossing it between each hand as she giggled at your frustration. “Ugh! You make me so sick! Keep it!” She poked her lip out at you “Aww still a sore ass loser y/n? I thought you would grow out of that.”

“Let’s not act like I wouldn’t be handing you your ass if it wasn’t for that lil herb” Rolling your eyes you turn back around settling back into your position between her legs. Her hands finding themselves right back in your hair. She giggled at your temper tantrum. “Im enjoying the show y/n. I was just pointing out the obvious inconsistencies.” You close your eyes leaning back into her chest enjoying the sensation of her fingers. She smelled so good like a mixture of vanilla and mahagony. Strong, but not over powering. “Mmmhmm, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you Shuri.” She chuckled as you both settle into a comfortable silence. “Shuri.”

“Hm?”  

“Are we pretending everything’s cool, or are you ready to talk about it?” Shuri’s fingers stalled for a second, a slow exhale escaping through her nose. “I’m really sorry I shut you out y/n. I didn’t intend to stay away for so long.   I was just… I don’t know ..afraid. You’re the last person on this Earth who truly knows me and everyone around me was leaving. I felt cursed or something. I couldn’t bare to loose you too. And Solah was jealous of our relationship anyway. Ironic I caught HER giving her number to the Chef” 

“What?!” You sit up, causing Shuri’s arms to fall to her belly as you turn to look at her. Shuri chuckles. “Yea. To be honest, I’m not surprised. And yes it sucks but I’m not as upset as I think I should be. There’s just so much going on. So many other responsibilities. It almost feels like a relief. In hindsight I probably jumped the gun on being in a relationship so soon after everything happened.” You raise a brow and tilt you head to the right. “Don’t start.” You lift your hands in defense. “I wasn’t even gonna say anything.”

She lifted her shirt a bit. A sliver of her her toned lower belly showing as she placed a hand inside of her sweats. “Maybe. But you were thinking it.” She says lightly flicking your chin with the pointer finger of her free hand. 

“Definitely a lot of thoughts.” You swallow and avert your eyes trying not to get caught staring and hoping Shuri didn’t catch the double meaning. She shakes her head with a slight smirk. Her free arm drapping across her abdomen as you rest your hands and chin on her raised knee. “You were right though.”

“Of course I was.” She rolled her eyes. Her eyes connected with yours and her lips nervously folded in as though she was contemplating saying something. “You can talk to me about anything Shuri. You know I always know when something is up with you.” She began shifting her eyes. “I’m tired y/n, this is all so much more than I was expecting to have to deal with. The weight of it all. It’s overbearing. I  mean I spent some time in Hiati, but duty called and I still feel as though I didn’t get time to heal properly. So much responsibility. I guess I just hoped that my relationship would take up some of this empty space in my heart. I know you were hurting too and we could’ve been there for one another but it hurt to be around you really. It was a reminder that you’re really all I have left.” You nod and grab her hand, squeezing it, waiting for her to continue giving her your undivided attention. “Since I took on the mantle and the throne it’s like I’m not human anymore. I’m always expected to be on point. Always prepared. Almost stoic. It’s exhausting. And Solah was like another responsibility. I didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t important. So when I should’ve been resting I was taking her on trips, or shopping, or out to eat. And then All the counsel meetings, trainings, keeping up the lab. It’s all.. just.. a lot .” 

Sitting up completely straight you contemplate asking a question. “Can I ask you something Shuri?” The seriousness in your tone capturing her attention. She gestures towards you giving you permission. “When’s the last time you felt comforted, loved on, hell got a freaking hug outside of the bedroom?” Shuri shifted uncomfortably. She put her elbows behind her on the armrest sitting herself up a bit more. “I - I don’t - um I don’t really know.” 

“So you were in a relationship for almost a year. One that kept you away from your best friend might I add. And you can’t tell me the last time you received affection?” Your brows furrowed as Shuri sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Shuri sounded far away, her eyes avoiding yours. “You don’t owe me an apology. I know you did what you thought was best for you. I’d never be angry at you for not knowing how to process grief. However, I do think you deserved better. You’re not a robot. You’re not here for everyone else’s satisfaction. You have feelings and emotions and you should feel loved too. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was some pillow princess that didn’t even reciprocate your pleasure.” You scoffed shaking your head and grabbing your drink off of the table and taking a sip. When you look back towards Shuri her eyes were cast downward. You reach over tapping the bottom of her chin causing her to give you her focus. “Shuri?”

“She wasn’t into it.” Your mouth fell open on realization. “Oh hell no Shuri!” 

“It’s not like I was missing out. I’ve never been… touched in that way. It’s just how it is as a more masculine woman.”  She shrugged. You place your drink back on the table. Mouth agape. This was new. Shuri was the most confident person you knew. Women around the world would bend over backwards for her attention and here she was saying that she’d never been satisfied. “Who the fuck told you that? She wasn’t into what Shuri? Pussy? Shuri you’re not a man. Pussy comes with the territory. That’s how you receive pleasure. Unless that’s what you want? Are you asexual, trans?” You were genuinely concerned. Confusion filled Shuri’s face. “No y/n. I enjoy sex. I like being in control.” She says. “Ok. That’s cool. But a woman is what you identify as. You’ve never wanted to be anything else?” She shakes her head side to side. “Does being in control make you cum?” 

“Y/n I cum!”

“From sex oorr?”

“Not your business.”

“Well there’s my answer. Why would you entertain an obviously straight woman for so long Shuri? Why would you allow her to treat you like a bank account with a strap!?” You would forever want what was best for Shuri, and it pissed you off that some random had used her the way Solah had.

“I didn’t come here for this y/n.” She began to get up and you grab her hand. “No. Wait! I’m sorry Shuri. Ok. I over stepped. But, I just want you to be happy. Truly happy. And I hate seeing you settle. I can also admit that I needed you after everything and I was upset. Romanda was Umama wam, my Mama Monda, and it hurt that you shut me out because I thought we were in this together. And for a woman who couldn’t love you for being a woman. It’s amazing that you’re strong, intelligent, have impeccable style, a strong persona, and are comfortable in your masculinity. But what makes all of that beautiful is that you’re a woman.” She settled back down on the couch. Both of your eyes locked on one another. She’d never been called a woman. She’d been a child, a princess, a scientist, the Black Panther, and now Queen. But she couldn’t recall a time where she was just a woman. A woman with needs and desires that had never been met. 

“I can see you need time to reflect on that. While you do that I’ll tell you why I really called. Tomorrow I was planning to go to Florida for the weekend to see my family. It seems as though you could use some time away. And I would highly suggest you come smooth things over with mom who says you’ve been ignoring her.” Shuri’s head drops and her eyes get big. “Yea… So what’s a couple of days huh?” Shuri looked away as she contemplated. It didn’t take long for a slow smile to spread across her face. “I could use a quick get away”

The car turned onto the old gravely road. Vibrating against the rocks. It took some convincing for Shuri to be allowed on this trip alone. They’d compromised with allowing two of the Dora come along and stay in a near by hotel in case any danger took place when leaving your families land. You look out of the window smiling at the familiarity of it all. The wide expanse of land. The trees, the chicken coupe, The large tan home with the wrap around porch surrounded by a few smaller homes of family members. Home. You hadn’t been back in awhile and you couldn’t believe you’d been friends with Shuri all this time and she’d yet to see your home. You turn to your right to look at your stunning passenger as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Wearing a sports bra and sweat shorts with a short sleeve button up. All black of course. Her obsession with black was becoming concerning. “Sooo. What do you think?” You ask. She turns to look at you with a sparkle in her eye and  a smile. “It reminds me of the villages back home.” You didn’t have to ask if it was a compliment. Any comparison to Wakanda was extrodinary especially coming from the Queen herself. 

You stop the car in front of the house on the gravel driveway. Before you could put the car in park, your mother was running out of the house, straight to the passenger side. She swung open the door and pulled Shuri out by her wrist, wrapping her into her motherly embrace. “Shuri my baby! I’ve been worried sick about you! I’m so happy to see you girl!”  Shuri was shocked at first fully expecting your mother to be upset with her for not having communicated with her since her mom had passed. But soon she returned the embrace, closing her eyes and melting into your mother. “It’s good to see you too Mama Whitney.”  

Your mother pulled back from the hug looking Shuri over. “Let me look at you girl. Lordy! You look damn good, I’ll tell you that. You and my daughter come to your senses yet?“ she looked curiously between the two of you. As you both got flustered. “Mama! Stop it!” 

“Oh it’s coming.” She said with a smirk. “Come on in here and get comfortable while I finish cooking. Shuri you look like you’ve been eating good and healthy which is why you shouldn’t mind that I don’t plan on cooking nothing healthy for the next couple of days. Y’all gon’ eat good!” Shuri laughed. “That actually sounds amazing mama.”

“Good.”

You stand inside the car door with your arms resting on top of the opened door your face scrunching in confusion. “Mama girl! You ain’t even say hey to ME!”

“Girl get in this house!” You hear Shuri giggle as she walks inside the house. 

“Mmtch wooow”

“Aaaand this is my room” you open the door to your childhood room allowing Shuri to take a step inside after giving her a tour of the rest of the home. She stands in the center of your room taking it all in. Her mouth falling open. Your cheeks began to get warm and you knew that if it weren’t for your rich skin you’d be red as a tomato. There was an accent wall behind your queen sized bed just four thick black and white stripes with pink and white roses painted in the corners of the wall. Your bed made beautifully with a black comforter and pink accents. The room was very spacious with a reading area built into a bay window, and a beautiful black and crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.  But as Shuri looked around that was not what had her awestruck. 

There were pictures on a huge pinboard of all of your friends from school. Pics of your cousins and other family members and other people you loved. Shuri hadn’t made that board. Because the entire wall to the right of her was a Mural of you and her when you were young. Other pictures from throughout the years were pinned against the wall. Not just of her but of your entire Wakandan family. You and Shuri annoying Okoye even made the wall. Shuri remembered the picture well. T’Challa had taken it. She turned to look at you and you looked down at your feet. 

“I’d miss you all so much when it was time to leave Wakanda. I asked mama if I could have this wall made to commemorate my trips. I love  my home, but you all are my family too. It was always so hard to leave. And you. You Ofcourse are my best friend in the world and I couldn’t print a picture big enough to express it. So you got the whole wall.” You let out a small laugh. “I hope you don’t think it’s weird or anything.” Shuri shakes her head from left to right. “It’s beautiful.” You heard the crack in her voice, and looked up to see her eyes glistening. Instantly making your way over you grab her hand. “It’s not too much for you is it? I can take you to one of the guest rooms and you never have to step foot back in here.” 

“No y/n. It’s perfect. I-I just don’t have the words. Just know that they felt the same about you. And I love you with all of my heart.” She wrapped you in her arms and the two of you stood hugging in the center of your room.

“GIRLS! COME ON AND GET SOME OF THIS FOOD BEFORE YOUR HUNGRY ASS COUSINS SMELL IT AND COME SCRAP THE BOTTOM OF THESE POTS!!” The both of you pull away giggling like teenagers. Wiping at tears that had yet to fall. “She’s right. We should hurry the barrage is coming.” You grab her hand and lead her down the stairs to the kitchen. As soon as you both hit the corner, the door to the back patio opened and your cousin Marcus stepped in all smiles. “What’s hannin’ cuzzo! I knew that was yo ass with that bougie ass rental!” You turn and give Shuri a ‘here they come’ look as you walk over to give him a hug.  “Hey Marcus I’m doing great! How are you?” You say full of sarcasm. “And it’s not a rental. It’s my friends car.” You pull back and gesture towards Shuri. “Oh Shit! That’s the Queen! Ah damn. My bad imma be skraight up wichu’ ion know what to do.” Shuri laughed. “It is fine. I am in your territory. Shuri is just fine.” She spoke shaking his hand. 

“Damn you proper as fuck. Got me wantin’ to say indubitably and shit. Her accent cold den a bih!” 

“Bruh she ain’t even say shit! Go get some food and stop being embarrassing.” You laughed. Shuri stood looking confused. “What is that he’s speaking?” Your eyebrows raise as your face contorts and you double over in laughter. Shuri continues to stare in confusion. When you finally calm down you start to explain. “Some call it Ebonics, more recently it’s been called AAVE ‘African American Venacular English’. But in simpler terms, he just country baby.” You laugh and nudge her towards the kitchen. 

The day was a blast. More and more of your family filed over to meet Shuri. They were filled with questions and so was she. There was good food, laughter, and drinks. Everyone loved Shuri but the children couldn’t get enough of her, and she loved it. She ran up and down the lawn with them. Laughing and carrying on like a carefree child. She was beautiful and something inside of you was seeing her differently. “Beautiful woman Shuri turned out be huh baby girl?” Your mother walked up to you as you watched her play basketball and argue with the boys about her cheating. You turn to your mother who had a sneaky smile on her face. “She’s always been beautiful mama.”

“Yea. But there’s a little something extra to it now. She seems more sure of herself. Physically fit.” Shooting your mother a knowing look, you nod a bit. “I guess you could say that.” Looking out at her in her black sports bra and shorts all of her usual jewelry on as she sweat in the Florida humidity. Her lean muscles flexing with every motion as she dribbled the ball pointing at the hoop obviously taunting Marcus. Yes. Something was different. 

“You know baby. I think It was always there. Sometimes things just evolve with time, and that’s ok. Just because it’s one way today doesn’t mean it should stay that way forever.” Looking at your mother you give small smile and she smiled back. “Now you take that and apply it to whatever you need to.” She pat your thigh and kissed your cheek before walking away, leaving you standing in thought. 

“Y/n! Your cousins a HATER!!” You hear Shuri yell from the court. “Nah yo lil friend a cheater bro.”

“This unsportsmanlike conduct is not attractive, not attractive at all.” She laughed looking up at you, sending you a wink. Your stomach flutters a smile lifting your cheeks as you shake your head. There was definitely a different feeling there. 

You take out your phone and make a phone call. “Hey girl. I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor last minute. I’ll pay you whatever you like.”

The sun began to set as you and Shuri sat on the porch swing together listening to the sounds of the crickets. She lay in your lap as you run your fingers through the parts of her braids. 

“This is beautiful. A beautiful up bringing you had. It explains a lot about you. I wish I’d come here sooner.”

“Oh really? Explains a lot about me in what way?” She shrugged.

“Like why you’re so warm and inviting. So lovable, and intelligent. Definitely why you’re so funny. You’re family is hilarious. Why everything feels better when I’m around you. I don’t know. You just. Feel like home.” She opens her eyes looking up at you. “You are home for me.”  Breath catching in your throat you gaze down into her eyes until the sound of a throat clearing snapped you both out of it. 

“What you girls up to out here” Your mom says grinning knowingly. Shuri bit into her lip as you stumble over your words.

“Uh n-nothing just uh we’re talking.”

“Mhmm. I’m in for the night. Goodnight love birds.” She chuckled 

“Ma!!” You yell as Shuri chuckled. 

“Where are we going?”

After everyone settled in for the night you told Shuri you wanted to take her somewhere special. “Asking a million times isn’t going to make me tell you any faster Shuri. We’ll be there shortly. Just enjoy the ride.” You look at her with a stern stare. She just smiled and rolled down her window as you drove over a tall bridge with a huge body of water beneath. The moon shining bright in the sky. Shuri closed her eyes as the wind blew through her curls. Listening to the music pour through the speakers. 

Soon the two of you pulled up to an isololated picnic area that was pitch black. You stepped out of the car as Shuri sat unsure. Walking around the car you open the door for her, startling her. “Leave your shoes.” She slides off her tan crocks as you reach your hand out to her. She took it, hesitantly stepping out of the car. “You’re not trying to murder me are you? That’s a bad idea.” Laughing you slap her arm. “No psycho, just come.” Interlacing your fingers together you guide her through the darkness. As you walk up wooden stairs the sound of waves crashing and the smell of salt hit your noses. As you came over the top of the stairs of the board walk, fairy lights sparkled against the darkness. The closer the two of you got to the end of the board walk the more the set up of blankets, pillows, and candles came into view. You could feel Shuri’s hand tighten on yours slightly as she followed you. The friend that set up the gorgeous picnic walked over to you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers handing them over. She smiled and gave a nod of greeting to the both of you as you told her thank you as she walked away. 

“These are for you.” You say handing her the flowers. 

“W-what’s all of this?” She says. Her beautiful jawline was on display as she faced the set up, an unreadable expression on her face. “I know you enjoy being by the water and thought you might like this. I was thinking of the conversation we had yesterday, and I just wanted to do something to make you feel special.” Her smile produced slowly a quick gasp of air released from her chest, one giggle, two giggles and uncontrollable burst of laughter. You cock your head to the side a knowing smile spreading across your face. “You’re doing that thing where you laugh really hard to stop yourself from crying again?” Still laughing she nods. “Is it helping?” She shakes her head side to side. “Good. Because it’s ok to let go and cry Shuri.” Stopping herself from laughing she bit her bottom lip as she looked down at you. Once again moving her head from left to right. The signs of her internal battle on her face. 

“Come on let’s sit.” The two of you made yourselves comfortable. Enjoying the assorted fruits, cheeses, and wine while listening to the oceans waves, and talking about everything under the sun. As Shuri loosened up the two of you walked along the shore getting your feet wet which eventually turned into splashing eachother with water, playing like children. You fell back in laughter onto the blanket after you and Shuri made your way back to your area. Looking at her you take note of the beautiful sound of her laughter, her smile lighting up the night and her eyes sparkling. Nothing you’d ever done had been more worth it than this one thing. She sat beside you again as she looked up at the stars. “Thank you for this y/n. The entire day has been beautiful. And I-I really needed this.” 

“I know you did. I just wanted you to be on the receiving end for once. It’s overdue for you. I want you to know it was never my intentions to be insensitive about your relationship. I just don’t want to see you settle for anyone. You deserve the best of everything Shuri. And mostly you deserve to be treated like a lady, and not a toy.”

Shuri was silent as a tear finally fell from her eye. “I-I just thought maybe it was all I was good for y/n. Like Maybe I was not meant to enjoy life’s pleasures.” It was all the reply you needed. “Awww baby girl. Come here.” You motioned towards your lap holding your arms out welcoming her into your embrace. She complied straddling your lap laying her head on your shoulder and wrapping her arms around your neck as though she needed this. Just to be held and cared for for a change. Seen as the young woman she was. Gently you caressed her back rocking from side to side. The tension leaving her body with every tender stroke of your hand. You could feel her body melt into yours. As her muscles loosened her body began to shake. A trembling exhale releasing itsself from her mouth. Her arms tightened around you and she buried her face deeper into your neck. A short puff of air escaped her mouth before a choked sob followed. Until finally the most heartbreaking cry released from her gut. “It’s ok. Let it out. I’m here. You’re safe.” You continue comforting her holding her in silence until her sobbing slowed. 

“Shuri, I’m so sorry. I should’ve come to see you. You’d gone all of this time feeling like you were alone. I was always here. I would never leave you hanging.” You gently push against her shoulders signaling that you wanted her to sit up. She sits up and your heart breaks at the sight of her face. The candle light highlighting the streaks of tears. You’d never seen Shuri so broken. Your hands cupped each one of her cheeks as you spoke. “You know that right? I’ll always be here. I know in a lot of what you do you’re not allowed to be emotional. But you can be that with me. You’re human. You deserved to be loved, cared for, hugged, touched like the gorgeous woman you are.”  Her eyes were beautiful. Even swollen and red with tears they had a certain light. You’d never paid much attention to that before. Wiping at her tears with the pads of your thumbs you get lost in the parts of Shuri you’d never noticed. Shuri’s eyes examined your face, her lip tucking itself into her mouth. Your hands drop, one onto her thigh, the other to her chin. Thumb trailing right underneath her lip. You give a slight tug releasing her lip keeping her chin placed tenderly between your fingers. 

Her mouth began to open and close slightly like she wanted to speak but the words were stuck. She leaned in a small amount and slightly pulled back again eyes fluttering between your eyes and mouth as though she was asking permission. Your grip on her chin became firmer as you gently guide her mouth towards yours. Slowly she bent down stopping short of your lips, your noses grazing against eachothers as her breath tickled your lips. That’s when she closed the distance. Your lips pressed together and it felt like lightening struck you. Engulfed in her scent as her soft lips glided against yours you wondered if she felt it too. The electricity flowing through your veins. As the thought crossed your mind, you got an immediate answer. Shuri moaned into your mouth. The prettiest sound you’d ever heard. She pressed herself into you grabbing onto your hands interlacing your fingers. You gave another moan in response, grazing the tip of your tounge across the bottom of her lip she opened up to you so easily. Allowing you to explore the inside of her mouth. 

Quickly you were loosing control, your thoughts moving a mile a minute, caught up in the intensity of the moment. You pulled away from her mouth and swiftly began placing hot wet kisses along her jaw. Removing your hands from hers placing them on her waist, gripping  onto them pleading with yourself to come down from this high. She was intoxicating. Filling up your senses in ways no one had ever before. Her vulnerability brought out the protector in you. Her body trembled at your touch. New to the feeling of being touched and treasured in this way. Never would either of you have thought it would be the other. Kissing down her neck, the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. “Let me *kiss* do it *kiss* for you Shuri.” Your hand traveled to the nape of her neck gripping and pulling her head back slightly to make room for you to place kisses at the front of her neck. “I want to take care of you. Mentally, spiritually, physically. Can I do that for you? Will you let me take care of you and your body baby girl. Please?”

Shuri pulled back quickly eyes wide with fear. “I-I’m sorry…. I um.. I can’t.” She removed herself from your lap standing to her feet. You catch her wrist as she headed towards the car. “Shuri wait! I’m sorry if that was too much. I just…I got caught up. Please don’t leave.” Shuri shakes her head left to right. “I can’t do this. This is a lot. I just need a moment. I’ll be in the car.” Pulling away from you she rushed away with you calling after her. 

“Damnit!” 

The drive home had been silent. The next morning you and Shuri prepared to leave early of course with many questions from your mother as you all sat at breakfast.

“Y’all mighty quiet.” She repeated all morning as you both gathered your things.

You’d calmed her with promises of coming back home soon. She walked you both out “Shuri, let me talk to you.” She walked over to your mother silently eyes down cast.

“I don’t know what happened between you and my daughter. But I’m not a fool. I know two people in love when I see it.” Shuri’s eyes snapped up from the ground.

“No need to look shocked. I’m not gonna get too deep in y’all business. But I just wanted to make sure I let you know it’s ok to be happy. You don’t have to punish yourself for being here. I’ve known your mama long enough to know she wouldn’t want that for you.”

“It’s scary out here alone Mama Whit.”

“Oh baby I know. But you don’t have to be alone. I love you and you got a whole other family right here. We can never replace the ones you lost. But we can take up some space.” Shuri smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

“Good. And from now on answer my calls, you don’t want me showing up to Wakanda unannounced!” Wrapping her arms around Shuri as they laughed. “Work it out baby girl. You got this.”

Shuri only spoke to you when necessary during the trip back to Wakanda. It’d now been a few days since the incident and you’d continuously tried to reach Shuri. Even showed up to the palace. You were told she wasn’t there, but you knew it was a lie. Now you sat at home leaving your hundredth message with Shuri as the rain came down hard outside. 

“Shuri, I’m so sorry. Please just answer. We were tipsy and.. and I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t mean to freak you out. We can pretend it never happened, or talk whatever you want to do. Please just call me back.” 

Shuri had always hated storms. Would stay holed up in her room on the phone with you calming her, and when you’d spend summers in Wakanda you’d make your way to her room  staying up all night watching movies and eating snacks. Now she was completely alone. Sitting back on your couch you stare up towards the ceiling. Never had you had feelings like this for Shuri before. Her eyes, her smell, her aura had over taken you. This immense need to be her lover and protector. That one day opened your eyes to her in so many ways and now you were confused. Now you sat trying to process of all of these new emotions. Your mind was all over the place. But mostly you were scared that you’d lost her for good. Maybe you’d just gotten too excited to see her after so long. Or maybe you truly had feelings for her. You were all the familiarity that she had left in the world. The closest thing to family. Would it really be the worst thing in the world if you had feelings for Shuri. It would if she obviously didn’t share those feelings. 

Letting out a frustrated groan you run a hand over your face. In an attempt to relax your mind you head to your room to get comfortable. Putting on a red silk nightie, pilling your curls into a messy bun and dimming the lights in your apartment. “Griot, turn on relaxation playlist.” You head to your kitchen to pour a glass of wine, when there was a knock at your door. Your heart dropped. There was only one person you could think of that would show up to your home unannounced. Quietly you walk to the door looking into your peephole. The sight shocking you. Swinging the door open you take in the sight in front of you. There she stood. Her curls now out and drenched along with her all black silk set. The shirt tucked and unbuttoned almost to her naval. No bra beneath. The shine of her panther necklace glistening against her wet skin. You could feel an influx of saliva build up inside your mouth while you watched her shift from one foot to the other. 

“Shuri. You came out in this weather?” She swallowed. “I was out driving and now here I am.” She looked so unsure, so innocent as she stood anxiously shuffling in your doorway. It made you nervous too. “Uh well come in. You’re soaked.” 

“Yea, forgot my umbrellla.” She said walking in taking her boots off at the door.

“I’ll go um get you a towel.”  You quickly run to your bathroom and grab her a towel. Before you could think better of it you walk back out to Shuri and immediately pressed the towel into her chest drying her off. Her hand came up over top of yours, holding you there as she looked into your eyes, water dripping from her hair.

“Oh uh m. I’m sorry you can do this yourself. You can help yourself to any of my clothes too. I was just about to pour a glass of wine would you like one?” She moistened her lips never breaking eye contact with you.

“Yes, I’ll have some once I get changed.” Taking the towel from your hands her fingertips grazing the backs of your hands.

“Y-yea. Yea ok.” You exhaled as she brushed past you. That beautiful scent of hers invading your senses once again. You rush back into the kitchen, taking another glass from your cabinet you pour wine for the both of you and waited. Awhile passed and you started getting antsy so you start pulling out ingredients to make your s’more cookies that she loved, to get your mind off of your nerves. You hummed to the music as you began mixing your ingredients.

“Is this mine?” You hear Shuri say from behind you. Turning to see what she’s talking about, your jaw went slack once you caught a glimpse. There she stood in one of your oversized T-shirts and that’s all. The two of you had always been comfortable around eachother. But, Shuri’s version of comfort had always been almost a full sweat suit. Your eyes locked on her pretty long legs. Long, toned, and moisturized. They began to move with her elegant stride. 

“I’ll take that as a yes” she says hopping onto your counter, grabbing the glass of wine and taking a sip sitting with her legs slightly open where you could see her black lace boy shorts peaking at you. “L-leg- I mean yes it it is” You swallow and let out a low groan. Shuri heard and her lip curved into a crooked smile. 

“What are you making?” Placing the glass down she stares at you. Her eyes were low and there was something in her eyes that you weren’t sure that you were reading correctly. You shake it off and continue mixing. “S’more cookies. I know how much you love those.” A light sigh comes from Shuri’s mouth. “You’re always thinking of me. Nobody knows me better than you. Can I taste some of the mix?” She practically purred. You’d never seen Shuri in this element and it was re-wiring your brain cells. What was she trying to do, kill you? Nodding you take some of the mixture onto a spoon and walk over to her. When you were close enough she grabbed your wrist, pulling you inbetween her legs. She held your hand guiding the spoon to her mouth slowly licking away its contents before closing her eyes sucking off the remainder with a moan. “Delicious.” She said. Her eyes opened and gazed straight into yours. Irresistible. That’s all that came to mind as your core leaked with a need for her that you could no longer control. Before you knew it you’re tongue was mixing with the sweet doughy goodness in her her mouth. 

“Fuuuuuck Shuri. What are you trying to do to me?” You say after pulling away from the kiss placing your foreheads together. 

“I got all of your messages. I just wasn’t ready. This is all so new. Suddenly having feelings for you in that way. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before and it’s scary. So I tried to rationalize my thoughts and what was happening and I wasn’t ready to except it yet. You’ve been with me what feels like forever. And I don’t want to mess us up. But I couldn’t get your words out of my mind. Your touch. The feeling of your lips. And I had to admit that I-I want it. You bring out the woman in me and I love it.” He mouth hovered closer to yours. “I want you. I want you to take care of me and I want to take care of you. I want to be made love to….like a woman. And I want it to be you. No one gets me like you, cares like you. I’m ready to give us a try if you’re willing.”

You pull back looking into her eyes “So is that what all of this was about? You were trying to seduce me into a relationship?” You bit your lip and smirked. Batting her eyes she answers “Depends on if it was working.” Scoffing you reply “You can’t tell?” She giggled as her hands moved over top of yours that were tightly gripping her thighs. “I’d love nothing more than to give us a try. As long as you’re really ready. We can take it as slow as you need. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s no going back from here.” 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Placing your finger inside of the bowl you scoop up more of the dough bringing it up to her lips. “Have some more.” She opened her mouth, taking your finger inside and sucking, bobbing her head up and down three times before releasing it with a pop, her eyes never leaving yours. “Oh ok. You want it. And you’re definitely gonna get it.”  She grabs your shirt pulling your mouth onto hers as you fall into a sloppy kiss. Her arms wrap around your neck as she moves her body closer to the edge of the counter. You grab underneath her thighs picking her up off of the counter carrying her into the bedroom. You gently lie her down onto the bed. Placing kisses along her jaw. You pull back as Shuri let go of a dissatisfied groan. 

“Don’t worry pretty girl. I’m gonna make you feel plenty good for the rest of the night. Be patient with me. Can you do that.” She nods beneath you. “Good. Be a good girl and sit against the head board for me.” Standing to your feet you head into the bathroom to wash your hands. When you re-enter the bedroom Shuri’s lean frame sat sexily against the headboard patiently waiting. You take your time walking around lighting candles all around your room as she watched you sway your hips seductively. Now your attention was completely on her as you walk over and Place yourself between Shuri and the head board. You whisper in her ear. “Relax baby. I’m not in a rush. I want you to feel every moment of this. Of how you deserve to be loved.” Massaging her breast over the top of your t-shirt that hung from her body. Her head fell back onto your shoulder as you place your hands underneath her shirt. “I want you to empty that brain of yours tonight. Only focus on my touch okay.” She nodded her head her lip trapped between her teeth. Removing your hands you grab her arms gently raising her them “Let me take this off for you.” Sliding the fabric off of her body you threw it to the floor to be forgotten. Taking her forearms in your hand you gently bring them back around your neck giving you perfect access to her perfect little breast.

“Don’t move your arms from here ok. You’re so sexy like this Shuri. So fucking beautiful.” Your fingers slide all over her body. Brushing across her nipples until they hardened. You began pinching and rolling them between your thumb and pointer finger. “Ah, Bast y/n” she moaned out. “I love it when you moan my name. I’m gonna have to make you make that sound a lot more tonight huh beautiful?” She didn’t respond, so you pinched a bit harder on her nipple causing her body to jerk. “Answer me when Im talking to you.”

“Yes please make me moan your name all night.”

“Hmm. I can do that for you Panther. It’d be my honor.” One of your hands slid slowly down her toned stomach to her panties your hand sliding  over top of them onto her hot mound. Pressing into her and holding. Her breath catches as her hips buck up. “Uh uh. Be still. Just feel. Breathe and feel me. Consentrate on the feeling of me.” Shuri let out a long exhale her body relaxing into your touch. Her pretty legs relaxing to the sides. “Yea. Just like that. Good girl.” She moaned at the praise and you smirk against her neck. Your fingers slowly began to move into her folds overtop of her panties. A light whimper escaped her mouth as she began to move her hips against your palm. Increasing the pressure and pace your fingers move up and down the center of her lips. Her eyes shut tighter and her bottom lip dropped. “Sss that’s right baby girl. Focus on that feeling. Feels good huh? Yeeea it feels good to my baby.”

“Oh Bast. Y/n your driving me crazy.” She whispered. You continue to place kisses to her neck while fondling her breast and playing with her Pussy. Her legs fall open wider and you feel her clit throbbing in her panties. “Tell me how you feel?”

“Sss-so-so good. Mm please.”

“Please what mama? Tell me what you want.”

“M-more. I need more.” Removing your hand from her center you instruct her to remove her panties. Once removed she sat back between your legs placing her hands back around your neck. You drag your middle finger through the center of her lips. “Mmm you’re so fucking wet for me. This all for me?” You pressed into her clit and began rubbing in circles. “YES!! Yes its all for you!” Her arms tightened around your neck. As you continued your ministrations. Rubbing faster as her hips bucked up against your hand. Her curls tickled your ear as her head leaned against yours. You watched the sweat began to build and glisten against her abs as they contracted with her every movement. She was powerful even under your control. You groaned at the sight. “Bast I can’t wait to put those sexy ass legs over my shoulders. To be deep inside this pretty pussy you’ve been hiding away. You ready for that? Huh baby?”

“Uuuhhh huh” She moaned so pretty your eyes rolled back. “Sound so good.” You whisper against her ear. You go faster and so does she. Her muscular thighs contracting. “You gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes sthandwa! I’m gonna cum!” 

“Let it go pretty.” Her body began to tremble in your arms and her ass lifted completely off of the bed. As she let out a yelp. “Yeeaaa. Gooood girlll. Your doing so good for me pretty girl.” Her body went limp against yours as she came down from her. You remove your fingers from her core bringing them up to your lips sucking away her juices. “I always new you’d taste good as fuck. Can I taste some more?” Shuri looked up at you. Eyes blown and in love. She pulled you down into her, kissing you passionately. You move from behind her and inbetween her legs reattaching yourself to her mouth and laying her back gently. You try to move down her body but she locks her legs and arms around you pressing you against her and deepening the kiss. Laughing against her mouth you pull back.

“I love you y/n” you smile and peck her lips. “If you let me go I can show you how much more I love you.”  

You continue your way down her body. Finally taking one of her taught nipples into you mouth. Squeezing her pretty thighs as you take turns with each nipple. Kissing down her stomach and taking your time at her navel. You skip over her center sitting up and lifting both of her legs. “These drive me crazy.” You kiss your way down her legs. Ankles. Calves. Thighs.  Until you make it to the prize. “My God she’s beautiful. Hey pretty girl.” You place a kiss to her lips and then lick one long stripe through her folds. You give a couple more licks before you take hold of her clit sucking and releasing it with a pop. 

“Oh my Bast! I-I uuhh that feels so good sthandwa don’t stop!” Knowing you were bringing those sounds out of her made you want to give her everything. You push her legs back against her chest kissing, sucking, and licking. Her scent putting you in a trance. You could live between her thighs. You massaged her folds with your mouth, slipping your tongue just inside her pussy. Shuri lifted her hips from the sensation, begging you for more. Your tongue moved in and out of her slit. Your mouth traveled upwards flicking your tongue over her clit. Shuri felt something slender penetrate her aching pussy. Looking between her glistening spread legs she saw your tongue lapping her erect tip as your fingers slipped inside. “Uuuhh you’re fucking me so good!” You started pumping slow and steady as you continued savoring her clit.

Shuri could feel another climax drawing near from the intense sensations running through her body. Closing her eyes she listened to the suckling sounds humming across her sex. Her cries of pleasure echoing through the air with every lick. Grabbing her breasts she massaged the way you’d done earlier, taking her nipples and tugging softly. Slipping from her pussy, you took the tip of your finger and began caressing her pearl. Shuri gasped as you slowly massaged warm cream over the sensitive flesh. Her heart was beating faster as she braced herself for her orgasm. And then you pulled away. A frustrated huff left her mouth. “Patience pretty girl.” You finally slip your teddy off of your shoulders. Pulling it off your body. Allowing it to join Shuri’s clothes on the floor. 

You squat overtop of her placing your pussy directly onto hers. She squirmed underneath you. Reaching down to grab your ass. “Is this good?”

“Y-yes. P-please just fuck me!” You lift her leg that was infront of you placing it on your shoulder as leaned down towards her bringing her leg with you. “Gladly” You began moving your hips. Already on the cusp of your orgasam from listening to and watching Shuri. “Don’t run from me ever again. I-I wanna make you feel like this for the rest of my life.” 

“I woooonnnt baby! I won’t! I-I’m not going anywhere! Keep fucking me like that! I’m gonna CUM!!” Her back went into a deep arch as she threw her head back. Tears leaking down the sides of her face. You take the opportunity to latch on to her sexy sweaty neck. “Uuhnn I’m cumming with you baby.” Her hand squeezed tighter on your ass as you felt a gush of liquid against your pussy immediately knocking down your orgasam as well.

“Zakho ezilungileyo! Nguwe ongcono kakhulu!!” (You’re the best. You’re the fucking best.)  

“Fuuuck Shuri! Your pussy’s so fucking good! So good. So fucking good.” You kept repeating against her mouthas you continued moving still cumming while she whimpered beneath you. 

Coming down from your highs you collapsed on top of her sweaty body as she immediately captured your lips again. “You really got to be a pillow princess tonight. How does is feel almighty panther?” You asked once she released her hold on you. “It feels like you’re going to be putting a lot of work in through out the years.” You both laugh as you lay your head onto Shuri’s chest as she wrapped her arms around you as you wrapped yourself around her body gently stroking her side. Her fingers immediately find your scalp again. Your bun was long gone.

“Shuri?”

“Yea?”

“Do you think we’ve always been in love.” 

“Probably”

“Who do you think fell first?” Shuri laughs.

“Obviously you!” You gasp! “That’s not fair!” You laugh along with her knowing it was possibly true.

“No. Honestly I feel as though we walked onto that cliff hand and hand and fell together.”

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[margowritesthings]

THE MEANING OF THE SCAR

a RDR2 x Black Badge crossover

pairing: N/A for this chapter, will eventually be Arthur Morgan x reader word count: 2650 words warnings: spoilers for RDR2 ending, violence, Micah Bell, explicit language, major character death and subsequent resurrection, brief mentions of domestic violence YOU DONT NEED TO HAVE READ THE BLACK BADGE TO UNDERSTAND THIS SERIES, EVERYTHING IS EXPLAINED DURING THE STORY authors note: What's that, you say? You want a RDR x Black Badge crossover?? No??? WELL IM DOIN IT ANYWAY

The series that no one asked for tbh. If you haven't heard of the Black Badge, it's a wonderful series of books by Rhett C Bruno and Jamie Castle, where the audiobooks are narrated by Roger Clarke. This series puts Arthur in the shoes of the protagonist, who is doomed to hunt the supernatural to pay off his karmic debts. The prologue explains it a little better, so sit back and enjoy! There will be romance, there will be monsters, what more could you ask for?

BLACK BADGE ORIGNAL SERIES

PROLOGUE

I have seen so many incredible things. 

Living on the land for as long as I have, you tend to. I’ve camped under the most breathtaking sunrises, that big orange orb scattering unimaginable colours over our poor souls as it creeps over the horizon. I've seen nature at its finest: baby deer learning to walk, wolves running together in tight packs not unlike us outlaws, even saw a little chick hatching once. Beautiful women from all around batting their long lashes at me, not even all of them because I was a prospective customer. I’ve been a lucky man, to have experienced so many sights.

Never did I think that the last thing I saw living on this Earth would be Micah Bell’s goddamn ugly mug.

The barrel of his gun was shaking in his tight grip, and I used the absolute last of my strength to keep my head up and look right down it. 

“You’re not better than me, Morgan.”

Never claimed to be, but if I had more time, I might have argued it, the rat. But that was the thing… I didn’t have more time. I could tell, the simple act of breathing was becoming just too much. I might have gotten a few more days, if Micah hadn’t just knocked the seven bells of shit out of me and the last few days had been a little calmer, but such is life. Such is death, I should say. 

After a wheezed cough was pushed out of me, I still managed to get one last jab in, as laboured and choked out as it was, 

“Whatever you say, you fool.”

Everything hurt, and I could hear the clock ticking my final seconds out as Micah’s finger trembled on the trigger. He was mad, I could see the fury spreading across his face as he registered what I was choosing to do with my final words. 

Maybe it was supposed to be the time for prayers, the time to have my life flash before my eyes while I count my regrets and mourn the things that will never happen, but there’d been enough of that ever since that doc told me my days were numbered. I hadn’t lived a good life, I wasn’t a good man, but I got some peace knowing my final hours were spent getting Marston and his family out safe, making sure Milton didn’t, and insulting the gang’s little pet rodent. If I had any regrets in that moment, they would only be that I didn’t manage any more permanent damage to Micah’s ugly ass mug before he got me. Actually, I might’ve wanted to die at dawn, to see one last sunrise, but mostly the Micah thing. 

“Damn you…” he spat, the glow of the moon casting the most horrendous shadows from his twisted expression. 

“Damn us both!” 

And that was it. 

A shot,

and it was all over. 

No sunrise, no grand redemption in the last few minutes of my damned life…

Just me, the moon, and goddamned Micah Bell. 

═══════☆═══════

I never expected I’d get into Heaven, but I never thought it’d be so goddamn dark down here in Hell.

I stirred as if waking up from a fitful sleep filled with nightmares involving Micah shooting me in the face, and even though my eyelids flew open, there was no light to speak of. There was a crushing weight on my chest, and a burning behind my right eye. What felt like dirt fell into my face with each little movement, and suddenly it all fit together, forming a terrifying reality of my predicament. 

It wasn’t a dream. Micah fuckin’ Bell had shot me. Tuberculosis ran ragged through my veins and filled my lungs, I’d been captured, hung in an O’Driscoll camp and tortured for information, hell, I’d been shipped off to goddamn Guarma with nothing but the shirt of my back… and in the end the sorry sight to end my story was a rat with a revolver. 

The dirt fell in my eyes relentlessly, so much so I had to close them again. It wasn’t like they were being much use anyway, what with me being buried alive and all. Moving my limbs was hard, but not impossible, I found, giving me hope that I wasn’t too far down in the ground. I never thought I’d hope for a shallow grave, but then again I couldn’t have predicted waking up in one either. None of it made much sense, but I reckoned it’d probably be best if I got back out into open air before figuring out why I couldn’t feel my toes, why breathing felt so strange and unnecessary, or how I’d survived a gunshot to the head. 

I started with small movements, flexing my numbed fingers in and out until there was enough room to ball them into fists. I would have shouted for help, if I could, but I knew all I’ll get from it is a mouthful of dirt. I’d have to do this alone, it would seem. 

The movement spread from fists to arms, the dirt starting to mould around me until it didn’t feel so crushing anymore, and I was soon clawing upwards. I dared to squint one eye open, finding small holes of light poked through the blanket of nothingness like stars. I felt triumphant when I reached upwards into open air, but it was short lived when I failed to feel the wind or the breeze or the sun or anything to let me know this wasn’t all some death dream. 

I pressed on, scraping at the skies until big patches of the Earth fell apart around my body and I could pull myself out of my grave. The sun beat so brightly that I couldn’t help but continue to squint, trying to make out my surroundings. It was dawn, ironically. I always assumed Hell’s skies would hold a lot more fire in them, but the blue hues and yellow rays were anything but hellish. They were beautiful, a sight I was sure I’d never see again. 

After my eyes adjusted, I made out the tombstone standing above my grave, a handcrafted wooden cross with my name scratched into the centre. Folk aren’t usually lucky enough (or unlucky enough, I hadn’t yet decided) to see their own graves, and yet here I was. Why? Was this truly Hell, looking over the sunrise while I was damned to sit by my own grave and wait for no-one to mourn me? 

‘Blessed Are Those Who Mourn, For They Will Be Comforted’

It was my epitaph, carved into the circle surrounding my name. I hoped it was true. I didn’t know how long I’d been buried, but I didn’t want anyone sitting around crying over me. I hoped I’d done enough, in those last few hours, and that the ones I loved, whoever was left of them, anyway, made it out okay. 

I pushed myself up out of the grave, dusting off the mud that clung to me and standing straight despite the complaints of my aching back. I looked over the hill, over what looked an awful lot like Ambarino. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it? I tell you, that friend of yours picked a good spot. Shame you’ll get no rest here.” 

I froze, my spine straightening on instinct as the voice behind me confirmed that I was in fact in Hell. Even after looking Death in the face and calling him a fool, it still took me a moment to turn and face my father. 

I expected anger to course through my veins, for my fists to ball and fury to burn over my skin the first time I saw him after all these years, but it didn’t. I looked my Daddy straight in his cold, dead eyes, and nodded to him. He did the same.

“Pa?” 

“Fraid so.” 

I was almost too dumbfounded to realise what he was sitting on. Who he was sitting on, I should say. Boadicea stood as tall and as beautiful as that last day we spent together in Blackwater. The sight could have taken my breath away, if I had any. 

I wanted to step closer, to pat my girl on the neck and feel to make sure she was really there, but I wasn’t ready to move just yet. 

“What… What the hells goin’ on?” 

Daddy dearest chuckled, probably at my ironic choice of wording, and Boadicea stomped a foot on the ground. Despite everything, all I wanted to do was to get Lyle Morgan off my horse, but there’d be time for it. 

“You’re dead, son. Nasty shot to the head, though you put up a good fight.” He said it like he was recounting the most mundane story ever told, not breaking the news that his only son had died. I considered his words, finding a strange peace with them all.

“...This Hell?” It had to be, right? There’s no other way he could be here, not with the way he treated me and Ma. I dreaded to think what Boadicea could have done to deserve an afterlife with him, but it made more sense than both of us fools being let into the pearly gates upstairs everyone always goes on about. 

Pa chuckled again, clearly finding my demise much more casual news than I, “To some, but not in the way you’re thinkin’ of it. I’ve got some bad news, boy.” 

“Worse than my death?” It was annoying me, how elusive and blasé he was being about everything, dragging this out for longer than he needed while holding the cards right up close to his chest. He knew what was going on, and yet there he was, sitting on Boadicea like he owned whatever goddamn realm we were in. Surely this was Hell, having this conversation with the man who beat me into who I am today. Who I was, before karma caught up with me and shot me in the face. 

“Depends on how much you were lookin’ forward to it.”

My teeth ground together as the frustration at his evasiveness built. He must’ve sensed it, as he dismounted Boadicea and patted her on the neck.  It threw me more than it should, watching the man I’d left long behind me interacting with my beloved Boa. 

He stood just as tall as the day I watched him hang, the only difference being a nasty scar that wound around his neck and made me dread to think what I might look like. It was like looking at a ghost. Well, I guess I was looking at a ghost. 

“You’re still here, Arthur. On Earth. Seems you did just enough good there in the end that they didn’t know what to do with you. Too bad to make it to the upstairs, too good to burn in Hell… for now.”

“Earth? But… I’m… we’re-“

“Dead? Yeah. But you’re stuck here, doin’ their bidding.” 

He was running his fingers over Boadicea’s mane, and she shook her head in response. She seemed like she wanted his hands off her as much as I did, but I had to find out what was going on first. 

“Bidding? Who’s bidding? Can you just be straight with me for one damn minute-“

“Patience, boy.” He snapped, bringing out one of Boadicea’s signature annoyed huffs, “The White Throne’s bidding. You’re theirs now. You do as they say, or you end up in a far worse position than you’re in now.”

I felt like I needed to sit down, but unless I was going to climb back in that grave, there was nowhere to rest. 

“I… I don’t understand.”

Lyle sighed, turning fully towards me and hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

“The White Throne have chosen you to be a Black Badge, Arthur. You’re not alive, nor are you fully dead. You work for them until they decide they’re done with you, and then…” 

“And then?”

“Well… I ain’t sure, truth be told, boy. I never got as far as you, I’m just here to pass the message on.”

None of it made any sense, and I had no idea who this White Throne was. Dad didn’t seem to have the answers, nor did he seem inclined to give them to me even if he did. It was then I noticed that my heart should be pounding out of my chest. Instead, it felt hollow, the anxiety of my situation bouncing around an empty can of nothing. 

So this was really happening…

“They’ll call on you when they need you with this,” he turned, rummaging through Boadicea’s saddle bag and handing me a journal. It looked exactly like the one I gave to Marston just before I died, the one I collected my thoughts and sketches in, only when I flicked through the pages, they were all blank. 

“Keep an eye on it, it’ll tell you what you need to do, who to look for, or where to go.”

“What am I, a goddamn undead bounty hunter?” 

He laughed, a proper hearty laugh that would’ve made my skin crawl had I not been so occupied with the confusion of it all. 

“You could say that. But you’re not just after anyone, they’ll send you off to the supernatural stuff. Vampires, werewolves, demons, that sort. You’ll get the hang of it.”

I was so stuck on the whole supernatural thing that I hardly noticed him step towards me, slapping a hand onto my shoulder. I froze, but not because my father had touched me for the first time in decades, but because I couldn’t feel a damn thing.

He must’ve seen the shock on my face, cause his brows pulled together in a pitiful look, “Ah, yeah… there’s some side effects to death, son. But I’m sure you’ll figure that one out.” 

‘Side effects’ was a light way of putting it. I’d later find out that we unlucky few in the Black Badge have a fair few impediments. I can’t feel. Not the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the touch of another, not even the burn of a good whiskey. I don’t feel pain, which can be helpful at times I guess. I can’t taste anything, either. It’s a unique punishment, to be stuck walking the earth but not really living, having no access to those simple pleasures in life like a stiff drink or the touch of a pretty lady. If I’d have known what was waiting for me at the end of all this, well… maybe I’d have made some different choices. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” 

I glanced to my shoulder, finding Dad’s hand still there. He must’ve sensed my discomfort, removing his touch- or lack thereof- from me. 

“You’ll get the hang of it, son.” 

If I weren’t so preoccupied with my new lot in life (or death, I should say), now would have been the perfect time to confront the man who stood beside me. Ask him why he did what he did, get some answers for every question my teenage self tortured himself with while he wandered the streets for somewhere to stay for the night. But when I turned, he was gone, without a single trace to suggest he was ever there in the first place. Seems I’d gotten all the information out of him I was entitled to. 

That left me and Boadicea, standing beside an empty grave I wasn’t sure anyone would have visited anyway. 

I sighed, finally stepping towards her and patting her neck in that spot she always loved. 

“Well girl, guess this is it for a while…” 

I looked down to the journal in my hand, just in time to see inky black writing appear on the page as if bleeding through the realms.

‘Welcome to the Black Badge, Arthur Morgan.’

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redepmtion 2 #black badge #roger clarke #tmots

[violettduchess]

Heyy can i please request clavis x fem reader with the prompt nightmare?

A/N: And we're back to angst. Hi @aceuuuuu here you go! I hope you like it 💜Thank you for the request!

Clavis x f! reader

Word Count: circa 1600

Sleep found you easily that night, rocking you in its arms until you fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. What dreams found you were pleasant, drifting in and out of your mind like iridescent bubbles following a light breeze. At the moment, your mind has taken you to a far-away beach. White sand is warm under your bare feet. The salty air tickles your nose. The gentle lapping of the waves soothes your body as you sink slowly into the deeper, darker parts of sleep.......except there, off in the distance, something is pulling at the threads of your peaceful dreaming. You try to ignore it but it is insistent. A tugging at your sleeve. A knocking at a door. A chime that won’t stop ringing. The beach fades away, despite your desperate desire to stay in that warm, safe place. The tugging is more insistent. The knocking grows louder. The chiming fills your mind until you are jerked completely out of sleep’s embrace......to the fitful sounds of your lover in crisis.

Clavis Lelouch

When royalty marries, there are no limits. The already beautiful palace is transformed into something out of a dream: soft, romantic garlands made from only the most perfectly formed pink and white roses are hung from every archway. White drapery, sheer as a fairy’s wings and just as delicate, bedeck the walls. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom, now full of plush, navy blue and gold chairs for its guests. The ornate walls with their silken tapestries are illuminated by hundreds of white taper candles. The nobility is dressed in its very finest, a sea of sumptuous satin, soft velvet, and glittering jewels. Clavis spots the dark, hunter green of Jade. The stormy black of Obsidian. The sea blue of Benitoite. And even more exotic gems and nobles: the sunset orange of Tanzanite. The deep, cobalt blue of Ionite. The world has gathered to witness this event.

Chevalier stands under the arched trellis covered in blood-red roses. He is resplendent in crisp white and blue. His sword hangs at his side, but it will go thirsty today. It is there in an ornamental nature only. His expression is neutral. One who does not know him might even say he looks bored. But Clavis notices the way his white-gloved fingers clench and unclench, minute movements lost on the crowd. He also notes the quick, subtle glances at the ornate double-doors. 

And when those doors finally open, when the figure adorned in swathes of white silk and that heavily embroidered floral veil steps through and into the ballroom, he notices how Chevalier’s shoulders straighten even more. His hawk-like attention is solely focused on the woman in white gliding towards him. Some of the nobility holds its breath, some sigh at the romance of it all. But with each step she takes, Clavis feels his stomach twist. Could it be.....No.....you said you loved him. It can’t be....

She arrives at Chevalier’s side, taking his arm. That scent, the familiar mixture of lavender and roses, hits Clavis’s nose and nausea blossoms within his stomach. No. It can’t be. No. The wedding officiant speaks, unaware of the storm tearing through him, the wild winds of despair and disbelief ripping his rice-paper heart to shreds as Chevalier slowly lifts the opaque veil to reveal YOU. Your beloved face, flushed pink with pleasure, your bright eyes full of stars because they are fixed on him. Your smile, the Northern star guiding him to your boundless well of love and acceptance and desire. His hands take yours in his, his thumbs running lightly over your bare skin. 

The officiant’s words have no shape, no coherent form. Clavis barely registers what is being said as his brother’s face takes on a foreign softness, his head tilting down to gaze into the springtime of your smile. You continue to beam up at the king. Nausea overwhelms the third prince as the remains of his heart are tempest-tossed within his heaving chest. 

Music, discordant and jarring, begins playing as Chevalier leans down and you lean up and time seems to accelerate, everything rushing forward at breakneck speed: You are wrapping your arms around his neck and he’s pulling you against his body and your mouths are pressed together, opening and closing passionately as you kiss each other hungrily and his hands slide down, pulling you harder against him and you are gasping and eager and ready and not at all bothered that you are in front of a crowd that cheers and hollers and claps as if it is normal for the groom to begin ravishing his bride right then and there, his hands impatiently pulling on your dress to your excited, encouraging gasps, his mouth leaving a trail of rose-colored kisses as it travels down your neck, down your collarbones, down to the neckline of your dress which is falling with each passing second—

“Clavis....Clavis!” You repeat his name, hands on his shoulders to keep him from thrashing any further. You try his name one more time, this time louder than before, worry surpassing the concern of being too loud in the quiet of the midnight hour. His eyes fly open, his breath ragged as he adjusts from the shock of his dreams to the reality of your bedroom, enveloped in night’s shadows. You wait, your hands still on his shoulders, anchoring him. He blinks and then pulls away from you, rising and stumbling from your bed. His name is a question whispered to the dark but he does not answer. He makes his way to one of the large windows, reaching over and then flings it open, allowing in a burst of cool air. It is a balm to his overheated skin, to the wild drumming of his heart which feels like it may burst from his chest if he does not manage to claim a few steady lungsful of air.

Frowning, you reach for your dressing gown, wrapping the soft lavender velvet around yourself before walking over to where he is standing, bracing himself on the window sill. “Clavis?” Your voice sounds small even to your own ears. “Are you ok?” His eyes are closed. He’s breathing slowly. Normally he would turn, paint a smile on his face and ask why ever would you be concerned about someone as clever as him? But not this time. He is shaken. His hands tremble as they push his soft hair, damp with sweat, out of his face. You watch the muscles of his abdomen rise and fall with each tremulous breath, the play of soft moonlight over his skin, the way it adds a silvery sheen to his midnight hair. It feels like it is caressing him too, trying to comfort the man you love as much as you want to.

Finally his eyes open, seeking out the night sky. He has not turned to look at you yet. When he speaks, his voice sounds tight, as if there is an invisible hand wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing. “You.....want this, right? Us?” The shock of his words stings, as if you have been slapped without a moment to brace yourself. Your feet are carrying you toward him before you can think about it. You reach out, taking his hands and turn him away from the window and towards you. Your grip is firm, forcing his mind to focus on it. On you. “Why would you even ask me that?” Shadows have chased the light from his eyes and your heart sinks as he lowers his gaze. He looks ashamed. He looks scared. “I dreamt.....you married the king.” He doesn’t need to say his name. Or what the weight of that kind of dream would have, and the way it would crush his heart.

You swallow hard against the instinct to say that that would never happen. That it was only a dream. Instead you gently use your grip on him to pull him closer. You release his hands only because yours slide around his waist, palms coming to rest against the small of his back. Your head is tilted up to look at him, refusing to look away until he finally meets your gaze.

“Where am I?” you ask quietly. He seems rather caught off guard, but even in his darkest moments, an intriguing question manages to snag his attention. “Your room,” he answers slowly. You nod encouragingly. “What time is it?” He now glances at the small wooden clock on your desk. “Half past one.” Again you nod, adjusting your embrace so that you can step even closer. “And who is in my arms?” He meets your gaze, his brilliant eyes so beautiful even in shadow. “I am,” he whispers. You nod once more. “That’s right. You are. You and only you. Right now. And ever more.” 

There is sunrise in his gaze, a light slowly returning as your words sink in, soothing the scratches across his heart, calming its panicked beat. Your hands slide over the bare skin of his back, warm and comforting and tender. Your gaze never leaves him. You hold him there, physically with your arms, emotionally with the echo of your words, the open love in your soft expression. Time is suspended, the space between the twinkle of stars, and then he leans down, gathering you against him, hoarsely whispering your name before he kisses you. You yield to his roughness, his urgency, your body curving into his, your lips parting. Anything he needs, he can take from you. You would give him the very breath from your lungs, the beat of your heart, if he asked for it. 

Anything, you think as you stumble with him back toward the bed, locked in his impassioned, desperate embrace, anything for the man you love.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #angst #nightmare #comfort #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #broken heartstrings #violettwrites

[sofoulandfairaday]

My black sisters early headcannons

I agree with you about narcissa not being soft, I mean if she was she probably would be miserable for the whole of the series and shes not, and the redeeming factor for the malfoys is that they all love each other very much. She and lucius got together in her fifth year. And got married straight after she finished school. She had however had pregnancy problems, so they were overjoyd when draco was born. Narcissa was made prefect but not head girl. Of the sisters she was the least interested in school but she did do enough to get good grades in all her classes.

With Andromeda i think she actually loves all the pureblood functions like the balls and the rest. But most the fics ive read has her hating them. And that not being able to take part in the high society was the worst part of running away for her. I think she was as prejudiced as the other 2 when starting school. And my headcanon is that she and ted got paired for a class very early on and he just decided he wanted to be her friend and he just did not let up. Snatching small conversations and giving small gifts. It took years for this to actually work and andromeda to decide she wanted to be friends. And that and only that made her slowly change her mindset. After the 2 war i could see her and narcissa write letters to each other but i also cant see either of them writing first. And its not like andromeda would attended bellas funeral. I also think of the sisters she and bella were the ones who were the closest. I think bellatrix wedding was the last event she attended. And the fact that after this bellatrix was very busy made it easier to run away. I also headcanon her as the best spellcaster of the three but that after the 1st war she does not keep training. I also think the reason she wasnt more involved in the order because she doesnt want to fight her former friends and family.(opposite i think to sirius who i think found Joy in it).

As for bellatrix she is the one i think who enjoys balls the least but she still thinks they are somewhat fun, she leaves as soon as socially acceptable to do other fun "afterparty" things. By the time she started school she had decided who her friends were and those were her friends for all 7 years. She also really enjoys learning and was the most studious. She took as many classes o.w.l.s and n.e.w.t.s as possible and excelled in all. She could have been both prefect and head girl but made sure ahead of time she was not interested because it would cut into study time. Not that school classes was the only thing she studied. Due to being and excellent student and some charm and high standing she got to read any book she wanted from the forbidden section of the library. She always asked with a good and untrue excuse. She was far from kind to muggleborns but she was not a bully in school. Only hexing those who annoyed her or slighted her some other way. She actually found it boring and did always had an air of "can you get done soon" when her friends were bullying. Bellatrix found however out that she liked inflicting pain the first time she did it, this was at the very end of school though so she didnt terrorize the school. As soon as she was out of school she travelled to learn more. Around her 20 birthday her parents started bugging her about marriage because she had never shown any interest in romance. She after a bit of this went to rodolphus and said lets get married in which he responded wathever you want(I think he is in love with her but knows she doesnt love him and therefore dont expect anything and they are best friends). He proposed the next day at a garden party with the finest and most expensive of rings. Though there had been talk with and about voldemort in her friendgroup. Bellatrix first met voldemort at her wedding(I really like this headcanon). They immediatly got along well because Bellatrix had gotten lightly into dark magic and wanted to learn more and voldemort really liked how much interest she showed esp coupled with that she is very powerful.

Hi, anon! Oh, gosh, thank you so much for this ask - I agree with so many of these, almost all of them! They're so perfect.

Yes to Lucius and Cissy being together since Hogwarts, yes to her being Prefect but not Head Girl, super-duper yes to Narcissa with pregnancy problems. I have a very specific headcanon in mind for this. I think they had several miscarriages (Bella had at least one too; difficulties with conceiving children is something I envision for all the women of the Black Family, which may also be due to the fact that they all select their spouses from a very small pool) and they finally managed to conceive with Severus' help, using some sort of potion and very later on (if Cissy is done with school around 1972-73, why did her and Lucius only have Draco in 1980? It's not like she was involved in the fighting...)

I also agree that Andromeda was quite different from Sirius and her leaving her sisters was much less of a nuanced political position (I see her as someone with many biases and a lot of unlearning to do- never mind the fact that she also doesn't want her daughter to marry Remus because he's a werewolf). I think she loved her family - sisters, parents, cousins - and partly her world (balls, fancy restaurants and holidays...) I can see her having a difficult time letting go. Her abandonment of her family is something that's much more selfish than we think: she liked Ted, and her family said she couldn't have him, so she took him anyways. My problem with her is that I can never seem to write her the way I want to. I can't seem to get her voice right.

Yes to Bella's wedding being the last event she ever attended (something Narcissa would always be resentful of).

Sirius is someone with a very black-and-white morality (ironically, the same as Bella), while Andromeda isn't in my opinion. And I can see her being conflicted over her position in the war, even willing to forgive her sisters until Tonks' death, of course. Yes to neither Andy nor Cissy being able to bring themselves to write first after the second war. And yes to Andromeda not being there for Bellatrix's funeral. She might have gone, even after Sirius, if it weren't for Nymphadora. I just can't see her forgiving Bella for that.

Yes to Bella being the most studious, and the best in school. Yes to her having a small group of friends. I can see her being Prefect and Head Girl, but I can also see the opposite - her not being given it/refusing it not on the basis of grades but temperament/free time/other injustices etc. Yes to Rodolphus being in love with her and them having a good relationship, yes to her choosing him personally. I headcanon that she meets Voldemort at her engagement party! (At least in the story I'm writing, but I am very flexible on this- it's not the when it's the how for me.) Yes to her being a natural sadist, not that much of a bully in school, but definitely respected. Maybe she partook in her free time.

It's a happy headcanon for her to have travelled after school. I definitely think she wanted to, but in my head, her parents had always refused it, saying that it wasn't proper for a young witch like her to travel the world without a chaperone. It also fuels, for me, her need for adventure as a young woman. I do like it though (I tend to make everything tragic; I don't know if you've noticed but I love angst!)

Yes yes yes to her seeing Voldemort as more than a political figure but as a mentor, a teacher, and him choosing her above all else to make her his pupil.

#bellatrix lestrange #andromeda tonks #narcissa malfoy #ted tonks #lucius malfoy #rodolphus lestrange #lord voldemort #headcanons #hp headcanons #asks #answered

[vvh0adie]

ngl chaeok from gyeongseong creature should be in a sapphic relationship (maybe bisexual poly?)

ugh idk (stick with me)

maybe i would feel different if her love story wasn’t unfolded in the course of three episodes

like that’s all it took for them to fall in love?

is it the demisexual/romantic in me? cuz i feel like to should have been slower😭

i say this because on the surface level her archetype is just a butch lesbian (i don’t think that’s a good thing cuz there’s obviously more complexity to butch/studs)

it felt forced but the writers had to force shit for a miniseries

but i was also thinking of those times when she was more fem presenting in terms of clothing and she seemed comfortable

so then i’m like could it be that since she had such a hard ass life she wasn’t afforded that? cuz when you take that into consideration that’s a common thing with WOC when faced with colonialism

in order to not fit in with the status quo and do revolutionary work she is stripped of that by design cuz she and her father could have very well decided that the missing people where pointless and became somebody like taesang

they had become dirty sleuths which in a way proves the japanese ill conceived notions about koreans “right” but it also gives koreans an upper hand because if someone already expects something of you then you have nothing to loses. you are free from respectability politics and that makes wanting freedoms much more valuable to you

cuz take taesang, although korean, he tried to assimilate and this man was really worried about losing material things at first instead of not having his freedom because he was so caught up in appearances. “if they think i’m one of them, they won’t hurt me.” WRONG. THE JAPANESE HURT EACH OTHER POOKIE😭

but i will say that doesn’t negate his trauma. he was trying to survive by playing capitalism’s game when it wasn’t designed for him. hell its not even in the japanese best interest either.

do yall see how much chaeok and jungwon kept putting their lives at risks? they did not give two fucks. it’s either freedom or die trying.

so like before she was a sleuthy butch, a lot of her flashbacks are her in traditional hanbok but also she never comments on not feeling uncomfortable in her baby blue pants suit when they infiltrate the hospital.

had they flushed out her character more in that regard, that would have actually made a conversation with taesang about

“do you not enjoy nice things?”

“yeah, but i would have preferred the suit.”

cuz let’s be honest, i was not feeling the love radiate off taesang until he was crying over her dead body. like yeah he saved her a couple times.

but also the whole hand holding thing😭 SHE DID NOT INITIATE AT ALL and had that man sweating about if he should hold her hand. I THOUGHT YALL WAS IN LOVE. YOU CANT EVEN HOLD A BITCH HAND. WE ARE AT THE FINAL HOUR!!!

but back to chaeok. her father made taesang promise to take care of her and provide a life that wasn’t sleuthing. basically he said “give my daughter a soft life.”

we can’t deny that taesang is a traditional man. he would have her dressed in the finest clothes. she would not have to walk around like a hard ass man anymore.

but i’m stuck at a cross roads where i’m like i see the potential for her to be butch but also keep femme. and i also see potential for her to have something meaningful with taesang but also a woman

in black culture we have stems (stud + femme) so that’s how i imagine her

but really none of this matters because honestly i don’t even think there should have been romance in this at all or at least not as heavily. (the ending pissed me off, they just opened the tropes chest and grabbed shit)

i wonder why they felt nobody would want to watch the show without a romance. it’s a historical fiction with so much history, it could have done without.

#preacha plym #lol just some thoughts #spoilers #!!!

[cielelyse]

My favourite dynamic slash misguided summary of some ships I've been into, which is in no way true or all-encompassing:

Phil Coulson/Clint Barton

"I am repressing my desires for you because being a composed, well-respected, badass g-man means I have to abide by fraternization regs," says Phil, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, "and also because I think your affections are misplaced."

"That's a condescending thing to say, sir, even for our age gap." Clint grins. "Can I blow shit up? Jump off those buildings? Maybe if I put myself through danger, I can forget all about my pathetic puppy pining."

"That tends to make me terrified of losing you," says Phil, "and then I'd have to do something about our situation."

"Huh," says Clint, "well then."

They end up fucking six ways from Sunday and ruining Coulson's suits with unspeakable bodily fluids. There is a lot of Aww, shirt, no during the whole thing.

Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru

"See, I think our appeal is that we are powerful, attractive, tragic, obnoxious idiots, and one of us is dead," says Gojo cheerfully. “Plus, there’s a good dose of the found family trope! We don't often get a couple who separated and then simultaneously went into parenting."

"Yes," says Getou, "what an all-inclusive package deal."

"Also whoa, is that your 'I'm so fondly tired of him' look?" says Gojo, once again eating like diabetes is a mere Greek word instead of a chronic disease. "You've been giving me those looks ever since we became quote-unquote friends, Suguru, and hey, if ‘fondly tired of' means ‘want to bone’, then the sentiment is returned."

"I wish I was fully dead, so I can have some peace," Getou sighs. "At this point I'm not even sure if you'll be alive for long."

That, somehow, makes their romance that much more fun.

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

"I am so broken inside," says Remus.

“Same, but in a different way,” says Sirius.

It actually ends up working out really well for them. Until the ill-judged betrayal, that is.

Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish

"Why do people think I'm the mean, rugged, dangerous one when you're the one who's literally killed a man?" says Ronan. "This is stereotyping at its finest."

"Will you just shut up and fuck me," grumbles Adam.

That, as does most of Adam's plans, seems hella solid.

Guren Ichinose/Shinya Hiragi

“I love you,” says Shinya.

"I love you, too," says Guren — except instead of actually saying it like a normal person, he expresses his affections by annihilating 80% of the population and full-on triggering the apocalypse. Somewhere out there, Eren Jaeger is proud.

.

#today's exhausting adventures (?) have fried my brain too much to read and so here i am #frying it some more #phlint #satosugu #wolfstar #pynch #gureshin #i'm just deriving amusement from taking jabs at pairings i like sorry guys

[iexcistoutofspite]

MCR ALBUM REVIEWS - by silly little mentally ill autistic <3

I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love

Overall sound:

10000000000000/10 literally the best one ever I will never listen to a better album in my life I live breather eat drink and sleep this album

Lyrics:

100000000/10 the masterpiece omg I love it so so much the lyrics have such great meaning and it's just so pretty and well written omg I need to grind it into a powder and snort it

Instrumental:

1000000000/10 again, it's a fucking masterpiece, thry all slayed so hard, the guitar solos, the bass lined and drums I love it all

Nostalgia value:

it hits so hard omg

Personal:

I. am. OBSESSED. I love this album so bad I need it injected into my bones

Fav trac(s):

Honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us, Vampires will never hurt you, Drowning lessons, early sunsets over monroeville, demolition lovers

Skips:

no skips ♡

Listening notes:

- romance is an interlude

- I want to eat it

- bullets era my beloved

- I'm a depressed vampire who hides inside his burrow and drinks rats blood

Review:

MCR THANK YOU FOR THAT MASTERPIECE

I love every. singe. part of it. it's literally injected into my brain, I could listen to if for ours without end the best album I ever heard. I would pay MILLIONS to hear it for the 1st time once again. magical feeling. I'm turning into a homoerotic vampire every single time I hear it. I love it so much I could only listen to it for the rest of my life and never complain. I do however miss feeling happiness but who cares why you have ibymbybmyl. ♡

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

Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Overall sound:

9/10 I love it

Lyrics:

100/10 another masterpiece it's so good it hurts

Instrumental:

100000/10 they all slayed once again

Nostalgia value:

I have so many memories good and bad

Personal:

my 2nd fav album. I love it so much, the STORY the lyrics and sound all of it comes together and creates a masterpiece

Fav trac(s):

To the End, You know what they do to guy like us in prison, the Ghost of you, the jetset lives is gonna kill, I never told you what I do for living

Skips:

I'm Not Okay (I promise) but only sometimes

Listening notes:

- the story omg

- THE LORE I LOVE LORE OMGGG

- good for drawing and painting

- rip grandma

- I'm literally the demo man

- relationship goals

Review:

just so much good stuff in it omg, I love it. I could listen to it for hours, drinking coffe and listening to it omg a dream come true

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

The Black Parade

Overall sound:

9/10

Lyrics:

10/10 another masterpiece

Instrumental:

1000/10 they all slayed omg the guitar, the vocals the bass lines 😍

Nostalgia value:

has a special place in my heart

Personal:

the concept of cancer is both triggering and comforting to be because I lost 2 pets due to cancer so I find a comfort with it and also I think about death a lot so it's my vibes yknow

Fav trac(s):

This is how I disappear, Mama, the Sharpest lives, Cancer, Dead

Skips:

Welcome to the Black parade, teenagers- I mean they're not bad but it's just not for me

Listening notes:

- the story is absolutely beautiful

- crying time

- I miss my dead cats

- I DONT LOVE YOUUU LIKE I DID YESTERDAAAAYYYY

- I want to join the Black parade

- transgenderism at its finest

Review:

Very very good album. the story is very interesting. scary but in a good way. reminds me of very snowy winter. very cold. cold toes. starving for days, living only on black coffe and diet coke. I remember I was listening to it in 8th grade while other kids were talking behind my back and I heard the line "I an not afraid to keep on living, I and not afraid to walk this world alone" and I said to myself, fuck everything and everyone I'm gonna be who I want to be but who others want me to be and from that moment I started to express myself in the way I always wanted :)

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

Danger Days

Overall sound:

1000/10 my love. my baby girl. my beautiful girlfriend DD ♡

Lyrics:

10000/10 another masterpiece

Instrumental:

1000/10 it's different than the rest but it's beautiful in itself and it's difference

Nostalgia value:

10000/10 late summer nights

Personal:

ever tho it gets so much hate and it's not my favorite I love it so much. mcr put their entire pussy into this album

Fav trac(s):

The only hope for me is you, DESTROYA, Vampire Money

Skips:

any of the interludes

Listening notes:

- feels like running away from your small hometown in the summer with your homoerotic lover

- night summer car rides

- red hair

- tboy swag

Review:

they slayed so hard on this album. u don't get why people hate on it it literally so good. the lore to the comic book omg. so good. yes ut us different but different is good. it makes me want to run away and steal shit bshshd fuck the government- it scratches my brain in the right places. gerard slayed with both the album and the asthetic. red hair- omg he's such  a slut fr. he's my slut, a cunt, my own personal man whore

#mcr album reviews #my chemical romance #mcr #gerard way #frank iero #ray toro #mikey way #michael romance #i love gerard way #im bored okay?

[talkingbl]

BL Elitists & Snobbery in Fandom

Disclaimer: My favorite BLs of all time err on the "mature" side, harassing actors is bad, fanservice can be bad, shipping can be toxic, and I too am critical of certain aspects of fandom. Nobody's perfect but let's all try to at least be nice and better than we were yesterday.

Since the premiere of KinnPorsche, there's been an uptick in elitism in the BL fandom. Fans of shows such as KinnPorsche, Bad Buddy, Semantic Error, and other BLs with "mature" themes, BLs produced in East Asia, and/or BLs which cast seasoned actors, increasingly bad-mouth fans of shows like Cutie Pie and others which either exist as pure fluff or take a more trope-y approach to BL storytelling. As a watcher of your ITSAYs and Tonhon Chonlatee's alike, it's a strange sight.

I was already burnt out by all the pandering straights who only enjoy the finest of Taiwanese and Korean BLs and scold the fan service-laden Thai BLs. But it has reached a new level that's, quite frankly, exhausting. It's like, we get it, you want to see the gritty realism of a gay relationship in modern East Asia, you want the glossy production and the seasoned actors in Japan--and the "no-nonsense anti-shipping/fan service" culture in Korean fandoms.... At least that's what you say. But all I see is a need to feel superior and a clear xenophobia that just goes unaddressed. Let's talk about this in parts.

1. Stanning a "mature" BL doesn't make you a better person. Also, saying you have superior taste for stanning ITSAY and Gameboys because "it's LGBT, not BL" is not helpful to anyone.

Let's start here. I will die on the hill that BL is part of LGBT media. I get that people traditionally associate the former with fantastical depictions of gay relationships but I posit this: if Twilight can be classified as a heterosexual romance, with all its blatantly unrealistic and even toxic elements, why can't Dark Blue Kiss or Fish Upon the Sky be LGBT romances? Why must all gay media be about the struggle of being gay? Why can't LGBT-identifying people have a break from the overwhelmingly rough reality we face? It's like saying POC should be limited to films about facing structural racism and borderline modern-day caste systems. As if we can't enjoy an escape from reality like Aladdin or Black Panther or whatever it is that allows us to have all the things western white people have in their media. For some of us, BLs and GLs, however unrealistic they can get, is a fantasy we enjoy. Let those who want it, have it.

2. Trashing Thai BLs just seems like xenophobia at best and color/racial superiority complexes at worst.

Honestly, when people brag about how "Korea is coming for the BL industry" and how superior Korean BLs are, despite how homophobic, boring, and straight up scarce many Korean BLs and BL actors are, it gives "Kpop rappers are better than American rappers" vibes. Like, I have seen people PRAISE Korean and Japanese live-action BLs as superior to anything out of Thailand (and claim ITSAY to be an exception--of course) when the reality of it is is that Thailand is just far more prolific and has been in the live-action game since day 1. Now, I'm not gonna lie, Korea has it's foot on the Yaoi manhwa genre's neck, but that hasn't translated very well into live-action. Moreover, when asked why they prefer Korean BLs overall, these stans can never give a rational answer. But common themes I've noticed include how attracted they are to the MCs, how ~realistic they are (AN: they're not, see: Color Rush, Cherry Blossoms After Winter, and other big names out of Korea), or just how they're "refreshing" as compared with Thai BLs because they're ~above fan service and things like that.

But increasingly, I'm finding that the biggest KBL stans are also kpop stans who just prefer the Korean idol look where everybody is limited to some variation of pale skin, small faces, and eurocentric features. And before anyone tries to come for me, just look at kpop idols, watch documentaries about the toxic single beauty standard and culture, or just talk to your Korean friends (like I do!) The beauty standard is highly specific and everyone must conform to it lest they be ostracized for being "too dark", "looking SEA" (which, why is this an insult?), or "looking poor/old". I'm not saying this to demonize anybody's type, but it feels strange (again, borderline xenophobic) when people who have definitely fetishized that standard reject excellent media on the basis of it. These same people seem to exclusively enjoy BLs from Northeast Asia and/or the white west and wouldn't even give Thai, Filipino, or Black LGBT stories a chance. Again, to each their own but it's the false sense of superiority for me.

As for criticizing the fan service culture, these same fans try to justify their clearly baseless attacks on non-East Asian/white media by saying that, for example, the Thai industry is toxic. But the reality is, Japanese and Korean media practically invented OTT gay fanservice between the straights. Just look at the way kpop and jpop idols are with each other. And while it isn't as OTT with BL actors as it is with the idols, that's likely largely because of how much of a niche BL is in those places compared to the pop idols. There's also something to be said for the fact that LGBTQ+ people, while definitely still discriminated against, are much more visible in places like Thailand. I may be going out on a limb here but I propose that if live-action BLs were as popular in Korea and Japan as they are in Thailand, we'd see a hell of a lot more OTT fan service. And with the recent success of Semantic Error, I can definitely see it happening. You already see it with Taiwanese BLs (MaxHao (however real or not real), anyone?)

3. Letting us know that you're ~not like the other girls, and "don't fetishize gay relationships" is not only blatantly false but also mischaracterizes a lot of the situation.

Now the elephant in the room are those who still enjoy Thai BLs but are so loud about preferring the 1000 Stars' and Bad Buddy's because "there's no seme-uke dynamic and I like that because it makes the characters more real" or "the actors are really good friends behind the scenes and I stan the friendship, not the possible romantic relationship" or, even worse, the "it's none of my business what the actors do outside of the show and I don't ship real people, so I'm better than everyone else who does because that shows my allyship and how I don't even see sexuality." It's giving ACAB, BLM, yet screaming over Black voices vibes.

Now, I never want to trash true allies and I totally agree that it's important not to blur fiction and reality and that we need at least some realistic depictions of gay relationships. But when the hets start going on and on about it whilst at the same time only enjoying BL like it's a dirty secret and assuming actors are straight (but criticizing any notion that an actor may not be), and going on about how everything is fan service so they're just ~above it all anyway...it gives overcompensating for what you know to probably be a fetish within yourself. It gives "I enjoy looking at two hot guys I wish I could fuck go at it and don't want to stop, so I'll pretend like I'm down for the cause, when in reality, I am very much just like the other girls" (girls used gender-neutrally here lol). I don't know, it just seems so fake to me.

And while I'm not saying I prefer delusional, toxic, shippers, there's something to be said for not pretending to be better when, in fact, you aren't. Why can't you consume BL the same way you consume straight romances (or even GLs)? Why does it have to be some activist political thing when you do it? Like, obviously don't fetishize MLM relationships but, speaking as a minority in many senses of the word, the way to normalize non-traditional relationships isn't to constantly make a big deal out of how you think they should operate in media when the reality is, as long as no one is being harmed, diverse representation is the easiest and best way to present any group of individuals. Like, not all Asians know martial arts and are super smart, not all Black people are artistically and athletically gifted, not all white people are wealthy and powerful. Likewise, not all LGBTQ+ people live the same lifestyle. Some are heteronormative. Some are femme in femme/femme relationships. Some have a lot of sex, some don't have sex at all. Why can't we show all these perspectives and allow people to like what they like, again, and I stress, as long as no one is being harmed?

Like, yes, we should definitely not encourage delusional waanjais who give Gulf porn art of him and Mew, but, there's a happy medium where we can do away with harmful representations and actions toward marginalized groups but also celebrate their diversity and people's love of their stories. I just don't see why elitists have to act like they're above everyone else when they are really all in the same boat.

That said, I will still (playfully, of course) roast anyone who actually enjoys boring ass Check Out, because that shit is just horrible lmao. But the difference here is roasting someone's taste in media vs. acting like you're doing the community a favor by uplifting strong masc/masc, non-heteronormative, non fs-driven relationships. Like what you like, roast what you want to roast, just don't be pretentious about it as if you're taking some sort of political stance on it.

I understand I too may fall victim to shaming certain behaviors, but the key is in noticing you're doing it and reeling yourself in. Life is about happy mediums, not extremes.

Anyway, that's just my take.

#thai bl boys love #korean bl japanese bl yaoi #kinnporsche bad buddy semantic error #cutie pie i told sunset about you tonhon chonlatee #check out 1000 stars itsay a tale of a thousand stars color rush cherry blossoms after winter dark blue kiss fish upon the sky

[ninebluehearts]

Hello again, Hannah! I'm here to bring inspiration to you! I maigine Blue Jones in some type of Haunted Mansion vibes because we all know this man is a creep on creeps! I envision the reader wearing dress from Eiko Ishoka (think of Mirror Mirror or Dracula). Blue Jones is a man of mystery, no? Phantom of the Opera meets Haunted Mansion! The possibilities are endless!

Hi Giona! Thank you for the inspiration! 💕 This is giving Dark Romance and I am here for it 🙌

When your friends told you about the party Mr. Jones was holding at his mansion, you didn't know if you should go or not. Sure, the little voice in the back of your head was trying its best to scream at you that this was NOT a good idea, but the bigger voice inside was already piecing together outfits from your closet.

In the end, you made a last minute decision to go. You picked out your finest dress- an emerald green gown with what seemed like a million layers of lace and ruffles, topped with an elegant row of ivory feathers around the neckline. Your favorite part was the golden embroidered flowers that danced along the bottom half of the dress, and at the edge of its widened sleeves.

You wore your hair up in an elegant bun, a few wild curls laid along the back of your neck and next to your ears. Considering the length of the dress, you decided to wear a pair of simple black heels, knowing they would be the most forgiving on your feet after what you knew would be a long night.

When you arrived to the mansion you felt somewhat underwhelmed. Sure, it was a beautiful building with an even better property, but the fact that it wasn't taken care of properly made it unattractive. The garden was filled with weeds, vines climbed high along the walls of the building, and there seemed to be this awful feeling in the pit of your stomach when you looked at the building that you couldn't quite describe.

Though, your disappointment came to an end when you saw the buildings interior. The walls were just the right shade of off white, which pared well with it's mahogany floors. And just like your dress, the ceiling was decorated with detailed golden flowers, all meeting together to form one big flower in the center. Your mouth was agape with wonder as you studied the gorgeous details of the home.

While you were distracted, you didn't notice the pair of eyes that were studying you. In the mix of the large crowd of company, Mr. Blue Jones couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Though he was supposed to be discussing business with a couple of his partners, the matter didn't seem important anymore. After he rudely interrupted their conversation with a muttered, 'Excuse me,' he made his way over to you.

You were pulled from your state of wonder with the feeling of chills on your neck, a harsh wave that didn't seem to go away. You rubbed the back of your neck attempting to soothe them, when you heard him. "Excuse me Miss. I don't believe we've met." And when you turned to see the owner of the voice, you could only assume that it was Mr. Jones. This man commanded too much power to not be the host.

You gave him your name and he mumbled it back to himself with a grin, almost like he was piecing together a puzzle and he found the last piece. "And I assume you're Mr. Jones?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"Smart girl." He mumbled. Then he held out his arm, gesturing for you to take it. And going against that feeling in your gut again, you hooked your arm around his. He proceeded to lead you around the room, slowly making his way outside while droning on and on about the history of the building. Which you would have loved if it we're for the fact that this guy gave you every red flag in the book.

But when he sat you down on a bench in his unremarkable garden, you noticed the way the moonlight danced across his pale skin, making him impossibly lighter. The way his eyes couldn't focus on just one thing for too long, or the way his hair would fall back onto his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back with his hand.

While he honestly gave you the creeps, there was something desirable about him. Almost like he was drawing you in so he could capture you. A Venus Flytrap came to mind as a comparison. Though, you didn't know if it would be such a bad thing if he did..

"Ah, look at me rambling.. Maybe we should head back inside?" Mr. Jones mumbled, noticing how you weren't even paying attention to him anymore.

Only God knows why you decided to lean in closer to him, ignoring his question as you pressed your lips against his. You were absolutely terrified, and when he kissed you back, you knew you were in for it. But what, you didn't know.

#blue jones #blue jones is hot af #blue jones x reader #blue jones headcanon #sucker punch #💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙thoughts #dark romance vibes #thank you for the ask!

[curioussubjects]

forgot to let y’all know last night i survived watching scar but only barely. why are pilots the way they are why bensmoking.jpg. very excellent kara episode though i would like to give her a hug and a blanket. highlights are her scenes with helo and the toast scene at the end. my girl!!! cares!!! so much!!! kara is love shaped yall ksdjhfklasd

bit salty about how they decided to go about framing kat and kara’s antagonism, though. kara isn’t tigh. i feel like frustrated concern would be more in line with what kat and kara’s relationship probably is rather than outright hostility. didn’t like that, especially with how if kat is starbuck’s mini-me that mark didnt hit very well at all....meh. 

alsoooo ok ok helo telling kara she’s been ~off since anders and like....WHERE. someone point me to WHERE because i didn’t hallucinate final cut, pegasus, resurrection ship, and flight of the phoenix, did i? like those episodes happened? 

lee & kara: *experience suicidal thoughts/ideation as a result of trauma from being at war for 6 months, scarcity, being refugees, oh and also surviving genocide via nuclear holocaust*

black market & scar: it’s about their love for these randos actually in addition trust me. look at this dee-related drama with this simmering guilt over an ex. no deets though. but it’s bad enough to warrant sublimation via sex worker. these are real people so real naturalism at its finest. remember sam anders? no? well take a gander at this. kara’s been totes suffering. pining away lovesick. it’s not about kara keeping her promise to rescue the resistance, no it’s about her deep love for this man she spent [checks notes] 5 days with. naturalistic sci-fi boys and girls (gn).

also scar: reilly died because he didnt conquer his fear // what about us // there is no us // [press x to doubt] // it’s the alive guys you have a problem with // starbuck didnt die despite not conquering her fear but it’s ok she has a reason to live 

speaking of: more thoughts on the quadrangle of doom under the cut.

incidentally i think i figured it out why the quadrangle of doom is bothering me so much more than normal (as in for that type of story): i’ve said it before i think that a huge issue i have with how bsg tells its story is its lack of denouement with character plots, which makes the continuity really jarring. 

and it’s particularly bad with how bsg handles lee and kara’s romance. it’s like...one would IMAGINE that black market would feature kara in some way, likewise for resistance and the farm with lee. but they they don’t feature at all in those plotlines. lee isnt thinking about kara and kara isnt thinking about lee. as a viewer i can only figure well ok so pilots isn’t actually a thing, and the show is going in a new direction with kara/sam and lee/dee. that’s fine. i mean it isn’t because pilots, but technically bsg doesn’t owe me pilots (or dee/billy.......). so. it’s fine, i don’t have to like it. 

except then i gotta ask myself what was the point of colonial day? of home? of scar? it’s so strange because the conventional signs taken as a whole would lead one to believe that lee and kara are the main pairing. but when looking at some of these episodes it’s like pilots are an afterthought that gets brought back for pointless drama. black market stands on its own without pilots just fine, obviously. and scar doesn’t need pilots either, but lee is still asking “what about us?” and kara is yelling back “there is no us.” and damn like......at that point? im confused by lee’s question and agreeing with kara (not that she’s being totally sincere in that moment, but i only know that because i’ve watched ahead). im not agreeing with her because i want to! but because the narrative isn’t giving me enough to fill the gaps. that, and i don’t find [handwave] repression to make sense here at all with lee and kara’s history with each other. 

idk i find myself screaming at my laptop for the show to just pick one. pick a struggle bsg omg. your use of romance tropes is BEWILDERING who’s in charge of this im getting my time machine. 

yes i realize this is pointless griping because of unfinished business (and maelstrom most of all rendering this whole thing moot in the worst possible way fight me rdm you demon from the depths). 

*gathers my 5 children close to protect them from this narrative*

#battlestar galactica #starpollo #bsg #rip me bsg blogging in 2022 #im really not trying to be a hater! i promise! #im just Annoyed #bsg we could've had it all why are you like this #wish someone had warned me i needed to approach watching bsg as a game of two truths and a lie

[gsohb]

"Love Me Like I Love You" by Troy Ave is NOT A Love Song.

Betrayal, at its finest.

On March 29th, Brooklyn rapper Troy Ave. released a series of new songs, and music videos. Amongst them, is "Love Me Like I Love You".

While the title might suggest that we're about to embark on a story of romance, and woes, what we see is far different, and pleasantly surprising.

The music video itself watches like a cinematic film.

We're introduced to two young men. We'll call them "Blue" and "Black" based on what they were wearing.

They appear to be friends, as Blue asks Black for a ride. Black has things to do, but he agrees to give Blue a ride anyway.

I won't spoil it, but I will say, that I was PLEASANTLY pleased with not just the visual creativity Troy put together, but how eloquently the lyrics fit the script.

In fact, if you close your eyes, you'd mistake it for a love song.

And that's good, because it shows the depth of friendship, and how deep betrayal can hit.

But, watch 'til the end! There's always a plot twist!

Nice work, Troy Ave.

Stay strong, and independent.

#hip hop #rap #music #brooklyn #nyc #troy ave #trending #viral #reviews #god #Youtube

[1013]

We have entered November of 2023. And I’m still hopelessly, if not irrevocably, in love with a foreigner. It’s his birthday month. Actually it’s just 7 days away.

It’s 3 am right now. My heart longs for him. I hope I get to meet him, on the pretext of his birthday celebration. However, I might just be flying out of the city for an assignment on that day. Perhaps it will be a solace that time, knowing well that the damn day won’t do anything to change the status quo of our relationship.

He hails from a different world. I probably find him charming because of his job label more than the man himself. Idk. Heck, I don’t know anything about him, except that he has a sweet tooth. That’s the only relevant information he’s revealed about himself. That, and the fact that he’s not really a car enthusiast.

He’s a diplomat and hiding behind balanced words in part of his job profile. Hypocrisy at its finest, that’s how I’ve always approached that group of people. But it also means we can’t really talk politics, or world affairs or any territory that involves hardcore, real world opinions or stand. Like right now I side with Palestine, I stand with Gaza. He’s required to stay neutral just like his country did at the UN. Cowards! But he’s just doing his job. Right?

He’s polite and sweet and charming. Only because I don’t know him well. I wonder if he’s just a date away from being a disappointment. My lame ass still find people charming, till the time I’m in love with them. I’m sure he won’t be an exception. But he’s surely an exception from being at the receiving end of my classic long ass confessional message.

I’ve touched the depth of disappointment and returned, thanks to my attachment issues. There have been days when I couldn’t get out of bed because of his disinterest in me. I don’t exist in his universe. The reality of it drives me insane on some days. I go back to asking God the same question I’ve asking for all my love liaisons. Why do they have to be so ill fated? Why so star crossed? Am I the problem? The answers have eluded me till now.

There’s nothing that can give me peace for now. I need to wait this the fever for him dies down. I thought it did last month. I was mistaken. It’s a viral fever I have contracted this time. The intensity of desire comes in waves, advancing and receding in ways beyond my control.

If there was a wishing well, all my wishes would undoubtedly be to turn this doomed romance into love story with a happy ending. Making it to your 30s comes with so much baggage. The novelty of love is lost. The act of falling in love gives you anxiety. I am more worried that this episode will get added to my black book of unfortunate romance rather than being the one that sees a happy ending.

The glass ceiling is too dense to break. The two worlds of ours will never collide. He won’t do it. A crème de la crème of society doesn’t mingle with a plebeian. I wouldn’t have done that either if I were in his shoes. Anger makes it easier to hate people, flaws too. For now, I am incapable of being indifferent to him. I am tired of my sad, unfulfilled love stories. I got no game. I just long for people and eventually lose out, on love and life in general.

That’s my only consistent story arc. But I wish him well and an advance happy birthday 🎈

[richardkokholm9]

ferragamo belt

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Designed as a sequence of swag chains with emerald poured glass stations. replica ferragamo belt Classically Baroque in the Chanel idiom with sea serpent mo... May 2020 Michele Norsa was co-opted on to the Board of Directors, as Director and Executive Deputy Chairman of the corporate and assume the chief powers beforehand exercised by the Chairman Ferruccio Ferragamo. Salvatore Ferragamo filed for chapter in 1933, in the course of the Great Depression, however by 1938, he was ready to purchase the Palazzo Spini Feroni, one of the great palaces of Florence. This homes the corporate's flagship retailer and a museum dedicated to Ferragamo's life and work. Gal Gadot 'starring in remake' of Alfred Hitchcock romance thriller To Catch A Thief that was led by Cary Grant and Grace Kelly . The combination of supplies and Ferragamo expert processing delivers an opulent and elegant effect. 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An simple approach to decide belt dimension is to easily “add 2″ to your off-the-rack trouser size. wikipedia handbags For example, should you put on a 36” waist trouser, then a 38-belt dimension shall be a secure bet. In 1915, he emigrated to Boston, Massachusetts, the place considered one of his brothers worked in a cowboy boot manufacturing facility. After a short stint on the manufacturing unit, Ferragamo convinced his brothers to move to California, first Santa Barbara then Hollywood. It was there that Ferragamo discovered success, initially opening a store for restore and made-to-measure shoes, resulting in a long interval of designing footwear for the cinema. In addition to experimenting with supplies together with kangaroo, crocodile, and fish pores and skin, Ferragamo drew on historic inspiration for his shoes. Salvatore Ferragamo is a brand of footwear and leather items based by Salvatore Ferragamo in 1892.

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