#collision ii

[sluttywonwoo]

collision [part two] || h.js

pairing: virgin!fratboy!han jisung x best friend!reader

summary: jisung's fraternity brothers decide to pool their money and surprise him with a stripper for his birthday! nice gesture and all, but that stripper just so happens to be his best friend...

warnings: swearing, feelings, smut (18+ mdni)

additional warnings: m first time, grinding, boob sucking, f masturbation, protected sex, multiple orgasms

word count: 3.7k

-> read part one here

Jisung doesn’t know what this means. He doesn’t know if it means anything. You’re horny, he’s horny. Maybe you’re under the impression that you’re using each other as a means to an end. He’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to ruin the moment. What’s happening now is good and he should enjoy it while it’s happening, especially if it’s the only time this is happening. Jisung tries not to think about that (very likely) possibility, though, and focus instead on the feeling of your lips on his neck. 

You’re working his denim jacket off of his shoulders as you kiss your way down the column of his throat. You’re already topless, obviously. Jisung has been trying not to think too much about how he could feel your nipples through his shirt ever since you first sat on his lap and pressed your chest against his.

You’re careful not to drop the jacket on the floor, which Jisung appreciates. You’ve heard him complain about how hard they are to wash and you of all people know how disgusting frat houses can be. You, of course, had just done part of your routine on the floor but Jisung supposes that’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make in your line of work. You’ll shower later anyway. Maybe you’ll ask him to shower with you-

“Can you sit up a little?”

Your voice startles Jisung out of his train of thought. He lifts his head to look at you, blinks twice, and does as instructed, leaning forward so that you can tug his T-shirt over his head. 

“Is this still okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah, yeah this is great,” he breathes out. 

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He expects to feel self-conscious about being shirtless in front of you in this context but he doesn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s been shirtless in front of you in other contexts or maybe it’s because you’re looking at him like you want to devour him. He’s willing to bet that it’s the latter. 

His shirt joins his jacket on an adjacent chair. You run a hand down his torso, then each of his arms, admiring his body with your lips slightly parted like you’re surprised by what you see. All of the lifting he’s been doing with Chris and Changbin must be paying off. 

He shivers under your touch, which seems to break the little spell you’d been under, making you smirk. 

“You can touch me, you know.”

Jisung realizes his hands have been stuck attached to your hips since you first put them there several minutes ago, while yours have been in his hair, cupping his face, feeling him up. Ugh, why was he so bad at this? He nods, sliding one of his hands up your back. His fingers trace your spine, palm resting on one of your shoulders. He isn’t really sure what he should do next. What usually happens next? He’s watched porn, a bunch of porn, what did the actors do after making out? 

Rationally, Jisung knows porn isn’t an accurate reflection of reality. But he doesn’t have much else to go off of. 

You stop kissing his neck and sit up to catch your breath and Jisung realizes the answer is staring him in the face, literally. 

“Can I, uh, can I use my mouth?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes,” you sigh. “You can do whatever you want.”

Jisung gulps and nods absently, eyes transfixed on your chest. He feels kind of silly as he sticks his tongue out and laves it over one of your nipples like he’s trying a new flavor of ice cream but you seem to like it. You gasp and jolt a little which encourages Jisung to keep going. He tests out a couple of different methods to see what you like the best, eventually settling on a pattern of sucking and flicking that has you whimpering his name in his ear. 

He doesn’t want to forget about your other boob so after a minute or so he switches, replicating the motions with his thumb on the first one. He isn’t sure how much time passes. It could be minutes, it could be hours. All he knows is that he could do this forever. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed because he’s the happiest he’s ever been with your tits in his mouth. 

“Ji,” you whisper, getting his attention by tugging on his hair. 

He reluctantly pulls away with a pout. “What?”

“Kiss me again.”

Oh. Well, he could do that too. He melts into you all over again when you press your lips to his. It’s sloppier this time, both of you drunk off the other. When he pulls away, he notices the way your lips shimmer with something sparkly. It’s glitter, he realizes. Body glitter. You always wear it for your shifts. He’d sucked it off of your boobs and now his lips and chin must be covered with it too. Like a reverse vampire. 

“‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella,’” you quote, running your thumb across his lips to collect some of the glitter. It was like you had read his mind. Maybe you really were Edward Cullen. “I hope this is safe to consume,” you add. 

Jisung shrugs. “Something’s gotta kill me someday.”

Instead of telling him off like you usually would, you stick your thumb in your mouth and suck, also swallowing some of the glitter. It was like you were saying if he was going to die, you were going to die with him. He thinks the gesture is very poetic of you, albeit stupid. 

But he figures body glitter has to be relatively harmless so he doesn’t feel too concerned about it. 

You lift yourself off of his lap so that he’s able to unbutton and wriggle out of his jeans. He puts them with his other clothes, leaning over to be able to reach the chair you’d chosen. He’s not sure whether or not you want him to take off his underwear yet so he keeps them on, looking back to you for further instruction. 

“You can take them off,” you say. “I’ll take mine off too but before I do, do you want me to suck your dick?”  you ask, kneeling in front of him. 

“No, no no,” he replies hurriedly, pulling you back to your feet. “I already know I’m not going to last very long. I don’t want to put myself at an even greater disadvantage.”

You snort. “Suit yourself.”

“But can I-” he pauses. 

“What?”

“Can I eat you out, though?”

“You want to eat me out on your birthday?” 

“Well, yeah,” he pushes his bottom lip out into a pout, making you chuckle and kiss him again, sucking on his lip to get him to moan into your mouth. 

“This is supposed to be about you, though,” you point out.

Jisung doesn’t know how to admit that wanting to eat you out is about him. He doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s something he’s fantasized about for years now, that it would be the (second) best birthday present you could ever give him. He can’t say any of that without confessing to his big fat crush on you so he lets it go. 

“Okay,” he concedes. 

“Next time, though?” you suggest as you bend over to take your thong off, making his eyes nearly pop out of his head at both the sight and the words coming out of your mouth.

Next time? There was going to be a next time? Jisung doesn’t know what kind of face he’s making but you must think he’s still sulking because you start to make a deal with him. 

“I’ll tell you what, if you want it that bad, you can eat me out once the clock strikes midnight when it’s not your birthday anymore. We can leave your little party early if that’ll make you happy. But for now, you can have a taste, if you want.”

 Jisung watches you spread your legs and slip two fingers inside of yourself. You sigh in relief and curl them upward, getting yourself even wetter for him. He already has his mouth open, (in shock) waiting, when you sit back on his lap. This time, he can feel your arousal on his bare thigh and it makes his cock twitch against the waistband of his boxers. 

You push your dripping fingers into his mouth, nodding approvingly as he sucks them clean. He moans around them, taking them deeper until your knuckles are brushing his lips. He wishes he could somehow deepthroat them but your fingers are only so long. You retract them far too soon for Jisung’s liking but he knows you need to move on if he’s going to get fucked and make it to his party before it ends. 

“Wow, Ji. You’re a little slutty, aren’t you?”  

“I didn’t know I would be,” he laughs breathlessly. “You bring it out of me.”

You put a hand over your heart. “I’m flattered. Now take your underwear off.”

Right. He had forgotten about that part. He had been distracted. You hover over his thighs as he slips out of his boxer briefs and tosses them to the side. He doesn’t care where they land. Underwear is easy to wash and who knows how many times Jisung has stumbled acros someone else’s boxers in this godforsaken fraternity house. 

“Didn’t know you were so desperate to get in my pants,” he jokes.  

You tilt your head to the side with a small smile he doesn’t know how to read. “Can’t you feel how wet I am?”

To punctuate your point, you grab his dick and lower yourself enough to run the head through your slick folds. It’s a rhetorical question so he knows you aren’t expecting an answer but he gives you one anyway, sputtering out a “y-yes, holy shit!” in response. 

Your hand is so warm and still a little wet from Jisung’s saliva and it feels perfect around his cock. He’s so fucked. You can’t help stroking his dick up and down a few times just to tease him, smirking as he tenses underneath you and grits his teeth in an attempt to stay in control of himself. 

Thankfully, you relent. “I’m going to get a condom now, okay? I’ve always got some in my bag.” 

Jisung doesn’t realize he’d had his eyes closed until he feels your weight disappear from his lap. He wonders when he shut them. 

You’re already on the other side of the room, bent over the bag you had gotten the speaker out of. The fact that you carry condoms in your work bag is interesting to Jisung. A lot of your rules implied that the people you... service don’t interact with you much at all. But they say there are exceptions to every rule... 

There had to have been times when you were just as attracted to the client as they were to you, right? But have you ever acted on that? He shouldn’t ask. It’s none of his business. He is curious, though. 

You return with a foil packet in one of your hands and offer it to him. 

“Would you like to do the honors?”

Jisung takes the condom and rips the packaging open with his teeth. You look impressed, which is a relief because he’s not sure if he’ll put it on correctly and he needs that buffer of you being turned on by something he’s done if he’s about to embarrass himself. He’s practiced putting condoms on before but never with an audience. His hands are shaking as he guides it down the shaft and he can feel you watching intently. It dawns on him that not only are you watching him struggle with something so simple, you’re also looking at his dick. Do you like what you see? Is he smaller than you were expecting? Uglier? He knows dicks aren’t exactly pretty but he didn’t think his was anything remarkable on either side of the spectrum. 

The longer he spends trying to roll it on, the more he feels panic building in his stomach so he decides he needs to say something to ease the tension, to shift your attention away from this pathetic little display. 

“Have you ever fucked one of your clients?”

God damn it. 

You shake your head adamantly. “Never.”

“So I get to be the first one?” he asks happily.

“You’re not my client,” you remind him. “So that rule is still intact.” He pouts. “Unless you want me to call, what’s his name... Chris? In here.”

Jisung narrows his eyes at you as you climb back onto his lap. “That’s a joke, right?”

“Yes, Ji. It’s a joke.”

“You think you’re funny?”

“I know I am,” you scoff, then take him by the shoulders. “Still sure about this?” 

“Yes, yeah, I’m sure,” he assures you, nodding. You take his cock in your hand again and position yourself above it. “Just-”

You freeze, eyes wide. “Just what?”

“Can you kiss me? As you put it in?”

Jisung doesn’t hear how romantic the request sounds until he says it out loud but he had only asked because he’s afraid he’ll make an embarrassing noise or worse, confess his love to you, if his mouth isn’t occupied when you do sink down onto him.

Thankfully, you don’t question it and do as he asked as you, kissing him deeply as you slip the head inside of you. Jisung lifts his hips slightly to push himself into you a bit more. You gasp against his lips.

“Sorry, are you okay?” he asks through grit teeth. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Just give me a second to adjust.”

“Shit, sorry. I should have fingered you first or something,” he mutters. 

He feels so stupid. How could he forget something so important? Of course, grinding and your own fingers wouldn’t be enough to prepare you for the real thing. He hadn’t even stretched you out at all. 

“No, I wasn’t thinking,” you laugh. “I just wanted your dick so bad and I’m so wet I thought I’d be fine... but you’re huge.”

“Wha- am I?” 

“Yeah, dude, are you kidding me?” you laugh, still sounding strained. “I knew you had to be big but- stop smirking!”

“I can’t help it!” he cries defensively, covering his mouth with his hand so you can’t see it anymore. “Come on, you’d react the same way.”

You roll your eyes. “I guess.”

“Don’t even lie- god, fuck!” 

You had taken that exact moment to sink down further on his length, probably to get back at him. It worked, obviously. 

“What were you saying?” you taunt, raising yourself momentarily before dropping all the way down this time. 

“I don’t remember,” Jisung groans. 

“That’s what I thought.”

It takes everything in Jisung not to blow the instant he feels your hips flush with his the first time. He’s heard guys complain about condoms before, whining about how they can barely feel anything through the latex, but they must have the smallest dicks in the world because he can feel everything. 

Obviously, he knows fucking raw must feel better to some extent, but this is pretty damn good. 

You must think so too because you can’t keep your eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. You can’t stop kissing him either, pressing your lips against his mouth, then his jaw, his neck, anywhere you could reach. He wishes he could kiss you back but all he can do is sit there and take it. All of his concentration, all of his energy, is being put into lasting as long as possible, lasting long enough to make it good for you too. 

“You feel so good,” you compliment, murmuring the words into his skin. 

“Not as good as you,” he whispers back. 

He’s not sure if he’ll make you cum but he wants to try so he snakes one of his hands between your bodies and starts feeling around for your clit, assuming he’ll know when he finds it. He has to be way off because you grab his wrist and direct him to it after a few seconds of mindless searching. 

“Here?” he asks.

“Mhm, right fucking there. Just rub in gentle circles and you’ll get me to cum in no time. A little less pressure- o-oh fuck...”

Some of the tension leaves your body and you rest more of your weight on Jisung as he moves his fingers in the way you’d told him to. He takes it as a good sign and keeps going. 

You try to maintain some semblance of a rhythm as you bounce on his lap but the added stimulation on your clit makes it difficult. Jisung tries to help but he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. 

You’re a little too gone to guide him but he doesn’t mind. He can figure it out. Probably. He’s not any better off, mind completely clouded with thoughts of you, you, you. He’s wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long, that it’s hard to believe it’s actually happening and almost impossible to focus on anything else. 

“You’re going to- Jisung, you’re going to make me cum,” you whimper. 

“I am?”

“Yes, I’m so close please don’t stop!”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop after you cum the first or the second time. He just fucks you until you’re digging your nails into his back and clenching around him so tight that he can’t stave off his own orgasm any longer. It goes on for what feels like forever. His vision goes white and his ears start ringing and he only knows you came again because his back starts stinging with fresh scratches. 

You’re boneless when he regains his sight and feeling in his legs. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

“I’m fantastic.”

Jisung laughs. “I was okay?”

“Okay? You were incredible. Seriously. Best fuck of my life.”

He doesn’t know how true that statement is, figures your judgment is a little lacking in your post-nut haze but he decides not to question it. If you say he was the best fuck of your life he’s going to take your word for it. 

“Was it good for you?” you ask.  

“Oh my god, yeah of course,” he assures you. “I couldn’t have asked for a better first time. Thank you, again, by the way.”

You sit up a little and cup his face with your hands. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s not like I was just doing you a favor. I wanted it too.”

He sighs. “I know but-”

“Jisung. I feel the same way. I’ve wanted this too.”

He stares at you. “What?”

You stare back at him. “When we were...  you know. You said you’ve wanted this for so long?”

“I said that out loud?” he gasps. “Wait, is that... is that what made you cum the first time?”

You duck your head, suddenly shy. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god. You like me too?”

You smack him on the arm. “Yes, idiot. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”

“But you never told me! You dated other people!”

“Because you never made a move!”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship!” he looks away for the next part. “And because I was scared you didn’t feel the same way. How was I supposed to know?”

“Ji, why else would I have stayed and offered to give you a lap dance after figuring out it’s you, my best friend, that I’m supposed to be dancing for? It’s because I like you as more than a best friend!”

“That can totally be a best friend thing!” he argues. 

“In what world?!”

“I don’t know! It’s my birthday, don’t yell at me!”

Your eyes widen with panic and realization. “Oh shit, your party!”

-

“That was the longest thirty minutes ever,” Minho comments loudly as you and Jisung walk into the foyer together. He’s smug as he claps Jisung on the back but is ultimately ignored because everyone else is already swarming the two of you to wish your best friend a happy birthday.

You and Jisung had rushed to get dressed and make yourselves presentable after remembering why you were there in the first place, promising each other that you would talk about the serious stuff later. 

“Yeah, are we getting charged extra for that?” Chris asks you under his breath, having pulled you both aside. He checks his watch and grimaces at how much time has actually passed since he left you with his friend. 

“No, no, it’s on the house,” you assure him with a wink. 

“Thank god. We don’t have the budget for that. Oh, but you know, Felix, another one of our brothers, has a birthday tomorrow. Are you doing anything?”

Jisung interjects before you can answer for yourself. “She’s busy.”

Chris looks back and forth between the two of you, an eyebrow raised in confusion. 

“Um, yeah, I’m not available tomorrow,” you stutter, giving Jisung a what the fuck side-eye. “Sorry.”

“Okay, well, if your schedule clears up, Jisung should bring you by. Not to work, just as a guest.”

“I’ll try to make it,” you promise.

Chris gives you a thumbs-up and disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with Jisung again. He’s sure his other fraternity brothers will find him soon enough, though, and drag him off to do shots or something. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cockblock a work opportunity,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“I don’t think cockblock is the right word to use there,” you scoff. 

“I think it is if I was thinking with my cock,” he shoots back. “I just wanted to have you to myself for twenty-four hours, is that okay?”

And maybe he also didn’t want another one of his brothers getting a birthday lap dance from you so close to his birthday. Sue him. 

You smile and kiss him on the cheek. “Of course. Anything for my birthday boy.”

Your birthday boy. Jisung likes the sound of that. But to be fair he likes the sound of anything if it means he gets to be yours.

apologies for the delay but lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

[beth-is-rainpaint]

[refreshdaemon]

There's plenty of intrigue and thrills as the spaceship, the Zephyr, and the bomb truck collide with the group on the bomb fumbling a bit while the Zephyr offers twists and turns.

[sevenoakstransmissions]

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Auto Body Shop Winnipeg, Auto Body Painting &  Repair Services

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Autobody & Glass Repair Specialists Serving Winnipeg

[angelbwrry]

𝒮𝐻𝒰𝒯 𝒰𝒫 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝑅𝐼𝒟𝐸 ─── eren y. x connie s.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

─ you're a car enthusiast aiming to win a race for some extra money, but the handsome guys next to you already intended to take the victory.what happens when you three bump heads?

content warning ˚୨୧⋆｡˚slutty writing, 18+

word count ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 6k

parings ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ eren x connie x reader

the scorching heat slithered against your shimmering skin like a venomous snake, poised to overpower you. summer was by far your least favorite season.you fucking detested every aspect of it - the unsettling bugs, the pollen, and above all, the unbearable heat.

it came as a shock when your father informed you that the two of you would be relocating from alaska to los angeles. the contrast between the two places was stark. alaska's rugged coastline was a sight to behold, and you were disappointed when you arrived in flat los angeles. while it had its downsides, you would miss the beautiful glaciers, crystal clear lakes, and towering mountains.

your wandering mind returned to focus when a bright pink butterfly settled on your grimy hand, its wings fluttering softly. as you inspected it more intently, you noticed the sprinkling of black and white across her wings.and yes, you instinctively assumed she was a girl.

you softly called out to the insect, "hi baby." it appeared to examine the car oil on your hands before fluttering off, causing you to furrow your brows.

“rude ass butterfly.”

you turned back to your vehicle, your baby, your most valuable possession. a 2021 porsche taycan, you had it customized in hot pink, your favorite color. you had rescued mia—yes, you named your vehicle—from a collision. you’d invested numerous hours and a significant amount of money into reviving her.

she was your greatest achievement, adorned with blacked-out rims, 5% tint, a hello kitty-themed pink interior, and a hello kitty bumper sticker middle finger held high as it read, ‘if you're going to ride my ass, at least take me out for dinner first’

you were doing an oil change for mia. it was well needed seeing as you’d exceeded your mileage. you felt grateful to your father for consistently bringing you along to his mechanic job, even though you disliked it initially - with its loud, smelly, and grimy environment. however, as you kept accompanying him, you gradually developed an interest.

you observed your father working, and one day he’d noticed your feigning curiosity. he called you over and you’d listened as he talked about his techniques.

you learned quickly, and by the time you were sixteen, you had secured a position working alongside your father.

after you finished high school, it wasn't unexpected that the first thing you did was to obtain your certification in automobile service excellence. you landed a job at one of the busiest mechanic shops in town, and your wallet was definitely happy about it.

exhausted, you let out a deep sigh as you completed the task of changing the oil and lowered the car to the ground. the final step involved installing and removing the oil dipstick to check the oil level.

“damn, if i were lesbian i’d be swooning right now.”

peering over your shoulder,you smiled looking at your best friend aaliyah walking towards you, holding two refreshing cold glasses of lemonade. you've been besties since junior high and she's like a sister to you. after school, you both snagged a spot together.

“i think i could still pull you,” you sprouted a fake pout while wiping your greasy hands on a towel. once your hands were clean, you pulled her close, planting a kiss on her cheek with a mischievous grin. the lightskin girl felt her cheeks warm, stomach fluttering as she pushed you away.

“tease.”

“always.” you winked.

you couldn't help but let out a satisfied sigh as you savored the flavor of your friend's homemade lemonade. it was the perfect balance of sweetness and tartness.

you had pleaded with her to share the recipe, but she always played the role of the mysterious chef, insisting that some secrets were meant to be kept.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

pink, scintillating bubbles piled up dangerously close to the edge of the bathtub, ready to overflow. the water had a tempting pink hue, which wasn't surprising considering the bath bomb you’d added was called "pinky pie".

a relaxed breath left your lips and leaned your head against the edge of the bathtub, feeling goosebumps on your skin as the cold metal made you shiver. without realizing it, you had sunk so low in the water that half of your face was covered by the foamy water, stopping just below your nose.

‘girls need love to’ playing quietly in the background.

the candles you lit beautifully contrasted with the dimmed lights, filling the room with a heavenly scent.

this was precisely what you fucking needed after a tough week: facing your ex, getting a drink thrown at you by an irate customer, and being dragged across the pavement when your great dane decided to chase a squirrel. and that was only half of your week.normally, you'd smoke to clear your mind, but you were flat out of weed and your plug was out of town.

just your luck.

you attempted to meditate and calm your thoughts, but the idea of coginating and being alone in your thoughts didn't sound the least bit satisfying. so here you were, endlessly browsing through tumblr: your eyes shifting from one explicit image to another. it was no secret that you'd been in a recent dry spell, not even your fling with armin could satisfy your naughty cravings.

if you were truly honest with yourself, he never did.

armin was too gentle, too soft. one fucking squeak from you and he was ready to stop, thinking he had hurt you. you enjoyed being taken roughly and aggressively, wanting to be called the vilest things. you craved a hand wrapped around your throat, choking until your lungs screamed for the sweet relief of air.

you desired to be put in your place and spanked until your ass stung. you liked armin, truly, but he wasn't satisfying you.

sure, you loved being cuddled and kissed, but it wasn't what you were looking for. yesterday , you went to his house looking for a release. he had you in doggy style for about two minutes before he was whining and cumming all over your back.

embarrassing.

your hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they slipped past your stomach and stopped at your tingling bud. just as you went to flick your finger across it a startling bang made you jump.

“omg! there’s a car meet in an hour and ony is taking me. you should definitely come! ony mentioned there would be some racing. you’d easily win with that death trap of yours.”

aaliyah burst through the bathroom door, yammering while her eyes remained glued to her phone, likely texting ony. ony was the embodiment of a man whore; he used his good looks and charisma to draw you in, only to string you along without any genuine intention of pursuing a real relationship. aaliyah and ony had been on-and-off since their freshman year of high school. every week it seemed as if they were at each others throat ,then lovey dovey the next.

countless times, you attempted to persuade your best friend to break up with him. you didn’t know what she saw in his narcissistic ass, and you made sure he knew how much you disliked him whenever he was around.

“okay, first of all, knock before you come in. secondly , i hate that nigga, so stop texting him. and third, my baby is not a death trap.”

aaliyah clicked her tongue and sat on the marble bathroom countertops,”ony is doing better y’know.maybe you’d see that if didn’t loath him.”

you scoffed,”weren’t you guys literally just arguing two days ago?”

“yeah but that was different!” she whined,crossing her arms.

“right.”

you had to admit a car show and racing did peek your interest, you got to gawk at hot guys and potentially walk away with five grand, you were so in. you figured you’d use that extra cash to add a couple more things to your car. you wanted to add pink heart shaped valve stem caps as well as a wing on the car,also pink of course.

it’d been almost a year since you last raced with your baby, remembering how stunned your opponents were that they’d gotten beaten by a girl in a fucking hello-kitty pink porsche.

men,and their fragile ass egos.

“sooo,you in? you can't pass up cash, cars, and pretty boys," aaliyah said, raising her eyebrows.

you nodded,giggling.

“fine,yes. now out!” you smiled, ushering her from the bathroom. aaliyah squealed with joy, kicked her feet, slid off the counter, and broke into a happy dance. 'out!' you shouted playfully, pointing towards the door until she listened.

as soon as you scrubbed away the week's events, you stepped out of the bath and wrapped your pink towel tightly around your chest. you still hadn’t figured out what you would wear to the car meet - something slutty enough, but not too slutty. at the moment, your focus lay on your skincare routine, with a pink plush bow headband pulling your hair from your face as you used a cleansing brush to work in the facial scrub.

although you were a greasy mechanic most days, you didn’t play when it came to hygiene. most of the time when you’d mention your job, you’d be met with a laugh as they thought you were joking. you definitely didn’t seem like the type of girl who'd know her way around an engine.then you'd rattle off some car facts and watch their jaws drop.

you splashed water on your face, then moisturized, finally moving onto the last step. brushing your lashes out technically wasn’t skincare, but you did it religiously so it might’ve well have been.

you were glad you had gotten your hair done the previous day,that would definitely cut your time of getting ready in half.aaliyah was studying cosmetology, so you often became her test subject for new styles, her latest being a pastel pink wig.

at first, you doubted if such a bright color would suit you, but you quickly fell in love with the final look.you decided you would have aaliyah do some crimps once your makeup was done.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

you chose to go for a subtle makeup look with a bright under eye, ensuring you sprayed your face three times with morphe setting spray. although the sun had went down july humidity was brutal.the final touch was lining your cupid’s bow with a brown liner and applying clear gloss over it. aaliyah decided to roll a joint, and you could hear her clicking her tongue and cursing at the gloss stains on the blunt.

after digging through your closet, you opted for a pink strapless tank top with a cute bow on the hem, matching it up with a short denim skirt that highlighted your figure. you accessorized with sparkling gold bracelets and oversized gold hoops before slipping into some pink wedge sandals.

damn, you looked good.

“i can’t wait to see some eye candy tonight!” aaliyah said excitedly as she pinned a section of your hair up and grabbed the crimper.

you peered up at her through your lashes,”aren’t you going with ony?”

“yeahhh, so? what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” she giggled,placing a neat crimp down and spraying hairspray on it.

“god you two are so toxic.” you huffed,crossing your legs

“maybe, but the dick is too good.”

“please don’t put the imagine of a naked ony in my head.” you scrunched your nose is disdain.

“whatever. hopefully you can find a guy you like tonight, i’m tired of hearing your rose toy at night.” aaliyah commented as she crimped the last piece of hair,holding it in place as she sprayed it.

you felt your cheeks warm up in embarrassment.it was true,your rose toy had been working overtime to please you but it could never seem to hit the spot. maybe you potentially could find a fling and and wipe your hands of armin.

you looked into the mirror and admired your perfect crimps that fell down your back,”you did your thing liyah,this is so cute!”

“i know.”

you giggled as you could see her head practically growing at the compliment.

a beep signaled ony’s arrival, and you rolled your eyes as aaliyah squealed like a high school girl. you inhaled from the blunt again. although not your regular choice, it somewhat alleviated your nerves about tonight.you ashed it out with a deep exhale.

here we go.

‘up and down’ by doja cat blared from your car's speakers as you followed closely behind ony’s camaro. he drove wildly, forcing you to almost run several lights.he knew you hated him and probably found the whole situation hilarious. irritation churned inside you and if you didn't love your car, you'd have likely rammed into his.

you pulled up to the car meet, the lot lined with all sorts of vehicles, from sleek sports cars to rugged muscle cars. as you step out of your ride, you can feel the eyes on you, accompanied by a wave of chatter that ripples through the crowd.

the air is thick with the smell of burning rubber, marijuana, and alcohol, creating a heady mix that hits your senses. ‘like a g6’blares through the speakers, the bass so powerful that you can feel the vibrations pulsing through the ground beneath your feet. the night is alive with energy, and you can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you take in the scene around you.

"oh em gee!" aaliyah squealed with excitement as she stepped out of ony’s car, locking her arm in yours. "look at this!" she beamed.

“i know,it’s like i’ve died and i’m in car heaven!” you giggled.

the night air was crisp and warm, and you were glad you sprayed your face until it was stiff. you could see a group of friends approaching you. you were used to people asking to take pictures of your car, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention.

the group approached with wide eyes and excited chatter, their phones already out and ready. you gave them a nod and a smile, feeling a sense of pride as they admired your ride.

the night was just beginning, and you knew it was going to be a memorable one.

as you sit on the hood of your car, a guy from the group steps forward, clearly impressed. "man, this ride is something else," he says, running his hand along the sleek lines of your car. "what kind of mods have you got under the hood?"

you smile, enjoying the chance to talk about your pride and joy. "thanks! I've got a turbocharger installed, upgraded the exhaust system, and did a custom tune. it really makes a difference in performance."

he nods appreciatively, clearly impressed. "i bet it does. the paint job is killer too. did you do it yourself?"

"yeah, i spent a lot of time on it," you reply. "wanted to make sure it stood out."

he grins. "well, you definitely succeeded. mind if I snap a few pics of you with the car?

"go ahead," you say, leaning back and watching as he and his friends take photos from different angles, appreciating the admiration and the camaraderie of the car meet.

“it’s not even that special,” you could hear ony grumble.

“awe,are you jealous you aren’t getting any attention?” you fake pouted while teasing him.

he rolled his eyes and flipped you off.

“right back at you bitch.”

you looked at him smugly before your eyes scanned the lot.

your brown eyes settle on two men,both looked like they’d just walked out of a model magazine. one has long, flowing hair that catches the light, while the other sports a neat buzz cut. both are wearing fitted black shirts that perfectly show off their intricate tattoos along with muscled arms.the long haired boy sported a pair of beat up converse and buzz cut sported black nike dunks.

they seem engrossed in a conversation, occasionally glancing at their cars with pride. almost if he can feels your eyes on him the man with the long hair locks your gaze.his green eyes were nothing short of mesmerizing, they held a seductive allure that made you clamp your legs together. his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light,flecks of gold dancing with the green.

he had those type of eyes that could see right through you,dark secrets,desires.

your heart fluttered as his lifted one hand and waved.

you sheepishly waved back.

you wanted to sink into the ground when when he nudged his friend and pointed towards you,his friend chuckled and shook his head when long hair had said something that you couldn’t make out. you suddenly felt exposed, and you turned your back to them and looked at aaliyah who was making out with ony.

you grimaced,”get a room freaks.”

aaliyah giggled as her lips never left ony’s,”you wish.”

you wished you’d brought your flask.

“when’s the race ony?” you questioned when the two had finally unlatched lips.

“mm,in like fifteen minutes i think. you joining?”

you nodded,”i think i have a good shot.”

he smiled,”type shit, you got it girl.”

your heart fell to your ass when you turned back around and saw those beautiful pair of green eyes and a pair of vibrant golden hazel eyes.

“sweet ride,this yours?” green eyes spoke,his voice was deep and guttural and matched him perfectly.

buzz cut nodded.

“definitely a head-turner.”

you smile as they compliment your car, but when they turn their attention to you, their expressions shift. their gazes linger a bit longer, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

they're not just admiring the car, but also you.

“pretty car for a pretty girl.” green eyes smirked,”i’m eren,this is connie” he motioned to his friend who flashed you a pretty white smile.

“i’m y/n.” you stammered out.

god,why were you so fucking nervous?

“you racing tonight, beautiful?” connie questioned and you could feel your stomach flutter at the compliment.his voice was a higher pitch then eren’s but you still found it alluring.

“yeah! are you guys?”

they nodded.

“just letting you know we’ve never lost a race,but i tip my hat to you cutie.” eren stated,his eyes flickering over your body.

he found it hard to imagine you’d be racing.your big brown eyes peered up at him through wispy lashes,glossy lips pulled into a smile.your short skirt reveals just enough to make his imagination run wild. he’s taken aback; you look like you stepped right out of an episode of my little pony, hello kitty and kuromi tattoos adorning your left arm.he finds you sexy,and his imagination flickers over to him having you spread out as he uses that pretty little mouth of yours.

“ignore him,he’s…competitive.” connie butts in.

while eren found you sexy connie found you simply,cute.but just like eren he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to you underneath him,whimpering, sweet little cries filling his ears in bliss as he rocked your body.

“well, may the best man win.” you gulp out,suddenly feeling a bit intimated by the two men towering over you,hungry look in their eyes.they were so close you could smell their colognes wafting into your nose,a mixture of musk and spice between the both of them.

“indeed.”

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

the atmosphere is electric with anticipation. cars are lined up, engines revving, and the crowd is buzzing with excitement. you sit in your car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. your palms are sweaty, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

eren and connie are in their modded out camaro beside you and you glance at them.they’re already looking your way, sizing you up. you can see the confidence in their eyes, and it only makes you more nervous. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

you can do this. just focus. you’ve got this.

you adjust your grip on the wheel and looks straight ahead. the signal lights start to count down, and you feels a surge of adrenaline. the moment the light turns green, you slam your foot on the gas pedal, your nerves transforming into determination.

the roar of the engines fills the air as the race begins. you can feel the car responding to your every move, and despite your initial nerves, a sense of exhilaration starts to take over.

“assholes.” you grumbled as eren caught up to your speed,connie rolling down the window with a smile.

“come on princess,put the pedal to the metal!” you could hear him laughing with eren and it only motivated you to go faster,your turbo engine was definitely working overtime as you flipped its switch,leaving the two of them in dust.

a smirk pulls across your lips.

in the distance, the finish line comes into view.

the checkered flag waves, signaling the end of the race. you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, every muscle tensed with determination.

almost there y/n. just little further. you do this.

the car speeds forward, you expertly navigating the last few turns. the crowd’s cheers grow louder, urging you on. you can see eren and connie on your ass through your rear view and one final burst of speed, your wheels crosses the finish line, the car roaring triumphantly as it passes under the checkered flag.

“yes!” you squeal out in excitement,hands smacking across the wheel.

you’ve done it. you’ve won.

you stepped out the car with a grin,cheers filling the air just for you.

eren and connie are second,annoyed look on their faces as they stepped out.

“well cupcake,congrats. how does it feel to be a cheater?” eren asks with furrowed brows.

“i-“ you start but you’re cut off by connie.

“excuse my bitter friend,congrats pretty. you did great.”

you smile sheepishly,looking down at your painted toes.

“thanks,connie.”

the moment is interrupted as aaliyah pulls you into a hug from behind,” this is my best bitch and none of yall better not not touch her! ahh, you did so fucking good. i feel like a proud mother.” she pretended to wipe fake tears from her face.

you giggled,”thanks liyah.”

“i think this is cause for celebration,drinks? on me.” connie offered.

aaliyah shifted her eyes to the two men, then at you,a smirk pulling on her lips.

“i have a date but i’m sure y/n would love to.” she nudged you.

you bit your lip as you switched your eyes from your friend to the guys,a breathy ‘sure’ falling from your lips.

you were gonna kill aaliyah.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

you found yourself tipsy on the plush white sofa, laughing as eren and connie shared their life stories. you learned that they both hailed from los angeles and, like you, developed a passion for cars during their upbringing.

you found yourself enjoying the experience much more than you had anticipated, and they appeared to have moved on from their disappointment about losing the race. unsure whether it was due to the alcohol or your prolonged lack of intimacy, you felt arousal stirring within you as pressure built in your vagina.

spotting that gleam in your eyes, eren strolled towards you.

“are you ready for the gift we have for you?" eren inquired, a playful sparkle in his eyes as he sipped on a glass of don julio.

in a state of confusion, you didn't realize they had purchased a gift for you. however, when connie gently took your hands and guided you to their bedroom from the sofa, you offered no resistance.

you found yourself sprawled on the vibrant red silk bed, feeling a wave of desire rise within you as they gazed down at you hungrily.

“are you guys gonna fuck me or sit there and look stupid?”

connie was the first person to move and then eren.

eren assisted in removing your shirt while connie focused on undressing your lower half.

the realization of what you were engaging in was almost unbelievable.

what were you thinking? oh,that's right, you weren't fucking thinking at all.

a soft moan escaped your lips as you felt eren’s lips on your neck, causing your head to tilt to the side in satisfaction. deep down, you had been yearning for his touch, and you were aware that he felt the same way. you joined in by helping them remove their clothes, carelessly tossing them aside.

as you took in their toned bodies adorned with tattoos, you could sense the anticipation building as their erections twitched.

“lie down, i want to taste you," rasped connie. your lip caught between your teeth as you complied, positioning your head at the edge of the bed. connie’s mouth watered as he spread your legs, revealing your shaved pussy. he noticed your arousal dripping out and couldn't resist swiping it up with his thumb, eliciting a small cry from you.

"you taste as sweet as you look."

your clit had swollen with arousal, pulsating with every touch. your eyes closed in pleasure as connie cupped your thighs and skillfully worked his tongue on your quivering pussy. he licked at an inhuman speed, leaving you moaning uncontrollably.

eren, who had been pleasuring himself at the sight, seized the opportunity to use your mouth while connie pleasured your pussy. a deep moan escaped eren’s lips as he slowly thrust his throbbing member into your warm mouth.

"fuck," eren whimpered as he moved his hips rhythmically in your mouth, "you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

overwhelmed with pleasure, you could only grip the sheets tightly, emitting a muffled moan as connie focused on your sensitive clit. you felt his hands holding your pussy open as he devoured you, and you were on the brink of screaming in ecstasy.

"such a gorgeous pussy," connie remarked between licks. eren had increased his pace as he thrust into your mouth, his testicles slapping against your face with each movement. you made sure to take a breath with each thrust.

eren’s thrusts intensified, causing your body to react with small whimpers and your pussy clenching tightly around him. each time he pushed into your mouth, he could see the indentation where his dick lay.

“taking all of me like a big girl, mama," eren groaned, using your breasts to leverage his movements and achieve a deeper angle. the wet sounds emanating from your throat as he rocked his hips were incredibly lewd, making his arousal even more intense as he heard you struggle to accommodate him.

tears welled in your eyes as eren continued to abuse your throat, while connie simultaneously pleasured your trembling pussy.

connie skillfully managed to insert two fingers into your tight cunt, while his other hand played with your clit, rubbing, slapping, and teasing the sensitive bud. the sensations were overwhelming, and you were grateful that eren had filled your mouth, preventing you from blurting out ‘i love you’ from the pleasure.

your body arched in bliss as connie delivered a sharp slap to your moist pussy. "you’re so wet, mmm. i’m goin’ to break you in," connie murmured, sliding three of his long digits into you.

gurgled moans escaped your lips as eren thrust his hips into your face, causing you to gag as his tip brushed against the back of your throat.

“ughhh, i’m about to nut.”

eren expressed his nearing climax, his words catching in his throat. despite the mess on your face, your focus remained on connie pleasuring your pussy and eren’s throbbing member in your mouth. with a final series of thrusts, eren climaxed, releasing warm spurts of cum into your mouth.

his eyes closed in pleasure as he felt your tongue working to collect every drop. as he withdrew from your mouth, you finally managed to voice your plea for connie to slow down, as he continued to finger you rapidly, the squelching noises echoing in his ears with each deep thrust.

“connie,please slow down," you pleaded as he drove his fingers quickly and deeply into your needy pussy. you could feel your slick cunt sucking on his fingers as you neared your high, tears streaked your face and your lips trembled with pleasure.

your pussy quivered around his fingers as your eyes rolled back in bliss. you almost snapped your legs closed as you felt him brush against your g-spot, arms pulling you down further onto him now that eren wasn’t occupying your face.

“i’m close, so close," you gasped as his fingers worked. you cried out as eren wrapped his pink lips around your raised nipples, his tongue flicking as your legs began to shake. you felt connie’s fingers pull out and his mouth munch back on your wet cunt, lapping you up hungrily.

your head fell to the side and your back arched involuntarily as a guttural moan escaped your lips, his tongue wildly flicking over your pussy now. with one more lick of your pussy, you screamed as your orgasm took over, connie locking you in place as he ate you through your orgasm.

eren was now knelt beside your face, cleaning it up as you shook in pleasure.

"mhm, let it out, baby," he whispered, talking you through your orgasm as connie ate you through it.

connie thoroughly cleaned you with his tongue, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around your thighs throughout. a series of moans escaped your lips as he persistently pleasured your sensitive clit. when he finally stopped, you let out a whimper.

"so fucking good," he huffed.

there was hardly any time for you to acclimate when eren lay on the bed and insisted that you straddle him. without hesitation, you complied, and he wasted no time in pulling you into a kiss.

your lips moved passionately over his soft pink ones, and your moans escaped into his mouth as you felt him grip your buttocks and part your cheeks. you could sense connie behind you,fluttering soft kisses on your back.

he was going to fuck you in the ass while eren fucked your pussy.

you trembled as you sensed the lubricant being applied to your anus.

“put me inside you pretty girl,”eren husked.

shaking with desire, you took hold of his shaft. his head was flushed and glistening with pre-cum, and you ran your thumb over it before taking it into your mouth. a mischievous smile spread across your face as eren whimpered. you positioned him at your entrance, your folds rubbing against his shaft, causing his leg to twitch slightly.

you let out a whimper as you sank down onto him, feeling his length and thickness stretching your sensitive pussy. a deep groan escaped him as he was enveloped by your tight pussy tensing around him from the intense stretching.

"so tight," he exhaled unsteadily.

connie surprised you by pushing into your backside before you could even react, causing a mixture of pain and surprise to escape as you both moaned.

the sensation of both of your openings being stretched caused your head to spin and your stomach to flutter. they remained still as they allowed you to adjust. eren’s lips returned to yours, kissing, sucking, and tugging, while connie planted gentle kisses on your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

“such a pretty ass,” connie murmured, his voice now dark,laced with lust.

“are you ready beautiful?” eren whispered into your ear, his green eyes locked onto yours as you nodded and squeezed your eyes shut.

as soon as they started thrusting, you felt the wind being knocked out of you. connie's gentle thrusts were soft yet deep, making you see stars. on the other hand, eren's rough hip movements against yours made you cry out in pleasure as he passionately took control.

“look at you, taking both of us like a slut,” eren gasped in pleasure,his tip hitting your walls making you mewl. his dirty talk made your stomach flutter,”tell me how you’re feeling baby,” he whispered,jaw clenched.

“i-feel,ah!”

your words caught in your throat as connie began picking up speed, balls slapping against your ass.he placed one hand on the back of your neck and the other on the small of your back,his thrust now matched eren’s,erratic and deep.

your toes curled in pleasure, tears welling in your eyes as they fucked you. each time they thrust their hips into you, both of your openings queefed, and you were too consumed by pleasure to care.connie's hand smacked your ass, you let out a cry, feeling the sting on your skin.

“don’t be rude pretty,tell eren how you feel,” he rasped.

“g-good!” you shuddered out.

connie's large hand delivered sharp smacks to your ass, eliciting cries from your lips with each strike. the stinging sensation on your skin made you anticipate bruising the next day as he continued to spank you. your head drifted forward in a state of euphoria, your arms trembling as you struggled to support yourself.

“sluts deserved to be spanked,” connie groaned out.

“you think we didn’t notice that look in your eyes, you’ve been waiting for this huh?” eren panted,hammering into you.

you struggled to find your voice, managing out a weak “y-yes.”

you were in disarray, tightly gripping the sheets with a clenched fist and an open mouth. connie and eren's intensity drove you to the brink. dry tear streaks marked your face, "you're so fucking sexy," connie grunted while vigorously moving against you, causing the bed frame to smack against the wall with a continuous bang.

eren's hand wrapped around your neck, making you suppress a moan. each powerful thrust of his hips engulfed you in ecstasy, and his tight grip made your head spin. you couldn't help but moan as you looked down at him, his eyebrows furrowed over his closed eyes, his face contorted in pleasure as he relentlessly made love to you.

you were certain he was going to suffocate you until you passed out, but just when you were on the brink, he released his hold.

“this pussy so good, you’re ours now” eren hissed.

you released a quivering breath as connie withdrew, leaving only his pulsating tip inside your anus. a cry escaped your lips as he thrust back in. you were a moaning, creaming wreck on connie's shaft, causing his head to fall back in ecstasy.

your tightness around him caused his legs to tremble beneath him as he spread your cheeks apart, greedily savoring the sight of you devouring his member.

“creamin’ on this dick so fucking hot.” connie mewled out,hands caressing your ass as he fucked you with dirty squelching noises.

eren complimented, "so fucking pretty," as he gazed at you. a light sweat kissed at your brown skin,eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, with your lip caught between your teeth as soft moans escaped. unable to resist, he gently sucked on your breast, causing your back to arch.

you body shook as eren prodded into your g-spot.

“a-ah eren,” you sobbed out, his hips drilling into that spot relentlessly.

“cum on this dick baby.”

eren persisted in striking at it until the tension in your stomach released, causing you to whimper as you climaxed on eren's member.he sensed his own climax nearing as your walls tightened around him, eliciting soft moans from his lips.

he inserted two fingers into your mouth and you eagerly complied, eliciting another moan from eren.

you were so sexy to him, and with a loud moan, he released hot bursts of cum inside you. he filled you completely, and you could feel him pulsating as his nut spilled out of you.

connie saw this as an opportunity to gently guide you onto your back, a soft cry escaping your lips as he entered your already filled pussy.

"connie, please go slower, i’m so sore," you whimpered.

"just a little longer, baby," he whispered, and you nodded in contentment. the sound of your filled pussy excited him, his hands intertwining with yours above your head as he kissed you passionately.

his tongue sought dominance as he kissed you eagerly, a moan escaping his lips as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper inside you.

he grasped your thighs and pulled your legs above your head, causing you to cry out at the new angle. he looked incredibly sexy to you, his hazel eyes now dark brown, jaw clenched in pleasure as he moved rhythmically.

“please, it's too sensitive!" you gasped as eren reached over and teased your clit.

seeing your clit being pleasured like that made connie's stomach tighten, and he released warm cum inside you, mixing with eren's as he let out a breathy curse.

he pulled out and watched as their fluids dripped from you, your contracting pussy pushing out the thick sperm.

a shriek left your lips as the bed railing gave out.

“well, looks like we’re going bed shopping tomorrow.” eren noted.

what a night.

@ CINNN4MON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.DO NOT STEAL OR MODIFY. MWAH, BYE

masterlist🏎️

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Best of the Bad Boys | Part II

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: You've fallen for the best of the best. Unfortunately, he also happens to be the worst of the worst.

CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff

WC: ~1900

Part I | Masterlist

“Why didn’t you tell me Viper was your father?” Maverick calls, following you out into the lot.

You’re walking briskly ahead of him because you were hoping to postpone this very conversation. You slow your pace a touch and glance back at him over your shoulder. “You didn’t ask.”

Maverick gives you a disgruntled look and slides a pair of aviators over his eyes. “Cute,” he replies curtly, walking past you toward his bike.

“Did you tell my father what you’re giving me a ride in?” you ask, eyeing the motorcycle skeptically.

Maverick pauses briefly as he grabs the handlebar and lowers his head to peek up at you over the rims of his sunglasses. “Your father trusts me to fly jets. I think he’d be okay with the Ninja.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “It’s your ass on the line.”

Maverick exhales sharply and takes a step toward you. “Exactly,” he says moodily. “You could’ve given me a heads up.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” you exclaim in a forceful whisper, very conscious of how close he’s gotten. “I never come here.” You look around anxiously, ensuring that no one is around. “Today was an exception – obviously,” you finish, rubbing the back of your head where your clip had broken against it.

Maverick watches you intently. “Are you okay?” he finally says.

“You already asked me that,” you retort grumpily, lowering your gaze.

“I’m asking again.”

“I’m fine.”

Maverick lets out another sigh and then mounts his bike. He glances over at you. “You coming?”

You hesitate for a moment before climbing onto the back of the seat. Tentatively, you take a hold of his jacket, being careful not to actually touch his body.

But Maverick takes your hand in his and brings it around his torso, pressing it into his abdomen. You hold your breath nervously, trying not to think about the ripple of abs you can feel underneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m not going to be flooring it,” he says, starting the engine. “But I’d still prefer it if you held on.”

You bring your other hand around to his stomach, wondering if riding around on a motorcycle is really the best pastime for someone whose limbs are still feeling like jelly after an – albeit minor – collision. You know that your father would certainly not approve. And yet, you somehow feel like you could trust Maverick to deliver you home safe and sound.

As Maverick pulls out of the lot, he yells to you over the roar of the engine, “You thought you’d never see me again?”

You stare at the back of his neck, wondering how the heck you’re going to reply. Thankfully, the motor is loud enough that you have some time to think about it.

When Maverick slows to a stop at a red light, he turns his head to the side so that you’re graced with the contours of his side profile for several moments. He doesn’t strain to look at you over his shoulder but the pause as he lowers his gaze to the asphalt is enough to confirm that he’s awaiting a response.

“I didn’t know you were planning on staying,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence despite your discomfort.

Maverick revs his engine just before the light turns green and starts rolling through the intersection the moment it changes. He doesn’t say anything else until he parks outside your house and kills the engine. “I wasn’t,” he says evenly and then climbs off the bike. He turns to look at you coolly and offers a hand to help you down.

You ignore his outstretched hand and dismount without his help. “You weren’t going to stay?” you ask casually, pretending that the impending answer is entirely insignificant to you.

Maverick shakes his head. “I turned down the offer last week.”

You gulp anxiously, suddenly severely distraught at the thought of Maverick leaving – even though you apparently ‘never thought you’d see him again.’  “But my dad said – does he know that you turned down the offer?”

Maverick watches you in silence for a second and then nods. He drops his gaze then and mutters, “I called him this morning, told him I was reconsidering my decision.” His eyes meet yours again with a stoic expression.

You blink to break the eye contact and look away uneasily. “How come?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Just felt like sticking around for a bit,” he says.

You glance up at him and, while he’s still not exactly smiling, the crease between his furrowed eyebrows has softened a touch. You realize that his change of heart must have had – at least in part – something to do with you, considering it happened immediately after your encounter. But you’re too afraid of being wrong to voice this theory so, instead, you say, “Even so, I’m hardly ever on base and I don’t exactly hang out at the officer’s club very often. The chances of us running into each other again were pretty slim.”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “You gave me your number.”

“Would you have called?”

Maverick stares at you. “I wouldn’t have asked for it if I wasn’t going to call.”

You shrug. “It was a fake number.”

Maverick raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll see you around then.” He turns back to his bike and swings his leg over to mount it. “Or I guess I won’t,” he adds, turning the key in the ignition.

You panic and take a step toward him, placing your hand over the handlebar and grasping it firmly. “Can you image if I had given you my real number?” you ask. “You would’ve called – maybe” – you add with an eyeroll – “But, if you had and my father picked up? Then what?”

Maverick holds your gaze as your words sink in. Of course, your logic is sound. You couldn’t give him your real number. “You could’ve told me he was your father,” he says levelly, clearly still abundantly vexed. “What else did you lie about?”

You tighten your grip around the handlebar until your knuckles turn white. “Don’t act like you had any intention of seeing me again. And, if you did, how would I know? It’s not like you have a history of committed relationships.”

“What do you know about my history?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow as though you’ve piqued his interest.

You freeze for a moment and press your lips together crossly, annoyed that he’s caught onto the fact that you know more about him than you’d originally let on. “Are you going to take the position?” you ask irritably, completely ignoring his question.

“How can I?” he asks, raising his voice. Then, in a desperate whisper, he adds, “I slept with my superior officer’s daughter!”

You stare at him guiltily. “He doesn’t have to know,” you say.

“I know,” Maverick responds, his eyes boring into yours.

You sigh. “Pretend you don’t.” After a few moments of silence, you let go of the bike and give him a tight smile and a small wave as you start to back away.

Maverick doesn’t wave back. He watches you grimly as you retreat until you finally turn your back to him and ascend the steps of your porch.

You pause at your front door, wondering if you're ever going to see him again. But as you start to dig in your pocket for your house key, you feel a hand graze your upper back, and you whip your head around in surprise. How Maverick managed to scale your porch in under five seconds is beyond you, but you’re far too swept away to ruminate on the details.

Maverick waits a beat, his fingers sliding down your arm as you rotate to face him. His gaze slips momentarily to your lips before he says, “I’m not good at pretending.”

You stare at him in shock as the familiar weakness in your knees – a recurring ailment where Maverick is concerned – threatens to compromise your balance. Standing there, admiring the angles of his face, you suddenly can't think of anything more awe-inspiring. “You should take the job,” you say feebly as he draws ever closer.

Maverick sets his jaw and breathes forcefully out through his nose as though he’s combatting a sentiment he’d rather not express. “Okay,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. This move destabilizes you further.

You glance up at him and his lips brush softly over the tip of your nose. Your heart springs violently into your throat and then proceeds to bounce around your ribcage like a pinball. He smells like leather and cologne and his light eyes hold your gaze like a magnet. “I’ll stay away from the base,” you say quietly, not daring to believe your own words.

His hands slide up your shoulders and then your neck and then he cradles your head in his palms. “Okay,” he repeats, his face so close to yours that you can almost taste the citrus in his aftershave.

You try to control your breathing, closing your eyes as his thumbs sweep gently over your cheeks. “We can forget all about this,” you whisper very faintly, as though you don’t want to be heard.

Maverick nudges your face with the tip of his nose and mutters, “Okay,” in a warm, humid whisper. His lips move slowly over yours and, languidly, he wraps an entire arm around the back of your neck to bring your closer. He takes a few steps toward you but, since you’re already flush against his body, you’re forced to take a few steps back.

“Thank you for the ride,” you mumble against his lips and you feel him grin at your words.

“My pleasure,” he responds without taking his mouth off yours. He guides you backward until you’re against the front door of your house and suddenly you realize that you’re making out with a Top Gun aviator under your father’s roof.

This thought startles you awake and you brace your hands against Maverick’s chest, giving him a slight push.

Maverick withdraws instantly and drops his head with a heavy sigh before glancing up at you with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he says, despite the unapologetic grin.

You scoff with an eye roll and shake your head. Not only is this turn of events the complete opposite of your earlier proposition but it’s also very much something you swore you’d never do. Maverick is just about the worst decision you could make and yet, here you are continuing to make it. “My friend told me you’re trouble,” you say, straightening your posture because you’re now addressing something of utmost importance.

Maverick’s mouth tightens slightly as he attempts to keep a straight face. “Susan?”

“Yes, Susan,” you retort mockingly, surprised that he remembers her name.

Maverick purses his lips, shifting his jaw in thought as he squints his eyes at you. “What sort of trouble?”

You give him a flat look. “She wasn’t specific.”

He nods. “How convenient.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re denying this?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Nah, she’s probably right.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Good to know.”

He meets your gaze with a more genuine expression. “Come on,” he says. “It’s not like you haven’t already made up your mind about me.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, ignoring the way his eyes are sparkling in the afternoon sun. You’d love to just be straightforward and ask what his true intentions are, but that seems lame and boring and awkward. And you’re none of those things. So, you say, “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

Maverick gives you a small smile and nods. “Okay,” He responds.

Maverick Tag List:

The rest of the list will be in the comments. Let me know if I missed you! As always, let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Mav works!

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@malindacath

@karleetakeenan

@callsign-echo

@toothemoonanddback

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@shanimallina87

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@risingtripletaurus

@callsignmaverick5

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@hermaeusmorax

@littlebadariell

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

[blackbirdi]

Red and Green, Silver and Gold Masterlist

Red and Green, Silver and Gold - Remus Lupin x Reader SMAU masterlist

part i - "Who's the Gryffindor Hottie" part ii - "Remmy's Got a Crush" part iii - "Collision" part iv - "Conspiring" part v - "Planning and Stalking" part vi - "Incipient" part vii - “Plan in Action” part viii - "Y/n x Remus" part ix - "Eyes Glued to Their Screens" part x - coming soon...

Updates Every Friday :)

[astralnymphh]

⁶⁶⁶ DOM!ELLIE COLLECTION ⁶⁶⁶

⛧ .aestra's archive of every single time ellie dommed you. . .⛧

I. RUIN YOU ☠︎︎ II. SKULLFUCKER ☠︎︎ III. CARNAL COLLISION ☠︎︎. IV. PUSSY SLAPPER ☠︎︎. V. "DON'T CLOSE YOUR LEGS." ☠︎︎ VI. BEST DECISION ☠︎︎ VII. FACES OF FACIALS ☠︎︎ VIII. LOTUS ☠︎︎ IX. UNDER THE NEEDLE ☠︎︎. X. PHEROMONES ☠︎︎ XI. BUBBLY SWEET ☠︎︎. XII. KNEELING FOR HER ☠︎︎ XIII. HAPPY PUSSIES SQUIRT ☠︎︎ XIV. PARADISICAL ☠︎︎ XV. NECTARY NOTES ☠︎︎ XVI. SUN SMOTHERED TAN ☠︎︎

feel free to send asks and add to the list!

[wileys-russo]

did you see the video of the lionesses back at the wc in australia, where they got asked who’d they’d call to remove a spider from their room? and everyone named lucy lol

now imagine reader is part of the lionesses and in her room and sees a spider, gets lucy to remove it all while her roommate documents it and posts it on her insta story, both reader and roommate very grateful for lucy

and leah is immediately all pouty and “i could have removed it for you, why didn’t you call me? >:(“

eight legged attack II l.williamson

"-no i'm serious! she really said that to me." you laughed, pressing your key card against the door as it beeped and you shouldered it open. "and you were still friends with her after that for how long?" maya gasped in shock at your story as you collapsed onto your bed tiredly, full from dinner.

"like maybe two more years?" you admitted with a guilty grin as the younger girl shook her head in disbelief. "she only got worse after that!" you laughed, maya rolling her eyes and disappearing into the bathroom.

not even thirty seconds later a blood curdling scream sounded and you shot upright, tripping over your own feet and barreling into maya who came shooting out of the bathroom. "may!" you groaned as the two of you smacked down to the floor, clutching your heads which had collided.

"its fucking huge!" the girl was quick to her feet, scrambling away and diving onto her bed. "what?" you groaned again, sitting up and rubbing your forehead where you were near certain a lump would soon form from the collision.

"that thing in the bathroom!" the girl spluttered out as you stood, frowning and stepping into the bathroom. "maya what the hell are you-" you stopped as you saw it, perched up in the corner of the room above the shower.

eight furry legs and beady little eyes which seemed to lock in and follow your every move. your chest clenched as your blood ran cold and your words died in your throat.

you let out a scream not dissimilar to maya's, jumping backwards and slamming the bathroom door. "oh my god we're under attack." you hissed, diving onto maya's bed beside her as the two of you stared at the bathroom door with eyes wide as saucers.

"there's only one woman for the job."

~

you sighed in relief as there was a knock on your door, both you and maya hurrying over to pull it open. "right, i need my beauty sleep. where is it then?" lucy sighed, tupperware container in hand and a tired look in her eyes as you let her inside.

"bathroom. but be prepared man its huge!" maya warned, the two of you standing well back as lucy rolled her eyes. "children honestly, the lot of yas." lucy grumbled, shaking her head as she opened the bathroom door.

you and maya carefully ventured closer as lucy started to suddenly laugh. "this! ya scared of this puny thing?" she bent over clutching at her stomach as you both scowled at her. "just get rid of it luce! please." you huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at her.

"yeah alright alright." she chuckled, opening the tupperware container and instructing one of you to grab the room service menu. "you're hungry?" maya frowned in surprise as lucy fixed her with a blank look.

"yeah starving." she replied. "no ya idiot! it's to catch this stupid tiny thing." she corrected as maya handed her the menu with a roll of her eyes. "was only asking." she mumbled, standing back and pulling out her phone to record.

you both heaved a collective sigh of relief as lucy left the room, taking your eight legged attacker with her. she claimed she was just going to get rid of it outside however both you and maya had a sneaking suspicion that you weren't the only lionesses who'd be getting a surprise visit from a spider tonight.

you had finally started to settle, maya having done a thorough check of the bathroom and disappearing to shower, when your phone buzzed. you smiled seeing it was from your girlfriend, requesting you come to your room.

"may! i'm going to see leah!" you called through the closed door, drowned out by the music and the sound of her singing making you roll your eyes with a smile, sending her a text instead.

stepping out of the elevator you walked down the hall, stopping outside leahs room. you hadn't even been able to knock twice before the door swung open taking you slightly off guard.

"hi baby." you greeted happily, stepping inside and closing the door behind you, stepping toward her for a hug but frowning as she turned and walked away from you.

"babe?" you questioned as she flopped down on her bed, flicking the tv on and ignoring you. "leah?" you continued, advancing toward her and looking down in confusion.

"i'm mad at you." the blonde huffed, fixing you with a glare and crossing her arms. "what could i have possibly done in the span of the....six minutes between you texting me to come here and me arriving to make you mad at me?" you scoffed in disbelief, crossing your own arms back at her.

leah didn't respond at first, instead grabbing her phone and messing around with it. you opened your mouth to say something but she turned the screen to face you before you could, the video of lucy removing the spider from maya's story playing.

"why did you call lucy!" leah huffed again, glare softening slightly into more of a pout as your own frown melted into an amused smile, catching onto what was happening. "leah-" you started, biting down on your lip as she locked her phone again, tossing it on the bed beside her.

"i'm your girlfriend, not lucy! you're supposed to call me to come do things like that for you." she scowled, bottom lip jutting out as you shook your head, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "baby you are terrified of bugs." you laughed, the memories of all the arguments the two of you had back home over whose turn it was to squash a cockroach.

"i am not!" leah scoffed as your smile widened and you shuffled to sit properly on the bed. "yes you are. i love you very dearly but you would have been just as useless as maya or i baby, so we had to call lucy!" you continued to laugh, laying down so your head rested on her thighs.

"i would have tried to kill it for you." leah mumbled, clearly still grumpy as you smiled. "yeah. but you'd have failed, miserably." you patted her leg with a grin as she playfully shoved your forehead, gesturing for you to sit up.

laying down a little more she opened her arms expectantly, your body melting into them as you settled in between her legs, chest pressed against hers. "stop being pouty!" you laughed, using your thumb to tug on her bottom lip, leaning up to kiss her softly.

"you're such a baby." you teased the blonde, pecking her lips a few more times as she frowned and tried to respond. "shut up." leah huffed with a roll of her eyes.

"promise me next time you'll call me." your girlfriend demanded, hugging you tightly inhaling the scent of your perfume, her favourite smell.

"okay baby. i promise next time i'll call you...and lucy." "hey!"

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (5/?)

Part summary: With Leigh, it feels like for every step forward, you end up taking two steps back.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.600+ | Warnings Some angst, het stuff | A/N: Texts in italic indicate they happened in the past. We get an insight about R's past with Matt and a little surprise at the end.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Next part

-

You'd hardly expect to meet a decent guy on the street nowadays.

Though, to be fair, it's less about meeting him and more about running straight into him. At the moment, you don't give it much thought. You distinctly remember wincing from the impact, feeling solid muscle and jutting bones, and a surge of irritation bubbles up inside you because you're not exactly having the best day. But then, the man you ran into looks up, and his face is all apologies. 

He looks like he might cry if you don't forgive him, so you do. As you stand there, trying to process the situation, he notices the coffee spilled all over the floor—your coffee, which has now created a sad, dark puddle around your feet.

“Can I buy you another coffee?”

Despite the kind gesture, you find yourself shaking your head, more keen on changing out of your coffee-stained coat than sticking around any longer.

From a few steps away, his impatient friend calls out, “Are you coming, Matt?”

“Yeah, just wait a sec,” Matt responds, his attention still on you. You usually don’t trust men running into you without an agenda, but there’s something about him that tells you he didn’t mean to, and that he’s more than willing to make up for it.

“No, thanks. I got it…”

He looks unnecessarily worried as he leans in a bit closer. “You sure about that?” he asks. 

His brown eyes are the friendliest pair you’ve seen in a while. And being essentially alone in this new town, they pull you in like gravity.

“Y-Yes. Just watch where you’re going next time,” you stammer, attempting to stabilize your shaky legs.

“Matt!”

Matt nods hesitantly, then mumbles, “Sorry, I have to go. Again, I'm really sorry,” before his gaze releases you, and you feel its force that held you in a vice-like grip easing away. 

As you're walking away, you keep having to tell yourself not to look over your shoulder, even though every part of you kind of wants to.

You guess you must be really lonely, to cling onto the first bit of kindness someone throws your way.

-

Your deliberate attempts to bump into Leigh finally pay off one brisk Friday morning. But it’s not in the way you’ve imagined it would go.

The town is just waking up, the chill in the air biting at your cheeks as you take your routine jog through the quiet streets. You've discovered that running suits you better than yoga, mainly because it's something you can do solo, and you've always leaned towards activities where you can be by yourself. You’re tired, but you try to lift your knees higher with every stride, keeping your cadence in check.

Turning a corner, a sudden commotion catches your attention. A group of rowdy teenagers barrel down the sidewalk, loud and oblivious to anything but their own world. One of them, a bit too caught up in the fun, nearly crashes into you, forcing you to swerve unexpectedly.

In your effort to dodge, you step right into the path of Leigh Shaw. 

It all happens too fast; there's no chance for either of you to do anything else. You crash into each other, the impact sending a jolt through your bodies. You tumble sideways, your arm shooting out instinctively, breaking your fall and softening the impact as you land. Leigh lets out a sharp yelp as she staggers forward from the force of the collision, a look of shock quickly spreading across her face. As she falls, her knee scrapes against the rough concrete, and when she finally sits up, there's a noticeable gash, bleeding freely.

“Oh my god, I am so, so sorry,” you blurt out, horrified at the sight. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

She grimaces, glancing at her knee, then back at you. “Well, I've definitely been better,” she says, trying to keep her voice light despite the pain. You give her a hand up, and as she leans on you for support, you can't help but notice she's dressed in denim shorts, a blue parka, and flip-flops—not exactly the attire for a morning jog. The sun's just starting to show its face, and you're left wondering where she's headed so early, if she's not out for a run or something.

Looking around, you notice the roll-up shutters of nearby establishments are still down, indicating they won't be opening anytime soon. It’s apparent that there's nowhere immediate to find help or a first-aid kit. You scratch the back of your neck, an awkward idea coming to you.

“I don’t think there’s nowhere we can ask for help,” you start, trying not to sound too anxious about what you’re about to suggest. “I've got a first-aid kit at my place, though. It's not far. We could fix you up there, if you're okay with it?”

Leigh takes a beat, and then gives you a nod. “I guess that's my best option right now. Lead the way.”

As you start walking, Leigh instinctively grabs your arm for support. Your foot have barely hit the pavement when she suddenly grips tighter, fingers clawing into your arm as she lets out a hiss of pain. The wound must have stretched as she bent her knee to take a step, and with the way she's limping, you realize making her walk is a bad call.

“Shit, I'm really sorry,” you apologize again, the situation dawning on you. This isn't at all how you wanted to run into Leigh again, especially after trying to find a way to reconnect since the dinner in her car. “Let me get an Uber.”

Leigh starts to object, but you're already pulling out your phone. The last thing you wanted was for your attempt to help to end up hurting her more.

-

“So, where were you headed earlier?” you ask casually, hoping not to pry too much. “Doesn't seem like you were out for a run like I was.”

Leigh’s injury is more severe than you first thought; after hitting a rough patch on the pavement, her knee took the brunt of the fall. The skin is scraped away in several places, revealing angry, reddened flesh beneath. 

“Grocery, or something,” Leigh mumbles, distracted and wincing a bit as you ready another dab of antiseptic for her knee. The moment the cotton touches the wound, she can't help but jerk away slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur, soothingly, noticing she's struggling to stay still. To help steady her, you gently hold onto her calf, and that's when you feel your cheeks start to warm up. “I'll be as quick as I can,” you promise, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

“I’m okay. You're doing...fine,” Leigh sighs between clenched teeth, obviously trying to downplay her discomfort. 

You know you're not fine, certainly not in the way Leigh means. All you can hear is yours and Leigh’s breathing, and your heart stuttering in your chest, because despite barely seeing Leigh in recent weeks, this annoying little crush won’t go away. It’s weird enough that she’s Matt’s wife, and you can't shake the feeling that you’re probably the last person she’d ever look at that way. Not to mention, you're not even sure if she's into women.

Once you’re done cleaning her wound, you carefully wrap a bandage around her knee. Then, you head to the fridge to grab some ice, noticing Leigh's puzzled look when you return.

“What’s that for?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

“I have a feeling you're going to have a bone bruise after that fall,” you explain, handing her the ice wrapped in a cloth. “This should help with the pain and keep the swelling down.”

She accepts it, a small smile of gratitude on her face as she says, “Thanks.”

“No problem, it's my fault anyway.”

“It was an accident,” Leigh points out.

An accident that, if I'm being honest with myself, I was somewhat hoping for, you reflect with regret.

Leigh looks relieved as she presses the ice against her knee, eyes closing for a moment. With the immediate pain taken care of, you can't help but wonder again where she was headed earlier as you start pulling ingredients out of the fridge to whip up some breakfast.

“Hope you're hungry,” you say, flashing a smile as you fire up the stove.

“I'm fine, really,” she says, but the moment the bacon starts sizzling, she caves. “Actually, I could eat.”

With your back to her, you could smirk all you want at her change of heart. After frying up the bacon and eggs, you pull out some leftover rice and begin chopping garlic.

“What are you making?” Leigh asks suddenly from behind you.

“This is something I picked up on my travels through Southeast Asia,” you share as you cook. “Can't do bacon and eggs without it anymore. But I'll get some toast going for you.”

Leigh's face lights up, almost childlike. “Toast sounds great.”

You and Leigh settle into your meal, you with your plate of garlic rice, bacon, and eggs, and Leigh with her toast done just right alongside her bacon and eggs. She surprises you by complimenting how you cooked the eggs, noticing they're slightly burnt to a crisp around the edges.

“I've never had my eggs quite like this before,” she says.

“Oh, that?” you chuckle. “Learned the technique by accident some time ago. Got distracted and ended up leaving them on the heat a bit too long.”

She laughs too, and soon enough, you're both just talking like old friends, the conversation breezy and effortless. You begin to get a real sense of Leigh's sense of humor and it complements yours in the best way. Leigh loops back to when you mentioned visiting Southeast Asia, and you're more than happy to share your experiences, considering she's never left the country.

“...I’m pretty sure Hawaii counts, right? With the weather and everything, plus it’s really far—”

You’re still cracking up over some joke she made moments ago, and now you’re wondering if you’ll ever stop. 

“No way, Leigh, it doesn’t work like that!” you get out between laughs, holding onto your stomach as you shake with laughter.

The more you talk, the more Leigh hangs on every word, making you feel surprisingly at ease. Sharing stories about places you've been and things you've seen becomes less about bragging and more about just sharing your adventures with someone who’s really listening. It's kind of refreshing, actually, feeling this free to dive into your memories with someone so interested.

That is until the topic eventually shifts to your fitness routine. It's then that Leigh offhandedly mentions, “You'll probably see more progress with the new instructor next week. I heard she’s got a certificate and all.”

You pause, fork paused mid-air. “New instructor? You’re not leading the class next week?”

Leigh simply shakes her head no.

“Then, when are you coming back?”

Leigh takes a breath before saying, “I actually quit.”

Hearing her say she’s left the studio nearly makes you spit out your breakfast. You're halfway through a bite, trying to wrap your head around the news, when suddenly, Leigh checks her phone. Before you can even dive into a million questions about why she quit, she's saying she needs to head home.

Your thoughts are spinning, but you don’t miss the opportunity to offer her a ride.

“You drive?” Leigh looks surprised. 

“Yeah, just got the car this weekend,” you manage to say, still reeling from the shock that Leigh won't be at Beautiful Beast anymore.

“Are you sure? I can just call a cab,” Leigh mutters, probably noticing you're a bit out of it. 

“No, really, I insist,” you say. Making her walk on that knee seems like the last thing you should do. 

Leigh tries to brush it off once more, “Again, an accident.”

You ignore her, grabbing your keys from a dusty fishbowl. “Doesn't mean I won't be kicking myself over it.”

She lets out a sigh, and you can't quite tell if she's resigned or just annoyed. 

-

As you pull up in front of Leigh's house for the first time, you're immediately taken in by its typical three-bedroom layout. The lawn, however, looks like it hasn't seen a mower in quite some time, giving the place a lived-in, somewhat neglected feel. You quickly get out of the car to help Leigh to the front step.

Then, out of nowhere, Leigh curses, patting down her pockets in a panic. “Fuck, I forgot my keys.”

“But someone should be home, right?” you ask.

Leigh rings the doorbell, her expression turning sour. “Yeah, my sister,” she mutters, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.

You're taken aback when, a few seconds later, it's Jules from the studio who opens the door. The sharp look they exchange isn't lost on you; it's clear there's more to the story than just Leigh coming home without her keys. You're gearing up to say goodbye, assuming Leigh will head inside, but instead, she turns to you and says, “Wait right here.”

You do as she says, glancing at the ground, shuffling your feet back and forth.

“Hi, I'm Jules, Leigh's sister. I've seen you around at Beautiful Beast. You're one of Leigh's clients?” Jules smiles at you, politely offering a hand for you to shake. You accept it and introduce yourself in return. Watching her face, you see the moment she puts it all together. 

“Oh, you're the vet who Matt had—I'm sorry. It's just, I wasn't expecting to see you here, helping Leigh home.”

You knew where that first sentence was going, but you're silently thankful Jules decided to pull back and not finish it. You force a smile as you explain how you got here. “She was out for groceries, and I kind of ran into her, leading to a bit of a fall, and now—”

“No, she wasn’t,” Jules cuts in sharply. 

“Sorry?”

“Leigh didn't come home last night,” she says. But before you have a chance to process this new information, Leigh returns, clutching a fifty-dollar bill.

“For the trouble,” she tells you, getting in front of Jules.

You attempt to wave it off. “Hey, you don't have to do that—”

But Leigh isn't taking no for an answer, she presses the bill into your hand. You never see it coming what happens next: she plants a quick peck on your cheek, effectively shutting down any further protests. The spot where her lips brushed against your skin tingles, and it’s all you can think about for a moment. Without waiting for you to react properly, Leigh starts herding Jules back inside the house, throwing over her shoulder a quick, “Thanks again, Y/N. Bye.”

You're left there, holding the bill in one hand, touching your cheek with the other, and staring at the closed door, suddenly very aware of how little you actually know about what's going on in Leigh's life.

-

Suzie shoots you that knowing look again as you head out of the clinic decked out in your active gear.

This time, a blush creeps up on your cheeks, memories of your chat with her about someone “making those sweat sessions worth it” floating back, and you try your best not to let your thoughts drift to Leigh. But then it hits you that she won't be there. Despite your dedication, the sheer excitement of going to the studio isn't quite what it used to be without her as your instructor.

Just as Suzie is about to lock up, the door bursts open. A man rushes in, cradling a small dog in his arms, panic written all over his face. He explains, breathless, that his pet is struggling with labor.

Suzie looks back at you. “I could call Foreman for this,” she says, already reaching for her phone. You stand there for a second, deliberating. Leigh won't be at the class; she's no longer at the Beautiful Beast. 

Then, making up your mind, you hold out a hand to stop Suzie. “No, there’s no need. I've got this.”

-

It feels like you've just walked into one of those old-timey romantic movies, where chivalry isn’t dead and everything turns out way better than you could've ever hoped. In hindsight, it’s better. Because it’s real, and you're right in the middle of it, living a dream you didn't even know you had, with the kind of guy you thought only existed in those movies.

The night air is cool and light, brushing against your skin as the car slows to a stop in front of your apartment. To say the least, it's been an unexpected evening for a first date, and easily one of the best.

As Matt pulls up to your building, he turns to you, a sheepish grin lighting up his face. “Well, here we are,” he says, as if surprised you've arrived so soon. 

You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. So you stay put in the passenger seat, doing your best to draw out the last strands of the evening.

“So, Nick was the mastermind behind all this?” you tease, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. 

Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that... I had no clue he asked for your number until he handed it to me and said, ‘You owe me one’.”

“He’s the perfect wingman, then?”

“I guess you could say that,” Matt agrees, smiling. “I didn't tell him about my interest in you, but Nick knew anyway. He's good at reading people, always has been.”

“I see,” you say, your gaze following the contours of his cheeks, which carry a soft pink blush. It could be from the red wine you both enjoyed at dinner, or, you find yourself hoping, it might be because of you. “Well, he has my thanks. I really thought he was the one interested in me though.”

Matt laughs, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. “No, it was always me. Since the moment I, uh, ran into you.”

There’s a moment where you both just stare at each other, tacitly acknowledging the serendipity of it all—the accidental meeting that could've ended with a simple apology and nothing more. 

Yet here you are.

“You know, I'm glad it was you,” you profess, feeling a boldness that usually isn't there. 

Matt breaks into a huge grin, but it's really in his eyes where you can see just how happy your remark has made him.

“Would you... maybe want to do this again? Without the running into each other part, I mean,” he says softly.

You laugh, nodding. “I'd like that. Just maybe start with coffee next time. And no spilling.”

“Deal,” he says, his grin infectious.

As you step out of the car, a proposition forms in your mind and you backtrack.

“Would you like to get that coffee now?”

-

Sometimes, you find yourself dreaming about your memories with Matt, particularly the part Leigh interrogated you about. Even though you stuck to the facts, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were somehow deceiving her.

You wonder if this is why you haven't been able to sleep for days. That, coupled with the fact that you've been handling emergencies yourself instead of calling Foreman as you used to. Suzie has mentioned that since you're taking on all the emergency cases, you might be overcompensating your intern. You don’t tell Suzie though that your work has become a welcome distraction from the realization that your new hobby no longer holds your interest, leaving you with extra hours to fill before returning to the solitude of your apartment.

And without seeing Leigh, there’s only your own head to get your fill of her. You find yourself thinking about her now and then, about what she's been doing, wondering if she's found a new job after leaving her yoga instructor position. She crosses your mind at the most random hours of the day, take right now, for example—staring at this little 8-day-old Shih Tzu puppy in the incubator, its fur somehow has you thinking of Leigh's hair color.

The puppy was part of a litter brought in for a C-section. Tragically, its mother didn't survive, and the owner, possibly overwhelmed by the situation and the impending bills, abandoned them. Out of four puppies, this one, the runt of the litter, was the sole survivor.

“What are we going to do with you, huh?” you muse aloud, the puppy blinking back with innocent eyes. “I can't take you for myself; you'd just end up living here in the clinic with me. And let's be honest, living in a hospital can't be much fun, right? It’s not safe either, exposes you to diseases.”

You sigh, brushing its length with your forefinger. “The other choice is to send you to a shelter. I'm sure someone would fall head over heels for you and adopt you in no time. But,” you sigh, your heart heavy, “I can't guarantee that'll happen quickly, as much as we both might want it to.”

“Finding where you fit in this big world isn't easy, you know? It's like searching for that one place, or that one person, where you could simply just… belong to. But I guess when you finally find it, it feels like winning the lottery, right?”

The puppy makes a noise, automatically bringing a smile to your lips. You wonder if Leigh has ever thought of the same thing—about searching for where she belongs after losing her home and everything familiar when Matt passed away. Perhaps it's even scarier for her. The thought of finding that one thing that's uniquely ours, only to lose it forever. What if we're only given one thing that's truly meant for us?

And once it's gone, what does that leave us with?

-

One sleepless night, after deciding to bring the puppy home for a more personal touch in its care, a thought crosses your mind. What if you could restore some of what was inadvertently taken from Leigh? Maybe bring back a piece of home and purpose that seemed to have slipped through her fingers when her world turned upside down?

It’s true, the puppy's late-night energy partly nudged the thought your way, but deep down, you believe Leigh will be perfect for him. You're sure she'll adore him, and he's bound to love her just as much.

Just as you're settling back to attempt sleep again, your phone starts ringing. You blink at the screen, disbelief washing over you as you see it's Leigh calling—the same woman you've recently realized you have feelings for, and who's been on your mind just moments ago. A part of you wonders if she dialed the wrong number by mistake, but it keeps ringing, compelling you to answer.

“Leigh?” you answer, the name almost a question in itself.

On the other end, you hear her take a deep breath—an ironic move given how the call exudes a vibe of urgency. Then, she speaks, her voice clear yet carrying an undercurrent of something you can't quite place. 

“Y/N Are you available to talk right now?”

“Yeah, I am. What's going on—”

“No, not on the phone. Can you meet me right now?”

You glance down at yourself, noting your sleep shorts and tee. You're so comfortable and cozy in bed, and the puppy had just gotten to sleep. It's tempting to reschedule this some other time. But the thought of Leigh Shaw on the other end of the line, coupled with the worrying nature of her request, tilts the balance. The idea of saying no, only to find out something bad happened to her, is something you know you wouldn’t forgive yourself for.

“Yes, I can meet you,” you say, hurrying your movements and snatching your jacket from the cabinet. “Where?”

-

The date doesn't end with just late-night coffee.

Matt's hand is on your ass, fingers digging in like he owns the place. You’re gripping his tie, pulling him in, again and again. Both of you are still wearing all your clothes, but they're starting to feel like barriers as you both lean into each other, striving to get as close as humanly possible.

The invitation for a nightcap, decaffeinated per his request, had both of you sitting a bit too close on the couch, sharing silly smiles over steaming cups as if you were already lost in love. When the cups were drained, conversation drifted dangerously towards the topic of sex, and that's when you caught yourself staring at Matt's lips. Before he had a chance to react, you were going for it, giving into weeks of pent-up sexual tension.

Matt's lips find their way to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Encouraged by the heat of the moment, your fingers start to work on the buttons of Matt's shirt, eager to explore further. 

But then his hands caught yours.

“W-Wait…”

You’re stunned, pulling back almost reflexively, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to figure out if you crossed a line.

“Did I... do something wrong?” you ask.

Matt shakes his head and then kisses you on the forehead. He further reassures you by saying, “No, no, it's not you. I just think we might be rushing things a bit. I really like you, and I want us to be sure about this, you know?”

Inside, you’re a mess of wants and needs, but as much as you want him tonight, you realize you want him even more tomorrow, and the day after. You won't rush this, especially if he's not ready. So, you nod, squashing down the throbbing between your legs as you try to concentrate on anything but his half-open shirt. 

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything,” he adds, wearing that apologetic look on his face that got you the first time.

In response, you hold Matt's face gently, giving him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. “I really like you too,” you say, despite feeling like those words pale in comparison to what you truly feel for him.

Standing up, you figure he'll say his goodbyes and head out. But instead, Matt looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“I don't want to rush things,” he repeats. “But, I also don't really want to leave just yet. Would it be okay if I stayed the night?”

The request takes you by surprise, a warm fluttering sensation bubbling up inside you at the thought of him wanting to stay. “Of course, you can stay,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I hope you're okay with the couch.”

Matt laughs and starts pulling off his socks. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

-

Ever since Leigh asked to meet at a gas station on the sketchier side of town, your anxiety hasn't settled. It's a part of town known for trouble, somewhere you'd rather not be, especially in the dead of night. It doesn’t matter, because you’re hopelessly driven by concern and an unspoken affection that won't let you say no to her, no matter the time or place.

You walk up to the convenience store next to the gas station, its fluorescent lights flickering ominously, almost like you've just stepped into the opening scene of a horror movie. It's dead silent, aside from a radio playing inside the store, turned up by the person manning it in a feeble attempt to fill the silence or maybe to keep company. Leigh is inside, visible through the large, pane-glass window, nursing a coffee, alone. The way she's standing, something's off. 

You make your way towards her, hands buried deep in the comfort of your hoodie's pockets. 

“Hey—”

She's like a coiled spring at the sound of your voice. That should’ve been your first clue.

“Why did you lie?” Leigh asks point-blank.

“Leigh, I—What do you mean?”

Leigh's face twists into a grimace that chills you to the bone, a clear sign that tonight's going down one of two paths: either you both find a way through this mess, or she cuts you out for good. But you're lost, genuinely clueless about any lie she's accusing you of. You've been straight with her, at least you think you have.

Her nostrils flare, her eyes burning holes into you as she waits for some sort of confession. But all you can give her is a dumbfounded look.

After a while, Leigh's patience wears thin. “We're not doing this here,” she growls, glaring at the lone store clerk, who seems amused and makes no attempt to hide his interest in eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Leigh, I seriously don't know what you're talking about.”

“Just come with me,” she snaps, ushering you back outside, pulling at your arm with a grip that leaves no room for argument. It's painful, the way her nails dig into your skin, but you suppose you deserve it, whatever it might be. If it helps her release her anger, you're willing to bear it.

Leigh stops, plants her hands on her hips, and just looks at you, like she's waiting for something to click in your head. “Leigh, please—” you start, but you're cut off not by her anger this time, but by the sight of her eyes glistening, fighting back tears.

“You're really going to make me say it?” she manages to choke out, before giving a humorless laugh and running a frustrated hand over her face. Before you can protest again, she thrusts a phone into your hand. It's lit up, a text conversation open and waiting. As you scroll through the messages, your mouth opens in shock. They're from Matt. 

Skimming through the texts, your jaw nearly hits the ground. He's recounting your first date, detailing how the night ended with him at your place. He admits nothing happened, but not for a lack of desire. Instead, he confesses he held back because he's still wrestling with the fact that he's married to Leigh. He mentions wanting to make sure when he jumps in with you, he's not dragging any “chains” along.

He goes on, saying he felt you were on the same page, ready to go further, and implies the only reason things didn't heat up was because he had self-control. Reading this, you can't decide if Matt's just showing off or if he's trying to justify his half-steps to whoever's reading this on the other end.

“Whose phone is this?” you blurt out, the only question that registers in your brain. It turns out to be the wrong thing to say, though, as it’s precisely the spark that ignites Leigh's fury, sending it cascading over the edge.

“Don’t fucking change the subject!”

You press your lips into a thin line, your own frustration simmering. “I didn't lie to you, Leigh.” You wave the phone with Matt’s messages like some kind of proof, arguing, “He even says here nothing happened!”

“It's not just about what did or didn't happen!” she fires back, her eyes blazing. “You wanted it to happen. You were ready to go there with him. You wanted more, and you're still not owning up to it.”

At this point, keeping your emotions under wraps isn't an option anymore. 

“Yes! Of course, I wanted to go there with him,” you explode, your hands coming up in the air in surrender. “I found him attractive, thought he was a great guy, and—single, Leigh! I thought he was single when I was falling for him, okay? Are you happy now?”

Leigh's response is to laugh, but it's not a happy sound. It's bitter, mocking, and it just keeps going. 

You're standing there, breathing hard, your breath visible in the chilly air, when it hits you why she’s so upset: When you were telling her the details of your affair, you made it sound as if what happened—or almost happened—was just a casual fling. And Leigh, she just soaked up that version. In doing so, she somehow managed to forgive Matt, forgive you for your role in it, and even toy with the idea of being friends with you.

You made her believe it didn’t mean anything more than what she meant to him. It ripped off the bandage and thrust a knife back into her wound.

After Leigh's laughter fizzles out, the cold seems to bite a little harder, and you notice her shivering—whether from the cold or the tumult of emotions, you can't tell. She's just in shorts and a thin shirt, unprepared for the temperature drop.

Seeing her like this, vulnerable and cold, you feel the urge to just hug her and make her feel a fraction of how badly you regret deceiving her all along. Because saying “I'm sorry” feels way too small for the giant mess of feelings you're dealing with, especially the ones about her that you didn't even realize were piling up until now.

“Leigh,” you whisper, bargaining for something you don’t know.

She meets your gaze, a bit more peace in her eyes now, but that doesn't stop the tears from finally rolling down her cheeks. She's about to speak when suddenly a car pulls up in front of you, its headlights flashing across your faces, momentarily blinding you both.

A man steps out of the car, and Leigh recognizes him immediately. You do too, although it takes you a second longer to realize. Before either of you could react, he's already launching into a tirade. “Leigh, what the hell? Leaving in the middle of the night, stealing my phone—”

“Not now, Danny.”

You freeze, every fiber of your being locking onto the newcomer—because you're almost certain Leigh misspoke. 

His name is not Danny.

It’s Nick.

[fishflop]

⚡ Mecha Mayhem Collab ⚡

62 artists drew 82 robot characters from Sonic the Hedgehog's history. Artist credits are in the thread below, please check them out! This was a blast to put together, everyone created awesome artwork. Click Keep Reading for full artists credits. If they are not on Tumblr, I will list their Twitter handles. Please go and check all all of the artists, they put together sick artwork for this!

Metal Sonic - aceCanti

Rocket Metal - Artvader_AF

Neo Metal Sonic - @guywhocandraw

Metal Overlord - @radstarsaur

Metal Sonic Kai - @fishflop

Metal Sonic 3.0 - @naptoku

Mecha Sonic - sludgetoons

Mecha Sonic Mk II - @raine-rudnick

Mecha Sonic Mk III - @collision-chaos-zone

8-Bit Mecha/Silver Sonic - @iwillendyou0

Amalgam Mecha Sonic - @sonyshock

Mecha Sonic Mk III (X-Treme) - @prestalnic

Mecha Sonic Mk IV - Its_Larzz

Mecha Sonic Mk V - @raine-rudnick

Tails Doll - majindoodles

Metal Tails - ThatJordo

Metal Knuckles - spacedawgspace

Mecha Knuckles - Riggo_Draws

Metal Amy - @drawntildawn

Metal Trip - infinithiez

Metal Knights - MesaSonic

Heavy & Bomb - michuudo

Egg Robo - @phons0

Heavy King - lack5ht

Heavy Gunner - @boatnb

Heavy Shinobi - uhhky0

Heavy Magician - @gsvproductions

Heavy Rider - SamE8189

E-100 Zero - @wyat-ttt

E-101 Beta - @thecongressman1

E-102 Gamma - MaxOKE_

E-123 Omega - Viticultist

Omochao - @nenafena

Emerl - genkiii05

Gemerl - malmookai

Orbot - supersonic2073

Cubot - Its_Larzz

Sage - LeMasterOfHavoc

Egg Pawn - The_art_pal

Captain Whisker - Joshdraws07

Johnny - @nenafena

Belle the Tinkerer - T0PHATBUDDY

Scrapnik Mecha Sonic Mk II - wahl_art1997

Scrapnik Mecha Knuckles - @lightningstar1389

Scrapnik E-117 Sigma - SonicRelated

Shard the Metal Sonic - TheTweeter500

Mecha Madness Sonic - @fishflop

Mecha Madness Knuckles - @mixzvision

Mecha Sally - Rocky_reckart

Silver Sonic 3.0 - @thedooms

Robo Robotnik - dip_artist

Shortfuse the Cybernik - DumbZilla_Robo

Emperor Metallix - @axodoesdoodling

Metallix (Knuckles Version) - BeardMax94

Uncle Chuck - 4zumarill

Muttski - MesaSonic

Cluck - SamE8189

Cheetah Robot - @fishflop

SwatBot - Viticultist

Scratch - shoguntempest

Grounder - Its_Larzz

Coconuts - RedezRookie

Arms - @prestalnic

Frankly - @naptoku

Humpty - @chaospikes

Davy Sprocket - @prestalnic

Skweel - immacksg

Dynamight - The_art_pal

Spike - @axodoesdoodling

Sir Ffuzzy-Logik - JoshyBoiartist

Dragon Breath - spacedawgspace

Pseudo Sonic - The_art_pal

Bocoe & Decoe - riotaiprower (Instagram)

Bokkun - JoshyBoiartist

Chaos Sonic - JashuoN

Rusty Rose - @infernoblade15

Grim Sonic - Hoodie_n_Chaos

Grim Knuckles - Katieee_Llyn

Grim Amy - wahl_art1997

Grim Rouge - RacerSonic

Grim Birdie - @infernoblade15

Grim Big - ThatJordo

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Butterfly I

a/n I'm clawing my way into this fandom since salt and pepper god took over my brain! Be gentle with me since it's my first time writing for this man! Happy reading! 🤍

summery: When Joel thinks that his life is over his little butterfly sends him a new reason to stay alive. The only problem is that he doesn't know how to love but when you are the meaning of love itself how can he not fall.

Part II can be found on my blog

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

World had ended twenty years ago for Joel. Even more so, he was sure that he had died alongside Sarah. If he had a chance, he would have gladly been buried by his little girl. He didn't have a reason to be alive. Well, there was Tommy, but at that moment even that didn't seem like enough to keep him going. The moment Joel failed to do his first and most important job—protect the ones he loved—changed him without a chance of going back.

The morals had to die soon as well, and Joel had learned it the hard way. He tried to fight and protect the innocent at first. To stupidly ensure that everyone had been taken care of in the same amounts. Well, that resulted in him getting beaten multiple times. He didn't fight it at first. The physical pain numbed the emotional scars. But then something snapped in him, and he longed for the first blow. Then the second. Third. With a realization that this was how his sorry life was going be for the rest of his pointless existence. To fear less, Joel needed to become someone people feared, and he did just that.

Until, after one of his deals, he ended up running into you. Completely by accident as he tried to get away from the people he just had business with. Joel bumped into you, knocking you to the ground and causing you to hit your head on the pavement. "Shit, fuck", the male kneeled beside you cursing. You just laid there, and for a split second, Joel was convinced that you had died, until you let out a growl as you moved your hand to gently touch your pounding head. He debated whether he should just leave you there or take you back to his place. The first option was less complicated and demanded fewer efforts from him, but when he saw your eyes as you tried to look around, seeking to find who had caused such a collision, that's when he knew he couldn't just walk away like that.

Then a smile crept onto your face, followed by a light chuckle, and something inside Joel twisted again. He hadn't heard the sound of laughter in years. "Dang, for a moment I saw white horses running around", you laughed out loud, covering your eyes with your hands. Even more, concern washed over Joel. Had you hit your head that hard? He couldn't afford to get you medication or even a doctor for that. So he did the next best thing - assisted you in getting up and walking you to his place.

Everything after that was made up of Joel trying to hurt you so you would leave him and go your way. He desperately wanted to push you out of his life because he was afraid to admit that Sarah would have loved you. That she would have been nagging him constantly to bring you around. Imagining how life would have been with you before the outbreak. How would it have felt to come home to you making dinner? Hearing you and Sarah laughing together. Joel knew—he knew without even needing to think about it much—that his daughter would have loved you. He wished she had had the opportunity to experience your motherly love. The effortless, endless love that poured from within you. And finally, have a truly normal family built on love.

After all, Joel was convinced that Sarah had sent you to him herself. As if it was her way of making sure, even from heaven, which Joel barely believed in, that her father lived. Not just used up air and wasted his days away but found something to live for. You angrily bandaged Joel's arm one evening after yet another deal had ended poorly, leaving the man with a nasty cut on his forearm. Well, if he could even call that anger. Joel doubted you had that emotion implanted in your brain. You had pushed up your sleeves, not wanting the ends of them to get damp as you moved back and forth between a bowl of warm water and a cloth to clean the blood off his skin. That was the first time Joel saw the ink on your body. A butterfly, and then another one just above the first one.

Joel thought he imagined it at first. He knew he must have looked like a lunatic to you when he gripped your left hand firmly before pushing the material of your sleeve even further up. Three butterflies. All inching further up and up. Butterflies. Sarah loved them; she was Joel's little butterfly. The butterfly that got crushed by the brutality of this world.

"Joel," you carefully mumbled as his fingers traced the tattoos. A flicker of what was behind the mask flashed in his eyes. You knew that he was a broken man. People talked, and even if half of what they were saying was true, it was a lot to go through. Especially alone. Especially after losing the main purpose of your world. "This… when did you get this?", his words came out harsh, as if you should have felt guilty, "Not long before the outbreak. It just…", you giggled to yourself, "Feels silly now that they symbolize growth, a new beginning, and shit". However, it didn't seem stupid to Joel even if he had yanked the cloth out of your hand, pushing you out of the bathroom. Emotions took control of him. He couldn't love you. Couldn't stand you. But the way you kept knocking at the door, concern in your voice as you pleaded with him to let you in, only proved what he already knew. You two had found someone to hold onto. As scary as it may sound.

When Ellie first met you, she couldn't believe that you two were even here and had somehow mutually agreed on something. It seemed impossible to her. You were the polar opposite in her eyes. From the moment in the hallway when Joel had yanked her against the wall, you had warned the male as you leaned over to the girl. Ellie backed away at first, but it's like you had a magical touch, and not even a blink later, she was clinging to you as if you were the last straw for her survival. Joel had only grumbled more at the sight of that. "Get your hands off her," he said, motioning with the gun for the girl to move away, but all you did was tilt your head to the side, giving him one of those looks. "Joel…" you warned him, before turning your attention to the girl, "I'm Y/N, and that's Joel. He's always grumpy. It comes with age, so don't pay too much attention to him." For a moment, Ellie got scared that the gun might now end up being pointed at you, but the male only tightened his jaw before lowering the weapon. And that didn't change when you crossed the wall. You were there talking with her, making sure that she was okay, ensuring that Ellie's desire to communicate was satisfied, while Joel just frowned.

"Here you are", Joel's voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you smiled at him softly. You had just made your way to the safe house. Days of traveling rubbed off on all of you, so you were more than happy to indulge in some peace. "Was wondering where you crept away", even if Joel was 99 percent sure that he was going to find you here once he didn't find you in the dining room. It only took one look outside to know you'd be on the patio. Curled up on the bench watching the sunset. Any time you came by Bill's and Frank's, you always spent your evenings there.

"Missed the view," you mumble, resting your chin on your knees, "Or maybe the fact that there is nothing to fear here." Joel moved to sit next to you. His own eyes admired the view. He stopped doing stuff like this. Before the outbreak, it was work, work, work to keep a roof over everyone's heads, bring food, and give Sarah the best life that she deserved. After… well, moments like this felt almost forbidden. Not to mention that letting your guard down could get you killed. "Come here," Joel said, nudging your shoulder and wrapping his arm around you. Interactions like that between the two of you were rear but not completely foreign. You two had shared the bed numerous times. Joel had offered you a warm embrace when he saw that the world was close to crushing you. But you had never talked about who you two were or if you were anything more than a bed warmer for one another. "You do know that I would do anything to protect you?", Joel spoke out under his breath, bringing you even closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat as you moved your palm to cup his jaw, leaving a couple of kisses there as you nodded.

"Do you think they were happy when they…", you couldn't bring yourself to finish your sentence as the lump in your throat grew bigger. Joel hummed, "They had each other. That's all Bill and Frank needed". You moved to rest your head on Joel's shoulder. Breathing in both the scent of him and the brisk evening breeze. "Do you ever dream about finding the love they had?", the question was silly, truly, and you knew it. You and your existential questions had pissed Joel off more than once, but for some reason, you never stopped asking them. And for some reason, even through gritted teeth, Joel always answered them. The silence fell between you two for a moment. Joel hesitated to give you an answer. The truth was that the ten years you'd spent by his side had been surreal for him. Even if he constantly pushed you away, no matter the arguments you two would have, he always came back to you. Always. And you never walked away. You were always there waiting for him, even when he quite literally told you to get lost. When you were apart, all Joel could think of, was you. Nothing else mattered. He didn't matter. It was you who swirled around his mind. "Well," the male trailed off, "I've already…" But the door on the patio shot open as Ellie walked out, still looking down at the drawing on the shirt you had found for her.

"Hey, did you know that wild berry soup smells like strawberries?", she beamed till her eyes fell on the two of you. Her face instantly shifted since she had never seen you two this close. Well, she assumed that you might be together, but since she didn't see any grown-up interactions being exchanged, she just pushed that thought to the side. "Shit man, you are together. I was talking shit about him to you," Ellie practically cried out as she raised her hands above her head, making you let out a laugh against Joel's shoulder. "We're not dating, bug", "She talked shite about me?" you and Joel said at the same time. The fact that he had gotten visibly offended by it made you let out another chuckle before you tapped his chest a couple of times.

"Girls have to stick together," you shrugged, and Ellie quickly gave Joel the middle finger. "Okay, enough, you two. Go insane, pick something for dinner, and I'll be right behind you," you said, throwing the blanket you had with at the girl, as ushered Ellie inside. You brushed your hand over Joel's chest as you walked towards the door. Joel's brain screamed at him to catch your hand. To make you stop so he could tell you the words he was meaning to say before Ellie walked in, but he didn't. Only tightening his jaw as his lips thinned into a tight line. He was a fool. A true fool who never truly learned to express himself. If only he could, maybe he would be able to call you his.

Joel's gaze immediately shifted to the window that peaked into the inside of the house once the sound of something falling echoed through the air. You and Ellie were on different sides of the island. The girl had one of those smirks that usually led nowhere good on her face. Then the sound of laughter shot through the space as you took off running to grab hold of whatever Ellie was holding in her hands. The girl squealed as you both ran in circles. "Give me the spaghetti hoops, you little thief!", you yelled, but that only made Ellie laugh more. "I'll tell Joel", you tried to threaten her, but she only let out a huff, "You wouldn't snitch", Ellie narrowed her eyes at you. You quickly hopped onto the island and slid to the other side, taking hold of both of Ellie's hands but losing your balance as you two tumbled to the ground. Joel practically ran inside at the sight of that, the worst scenarios already running wild. He couldn't let you get hurt. Neither of you could get hurt.

Joel rounded the corner, his heart already beating fast. And here you were. Ellie was nearly on top of you as you, as you two stared at each other, both still confused at what had just happened. And then there it was again. The laughter. The whole-hearted laughter drenched Joel's heart dry. Your arms wrapped around Ellie as she giggled away, pressing her cheek against your chest. Joel picked up the can of spaghetti hoops that had rolled off and were long forgotten. "Oh no, daddy is here, and he is mad," Ellie shrieked playfully, not lifting her head away from you. "Don't call me that shit," Joel warned her before slamming the can against the counter. He quickly turned around, running a hand over his face. Your expression clouded as well. Carefully, you helped Ellie stand up. Her eyes were looking at you as if she were silently asking if she had overstepped a boundary, but you just gave her a quick wink before pointing to the pot. In a couple of steps, you reached Joel as your hands ran down his back. His muscles tensed under your touch, but the moment you pressed a kiss in between his shoulder blades, Joel let out a sigh. "How about you take a shower while we heat up the food? Clear your mind and all that?", you continued to draw patterns on his skin. Joel didn't say anything as he stepped away from you and over to the stairs.

"Is he mad with me?", Ellie's voice made you turn to her. Her big eyes watched you as you shook your head. "He… well, Joel struggles with his emotions. He cares a lot, but that ends up overwhelming him, and then this happens," you said softly, Ellie nodded her head as if agreeing with you. You nudged her shoulder gently and asked, "Want to make the whole feast tonight? Get the canned sausages out." The shower was indeed all that Joel needed. The hot water took that extra weight of tension off his shoulders, and the fresh set of clothes made him feel like a new man. He was excellent at ignoring his basic needs, but with you, there was no need to worry about that because you always reminded him about all the little things. Things to made him feel better.

Ellie was delivering joke after joke while you all ate. Her energy was surprisingly high, considering that the last couple of days had been rough. "I'm telling you, he just knows all the jokes", she grumbled when Joel hit the right answer to her fifth joke, defeating the purpose of her performance. Joel's hand had slipped under the table, casually resting on your thigh, and you occasionally gave it a little squeeze as if to ensure him that you were here with him. "Okay, can I try?", you weren't much of a jokester, but everyone knew a joke or two. Ellie nodded her head eagerly. You cleared your throat, "What do you call a fish with a bow tie?" You questioned the two of them, trying not to break into a smile. Ellie shrugged her shoulders. "SoFISHticated," Ellie just gaped at you, but Joel snorted under his breath. Your eyes fall on him in an instant. He shook his head, trying to keep the smile off his face. "You laughed, you fucker," Ellie said, pointing her fork at Joel. "I didn't," Joel argued back, "Yes, you fucking did. Y/N tell him", "Yeah, Joel, I consider that a laugh", you moved your hand to gently rub the back of his neck, and his eyes met yours. He got lost in the depths of them just a bit before another laugh escaped his lips. You bit your lip as you watched him, realizing how much you had missed the sound of that. Since the only time you heard it was when the two of you got shitface drunk, and he fell while trying to take his pants off.

"You can fucking laugh. Dude, you're normal," Ellie beamed, watching Joel chuckle. "Eat your noodles before I take them away," Joel warned, reaching over and scooping some of the spaghetti hoops from Ellie's plate, making her protest straight away. She leaned across the table to do the same, but Joel brushes her spoon away easily. "No playing with the food, you two," you gently warn them, even though you enjoyed watching them interact, especially Joel letting her in. They instantly settle back down, even if they continue to watch one another from the corner of their eyes.

Yeah, this was the closest to home that Joel had gotten in over twenty years. Now all he needed to do was own up to his feelings. Admit to himself that the scary feelings won't disappear. But he was going to be equally scared with you or without your officially being a part of his life. And he had promised Sarah, his little butterfly, that he wasn't going to let this go to waste. And that the three butterflies on your hand were possibly you, Joel, and Ellie; that you were all fated to meet. Maybe you two were sent here to change his life. Teach Joel how to fly again.

[postpunkindustrial]

Sun Ra interview: A collision of suns

The Ann Arbor Sun 1967

The interview with SUN RA, the master musician & prophet, was originally taped & edited by John Sinclair in December 1966 for GUERRILLA. The interview took place in the lower east side apartment in New York City where Sun Ra and his 10-piece Arkestra live and work communally. Sun Ra's music can be heard on The Heliocentric Worlds of Sun Ra, Volumes I & II (ESP-Disk 1014 & 1017), and on 15 albums on his own label...

[irisintheafterglow]

love me from your point of view

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: ariana grande - "pov"

summary: you teach sakusa kiyoomi how to love, in spite of the cameras and the gossip.

wc: 8.45k

cw/tags: pro!sakusa x rockstar!reader, fem!reader in mind but no specific pronouns used, strangers to lovers, character study, explicit language, minor injury (blood/glass tw), mentions of drinking and alcohol, angst with happy ending <3

note: this is my contribution for the lovely sel's "and there's something, this feeling" collab to celebrate one year of @seiwas ! this is the longest fic i've written to date because i tried my best to go a character-driven route that i've always admired sel for rather than my usual plot-driven route. i hope you like this and happiest of anniversaries my wonderful sel :))))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :) check out the rest of sel's event here!

Sakusa Kiyoomi hated cameras. Unfortunately, in his line of work, they were essentially gnats buzzing constantly around his head. They were always trying to make him do something, look here or there, pose with his shoulders angling this way or that. After the commands came the interrogations, nosy reporters sniffing around his private life for something sellable. Then there were the phone cameras and the fans behind them, and they could be a hit or miss depending on if they respected his boundaries. When he was in highschool, he could get away with avoiding socialization; but now, as a striker for one of the most famous teams in the country, socialization was a required skill. 

“I’m happy you agreed to go with us, Sakusa,” Bokuto says for the fifth time since they parked at the venue in the heart of Tokyo. It was a little irritating, the way they kept thanking him for his presence like he’d back out if they didn’t continue expressing their gratitude. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to; Atsumu insisted on being the one behind the wheel and the car narrowly avoided a collision after Hinata said he’d missed the exit. “We know you’re still a little grumpy because of the drive, so don’t feel the need to talk to us right now.” 

“Hey, if you wanted to leave so badly, you could just call a car,” Atsumu points out, “but I know you secretly like spending time with us.” Sakusa fixes his teammate with a stare that could be perceived as a grimace, but his friends know him better than that. Sakusa wasn’t angry, he was bored. It was originally Bokuto and Hinata’s idea to see some artist he didn’t listen to in concert, saying that it was ‘a once in a lifetime experience’ and that the artist hadn’t played in the country in over a decade. He was vaguely aware of some songs, mostly because his teammates cranked the speaker volume during conditioning. Still, it wasn’t his ideal Saturday night, especially before a big game. “And, guess what?”

“Holy shit, box seats!” 

“We have our own bathroom!” Bokuto and Hinata’s shouts of excitement drown out the rest of Atsumu’s sentence and the security guards are barely able to open the doors as they tumble into the private section. 

“Yo, Shoyo. Be careful of that railing or you’ll fall into the general audience,” Atsumu warns while Hinata willfully ignores him, staring out over the crowds slowly filing into their seats. “Pretty cool, ain’t it?” Sakusa nods once, approaching the balcony and then deciding against it when he catches the telltale flash of a phone camera. Like clockwork, he and the other Jackals would be on every update page within ten minutes. A small object appears from behind the balcony wall, floating upwards in a thin arc before falling back to the seats below.

“The hell are they doing?”

“Sakusa, fans are trying to give us bracelets,” Bokuto beams, holding up his forearm halfway-covered in colorful beads. “Apparently it’s a tradition with this artist.”

“I don’t like gifts,” Sakusa deadpans, his mouth taut in a frown. “Tell them I can’t take it.”

“Too late,” Atsumu says, snagging a vibrant purple bracelet as it’s tossed upwards. He looks down at the eager fans below and claps, gesturing for them to throw more. “We’re already taking ‘em, so they’re gonna wonder why you’re not taking them too.”

“If they’re real fans, they’ll know I don’t like gifts,” he counters with narrowed eyes. 

“C’mon, Sakusa. Take one, at least,” Hinata says. His shorter teammate carefully pulls one off and slides it onto his wrist. The pattern alternates between yellow and lime green beads, with letter beads in the center spelling ‘NOKMLYDANOEW.’ It looked like Bokuto and Akaashi’s cat stepped on their computer keyboard. “The letters are an acronym for a song, I think. It’s an inside thing with the artist,” Hinata explains, leaning his bracelet-covered arms against the railing and waving to excited fans. 

“I’m gonna see if they have time to meet us backstage. The fans’ll go berserk.” Bokuto’s words make Sakusa’s eye twitch involuntarily. Staying longer than expected of him was a surefire way to make him irritated and they knew that. 

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones who will benefit from a little meet and greet,” Atsumu whispers cryptically and it’s impossible not to see the way he looks Sakusa up and down. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it, man,” Bokuto reassures him with a pat on the back, but he doesn’t budge. 

“No, I’m interested. What’re you on about, Miya?” 

“Trust us, it’s nothing!”

“Just grab a soju and relax, Sakusa–”

“They’re trying to set you up with the artist!” Sakusa flinches, turning slowly to his teammates that shrink away like vampires in direct sunlight. Hinata looks mortified, his hands slapped over his mouth as if to seal off what was already revealed. Atsumu and Bokuto shrug, giving him guilty smiles and showing their palms to convey their surrender. “That’s…that’s what they were talking about before we picked you up,” Hinata continues sheepishly. 

“This whole thing is a blind date?” He seethes through gritted teeth, the lights of the stadium starting to give him a migraine. “You guys brought me here to set me up?” 

“All we’re trying to do is have you meet someone new,” Atsumu says gently, stepping forward and then abruptly backward when Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a homicide. “We think it’ll be good for you.” 

“I don’t care about new people. I have work and you idiots to keep me busy,” Sakusa argues, crossing his arms over his chest. The beads on his arm press into his skin and he fights the urge to rip the entire thing off. “Why would I wanna meet some musician I don’t listen to?” 

“Even if you don’t listen to their music,” Bokuto replies without hesitation, “You should read through their lyrics sometime; I think you’ll find a lot of stuff you can relate to. I bet they get just as much bad publicity as we do.” 

“As if,” he scoffs. “I don’t need someone with a purple guitar telling me what I think.” 

—

“You said there were volleyball guys in attendance, right? If they’re still here, I should probably meet them,” you say to your publicist as you step out from the automatic riser that brought you below the stage following the last song of the show. The sound of your platform boots echo on the linoleum in the back halls of the stadium, your exit music faintly audible from above. “Who are they?” 

“There’s four in total, along with some managers and press. They’re on a team called the MSBY Jackals, with an outstanding record in the sport. From what I’ve seen, three of them are pretty nice.” The two of you, along with a handful of security guards, climb into a waiting golf cart. 

“And the other one?” 

“Toss-up. He might not even talk to you.” You take a sip from your water bottle and briefly glance at the photo your publicist has pulled up on her phone. You can guess which one is the quiet one from his face in the photo alone, staring blankly at the camera while his other teammates smile brightly. 

“He looks like he’d kill me in my sleep,” you observe bluntly. “The type of serial killer people make fan accounts about.” 

“In his defense, I don’t think this is his type of crowd,” she shrugs, her attention flicking to the way you stretch your legs in the seat of the small vehicle. “Sore?”

“Beyond belief,” you chuckle, wincing as a small stab of pain shoots through your calf. “I think I might need a little more padding on the soles, if possible. Chunky heels, in all their wonder, were not made for three hour shows.”

“I’ll see what I can do. You focus on turning back on for the players.” 

After a few more minutes of sipping water and stretching out your legs in the backseat of the golf cart, you pull up to the loading dock where the four athletes are waiting. Two of them, one with iced tips and the other with vibrantly orange hair, practically jump in place when you arrive. The grumpy one lingers at the back of the group; the blonde player extends his hand to you as you step out. 

“Thank you so much.” You greet them with a practiced smile and hope your exhaustion isn’t too visible. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I couldn’t stop screaming the entire time and I think my voice is shot.” 

“You are incredibly talented.” 

“It was wonderful!” 

“Oh, I’m so glad. It’s such a pleasure to meet you all,” you say warmly, truly wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for 24 hours straight. Even when his friends chatter your ear off, the curly-haired one at the back doesn’t say anything. The short one with orange hair and the widest smile introduces himself as Hinata Shoyo, excitedly leading you to each of his teammates: loud Bokuto, flirty Atsumu, and reclusive Sakusa. You’re left alone with Sakusa when the other three rush off to find a bathroom, having been too excited to use one during your show. 

“I didn’t take you for the bracelet type, Sakusa,” you comment, clocking the single bracelet on his wrist. “The colors are nice, though. They go with your eyes.” You let some of your facade come down, mostly because you figured you didn’t need to be as energetic around this one compared to the others. 

“Yeah, Shoyo let me have one of his. Didn’t realize you had such a passionate fanbase,” he states and you fight the urge to laugh. “Or such a large one.”

“You didn’t think I had fans, Sakusa?” His eyes widen ever so slightly and the chuckle slips out before you can stop it, his ears turning a shade pinker. 

“Not what I said,” he backtracks, avoiding eye contact. “The show was good,” he continues unexpectedly, and you find yourself appreciating his praise more than you should. It was a triumph, in your mind, every time you won over a new listener, and he was no different. At least he wasn’t one of the guys harassing you in your Instagram messages. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you say and catch his ears turning even redder. As much as he was trying to seem offputting, you could read him like a book. “You guys are in town for a game?”

“We’re playing not tomorrow night, but the night after. Coach would kill us if he knew we were going out before a big game,” he answers and you nod, gears starting to turn in your brain. It would be a headline tomorrow that the four players came to your show, but it would break the Internet entirely if you attended their game, especially in the middle of a sold-out tour. It was the kind of publicity you needed to drown out the tabloids. 

“My last show of this city is tomorrow night, but I can get away with skipping a rest day. Would it be weird if I came to watch you play?”

“You want to watch me play?” Sakusa echoes. The tiniest little smirk plays on the corner of his lips. Ugh. For all his introvertedness, he still had the ego of a pro athlete. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“I meant you guys. Don’t think I forgot about the players that actually came to talk to me,” you correct quickly. You exhale through your nose and shake your head with a small smile. The enthusiastic conversation behind you tells you that the rest of the team is returning. “Fine. Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that antisocial attitude.” 

“Have fun with that. I don’t like new people,” he says, testing you. Too bad you were used to men that probably weren’t healthy for you. “There’s no changing that.” Your forehead throbs at his pure audacity, but you manage to keep an unbothered expression. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

—

“I didn’t think they’d actually show up,” he mutters, taking another look at the large screens projecting the image of you in a VIP box. Sakusa didn’t recognize you without your concert makeup and stage outfit until Shoyo practically knocked him over in excitement. Seeing you smiling and catching your eye, even from at the bottom of the court, made his stomach turn in a way he wasn’t used to. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that first,” Bokuto beams, sending a powerful serve that barely cilps the top of the net. Sakusa finds his eyes drifting to your box, his scowl deepening when you blow an exaggerated kiss to his teammate. His next serve he puts more effort into, but when he looks up, you’re not even watching. Not only were you crashing his game, you were distracting his team. “Nice plan, Sakusa! Maybe we can become friends with them and go to each others’ events.” 

“That wasn’t my intention,” he cringes, the idea of spending more time with you making him nauseous. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the fact that you were making an effort to engage with him and his friends was outlandish. And all because he invited you to a game? Didn’t you have anything better to do?

“You thought inviting them to the game would scare them away, huh?” Atsumu’s watching Sakusa carefully, inspecting his disgruntled expression under a microscope. “Believe it or not, Omi, some people actually want to be around you…despite how difficult you make it sometimes.” 

“I don’t remember asking for your input,” he threatens, but the blonde Miya merely shrugs, impervious to Sakusa’s warnings. “Can we agree to ignore their presence? Focus on the game. It’s your job.” Atsumu and Bokuto share a look, with typical Hinata none the wiser. Whether they knew it or not, your attendance was throwing off Sakusa’s entire concentration. The average spectator wouldn’t notice the change in Sakusa’s behavior; if anything, they would think he was functioning at a higher level than he usually plays. His serves are stronger, his spikes are sharper, and his steps are quicker than any other player on the court. Fans rave on social media about how focused he is in the game, and the reporters scribble in their notebooks the pressing question for the post-game press conference: Why are you playing so well today? 

“I always play that well,” he mutters, his lie drowned out by the lively conversation around the booth in the corner of the restaurant. The Jackals had cinched an easy victory and Bokuto and Hinata dragged you from your box to get dinner with them. Sakusa sits at the edge of the booth, flanked by Atsumu, followed by Bokuto and Hinata. You sit at the other end, laughing at some dumb story being recounted. It made his forehead pound. “You just don’t notice.” 

“Yeah, right,” Atsumu snickers with another sip of beer. “Admit it, something’s pissing you off.” Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that anti-social attitude. Your words linger in the back of his mind and fire him up again, unknowingly furrowing his eyebrows and incriminating him. “Yep. Knew it.” 

“Shut the hell up, Atsumu.” He hated that his normally-idiotic teammate was on the cusp of exposing the truth, not to mention the fact that he’d downed one too many soju bombs and was feeling pushier than usual. 

“Is it ‘cause they actually listened to you and showed up?”

“I told you to shut up,” he hisses through gritted teeth. You’re laughing so hard that tears are starting to prickle at the corner of your eyes. It’s the kind of laugh where no noise is actually leaving you and you’re fanning yourself with your hand. Gross. 

“Aww, look at little baby Omi-Omi, finally having a feeling over someone wanting to get to know him,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa’s ears burn. He threatens his friend with an indescribable death to no avail. “I knew you had a heart under all that coldness!” 

Sakusa’s fist clenches around his glass and he realizes his mistake a split second before there’s a sharp crack! and sudden pain prickles in his palm. “Oh shit, man. I–” His teammate swears under his breath when drops of dark red and amber starts to trickle down Sakusa’s arm, staining the white napkin on his lap. He grinds his teeth down to keep from crying out, the whiskey in his shattered cup burning his raw skin. 

“What happened?” You’re by his side in an instant, your perfume flooding his senses in a way that makes him dizzy. “Jeez, Atsumu. What’d you do?” 

“Why are you blaming me? He’s the one who was holding the cup,” Atsumu says defensively and you shoot him a look. “Fine. I got him riled up and he did,” he gestures to the mess on the table, “that.” 

“Could one of you call your driver please? I think it’s time you three head back to your hotel,” you recommend calmly. 

“What about Sakusa?” Hinata asks as he climbs out from the booth, dragging an apologetic Atsumu and a very buzzed Bokuto toward the door. “He should probably get that checked out.”

“I know. I’ll stay with him,” you reassure him and, after a brief pause of thinking, the short spiker nods and heads for the exit. Sakusa is rigidly still, save for the involuntarily twitching of his injured fingers. “C’mon, let’s go,” you say, gently guiding him out of the booth and grabbing some unused napkins to catch the bleeding. He follows you wordlessly, a million thoughts stewing in his eyes that he refuses to verbalize. He knew he didn’t like you when you tried to read him after your show, but the alcohol in his system was making him despise you. 

You, sitting with him on the way to the nearest hospital. You, carefully looping the elastic bands of his mask over his face before leaving the car. You, politely declining a fan’s attempt to introduce themselves while you’re checking him in at the reception desk. You, listening intently to the doctor as she says that he’ll need stitches in his right hand and that they’ll need to pick every last particle of glass from his palm so that it doesn’t become infected. You, ignoring your vocal coach’s orders for a rest day and staying by his side from 11:00pm to 3:00am when the doctors finally finish his hand. 

He despises you and his pride becomes a gag in his mouth once you drop him off at the Jackals’ hotel, rendering him unable to choke out a simple ‘thank you’ as you continue to treat him with unending kindness. You’ll get hurt if you keep being nice, he thinks to himself, and the way you flinch like you’d been shot tells him he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. He hears you murmur Sleep well, Sakusa, as he shuts the door with his left hand and stalks away, lost in the trenches of his mind. 

—

“But, I’m not sure if it should be the A minor to keep with the chord progression or go to E to create some tension.” Your producer nods at you, his chin resting on his knuckles as you strum your latest song idea on your purple acoustic. It’d been a few days since your late-night trip to the emergency room with Sakusa, and you decided to spend a few hours in the studio before catching your flight to your next tour city. “And when I tried to do it on piano, I just wanted to change the key entirely.” He opens his mouth to speak but is abruptly cut off by three insistent raps on the doorframe of the control room.  

“You have a visitor,” your publicist informs you, peeking her head into the room with a slightly bewildered look in her eyes. “He says it’s urgent.” Your eyebrows dip but you stand anyways, walking through the halls of the recording space until you reach the lobby of the building and stop in your tracks. 

What the hell was he doing here?

“Hey,” Sakusa greets and you blink at him, like he was a figment of your imagination that would disappear if you ignored him. It’s impossible to ignore him, though, considering the outrageously large bundle of flowers cradled in his arm. He follows your eyeline, muttering, “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so I just…bought all of them.”

“I’ll, uh,” your publicist glances at you for a brief moment, giving you an unreadable look before gingerly taking the bouquet from the Olympian in the lobby. “I’ll take these and have them brought to your next hotel, okay?” She dismisses herself, leaving you alone with him. 

“Why are you here?”

“Are you busy right now?” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed that he replied to your question with a question of his own. Since dropping him off at the team’s hotel, you’d come to peace with his hatred for you even though you’d tried to be nothing but cordial; maybe he could tell that you wanted to be friends for the publicity, you theorized. 

“I’m in a recording studio doing my job, so yeah,” you reply and allow all your suppressed attitude to rear its head. To your surprise, he doesn’t immediately fire back at you. If anything, Sakusa looked uneasy, nothing like the cold confidence you previously saw. “What do you want?”

“Do you have time for lunch?” 

“Oh, now you’re interested in my company,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. In the time following that night at the hospital, you hadn’t received any updates other than an unprompted photo of hungover Atsumu. “Unless you’re ready to apologize for how much of an asshole you’ve been, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I wanna start over,” he says as you turn your back on him to return to the studio. “One meal,” he proposes, “and if you want nothing to do with me after that, I’ll leave you alone.” You check the wall-mounted clock and make your decision. 

“You get two hours.” 

By the time you sneak through the back of a restaurant and sit down to eat, your stomach is turning itself inside out. You thumb through the menu eagerly, ignoring your present company until water glasses are set out and orders are taken. 

“Look,” you begin, peering at him in the dim light, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“That makes two of us,” he agrees. “You go first.”

“Truth is, I didn’t go to the game to see you, or any of the Jackals, for that matter,” you admit. “I went to get the tabloids off my back and give them a different reason to talk. I didn’t mean to mess up whatever dynamic you guys had going, so for that I am sorry.” You can’t see much of Sakusa’s expression, but you can tell his eyes are on you by the way they shine like a cat’s. It was off-putting, but also drew you in like a black hole. “Is your hand doing okay?”

“It’s better now,” he replies. “Doc’ told me that if we’d left that glass in for longer, it would’ve been more serious.” You nod and take a drink from your water as an excuse not to respond, to see if he would go further. “I, uh,” he swallows thickly, steadying his nerves. “I’m sorry for being avoidant and just being a general asshole. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m…incredibly remorseful.” A puff of air leaves your nostrils in amusement and he can hear you smirk from across the small table. 

“I appreciate the apology, and the apology lunch. Wanna start over without our respective teams breathing down our necks? Friends?” You stick your open hand toward him and he shakes it without hesitation, sealing your deal. “Awesome.” 

“You said ‘tabloids.’ What do they say about you?” Your smile fades and for a moment, he thinks he’s pushed too far too soon. He’s on the brink of apologizing again when you exhale an unsteady breath. 

“The tame ones call me an industry plant,” you explain awkwardly. “The–uh–bolder ones call me a slut.” His nostrils flare and he’s glad there’s no glass in his hand again, otherwise he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t be shattered. “The big drama came from me leaving the producer who’d helped me start my career. The media got the wrong idea, said I’d slept my way into working with him, and left when I’d had my fill.” Sakusa slowly stretches his neck from side to side, willing the sudden tension in his body to relax as he starts to see red. “I hope you can see why I wanted to give them a different reason to talk.” It’s more of a struggle than he expected to keep his voice steady. 

“What actually happened? With the original producer?” You hum in lieu of answering, grateful to catch the approaching servers out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll tell you another time,” you dodge, giving him a smile that he can tell is off. “For now, can we eat? I’m so hungry I’m about to eat these silly little herbs in the centerpiece.” 

—

Sakusa stays in Tokyo longer than the rest of his teammates, who depart on the team jet for the next game. He says he wants to do a little more sightseeing, despite having an apartment in the most expensive highrise in the city and knowing the streets like the back of his hand. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to give up the…thing…he’d established with you. He fell into an odd sort of routine: saying goodnight over text, calling you in the morning and telling you what time he’s picking you up, choosing the best places that can shut down for the world’s biggest rockstar on a day’s notice. You were in town for three more days and ended up spending every waking moment of them with Sakusa. 

“You’re really good at dodging the cameras,” you remark over a shared cup of ice cream on your last day, digging your spoon past the numerous toppings you’d insisted on adding. “How do you do it?”

“It helps when I’m not surrounded by the three biggest noisemakers on the planet,” he deadpans and you giggle, a sound he was increasingly becoming fond of the more time he spent with you. “I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know.” 

“Everyone seems to know where I am before even I know,” you frown. “I envy you; I really do.”

“I don’t,” he shrugs.

“Why not?” 

“When you’re trying so hard to avoid people, they tend to stop looking for you. Makes my job easier.” Your lips part in an oh of understanding. “But, I guess you’re here, so either you truly care about my wellbeing or you’re clinically insane.” You burst out laughing, so much so that you snort and have to cover your mouth with a napkin. “My running theory is that it’s a mix of both,” he declares with a rare upturn at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter once you’ve caught your breath and checked the time on your phone. “I should go. My plane leaves soon and my manager’ll kill me if I’m late. She’s already iffy about me staying in Tokyo this long.”

“What’s your next city?” 

“Madrid. I’m starting the European leg,” you reply while you pack up your things. He stands, walking you to the door of your waiting car. His eyes instinctively scan the surroundings street for cameras, and he subtly positions his body to block you from any passing eyes as you climb into the car. The window makes a humming noise as you roll it down. 

“Have a safe flight.” 

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll miss you, even if you don’t want me to.” He memorizes the way the afternoon sunlight catches in your eyes, how each thump of his heartbeat seems louder when you’re near. Something is wrong in my brain, he thinks to himself. Once he’s completely sure your car isn’t being tailed, he dials Atsumu on the drive to the hotel to collect the rest of his things.

“You land already, Miya?” His car purrs beneath his fingertips as he speeds through the busy streets. 

“Safe and sound,” his teammate confirms. “Though jet lag is starting to hit Shoyo and Bo. How were the rest of your dates?” 

“They weren’t dates,” he argues, his hands unconsciously gripping the wheel tighter in indignance. “I was just thanking them for that night.” 

“Yeah, and a bit more than that, I figure.” 

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you,” he groans.

“Because you want me to say ‘I told you so,’ right? That it was a good idea for me to bring you to that show. You know, a trip to that conveyor belt sushi place will suffice as repayment.”

“In your dreams, Atsumu,” Sakusa deadpans. 

“C’mon, Omi. I know you wouldn’t keep spending time with them if you didn’t feel some kind of tug.” 

“Tug?”

“Like you’re drawn to them,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa feels like gagging. “Intimately.” Sakusa definitely didn’t think of you that way…right?

“You’re such a pervert.” His disgust is clear, and his speakers blow out with Atsumu’s screams of Not like that! and You don’t even pull enough for me to make fun of! “I’m at the hotel now so I’m gonna hang up. Not sure again why I even bother talking to you.”

“Because I’m your best friend,” Atsumu answers. “See you soon, my sweet Omi~” 

“Remind me to punch you when I touch down.”

—

“How was the show a few nights ago?” 

“Amazing, as always. Almost fell on my ass running around to meet people at the barricade, but thankfully kept my balance,” you chuckle, running the pad of your thumb over the petal of a purple gladiolus. “You can probably see a clip of it on all the fan pages.”

“You think I follow fan pages about you?” 

“What? I follow fan pages about you,” you insist. “User ‘omi-omisbigtits’ has some pretty funny posts of you.” Sakusa groans from the other end of the line.

“That’s the one fan account I have blocked because they post such heinous things,” he recalls. “Did you scroll far enough to see the one where I’m at the zoo and–”

“You’re running away from the peacock, yep,” you finish. Out of the various presents and letters your fans gifted you, you find yourself drawn again and again to the pot of sword lilies. “I screenshotted it and made it your contact photo.”

“I’m never sending you flowers again,” he mutters, but you hear it, snapping your head upwards. 

“These were you?” Your jaw drops so forcefully that it aches. “You’re the mystery flower sender? No one would tell me who sent these!” 

“Because I told them I’d sue if you found out it was me,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes, a grin creeping onto your face. 

“Why’d you want to send them anonymously?” Upon inspecting the color further, you realize where you’ve seen the shade before. 

He’d sent you flowers that matched your favorite guitar. 

“I didn’t wanna distract you before your shows. I was aiming for subtlety.” You blink in disbelief. Sakusa had sent you flowers the night before you started your show run in Paris, knowing you would be at the venue for soundcheck. Maybe he did care about you and your career.

“Well, you failed,” you state, staring at the large bundle of purple taking up half the space on your dressing room’s side table. “This bouquet is the opposite of subtle.”

“Bouquet? I ordered you one stem.”

“No,” you restated. Even though you’d never video called Sakusa before, you switch on your phone’s camera anyway to show him the absolutely gargantuan amount of flowers he mistakenly sent you. “You ordered this.” To your surprise, he turns on his camera as well. His face contorts into such a shocked and puzzled expression that you snort out the water you were sipping, burning your nostrils as tears prickle your eyes. “Stop looking like that, I can’t breathe!”

“What do you mean, ‘stop looking like that?’ I didn’t mean to send you the whole rainforest!” You choke out another uncontrollable laugh, turning the camera to face yourself and setting it in front of your vanity mirror. “Alright, at least you got them.” 

“Yes, and I really appreciate you sending them.” You can tell he’s not used to having his camera on, as he keeps tilting the phone at odd angles and barely showing his face half the time. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Just in bed.” Or a snowstorm, from the looks of it. 

“Why does it look like your poor phone is in a typhoon?” 

“You’re literally so annoying,” he grumbles, reluctantly positioning himself so that he’s sitting against the headboard. With the new point of view, you also notice very quickly that he…is completely shirtless. “Better?”

“Yep, yeah. That’s fine,” you force out, clearing your throat aggressively while the image of his very broad shoulders assault your brain. “Sorry that I didn’t send you flowers for your game.” 

“The guys would give me shit about it if you do, so I’m glad you did not,” he replies. “Though, it does suck not having you around.” 

“This is the closest I’m ever getting to you saying you miss me. I should commemorate it with a plaque.” Sakusa clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile. He must’ve taken a shower recently; his curls look slightly wet and dangle haphazardly across his eyes. You have the sudden urge to run your fingers through it, and then the even more sudden urge to slap yourself for thinking in such a way. 

“What city are you in now? I know you just finished up Dublin.” His voice snaps you out of your daydreaming. 

“Paris,” you manage to reply without too awkward of a pause. “You?”

“Paris.” 

“Huh? I thought your next game was in Brazil,” you ask. His face goes still for a moment and you figure it’s probably frozen from bad service, wherever he is. “Hello?”

“Sorry, you broke up for a second. What were you saying?”

“I was asking why you were in Paris.”

“I’m not in Paris,” he states. “I’m in Seoul.” 

“Isn’t your next game in Brazil?” He pauses for an almost imperceptible amount of time.

“Game schedule got rearranged. We’re in Seoul, then the States, then Brazil.” 

“Oh. I see.” A loud series of knocking on your dressing room door makes you jump. “Ah, I’m sorry. I need to go.” 

“Rockstar duties?”

“You know it,” you yawn, taking one last indulgent look at the exposed muscle on his shoulders. “Hopefully we both get some rest for the coming days.”

“Yep. G’night.” 

—

There was a little bit of lingering guilt on his end after you hang up; the fact that he’d lied to you about his whereabouts didn’t escape him. 

He wasn’t sure what came over him, what sentimental demon temporarily possessed him to take a plane to wherever you were (Paris, not the lie that he gaslit you into believing) and buy a last minute ticket to your show. His emotions and desires were thrown completely off balance; he truly didn’t care if he was up in the nosebleeds if it meant he got to see you. Thankfully, a wealthy couple had bought out an entire area of club seats for their granddaughter’s birthday, but decided last minute that they wanted to fly to Cancun. It made him a little anxious, having all that space to himself, but he figured he could have his guards and team invite family to make it a little less lonely. It didn’t matter how many strangers he needed to meet or how much he had to spend. 

He just wanted to see you. 

He finds himself in a familiar position from the first time he went to one of your shows, rooted under the awning of the expansive lounge area and just out of sight from fans. His arms unconsciously cross over his chest and the beads of the bracelet he’d dug through his luggage to find presses against his skin. But, this time, he isn’t annoyed by the pain; if anything, it reminds him that he’s actually here with you, even if you don’t know it yet. 

I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know. His words echo back to him and he makes his decision, stepping out into the stadium lights and resting his forearms on the railing. 

He wants you to know he’s there. 

The first fan to notice is a girl in purple, slapping her friend furiously until they both are gawking at him. One pair of eyes becomes two, which becomes five, which becomes twenty, until hundreds of phone cameras are pointed at him and snapping photos. The sentimental demon possesses him again and he sticks up an involuntary peace sign, even going so far as to smile to look less bored. They scream for him and he thinks the sentimental demon is Atsumu, because he finds himself imitating his teammate’s movements. His hands clap together and he gestures for fans to toss him bracelets, which become an impossible shower as dozens are thrown at once. By the time the lights dim and news of his presence is trending across the continent, his arms are covered in sleeves of rainbow beads. 

— 

The ache in your feet is immediately replaced by adrenaline when your head of security informs you who came to the show. You don’t bother waiting for the golf cart to bring you to the back of the stadium and take off sprinting, chunky heels and all. They’re calling after you to hold on to let the rest of your team catch up, but you don’t listen. The stadium staff look at you fondly but also have a reasonably startled reaction to you running like you’d escaped from an asylum. 

You round the corner absolutely heaving and his face breaks into a wide smile. You’d never seen him look like that before, never at his games or during any of the time you’d spent together. It was an expression reserved for only you in this moment. You don’t remember if he catches you or if you embrace him first, but soon enough your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut and grinning like a lunatic. His arms are rock solid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you can hear his heartbeat slamming against his ribcage. Neither of you speak for a few minutes because you don’t feel the need to; only when you pull away to hold his face with your hands do you manage to articulate words. 

“You’re here,” you breathe. “You’re actually here.” Recognition blinks onto your face and you suddenly frown, lightheartedly slapping his shoulder, saying, “You lied! Your dumb ass said you were in Seoul!” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he concludes unapologetically. “I did slip up with my story a few times, though.”

“Yeah, you got your own game schedule wrong.” 

“To be fair, some games did get rescheduled, which is why I’m able to be here. Our next game’s in Seoul, which is why I blanked and said that instead,” he explains and you respond with an exasperated eyeroll. “Find it in your heart to forgive me?” 

“I see right through you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. You don’t…uhm…” He comes close enough that you can count his eyelashes and it takes you a few seconds to recompose yourself. “Mmm, you wanna kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid,” you challenge and hope he doesn’t hear the butterflies going wild in your stomach. 

“Maybe I do,” he smirks and it only makes the situation more sweat-inducing. “I missed you, after all.” Your eyes flutter closed as he leans in but instantly shoot back open, gently pushing him away as he pouts. “What is it?”

“Take me out to dinner, first. If you apologize sufficiently for being a terrible liar, maybe you’ll get a kiss,” you propose and he’s already lacing his fingers in yours. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

— 

In spite of his attempts to ignore the cameras and the footsteps that were always a few feet behind him, there was a pit in his stomach every time Sakusa was in public with you. He couldn’t figure out why he was so irked, but the feeling made it difficult to enjoy how you smiled at him in quiet moments and pointed out things he’d never think to notice before. Most perplexingly, you didn’t seem bothered at all by the cameras. It was like they disappeared as soon as he came into your proximity; you barely spared them a glance in favor of beaming up at him. 

Even though you agreed that there was a feeling more than platonic between you two, he hadn’t mustered up the urge to kiss you properly, opting for your forehead or your hands instead. It didn’t seem to bother you, the way he only reserved showing his affection when you were out of view. But, he slips up the night before you have to part ways, him for his next game and you for your final European date. The dread he’d experienced for days felt like intuition telling him something was inherently wrong, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff he didn’t know the height of. 

It comes crashing down when the tabloids catch him holding your hand.

“Can you believe this?” You snort, showing Sakusa the headline as he forces down the bile in his throat. “They think you’re my next ‘big catch,’ like you’re a fish or something,” you chuckle obliviously, leaning into him on the living room couch of his hotel suite. He manages a pained mhmm and watches as you continue to scroll through the news site, the photos of him holding your hand and grabbing your waist flying by like a nightmarish film reel. He rubs his palms back and forth over the fabric of his sweats, feeling suddenly feverish from every single point where your body was touching his. Clearing his throat, he swallows thickly and you finally look at him, concern pinching in your eyebrows. Your voice is gentle and you reach up to feel his forehead; he dodges your hand and you carefully hide your disappointment. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

“We can’t do this.” His heart sinks as you sit up and blink at him, his words registering slowly in your mind. “I can’t…I can’t do this with you,” he sputters out. You exhale a single time and he watches your eyes flick from side to side, your brain running a thousand miles a minute.

“I don’t understand.”

“We need to stop.” You laugh forcefully, like you were commanding your body to feel lighter. 

“If this is a joke, Kiyoomi, it isn’t funny–”

“It’s not a fucking joke; you need to stop being with me,” he snaps and the room falls silent. The only thing he can hear is his heartbeat rushing through his ears, his face hotter than the sun. 

“Why?” Your voice breaks and so does something in him, his jaw clenching unconsciously. 

“You need to stop being nice to me,” he says through gritted teeth, “because I can’t guarantee I’ll be nice back.” This is how it always ends. Push them away before things get messy. This is how it works for Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

“But you have been nice,” you fight back, your grief morphing into unfiltered rage as you stand and scream at him. “You sent me flowers. You bought me dinner. You flew across the world to see my fucking show!” 

“That doesn’t matter. None of it mattered.” His composure wavers momentarily, unreadable emotions flashing across his face. “You can’t be close to me without getting hurt.” He gestures to your phone, the paparazzi image of you two together brighter than a Times Square billboard. 

“Who said it needed to be that way?” 

“Everyone did!” He stands without warning and you flinch backward, stumbling against the coffee table. “People think I’m an asshole, so that’s how I choose to stay. At the very least, I can predict things and prevent people from getting too close. You’re too close.”

“But you’re not an asshole. You’ve shown me that much,” you insist, arguing with his back as he starts to retreat into the master suite. What you say next makes him freeze, trapped in an endless time loop with you. 

Tell me you care for your friends. 

“What?” He’s seething as he turns, meeting your eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, do I–”

“Do you care about your friends?” You repeat, stepping closer to him. His eyes are burning, molten to the core even when you refuse to shrink away. “If Bo, Shoyo, and Atsumu were dying in a fucking fire, would you save them?”

“Of course I would,” he spits indignantly. “What kind of–”

“Then you have the capacity to love, Kiyoomi, as much as you don’t want to admit it.” You’re crying, tears streaming uncontrollably down your cheeks. Why are you crying? He never wanted to make you cry. What did he do to make you cry? 

“Because the last time you loved something, people scorned you.” They told him his passion was suffocating. They told him he was walking a path that one could only walk alone. He’s frozen, his feet left immobile on the hotel carpet. He makes no sound beside shaking exhales and can sense nothing but your voice coming closer.  

“You made it your career to prove that it’s worthy of your love…but you forgot how to love anything else.” Time slows. He doesn’t remember when your face appeared so close to his. He can see a universe behind your eyes and he wants nothing more than to hold you and call you his. His passion was suffocating. It would hurt you. It would burn you. It would–

“I wish you could love yourself as much as I love you.” 

One breath, and then another. 

A crack in an eggshell. A hole in a fortress. 

You are an asteroid completely obliterating the planet he considered himself. 

And when he finally kisses you properly, he understands just how freeing being destroyed could be. 

—

Sakusa Kiyoomi did not like cameras. They were gnats buzzing around his head, calling for him to look this way and that, catching his every reaction to whatever crossed his path. They were broken whispers that floated to his ears, unintelligible conversations that stayed as voices in his head. He did not like cameras, but he found that looking at you was infinitely better than looking at anything else. 

“You doing okay?” Your murmur is the only thing he hears, quieting the rest of the chatter around him. Swaths of dresses and suits brush against his arms and he fights the instinct to shield you from view, despite being sat in the very center of the huge theater. It was the biggest award show of the season, and he’d made a vow with himself that he wouldn’t ruin tonight for you. With your hand in his, as long as he had physical contact with you, it was easier to keep the doubts in his mind at bay. “I’m feeling fine, if that’s what you need to know.” 

“I’m doing okay as long as you’re okay,” he confirms softly, barely sparing a glance at the giant lens a few feet from his face. “I’m here to celebrate you. I won’t let them bother me tonight.” You beam at him, opening your mouth to say something when a commotion comes tumbling down the aisle. “Actually,” he mutters as his three teammates trip over themselves to find their seats in the rest of the row, “Do you think I can have one nasty scowl? I promise I’ll behave otherwise.” 

“Having a rockstar best friend is like, the best thing ever,” Bokuto declares before you can respond to Kiyoomi. 

“I’m so glad Omi finally got his head out of his ass, too,” Atsumu drawls with an unbothered yawn that makes Sakusa’s blood boil. The blonde Miya sibling had been very vocal with the press about playing as the matchmaker, pointedly dodging questions about his own romantic status. “I think I’ll secretly have ‘I told you so’ engraved on the inside of your wedding rings.”

“Over my dead body,” Kiyoomi grumbles and you smile, squeezing his hand once. He squeezes back, pressing a rare public kiss to the side of your head. You shift your body to lean more closely to his and your wrist presses down on something wrapped around his wrist. 

“What’s under your sleeve?”

“Hmm? Oh, this?” He pulls back the freshly ironed fabric to reveal a familiar pattern of green and yellow beads, out of place compared to the rest of his formal attire. “Got it from a concert,” he smirks knowingly. “The show was cool, but I think I’m in love with the artist.”

“Yeah? You never figured out what that acronym stands for, did you?” He shakes his head and you point at each letter bead, explaining, “No one knows me like you do, and no one ever will.” 

“Well, isn’t that fitting?” The lights dim and the orchestra starts to play its signature fanfare, spotlights gliding in aimless directions across the audience. “Thank you for helping me understand.”

“The meaning of the lyric? Of course, I think of you every time I sing it, now,” you smile. 

“No, about what you said that night when we argued.” He feels a familiar blush creeping up his cheeks. “About loving me how you love me.”

“And do you get it now?”

“I do,” he nods, glancing at the colorful bracelet on his wrist and your fingers intertwined with his. “I just needed a little bit of convincing.” Your head settles on his shoulder and he lets you, allowing himself to relax in spite of the sea of cameras surrounding him. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.”

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[just-some-random-blogger]

Never Before

[Waiting For A Lifetime II] Part 1 2 3 ?

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Aegon Targaryen x Reader + Aemond Targaryen x Reader (im sorry i couldn't help myself T_T)

Summary: Never before had Daemon, prince of Valyria, been so sure of anything in his entire life.

Word Count: 7k+ 💀💀💀

Warnings: Fem!reader, Modern AU, i have slight pov shifts kinda i hope its not confusing, probably poorly translated high valyrian, sibling quarrels T_T, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hello im 6000% invested in this that i made a moodboard MY MODERN!DAEMON NONNIE I HOPE YOURE READING THIS I HAVE A MADE A PART 2 ENJOY MY LOVE i hope you enjoy it T_T come back to my inbox and tell me what you think pls T_T i beg. this btw is a p2 and you 100% need to read the first chapter to appreciate this i think lol "Waiting For A Lifetime" (but to be fair, i doubt you need to read it to get what's happening though) ps the valyrian wedding vows are from reddit Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony also everyone who commented and messaged me about it my fic @pearlstiare @llovinjoonie @sabrina6272827 @ayamenimthiriel @comicsol1999 @fictionalcomforts @mirandastuckinthe80s @mooniesyubi @cookielovesbook-akie @panagiasikelia

"Viserys!" Daemon shouted as he galloped loudly down the halls. He paid no mind to the staff greeting him good morning as he called out for his brother. No one minds. They are far too used to him. His hair jostles with his movement, yet he barely heaves as he runs. He is far too used to this.

Daemon changes the name he calls as he practically jumps down the stairs with how much excitement was in his bones, "Aemma!"

He huffs as his tousled, silver blonde hair flies over his face as he makes it downstairs.

The prince nearly collides with a servant who just exited a room he passed. He braces her, grunts as he pushes past. She squeaks and quickly mutters an apology that is quickly ignored.

Daemon runs down the hall, making a quick turn when he reaches a corner.

Had it been anyone other than the Wild Child himself, it would have been a concerning sight to see a man running frantically so early in the morn. However, Daemon had done worse, far worse in his youth especially. It was best to rather just get out of his way, lest he accidentally injure you in an unfortunate collision.

Daemon busts into the dining room with a dramatic bang, fitting of his innate dramatics. Finally, he was out of breath and catches it as as his brother and sister-in-law cooed at their newborn babe.

He huffs, walking over to the joyous family, absolutely illuminated by the sound of the young heir's laughter and seemingly indifferent to his entrance.

Daemon releases a sigh at the sight of them.

The little girl squeals in excitement as her mother rattles her toy over her face.

Viserys finally turns to his younger brother, "oh. You're awake."

Daemon reaches him and slaps a hand on his back in regard, making a beeline for Aemma, who he promptly seals into a hug and kisses her cheek.

"Off, you cunt," Viserys points loudly but emptily, making his wife snort.

Daemon smirks at the reaction to his theatrics, glad to finally have attention, smile widening as he takes his turn to coo to his babe, "Rhae-Rhae!"

Viserys rolls his eyes, "Rhaenyra."

Aemma gives her husband a look, swatting a hand at him, "I think it's a cute pet name, lovie."

"Aemma," the man sat by the side of Rhaenyra's high chair shifts on his seat, "Ray-ray was the name of his dog when we were kids."

"But you're much cuter than him, innit?" Daemon says as he reaches out to Rhaenyra, "you're so much cuter than my widdle pitbull was."

Aemma breaks into a fit of giggles upon learning the dog's breed. From the spot where she stood to the right of Rhaenyra's high chair, she threw her head back, her long platinum blonde hair cascaded down her shoulder. She thinks it's fitting that the prince cared for a pitbull; the most misunderstood breed of canines, she thinks.

Viserys watches as Daemon takes his daughter, "she's not going to let you hold her."

Daemon ignores him and beams when the child is successfully in his arms.

Victorious.

That is up until she broke into a loud fit of tears.

"Aww, shh, shh," Aemma coos at her daughter, "it's uncle Daemon! Uncle Daemon."

"Yes, uncle demon," the child's father states, "who will not hesitate to steal your candy the minute he can."

"Viserys," Aemma warns.

The said man raises his arms, "I won't let him, lovie."

Daemon turns to Aemma with worry written on his face and moves to bring the baby for her to take. When he turns to his brother, Viserys has a shitfaced I-told-you-so look written all over him.

Daemon decides to ignore it, not even sparing an eye roll that was itching in his skull. Aemma takes Rhaenyra and hushes her in her arms. The effect is instant. Daemon looks on blankly yet in awe. Viserys catches the way his brother sighs in what he could only describe as delight. The former walks over to Viserys, circling behind him to pull the seat to his side and hunch over with intent.

Viserys shoots him a look. And here he thought his brother wanted merely to have breakfast. He should have known, "what do you want?"

These words alert Aemma, who turns from her spot as she continues to rock the already pacified baby in her arms.

"I want mother's ring."

Aemma gasps, eyes widening, jaw slacking.

Viserys pulls his head back, screws his eyes shut, then shakes his head in disbelief. He opens his eyes as he says, "you want what?"

"The red one," Daemon points, "you know. I always thought the emerald cut suited mummy's finger."

Aemma beams, "oh my gods, Daemon!"

"Wait," the king raises his hands, "wait, wait-" he turns to his excited wife, "wait," he eyes Daemon, "why you asking for the ruby ring?"

"I just said that-"

"Don't fuck with me."

Daemon straightens up at the sound of the king's hiss. He then snorts, unable to mask his amusement over his older brother's annoyance. He leans on the table and then grabs a piece of some of the sliced fruit. He chews the sweet melon and grape in his mouth, lips curving into a small smirk, "I'm going to get married."

Aemma cannot contain the squeal that slips out of her mouth, "DAEMON!"

"Fuck off," Viserys mutters, leaning back on his chair, "don't mess with me, you nitwit. I will have your arse if you-"

"No, I'm serious," he places a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I have met..." Daemon exhales, shaking his head. He holds his tongue, trying to think of the right words to say. Aemma and Viserys both are stunned by this, the latter most especially. The prince purses his lips then utters, "the most enchanting woman and..."

Aemma whimpers, hand coming up to her lips, tears glassing her eyes.

Viserys shifts in his seat to turn to his brother.

"I..." Daemon shakes his head, turning away from his brother in thought. He knits his brows as he chuckles to himself. He retreats his hand, "I have no idea how, or why, but I just know," he turns to Aemma, "she's the one."

Aemma bursts into tears upon hearing the admission. She hands her daughter to her husband then heads off to Daemon to seal him into a tight embrace. Daemon laughs as he stands and meets his sister-in-law halfway, cooing at her as they hug affectionately. He rubs her back, and kisses the top of her head, "aww, my sweet girl, we do not deserve you."

The king is too stunned to do anything but hold his heir.

The embrace lasts a good ten seconds.

"Gods, Dae," Aemma whimpers, "I'm so happy for you."

Viserys is frozen in his spot as he holds Rhaenyra. He looks out to door and calls, "someone! Someone come and bring a maester! My brother is terribly ill! He's in fucking love!"

Aemma and Daemon pull away from each other, chuckling as they did. The former swats Viserys and the latter waves at Rhaenyra, who was looking up at her papa, then idly turned to her uncle.

The king sighs before he turns up to his brother, "well, tell me about her. I would damned die trying to wrap my head around what kind of woman got you so worked up like this."

Aemma watches as Daemon's face lights up. It warmed her heart so dearly to see his good-brother like this.

"I cannot put it into words, Vis, but the moment I saw her," Daemon waves his hands around, "I- it was like... the wind was knocked out of my lungs."

"Gods. The Mother. The Stranger. The Smith," Viserys whimpers, standing from his chair, placing his daughter on the highchair. He pats her bald baby head, "lest I hurl on you, my love."

Aemma is sill very much sobbing. She clutches Daemon's bicep, "so?! When did you meet her?! What's her name? What does she do? What does she look like?! Do you have a photo of her? Show me a photo of her right now!"

Daemon chuckles at her rapid fire questions and grabs her cheek, leaning his forehead onto her. When he pulls away, he places his cherished possession into her hand. Daemon pushes past her and Aemma looks at the small white card with much intrigue.

Daemon feels a tingle run down his spine as he hears Aemma read the name out loud. He steps in front of his brother as his sister-in-law chimes, "she works at a museum and is a professor part time," the woman turns to her husband, "she's an intellectual, Viserys!"

"I'm going to need that ring, brother," Daemon declared.

Viserys turns to Daemon, eyes narrowed in both scrutiny and annoyance by his telltale spoiled attitude, "I can't just get mum's ring. It's in the vault with-"

"It's not in the vault," Daemon asserts, "Rhaenys borrowed it for the recent gala and it's still in the storage chamber here. I was the one that signed off the insurance papers for it to be shipped tomorrow. It's Not. In The Vault."

Viserys sighs and rolls his eyes, "oh, very well, let's get it both."

"I am more than capable of getting it my-"

"No!" Viserys raises a finger in respite, "the last time you were in the storage chamber, you nearly cost both of us our heads with the tragedy you laid upon grandpa's antique pottery."

Daemon takes his turn to rolls his eyes just as Viserys begins to walk off, "I was nigh but 13, you dunce!"

The elder snaps a glare at the younger, "I'm astonished you've convinced yourself that you found any semblance of maturity past that age, demon."

Daemon rolls his eyes again. Aemma calls out, "wait," grabbing her daughter, "we're coming with you." She jogs up to her brother-in-law and hands him back the card. Daemon places it in his pocket, "thank you, my love."

"Lovie," Viserys calls out, "just enjoy your breakfast, we shan't be long," he places his hands on his wife's shoulders.

"Oh, breakfast can wait, this is far more exciting, lovie," Aemma grins.

Viserys is weakened by her and sighs. He presses a kiss on her forehead, "fine. Do you want me to carry Rhaenyra?"

"I've got it, baby," she smiles, leaning into him.

Daemon watches them as they walk off. His stomach is in knots, thinking about how badly he wants that to happen with him and his love this very instant.

Daemon didn't need help to find the ancestral ring. The moment they walked in the chamber, he made a beeline for the object with not a second thought.

He takes the box and opens it, heart leaping into his mouth as he grins from ear to ear. He closes it with a thud and raises it in his hand with an expression of a boy opening gifts in Christmas morn, "I've got it."

Aemma giggles, rocking her baby with excitement, "look, Rhaenyra, uncle Daemon's got a ring."

Rhaenyra looks out inquisitively as her uncle walks over.

Uncle tries, getting on one knee, opening the box, "will you marry me, Rhaenyra?"

Viserys instantly kicks him down, "oh, fuck off, you incipit twat!"

Aemma giggles, as does the struck Daemon, felled on the floor with not a hint of offence.

When he stands, he lunges towards his brother, sealing him into a tight embrace, "you've made me a happy man, Viserys."

Viserys finds it tempting to fight him off and curse his bones, but he had not seen Daemon so sincerely excited and bright in a long while, and so he wraps his arms around him and leans into his touch, patting his back firmly, "alright, you bugger. Now let me see that card this time."

Daemon pulls away with a grin, pulling out the card for the king.

"Oh, let me see a photo of her!" Aemma shakes her hand out.

"I've not had the chance to photograph her," Daemon shakes his head, "don't worry though, I'll bring her home soon enough."

Aemma grins, hugging her daughter tightly. She coos at Rhaenyra and raises her small, soft arm up at Daemon, muttering as though it was the child, herself, speaking,, "and just how soon is soon, uncle?"

Daemon smiles at his niece, "why, this very moment, Rhae-Rhae," he leans in to gently pinch her rosy cheek. He then pulls away to swipe at his wrist, uncovering the watch beneath his dress shirt, "I'm calling her at 11:55."

"EEEK!" Aemma cheers, "Hear that, Rhaenyra? You're going to have an aunt!"

"Damn, Daemon," Viserys lifts his eyes up to his brother, "when did you meet her again.?

Daemon turns to his brother, shoving the box in his pocket. He got what he wanted; there was no need to mask anything. "Last night," he noted, reaching out to retrieve the card from him.

"I'm sorry," Viserys pulls the card away, preventing it from being snatched, "what?"

The prince sniffles, pressing his lips casually together, "I met her at the Blue Ginger last night."

Aemma's face falls into a inwardly concerned and shocked look.

"Give me the-"

Viserys steps back, pulling his arm farther back, "and there it is. There it is!" His neck strains at the intensity of his speech. He scowls at his brother angrily, making Daemon's jovial expression dim into a similar shade.

"So, what?!" Viserys shakes his head, lips curving into annoyance and disgust. "What? You fucked her then-"

"DON'T," Daemon points a finger, "FUCKING talk about her like that!" he seethed, stepping forward, bunching Viserys' shirt.

"Daemon!" Aemma calls out in concern.

Viserys scoffs, eye twitching in anger. He doesn't care that Daemon is staring at him with darkness, ruining his shirt in his fists. He rips the card in his hand into pieces. Daemon releases his brother in shock, face falling, jaw clenching.

"Viserys!" Aemma calls in shock, the same time Daemon barks, "you FUCKER!"

"Give me the ring, Daemon," Viserys commands, snorting, stiff as though he declared war, "I will not allow you to follow through with your frantic idiocy."

"I love her!" Daemon growls, teeth grit in fury.

"You want her!" Viserys corrects, stepping closer, "you've no idea what love is, boy! You want her like you wanted to be king then not!"

Daemon heaves at his brother's chastises.

"You met her yesterday! That is not love!" Viserys snarls, "it is nothing but love sprung from the head of your haughty cock!"

"Viserys!" Aemma cries.

"It is lust, Daemon!" the king proclaimed. He steps back, turning to the torn pieces of paper on the floor. He kicks it, but it barely does anything in affect, "you will not follow through with this madness!"

"You think I've not saved her number, dipshit?" Daemon shudders in anger. He grips the velvet box tightly in his pocket, feeling his body vibrate in hatred, scorn... hurt.

Viserys nearly drops his expression when he sees the glassiness of the prince's eyes.

Aemma's lips part, "Daemon."

"You told me you knew from the moment you saw her," Daemon points to Aemma accusingly before weakly dropping his arm, "that she was for you."

"Daemon," Viserys sounds defeated, "Aemma and I got to know each other for years before getting married," he whispers.

"And I will continue to know her for the rest of my life!" Daemon exclaims.

"Daemon," Viserys and Aemma call at the same time. The latter walks forward, placing a hand on the prince's shoulder, which is sequentially shrugged off. It hurts the queen, but she was kind enough not to push him further. The former sighs, raising his hands questioningly, "no matter how visceral it felt, no matter how drawn you were to meet her," the elder Targaryen states carefully, "you cannot be sure of-"

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN-" Daemon wails, desperate like a cat surrounded by water. His voice nearly breaks when he continues, "more sure of anything EVER-" he heaves, annoyed by the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. He shudders sharply, "not since the day mother died."

The tone in the room shifts drastically.

Daemon looks at his brother with pleading eyes as he recounts the memory, "I told you she... I told you she was dead that night, I told you I felt it in my bones, and you told me not to worry," tears finally streak down his cheeks, "we both woke up to father's ghost of a face."

Viserys remembers the day well. He remembers how adamant and frantic his little brother was that night. He had done his best to pacify him. Yet that morning it was he that was pacified by Daemon.

The king does a good job concealing his perceived weakness to his brother, he holds back tears he was to cry out, as the boy continues to plead his case.

"What's the point of waiting years, delaying something I am certain I desire now?"

"Daemon," Viserys says, almost helplessly, "you are a prince. You cannot marry on a whim and leave-"

"I will not LEAVE her!" Daemon erupts. He cannot take it anymore. He begins to fume, chest rising and falling quickly, "there was once a time when a prince was allowed to execute his wishes-"

"AND I AM THE KING!" Viserys bangs on his chest as he screams. He begins to heave just like his sibling, face succumbed to disdain. He raises his hand up to him, "give me the ring, Daemon."

Aemma feels her heart hurt at the sight of them. She feels her heart hurt especially because Daemon's face was wholly sullen, a complete contrast to what it was a while ago.

Daemon's face is blank. His defenses were up. Whatever brightness in hin was now gone.

"Is that a command, my king?" the second born utters under his breath.

The king thinks. He is tempted to say it, to do what he promised his baby brother he never would, exert his sovereignty over him. His chest constricts, his brows knit, his eyes begin to water. He cannot do that to him.

"It is a plea from your older brother, Daemon."

Daemon rolls his shoulders back. He holds back the quiver of his lips, "why should I listen to my hateful brother's plea when he did not listen to mine?"

"Daemon," Aemma calls, herself now overcome with emotion.

The said man walks away, pushing past them.

Viserys heaves. He watches his brother turn his back on him. He begins to flare with abhorrence and offence, "DAEMON!"

The prince does not listen as he walks away, storming out the storage chamber, slamming the doors on his way out. He mutters strings of High Valyrian curses as he roughly wipes his face on his sleeve.

Daemon soothes himself by remembering that Viserys was a rat, a gremlin, unadulterated rubbish, his absolute nemesis since time immemorial. He was difficult and cruel and irritating and selfish. He loathed him.

His eye twitches, his walking slows. Cunt. He hates himself for caring so much about him. Fuck him.

When Daemon gets to the garage, he wills the memory of choosing and purchasing the silver Benz with his rat brother in the very hell depths of his mind. He leans on the hood, his blonde hair falls on his face.

He'll turn around.

He snorts, wiping his philtrum.

He always turns around... he has to.

He pulls out his phone, blinking away the tears. He cusses when he sees that it was 10 am. There was no way he would get to the other side of town in time.

He gets in his car and drives off. He merely pulls over a few minutes before 11:55 to make good his promise.

Meanwhile hours before this incident, on the other side of the town, there was a heart as sulking just the same.

I had not gotten a lick of sleep in anticipation of this moment. I was hunched over on my desk, watching my screen, heart jumping every time the clock blinked with a new number.

"I got the One Eye comment again," a voice huffs as he walks into the office room, "people think they're so smart and original," his voice rises when he continues, "you told me I didn't look ridiculous with this on."

I straighten from where I stood, bent over, then turn to my side, catching the light haired intern, rip off his eye patch and slam it onto his desk. He roughly dusts off his jumper and pants for no reason other than annoyance.

I raise my brows at him and pout, "someone as handsome as you cannot ever look ridiculous, Aemond," I slump back down on my desk. I mutter, half-muffled, "it runs in the family."

Aemond rolls his eye, regretting it with the damned sty in the left one throbbed with pain. He huffs turning to me, pointing a finger, "you need to stop calling my damned brother pretty boy. He's starting to believe it."

I snort as my lips spread into a smile, "that's good; he is."

Aemond walks over to me, sardonic as ever, "historians aren't supposed to distort the truth, professor."

I stand, looking at his angular face, taking in his how the strands of his shoulder length hair, tied in a small bun, framed his sharp cheeks and jaw, how his pouty lips were curved into that of disdain. He was adorable, just like he was as a child when I met him perchance.

"Don't you teach me, kid," I narrow my eyes and purse my lips, "you're one failed review away from repeating the whole term."

Aemond is unfazed as he crosses his arms, "mmm, another term with a certainty to be had under your wing sounds delightful."

I roll my eyes, "Aemond."

Said Aemond's lips curl into a soft smile, enjoying the fact my words backfired on itself.

"We've been through this, my dear," I place my hands on his toned shoulders, "you're nervous about nothing. There's not a reason for you not to get hired here after you've graduated."

He hums again, relaxing against my touch, "and what of the failing mark my beloved teacher threatens to lay upon me?"

I huff as I pull away from him, drawing back my desk chair and plopping down, "you know I don't work like that, pretty boy."

Aemond clenches his jaw, "don't call me that."

I turn to him, resting my elbows on my desk, "why not? I think you're pretty too."

He turns away, thinking about his sty, thinking about how his breath hitched when he first met his beloved teacher, thinking about his brother, Aegon, made you laugh where he made things awkward in your first meeting, "that's the oaf's nickname. I do not want it."

I follow him with my eyes as he storms off, grabbing his eye patch, putting it back on. He then walks back behind me to finish labeling the books stacked there.

"Is it so bad to share a nickname with your brother?" I ask.

"Yes," he quickly blurts. Aemond doesn't waste another moment and grabs a book a lot rougher than normal.

I turn away from him, dejected by his ire. I grab my phone, seeing the time was 11:49. I brace my arms in front of me and lean down, sighing.

I repeat this process over and over and over and over and-

Aemond, who had been witness to it, finally asks, "what are you sighing about?"

"I'm waiting for a call."

"Mmm," he shifts on his place and presses his hand on a book, "is it from the Maester's Association?"

"No."

"Septa's Guild?

"No."

Aemond raises a brow, "they what are you so restless about?"

I check the clock for the nth time, heart leaping when I see it's 11:53. I straighten in my seat and begin to fix my hair. I clear my throat and do some nonsensical sounds to warm up my voice.

Aemond forgets about his task altogether and turns to me. His brows knit and he leans on the table, "who exactly are you waiting to call you, professor?"

I breathe in deeply, checking the time again. 11:54. I cradle my phone in my hand as though it is my lifeline.

"The love of my life."

Aemond straightens up, stiffening and deflating all at once. His face tenses so tightly, the sty irritates him again. For a moment, he is overcome with a bitterness in his throat. He thinks of his brother again-- but that can't be.

He clenches his jaw and relaxes. He thinks about how loosely that term is used when uttered upon his beloved professor's lips. He relaxes completely, releasing a breath. He turns back to his books, calming himself with his breathing.

He wonders out loud, "Alicent?"

Aemond thinks his guess to be right. After all, his cousin, your many times over research partner, had been in Essos for weeks for a riveting symposium. He was perplexed why you hadn't expressed the same enthusiasm in going there, considering the fact there was a dragon skeleton recently unearthed there, apparently Caraxes' no less. He did not buy the fact you weren't interested in the dig site at least, knowing how you were obsessed with his rider, Daemon Targaryen I.

"No, not Ali," I mutter, shaking my head.

Aemond thinks of another one of his professor's research partners besides Alicent.

I mutter softly, "someone else... you don't know him."

Him?

"... well," I chuckle, "I suppose you do."

Aemond is now utterly confused.

My heart nearly stops when my phone clock strikes 11:55.

Aemond once again forgets about his work upon hearing the gasp. He awaits the sound of the phone ringing.

The seconds passing are dreadfully unbearable. I count each and every one of them. By the time I reach 34, I begin to feel bile rise up my throat.

Dear gods, he forgot about me. He forgot about me, and he's not going to call. How silly of him to even promise such a thing. He's probably caught up in doing his princely politicking. Hell, I wouldn't even remember-

I gasp again, dropping the phone when it began to vibrate and ring. I choke on my breath, my hands fumble, my shoulders tense, my mind is racing.

Aemond watches this intently, how the most poised and composed person in his life began to break down like a tower of unglued blocks. He watches as his professor stares blankly at the ringing phone.

"Answer it," he urges, stepping forward once.

His voice wasn't even loud nor demanding, yet I still start at it. I nod my head profusely then scramble for my phone. I quickly gain my wits and answer the call.

I press the screen against my ear, carefully calling, "hello?"

"Hello? Hello! Hi! Hi, my love!"

Daemon sound ecstatic, relieved. My jaw is parts into a smile. I am heaving heavily through my mouth as my stomach swirls and my chest tightens. I grip on my elbow, breathlessly replying, "hi."

"Hi! Hi. Right. I'm pulled over in the side of the highway-"

"What?" I jolt from my seat. Aemond jolts as well. "W-wh-why? Are you hurt? Did something happen? What highway are you on? Should I call-"

"Hush, love," he chuckles, "lykiri," he hushes, calm down in High Valyrain, and continues in the same tongue, "calm down. I am well," he breaks into a soft laugh, "oh, my dear, my darling, I only pulled over to make good on my promise to call you at 11:55."

I release a breath of relief. I relax my shoulders, nodding my head, muttering mostly to myself, "on the dot."

I can almost hear him smile from across the line, "yes, my sweet girl... though a few seconds passed," he chuckles, "I hope you do not fault me for it."

"Never," I lean my head into my hand, releasing shaky breath. My breathing is shallow and my eyes flutter close.

My sweet girl. It was been so long since I heard his voice utter these words. A dam of memories break open and my mind floods with memories of him calling me this; it's all very tender, like an open wound. Tears begin to strain in my eyes and my throat constricts with a tight band of emotion.

"Are you crying?" Aemond mutters lowly that even he doesn't hear it.

"I reckon I'll be there in about 10 minutes, give or take," Daemon sounds guilty when he says this, "I'm sorry to make you wait, my pretty girl, but you can wait a few more minutes for your prince, can't you?"

I shudder out his name, biting my lip tightly for a moment, trying to even out my breath so he doesn't catch the sound of my sobbing, "10 minutes is inconsequential to how long I have been waiting for you."

He takes a moment to respond. I hear him sigh, "I couldn't sleep last night thinking of you either."

"You're the only thing I've ever thought about," I whisper like a secret, afraid to wipe the tears on my cheeks away, in fear of smearing my makeup.

He laughs at the admission. It is smug and self-indulgent, but it is unlike the other times I've heard him laugh conceitedly. At its core, Daemon sounded relieved, he sounded touched.

"I am glad to hear it," he openly affirmed, "I will come to you soon. Nothing will keep us apart."

His words squeeze my heart, my very soul, my being. I mutter softly, "drive safe."

"I will, my love."

My breath hitches. I lick my lips in preparation, but then I stop myself. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say-

"I love you," I sigh.

A beat of silence passes.

Part of me feels foolish when I am met with only ambient noise. I don't regret saying it at all though. I punish my lower lip tightly with a bite that draws out blood, but then I release it in shock when he calls back.

"I love you," he says, "wait for me."

The call ends.

The moment I put my phone down, Aemond is upon me. He gently takes my arm and words my name out carefully. He doesn't say anything else. He seemed not to know what else he could.

I turn to the tall man, one eye covered, strands of silvery hair still haphazardly framing his face. He adjusts his hold on me when I reach out to his arms, gripping the fabric of his jumper, not so much him. He has his hands on both my arms and he looks down at me with concern, speaking my name once more.

I turn away from him, blinking rapidly as it all sinks in, "it's finally happening."

"What is?" Aemond asks, almost helplessly, quite unlike his usually certain demeanor.

I turn back to him, lifting my chin to meet his gaze, releasing my clutch on his top, jumping into him to seal him into a tight embrace. He is taken aback by my sudden haptics, but immediately hugs be back.

"I'm finally going to have him."

"Have," he coaxes slowly as he bends to offer me more stability on my feet, "him?" Aemond voice strains, "who are you talking about?"

"My love," I break away, blinking tears as I look back at Aemond. There is a line of worry on his face, but I could not bring myself to offer him but only a quick caress of his cheeks as comfort and reassurance. I pull away, fanning myself, "dear goodness, I have to get ready."

I dash to my desk, swiping my bag, immediately running toward the bathroom.

Aemond could do nothing but watch and rack his brain trying to make sense of it all. He is so perplexed by it that he thinks of calling his brother for answers. In his lack of better judgement, he dials the contact and his phone begins to ring.

Aegon on the other line barely croaks a tired hello and Aemond is already demanding answers, "you were with her at the Blue Ginger last night, correct?"

There is a moment of silence. There was no need for clarification for Aegon to understand what the seven hells his younger brother was on about.

Daemon arrives at the museum, in his black three piece, black trilby, and dark red shades. He adjusts his glasses. For once in his life is damned annoyed by his unmissably strong presence.

Immediately, this steward walks over to him, her eyes roving all over, brows raised in inquisition. He doesn't let her speak to him, a finger raise is enough to silence her. He states that he had business with a professor and asks where he could find her.

He wastes no more time than necessary, heading off to the direction he was given.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, paying no heed to the people who spot and gawk at him, wondering louder than they should about who exactly he was. He makes his way upstairs and goes down the hall as he was told.

His cool composure is completely destroyed when he sees the person standing at the end.

"Daemon," I mutter sparing not a second's thought as I run over to him, not caring that I was in heels, or in a dress, or even that my perfectly restyled hair was being ruined.

Tears begin to prick at my eyes all over again. After all my talk in front of the mirror not to ruin my redone makeup, I couldn't bring myself to care in this moment.

Daemon strides over to me, quickening into a jog as he removes his hat and sunglasses, sighing heavily as his lips curve into a smile. He outstretches his arms in anticipation.

Aemond, catching the quick blur from the window, stops what he is doing and runs outside.

Quickly, and all at once, I am upon him.

Our chests collide with a thud, our limbs wrap around each other tightly. We bury ourselves into each other's necks, basking in the affection, in the scent of each other, in the warmth.

I cannot help but sob onto him.

He instinctively hushes me, lifting me off my feet as he does, "hush, little one, I am here. I am here. Lykiri."

I pathetically sob into his collar, "I missed you so much."

Daemon tightens his grip on me. He mutters in High Valyrian, "I missed you like I've been waiting a thousand years."

I choke as I brush my nose against him, "2000."

When he tries to pull away, I nearly scream in protest, "please don't pull away! Please."

Daemon sighs and leans down, allowing me to stand on my feet. He was so familiar to me, so much so I recognized his impeding action. I felt him brush his hands down to my waist. I knew exactly what he was going to do. I jump when he bends to grab me, carrying me into his arms. I tightly wrap my legs around his waist and nuzzle against him. Daemon cradles my thighs and nuzzles all the same.

Aemond had seen enough from the end of the hall at this point. He regrets spending his free time doing errands as he waited for his professor. He keeps his gaze on the floor as he quickly makes his way down the hall to leave, somewhere far-- as far as his legs would take him. He is all but ignored as the heavily infatuated couple pass him.

"My office is the last one," I mutter against Daemon's neck, eyes closed, finger tips massaging his scalp.

I open my eyes to check if he got the right room. He did.

A part of me is concerned when I do not see my favorite apprentice. The thought quickly evaporates when I am propped on a desk and hungrily kissed.

I moan on instinct when our lips connect. I readily return his fervor just as hungrily. My heart is thundering in my ribcage as his large hands rub up and down my back. I pull him closer, tightening my legs around him, tugging at the roots of his hair. He moans. Gods I've missed that sound.

I pull away from him when his hands trail down my thighs, attempting to hike my skirt up.

"Daor, ñuha zaldrīzes," I mutter softly, placing my hands atop his.

No, my dragon.

Daemon pulls back and huffs heavily, the heat of his breath brings goosebumps on my skin. He looks down at me, violet eyes blown, lips stained with my lipstick, a predator, made tame only by the call of his mate.

He kneads at my flesh, leaning closer, brushing his nose against mine, "I promise you'll like it," he leans deeper between my legs, "I'll make it quick, so no one sees," he steals a kiss on my lips, "you were made for my eyes only."

I wrap my arms around his torso, leaning into his chest as I shake my head in disagreement, "Daor, ñuha zaldrīzes," I repeat in his mother tongue, continuing all the same, "I don't want to rush you. I want to savor you completely and recount every inch of you."

He curses in the same language, calling out my name like a prayer, He kisses me deeply.

Daemon pulls back to bring his lips on my cheek, my jaw, my neck, then the back of my hand. He rubs my knuckles as he takes me in. I bring one hand to his cheek, in utter disbelief that I had him here with me finally, that he was here, right in front of me.

My spirit leaves me when he gets on his knee and pulls out a box from his pocket.

"Daemon-"

"Never before have I ever felt such feelings for anything, for anyone," Daemon looks up at me with wide violet eyes as he slowly opens the box. I stare at the large emerald cut ruby. It was as red as blood, as clear as day.

He speaks my name, like he burned it into his tongue, like it is the most scared sound in the world, "gaomagon nyke se greatest rigle hen becoming ñuha ābrazȳrys."

My lips part and my chest inflates and deflates.

Do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife.

He didn't even ask.

In the intensity of it all, my quivering lips curve at his words. My nostrils flare in amusement.

How very Daemon of him.

I slide down to my feet and reach out to him. He takes my hand with a hopeful look. My hand lands back on his cheek. He moves to pull the ring out as he grabs the palm on his face. "No, Daemon," is all it takes for him to crumble before me. I push the jewel back in its place and close the box.

Daemon's brows furrow as he watches me pull the wheeled desk chair back and sit there before him.

The prince's eyes and cheeks are wet with tears. The sight is soul destroying.

He clenches his jaw as he places his hands on my thighs, shifting down on both his knees, "why not?" He asks this so helplessly that it strikes a chord in my heart because it sounded so much like his cries, at least the ones that I heard in my last moments before coming back to life, seeing he traded his breath for mine.

I grab his face, shaking my head as I lean towards him, "I am yours, Daemon.; before you were even born, I was yours. Nothing in this world, old or new, will ever change that."

"Then why would you," he heaves a moment to catch his breath, hanging his head low, "deny me this?"

"Daemon, look at me," I call, lifting his head up, "this magic between us," I speak carefully, "this will never change. My heart has broken a million times, but you have remained my beacon of light.

His face scrunches, he shakes his head. I can tell there is a veil of confusion covering his mind and yet he is trying to understand.

I cup his cheeks, "that may not have changed, but the world has. I do not wish to cause you strife where strife should not be welcome. The world is looking at you now, more than ever before."

He clenches his jaw, "I don't fucking care how many worlds watch me while I shit," his nostrils flare, "I want you, I need you, I l-"

He looks physically pained when he stops himself from continuing.

"Daemon," I uttered, "tell me, what did Viserys say about this?"

Daemon recoils. A shiver runs down his spine as his face hardens with betrayal. His hands grip my wrists tightly, "it nary matters what my brother thinks-- he doesn't think, he only tells me what to do."

"My love," I frown, "the king only acts the way he does in his care for you."

"You know NOTHING of my brother!" he snarls, face reddening in rage, shoving my hands off him, "do not come to me all sage about him."

I withdraw from him, straightening in my chair, sighing as I place my hands on my lap, "you can bare your teeth at me all you want, but your fangs are cannot pierce me. You are a toothless babe in my eyes."

Daemon's cheeks twitches. His breath struggles. He drops the box on the floor with little care. I internally cringe at the sound of it.

"Daemon," I huff, "I know you only want the approval of your brother," I add, lowering my head to him, "I know it hurt you when he forbade you to go through with your plan."

He looks away, tears steaking his cheeks. He levels his breathing. He releases his tension and sinks on his knees. He doesn't look at me when he pulls me close to him by my calves and drops his head on my thighs. I feel dampness pool on my clothes. I begin to comb through his blonde hair. He grabs at my skirt helplessly, "he thinks me a fool, the king... a puppet, desperately in need of a puppet master."

"You know that's not true," I respond in High Valyrian.

"How do you know!?" Daemon lifts his head, hands taking mine tightly. His voice is shrill, it's defensive and challenging. And yet he repeats the same words, "how do you know?" voice soft, wondering and desperate.

I rub his wrist with my thumbs, "it will take more than my lunch break for me to explain it."

Daemon straightens up, immediately concerned, "no. No, you cannot leave me. You cannot make me leave. I-"

"I'm not leaving you," I grasp him tightly, "and I will never make you leave," I continue in High Valyrian, "no one said anything about leaving."

Daemon clenches his jaw, he shifts his hands in mine, linking our fingers together. He desperately adds in his mother tongue, "I will die if you do not become my bride."

I cannot help the chuckle that leaves me when I hear his words. I tighten my grip on him, then feel a foreign object on his pinkie. I turn to his hand and see the iron ring on it. My breath hitches. It is the exact same ring he had before. What a marvel that it's intact after millennia.

I pull away my hands. Daemon starts, not liking the idea of losing contact. His settles slightly when gaze turns to where mine was and he sees me pull the ring off his finger.

"Hen lantoti ānogar, v sȳndroti vāedroma," I start, slipping the ancient piece of jewelry bearing his family's sigil on my ring finger, "mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr," I look up to him, "izulī ampā perzī,--"

"--prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jenȳ māzīlarion," Daemon joins, expression perking, "qēlossa ozūndesi, sȳndroro ōñō jēdo," he brings his hands to my cheeks and leans his head against mine, "rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi."

Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows, two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass, the stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.

I gasp when Daemon's lips crashes into mine. His hands dart down to my hind, pulling me close to him, trapping his body between my legs once more.

We only break away in desperation for air.

"We are wed," I mutter, pressing another kiss upon his, "here and now I am your bride and you are my groom. We are wed. The gods are our witnesses." I brush my nose against his, closing my eyes, "the wedding can wait, but from now on you are mine."

"Mine," he repeats, lips curving upward, "my bride," Daemon brushes my hair back, "I would die if I ever witness your pretty finger naked of my ring." He takes my ring clad hand, kissing the skin at the back.

"Please," I shake my head, "stop with that talk," I mutter, brows furrowing, "I forbid you from doing anything that would ever lead you to death. I will not know what to do with myself if I lose you all-"

I am cut off when Daemon crushes me into a tight embrace. I relax against him, tightening my arms around him.

"You will not escape me," Daemon mutters, sinking his face in the crook of my neck, "you will never evade me. I will be your air, your ground, your thoughts, your dreams."

My stomach is in a flurry. My head is swimming in everything that is him.

"My love," he sighs, "my wife," he finishes his thoughts in High Valyrian, "there would be no world worth living if I do not have you."

I cannot help the tears that fall onto his neck. I kiss his skin and sigh in content, "I am so happy that you found me, my dragon."

"As am I," he hums, "and I will never lose you ever again."