#so that's kind of where this scene emerged from

[caprisunr]

I'm tagging this as #spoiler just in case it could turn out to be real.

By the looks of the ‘leaks’ we got from fans attending the outside filming; we got to see them being goofy, taking pictures, and signing autographs —But most importantly we saw them in public, to what one would assume is a major before and after for the show. Now, this is primordial, because if it were to be a ‘real death’, they would care more about keeping it hidden (which they can, in fact, do. But decided not to.) And I don't think this was done to keep the audience prepared, just like ‘Buddie’s’ hug under the rain also wasn't. For the looks of it, it could be purposefully done (strategically to make the audience think something is going to happen, that isn't.)

I think they are going to play with the shock factor during this one. 

Ep.14-15 is the two parter (based on some of Tim’s interviews). We don't know yet what kind of hazard the 118 will be involved in, but we do know bits and pieces of what we can expect. Everyone is leaning towards either some sort of potential spread disease (by rats that have broken free in a lab), or a biological weapon.

Now, hear me out.

1. Bobby's farewell ceremony as a trap

Where the 'leaks' are from ep. 15, and his 'death' is used as a pawn to trap the organization or person responsible for a possible biological weapon.

For this theory to be plausibnle, either the deparment or Bobby directly should be interlinked with the 'attackers'. Therefore, this person/organization's target are law enforcement bodies. —And one of the best ways to trap them, would be during a cerremony where hundreds of people are attending to show respect for a firefighter (especially, because it's a martyred firefighter)

They will play with the factor that the audience won't know that he's actually alive, and will 'kill him' during the first part of the two-parter (but not actually.) —My mind is going to the time in criminal minds when Prentis was declared dead for a while, but actually wasn't, so they could catch the bad guy.

2. Amnesia

Bobby will be presumed dead for a while or until the end of the season (ep. 18) —For someone to be presumed dead it's easier to ‘back up’ the fact, if the body is either: never officially identified, or found. 

I think one of the possibilities is an emergency where decedents are so beyond damage, that none of the bodies can be identified —They will assume the body of a male is Bobby, and will get buried in his place.

Now, during this theory, Bobby is caught in the crossfire but instead of dying he will have PTA (brain trauma caused by a hit in the head) and end up in the hands of someone that is trying to 'fix him', after getting disoriented from the scene. (this theory is more complicated, since the emergency would have to take place in a forest, or somewhere near a hill for it to be more 'believable' - at least that I can think of - But trust, they could make this happen.)

3. A nightmare / Coma-dream

A lot of people are playing with the idea that it could be a coma-dream, and it could (all things considered.) —Contrary to Buck's, he would see how life would be without him if he were to choose that path (the path being death.)

[pookalicious-hq]

a foreigner's god... 1 - skybound

library | navi | next part

synopsis: with the presence of a shadow, light isn't far behind. through two worlds you live within a balance of waiting and living. memories, faith and lovers all lost at once. tags/tws: a court of thorns and roses/throne of glass crossover!, azriel x fem!reader, so much fluff then so much angst sorry, meantion of blood, war and fighting, suggestive scenes, swearing, meantions of torture word count: 11.5k

You could never truly hide from the sun. Even with your eyes shut, even in the deepest shadows, she would find you—because she was never meant to be hidden from. Her touch, warm and gentle as a mother’s caress, reached through every barrier, slipping past closed lids to paint the darkness gold. Her light kissed bare skin, seeped into bones, and whispered secrets only the heavens could understand.

She was everywhere, in the glow of dawn spilling over the horizon, in the golden dust that clung to skin, in the lingering warmth on stone long after she had set. Others might shrink from her at times, shielding themselves from her intensity, but to you, the sun was not something to be feared. She was a promise, a constant presence, a piece of yourself reflected in the sky.

You loved the sun.

And she loved you as well—so deeply, so fiercely, that even before your first breath, the whispers of your existence had already begun. They did not start with you; they had been there long before, woven into the fabric of myths and half-forgotten prayers.

The stories claimed that once, long ago, the sun had not merely bathed the world in her light—she had given life. That in a moment of divine will, she had poured herself into the earth, searing it with something more than warmth, something more than fire. And from that touch, from that sacred moment, you had been born.

A child of light. A daughter of the sun. The first Seraphim.

But the sun had not let you walk the world just yet. Instead, she cradled you in her golden embrace, hid you away in the sky or beneath the earth—no one could say for sure. Only that you slept, untouched by time, waiting.

And then, two hundred years ago, you awoke.

You emerged into a world that had nearly forgotten you, into a court that had never expected to witness the return of something so celestial, so impossible. The Day Court took you in, for where else could you belong but in the lands that worshipped the light? The people called you goddess, miracle, salvation. Some knelt before you. Some feared you.

But the sun only watched. She only smiled.

And wherever you walked, she followed, not in fleeting rays or stolen moments of warmth, but in the knowledge that if there were shadows, there must be light, an eternal tether. She bent to you, wrapped herself around you like a second skin, a friend, a mother, a guardian, all at once.

The people of the Day Court saw this, and they whispered. A goddess, they called you, murmuring in reverence as you passed. They spoke of the sun’s favorite child, of the one who wielded light as if it had been crafted for her alone. They spoke of you with awe, with devotion, with a kind of fear reserved only for things beyond common understanding.

But to him, you were not a goddess.

You were an angel.

Azriel had never believed in myths.

He had spent centuries lurking in the dark, learning that gods the mortals prayed to did not answer. No divine hand reached down to save those who suffered. If there were gods, they were cruel things, detached and uncaring, watching from above as blood soaked the earth.

The idea of godly intervention was a lie, and yet, mortals still whispered of them. Some tales spoke of winged messengers who soared through the skies before vanishing into legend. Of celestial beings not born of flesh, but of stardust and sunfire. Of the Seraphim, holy creatures that had once walked among the Fae before they were wiped from history, nothing more than a fever dream of the past.

Azriel had dismissed them as nothing more than stories meant to lull children to sleep. Until now.

The rumors had spread like wildfire. A creature of light. A goddess in mortal flesh. The Sun’s Daughter.

He had not believed them. But as he moved through the Day Court’s gardens, bathed in molten gold and soft summer winds, he thought—perhaps, just this once—he had found something holy.

You stood at the heart of the garden, sunlight pooling around you as if you had been sculpted from it. Your hair shimmered, flecked with gold that caught the light like a halo. Your eyes—strange, radiant, endless—were the color of burnished honey. But it was your wings that truly unraveled him.

Feathered. Vast. White tinged with gold, as though the sun had kissed each individual plume. They twitched slightly, unconsciously graceful, and when you turned, your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Azriel was not a man who faltered. He had faced High Lords and warlords, had battled creatures that haunted nightmares, had stood before beasts and not flinched.

But that smile—soft, warm, unafraid—knocked the breath from his lungs.

He should have left. Should have remembered his mission, the scroll tucked into his leathers, the fact that he did not belong in this place. But for the first time in centuries, Azriel did not move.

He only watched as you stood in the garden, tilted your head, as if trying to place him in the shifting light.

And then, as if you already knew him, as if you had been waiting—

You spoke, "Come into the sunlight."

He winnowed back to the townhouse before you finished your breath.

But he did not flee.

At least, that was what Azriel told himself as he winnowed straight into the townhouse, shadows curling tight around him like a second skin. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs, an unfamiliar thing—a foreign rhythm he had not felt in centuries.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind back into order. It was a trick. A game played by Day Court illusions. That was the only explanation.

And yet, even as he reached for logic, your voice still echoed in his ears.

Come into the sunlight.

Azriel cursed, dragging a hand down his face. He did not want to think about you, but the vision of your wings, your golden eyes, the way the sunlight bent for you, refused to leave his mind.

He needed answers.

It began as a flicker of curiosity, the faintest whisper of doubt at the edge of his thoughts. But the more Azriel tried to suppress it, the louder the question became. There was something about you—something he could not place, something right about you being here, in this place where the sun never left, yet he could not shake the feeling that this world didn’t deserve you.

Azriel turned to the one thing he knew best: shadows. He had spent centuries learning how to listen to the whispers they carried. And so, he sought out the tendrils of darkness, letting them twist and curl around his fingers, using them to search for any trace of what you were.

The answer had come back as a murmur—a single word.

Seraphim.

Azriel had scoffed. He had thought the Seraphim were nothing more than myths, forgotten tales from ancient history. He was no fool; he knew better than to put stock in such things. And yet, as he dug deeper, his shadows pulled him toward the stories, the scattered remnants of their existence.

It was not a mere legend. The Seraphim were real—or, at least, they had been.

Weeks passed, and Azriel’s frustration mounted. The more he searched, the more the answers slipped through his fingers, like fine sand caught in the wind. Even his shadows struggled to find anything concrete, as though the very nature of the Seraphim was designed to be hidden from view.

He tried the library, hoping for something more tangible, but all he found was dust and silence. Rhysand, ever perceptive, had begun to question his unusual research habits, asking with subtle curiosity why Azriel was spending his days between ancient scrolls and forgotten tomes.

Azriel, ever the master of evasion, had not answered.

After a week of dead ends and unanswered questions, he had exhausted every option. And so, with no other recourse, he found himself standing in Amren’s study, the heavy scent of bloodred wine lingering in the air as the ancient female regarded him with a knowing look.

“Why the blank face?” she asked dryly, swirling her glass lazily.

Azriel did not rise to the bait. “Tell me about the Seraphim.”

The name seemed to catch her attention. Amren set down her glass, the flicker of candlelight dancing off her silver eyes, which narrowed as she studied him. “Seraphim?” Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now that is an old name.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed with irritation, but he kept his tone level. “I don’t have time for riddles.”

“You never do, you and your Truth Teller,” Amren muttered, her finger tracing the rim of her glass in a slow arc. “But why the sudden interest? The Seraphim have been gone for eons. Not a single trace of them remains.”

Azriel hesitated. He hated admitting vulnerability, especially to Amren, but the frustration gnawed at him. “What if they weren’t gone?”

A long, pregnant silence hung in the air before Amren’s lips parted in a quiet, amused chuckle. “Ah,” she said, reaching for her glass again, her fingers long and graceful as they grasped the stem. “So you’ve met her.”

His brow creased just the slightest. His pulse quickened. “Who?”

Amren’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time in their long acquaintance, Azriel felt a flicker of something other then danger in her eyes. “The Sun’s Daughter,” she said softly, as if the name alone was enough to unravel everything. “She is the first of them.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat, the word Seraphim now taking on an entirely different meaning. But before he could ask more, Amren raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t bother asking me questions you’re not ready for, Azriel,” she warned. “The answers will find you—whether you want them to or not.”

The finality of her words hung in the air, but as Azriel left her study, the weight of her words settling on his shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder how much he truly wanted to know.

And whether, by seeking the truth, he would be prepared for what it would reveal.

Azriel stood at the foot of the palace stairs, his gaze wandering over the grand expanse of the Day Court's grounds. The sunlight filtered through the trees, their branches heavy with blooms of pink and gold, casting dappled shadows across the courtyard. Yet, amidst all the beauty, his attention was fixed on a single spot.

You.

There, at the edge of the garden, you stood like a figure of light itself, as if the golden rays of the sun bent down to meet you. Your wings, large and ethereal, caught the sunlight, radiating warmth and brilliance. Azriel’s heart skipped a beat as he stared, unable to pull his eyes away. The Seraphim. The Sun’s Daughter. His thoughts flitted through the fragments of stories he'd heard—myths, whispers, half-truths about a figure lost to time. But seeing you in person, bathed in sunlight, felt like a living impossibility.

A rush of confusion and curiosity gripped him. He’d never been the kind to be distracted, to let his gaze wander, but there was something about you that called to him, something undeniable.

“Azriel?” Rhysand’s voice snapped him out of his trance, sharp and knowing. “You planning to stare at the garden all day, or are we going inside for this meeting?”

Azriel blinked, taking one last look at the figure bathed in sunlight before nodding stiffly. “Right,” he murmured, forcing himself to turn away.

The walk inside was as grand as the courtyard outside. Tall marble columns, gilded with gold, stretched to the high, vaulted ceilings. The scent of roses and citrus hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint, calming scent of freshly polished wood. The palace radiated warmth, like sunlight turned into a physical space. But despite all its beauty, Azriel couldn’t shake the image of you.

Inside, Helion, as radiant as ever, stood in the center of the room, waiting for them. His smile was warm, genuine, and his eyes gleamed with intelligence that Azriel had always respected. The room was bathed in soft light, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, filling the space with a gentle glow.

Helion greeted the group with his usual charm, his voice smooth as honey. “Welcome, I trust your journey was pleasant?”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, as politics often did, but Azriel found himself unable to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, to the way the light seemed to swirl around you like an aura, to the impossible reality of your presence. His gaze flicked toward the windows, barely catching glimpses of the garden, his mind wandering back to the figure he had left behind outside.

It wasn’t like him to lose focus—his job was to watch, to listen, to be ever-present and ever-aware. Yet, as the meeting continued, Azriel found his attention waning. His eyes darted once more toward the garden, searching, even though he knew you weren’t there anymore. He could feel the burn of curiosity creeping up his spine, pulling him away from the conversation that he should have been fully engaged in.

Helion, ever perceptive, finally caught on. His smile never wavered, but there was an amused glint in his eye as he shifted his gaze to Azriel. The room seemed to pause for a moment, the conversation carrying on without him, and yet Azriel’s mind was elsewhere.

“Spymaster,” Helion’s voice broke through the murmur of the room, teasing but not unkind. “Looking for something? Or should I say… someone?”

The words landed in the room like a ripple, drawing the attention of the others. Rhysand’s brow arched slightly, Cassian’s eyes narrowed with curiosity, and Mor’s lips quirked into a smirk, clearly intrigued. Azriel’s throat tightened as he realized they had all noticed.

He didn’t answer. His gaze flickered once more toward the window, unable to contain it, before returning to the table.

Helion chuckled, his voice light but warm. “I see. You’ve spotted her, haven’t you?”

Azriel clenched his jaw but remained silent. He couldn’t form a proper response. His mind was filled with too many questions, too many pieces that didn’t fit together.

And then, like something out of a dream, you appeared.

The sun seemed to bend to your will as you swept into the room, your wings gliding gracefully behind you. The sunlight haloed around you, casting a soft glow on everything it touched. It was like you carried the very essence of light within you, and Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you move. His mind, already in a whirl from the earlier tension, faltered in its attempts to regain focus.

Helion let out a soft laugh, clearly delighted by the situation. “Ah, here she is, the one you’ve all been hearing rumors about.”

You landed with ease beside Helion, your wings folding gently behind you. You glanced around the room with calm interest, but when your gaze met Azriel’s, your smile grew—soft, knowing, almost like you had been expecting him all along. You tilted your head slightly, as though regarding him with quiet curiosity.

“Yes, Father?” Your voice was light, playful, and the way you spoke the word Father seemed so natural, as if you had always known him—an unspoken bond, centuries old.

Helion’s laughter echoed around the room, rich with affection and a bit of amusement. It was clear there was a deep connection between you two, one woven through years, if not lifetimes, of shared history. But there was something else there, too—a familiarity that Azriel couldn’t place, something beyond the surface of simple familial ties.

Azriel’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stop looking at you, feeling the warmth radiating from you. Your golden eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and for a moment, it felt like you could see everything about him—the things he kept buried deep.

Helion, with his characteristic ease, broke the moment. “This is my ‘adopted daughter’,” he announced with a grin, “the Sun’s Daughter, as we in the Day Court call her.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, the energy shifting as everyone processed the revelation. Azriel’s heart raced, his thoughts scattered. You had a title, a legacy. And yet, there was something about the way you stood there, serene yet undeniably powerful, that made it feel like you were more than just a title.

You turned your gaze toward Azriel again, a small smile playing on your lips. Despite the golden light around you, there was a coolness to your stare, like you were studying him just as intently as he was studying you. There was something in your eyes that hinted at secrets—things too complex to be understood at a glance.

“A pleasure,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet authority. Your tone was polite, yes, but there was a depth beneath it—an underlying strength that Azriel couldn’t quite grasp.

Helion leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “I would assume Amren has already told you about her, though I must say, I’m grateful for your silence on the matter, Ancient One.”

Amren, who had been sitting in a quiet corner, raised an eyebrow and gave a wry smile. “I’m good at keeping secrets, Helion. You should be grateful.” There was a sharpness in her voice that Azriel knew all too well—one that indicated she wasn’t giving away anything she didn’t want to.

Your eyes met Amren’s then, and the connection between you two was unmistakable. The slight curve of your lips in a smile, the way Amren’s posture shifted just a bit more relaxed in response—it was clear you two shared something. A bond that transcended mere acquaintance. Despite the vast differences in your temperaments, Amren tolerated you, even enjoyed your company in her own way. And in return, you didn’t seem to push her boundaries, always respecting the ancient secrets she carried with her.

The conversation shifted toward political matters, but Azriel’s mind wasn’t in the room anymore. Every glance he stole toward you was filled with questions—rumors he’d heard, but never fully understood. What are you? He wondered, his pulse quickening every time his gaze met yours. You felt like something… ancient, almost too much for him to comprehend.

As the meeting came to a close, the Inner Circle stood, moving toward the door. Azriel’s mind was still tangled in confusion and curiosity, his eyes following you as you made your way toward the exit. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more about you—something he needed to figure out. But as the last of the conversation died down, he realized there was one person he could never get an answer from.

Amren.

Cassian’s voice broke through his thoughts as he threw his hands up in disbelief. “What the hell was that about?” he asked, his voice louder than usual. “Who is she?”

Rhysand’s gaze lingered on the door where you had just disappeared. “What’s her deal, Azriel?” His voice was low, measured, but there was an edge of concern. “Why does she feel so… different?”

Mor, who had been quiet until now, added her thoughts in a softer tone. “She didn’t just look like a goddess, Azriel. She felt like something else entirely.” Her words were filled with apprehension, and Azriel could hear the unspoken question behind them.

The group turned toward Amren, who had barely acknowledged them since the introduction, her gaze distant. But it was clear that whatever was going on with you, Amren wasn’t going to provide any clarity. She knew more than she was letting on, and they all knew it.

“What’s she hiding, Amren?” Cassian asked, his voice casual, though his eyes burned with the same curiosity as the rest of them.

Amren’s lips twitched into a half-smile, the kind that spoke of knowledge and power. “Nothing that concerns you, Cassian,” she replied cryptically. “But perhaps he will explain it one day.”

Her gaze flicked to Azriel for a brief moment, as if she were passing the torch to him. The others followed her glance, and Azriel felt their eyes on him, all their questions suddenly becoming his responsibility. He met their stares, his chest tightening with the weight of the unknown.

They all knew they wouldn’t get anything out of Amren, not now, not ever. The question of who you were and why you felt so different hung in the air, unanswered.

Azriel stared at the door, lost in thought, his mind racing with questions. For once, he didn’t have the answers.

"I was wrong."

Something most conscious beings had a hard time accepting. Azriel was wrong. He shouldn’t have left the comfort of the townhouse to find you.

It had been two weeks since the meeting, two weeks since Helion introduced you with that quiet, almost serene confidence. Two weeks since the unknown and inexplicable pull toward you had woven itself into his every thought. He needed to understand what it was about you. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly: Who were you? Why did you feel so different? What was this pull?

He had never been the one to chase after something—or someone—for answers. It was not in his nature, not with his shadows constantly whispering to him. But this time, this time had been different.

As he entered the gardens of the Day Court, the sun beat down in the way it always did, warm and soft. He moved through the orchards, the tall flowers brushing against his arms, the scent of petals and herbs surrounding him in a blanket of calming sweetness. But the air felt heavy, filled with something more than just the fragrance of blooming flowers. It felt like the garden itself was watching him, as if it knew the reason he was here.

And yet, you weren’t there.

The familiar stillness of the garden set a subtle unease in his chest. Normally, you were here, somewhere, basking in the sunlight, just as the rumors said the Sun’s Daughter always did. But not today.

He moved deeper into the garden, weaving between the trees and flowers, his steps quickening, impatience building with each turn. The further he walked, the more the path opened before him, as if the garden itself was guiding him, leading him toward a place he didn’t want to go but couldn’t seem to avoid. It felt like the landscape itself was conspiring against him.

Then, there you were.

In the distance, beneath the golden rays that seemed to crown you with an ethereal glow, you stood, as though waiting for him. Your wings unfurled slightly, catching the light, and in that moment, everything around him seemed to pause.

He shouldn’t be here. This was pointless. Why was he so attracted to you? It wasn’t in the way he found you attractive—no, that was not it. It was deeper, more insistent, like his very being was drawn to yours, like there were answers in you that he was meant to uncover.

But this was a bad idea. Why hadn’t he thought this through?

He had no plan. No questions. He hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say when he saw you. He had just followed the impulse, the need to understand. To learn.

And now, here he was.

A part of him wanted to turn around, walk away before you noticed him. But his feet were rooted to the ground, his shadows clinging to the grass, unwilling to let him go.

As he approached, you turned, your gaze meeting his with that same calm, knowing expression. It was like you had been expecting him all along.

You said nothing at first, simply studying him with those golden eyes that shimmered like the sun itself. It was maddening, how effortlessly you seemed to see through him, how everything about you felt like a riddle he couldn’t solve. And yet, it wasn’t just the curiosity gnawing at him—it was something more. Something inexplicable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to understand you. That you were important.

The questions—the endless swirl of them—tumbled from his mind, and for a moment, he could hardly remember why he had come. Instead, his chest tightened with the overwhelming presence of you. You stood there like the sun itself, casting light on everything in the garden. You absorbed it, drank it in, until it seemed like the very air around you glowed, like the golden light was woven into your skin, your wings, your very soul.

"Hello, Spymaster," you said softly, as if you knew exactly who he was, even without the title. There was a weight to your voice that caught him off guard, pulling him into the moment, forcing him to face the reality of why he was here. "I didn’t expect you to come looking for me. How do you find my garden?"

His pulse quickened, throat tight, as the words threatened to spill from him—but no, they remained stuck, caught somewhere between his chest and his lips. What was he supposed to say to you? How could he possibly ask the questions that had been burning inside him for weeks? Why did he feel like he was unraveling the moment he tried to approach it?

"It’s beautiful…" Azriel finally muttered, but the words didn’t satisfy him. They weren’t enough, not when the weight of everything he wanted to know pressed on his shoulders. Not when the pull to understand you felt like an invisible thread wrapped around his chest, tightening with each passing second.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile, and Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that you saw straight through him, down to the very core of his thoughts. "You don’t need to explain yourself, Azriel," you said, your voice threading through his mind like a whisper, cutting through the confusion. "Not to me."

Your eyes, still shimmering with that quiet power, seemed to study him for a moment, as though weighing something unsaid. Then, with a trace of amusement, you added, "You’re not the first to come looking for answers. And you won’t be the last."

Azriel stood there, his mind whirling as your words settled in the space between them. Who else had come looking for you? What did you mean by that? But even more pressing, why did it feel like you knew everything about him already, like your presence was somehow… familiar?

"I didn’t think this through," Azriel admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He was standing here, in front of you, and his mind was a mess. He had no plan, no strategy. The questions he’d come with—he could barely even remember them now.

You tilted your head slightly, regarding him with a faint smile. "Most don’t," you said simply, as though it was something you’d seen countless times before. "You don’t have to ask all your questions right away. Some things need to come in their own time."

Azriel was left standing there, feeling as though everything about you had just unraveled him. The way the sun seemed to bend toward you. The way you drank it in, effortlessly glowing in its embrace. The pull he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried.

Finally, the question broke through his fog, desperate to be asked. "Who was the first?" He could barely keep the curiosity out of his voice.

You smiled again, and the air seemed to shift with it, like something old and powerful stirred beneath the surface. "I was."

And in that moment, Azriel’s world narrowed to that single response, the weight of it pressing down on him like a storm on the horizon. It made everything else feel irrelevant, insignificant. Because the first was you, and in some way, he knew now that he had already lost himself in you.

The game had changed, and he had no idea how to play it.

Ethereal was the only word closest enough to capture your essence within the confines of a single meaning. But even that seemed inadequate. You were more than just light, more than the sun’s rays casting their warmth on the earth. You were the embodiment of it, every movement you made bending the air, shifting the very atmosphere around you in a way that felt both surreal and magnetic.

Azriel could never have predicted it—how someone so... untouchable would invade his thoughts. He was used to the shadows, the quiet, the things that lurked in the dark. But you, with your golden eyes and that calm, knowing presence, made the very air feel like it was alive with energy.

He remembered the first time he had truly seen you—your wings unfurling like rays of sunlight, your form glowing, bathing the world in warmth. That was when the curiosity had first taken root. But now, two weeks later, it was more than just curiosity.

It was obsession. A quiet, relentless pull that kept him coming back.

He told himself it was nothing. That it was just a fleeting fascination. You were a powerful force, a being unlike anything he had ever encountered. That was all. But the more time he spent with you, the harder it was to keep up the façade. It wasn’t just your power. It wasn’t just your beauty. It was the way you made him feel, the way you seemed to see through him with that knowing smile, the way the light itself seemed to respond to your very presence.

As the weeks turned into months, Azriel found himself returning to the Day Court again and again. At first, he told himself it was just to understand you better, to unravel the mystery that surrounded your presence. But somewhere along the way, it became something else. It wasn’t the questions anymore. It was you.

He found comfort in your company, a strange sense of belonging he didn’t know he was searching for. You didn’t just listen to him—you saw him, in ways that no one ever had before. His silence didn’t frighten you; it seemed to give you space to talk, to share pieces of your life, your memories. You talked about the light, about the way it shaped everything in your life, and the way you could feel it in ways others couldn’t. You shared stories of the plants you cared for, the ones that seemed to thrive under your touch, and how you could coax them into bloom by simply being with them.

Azriel became so enmeshed in your world that he couldn’t remember when it happened, but he found himself looking forward to these visits. What began as a way to pass the time between missions, a fleeting curiosity, grew into something deeper—a friendship he didn’t know he needed. He didn’t need to be anyone else around you. He didn’t need to be the spymaster, the shadow that everyone feared. He could just be yours, and that was enough.

One day, during one of his visits, he finally asked you, hesitantly, “Your light, how does it work? I can only imagine, but I know I don’t do it justice in my head.”

There was a flicker of amusement in your eyes, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Azriel. You’ve earned that.”

He followed you into a secluded part of the garden, where the sunlight bathed everything in a golden glow, and the air was thick with the scent of flowers in bloom. You stepped into the open space, your wings unfurling slowly, catching the light as though they were made of sunbeams themselves. Azriel’s breath hitched. It wasn’t just the way the light seemed to bend around you; it was the power of it, the sheer beauty.

You closed your eyes for a moment, your entire being becoming attuned to the world around you. Then, with a sudden movement, you raised your hands, and the air around you shimmered.

Azriel watched in awe as the light seemed to dance, twisting around you like an ethereal storm. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. It wasn’t just power—it was life, it was energy, it was pure light. It moved and swirled in intricate patterns, forming shapes and colors he couldn’t even begin to describe. The glow around you intensified, casting long, stretching shadows across the ground, yet it never touched you. It was like the light belonged to you, and the world had to bend to your will.

Azriel was entranced, standing there in silence, utterly captivated. He hadn’t realized just how deeply he had become drawn to you, but in that moment, it was impossible to deny. The way your eyes shimmered with the power you controlled, the way your expression softened as you weaved the light into something tangible—it was mesmerizing.

When you finished, the light slowly faded, but the lingering energy remained in the air, like a hum. Azriel was still standing there, speechless, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent.

You smiled, an expression that was both soft and knowing. “Most people don’t get to see it. Only those who truly understand the light can appreciate it in its purest form.”

Azriel finally found his voice, his gaze still locked on you. “I don’t think I ever will truly understand it,” he admitted quietly. “But what I do know... is that I’ll never forget what I just saw.”

There was a warmth in your eyes, a glint of something deeper—something that made his chest tighten. You didn’t need to say anything more. The moment was enough. Your friendship had always been grounded in an unspoken understanding, but in that moment, there was a shift—a deeper connection that neither of you could ignore.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden light across the garden, Azriel found himself wanting to stay with you. More than anything, he wanted to stay, to let the moments stretch on forever. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had come to depend on your presence, how much he needed this—needed you.

Soon, he realized love was a fickle thing. It wasn’t something that could ever hurt, he came to realize. Others would advise him otherwise, with love came loss just as much as with light, there was dark. But as he spent more time with you, as he allowed himself to fall deeper into the connection they shared, Azriel understood—this love didn’t hold the loss others talked about. It was the moments in between, the small exchanges of trust and tenderness, and the quiet understanding that bound them together.

The longer he stayed by your side, the more he saw how others were wrong about love. It wasn’t a fragile thing that shattered with the weight of pain—it was a force that could build, that could sustain and hold even when the world around them trembled. He hadn’t expected that, not from someone like you, not from someone who shone with such brightness that it seemed impossible to reach. Yet here he was, every day becoming more tethered to you, to the light you offered without hesitation.

And yet, still—he was afraid.

He had grown close to you, closer than he ever thought possible, and with each passing day, the pull between them deepened. You were no longer just the Sun’s Daughter, a mystery he was desperate to understand. You were his, in ways that neither of them had fully acknowledged. But even then, there was that flicker of doubt.

What if it was too much? What if, in the end, there was nothing left after all of this, after the years, after the feelings? Love was something he had seen destroy—so much loss, so much darkness that followed the light.

Azriel had never been one to confront his own vulnerabilities. His shadows were a far safer companion than the raw ache of affection that had begun to reside in his chest. Still, the more time they spent together, the clearer it became: he could no longer deny that he loved you.

But that wasn’t enough. Love had never been enough, not when it could be taken away in the blink of an eye.

The sky was painted in strokes of gold and amber, the last remnants of the sun bleeding into soft pinks and purples that stretched endlessly across the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of ripe citrus and jasmine, the warmth of the day lingering on the grass, on the petals of every flower swaying in the gentle breeze.

Azriel lay stretched across your lap, his wings tucked close to his body, his head resting against your legs as though this had always been his place. And maybe it had. Maybe he had been meant to find you, to end up here, beneath the golden glow of the setting sun, his shadows quiet for once as the world bathed in your light.

It should have been like every other evening. Another quiet moment stolen in the hush of the Day Court gardens. But tonight, something was different.

He had watched you a thousand times before, but tonight, with the sunset casting you in molten gold, you looked like something from a dream. A painting of the divine, bathed in warmth, kissed by the light itself. And the worst part—the part that made his heart clench painfully—was that you didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t realize how the fading sun bent to you, how the light curled around your wings like it was drawn to something greater, something more.

His gaze drifted to the sky, watching birds weave intricate patterns overhead, their wings slicing through the painted clouds with effortless grace. The soft rustle of the leaves, the distant hum of the fountains—it all blurred into the background, fading beneath the quiet sound of your breathing, the warmth of your fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair.

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensation, on the way you touched him so easily, so gently, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps, by now, it was. He had grown accustomed to your warmth, to the way you leaned into him without hesitation, without fear. It had been a year of knowing you, and yet, every day, you unraveled him further.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to find you already looking down at him, your expression soft, knowing. The sunset burned behind you, turning the strands of your hair into liquid gold, your golden eyes catching the light in a way that made it impossible to look away.

You were the sun itself. And he—he was just a fool who had spent too long pretending he didn’t need its warmth.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of,” you said, voice barely above a murmur, yet carrying the weight of something ancient, something undeniable.

Azriel’s heart stuttered. You always saw too much, always slipped past his defenses like light spilling through the cracks. And now, now you were here, looking at him like you already knew the answer.

Still, the words were difficult to admit. They felt heavy, lodged in his throat. But when he finally spoke, it was quiet, raw, barely audible beneath the soft rustling of the garden.

“That you’ll fly away,” he confessed, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, as if that alone would keep you here. “That you’ll go somewhere I can’t reach. I can’t bear to be apart from you.”

Your lips curved, and for a moment, you said nothing. Just reached down, your fingers tracing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone, soft and grounding, the kind of touch that settled deep in his chest and took root.

“It’s a good thing you have wings as well, I suppose,” you murmured, thumb brushing lightly over his scar. “I’ll never be somewhere you can’t find me.”

And as your fingers trailed lower, as the warmth of the setting sun melted into the warmth of your touch, Azriel realized—he had never stood a chance. He had already fallen.

The golden light clung to you, illuminating every delicate curve of your face, every feather of your wings, as if the sun itself refused to let you go. And him—he was the shadows creeping at the edges, the night patiently waiting its turn. He had spent a lifetime shrouded in darkness, wrapped in silence, yet somehow, here you were, standing at the seam where day met night, and instead of turning away from him, you reached out.

Azriel closed his eyes at your touch, his breath shaky. The weight of his fears, the shadows of loss and pain, suddenly felt so insignificant under your soft guidance. He had been running for so long, afraid to let anyone too close, afraid to truly let himself love. But now, here with you, he understood.

The light you gave him wasn’t just about warmth—it was about trust. It was about letting go.

When he opened his eyes, the sky had deepened into a watercolor of indigo and violet, the last streaks of sunlight retreating below the horizon. Yet, even in the growing dusk, you still shone. Soft, unwavering. The sun may have set, but its glow still lingered on your skin, as if refusing to leave you entirely.

Azriel lifted a hand, hesitating only for a second before brushing his knuckles against your cheek. It was a silent acknowledgment, a wordless confession of everything he had yet to say.

“I don’t want to tether you down,” he whispered, voice rough with something fragile, something afraid. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll make myself worthy to follow after you.”

Your expression didn’t change—not in the way he expected, at least. No surprise, no hesitation. Only quiet understanding, only that same steady warmth he had come to crave like a man starved of sunlight.

The wind stirred between you, ruffling your feathers, tugging at his shadows. Day and night, converging in this in-between moment.

You smiled, the kind of smile that was not just an answer but a promise. Your hand covered his, pressing his palm flat against your cheek, grounding him in the warmth of you.

“You were always worthy, Azriel,” you murmured. “You only needed to see it.”

And as the night settled in, as the stars blinked into existence overhead, Azriel knew, deep in his soul, that this was no longer about keeping himself safe. It was about taking that step forward, even into the unknown. He loved you. And for the first time, he was willing to believe that love could heal, not hurt.

The darkness of his past still lingered, and it always would—but now, beside you, he could finally see past the night.

Four hundred and fifty years, and you’d never set foot outside of the Day Court. Why would you?

The sun had always been your home, its warmth woven into your very essence. The golden sands, the vast orchards, the shimmering lakes that reflected the endless sky—you had everything you needed. The light had never failed you, never given you a reason to leave.

Until now. Until him.

Azriel stood beside you at the edge of a balcony, his figure a dark silhouette against the glow of the Velaris skyline. The city stretched below, vibrant and alive, its lanterns twinkling like stars, the soft hum of the Sidra echoing in the distance. He had asked you—gently, as he always did when it came to things that mattered—to come with him. Just for a little while. Just to see what existed beyond the eternal sun. And for the first time in four and a half centuries, you had said yes.

The moment you stepped into Velaris, the change was immediate.

The air was cool, crisp, and laced with the scent of rain on stone, the scent of something not quite like the sun-warmed earth you were used to. The sky, painted in deep purples and indigos, stretched above a city that glowed—not with sunlight, but with the soft flicker of lanterns and the warm golden light spilling from windows. It was a softness you weren’t used to, a stark contrast to the harsh brightness of your own world.

It was so different.

You inhaled sharply, your body reacting before your mind could process it. You instinctively curled inward, your wings flicking out slightly as though trying to shield you from the unfamiliar cold. But before you could say a word, something warm and heavy settled over your shoulders.

Azriel’s cloak.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet amusement, though there was something deeper behind it—a tenderness, something protective. Something he had only shown to you.

You turned your head to look at him, meeting his steady gaze, and saw him watching you, his dark eyes tracing every emotion that flickered across your face. There was something magnetic about the way he studied you—like he saw all of you, even the parts you had never shown anyone else. You exhaled, shaking your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“You don’t feel it?” you asked, your voice quiet and almost uncertain.

“The cold?” Azriel asked, his wings shifting slightly as he adjusted his stance. “Not like you do.”

You hummed thoughtfully, adjusting the cloak around you, letting its warmth seep into your skin. “You should have feathers, then.”

Azriel blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment. Then, a soft laugh escaped him. “I should, huh?”

You nodded, your gaze shifting from him to your own wings. The contrast between you was so apparent now—his wings like midnight shadows, smooth and leathery, while yours shimmered in the dim light, golden feathers catching the glow of the city.

“You’d look ridiculous with them,” you mused, a playful glint in your eye.

Azriel tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you teased back.

His smirk deepened, and the playful challenge in his eyes made your heart flutter. With a slow, deliberate motion, Azriel extended a hand toward you, his silent invitation hanging between you. It was a promise, a quiet assurance that, just as you had guided him in the Day Court, he would now guide you through this strange new world.

Before you had even set foot in Velaris, Azriel had come to Rhysand with the request to let you into the city. The High Lord, ever the schemer with a knowing glint in his eyes, had agreed without hesitation. He trusted you. The Inner Circle trusted you. And though Rhysand’s approval had been granted, it was Azriel’s belief in you that mattered most.

Despite the unfamiliar chill of Velaris, despite the strangeness of the city and the night around you, you took his hand without hesitation. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, his presence a grounding force in the whirlwind of everything new.

And you followed.

Every step you took with him brought you deeper into the heart of Velaris, into his home. Even as the city wrapped around you with its soft, vibrant glow, there was something about Azriel’s steady, unwavering presence that made the unfamiliar feel more like home.

As you walked through the streets of Velaris, everything seemed so different from what you had been told. For centuries, the whispers had painted the Night Court in dark, ominous tones, a place filled with shadow and secrecy. But standing here, beneath the dusky sky lit with a thousand twinkling stars, you knew that everything you’d heard was nothing more than the distortions of fear.

The streets were alive. Laughter and chatter filled the air, the sound of children running playfully through the cobblestone streets, their energy infectious. The buildings that lined the streets were bathed in the soft, golden glow of lanterns, and the Sidra rippled peacefully in the distance, its waters reflecting the stars. It was a city of life, not darkness, and it filled your heart with warmth.

You had never seen such joy—such pure, unrestrained happiness. It was a far cry from the serenity of the Day Court. The children, wild and free, played without care. Some of them waved at Azriel as you passed, their faces lighting up in recognition, while others simply stared at you, wide-eyed.. Your presence felt... different here, as though you didn’t just walk through the streets but shone through them. Golden light flickered along your skin as if the stars themselves had taken up residence in your being.

Azriel, ever the protector, noticed the way the children watched you—eyes wide with awe, captivated by the sheer brilliance of your presence. His wings twitched slightly, the familiar feeling of protectiveness stirring in him, but there was something else this time. There was pride, too. Pride that they could see, even for just a moment, how magnificent you were. That they could witness what he had come to know so intimately—the light that radiated from you, the beauty that filled every space you entered.

He said nothing as they stared, as some of the children whispered excitedly to each other, their faces lighting up in wonder. He simply kept walking beside you, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the city air, the pride in his heart unwavering. You were his, and everyone here, in this place he called home, would learn to see what he had known for years: that you were meant to shine.

When you finally arrived at the townhouse, a wave of relief washed over you. It felt like him. As Azriel closed the door behind you both, you moved toward him, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pulling him into an embrace. His body stiffened for a brief moment before melting into your touch, his own arms coming up to encircle you. You felt his chest rise and fall with a shaky breath, and in that moment, everything felt perfect. He fit so naturally in your arms.

Azriel turned in your embrace, cupping your face gently, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt, but finding none. His thumb traced the line of your jaw before his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had built together, of the years that had led to this moment. His lips tasted like home, like everything you had ever wanted and more.

When you pulled away, his hands lingered on your skin, as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I have something for you,” Azriel said, his voice low, and something in the way he said it made your heart flutter with anticipation.

Curious, you followed him to his room, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet of the townhouse. As you stepped inside, you were immediately drawn to the middle of the room, where a set of clothes and leathers lay neatly on a pair of chests. You raised an eyebrow in surprise as Azriel watched you closely, his eyes filled with a quiet excitement.

The leather was deep black, almost indistinguishable from the shadows themselves, but it shimmered with intricate gold embroidery of a sun, its rays curling like tendrils across the fabric. The stitching was delicate but purposeful, capturing the essence of light in a way that left you breathless. You could feel the weight of the craftsmanship, the care that had gone into making them.

He watched as you knelt down to touch the fabric, your fingers brushing over the soft leather. When you checked the inside, you realized it was insulated—perfect for the chill of Velaris. He had thought of everything.

“You know me too well,” you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“Don’t forget this,” Azriel continued, moving to the side of the room, where a velvet dress hung. It was a deep, rich gold, the fabric so soft it almost seemed to shimmer in the light. Black accents adorned it—lace at the collar, delicate patterns embroidered across the hem. The contrast between the gold and black was striking, and you could already imagine how it would feel against your skin.

Azriel stepped closer, a soft smile playing at his lips. “ I knew you’d get cold. Don’t want you finding warmth within anyone except you and I.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room, and with a quick motion, you reached up to kiss him. But before he could react, you pushed him back onto the bed, your playful grin spreading across your face.

Azriel let out a startled huff, his body falling back onto the soft sheets. He reached out, grabbing for you, but you were already slipping away, your eyes filled with mischief. The softness of the moment lingered between you as you stood above him, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your shared laughter.

In that moment, nothing else existed. It was just you, him, and a love that felt as if it had always been meant to be.

...

Over the years, Azriel had noticed that you seemed to be fond of Velaris. Perhaps it was because you’d lived in the Day Court your entire long life, or maybe it was because Velaris made you feel more free. Sure, you had Helion in the Day Court, who had always been more like an uncle than a father, and the fact that you were technically older than him never ceased to amuse you both. But here, in Velaris, in the townhouse, you felt like you had the chance to be part of a real family.

The hum of warmth from the fire in the hearth was a constant presence as you spent your days with the Inner Circle. The dinners around the large table in the dining room had become something you looked forward to—a place where laughter flowed freely and the light of the flames flickered in the faces of those you now considered family. The smell of freshly cooked meals—Rhysand’s endless experiments with new flavors and Amren’s refined touch in the smallest of details—had become familiar. It was a home, the scent of food and wine mixing with the sounds of their voices filling every room.

After a week of sparring with Cassian and Azriel, learning the rhythm of their moves, your body had begun to adjust to the new style of fighting. Cassian’s encouragement, Azriel’s patient corrections—both had become staples of your daily routine. Yet, it was the moments spent with Amren that you cherished most. The quiet afternoons where you two would sit in companionable silence, the fire casting shadows on the walls, and Amren’s stories about the ancient times of the Fae were enough to make you feel as though you had known this family for lifetimes.

And still, even in the midst of all the joy and the softness of it all, the pull of the Day Court remained—a place where the gardens and the sun’s warmth always beckoned. But now, Velaris had a piece of you. And tonight, you had prepared something special for them.

The room was filled with the delicious scent of your cooking—a blend of spices and herbs that had been carefully chosen, much like the way you’d been welcomed into this home. As the table was set, the warmth from the candles reflected in everyone’s eyes, the flickering light creating an almost magical atmosphere.

And yet, there was something else, too. You could feel the lingering hum in your chest, the familiar pull of your powers, quietly waiting beneath the surface. You’d been so content, so at ease here with them, that it was almost as though your abilities were waiting for the right moment to make themselves known.

Cassian, ever the troublemaker, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You know,” he said, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass, “we’ve never seen your powers. When we first met you, Azriel almost pissed his pants just being in the same room as you.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, and he shot a glare at Cassian, his shadows curling like tendrils of smoke, responding to the shift in the air. “I don’t remember it exactly like that,” Azriel grumbled, though his voice was laced with fondness, as he sent a quick, playful poke of his shadows toward Cassian, causing the general to flinch.

You smiled at the banter, letting the lightness of it all fill you. It was familiar, comforting, in a way that was entirely new.

“Well,” you said, standing up and stretching, “if you’re all so curious, I’d love to show you.”

The room grew still for a moment, as if the space itself held its breath. The flickering of the fire and the candlelight seemed to dim, the shadows stretching and bending at the edges. You could feel the pull of your power, the warmth of it coiling within you like the golden threads of sunlight, drawing you into the very air.

The temperature in the room shifted, growing warmer, the light beginning to ripple and pulse as you let it rise from within. You felt it now—like an old friend—coursing through your veins, filling the room with the soft, golden glow of the sun.

The warmth spread across your skin, illuminating everything in its path. Your wings fluttered lightly, the gold and amber of your feathers glinting in the light, casting ripples of color around the room like the dance of sunlight on water. Tendrils of light moved with purpose, curling through the air in slow, graceful patterns, as if the sun had woven itself around your body. It was as if the room itself was caught in the embrace of your energy, the shadows retreating as the warmth enveloped everything.

The Inner Circle watched in stunned silence. Cassian’s teasing grin faltered, his eyes wide, and even Rhysand, usually so composed, allowed a flicker of surprise to show on his face. Amren, ever the silent observer, gave a low whistle, her sharp eyes gleaming with approval.

But it was Mor who spoke first, her voice soft with awe. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, her eyes reflecting the golden light that surrounded you.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at the compliment. But Cassian, ever the joker, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Careful, Mor. Az might think you’re trying to get with his girl.”

Azriel’s shadows immediately shot toward Cassian, as if to scold him for his teasing. But you could see the slight tightening of his jaw, the possessiveness that he tried to mask. Azriel’s gaze flickered to you, and in that moment, you could see the silent question in his eyes. Would you ever leave him?

You chuckled, the golden glow around you flickering in amusement. “Relax, Cassian,” you said, voice light and teasing. “Mor’s just admiring my power. I can hardly blame her.”

Mor winked at you, a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said, her gaze never leaving you. “You’ve got an incredible gift.”

Azriel relaxed slightly at your words, but his gaze never left you. You were surrounded by warmth, not just from your own light, but from the acceptance and admiration of the people who had become family.

You took a deep breath, letting the light recede slowly, the warmth still radiating gently from you. The room returned to its natural warmth, but there was a lingering glow, like the fading warmth of the sun after it sets.

Cassian, still recovering from the display, shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Okay, that was something else.”

Rhysand chuckled, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. “You’ve been holding out on us, haven’t you?”

Amren rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small, knowing smile. “She’s still holding out. I’ve seen her do much more.”

You laughed softly, the glow around you flickering with amusement as you winked at Amren. “I figured it was about time. Besides,” you added, glancing at Azriel, “I don’t think anyone should be in the dark about something this beautiful.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and for a long moment, everything felt still. He crossed the room in two steps, reaching for you, his fingers gently brushing your cheek before cupping your face. His touch was grounding, a quiet reassurance, and you melted into it. His lips met yours softly, lingering for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

And in that moment, you knew: this was where you belonged—here, with them, with Azriel. The power you had, the love you shared—it was all part of you now, woven into the tapestry of this new family you had found.

Azriel had just returned from a long, arduous mission—one that had taken him deep into the shadows of distant courts, gathering whatever whispers and rumors he could about the general named Amarantha. She was said to be a force to be reckoned with, a weapon whose power could rival the might of the Fae themselves. But every spy and informant he’d spoken to had told him the same thing: while the rumors were growing, the war wasn’t going to erupt for some time. It was all just talk, whispers in the dark. Nothing imminent.

For once, Azriel allowed himself to breathe easy. After weeks of travel, research, and the constant pressure of worrying that the worst was right around the corner, he had finally returned to Velaris.

He hadn’t come back to the Inner Circle’s townhouse immediately; instead, he’d allowed himself a small gift of quiet. A walk through the streets of the city, just the two of you. He could already feel the tightness in his chest slowly unraveling as you laughed at something ridiculous he’d said, your presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. It felt good—so good—to just be here, walking in the sunlight with you, far from the tension and bloodshed he’d left behind.

You, with your golden wings fluttering lightly behind you, basked in the warmth of the sun, and Azriel couldn’t help but stare at you. The world around you seemed to glow brighter when you were close, the golden strands of your hair catching the light in such a way that it almost looked as though you were glowing from within. Your smile was easy, carefree, and for the first time in a long while, Azriel allowed himself to enjoy this.

He thought about the information he had gathered. About the war that was brewing between the courts. About Amarantha, whose name sent shivers through the shadows that clung to Azriel’s very soul. He had returned with knowledge that could change everything—but for now, he pushed it aside. No need to think about it yet.

For now, he was home.

The two of you walked together, your laughter mixing with the sounds of Velaris—children playing in the streets, merchants calling out their wares, the gentle hum of the Sidra River winding through the city. Azriel’s dark wings rested comfortably behind him, their usual tension gone for the moment. The weight on his shoulders, the responsibility that always pressed down on him, had lessened.

It was easy, almost too easy, to forget the storm clouds that loomed just out of sight. But for once, Azriel allowed himself to be fully present in the moment, enjoying your company, letting go of the constant vigilance he had lived with for so long. He’d been with you through so many battles, but today, he didn’t have to worry about anything except you.

But then, the shift came. It was subtle at first—an almost imperceptible change in the air. But Azriel, ever the shadow, felt it before anything else. His muscles tensed, and his steps slowed as he glanced toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly. The warmth of the day seemed to drain from the air, replaced with something cold, something heavy. The world felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

And then you felt it too.

The soft breeze carrying the sweet smells of Velaris began to still. The warm sun above you turned cold—an eerie chill crawling across your skin. The cobblestones beneath your feet seemed to lose their warmth, and the air around you thickened, pressing in from all sides. It was the same kind of weight you felt before a storm, only this time, there was no storm in sight. Only an unsettling silence.

Your heart started to race. You tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick, too heavy to fill your lungs.

Azriel stopped walking beside you, his body going rigid. The playful, easy tension between you both evaporated, replaced by something much darker. His wings shifted behind him, stretching as if sensing something dangerous in the air. The small, almost imperceptible pull at the base of your chest—like the world itself was trying to drag you away from this moment—grew stronger. You instinctively took a step back, your feet grounding you, but your wings fluttered, restless and agitated.

Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his stare making your stomach twist. "Did you…" His voice was low, tight, as if he was trying to keep his own fear at bay. His hand reached for yours instinctively, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you, if only for a moment.

Before you could answer, you felt it—a powerful shift in the air, like a ripple in the fabric of reality itself. It wasn’t just the city, the world around you—it was something far deeper, something ancient.

You froze, feeling the tug deep inside you, a pull toward the Day Court. Your pulse quickened, fear sparking in your veins as the connection to the Court grew stronger, darker.

Azriel’s face paled, his breath catching. "Something’s wrong" he breathed again, his voice a mix of disbelief and fear.

“I feel it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your wings twitched, restless, desperate to take flight. “Something’s happening. I need to go.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his face a mask of determination and concern. “No. Stay here, with me. Velaris is safe,” his voice was pleading as he spoke your name in a rush, “I can protect you. Please.”

But you could already feel the distance growing between you and him, the pull toward the Day Court too strong, too urgent to ignore. You tried to steady yourself, to focus, but the instinct to leave, to move toward whatever danger was awaiting you, was overpowering.

You cupped his face in your hands, grounding him in the moment, in the unspoken promise you had made to always be there for him. His eyes softened for the briefest moment, but they still carried the weight of his fear for you, for everything that could happen.

“Angel, please.” His voice broke as he searched your gaze, his shadows swirling beneath his words like the storm in his mind.

You pressed your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your chest. "Azriel… I will always be somewhere you can reach," you whispered, your voice firm, despite the dread gnawing at your insides. "But I can’t stay here."

His eyes flickered with a pain so raw it made your chest ache. "Please…"

With a final, lingering kiss, your lips brushed his one last time. The air around you felt electric, charged with the intensity of the moment, of everything unsaid between you.

You pulled away from him slowly, your wings unfurling behind you, catching the last rays of sunlight. Without another word, you took off, your body soaring into the sky, the wind rushing around you, carrying you away from the only place that had ever felt like home. The city of Velaris disappeared beneath you, its golden glow now a distant memory.

Azriel stood motionless, his heart pounding, his hands still trembling with the weight of the moment. He closed his eyes, the image of you—flying away, just out of reach—burned into his mind.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Rhysand’s voice crashed into his mind, urgent and sharp.

“Az. Find Cassian. Protect Velaris.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He had to move, had to act. His wings snapped open as he winnowed away, his mind racing, but all he could think about, all that lingered in his chest, was how much he wished he had kept you with him, how much he wished you had never left.

a/n: AHHHHH WHY DID I START SUCH A HARD FIC PROJECT, gonna hate myself in a month cuz of this. lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part!! this is totally just my brain child i have a solid plot but i might be too lazy to write all of it. i haven't really seen meany tog/acotar crossover x readers so that's what this is hope you like it pookies <33

[tea-of-destiny]

(Prompt: "Shark")

“Look, kid.” Standing up from the card table, Mark clapped his hand onto Clive’s shoulder. “I can tell you’ve got a good heart. No idea what you’re trying to accomplish by getting mixed up with the big boss, but whatever it is, I want to see you succeed.”

“So… what’s the problem here?” Clive asked warily.

“You might’ve won me over with your words, but most of the Family ain’t quite so, ah, receptive to concepts like ‘compassion’ or ‘intellect’. If they sense any weakness in you, they’ll turn on you at the flip of a coin. And I can’t be caught helping you if you don’t show you have the backbone to command the rest of ‘em.”

“You think I’m not tough enough to achieve my goals.” Clive crossed his arms in front of him, unamused.

Mark simply shrugged. “Well, not so much the ‘being’ part as the ‘acting’. If the big boss has thrown you to the sharks, it doesn’t have to mean you’re also a shark now—the humble crustacean has its merits, too. But are you going to let them tear you to shreds where you stand… or are you going to make them believe you’ve got the claws to fight back?”

Clive studied the man’s face for a long minute. Then he turned his gaze away, pursing his lips. “What do I have to do, then?”

“Lie. Cheat. Backstab. Play their game, and play it mean, kid," Mark replied, voice firm. "Act only in your own interest from here on out, and make it clear that no one is safe from you.”

The image of his family’s smiling, innocent faces immediately sprung to Clive’s mind. He swallowed hard. “…No one?”

“No one.”

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Jon Hamm: I've worn everything on this show, from nothing to a rug wrapped around me to a beautiful bespoke suit.

Kate Carin (Costume Designer): When we see him at the bookshop for the ball, we thought it would be hilarious that Aziraphale had asked him to get really dressed up for it. So we did a bit of a homage to Liberace. So he's got a powder blue dinner suit that's encrusted with rhinestones. And then Douglas asked if we could do some sort of coat to go on top of it for one of the scenes when he leaves. So, of course, we didn't do just a coat. We did a huge ostrich feather coat, which we made from scratch.The girls did all the ombre on the feathers so it matches the dinner suit, gets lighter and lighter blue as it comes to the top, and then he's kind of surrounded by this halo of white feathers.

Sarah-Kate Fenelon (Producer): There is a shot when he emerges from the bookshop to meet all of the demons and say, like, I am who you're looking for, where he looks a little bit like an angel. And the silhouette of him kind of emerging in the light is very epic and is then just completely undercut by sort of, move out of the way. (video)

[sordidmusings]

Between Two Points - Ace

Art from the doujinshi Torch by NINEKOKS

Summary: You and Ace have had a ✨thing✨for a good while now so sharing a bed wasn’t strange for you. It was, however, absolutely tormenting Ace, who couldn’t keep his mind from every time you’ve touched. You wake up to find him wanting. You thought you could keep things quick and fun but they just keep on escalating. Especially when he begs to be inside you for the first time. 

A/N: oh how Ace has haunted me, especially while writing this lol he’s one of my top favs so brain said we extra need to do him justice 👏 pretty happy with the smut but I’m most happy with the ending scene - I wanted it to be sweet and silly and so very Ace. Part of the Between Two Points series (“just the tip” shots for separate charas)!

Warnings: nsfw, Implications of inexperience (Ace), first time together, sleepy sex (at first lol), subby Ace, he begs and thanks you like a lot, he calls you “pretty” as a pet name, praise kink both ways, emotionally fragile Ace, I didn’t mean for that to come out but he demands it, I just wanna shower him in love and validation until he Understands, until then he gets some pussy, multiple orgasms (for both yayyyyy), overstimulation on Ace, probably cumflation, definitely my obsession with men fighting not to cum, you make him suck the mess off your fingers, aftercare, silly banter to soothe the soul, fem!reader - kept it basically gn but then an old lady joke called to me at the end whoops

Word Count: 10.2k

Come get a serving of that soup ( ˘▽˘)っ♨

“If you see your daydreams in me, they'll not lack

What's been weighted in me, I'll make you quake with reason

I can feel your knees sinking into the bed

Searching in my dark eyes to break what’s been said

There’s a wake of grace, hunting your soreness down

There's a light in my skin that's been dimmed

I'mma dig you up and give you what I took

Pull you up and tuck you in and make you look

I'ma smooth your shoulders down and calm what's shook

It was all forlorn, if only for a season

Watching me is like watching a fire take your eyes from you”

“Can something like this be pulled

From under our feet?

Leaving our skin

And burning coals to meet

Tell me now

The shortest distance

Between two points

Is the line

From me to you”

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Ace still can’t believe you’re in the same bed. Every step into intimacy he’s taken with you leaves him shocked and stumbling. He’ll keep tripping after you forever though because, gods, it’s you. You’ve done a hundred and one things to impress him in emergency and battle, to take his breath away with how you decorate yourself, to make him and others watch on in awe at your skills. Though, all of that pales in comparison to the simple act of you being you. You, who wormed your way into his mind with your quirks and open-minded talks. You, who could light up his body with a simple look, a tender touch, a loving smile. You, who took hold of his heart with your patient kindness and understanding. 

You, who is currently keeping him up with the delicious turmoil of holding you so close.

This is the first time you’ve slept in the same bed. Now, you’ve done plenty of other things together, so Ace hadn’t thought that it would be such a big deal. When it hit him that he was really going to be falling asleep cuddled up to you, something so affectionate and domestic, his heart pumped an extra hard beat to wash tingles under his skin. He had thought the flush of excitement would peter off into comfort and contentment. To be fair, a part of it did. The problem is that the other part began incessantly bombarding him with thoughts of everything you could be doing in the bed besides sleeping.

His past experience with you is only making it harder where he thought it would ease his nerves at being close. The sweet or heated kisses you’d grab him to steal only make his lips lonely at their memory. The spark in your eyes as your kisses move southward haunts him and keeps his dick twitching pathetically against your thigh. The echoes of times he got to be the one with his head between your legs, smothering himself in the heady taste and smell of you, has him biting back whimpers. Fuck, he’s aching and flushed and desperate and all you’re doing is sleeping in his arms. He feels guilt creep in.

This should be enough. He shouldn’t be laying here wishing for more of you while you’re already so sweetly snuggling into his chest, offering him trust and affection. Holding you while you’re at your most vulnerable should sate him. Feeling how soft and warm you are with your weight sinking the two of you together should ease him to rest. Yet his mind keeps reminding him of the last time your weight was pressing on him, leaving him equal parts wound up and embarrassed.

As usual, you had been tapped right into when he needed you to escalate things but felt he didn’t have the right to ask. All day he’d been hovering around you, a hand always on arm or shoulder and eyes always ready to jump to you. He was chasing at your heels when you waved for him to follow you so you could settle him with some attention. He was pawing at you the moment your lips touched, moaning at the first rub of tongues, grinding right when you pressed deeper into him. 

Soon he was on the floor with you on his lap, your palms pressing your weight into his heaving chest and your hips working him over. He flushed an even deeper shade of pink when you told him how pretty he looks. The thought of it has his cock jumping even now, and he struggles to keep from grinding up into your lower stomach. He can feel a hint of your mound at the base of his cock, begging him to press harder to tease himself with your plush heat and the firmness of your pelvis underneath. Knowing your clit was hiding right there against him - in easy reach for him to make you squirm with pleasure, make such pretty pretty noises, think of nothing else but how good he’s making you feel - chips away at his resolve. 

The memory continues with the feeling of his fingers sinking into the meat of your hips, caught between pulling you faster and shoving you off because he felt all too close to his end for a grown man who hasn’t even gotten his pants off yet. You were even still fully clothed but didn’t seem to pay that any mind as you circled and ground yourself on the hard cock trapped in his pants. Even with the layers, he felt how hot your cunt was getting, burning even more against him than your mouth when it took to painting a path through his freckles from cheeks to chest. When you took breaks to grind slowly over him, he felt the little moment where your hips slid before your clothes followed, delayed by you slipping through your own wetness first. His eyes rolled back at the fact that using him got you soaked and that out of everyone you chose him to sit your drooling pussy on.

With that thought and his grinds chasing you back, he felt his balls pull taught and his cock pound dangerously.

No, fuck, he hasn’t even made you cum - his clothes, fuck, he’s still in his clothes you, can’t see him cum in his pants like some pathetic boy, no nonono-

“Please,” Ace gasped out, using all his will power to still his hips and keep them pressed to the ground, “I’m- I’m too- please -hhah- you’re just so- fuck! Please, baby.” He was panting the words between moans, trying to find enough strength to hold your hips still. “Just s-slow down, I’m -nnnngh-” You just smiled devilishly down at him and kept picking up the pace. He grit his teeth and arched his head back, “I’m so fucking close- ah!”

He hides his face in the pillows and your hair even as the praises you had showered him in echo in his ears while he holds your sleeping body. His own painfully awake body shivers while he thinks of how hard he came, how each pump had felt like overwhelming bliss trapped against your heat and to the tune of your voice. It has him grinding against you before he can even think and sighing out in relief at a little bit of the touch he needs.

“Ace?”

Your sleepy mumble makes him freeze, every muscle taught like he grabbed a live wire.

“Why are you awake, honey?” The genuine concern in your sleep-thick voice only makes him feel worse. You try to lift your face from his chest, but a hand on the back of your head traps you there. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he swallows, hoping to trap the stutter back down. “Don’t worry - go back to sleep.”

He places a gentle kiss to the top of your head and scratches your scalp to try and settle you. It works for a moment and he relishes in the feel of your body relaxing back against him. That is, until you shift to the side and snuggle deeper. Your thigh brushes his obvious hard on and you both tense. He panics when he feels your eyelashes tickle his chest, letting him know your eyes flew open wide.

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh, he thinks miserably. He’s confused when he feels you smile against his skin.

“Ace, honey, are you enjoying sleeping with me?” Even with the sleepy tone, you manage to get a lot of smug teasing in your voice.

“Yes?” That wasn’t meant to be a question.

“You sure?” you prod. “You seem awful tense.” 

You emphasize the last word with a firm press and rub of your thigh against his aching erection. His whole body shivers and a high sigh escapes him. His hands grasp you at hip and shoulder and he’s struck with the déjà vu of not knowing whether to drag you closer or make you stop. 

You’re having no such struggle, happy to find him a wanting mess. You’ll never get over seeing the confident and playful air he parades around with slipping off to reveal something fragile and seeking when you touch him. Sure, he won you initially with that part of him, charming you to his side like every other moth drawn to his inherent light, trapping you there with all the others under his protection and love. Knowing what pieces can lie under that blaze only makes the show more fun to watch. Knowing someone so powerful, so magnetic, feels the same way for you? Shows you places they’re scared to let others see? It’s your greatest rush and most cherished responsibility.

“You’re perfect, honey,” you praise. He just barely bites back a whimper. “Did you know I was dreaming about you?”

“You were?” Ace sounds much more disbelieving than you’d like.

“Mhmm, I do it often.” Your voice softens with honesty. “You’re always on my mind.”

There’s a slight tremble to Ace’s hold on you. He wants to say something, anything, but his throat has closed too tight for words to pass. 

“I can prove it to you,” the flirtatious heat to your voice eases the fragile vulnerability away. Ace is yet again thankful for your sixth sense when it comes to his needs. Your thigh creeping its way over his leg and hips helps distract him from the pressure behind his eyes. You settle your leg when it’s resting centered on his sensitive head. The weight of your soft thigh easing down on him forces a shaky “hh-ah!” from him and he feels his face flush in embarrassment and need. You reward the sound with a kiss to his pec.

“Well?” you whisper. “Are you gonna check?”

“Huh?” Ace’s blood is all in the wrong head for him to understand anything but praise and orders. You giggle at him and it makes his dick jump against your thigh.

Taking mercy on him, you grab the hand that’s planted on your hip. Slowly, you lead it to the swell of your ass and press his large hand to grip at you. He does so eagerly, playing with the pliant flesh filling his warm hold. Your sleep shorts are thin, letting him feel you easily despite the barrier. He can’t resist the instinct to pull and spread you open. You hum happily at the feeling, arching into it. Ace blows out a tense breath, bedding his cheek into the top of your head and canting his hips up ever so slightly.

“So good, sweetheart,” you sigh. He squeezes down and turns his face to find comfort in the smell of your hair. “Let me show you.”

You urge his hand a little lower, right to the hem of your shorts. You only stop when his fingertips slip under and tickle the skin right beside the swell of your lips. You want him to decide this on his own. He teases the elastic for a moment before trailing the pad of his finger over your underwear right where the seam of your pussy is, starting from your entrance up to your clit and back. Another content hum leaves you, encouraging him, and he swivels his hand to cup your heat. He shivers at the hot breath curling over his chest, and his head swirls happily when you arch your hips up to push your cunt deeper into his palm. 

This time it’s your own hand gripping your ass to spread you open for him. You arch and nudge into his hold more, unintentionally grinding over his cock in your writhing. His fingers twitch, teasing your clit, sparking it to life and leaving you wanting. He’s having trouble keeping himself tempered instead of writhing when he can feel the dampness of your underwear and how they slide messily between his palm and your pussy. He wants it coating his fingers, smeared on his lips, maybe one day he can feel it soaking his cock- 

“Touch me,” you whine impatiently.

Hasty fingers push under the band of your underwear and slip between your folds.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Ace moans. His voice is low in his chest but softened by his breathlessness. He takes his time petting around your entrance and enjoying the feeling of your lips slipping to encase his fingers when he flattens them out to reach your clit.

“Told you I was dreaming about you,” you mumble happily. Even though your body is heated and tingling, you’ve still got the weight of sleep pulling at you, leaving you in a content mix of dreaminess and pleasure. You relax further into Ace, happy to let him touch you as he likes in that tentative, worshipping way of his. It’s that endearing contrast to the brash and confident way he presents himself and fights. He always starts touching you like it’s an honor he doesn’t deserve, something he needs to take slowly lest he scare you off or never get the chance again. Even though you love the treatment, it breaks your heart that he thinks he’s so below you as to not deserve to touch you, let alone receive your affection.

The tip of a finger presses at your entrance, just enough to have the pad sink in. You swivel your hips to urge him further and moan when he listens to your plea. Ace moans with you, always amazed at your tight heat. It welcomes him easily despite gripping down snugly on his skin. He pulls his digit out with a curl, shivering when your muscles clamp back against him. You sigh his name in that dreamy way that makes him feel special, and he can’t help but add another finger and sink them in deep. Even though he’s in to the last knuckle, you shove your face down into his chest and your ass into the air to try and suck him in deeper. He rewards you by petting at your walls, drawing more pleasurable twitches from your cunt.

“More,” you whine. It’s half demand and half complaint and all turning his brain to mush. How quickly you are winding into desperation is only making his own need grow. He needs to hear more from you, he needs you to fix the burning under his skin, he needs fuck himself into a place so deep in you that you can never be rid of him.

“Need to be inside you,” Ace groans before he can think about the words. “Please, pretty baby, you feel too good-” he swallows thickly when you hungrily grind back onto his massaging fingers, “fuck -hah- need to know-” he can’t finish his sentence because you’ve snuck your hand down to palm his erection and stroke him in time with your thrusting hips.

“Think you’re ready to fuck me?” you ask. You meant to check in and make sure he was emotionally ready, but your breaths rushing out of you made it sound harsh.

“Please,” he begs, voice broken, holding you tight with his free hand, “I’ll make you feel so good- promise, promise.”

“I’m just worried-”

“It’ll be okay,” he promises immediately, “just a quick feel, you don’t even have to let me fuck you- just gotta feel you on my cock at least once.” He tries to win your favor by using his free hand to tease your clit.

“Ace,” you gasp. It’s hard to slow him down when he’s winding your body up so well. With a quick jerk, he shifts you up his body, giving him better leverage to work you on his fingers. It lands your face in the pillow next to his and he takes the opportunity to suck open mouthed kisses across your neck. You mean to talk to him and get a hold on how frantic he’s getting, but all you can do is let out muffled moans into soft cotton. 

“I’ll be good,” Ace whispers against the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and humid and gets you one step closer to an orgasm lighting you on fire. “I’ll make you cum until you can’t worry anymore.” The fingers tweaking your clit and prodding your firming walls give weight to his promise. Your hips are already starting to stiffen and twitch with the oncoming climax. “I’ll keep begging, I’ll worship you, anything you want, just, fuck-” his voice breaks before he can stop it. “Please let me feel you.”

Ace feels like he can’t get enough air; he won’t be able to breathe if you pull away - he’s sure he’ll suffocate without you. His whole body is pulsing and alive with urgency, not just the cock straining against his pants. The only thing that’s keeping him grounded is you. Your pretty moans slipping out, half-covered by the pillow. Your searching hands, grasping and working his body over in search of something to hold on to. Your chest blanketing his own, ebbing and flowing in waves with your heavy breathing pressing into him. Most of all, the slick, plush grip of your cunt around his fingers, singing to him in little wet slaps every time it welcomes his fingers back home.

“Ace, I’m-” you turn your head towards him so he can hear and find him already looking at you. His flush is deep enough to try and hide his freckles and his pupils are blown enough to turn his brown eyes black. His slack jaw lets your breaths mingle. The pressure of his fingers on your clit increases just the slightest bit, but it’s just right to get your body to clamp down and not let go. “I’m so close, gonna cum, please, love-” Ace sobs out a moan at the new pet name and presses the fingers inside you even more insistently “ahhn! Don’t stop, don’t stop, gonna-”

You suck in a greedy breath and it’s trapped in your lungs as your body starts to seize up. The hit of pleasure has you curling as close as you can into Ace, needing to clutch him when the first wave crests heavily. His fingers follow you when you squirm to center fully on top of him, soothing you through the ride with gentle pumps into your twitching walls. You breathe again after a moment, letting out a flurry of praise into Ace’s shoulder. The little shakes of your hips make you rub against his trapped cock and his eyes roll back against his wish to keep watching you. 

The way your pussy clamps down on his fingers is absolute torture. Pressed so close with his eyes shut, he can almost imagine the rhythmic waves of your spasming cunt milking him while he fucks you full of cum. It has him panting along beside you like he was the one who just came. 

You’re easing down from your high, swollen walls settled along his now unmoving fingers. The sound of your panting settles with you and the room starts to still into a cozy calmness. Your muscles feel liquid and uncooperative as you try to adjust into a comfier position. The movement yet again rubs you against Ace and he whimpers at the heavy gush of precum it pulls from him.

With a pained sound, Ace wiggles the hand that had been toying with your clit out from under your hips and past his sensitive cock to draw shapes on your back. The action brings the smell of sex closer up to his face and he can’t help but groan. Fuck, he doesn’t want to push you or bother you, but the high of seeing you cum has passed and left him even more wanting.

“Pretty?” Ace starts softly. He kisses at your temple and you hum in reply. “...please?”

You hum again, only half hearing him between the orgasm taking the wind out of your sails and that wind having only been a small gust in the first place given it was somewhere around the witching hour.

“I still need you,” he urges, pressing his hips up gently for some miniscule relief and to make you understand. He’s scalding hot below you and throbbing into your lower stomach and it starts to bring you some clarity.

“While I’d love to continue, I’m tired,” you sigh. Before he can apologize or take it the wrong way, you continue. “Normally that wouldn’t really be a problem, but I want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed the first time I fuck you.” Even with the casual way you’re talking, Ace sighs happily and pulls you tighter at the idea. Before you can think about how you’re about to contradict your words, your mouth moves and you’re back to riling him. “I’ve thought of our first time together a lot, and I’m going to treat you to much more than some sleepy sex.” He shivers and moves back to mouthing at your neck at the promise. “I want you sitting pretty under me while I show you everything I can do to you.”

“But I’m under you now,” Ace argues.

“You are, and you’re doing so good at the looking pretty thing too,” you sigh in mock defeat. You feel him smile against your neck, both from the praise and from gaining some ground. Gotta get that idea back out of his head. “I don’t wanna leave you hanging, but I want to do more for you the first time you’re inside me.”

Ace doesn’t share that worry. He’s more worried about using his free hand to start guiding your hips in slow circles to feel the motion around the fingers still sitting inside you. It also teases his still leaking cock and makes it painfully easy to imagine the sensation blending so his cock feels the circles and the grip of your cunt. It flutters on his digits and he flexes his hand to feel the twitching muscles better, putting pressure towards your lower stomach. You keen at the burn it sets in your nerves, arching against his hand to feel more. Shoved so snuggly into your body, Ace’s fingers pick up the thump of your racing heart beating behind the walls of your pussy. He’s never needed anything more than he needs to feel it tapping against the racing pulse of his own heart pulsing through his cock.

“Please, pretty, please please ple-hease” he begs again, beyond reason. “What if- what if we don’t fuck? What if you just let me inside you to keep me warm?”

The idea is quite tempting. You kiss at the side of his face, giving yourself time to enjoy the fantasy of cockwarming him. It’s one you’ve come back to many times in your daydreams of him. Still, you want to fuck the sanity out of him the first time he’s inside you.

“Ace, no-”

“Just the tip.” The words are rushed and breathless and broken. “What if it’s just the tip?”

You realize there’s no reasoning with him and you’re losing the want to try. It’s not like you haven’t been wanting to fuck him since lust rode in on the coattails of “wow he’s pretty and so sweet”. He’s not the only one hiding insecurities though, and you frequently fear that if you don’t keep up the trend of blowing his mind with all the physical stuff then he’ll get bored of you. You can’t accept your first time together being anything less than perfect; the very idea fills you with dread, so much so that the potent temptation of Ace writhing and begging and even just his fingers making you feel so fucking good hasn’t shaken it off you.

“I can’t-” Ace swallows hard, “I can’t just keep dreaming about it, please, fuck, pretty, I need you.”

You believe him. You’ve never heard him so lost before in all your times fooling around. He’s prone to his tongue loosening the longer you touch and this is far from the first time he’s pleaded with you, but this felt different. There’s a frantic undertone to his voice and the words spilling from his lips. There’s truth to the emotion turning his grasp into a delicious mix of powerful and trembling. There’s no arguing with the twitching length grinding into your lower stomach - no way you can deny how hard he feels or the heat of it burning against you even through your clothes. It’s enough to make you lose yourself to the thought of getting to clamp down around his firm cock while the length finds places to toy with much deeper than you can reach. You can tell from the shape against you his width would press back at every nerve you’ve got, waking them up and making them sing. 

You come back to reality when he sneaks in a deep thrust of his fingers. The wet sound makes him moan, and the responding clench turns it into a deep, throaty “fuck”. His head flies back as he arches and grinds. You look up from the pillow and see his pretty black waves piling next to the sharp cut of his jaw. The bob of his throat as he swallows matches the jump of his cock. You feel every detail of it and notice he’s leaked enough to soak through his shorts and your shirt, leaving a sticky spot against your skin.

“You make me feel so good,” Ace moans. “I can make you feel good too.”

The fact that he thinks he needs to convince you of that even with his fingers stuffed in you, held tight with how your cunt’s swelled from pleasure, proves he’s very far from rational thought.

“You did,” you promise with a sweet kiss to his neck. “Now it’s your turn.” His head shoots up to give you a hopeful look. “You’ve cum from less, isn’t this enough?” You swirl your hips down against him to illustrate your point.

“It’s not about cumming,” he grumbles, suddenly sounding a bit more coherent and honestly a bit offended. “I wanna be closer.”

That throws you so off guard you just spit out the first thing that comes to mind.

“We could take off our clothes?”

Ace doesn’t give you time to take it back, his hands flying from you and already shoving his shorts down his thighs. He sighs in relief when his cock springs free, and nudges his head into yours mindlessly in relieved affection. Too impatient to finish the task, he stops pushing his shorts while they’re halfway down to instead get his hands under your shirt. You go to finish what he started but get distracted taking handfuls of his waist and thighs. When you thumb at the descending line of his adonis belt, Ace can do nothing but press into your touch, even pausing his mission to get under your clothes.

You lay yourself back on Ace, now trapping his dick between his twitching abs and the soft skin of your stomach and the tease of trimmed hair on your mound. Somewhere in his brain he thinks he should be ashamed of how he’s an absolute mess from something so simple as feeling your skin on his cock. At the moment, the shame is overshadowed by sheer need and awe. This is you - he’s dreamed of this, agonized over it, sat drowning in a mind and body desperate to find a way to get you to look at him, let alone touch him. Even when you started pulling him with you for teasing tastes on top of your shared missions together, all the time between had them feeling fake. Getting to have you feels so foreign and unattainable that his brain writes it off as false memories when you aren’t in his hands. 

And that’s why he holds you all the more tightly when you’re in reach. He needs you cemented in his grip and sunk into every sense so you’re all he knows. No questions, no doubts, no loneliness, no hollowness, just the comfort of you. He gets his lips back on yours before he breaks.

You hook your thumbs into your shorts and underwear but it’s not quick enough for Ace. He grabs them in a tight fistful and yanks. Your spread thighs keep them from getting lower than the end of your ass and Ace whines into your mouth. Trying not to break the kiss, you lean onto your right leg and try to work the other out of your clothing. It’s a clumsy and messy affair, each of you using a hand to tug at the garments while the other is busy trying to feel and hold as much of each other as possible. You lean back to look and finally get the damn thing off and Ace chases you the whole way. Between the hot slide of tongue, the nipping on lips, and the dancing rolls of kiss and grind you manage to get your left leg completely free of clothing.

“Fuck, pretty, how -hhh-ah!- do you do that?” Ace moans breathlessly after you set your hips back on him.

“Do what?” You’re moving your clit up and down his shaft in torturously slow grinds, mind fuzzed with the feeling of your wetness making you glide so smoothly on him.

“Make me -mmnngh!- fuck-” You circle your clit around his sensitive head, turning his speech into a few heaving breaths and groans. “Make me forget everything.”

Your lips are back on his in a rush, too fast for you to get out all the loving words living in you. First it’s as insistent and firm as your hips are working him over. After a long minute though, he’s lost too much breath to do much more than pant and hump into you in a desperate chase to feel more and more. You begin laying quick kisses to his cheek and land one in the shape of a smile on the corner of his open mouth. You feel it curl up under the press of your lips. 

“You m-make me happy,” Ace admits, a twinge of nerves managing to show through all the arousal in his voice. You bump your nose to his gently. 

“You’re my happiness, Ace.”

He whines and screws his eyes shut even more tightly. You feel his cock throb heavily against you. Taking advantage, you change to little circles against him and feel the pressure of it tease at your clit and entrance. A hand snakes into your hair and grips, holding you steady to press your foreheads together. His eyes crack open to search yours for lies. Even in the rush of your grinding bodies, the eye contact is still and sturdy as steel.

“You can’t just say that,” Ace breathes.

You feel how close he is, even harder than before and thrusts getting stilted in an attempt not to cum. You set on that singlemindedly, needing to hear his breathy broken moans, feel him squirm and jerk, shove him straight into a headspace empty of all but bliss. You get your own hand in his hair and tug, earning a moan and more pleads. Busying your mouth with his neck, you begin sliding along his whole length at a quick pace. The burn in your thighs is nothing compared to the pressure building between your hips, getting tighter and brighter with every swipe.

“No, holy shit, so close, s’close -hah hahngg-“ Ace starts babbling, “wanna cum in you, I’ll do anything, I’ll -mnnngh- anything please, fuck, too good, so fucking wet, so -fuck- can’t, please no, no ‘m gonna cum-“

You suck and teethe at the sensitive spot behind his ear and twist your grip in his hair, sure that would throw him over. Instead he lunges forward to sink his teeth into your shoulder and his hands clamp onto your hips to hold them perfectly still. You’re reminded of the power in the man who falls apart for you. It makes you clench and gush against him with a throaty moan. He holds on for dear life through it, tensing and throbbing and leaking and just barely managing to hold off his orgasm.

Once he’s sure he’s relatively safe, he lets go of your shoulder and begins kissing over the slight indents. The gentle touch feels electric on the tender skin. He continues to hold your hips prisoner, imobile against his own. After some deep breaths he pulls back to look at you. 

“I don’t want it to ever stop,” his eyes are shiny and his lips tremble, but not as much as his words. “Please.” That commanding grip lightens. He slides his hands so he can massage his thumbs into the creases where your thighs meet your hips, sending sparks under your skin. “Just a little of you.”

Your resolve finally breaks and you agree. “Just the tip.”

“Thank you,” Ace rushes out. “Remind me to take you out and spoil you.”

You huff out a laugh even though you’re pretty sure he’s serious. 

“As if you don’t try already.” 

You shimmy forward and he rights you into his grip again; getting you on him with as much skin to skin as possible, just where you belong. It makes maneuvering a bit more difficult but neither of you care; you’re too busy enjoying each other’s heat and taste.

“No goofing, just romance.”

His arms encase you while yours frame him, taking time to touch skin and play with his fluffy hair. You’re firmly settled against him, laying with your cunt just in reach of his leaking head. Each breath presses you deeper into each other and lets pressure tease at your breasts. You take a moment to sneak fingers to your sides so you can tweak his nipple. The shocked hiss is one of your favorites. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You reach back to grab hold of him and give him a few firm strokes, just to hear his pretty gasps. “The gentleman act isn’t as fun without the goofy contrast.”

“It’s not an a-aahhhhhhnn-“ You use your grip on him to circle his head on your entrance and press back just enough for the weeping tip to catch. After drawing out the sensation for a few more breaths, you move to sit up for a better angle to give him a shallow ride, but he stops you.

“Stay.” Even though it’s an order it sounds like a plea. At your confused look he continues, “If you stay like this I won’t be able to start fucking you if I lose myself.”

He feels you clench against his cockhead and it twitches in response, desperate to sink just a little deeper and letting you know with a pressure that hovers just under enough to finally slip into you. He knows “if” was too weak a word; the moment he feels the plush heat of your cunt he’s a goner. He’s had ambition and determination and stubbornness woven through parts of his being since his first breath. Yet they all fail him when he aims them at restraint here. Staring down a warlord was easier than fighting his bone deep desire for you. You just have a way of making him feel so full of life that it circles back around to an endless emptiness unless he’s smothered in your presence. Like any addict, the starting hits were no longer enough and he’d chase bigger and bigger ones til he had the endless high of being always near and always yours. His body being newer to such waves makes it easier for his instincts to take over him when more becomes not enough.

You feel the slick skin of his tip licking at your entrance with each breath you both take, so focused on every little motion you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your cunt. You start pressing back more.

“Wait,” Ace gasps. He plants a hand at the back of your head and turns it to face him. You meet blown pupils in shiny eyes, brows fighting not to pinch, freckles dancing with every word and expression. His warm breath tickles your swollen lips and you can taste its sweetness on your tongue. You want to keep looking around his pretty face but his pleading eyes have you locked in their heat. “Look at me.”

You barely think to give him a shaky nod. 

Ace reaches his other hand down to join yours on his shaft. It slips easily around your grip and holds gently, letting you keep control. Your hand feels so hot between his large one and the beating cock in your palm. Testing his grip, you slowly pump down his shaft, a slick sound from the dripping of your cunt and his precum sliding through your fingers, and make your way back up to the tip with a twisting wrist. His hand trembles around yours and he curses against your lips but he simply follows your movements.

Happy with the reaction, you continue on. He begins sinking in and his brows furrow further. The slow pace lets him feel every bit of texture, every flutter of the muscles of your entrance as they greet him. He’s in enough for you to encase his slit and you both feel the reward of a thick gush of precum spilling right into you. You breath out a syrupy “so good” and Ace fights again not to cum again - it gives him visions of fucking you fast and deep until you’re hiccuping those words and he’s pumping you full for real. He doesn’t want to be hasty though, he might miss a single second of this blissful torture.

His dick is pressed in to a catch, hovered right where his head flares widest. You hold him steady and give a little circle of your hips to feel him play with your stretching entrance.

“-hah- holy o-oh -nnnngh- thank you thank you,” he mumbles and moans between trying to breathe. His eyes roll back and screw shut for a moment before he fights them back open to watch your hazy eyes and slack jaw. He pulls you forward by the hand in your hair to press your foreheads together. Those fingers begin a haphazard massage as they switch between grasping for grounding and petting at you in adoration.

You take in a lungful of his breath and his musk and the ambient sex and shimmy just a little lower. At last, your cunt gives to let the rim of his head pop in, finally warming you from the inside. It immediately has you clench down and you can’t help but moan pathetically at finally having something to clench down on. The burning skin of his cockhead presses back at the twitching walls of your cunt, sending jolts up your spine.

“Y-you -ahh- you’re so-“ Ace is struggling against his scattered mind and an ocean of oxytocin to get you to understand how perfect you are and how his chest is so full it aches and how he’d fight through pirates, marines, the whole world government just to be this close to you again. All that comes out is a grumbling, fervent moan of “warm”.

You clench again at the word and he whimpers. You slip your hand off of his cock and out of his grip before using it to make him hold his cock for you. It gets the sticky mess all over him, which he quickly uses to twist his hand slowly up and down his shaft. You follow the movement for a few pumps then bring your hand up to your faces. You’d wanted a taste but you get a better idea. 

The moment the pads of your fingers touch Ace’s lips, he opens them just a bit wider for you. He can smell the heady mix of you both and his mouth waters eagerly. Slowly and deliberately, you sneak two fingers past his lips and press them on his tongue, his eyes burning into you the whole time. He’s quick to seal his lips and suck, hot tongue roving over your digits to collect every drop. You can hear the wet sound of his working hand get faster. You shove your fingers in to the last knuckle and he swallows them down greedily, moaning the whole time.

It’s impossible to keep yourself still; the fucked out look on Ace’s flushed face and the attention feeding but not sating your cunt make you squirm. All the movement from his jerking, constantly getting faster and firmer, has his cockhead massaging every nerve of your entrance and reverberated through your lips and clit, sinfully delicious yet maddeningly subtle. Your body is begging for him to force his way deep, split you around his thick cock, feel that pounding drag against every inch of your swollen and pulsing pussy. Instead, you have to settle for a slow tilt and pull of your hips, guiding the head sitting heavy in you to press more one way then the next. One particularly hard pump of his hand sends a strong shock to your clit and you grip him with your hands as tightly as your core wrings down around him. A heavy throb of his cock gushes more precum into you. 

Hearing how much he’s struggling to breathe fast enough through his nose, you pull your fingers from his mouth to instead pull at his hair. He’s mumbling out curses and praises between frantic kisses around your lips. The battle to stare into your eyes is becoming lost; Ace’s won’t stop rolling back and fluttering closed and losing focus. You can practically taste how close he is and it sets your whole body alight. You’re sure when he cums you’ll be able to feel the pleasure in your own body.

“Ace,” you call and his eyes crack open to see you again. His lashes are so dark and long and make his eyes look all the darker. “Need to feel you cum.” The words are rushed and urgent, trying to sneak around gasps and moans. “Love, I want you t-to -mnnn!- fuck me full.”

“Fuck!” The word “love” echoes violently around Ace’s head, and he’s so wound up and frayed he’s scared he may actually catch fire. His scramble is immediate - hands flying down to clamp onto your hips, fingers sinking deep into your skin, head thrown back giving you a full view of the flush hiding his freckles, the strong jaw working between going slack and gritting his teeth, but most importantly his hips thrust against his will. A mindless,  ravenous instinct locked in place and told him to rut until neither of you could move, until each thrust wrung more cum from him only to have it gush out of you because how could you possibly hold more?

Unfortunately, Ace had planned ahead. Your precarious alignment lets the first few thrusts sink him just a centimeter deeper, the relief of more of you only matched by the insatiable need to have all of you. Just when he feels the knot of pleasure pull his balls taught and tense his cock hard as a rod, a thrust knocks him loose.

Ace lets out an actual wail as he loses your heat. The bliss of his orgasm gets lost with it, ebbing away quickly and leaving him frantic.

“No fuck I- please I was so close, shit-,” Ace sobs right by your ear where he’s nestled himself close for comfort.

Needing to calm him and missing the feeling of him too terribly, your hand goes back to his cock while you distract him with sloppy open mouthed kisses. You find him easily and try to settle him with a few firm pumps. Ace is relieved as the feeling comes back fast and he’s already tensing and squirming and curling his toes as his orgasm beats to life in his cock again. 

 “That’s it, love,” you encourage. “I’ve got you.”

“Can’t, cumming cummingcumming-“ Ace chants urgently, kicked straight over the edge by your care. You rush to get him back inside you first but his cock’s already kicking in your grip. The first spray of cum lands where your thigh meets your ass and the second splashes over your pussy. By the third you’re pressing him back in. The whole time Ace is moaning high and gasping and pulling you to him like he needs you to breathe. He’s squirming and handsy, back arching off the bed while he takes any handful of you he can get. You feel the heavy pump of his next spurt of cum and fall to instinct yourself. You push your body down his and plop the weight of your hips in his lap, taking him in one swift motion and a heavy slap.

“Yes! Y-ye-nnnghah!- yesss thank you thank you so good so good s’good-“

You grind yourself in a heavy drag, forward and back, relishing having him all the way inside you. He feels thick enough to press your hips wide and long enough to punch at your lungs. Each grind has him play with your insides, lighting every nerve to make you feel like he’s filled you from head to toe. Each grind also has a fresh throb press at your cunt and spurt more sticky cum where his head twitches against your deepest spots. It has an unfamiliar pit swallowing the orgasm that’s nearly formed in your core, filling your nerves with a new life. You pick up the pace, needing more of that deep seated burn you can feel with each rub of him in the pit of your gut.

Ace whines as his sensitive cock has less and less to give yet keeps up its pumping. He’s beside himself, feels completely out of control of his muscles and voice as he grinds and moans and pleads, yet somehow his hands help press your hips harder into his, adding strength to your ride with every push and pull. He’s left slack jawed at the feeling, mouth hung open to let out every humid pant and desperate sound. He can feel your thighs clamp up around his hips, your fingers claw frantically at his chest, your hips begin to shake and jump. Most of all he can feel the coming orgasm sink into the muscles of your cunt as they swell and twitch and begin to clamp down on him like a vice. 

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop-“ now you’re chanting to him and he feels a new rush flow through his body. The ending orgasm is replaced with new interest amid the burning haze of overstimulation. Every fiber in him knows that he just needs to make you cum and he’ll know what heaven is like.

Ace sits up quickly to meet you, detouring to mouth over your swaying chest and enjoy a taste of your perked nipples before he gets some space to watch your blissed out face and writhing body. He begins thumbing at your clit while his other hand urges your hips up a few inches. For a moment you keep your hips moving but they freeze when Ace plants the hand that was on them behind him and his feet on the mattress and he starts to fuck up into you. They’re shallow, staccato slaps of his hips into yours, sloppily pushing his cum out of you to make stickier sounds, sending vibrations rattling through the underside of your clit still pressed under his thumb, and it’s exactly everything you ever needed. 

The deep pit his fat cockhead taps at again and again pulls taught until your whole cunt squeezes and then you feel like you burst. A breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a holler of his name and you curl forward to cling to him. You try and ride out the high as it seizes you, shaking through your hips and legs and tightening its fist around your whole core. You don’t remember an orgasm ever massaging through you like this before - pulling heavy waves of clamp and release from your cervix to your entrance, each one making Ace’s cock feel even bigger and the pressure of that cock forcing you to stay open makes you nerves sing and dance tingles through your clit and up your spine and under your skin. 

You’re not the only one stuck at it’s mercy; Ace’s head is empty of all but the way the sensation ravages through his nervous system, taking his body from him and commanding it to hold you closer, harder, to fuck you faster, firmer. He knows his mouth is moving, but he’s not sure what it’s saying. His head is full of curses and wonder and “thank you”s and “love you”s but he has no clue what’s making it past. The only things he seems to hear are the roaring of his blood in his ears and the stream of praise tumbling from your lips. You gasp out, “Ace! Fuck, you’re so -hahn- perfect”, and he sears it in his brain forever. The way you pray your pleasure to him, bleed his name and “love” together as if they’re the same thing, it has his head spinning and his heart swelling and cock burning.

The pulses of your high get further apart so you force will into your legs and bounce with Ace to chase them. After a few though, his feet slip out straight and both hands are back on your hips to guide your thrusts and hold you tight. He’s kissing down the side of your face then hiding himself in the crook of your neck, where he can switch between kissing the taste of salt off your skin and huffing in lungfuls of the scent of your hair and skin and sweat and sex. He can taste his bliss on every moan he chokes out, can feel it throb closer with every clap of your hips he just clap needs a little more, needs the way clap your fingers tug his hair clap yes just like that and clap fuck, the way your pussy clap sucks him in clap so so close, just-

“Fuck, Ace, can’t breathe -hahnngh- too much, don’t let it stop -ah!- please, need you-“ 

He whimpers and crushes you in his hold, forcing you to sit still with him pressed as deep as he can go so he can feel every inch of you while he cums again. The first wave hits and he surges forward when his abs clamp tight, knees pulling up behind you to fully surround you. 

“Again?” You manage to gasp against his cheek.

“Yes,” he whines, “you’re just- fuck, fuck!”

It’s near painful to cum so hard so quickly after the last. His head is murky and floating at the strange sensation of the orgasm tearing through his muscles to make him grind and pump into you without having anything to gush out. Your body still seems happy enough with the offering though, completely in sync to milk out everything he could possibly give. 

It’s the perfect end to your high to be in your body enough to take in every bit of his high moans and mumbling and feel every bit of touch his instincts have him showering over you. He keeps nosing at your neck for comfort and tickling the sensitive skin there with kisses and words spoken right against your skin. His hands are deeply kneading the flesh of your hips, petting in trembling fingers and always pulling to keep your hips flush to his. His abs tense and jump, both with his stuttering breath and with the strong pulls of his dick every time it tries to force more out of him in a soul-deep need to fill you with him until he’s a permanent piece of you. His thighs are doing much the same, jostling you slightly against him from how he’s curled around you. Yes, this is exactly what you needed to cap your high and ease you back into reality. Especially with that deep voice of his showing off its range.

“Thank you, thank -nnngh- you, wanna be this close forever -ahhh- never -mm!- stop feeling you, love this, l-love y-y-hah!”

You guide him the whole time, petting his hair, kissing his temple, teasing his skin with your nails, and holding his back. The way he clings to you sets you ablaze but also lets you know how desperately he needs to feel held. His firm hold and your returning squeezes are the anchor that secures you both through the torrent and the drop from sharing bodies. Because of the affection, that drop is a landing in pure comfort and relaxation. Your muscles are all becoming liquid and you simply melt into each other and breathe. 

Ace may have never finished that thought out loud, but he continued it in the affection of his lips pressing so tenderly to your heated skin. He made it clear in the reverence of his hold on you, full of trailing fingertips worshipping your shape and gentle squeezes closer with warm and supportive palms. You understood from the cozy sway he set while drawing his temple up the side of your face to then skim the tip of his nose over your cheek and rest your foreheads together then find stillness. All the words he didn’t say came through in your shared breaths, which grew from humid puffs to a slow and smooth rhythm.

Just in case you missed the rest, he brushed his lips across yours, light enough to tickle before easing forward to mold them together. Your lips part to taste him once more and he indulges you, happily slipping his tongue between your lips for another dance. It’s unhurried how you kiss, lips firm and sure in how they press and drag together, tongues brushing slowly not to arouse but to simply enjoy. The slick sounds of the deep kisses ring in your ears in the quiet room along with the hushes of breath slipping between you two. Ace pulls in one particularly deep breath through his nose before breaking the kiss to sigh his happiness out. The whole thing is punctuated by one last sweet peck.

“I feel it too, Ace,” you promise.

His voice is thick when he whispers out once more, “Thank you.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and press a smile to his skin. Ace tilts his head just so to rest it on yours and closes his eyes to simply be. You’re not sure how long you stay sat in his lap holding him. Instead of the tick of a clock you have the swell of his breaths and the brush of his thumb. Now and again he’d start and leave a subtle sway or press kisses to your hair or squeeze you just a little tighter. You’d respond to it all in kind but his favorite was when he could feel a smile press your cheek into his collarbone or when you’d rest your hand over his pec just to better feel his heartbeat. 

Unfortunately, soreness begins to set in your hips and you have to move. Ace isn’t a big fan of the idea; you can tell from his grumble and his arms cinching around your waist. It's endearing, but no match for the protest in your joints.

“Ace, I’m sore,” you laugh out the complaint, too amused by his pouting. “Let’s lay down.”

“That I can agree to,” he says.

You doubt his words when you start to get off him and receive an indignant “hey”. 

“Who said you were allowed to get off?”

“Pretty sure I was just letting us both get off.”

“I helped,” he pouts.

“That’s an understatement,” you reassure with two quick pats to his cheek. “But for real, I gotta get off so we can get settled.”

“Agree to disagree,” Ace chimes with that maddeningly bright and charming smile of his. It crinkles his nose a moment and scrunches his eyes in a way that brings out their glimmer and you’re sure you’d never be able to say no to that face for long.

“Okay,” you sigh. “How are we going to do this?”

“Clumsily,” he answers without missing a beat and you laugh again.

“Okay, Commander, take the reins,” you say as you settle back into laying against him, happy to let him take over this clown show.

“Ooooo ‘commander’, huh? Wanna try calling me that next time?”

Instead of responding you give his back a half-hearted swat.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he reasons.

“I’m filing it away for later, but please Ace my poor hips. You’re gonna make me an old lady in my twenties,” you whine.

“At least you make a cute granny.” You can hear the cheeky smile in his voice.

“Move!” You laugh and he finally does.

He scoots you both back once, holding you tight through it while you giggle at the bumpy ride. Now back to the center of the bed, he shimmies for good measure and lays himself back. He holds his arms out expectantly and you just raise a brow at him.

“You’re gonna slip out.”

“I believe in you,” he says. He tried to be deadpan but his lips couldn’t resist the smile.

“There’s your first mistake,” you say and he just smiles wider.

You shift to the right so you can rotate your left leg out and down. You lean your weight on his chest for balance, a palm flat on each large pec, and slide your leg down and back right next to his. You shiver at the release in your joint and Ace shivers at the pressure on his chest and the jostle of your hips. His softened dick twitches in interest.

“Stop that, we need to sleep,” you reprimand with no real heat.

“I didn’t tell it to do that,” Ace deflects.

You chuckle and continue repositioning, leaning to the left this time. It feels just as nice when your right leg gets to be straight again and you can finally lay down. It feels a little strange to be lying directly on Ace’s middle instead of tucked to his side or spooning but it’s not unwelcome. It’s definitely not a permanent feature, though, and you tell him as much.

“Just for a while,” Ace promises. Much softer he adds, “Not ready yet.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Taking stock of your body, you feel a pleasant exhaustion and let it help you sink further into Ace. His hands rest gently on your back, one spread between your shoulder blades and one drawing shapes over your lower back. His thighs are so warm next to yours and the packed muscle feels so soft when he’s relaxed like this. The same goes for the pec currently being used as your pillow. Okay, maybe you could stay this way quite awhile; Ace is unfairly warm and comfortable and having him sit still half in you sates some instinct you didn’t know you had. 

“Blanket?” Ace asks.

“Dealer’s choice,” is your non-committal response.

With some reaching and finagling, Ace manages to get a hold of the sheets and flap them to lay over you. He leaves them so that they cover your legs but make it no further than the small of your back. It lets the slight chill of the room continue to cool you off without going so far as to make you cold. It’s absolutely perfect with his high body temperature radiating below you. Yeah, you’re pretty sure you could drift off into some of the best sleep of your life just like this.

A thought strikes you. 

“How did you stay hard that whole time?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly through a yawn. Then he chuckles and adds, “maybe you just have a magic pussy.”

You laugh at the stupid joke, happy he’s relaxed enough in your relationship to joke more about sex now.

“Too bad you can’t go around testing that theory,” you sigh in mock sympathy.

Ace perks up and stares at you real strong. His eyes that were just fighting sleep are now full of life. You don’t say more and just let him look and stew on your words.

“Say it again but like I’m stupid?”

“That’s what I usually try to do.”

He barks a laugh.

“Damn, must be hard loving an idiot.”

“Not at all.” The tenderness that seeps from your words melts him straight through. Thinking better of leaving it (you know he knows you’re joking, but you also know that his mind is exceptionally cruel), you use the last of your energy to get up on your elbows and look him in the eyes. “You’re a dumbass sometimes, especially with those brothers of yours, but more than that you’re really smart.” You place a sweet kiss to his forehead. “And you’re strong and determined and reliable.” A kiss to one cheek. “And empathetic and sweet and thoughtful.” A kiss to the other one. “And you wanna know what you are more than anything else?”

“What?” His voice shakes and his eyes burn and he’s so exhausted from all the emotions of the night but they’ve also been the most precious things ever. 

You rest your forehead to his and take a deep breath, savoring the moment.

“You’re very very easy to love.”

A kiss binds your words and lips.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed 🥰 Please let me know if you did and criticisms are also welcome 🤍

Restarting tag list because Overthinking lol please lmk if you want to be on one! Even if you think it's obvious. I am: Stupid and Anxious 💀

Between Two Points Masterlist - separate character shots for the “just the tip” trope

Masterlist

[geminiwritten]

emergency contact ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: rooster exploits having you as his emergency contact to get you away from hangman

notes: okay, i am so sorry if this is rushed but i had to get it out before i start my new job (and maybe won't have so much time to write)... i really hope y'all enjoy it!!! please let me know, i really love all kinds of feedback! (p.s. this is also super lame and cheesy but that’s just my genre now)

warnings: swearing, very poor us navy knowledge (i literally just do some very brief googling), very minor and probably inaccurate medical descriptions, text chat screenshots, use of y/n (which is a warning now?), and a kind of rushed ending

word count: 9129

“Damn.” You stop just before stepping into the sun, tipping your head forward so you can see over the frame of your sunglasses. “I should come here more often.”

Fighter jets line the tarmac in two neat rows, and in the middle under the shade of one of the jets are your friends, the dagger squad. They’re all on the ground, half of them in a sit up position and the other half doing push ups. All looking absolutely fine.

Maverick is talking to someone a little off to your right, but you’re more than happy to wait for him while you ogle the pilots performing their punishments. Hondo is standing over the seven of them, counting repetitions loudly and correcting their forms.

“Hey,” Maverick calls, his voice echoing into the hangar.

You turn to see him tuck his helmet under one arm as he walks quickly toward you. “Hey Mav.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I had a day off, so I thought I’d finally get my pre-enrolment sorted out for my DBIDS card.” You hold up the ID badge hanging on a lanyard around your neck. “You’re my sponsor, by the way.”

He frowns. “Aren’t I supposed to be escorting you, then?”

You hike your thumb over your shoulder toward where you’d entered the hangar. “Warlock vouched for me and said he’d get you to take me back to the VCC and sign everything then.”

Maverick glances passed you, giving a short wave to the rear admiral who had stopped to talk to a couple of other officers. “Well then, I better wrap this lot up,” he says. “Are you alright to wait a bit?”

You nod, letting your lips curl into a smirk as your eyes slide back over to the squad. “I am more than happy to wait.”

His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “They’ll start showing off if they know you’re here. Why don’t you come over and say hello?”

You push the bridge of your sunglasses further up your nose. “I would love to.”

Mav leads the way to the squad, into the sun and across the hot tarmac. It’s unusually warm today, and you can feel your skin start to perspire after only a few steps out from under the hangar’s shade. Or maybe you’re just starting to sweat because of the scene you’re approaching.

You’ve never seen the squad in their flight suits before. You’ve seen pictures and videos, but you’ve never seen them in person. On a hot day. Half unzipped and tied around their waists. As they drip with sweat.

Your eyes find Bradley’s head of tousled golden-brown locks immediately, and your heartrate ratchets up a few notches, your breath catching in your throat. He’s doing push ups, his dog tags touching the concrete on every dip and his back muscles rippling under the black material of his shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

Your knees almost wobble when you stop beside Maverick, and Jake is the first to notice you as he comes up for his next sit up. “Hey gorgeous,” he calls out, that signature smirk plastered across his flushed face.

“Hey.” You let your eyes wander over the rest of the group before settling back on Bradley. Your sunglasses slide a little further down your nose and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard to try and distract yourself from the way Bradley’s biceps are bulging and straining.

When he glances up at you, your head spins. His face is flushed and his brows furrowed, but there’s still a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Hey sweetheart.”

“Eyes down, Rooster,” Hondo barks.

Bradley’s head snaps back down, but the next push up he does seems a little firmer and a little lower. Your mouth waters as you trace the outline of his broad shoulders, letting your gaze slide down his back to his butt, lingering there as his muscular body moves up and down.

“Phoenix, you’re done,” Hondo announces, startling you out of your trance.

Natasha lets out a whoosh of air as she finishes her sit ups and falls back against the concrete. She shields her eyes with one hand, squinting toward you and waving her other hand in the air.

You wave back just as Hondo announces, “Hangman, Coyote, you’re done.”

Javy falls back the same way Natasha had, his hands holding his abdomen as he works on catching his breath, but Jake doesn’t stop. He maintains perfect form as he sinks back and sits up, winking at you before lowering himself back again.

Natasha scoffs. “Show off.”

Maverick catches your eye and smirks before taking half a step forward. “What’s your goal here, Hangman? Are you trying to hurt yourself?”

“No sir,” Jake replies, his expression full of steely focus. “Just trying to impress the lady and outlast these chumps.”

Mickey chuckles as he lowers himself into another push up. “Since when is Y/N a lady?”

“Hey!” you exclaim.

Laughter rolls through the squad, and even Hondo cracks a smile as he says, “Bob, you’re done.”

Bob finishes his sit ups with a sigh and wraps his arms around his knees, chuckling softly through his ragged breaths.

You look at Maverick, tipping your chin in Mickey’s direction. “Can I sit on him?”

Mav chuckles. “As much as I'd love to see that, not with Warlock standing twenty feet away.”

You roll your eyes and sigh, turning back to face the group.

“You can sit on me,” Jake says as he rises into another sit up. He lowers himself back with a shit-eating grin before sitting up again. “Later tonight.”

Javy, Mickey, and Reuben snicker as Natasha rolls her eyes, but Bradley stays silent. You can see little droplets of sweat soaking into the concrete below him, and your first thought is ‘what a waste’. Great, you’re officially creepy enough to want to drink his sweat.

“Alright,” Hondo says. “That’s enough, the lot of you.”

Mickey and Reuben groan as they sit back on their haunches and turn their heads up to the sky, breathing in the warm afternoon air, but Bradley keeps going.

“Rooster, Hangman, that’s enough,” Mav says, his voice stern despite the smirk on his lips.

“I can last as long as you can, Bradshaw,” Jake taunts.

Bradley lets out a harsh breath as he pushes himself up again. “That’s not what I’ve heard, Seresin.”

A chorus of ooh’s fills the air as the rest of the squad watch the two stubborn boys, eyes bouncing between them. You have to keep reminding yourself to look over at Jake, to not make it so obvious that half the reason you’re here is to drool over Bradley.

“Come on, boys,” Maverick sighs. “That’s enough.”

Neither of them let up, and Hondo chuckles to himself as he strolls into the hangar.

Maverick clears his throat. “Lieutenant Bradshaw, Lieutenant Seresin, that is enough.”

They both stop and quickly get to their feet, their faces red and glistening with sweat. You can’t help but wonder if that’s what Bradley would look like after a good few hours of sex. You definitely plan on finding out one day, if you can ever find the courage to make a move.

“No debrief this afternoon,” Maverick announces. “So, unless anyone has anyone questions, you’re all dismissed.”

Bob quickly pipes up with a question about one of the exercises they performed earlier in the day, but you can barely hear the discussion between him and Maverick. Your eyes are all over Bradley, because seeing him in his flight suit is doing something to you, something more than usual. He’s standing wide, those big black boots planted further than shoulder-width apart, making his legs look even longer and more powerful than usual. His arms are crossed, his biceps straining against the black fabric of his sweat-soaked shirt. It’s clinging to every inch of his muscled torso, tucked into the flight suit that is tied around his waist. The gold in his hair is shining beneath the hot sun, his tan skin is glowing with sweat, and his slutty sunglasses are perched a little too low on his nose. This man is walking sex, and it’s becoming a health hazard because you’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

A voice suddenly breaks through your Bradley-induced trance. “Is that okay?”

You blink a couple of times, refocusing on Maverick who is now standing between you and the squad with his eyebrows raised in question. “Is what okay?”

He rolls his eyes, lips quirked into a small but knowing smirk. “I’m just going to have a quick shower before taking you back to the VCC. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good.” He claps a hand on your shoulder. “You go ahead and get back to that daydream. By the look on your face, it was getting good.”

You scowl at him as he chuckles and walks away, heading in the same direction that Reuben and Mickey are walking. The rest of the squad are still standing in front of you, chatting about something that you assume came up from Bob’s earlier query.

Jake breaks away from the group, stepping toward you with a wide grin. “What brings you out here, gorgeous?”

“Getting my pre-enrolment sorted out,” you reply.

“For a DBIDS card?”

You nod.

“Why do you need to be able to visit unchaperoned?” he asks, that usual cocky glint making his green eyes sparkle. “I’ll gladly be your chaperone whenever you want to visit.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “As much as I would love to be personally escorted by you, Hangman, I thought it would be smart in case I ever need to enact my emergency contact duties.”

He frowns. “Who’s emergency contact are you?”

“That would be me,” Bradley says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling so wide as you look up at him, but you know your bright red cheeks are already giving you away.

“I thought your emergency contact was Mav?” Jake asks.

“He was,” Bradley replies. “But then I thought that if I’m ever in an emergency situation, there’s probably a good chance that Mav is in that situation with me.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” A beat of silence passes before he turns his attention back to you, that flirty smirk reappearing as he claps his hands together. “Anyway, are we all set for tomorrow?”

“Yep,” you respond. “Are you still sure you want to spend your day off helping me?”

“Of course. Any day with you is a day well spent, whether it involves manual labour or not.”

You asked Jake a few weeks ago to help with the delivery and assembly of your new bedframe and mattress and getting rid of your old stuff, since the last time you did it on your own you nearly ended up in the hospital with a slipped disc. Normally, you would ask Bradley for help with this kind of thing, but your crush has been so stifling the last couple of months that you know it would be counterproductive to have Bradley sweating and moving heavy things in your bedroom. Besides, Jake happens to have the day off because he’s owed an RDO, and he insists that he doesn’t mind helping you out. It’s a win-win situation; you get a new bed, and no one ends up in the hospital with a broken back. Not that you would mind if Bradley broke your back.

“What’s tomorrow?” Bradley asks, his brows pinched into a frown.

“I’m helping her in bed,” Jake replies quickly, his grin downright evil. “I mean, with her bed.”

You roll your eyes at Jake again, before looking up at Bradley. “I’m getting a new bedframe and mattress, remember?”

“Right,” he says, brows still furrowed. “I thought I told you I’d help you with that?”

The way he’s looking down at you is making the butterflies in your stomach riot. He looks like a scolded puppy, wondering what he did wrong to deserve this punishment.

“You did, but Jake has the day off and you’ve already done enough slave labour for me.”

“But I like being your slave,” he says, the corner of his lips tipping up slightly.

It takes all your strength not to groan out loud. He is not making this easy.

“And you will always be my favourite slave, Bradley.” You pat a hand on his chest. “Which is why I need to give you a break every now and then.”

You pull your hand away quickly, immediately regretting the fact that you just felt up his firm chest and damp shirt, because now you’re getting that familiar ache behind your hipbones. The ache that only your vibrator and fantasies of Bradley can satiate, but even that hasn’t been enough lately. You need the real thing.

The sound of your name echoing through the hangar draws your attention, and you look over your shoulder to see Maverick with spikey, wet hair waving you toward him.

“That’s my cue.” You turn back to Jake. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and you”- you look up at Bradley -“on the weekend.”

When you slide out from under Bradley’s arm, it suddenly feels like this very hot day has turned cold. It takes all your strength to keep your feet moving one after the other away from him. You’ve had a crush on Bradley Bradshaw from the moment you first met him, but it’s called a ‘crush’ for a reason, because now it is crushing you. He’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up, and the last name on your lips before you fall asleep.

“Are you alright?” Maverick asks once you reach him, and you know it’s because your cheeks are bright red.

“Yeah, just a bit hot out here.”

He nods as you both start walking toward the door. “It’s supposed to be even hotter tomorrow.”

Back at the Visitor Control Centre, Maverick signs everything he needs to in order to grant you unchaperoned access to the base. After that, he walks you to your car and bids you farewell. You’re more than grateful for your car’s aircon as you take a moment to collect your thoughts, the ones that are running wild with fantasies about Bradley in that damn flight suit.

Eventually, you make your way home and immediately hole yourself up in your room. You spend over an hour in there to trying to satisfy that ache below your belly, but the incessant messages from the group chat popping up on your phone screen make it difficult. Only when your stomach starts to grumble do you give up and head into the kitchen, reading through the messages you’d been trying to ignore.

You hit send on your last message and smack your phone face down on the kitchen counter. Your cheeks are red and your heart is racing, and you’re not hungry anymore because your stomach has twisted itself into one big nervous knot.

You know that whatever it is between you and Bradley is no secret. You assume it’s because you drunkenly confessed to Bob, Mickey, and Natasha one night that you had a huge crush on him, and since then the rest have seemingly caught on. You don’t mind the teasing – at least, you didn’t at first, but it’s becoming more frequent and making you more nervous. Bradley rarely interacts with it, and all you do is tell them to shut up or butt out. You can’t figure out if they’re simply teasing because they can, or if they actually see something between the two of you that is real.

There have been a couple of times when you’ve wondered if Bradley might feel the same way. You even almost made a move once, before chickening out and refusing to look him in the eye for two weeks straight. You know you’re being a little bitch about it, and you hate yourself every day for being like one of those characters in your romance books that pines and pines, despite their broody love interest being obviously smitten. But you still can’t stop yourself from being a chicken. You justify it by telling yourself that it's to protect your friendship and the group’s comfortable dynamic, but you know that deep down, you’re scared. You’re scared that Bradley only wants that one thing, while you’re nothing short of hopelessly in love with the man.

-

You wake up to the sound of your phone vibrating on your bedside table. You know it’s too early for your alarm and way too early for the delivery driver to be calling you, so you’re not surprised when you see Jake’s goofy contact photo lighting up your phone screen.

“Good morning, Hangman,” you say groggily.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he replies cheerfully. “Did I wake you up?”

You sigh and roll onto your back. “Yes.”

He chuckles. “Oops. How’s about I make it up to you with breakfast?”

You sit up quickly. “You’re already on your way here?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, throwing your bed covers back.

“Just the usual?” he asks.

“Make it a double shot.”

You toss your phone onto your bed before hurrying into your ensuite, quickly stripping down as the shower heats up. You brush your teeth in the shower and scrub everything as quickly as you can before wrapping yourself in a towel and starting to pull all the bedding off your mattress. Just as you’ve finished shoving it all into your already overflowing hamper, your apartment intercom buzzes.

You hitch your towel higher as you step out of your room and press the button on the intercom to unlock the lobby door. There’s an affirmative beep and a click, and then you walk toward the front door and double check that your towel is covering you.

As soon as you hear footsteps, you pull the door open with a scowl. “Since when did I tell you to get here at the ass crack of dawn?”

His green eyes widen as he takes you in, that signature smirk painting his features. “I thought it would be good to get an early start, but this”- he nods at you -“is an unexpected bonus.”

You roll your eyes and step aside, allowing him in. He stops at your kitchen bench and places the cup tray of two coffees down alongside a paper bag filled with deliciously greasy smelling breakfast.

“Give me five minutes,” you say, before walking back into your bedroom.

You quickly change into a pair of exercise tights and an oversized shirt – one that you’re not sure even belongs to you – before fixing your hair and doing a very quick version of your morning skincare routine. When you reemerge into the main area of your open-plan apartment, Jake is seated on the lounge with your breakfast laid out across the coffee table.

You flop beside him and take a hashbrown. “So, what’s the plan?”

He turns to you with a frown. “Why do I have to come up with a plan?”

“I wouldn’t need your help if I had a plan, would I?”

He chuckles softly. “I guess not.”

You spend the next five minutes inhaling your breakfast while Jake asks a few logistical questions. Once you're both finished eating and quietly sipping on your coffees, he pushes himself off the lounge and walks toward your bedroom.

He pauses at the door. “Can I go in?”

You nod, and the door squeaks as he nudges it open. He takes one step in and stops, cocking his head thoughtfully before continuing in. He assesses the area and walks further in, at which point you decide to join him. He’s standing on the opposite side of your bed when you get there, and he’s wearing the type of shit-eating grin that you know comes with some sort of teasing or offensive remark.

“So,” he says, “this is where you touch yourself and fantasise about Rooster every night.”

Your stomach drops and you splutter against the lid of your coffee cup, spraying half a mouthful of it across the room. You can feel your face turning red as you cough, but you know it isn’t just the lack of oxygen to blame.

Jake gasps, laughter bubbling from his lips as he rushes around the bed to you. “I’m so sorry,” he says between giggles. “Are you okay?”

You continue to cough, holding a hand against your chest as you try to blink back the tears in your eyes. It takes almost a minute for you to compose yourself, but Jake takes even longer to quell his laughter.

He sighs loudly and wipes the corner of his eye while you turn to him with a scowl. “Who told you?”

He bats his eyes innocently. “Told me what?”

You hesitate, your eyes narrowed as your mind races to send the right words to your lips. “That I might have a small crush on Rooster.”

He snorts a laugh. “No one had to tell me anything. Any idiot who spends enough time with the two of you can clearly see that you’re obsessed with each other.”

“What? No.” Your frown indignantly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes, still chuckling. “I can practically see you cataloguing your spank bank every time you stare at him.”

Your eyes grow wide and your skin burns. You have to look away from him to stop yourself from smacking that smug smile right off his face.

“You know what,” you say, sparing him only a glance. “I don’t think I want to have this conversation with you, so can we please get back to the bed.”

He sighs wistfully. “If only Rooster heard you say that to me. He’d be ropable.”

You roll your eyes and take another sip from your coffee, ready to turn away from him when realisation hits you. “Wait. Is that why you’re always flirting with me, just to piss off Bradley?”

He shrugs, but his smile is sheepish. “I flirt with you because you’re gorgeous, but annoying Rooster is a small plus.”

“You are unbelievable.” You turn on your heel and walk back out of your room, finding your phone on the couch to check if there are any updates on the delivery of your new furniture.

“Hang on a minute.” He follows you into the living space. “I could help you, you know?”

You scoff. “With what? Moving my new bed in? Because that is why you’re here. Not to make me feel shitty about some stupid, unrequited crush that is apparently pretty fucking obvious.”

He rolls his lips to hold back another laugh. “I could help you make a move,” he clarifies. “Because I’ll tell you this, it is not unrequited. Rooster is as crazy about you, as you are him.”

Your heart stutters, but your walls stay up. “How do you know?”

“Just believe me,” he says. “That man’s right forearm is thicker than his left because of you.”

You frown and cock your head, processing his words until the meaning hits you and your mouth pops open.

“Anyway.” He claps his hands and rubs his palms together. “Let’s get this old mattress out of here and start pulling apart the bedframe. I’ll give you some advice while we work.”

For the next few hours, you let Jake tell you what to do. You hold things, you move furniture, you unscrew things, and you listen to his surprisingly sound advice on what to do about Bradley. The more he speaks, the more confident you feel, because something about Jake’s charisma is infectious. You know you might not feel the same when face to face with Bradley’s big brown eyes and pretty smile, but it at least feels good to talk to someone about it. Even if that someone gags every time you start swooning.

- Bradley -

Today is hot, almost too hot. Bradley has pushed his body to the limit before, it’s basically in his job description, but today feels different. He feels sick. His flight suit is too heavy and his muscles are shaking. His stomach is twisting and gurgling with every sharp move, and his head is spinning.

Bradley is only in the sky – flying like a rookie – for an hour before Maverick grounds him, giving him a brutal workout to do while the rest of the squad finish their drills. Even Hondo has taken shelter in the hangar, watching Bradley complete his exercises from afar with a damp towel wrapped around the back of his neck.

The concrete is hot, and Bradley is pretty sure he’s getting second-degree burns on his palms as he pushes himself up into his twenty-fourth burpee. His flight suit is tied around his waist, and he can feel an excess of sweat gathering in the bunched-up material there. His dog tags are jingling as he jumps up and down, occasionally smacking him in the face when his moves are too jerky.

“That’s enough,” Hondo calls out. “Have a break. Drink some water.”

Bradley stops and swipes the back of his hand across his forehead. He can see the squad getting ready to land now, so it must be time for lunch. He waits for them inside the hangar, his heart beating loudly in his chest even after twenty minutes of standing still. Eventually, the group stroll in and head toward the lockers, grabbing their personal items before going to the mess hall.

Bradley finds a seat while everyone else continues to get food. He’s not sure his stomach can handle anything right now, even his water bottle remains untouched. He pulls his phone out and brings up the group chat that has five new messages.

His insides twist at the sight of Jake in your apartment. It’s not like he hasn’t been there before, but he’s never been there alone with you. Bradley clamps his teeth together and wills that sick feeling in his gut to fuck off. This isn’t the time nor the place to vomit about the fact that the girl he likes is spending the day with one of the most charming men he knows.

“You look pale,” Bob says as he puts his tray down on the table.

“But also kind of red,” Natasha adds, a frown pinching her brows. “You look like you’re trying not to hurl.”

Bradley swallows hard and sits up straighter. “I’m fine, just a little wrung out from the heat.”

The rest of the squad join the table and conversation flows easily. A couple of them reply to you in the group chat, but Bradley doesn’t want to know anything else about what’s going on, so he lets his phone buzz face down on the table. He stares straight ahead at the space between Bob and Natasha’s heads, zoning out and imagining a much worse scenario than what is actually happening at your apartment.

He pictures you both sweating and giggling together, bumping into each other as you move and assemble furniture. Then he sees you both on the new mattress, flopping down exhaustedly after finally sliding it onto the new bedframe. You’d stop giggling with a sigh before turning to face one another, locking eyes, expressions turning serious as Jake’s hand comes up to caress your cheek. You would roll onto your side to get closer to him, and he’d only have to move an inch toward you to press his lips against yours. That kiss would unlock something in you, igniting your attraction to this man and making you climb on top of him. Clothes would be torn off, teeth and tongues clashing, and the bed would quickly be broken in.

“Rooster.” Natasha snaps her fingers in front of Bradley’s face.

He blinks a couple of times before refocusing on the woman in front of him. “Huh?”

“Jesus Christ, dude,” she says. “What is wrong with you today?”

Bradley looks to his left and right before spotting the rest of the squad making their way out of the mess hall. He jumps up from his chair. “Shit, that went quick.”

“Well, you were off with the fairies the whole time.”

He tries not to look her in the eye despite her intense stare. The journey back to the hangar is silent, but he can tell Natasha is studying him, scrutinising his expression until they both approach the rest of the group waiting with Maverick.

Mav takes the floor and announces that today is the perfect day to test limits. He starts explaining the workout that he has planned for the squad, because they may have to face extreme heat on their next assignment, and it’s important to be prepared. Everyone groans in protest, even Hondo, but Mav ignores it. He’s almost excited to torture his lieutenants.

An hour later, everyone is absolutely dripping with sweat. All flight suits are at least half off, some discarded entirely as the squad run, jump, and swerve through the makeshift fitness course Mav set up. It feels more like torture than conditioning, but no one has the energy to even speak up.

“Alright,” Mav calls out. “That’s enough. Take a break, have some water, then come inside and take a seat.”

They all slowly drag themselves toward Hondo, who is handing out towels and cold bottles of water. None of them can muster a single word, they all just huff and puff and groan when they wipe their skin with the wet towels. Bradley is the last to approach Hondo, his gaze fixed on the outstretched water bottle as he wonders when the last time it was that he had a drink.

“Rooster.” Hondo takes a step toward the lieutenant. “Are you alright?”

Bradley blinks slowly, looking up as one Hondo turns into two. His surroundings blur and his limbs start to tingle. His head feels heavy and his stomach sinks, his eyes fluttering shut as his body goes limp.

- You -

“Harder,” Jake grunts. “Push harder.”

You let out a puff of air before tensing your muscles and shoving as hard as you can. The mattress slides along the carpet slowly, making your blood boil with frustration. “Why is this thing so fucking heavy?”

Jake chuckles. “I just assumed you bought an extra sturdy one so you and Rooster can fuck as hard as- woah!”

You push with all your strength, sliding the mattress into an unsuspecting Jake. He laughs as he rights himself and guides the mattress further into your room.

“If I knew that annoying you would give you super strength, I would have started earlier,” he says, leaning around the mattress to show you his cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes. “You’ve been annoying me all day.”

“It’s called bonding.”

“Whatever, just get this thing on the frame.”

After a short argument on how you should manoeuvre the mattress, and a string of cuss words as you heave the thing into place, you finally manage to get the mattress sitting snuggly on the new bedframe. You both fall onto it immediately, facing the ceiling as you work to catch your breath.

“Fuck me,” you sigh.

Jake snorts. “I would, but I think Rooster might flay me alive.”

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today. “I wasn’t offering, and I’m still on the fence about believing you, so stop it with the constant remarks.”

He rolls onto his stomach, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Then let’s have sex and see what happens?”

You huff out a half-assed laugh as you sit up. “Like I said, Hangman; I wasn’t offering.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. We shouldn’t play with Rooster’s feelings like that.” He rolls onto his back again and blinks slowly at the ceiling.

It makes you feel better to see a small sign of exhaustion from him, because for most of the day, you’ve been wrecked while Jake has been running off some sort of endless energy reserve. He’s like the human personification of a border collie, a little too keen and full of bounce, and you can definitely see him tearing the lounge apart if he’s bored and locked inside.

You open your mouth to tell him how he reminds you of a herding dog when the sound of your phone’s ringtone cuts you off. You frown, wondering who it could be as you rush out of your room to get it off the kitchen bench.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Mariam. I’m calling from the Primary Health Clinic on North Island Naval Air Station. I need to speak with about Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

Your stomach sinks so fast and so hard, you feel like it might have fallen right out of your arse. “Is he okay?”

“He’s in our care this afternoon due to a minor incident, and while he’s doing just fine, we cannot permit him to drive himself home. Would you be able to come pick him up?”

You rush over to the coffee table and pick up your car keys. “Of course.”

“That’s great,” the woman replies, her tone calm and even. “I’ll text our address to this number. Do you require any further assistance locating the clinic?”

“No, that should be fine.” You prop your sunglasses on top of your head. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. We’ll see you soon.”

You pull the phone away from your ear as you hurry back into your room. Jake is sitting up now, his brows furrowed and eyes wide with curiosity. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Something happened to Bradley and now he’s at some health clinic or something.” You’re not surprised by the panic in your voice, if only a little embarrassed. The woman said he’s fine. The last thing you need to do right now is panic.

Jake stands up and rounds the bed quickly, putting a hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t freak out, I’m sure he’s okay. He’s at the clinic, not the hospital, so he’s probably just tripped on his own shoelaces or something.”

You let out a breathy laugh as you search Jake’s face for any hint of worry. He doesn’t seem concerned, so you let yourself relax and picture Bradley sitting sheepishly in a hospital bed with nothing more than a papercut.

“They said he can’t drive, so I have to go pick him up.”

Jake nods. “You go. I’ll stay here and clean up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go get your damsel in distress.”

You hesitate for a second before throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him. “Thank you.”

He hugs you back with a chuckle before you pull away and practically run out of your apartment. You don’t slow down for anything; you even take the stairs instead of the elevator because you can’t stand still for even a second. You try not to drive like a maniac, but it’s hard not to as your mind swirls with the possibilities of Bradley’s accident.

In less than fifteen minutes, you’re flashing your identification at the front gate and waiting impatiently for them to raise the boom gate. You swerve into the visitor’s parking lot and jump out of your car, legging it toward the health clinic where your phone’s map tells you to go. It only takes a few minutes for you to get there, and you stop a few feet from the door, taking a moment to control your breathing.

The air is thick and the sun blistering. You’re sweating more than you have all day, since you've spent most of the day inside your airconditioned apartment. If Bradley isn’t really hurt, you’re going to actually hurt him for making you worry this much and run in this heat.

Once your breathing feels more regular, you grab the stainless-steel handle and push the door open. The small reception space is painted blue and white, with a couple of plastic chairs on one side and a magazine rack beside a water bubbler on the other. The blonde woman behind the desk peeks up at you through the Perspex shield surrounding her space.

“Good afternoon.”

“Hi.” You step forward. “I got a call about Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

To the right of her desk is a hallway leading further into the building. Voices and footsteps echo off the blue walls, and despite the desolate reception area, it seems like the rest of the clinic is rather busy.

“Yes, that was me.” She smiles. “I’ll just get you to fill this out so we can start his discharge, then I’ll take you through.”

You take the clipboard from her and sit in one of the plastic chairs. You barely read the form, skimming quickly over it before answering the few questions and signing your name at the bottom. After you hand it back it to her, you walk over to the water bubbler and fill up a small plastic cup. You drain it three times before she waves you over and starts walking down the hall.

The noises get louder the further you delve into the building, and you quickly realise that this place is something of a mini hospital for minor emergencies to help keep the actual ER from being overrun. The hallway eventually opens up into a larger waiting area with lemon-coloured walls and bigger chairs occupied by sickly officers. One of them is holding a bloody gauze pressed to the palm of his hand, and two others are paper white and dripping with sweat.

“Heatstroke,” the blonde woman says over her shoulder. “We’ve had so many of them today, but your husband was by far the worst.”

You choke on your breath and trip on nothing as you follow her. “M-My what?”

“Oh, sorry.” She turns to her left at the end of the hall. “I just saw you were listed as Lieutenant Bradshaw’s ‘partner’ and assumed. It’s force of habit. I forget that a lot of couples don’t bother with marriage these days.”

Your mind struggles to catch up, half of it rejoicing about the fact that someone thinks Bradley is your husband, and the other half wondering why the fuck he would list you as his partner. Before you can come up with the words to correct the woman, she stops.

“Just in here.” She pushes the door open a small way. “I’ll get his papers sorted and let you know as soon as he can leave.”

You nod, still speechless, and she walks away. You stand still for a moment, your hand on the door and heart racing as you take one deep breath and push.

The room is small, with powder blue walls and the same white linoleum as the rest of the clinic. There’s a stool and tall portable desk in one corner, and one of those plastic waiting room chairs in the other. In the middle of the room is a hospital bed, but there’s no guard rails or bedding, and it's folded up so the sheepish lieutenant occupying it is sitting up straight.

“Hey,” you say, your lips twitching as you hold back a smirk.

He’s hooked up to an intravenous device that has a long tube connected to a bag of clear liquid. His face is flushed and the hair at his neck damp, but otherwise, he looks just as delicious as usual.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

You close the door behind you before approaching the bed. “How are you?”

He shuffles on the crinkly mattress, making room for you to sit. “Never been better.”

"Want to tell me what happened?” you ask as you sit at the foot of the bed.

He rubs the back of his neck, the pink in his cheeks deepening. “Well, it’s hot day, and I forgot to drink water, so I passed out.”

You lose the battle with your maturity and let out a soft laugh. Something about Bradley looking so defeated in a hospital bed amuses you more than it should. That combined with the relief that he isn’t seriously hurt means that you can’t control the elated laughter forcing its way through your lips.

You cover your mouth to try and stop the noise. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I was just really worried and now I’m really relieved.”

He rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad my stupidity amuses you.”

“Do the others have a video of you fainting?”

He nudges your thigh with his socked foot. “Even if they do, you’re not seeing it.”

You laugh quietly for another minute, letting your eyes roam is perfectly healthy and incredibly firm body until it sinks in that he is okay. “I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt.”

“Me too. That would have been embarrassing.”

Your mouth pops open to ask him another question, but the thought is quickly usurped by another. The front reception area had been completely empty despite the fact that there are other patients here. You’re the only civilian here, the only emergency contact for an injured officer, and the injured officer in front of you is looking a hell of a lot better than some of the others you’d walked past.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Did you ask them to call your emergency contact?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, where are the others?” you ask. “Why don’t the guys out there have their parents or partners here to pick them up?”

He shrugs. “They’re probably going to get patched up and sent back to their squads.”

“Exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. “So, why am I here?”

He shifts nervously, the mattress crinkling beneath his weight. “They said I can’t drive myself home.”

“And you didn’t think to ask one of the other six friends you have that are already on base to drive you home?”

His lips part but no words come out. You can see him struggling, wracking his brain for any sort of excuse, but the longer it takes, the surer you are of the answer to your next question.

“Bradley.”

He looks at you and rolls his lips, his skin turning pink from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Did you tell them to call me so I wouldn’t be alone with Hangman anymore?”

His eyes widen and his mouth pops open, but so does the door to the room. The same blonde woman as before walks in with a nurse close behind.

“Alright, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” she says, clipboard in hand. “You’re just about free to go.”

You quickly hop off the bed as the nurse approaches, pressing yourself against the wall while she removes Bradley’s IV and check his temperature one last time. She gives him what you assume is not the first lecture about staying safe in the heat before declaring him well enough for discharge. The blonde woman then steps forward and asks him to sign a few forms on her clipboard.

“Is that everything?” he asks.

“Almost.” She takes the clipboard from him and flips to the last form before turning to you. “I just need one more signature from you.”

You nod and take the outstretched pen. “Just here?”

“Yep. Just under your name,” she says, before giggling.

You pause mid-signature, turning to her curiously. Her smile vanishes instantly, and she takes half a step back, holding a hand over her mouth, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That was so unprofessional,” she says. “It’s been a long day, and I just remembered that when he was brought in, he kept mumbling your name. I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. I honestly thought it was really sweet.”

Bradley – who is now sitting on the edge of the bed – groans and drops his head into his hands. You have to press your lips together to suppress your laughter, but you can already feel it rattling in your chest. You sign your name quickly and hand the forms back to the woman, who apologises again before exiting the room.

Silence hangs thick and heavy between the two of you as Bradley laces his boots. You don’t speak, you’re not sure you can, so you simply watch him gather his things from across the room. When he’s finished, he finally looks at you with raised brows and flushed cheeks.

“Ready?”

You nod once, pressing your lips together to keep the giggles at bay. He turns toward the door, and you can swear you see his lips tip up into a smirk, but he walks too quickly into the corridor for you to be sure.

You follow him through the building, not the same way you had come in, but out through a different entrance that you assume is for bringing in the injured officers. The heat hits you the second you step out of the building, and you almost choke on the hot air, but you don’t have time to hesitate because Bradley is already forging across the small parking lot.

He glances over his shoulder, but his eyes don’t quite meet yours. “Where did you park?”

“The visitor’s parking near the front gate,” you reply.

He slows his steps and falls into pace beside you. His mouth pops open as a thought flashes across his face, but he closes it just as quickly, rolling his lips and getting lost in his thoughts again.

You decide to help him out. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He clears his throat, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “Talk about what?”

“Oh, Bradley,” you sigh, a smirk on your lips. “There are so many things to talk about, but I thought I’d be polite and let you choose.”

His resolve cracks and a smile splits across his face. His cheeks are still bright red, and thanks to the blistering sun, every inch of his exposed skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You can’t help but watch the column of his throat as he chuckles, his Adam’s apple moving in the most delicious way. It’s probably not healthy how attracted you are to this man.

“I’d barely been awake for five minutes when they asked me who they should call,” he says. “I was still a little out of it.”

“Right.” You nod slowly. “And because you’d just been dreaming about me, I was the first thing that popped into your head.”

He sighs and tips his head back, squinting up at the clear blue sky. “This has to be the most embarrassing day of my life.”

You bite your lip to hold back more laughter, almost stumbling as you come to a halt at the curb. Instinctively, Bradley grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours, keeping you steady as he checks the street each way for traffic. Little sparks of lightning rocket up your forearm and across your chest, zapping your heart and kicking it into overdrive.

You let him guide you across the street, expecting him to let go once you’re safely on the other side, but he doesn’t. The butterflies in your stomach flap to life, but you refuse to let your nerves get the better of you. You have too many questions you need answered right now.

You clear your throat, peaking up at him from the corner of your eye. “So, just so we’re clear, calling me had nothing to do with getting me away from Hangman?”

He keeps his gaze fixed ahead. “Of course not.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

You resist the urge to smile as you wait for him to take the bait. It takes a few minutes, and you’ve reached your car by the time you notice his brows scrunch into a frown.

“Wait, what do you mean that’s good?”

You walk around the front of the car toward the driver’s side. “I don’t know, I just felt different today. You know? Like, being alone with Jake was nice.”

His frown turns into a scowl. “It’s Jake now?”

You roll your eyes, being careful not to appear too amused as you play with fire. “Yes, and Jake is really sweet. He’s funny too, and really smart and… well, he’s hot.”

Bradley takes half a step back from the passenger door. “So, you like Hangman now?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

His eyes flick down to his boots, his mouth popping open as if he’s going to argue, but no words come out. His lips clamp shut and the muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth.

“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask, batting your eyelashes innocently.

When he looks back up, his glare is lethal. The warm honey-brown eyes you often love to stare into are almost completely black beneath his furrowed brows. “Do I have a problem with that?”

You roll your lips and nod, keeping your eyes as wide and innocent as you can while watching him take long strides around the front of the car. Your heart thunders in your chest, making your pulse thump loudly in your ears as he walks right up to you.

He towers over you, his body barely inches from yours. “You know damn well I have a problem with that.”

You look up at him through your lashes, finally letting your lips curl up into a smirk. “Why?”

His hands grab your hips and turn your body so your backside is pressed against the driver’s side door. “You know damn well why.” He presses his body against yours and moves his hands to lean on the car either side of your shoulders, trapping you.

Your head spins and you struggle to breath, overwhelmed by every inch of him that is pressed against you. “Why?” you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper.

He groans and pushes his hips harder into yours before leaning down and catching your lips with his. Your hands grip the sides of his shirt and pull, as if he isn’t already crushing himself against you. When you feel him slide a leg between yours, you gasp, and he takes the chance to push his tongue past your parted lips. You grind down on his thigh and a let out a soft whimper. You can feel him grin against your mouth before lifting his knee a little higher between your legs.

The rest of the world melts away as you grind and moan against each other, completely lost in the feelings you’ve stamped down for so long. Only when you feel your car door begin to bend behind you do you reluctantly put a hand on his chest and push him back.

He frowns as he steps back, looking adorable with lust-blown eyes and puffy red lips. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re about to put a me-sized dent in my car door,” you reply with a soft laugh.

“Oh.” His shoulders relax and he steps back toward you, his hands landing on your hips. “So, you were joking about Hangman, right?”

You roll your eyes, resting your hands on his chest. “Obviously.”

“Good.”

You give him a small smile before letting your eyes drop, panic seeping into your bones as your usual doubts begin to infect your thoughts. Did he only kiss you because he was jealous? Does he want more than friendship, or just a few extra benefits?

“Hey.” He crooks a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head up. “Do you want to know why I’d have a problem if you really did like Hangman?”

You nod as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down nervously.

“Because then it would’ve been too late for me to tell you that I’m in love you.”

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest. “In love with me?”

His cheeks go from pink to red and he quickly averts his eyes away from yours. “Unless you don’t feel the same, then I’m just in love with you like a friend.”

You roll your eyes again and softly smack his chest. “Don’t be stupid, of course I’m in love with you. I thought it was pretty fucking obvious.”

His lips split into a grin before he dips back down and kisses you again. “Thank God for that,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You giggle as he trails his lips across your cheek, along your jaw, and down your neck. “As much as I love this,” you say, “I would also really love to get out of the heat.”

“Good idea.” He steps back and pulls your body with his, turning a little to the side as leans toward the car and pulls the driver’s door open. “Let’s get back to your apartment and test out that new bed.”

Your knees almost wobble as you step toward the car and drop into the driver’s seat. Bradley is around the car in less than a few seconds, climbing into the passenger’s side and reaching one hand across the centre console to grab your leg.

“Let’s just hope Hangman hasn’t decided to take a nap,” you say as you begin pulling out of the parking spot.

Bradley turns to you with raised brows. “He’s still at your apartment?”

You nod. “He offered to clean up when I left.”

“What if he refuses to leave?”

You shrug one shoulder, your lips tipping up into a smirk. “Then he can join in.”

Bradley’s fingers squeeze hard around your thigh. “Not a fucking chance.”

You giggle when you glance at his stormy expression, but you’d be lying if you said his jealousy wasn’t a bit of a turn on. “You’re not into wife-swapping?” you ask.

He tilts his head, clearly confused. “Wife?”

“Well, yeah. I’m your partner, right? Your emergency contact partner.”

It takes him a few seconds to realise what you mean, but once he does, he drops his head into both hands and sighs loudly. “They told you that?”

You almost feel bad for laughing at him again, but you can’t help it. “The woman called you my husband when I first got there.”

When he looks back up, you’re positive you’ve never seen a more gorgeous boy in the world. His cheeks are bright pink, his honey-brown eyes are sparkling, and he’s grinning so wide you can’t help but grin back at him. “Well, they didn’t really have an option for ‘best friend who I really want to bang and eventually marry one day’.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you’re pretty sure your heart stops. “Marry?”

He turns his attention out the windscreen, still smiling, and his hand returns to its place on your thigh as he says more to himself than you, “One day soon hopefully.”

END.

[reignpage]

Physics Tutor!Nanami

Law of Love: following the stars across the universe to you

Content: final chapter of the pre-relationship arc, fluff and smut, 18+ mdni, not proofread Word Count: 6.1k Guide

Nanami Kento is a man of science. 

Always has been, likely always will be. 

Everything is measured, from his coffee (exactly one and a half tablespoon of coffee grinds and three hundred millilitres of hot water, no sugar, straight off the boil), to the temperature of his shower (thirty-eight degrees) and even to the number of steps it takes to get from his shared apartment to his Monday morning lecture hall (one thousand, six hundred, and seventy eight usually). 

So, it would be no surprise to anyone that he’s counting down the seconds till the clock strikes five on a Saturday afternoon, phone in one hand in case you get lost, or universe forbid, bailed, and coffee in the other.

He should have done this a long time ago, should have invited you here, or invited himself over to your place, anything to get you alone. No, not in a creepy way. He just wants to talk, to get everything out in the open, to fix things. 

After an embarrassing night of drinking more alcohol than he really should have, he resolved to send you a message imploring you to come to the Eden Observatory. Nanami isn’t exactly sure why he chose this place of all places — a girl like you should be taken somewhere fancy, like a five star restaurant, dazzled on an ice rink, or led through a mall and told to choose anything and everything you want. 

Palms sweaty, he wipes them on his slacks. That’s another thing. He hasn’t opted to wear something cooler. Dressed in a plain, clunky sweater and overly formal trousers, he groans inwardly and regrets not having taken Haibara up on his offer to wear some of his hoodies and jeans. 

He can still picture his roommate’s lopsided grin and the enthusiastic thumbs up he gave which only made Nanami furrow his brows, feeling oddly like a child being dropped off at their first day of school. 

With the sun setting, he stands in front of the doors, fiddling with the keys, and waits rather impatiently. He’s booked it for the evening so there won’t be distractions. It’ll just be you and him and all the things left unsaid. 

A smile flutters on his lips. 

You came. 

You emerged from your car, a hot pink mini, and are walking up to him with a sway in your hips that is distracting him from the frown on your glossy lips. Dressed in a denim mini skirt and a thin sweater sloping off one shoulder, he wonders if you’re cold. It might not be full blown winter yet but it’s the kind of weather people usually sigh at. 

“That coffee better be for me because I desperately need it.”

“Is that so?” He hands you the coffee, a caramel frappe so sickeningly sweet he feels a toothache coming from just looking at it. You take it from him with manicured hands and pat his chest in a thank you, eyeing your surroundings. 

Rambling, you inform him, “I woke up at seven today. Seven, Kento! Like, actually seven. Why, you ask? Well, because I wanted to make sure I didn’t oversleep. Which is stupid because our meeting’s at five pm so I’m not really sure where I got the idea that I could somehow sleep through it from. And, like, I didn’t even sleep at all last night.”

“Oh, dear. That’s terrible.” Truthfully, Kento could tell you’re frazzled this afternoon; there are bags under your eyes and there’s a slight quiver in your hands. He’s clearly not the only one nervous. Strangely, that does nothing to soothe that ache in his chest. 

“And like, I really shouldn’t be here, y’know? It’s not smart, even my sister said so. But here I am anyways. Because apparently, I can’t get enough of sexy, blond nerds.”

Kento smiles, feeling content to stand outside, alone with you forever. The sun is peeking through the clouds, shining a warm beam on your face. You’re glowing. 

It’s the kind of scene a scientist gains nothing from seeing; it only highlights the daunting reality that there are mysteries in the world that will never be solved in one’s lifetime and can only be theorised, like a black hole. It’s all consuming, a rare and magnificent sight to behold, but one mustn’t dare get too close for once they cross it, they might never return. 

But your pull is so strong he just can’t help himself. 

“You were totally a pain in the ass last night, y’know?” You mutter, casually checking the chips in your nail polish. You’re just saying whatever comes to mind now. 

He grimaces. He remembers everything and gosh did he wish he didn’t. “I’m sorry for having been a bother.”

“It’s alright. God knows I’ve bothered you more often and far worse.”

Nanami wants to argue. He wants to say you’ve never bothered him, never once irritated him, but there’s nothing he could say to erase all those words he had spoken and wished he could erase. So, instead, he pulls open the door and offers his hand to lead you in. 

Immediately he regrets that. Why would you need his hand to cross through a doorway? Did he not get the memo that you’re living in the twenty-first century? 

Despite the twitch of his fingers, you give him a knowing smile before you grant him some mercy. Your hand is soft. So very soft. It feels light in his, and he worries that if he holds you too tight, he’ll break you like a beaker. Faint memories from last night come back to him, reminding him this isn’t the first time he’s held your hand. And he hopes it won’t be the last. 

“What are we doing here anyways? When you asked me to give you the opportunity to talk, I thought you meant in a cafe, or in your place. In fact, I was kind of hoping it’ll be in your place.”

He leads you through the grand foyer, the shiny marble floors perfectly polished despite the day guests. “I was hoping this would be somewhat like a date.”

“A date?” You screech. “Nanami, you didn’t tell me this was a date!”

“What difference does it make?” It sounds rhetorical, but you know better. He’s pleading, genuinely asking if making his intentions clear from the beginning would have made this outcome different, if you wouldn’t have come, and he would have been left wondering ‘what if’ for the rest of his life. 

Instinctively pulling your hand, you stumble into his chest when he doesn’t budge, doesn’t let go. Face burying between his pecs, you’re practically smothered in his hard body and his clean, musky scent. It’s so easy to forget that Nanami Kento, being a nerd and all, is actually an elite member of the List for a reason.

Your classmate isn’t like all the boys you’re surrounded by in frat parties. He isn’t a boy at all. The strength he carries in every limb and muscle reminds you of all the things he could do to you, of all the things you want him to do to you. 

He doesn’t push you away and you don’t make an effort to leave. Instead, he takes your frappe from your hand, worried that it’s dangerously close to tipping over onto your clothes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it was a date. I didn’t mean to trick you. And well, it doesn’t have to be one if you don’t want it to be. But I’d like for it to be a date. Our first date.”

“But why would you want to date me? Haven’t I been horrible?”

Nanami feels something break inside. He likens it to the feeling one gets when they receive an anomalous result which throws off their entire research. Sighing, he attempts to nudge you so he can see your face but you only bury yourself in his chest further. He waddles you both over inside the double doors on the right with some difficulty, bringing the straw of your drink to your lips when you lift your head. 

“You haven’t been horrible. Not at all. In fact, I fear I’ve been horrible.”

“No! You’ve been great. Brilliant, even. You could never be horrible.”

He shakes his head. “I snapped at you that night. I jumped to conclusion and acted irrationally and emotionally. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no. I was wrong for lying to you and luring you to the party. I was wrong for teasing you this entire time. It’s so mean and so stupid and I hate myself for it. But I just really liked you. You have the best reactions and I wanted to see them all. And it’s all just so stupid. Ugh, I’m sorry.”

A blush is rising up his cheeks. It’s clear neither of you are going to relent. Maybe you’re both to blame for the unnecessary back and forth, for this farce that eluded you in some cruel twist of fate. Maybe it’s neither of you. Maybe none of it matters. Not anymore. Not when you’re here, not when you came and you’re looking up at him like he’s…something. 

That trusting, longing expression on your face threatens to sweep his legs out from under him. He feels like he’s suspended in air, free diving with the ground nowhere in sight, and judging by the way his fingers twitch, seeking to touch your softness, he suspects he’s been falling for eternity.

“Don’t apologise,” he finds the courage to breathe out, “Not anymore. Let’s just enjoy what I’ve got planned.”

You beam, eyes darting to what’s behind him, the conversation already forgotten. Marvelling at the hall you didn’t even realise you entered, you pull away from him and spin around, trying to catch sight of everything. 

He’s led you to the planetarium. Having spent many hours doing demonstrations and lectures here to tourists, students on school trips, and for birthday parties, it was the only place he could think of that might impress you. And though he was worried you’d find this lacking compared to your other potential experiences, those fears vanish the moment your eyes fall on his again and a huge smile is pulling at your lips. 

“Ken! This place is beautiful.”

Nanami gulps. 

You just called him by his first name. No, by a nickname. Like before. Like how you used to. And he feels his knees wobble a little. Not even his family calls him by a nickname, and admittedly, he’s never been fond of people taking creative initiative on his name but he likes it when it comes from your lips. He’d consider changing his name to ‘Ken’ permanently if it means you’ll call him that forever. 

"Can you believe I've never been here before? That's actually like so crazy."

Space is projected above both of your heads, countless stars twinkling in the abyss, forming constellations and glittering around planets and galaxies. Ever so slowly, the picture moves, disappearing to the right and allowing more of the universe to be observed. 

He’s so thankful he pleaded his case to his manager, the elderly man who owns the place, arguing that it’s for a special cause, to cheer up a friend, that it would be informative for their tutoring session. Mr. Tanaka insisted that it’d be too costly to shut down the observatory for even just an evening and for something so trivial.

However, when Nanami had said, ‘she’d really appreciate it’, Mr. Tanaka’s entire demeanour had shifted from grouchy old man, to giggling gossip. 

“Oh, well why didn’t you say it was for your lady, Kento? Of course, you can lock up and bring her over. Show her around, really make her day. I’ll let you in on a little secret, old boy. That’s exactly how I wooed my wife. Oh, she was so overjoyed she could barely stop gasping. How glad am I that a kid as serious as you actually has an appetite!” Mr. Tanaka laughed heartily, and laughed even harder when Kento blushed.

Having thanked him profusely, Kento was just about to leave before Mr. Tanaka added, a wistful tone in his gravelly voice as he caressed a picture on his desk, “You have fun, alright, Kento? You enjoy every second of it. Don’t get lost in what the universe has to offer you when everything you could ever want is within arm’s reach already.”

Feeling somewhat unnerved by the sudden seriousness in the old man’s face, he could do nothing but listen, absorbing every drop of wisdom as if he’s being shown the key to the beyond of the conceivable universe. 

And then, Mr. Tanaka smiled so brightly, the student almost missed the agony pulling his lips down. 

“Because that’s the beauty of the stars, Kento. They twinkle for love.”

Seeing those very stars reflected in your huge, wondrous eyes and the way his heart stutters, Kento feels inclined to listen to the rambling, grumpy senior more often.

Sitting down onto the centre velvet seats, the coffee stands in the cupholder on the armchair separating the both of you. The seat’s are plenty spacious and they even recline. You both make yourself comfortable, looking up at the dancing stars. 

“Oh, look! That’s Orion. I like him best because he’s fashionable,” you announce,  pointing at the ceiling. 

“Fashionable?”

Explaining like it’s obvious, you fix him a stare., “Because he has a belt, Ken.”

And who is he to argue with you?

Nanami had learnt that, though you’d much prefer to gain your information from him than anywhere else, there are some things he simply cannot change your mind on. One such example would be the great pancake versus waffle debate that had taken up almost forty-five minutes of one of your tutoring sessions. 

You sincerely, with every ounce of your being, believed that waffles are better than pancakes. You insisted, pleaded, urged him to see your cause, but he wasn’t having any of it. 

“That has no relevance to thermodynamics, y/n,” he had said with a deadpan tone. “And in any case, they are made of the same thing so I don’t understand what difference texture makes.”

“Can’t we just take a break from all the physics talk? I wanna chat and gossip.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is hardly the appropriate setting.”

“So,” you elongated, “take me on a date and we can argue about it.”

Nanami didn’t understand why one would spend a date arguing something as trivial as waffles versus pancakes when they were both the same damn thing but he couldn’t bear to encourage you. Instead, he clasped his hand and gave you a look he hoped would convey his thoughts. 

You only grinned at him toothily.

He gulped, then cleared his throat as he took his glasses off to wipe some invisible dirt. Opening the textbook at the correct page and slamming one thick half of it onto the table with more force that he had intended, he could only mutter, “I like waffles better too.”

“Aha!” You celebrated like a beautiful madwoman. 

Watching you clap and boo at planets and galaxies with seemingly no rhyme or reason, his opinion of you doesn’t change. You are just as crazy as ever. Whether that was yesterday, a month ago, or two years before. You still shine brighter than any celestial body. And maybe you’ll continue to do so in the years that follow. He hopes he gets to see for himself. 

Time passes as you two take turns highlighting asterisms and comets, discussing their history, their discovery and the next time they’ll pass again. Though he’s clearly the more knowledgeable of you two, you could give him a run for his money. 

“Cassiopeia, easily distinguishable because of her signature ‘W’ shape, was a vain queen from Greek mythology, punished by the gods for her arrogance. Her stars sparkle as though still boasting her beauty,” Nanami rattles off, almost on autopilot, just like he had been trained. 

“But because of the Earth’s rotation, her ‘W’ sometimes flips into an ‘M’, right? It’s almost as if the stars themselves are correcting her vanity.”

“That’s right.”

You’re more talkative than last night and he hypothesises it must be because you’re quiet when you drink. He was so nervous and out of place at the party he hadn’t even noticed just how much he resents not hearing your voice. Until now when he feels at bliss hearing your smooth cadence lull him to comfort.

Nanami prides himself in being a man of restraint. For many years, despite the girls who have twirled their hairs or pressed their arms next to his, his resolve to focus solely on academia had never wavered. Not once. His eyes never wandered up the legs of a woman or down their low tops, and he had never fantasised about much more than a cordial, research-based relationship with anyone. 

However, in this very moment, encased in the darkness of the planetarium, his eyes are sliding over to your crossed legs, bare and smooth, the fats of your thighs pressing against each other. Occasionally, they also venture upwards where your breasts are squished together on top of your crossed arms, and up that slender neck, settling on your glossy lips.

He gulps.

Shuffling in his seat, he’s trying to ignore the sudden tightening in his trousers. But it’s so very difficult. Especially when your perfume invades his senses and your plump lips wrap around the straw of your drink and you make a slurping sound that sends shivers down his spine. 

“W-whenever you’re ready, we can head to dinner,” he offers, attempting to distract himself with the next stage of his plans. “There’s a great place ran by a family friend who’ll make whatever you want, on and off menu. He’s truly a terrific chef and an even better man. 

“Dinner sounds great and all. But Kento,” you begin with a hum, sparkling gaze shifting to him, “is there a reason you’re gripping the armrest like it owes you money?”

You’re teasing him again, he can tell. He’s grown painfully familiar with that saccharine tone your voice takes when you’ve got him in the palm of your hand. 

The atmosphere has changed. The light and joyful air has evaporated and neither of you are laughing over how wrong those Ancient Greek philosophers were anymore. Instead you’re adding fuel to a fire he’s been trying to douse, lest he burns you with his impure thoughts. 

Clearing his throat, he attempts to deny your accusations. “I’m not.”

“Oh, so now you’re lying to me with the stars as our witness, Ken? And what’s next? You’ll lie to me when I ask why you seem to have a situation right…over….here?”

Nanami is powerless against the gravity of your long nails scraping along his tensing thighs. It’s merciless and climbing higher and higher until he feels a rumble in his chest, and he finds himself gripping your wrist with his shaky hand and he’s hauling you over. 

In a sudden turn of events, you find yourself straddling him, hands clutching his broad shoulders for purchase, whilst his own grab your waist. Nanami has no idea what came over him. Perhaps it was that animalistic urge that humans have yet to evolve past taking control for a second. Just as likely, it was the long buried desire to put you in your place. 

“You tease too much,” he whispers, taking your hands, fingers skimming underneath the sleeves of your sweater to tickle the inside of your wrist, and lifting them to the metal frame of his glasses. 

You pull it off and as you watch it dangle in your fingers, the glass reflecting the universe, he surprises you with his lips engulfing yours.

He kisses you, at first, like you’re fragile, like this moment is precarious and one wrong move could set it all off. But once the taste of you settles on his tongue, his resolve snaps altogether and he’s deepening it like he’s dreamed of doing for far longer than he’d care to admit.

Gasping, you allow him inside your mouth, tongues clashing and winding together. It’s a little messy, a little clumsy, but it’s making you hot all over. It’s the way he’s moving with no method, no rhythm, and instead, allowing himself to be guided purely by a desire to taste, to explore, and to consume you. 

“Ken,” you moan into his mouth. 

Nanami groans, digging his fingers into your waist, a pinkie tucking itself under the hem of your sweater, amazed by the softness he finds there. “You taste so sweet.”

You part from him to peck at his jaw, the stubble there eliciting a low whimper from you. With a giggle, you say, “That’s probably the coffee you got me.”

“Whatever it is, it’s delicious and I want more of it,” he growls. It’s a kind of noise he had never made before, didn’t even realise he was capable of making. A hand crawls up your back, embedding itself in your hair before it pulls your head back to crash against his lips again. 

Your hips are grinding together and the hardness there is meeting your moistening panties perfectly. You hope you don’t make a mess on him but that worry is thrown far in the back of your mind when he bites into your bottom lip. Emboldened by his firm, wandering hands, you grab that cold thing beside you and make enough space to take a sip. 

Kento is confused, dazed, but he can barely see without his glasses, and so, in the blur of it all he fails to see you’ve picked up your frappe until you kiss him again and something creamy and sugary tingles his tastebuds. His eyes roll back. Your tongues are mixing it up, really rubbing it in, and he sucks all that you’re willing to give him in desperate gulps. 

Feeling your hard nipples poke him through your sweater and his, he bucks his hips up, nudging your clit and you both moan. 

“S-stop,” he breathes out. “W-we can’t.” 

Blinking furiously, you nod, pushing off but his arms cage you in, keeping you in his lap. ”Ken?”

“I’m sorry. I promise I want to. Really. But, I d-don’t…”

Picking up his forgotten glasses and sliding it back into place, you then cradle his face. His eyes meet yours clearly and he smiles sheepishly, feeling more vulnerable with it on. His lips are shiny with both the coffee and your liquid, you swipe with your thumb. “You don’t what?

“I don’t… I mean, I’ve never…”

“You’ve never been with a girl?”

Nanami nods, thoroughly embarrassed. There’s no way you’ll like him now. He’s ruined the mood. He came so close to having it all but he just had to go and destroy everything by revealing he is the stereotypical nerd and you’re way too good for him. He feels an urge to run, to hide and pretend none of this ever happened, that he hadn’t gotten too big for his boots and thought he could conquer a huge mountain and get to the peak with you. 

You must be disgusted to have been touched by a loser like him. Maybe you already knew from the clumsy way he kisses or the shaking of his hands, and the way he seeks your gaze but cowers when you meet his.

Nanami Kento is a man of science and he should have stayed that way, should have never dared venture further than a man like him was ever meant to. 

But when you smile at him, staring up through those long, fluttering lashes, he decides right there and then that he’s more than willing to submit to a higher power. For there is no probable way you were made by chance like he or anyone else was—you must have been sculpted by God himself, and sent down to tempt his honour, to humble his arrogance, and crumble the very foundations of his character. 

And how gladly he’d let you. 

“Kenny, you silly man. I don’t care about things like that. In fact,” you whisper conspiratorially and lean in close, nibbling on his ear, “I’m getting really wet from knowing that I’m going to be your first.”

He dies. 

Right there and then, Nanami dies. 

He feels his soul, of which he only discovered a second before, leave his body and ascend high into the celestial clouds, mingling with those stars that seem to twinkle harder as if amused by the dumbstruck look on his face. 

Like something had completely changed in his DNA make up, he takes you by surprise and presses his palm against your soaked gusset. You jolt. 

“You’re really wet.” He thumbs at that little bulge, watching the way your jaw drops. Piercing his body, your moans echo through his ribs, pounding against his heart and filling his veins with something far too addictive. “Does knowing that you’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed, ever wanted to taste here, and wanted to know how she feels inside turn you on?”

There’s no hint of playfulness in your voice any longer when you whimper a 'yeah, Ken', hips stuttering against the pressure of his palm cupping your heat in its entirety. He can’t fathom how someone like you could find someone like him attractive, and to this extent, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care enough to map out all possibilities and make hypotheses — he doesn’t want reason and logic and practicality. 

Not now. 

No, all Nanami wants is to know you, inside and out. So, he pulls your panties to the side, hands still shaking a little, and he groans at the disastrous sensation of your drenched core leaking onto his skin. There’s no technique to his touch; he’s just feeling you. There are folds and bumps he’s theoretically aware of but to touch in person is insanity. 

Your face is making all sorts of expressions: brows furrow when he follows the seam of your lips, nose twitches when his finger teases at your quivering entrance, and your mouth parts when he bumps against your clit. 

“Tell me how you like it,” he pleads. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

‘Pitiful loser’ must be written all over his face because you smile. You smile and thrust your breasts in his face just as your fingers wrap around his and you guide him. Urging two fingers inside, you allow him to sink in slowly, observing using his tactile receptors the pulsing heat of your walls, the squishiness, the texture, and the way he’s gliding inside. 

“Just touch me, Ken. Feel me. Get familiar because you’re going to make this your second home, okay?” 

“Okay.”

He thrusts those fingers in, seeking that spot that’s supposed to make women gasp and writhe. The sounds coming from you are obscene and it’s making him delirious. You’re growing impossibly wetter, hips stuttering, grinding on his palm, and he’s watching everything. 

Something about how hard he’s staring must make you uncomfortable because you laugh and slide your thumbs under his glasses, holding his lids close. 

“Don’t stare so hard, Kenny, you look like you’re trying to work out an equation.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. And then you take off his glasses again, baring his face to this otherworldly dream, but when he opens his eyes, what he sees threatens to collapse his own world beneath him. You’re wearing his glasses, or at least he thinks so; his vision is blurry. How he hates his visual impairment more than he ever has before. 

Pressing a kiss on his forehead just as you moan against his skin when he hits a good spot inside you, you shakily ask, “H-how do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he breathes out. 

You laugh again and he throbs inside his trousers. Then, his vision is being obscured all together by your sweater — you’ve encased his head within and his face lies between your lovely breasts. 

Nanami’s heart stops. 

He swears it does. 

“Play with them a little, won’t you, Kenny? I like my tits teased before I cum.”

He doesn’t know which part of what you just said is that final stake in his heart but he does as you say. He licks and sucks and nibbles, listening out for your moans and feeling for which makes you clench harder on his fingers. Nimble hand not slacking for a second, he rubs your clit with his thumb and prods that soft spot you seem to really like. 

Never understanding men’s obsession with breasts, Kento is more than aware of the irony of the situation now that he’s moaning around your nipple, rolling it on his tongue. There have been so many Tuesday evenings spent watching these very same breasts press against the desk as you complain about all the worksheets he had prepared for you. So many walks along campus to get to his next class spent grumbling about how you really should wear a bra more often if you’re planning to jump around like that in front of those jocks. 

But now, he has those very same breasts surrounding his face, threatening to suffocate him, and he thanks the heavens you didn’t wear a bra today. 

“Oh, Ken, fuck!”

“Gosh, a-are you orgasming?” His words are muffled around your nipple and the vibrations seem to fuel you. 

You giggle breathlessly, “It’s ‘cumming’, Ken. Can you -ha- say it for me?”

“Are you c-cumming?”

Through some sort of miracle, you eventually do cum on his fingers, and he hurriedly untangles himself from your sweater to observe the way your face crumples up in bliss, to see the way you flood his hand with your intoxicating cream, and how you’re spasming in his lap. 

It’s all through the fog of his poor vision but the awareness that you’re cumming because of him, in his arms, wearing his glasses and fogging it up with your heady breaths pushes him over the edge just as your hand brushes against the bulge of his trousers. 

“Oh, ngh! I’m s-sorry! Gosh! I'm so sorry.”

The bliss runs deep, filling his head with the scent of you, and for a second, through the haze, he swears his vision clears and you're magnificent face comes to him like a message from something divine. He might just cease being a man of science at this rate.

Panting, you slump against each other. The stars are still dancing above but neither of you pay attention. You’re simply taking deep breaths, trying to reorient yourself, and enjoy the warmth the other is radiating. 

“For your first time fingering a girl, you were pretty good. Which I’m not surprised by — you’ve always been a quick learner, isn’t that right, Kento?”

“P-please don’t tease me.”

With his glasses sliding off your nose bridge, you kiss his lips in apology before you slot the frame back onto his face. He thanks you with an awkward pat of your pussy before he brings his fingers to his face. 

“Isn’t it incredible how our body produces natural lubrication?”

Rolling your eyes you whisper against his stubbly jaw, “Don’t get all sciencey on me now, baby. We still have to talk about the fact that you came in your pants and I hadn’t even touched you.”

Nanami blushes. Hard. He’s humiliated himself in front of you once again. For a second there, he had genuinely believed his inexperience wouldn’t make a difference, that he’s not a teenager and he’ll pull through as a man by instinct alone if need be. How wrong he was. 

“Hey, now. Don’t start thinking too hard. I wasn’t complaining. I actually thought it was really hot.”

Still eyeing the shiny string that forms between his fingers from your essence, he clears his throat and concedes, “If you say so.”

Silence passes by for a beat or two, and all Nanami can think about is how uncomfortable he feels with his cum drying in his boxers and he realises you must feel the same way. Just as he’s about to voice these concerns out, you meet his eye with a strange kind of twinkle. 

“Wanna taste it?”

Before he can even ask what you could possibly mean, you’re already guiding his fingers back to your core and spreading your wetness all over his hand once more. Then, that wetness is being spread along his lips and he doesn’t disobey when he sucks them into his mouth. 

The taste is strange. Not bad, but new and odd. It’s mostly tasteless but it is a little tangy, and sweet. And he is obsessed. 

“How do I taste, Kenny?”

Nanami Kento is a man of science. 

He isn’t a poet. He doesn’t mince his words, doesn’t use flowery language or muses about nature and the fragility of humanity. No, he says it like it is. The world exists in black and white, there are no greys, no rose tinted glasses hiding the truth from him. He is a man of fact and truth. No more, no less.

But with the exhilarating, inebriating, and electrifying taste of you flooding his tongue, he realises, every man is born a poet, and the world silences that visionary within. However, there comes a moment in every man's life where that poet is awakened and they see the world not as it is, but rather as it should be. They simply need a muse. 

“Like a star,” Nanami rasps, completely and utterly weakened, defeated, and vanquished. “More. I w-want more.”

You chortle. “No, Ken. Not here. Some other time, okay? ‘Cause I’m actually really hungry now. But you’ve got a bit of a situation in your pants and you can’t easily hide it so maybe we should go over to your place and you can cook me up something instead?”

Liking the idea very much, he kisses you and lifts you up so you can both stand on your own two feet. The drying cum is proving to be a pain but it doesn’t bother him. Nothing does in this moment. Not the fact that he’ll have to sneak into the security office and get the CCTV footage deleted, or preferably sent to his phone and then deleted from the main system, not the thought of all the work he has yet to do in preparation for all his classes next week, and not even the knowledge that he’ll have to kick Haibara out for the night. 

“Does this mean you and I are… well…” He trails off, unsure how to phrase it. 

Giggling, you go on your tiptoes and peck his lips. “Yes, Ken. We’re dating. We’re exclusive. I’m your girlfriend and you’re my boyfriend. So that means I get to flirt with you all the time and you can’t pretend you don’t like it anymore.”

“That sounds like a fair deal. Will you come back to class? Let me tutor you again?”

“Wasn’t me coming here to begin with not answer enough, Ken? Of course, I’m coming back. Especially now that it means we can have secret sex during our tutoring sessions. Oh! Can we fuck in the library? I’ve always wanted to do that. And then you can tell me off for being too loud. Can we? I also really want to have sex in your car. Mine is a little too small but yours will work just fine. Oh! And maybe you can let me touch you in the lectures? We can sit at the back where no one can see us! You have to meet my sister. And my friends. And the rest of my family. Then I'll meet yours. Eek! I'm so excited. We'll go on dates every day, won't we? Oh, wouldn't that be so fun, Ken?”

Nanami gulps. 

Stepping away from the world of science and into a world of you seems much more daunting now than ever. Maybe he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Maybe he’s not cut out for a life outside of academia. Maybe he won’t be able to keep up with your appetite. Maybe you'll drain him dry and leave him a husk of himself, which doesn't sound so bad if he's being completely honest.

Everything you said leaves him a little lightheaded at the thought and he can't fathom how he could possibly meet every one of your expectations.

But... he’s always been a fan of the trial-and-error method. 

So, he supposes he’s just going to have to work it out like he always does. Because as you grin up at him, sweat making your skin slightly shiny, he can’t think of anything worse than disappointing you. 

Smiling, he brushes a stray strand away from your cheek and lays a lithe kiss on your nose.

“Whatever you say, my little star.”

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEMERGENCY CONTACT * SPENCER REID

SUMMARY　::　Where Y/N is between life and death during a case, and the team needs to call her emergency contact, but she doesn't have one. Not until now.

FEATURING　Spencer Reid x reader　　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　Use of gun, blood, getting shot, pain, usual CM violence (but nothing too violent).

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::���that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The evening was heavy with anticipation as Y/N and Morgan made their way through the dilapidated house. The floorboards creaked under their weight, and the air was thick with dust and tension. They moved cautiously, guns drawn, every sense on high alert.

The house, an old Victorian relic on the outskirts of town, was supposed to be abandoned, but they knew better. The unsub they were hunting had been using it as his hideout, his lair.

It was dark. Only the faint glow from a few broken windows offered any light. Shadows clung to the corners, making the already narrow hallways feel like tunnels into oblivion.

Morgan's eyes flicked over to Y/N as they moved silently down the hall. Her jaw was set in a hard line, her eyes scanning every inch of the space before them. They’d been partners long enough that he could read the tension in her posture, the way her fingers gripped her gun just a little tighter than usual. He gave her a slight nod, a silent assurance that they were in this together. Y/N returned the nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew what was at stake.

As they approached the doorway, leading to what looked like a kitchen, Morgan gestured for Y/N to take the lead, deciding to look into the hallway. She nodded and moved forward, peeking around the corner. Her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Everything was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed trouble. She took a cautious step into the room, her gun leading the way, eyes darting to every possible hiding spot.

The silence was broken by the faintest creak behind her. Before she could react, a figure lunged from the shadows, catching her off guard. Y/N whipped around, finger already on the trigger. In her haste, she fired a shot into the darkness, the bullet embedding itself harmlessly into a corner.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space, and in that split second of chaos, the unsub took advantage. He moved like a snake, slithering out of the shadows, his hand shooting out to grab Y/N’s gun. His grip was iron-clad, and he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop her weapon.

"Y/N!" Morgan's voice came loudly from a closer room, the sound of his steps heavy and quick approached where the one from her gun came.

Y/N barely had time to register what was happening before she felt the cold, unforgiving metal of her own gun pressed against her temple. Her breath hitched, her heart racing as she looked into the eyes of the unsub. They were wild, manic, and pupils dilated with a dangerous mix of adrenaline and rage. His face was contorted into a sneer, lips pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth.

"Morgan!" Y/N called out, her voice steady but with a layer of fear and frustration. She knew he was right behind her, and sure enough, within seconds, Morgan burst into the room, his gun trained on the unsub. His dark eyes were fierce, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he took in the scene before him.

"Put the gun down and let her go. Now." Morgan commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He took a step forward, his gun unwavering, trained directly on the unsub’s head.

The unsub’s grip on Y/N tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against her temple, causing her to wince.

"Back off, or I’ll blow her brains out!" He screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. His eyes darted around the room, wild and erratic, as if searching for an escape. But there was none. He was cornered, and he knew it. "You petty agents have destroyed all my plans, and now one of you will have to pay for it."

Morgan’s heart pounded, his mind racing. He could see Y/N’s fear, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow. He needed to calm the unsub down to de-escalate the situation.

"Hey, hey." He said, his tone softening just a fraction, trying to project calm. "You don’t want to do this. Just let her go, and we can talk about this. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to hurt anyone else."

The unsub laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.

"You think I’m stupid?" He spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I let her go, you’ll just shoot me! I’m not going to jail! I’m not going back there!" His hand trembled, and Y/N felt the gun shake against her temple, pressing her lips in a thin line.

Morgan clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking between the unsub and Y/N. He could see the terror in her eyes, the way she was trying to stay calm, to not make any sudden movements.

"Nobody has to go to jail." Morgan said, trying to keep his voice steady, soothing. "We can figure something out. Just let her go, okay? Let’s talk about this."

The unsub was breathing hard, his chest heaving. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something that he could do or use. Morgan could see the panic setting in, the way his grip on Y/N tightened. This was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness.

"Don’t come any closer!" The unsub yelled, his voice cracking. "I swear to God, I’ll shoot her!" His hand twitched, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Okay, okay." Morgan said quickly, taking a small step back, raising his hands slightly to show he wasn’t a threat. "I’m not moving. Just... take it easy, alright? We don’t want anyone to get hurt."

Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. She could feel the unsub’s breath on her neck, hot and fast. She knew she had to do something, anything, to distract him, to give Morgan a chance.

"You don’t have to do this." She said softly, trying to keep her voice calm. "Please. Just let me go. We can help you. Whatever it is, I can help."

The unsub’s eyes snapped to hers, his face twisting into a snarl.

"Shut up!" He screamed, his voice breaking. "Just shut up, you bitch!" His hand shook, and Y/N could feel the gun pressing harder against her skin, her eyes closing tightly with the feeling.

Morgan saw the movement, saw the unsub’s finger twitching on the trigger, and his heart lurched.

"Don’t!" He shouted, taking a step forward. "Don’t do it!"

The unsub’s eyes were wild, his grip on Y/N tightening as he shouted back.

"Stay back! I’ll do it! I’ll shoot her!"

It all happened so fast. One moment, they were yelling, voices overlapping in a desperate cacophony, and the next, there was a deafening bang. Y/N felt a searing pain in her right shoulder, too close to her neck, the force of the bullet knocking her off balance.

A scream tore from her throat as she crumpled to the ground, her vision blurring with tears. The pain was excruciating, a white-hot agony that radiated through her entire body.

She had forgotten how much a gunshot hurt.

In that split second, Morgan’s instincts kicked in. He raised his gun and fired three times. The bullets hit its marks, striking the unsub in the head. The force of the shot sent him reeling backward, his grip on the gun slackening. He hit the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath his head, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

The unsub’s lower body fell against Y/N, pressing her more to the ground. She let out a choked sob, her hands clutching at her bleeding shoulder. Morgan was at her side in an instant, shoving the unsub’s body away and pressing his hands to her wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"Y/N, stay with me." Morgan said, his voice shaking, his hands slick with her blood. “Come on, mama, stay with me. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here." His heart was pounding, fear clawing at his chest as he looked down at her pale face, her eyes fluttering closed.

His hands were slick with Y/N's blood, his mind racing as he tried to maintain pressure on her wound. Her skin was pale, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching out in a nightmarish haze. He could feel her slipping away, and the thought clawed at his heart, sending a chill of dread through him. He needed help, and he needed it now.

He reached up with one hand, pressing the button on his earpiece, his voice urgent and strained.

"This is Agent Derek Morgan! We have an agent down! Y/N’s been shot, I repeat, Y/N’s been shot! I need paramedics at our location, now!" His voice cracked, the fear breaking through his usually calm, composed demeanor.

There was a crackle of static in his ear, then Hotch’s voice came through, sharp and controlled.

"Morgan, what’s her status?"

Morgan looked down at Y/N, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay conscious.

"It’s bad, Hotch. She’s been shot in the shoulder, too close to her neck, and she’s losing a lot of blood. We need those paramedics." His voice broke on the last word, the helplessness clawing at him. "The unsub is dead..."

"Hold on, Morgan, they’re on their way." Hotch said, his voice a calming presence even over the comms. "Keep her conscious if you can."

Morgan nodded, even though Hotch couldn’t see him.

"You hear that, Y/N? You stay with me, okay? Don’t you close your eyes. Help is coming." He squeezed her hand, willing her to hold on.

Y/N’s eyes flickered open, pain clouding her vision.

"Morgan... it hurts... like a bitch." She whispered, her voice weak, barely more than a breath.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Morgan said, his heart breaking at the pain in her voice. "Just hang on a little longer. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you out of here." He kept his hands pressed against her wound, feeling the warmth of her blood seeping through his fingers, his own heart beating wildly in his chest.

Minutes stretched on like hours, but finally, the distant wail of sirens reached Morgan’s ears. He breathed a sigh of relief as the sound grew louder, closer.

The paramedics burst into the room before the cops - who ran directly to the unsub's dead body -, their faces a mix of professionalism and urgency. They moved quickly, efficiently, setting up a gurney and pushing Morgan aside to assess Y/N’s condition.

"She’s been shot in the shoulder." Morgan said, his voice tight with anxiety. "She’s lost a lot of blood."

One of the paramedics nodded, already working to stem the bleeding.

"We’ll take it from here, Agent. You did good."

Morgan stepped back, his hands stained red, watching as they worked. His heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of fear. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hotch, his expression grim but steady.

"The rest of the team is on their way." Hotch said quietly. "You did everything you could, Morgan."

Morgan nodded, his throat tight. He wanted to believe Hotch, but the sight of Y/N lying on the floor, her life seeping out of her with every passing second, was almost too much to bear.

The sound of hurried footsteps filled the air as the rest of the team arrived. Emily, Rossi, and Reid rushed into the room, their faces masks of shock and concern. Reid’s eyes locked onto Y/N, and in an instant, his expression changed from one of worry to one of anger.

"What the hell happened?" Reid demanded, his voice a harsh, angry whisper. His eyes were blazing, fists clenched at his sides. He looked from Y/N to Morgan, fury and fear mingling in his gaze. "How could you let this happen?"

Morgan’s jaw tightened, guilt and frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"Reid, it was-"

"You were supposed to protect her!" Reid shouted, taking a step toward Morgan, his face a mask of barely contained rage. "How could you let her get hurt?"

Morgan’s eyes flashed with his own anger, his voice rising to meet Reid’s.

"You think I wanted this? You think I’m not tearing myself apart over what happened? I was right here, Reid! I did everything I could!"

"Enough!" Emily’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. She stepped between them, her eyes darting between Reid and Morgan. "This isn’t helping anyone. We need to focus on Y/N right now. Fighting like teenagers isn’t going to change what happened."

Reid’s chest heaved, his fists still clenched. He looked from Morgan to Y/N, his anger melting into something softer, more vulnerable. The pain in his eyes was palpable, his hands shaking as he fought to control his emotions.

"Hotch, we need to call her emergency contact. They need to know and be here for whatever they will have to do to keep her alive." Rossi's voice echoed for the first time, his eyes focused entirely on Y/N's form.

Hotch’s brows furrowed, a distant look crossing his face as he tried to recall the information. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy.

"Y/N doesn’t have an emergency contact listed in her files."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Reid’s face fell, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sadness. He knew what it was like to not have an emergency contact, to not have anyone close enough that you could count on when, well, an emergency happens.

"No..." He whispered, almost to himself. "No, that can’t be..."

He looked at Y/N, her face pale and still, and something inside him snapped. Without thinking, he spoke again, his voice firm, resolute.

"I’ll be her emergency contact." He turned to Hotch, his eyes burning with determination. "Isn’t that possible? I can do that, right?"

Hotch hesitated, knowing the protocols, the paperwork, and the formalities that were required. But as he looked into Reid’s eyes, he knew there was no question. The team was family, and in moments like this, family came first. He nodded slowly, his voice quiet but firm.

"Yes, Reid. You can be her emergency contact. For now."

Relief washed over Reid, his shoulders sagging. He turned back to Y/N, moving to her side as the paramedics lifted her onto the gurney. He reached out, taking her hand, squeezing it gently.

"I’m right here, Y/N." He whispered, his voice trembling. "I’m not going anywhere."

The paramedics nodded to Reid, indicating he could ride with them. Reid climbed into the back of the ambulance, never letting go of Y/N’s hand, his heart breaking at the sight of her so fragile, so still. The ambulance doors closed, and within seconds, they were speeding toward the hospital, sirens blaring.

As the ambulance sped away, Morgan stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the disappearing vehicle, his hands still stained with Y/N’s blood. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hotch, his expression somber.

"We’ll meet them at the hospital." Hotch said quietly. "She’s going to need all of us."

Morgan nodded, his heart heavy with guilt and fear.

"I should have made more." He said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Hotch squeezed his shoulder, a rare show of comfort.

"You did everything you could, Morgan. Now we have to hope she pulls through."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that filled the room, a constant reminder that Y/N was alive, stable, and recovering. The sterile scent of the hospital lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Spencer sat on the small couch beside Y/N’s bed, his lanky form folded into the uncomfortable seat, eyes fixed on her pale face. He hadn’t moved in hours, not since they’d brought her out of surgery and told him she would be okay.

His heart had been in his throat then, relief flooding his system, washing over him in waves so strong he’d almost collapsed. But now, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him exhausted, drained, his mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn’t even gotten up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her side, not even for a second. His hands rested on his knees, fingers interlaced, his knuckles white with the tension he held.

He watched her, every shallow breath she took a lifeline for him. The rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelids; each small movement was a sign that she was still there, still fighting. He’d replayed the events of the day over and over in his mind, guilt gnawing at him for not being there, for not protecting her, even though he knew, logically, that there was nothing he could have done. But logic didn’t soothe the ache in his heart, the fear that had wrapped itself around his soul, squeezing tight.

A soft murmur broke through his thoughts, a faint sound that made his heart leap into his throat. His eyes snapped to Y/N’s face, and he saw her eyelids fluttering, her fingers twitching against the white sheets. He was on his feet in an instant, moving to her side, his hand reaching out to take hers gently.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice soft, trembling with the weight of his emotions. "Hey, can you hear me?"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the bright light of the hospital room making her squint. She blinked slowly, her vision blurry, disoriented, but as her eyes focused, they found Reid’s face, his wide puppy eyes filled with worry and relief. A small, tired smile tugged at her lips, her voice hoarse as she spoke.

"Spence..."

Relief washed over Reid, his chest aching with it. He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Yeah, I’m here." He said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Y/N swallowed, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the stitches in her shoulder.

"A little." She admitted, her voice weak but steady. "But it’s manageable. I’m okay, Spencer. I’m alive."

Spencer nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You scared me, Y/N." He said, his voice thick with emotion. "When I heard you’d been shot... I thought..." He trailed off, his throat closing up at the memory, the fear that had gripped him so tightly.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his, her thumb brushing against his skin in a comforting gesture.

"I’m sorry." She whispered. "I didn’t mean to scare you. It just... happened so fast... The unsub, is he-"

Reid nodded, confirming her unfinished question - yes, he's dead -, his brow furrowing as he observed her, concern etching lines into his face.

"And mentally? How are you holding up?" He asked, his voice gentle, but with the unmistakable edge of a profiler. "I mean, after everything you went through today..."

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment as she processed his question.

"I’m okay." She said slowly, her voice soft but firm. "It was terrifying, but... I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, his eyes focused on hers, as if he was reading into her mind. "You know, it’s normal to experience symptoms of PTSD after a traumatic event like this." He continued after noticing how she hesitated to answer his question, his voice taking on that familiar tone of reciting facts. "Victims can often experience flashbacks, anxiety, depression... Did you know that the amygdala can become hyperactive, causing an exaggerated response to stressors? It’s important to talk about what happened to process it. Avoidance can actually worsen symptoms, so facing the trauma head-on is usually the best course of action..."

Y/N listened quietly, her eyes softening as she watched him talk. His words were a comfort, his knowledge a balm to her frayed nerves. She knew this side of Spencer, the need to rationalize, to explain, to wrap his mind around every detail until it made sense. It was one of the things she loved most about him. She didn’t interrupt - she never did -, letting him talk, his voice soothing her more than anything else could.

When he finally paused, taking a breath, she smiled at him, squeezing his hand.

"Spence..." She said softly, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. He blinked, focusing on her, his expression anxious. "I’m really okay. I promise that if I go through any of these things you listed, I will let you know. Okay?" She assured him, her smile warm despite the pain in her side. "Thank you for being here."

Reid’s eyes softened, his grip on her hand tightening slightly.

"I wouldn’t be anywhere else." He said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he continued. "I, um... I told Hotch I’d be your emergency contact." He said, his voice tentative, as if he was afraid of her reaction. "I know it’s not official. There’s paperwork and procedures, but... I just... I couldn’t let you be alone."

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, her brows drawing together as she looked at him.

"You... did that for me?" She asked, her voice soft, touched.

Reid nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"I... I didn’t want you to be alone." He repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I care about you, Y/N. A lot. More than I probably should. And when I thought I might lose you today... I realized that I can’t... I can’t hide it anymore-"

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as she looked at him.

"Spencer..." She whispered, interrupting him, her voice filled with surprise.

Reid swallowed, his eyes dropping to their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin.

"I’m in love with you, you know?" He said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I was too scared to tell you. But seeing you lying there, thinking I might never get the chance to say it... I had to tell you."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart swelling with emotion. She could see the fear in his eyes, the vulnerability, the raw honesty of his confession.

"And it's... it's totally okay if you don't feel the same, I would totally understand it-" He started rumbling desperately after a long minute of silence.

Without a word, she reached up with her hand from her unharmed arm, her fingers curling into the fabric of his dark tie. She tugged him down, her movements slow and careful, mindful of the pain in her other shoulder.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he let himself lean down, shutting up instantly, his face inches from hers. Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes shining with life.

"I love you too, Spence." She whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

Before he could respond, she pulled him closer, her lips pressing against his in a gentle, tender kiss. It was soft, hesitant, but filled with all the emotions they had kept hidden for so long. Spencer’s heart raced, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her back, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin.

The kiss was everything he had ever dreamed of. Her lips were so soft and plump against his own, moving slowly in a perfect dance, her uncontrollable breathing hitting his face as a gentle and warm welcome.

As they pulled away, their foreheads resting together, Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in years. He had almost lost her, but now, as he looked into her eyes, he knew he would never let her go.

"I think you owe me a date now." Y/N whispered, a small smile stretching across her lips.

"Of... of course! As soon as we get out of here, I'll take you on as many dates as you want." Spencer nodded frantically, the tip of his nose hitting hers with his movements while his eyes traveled around her face, memorizing all the details he could finally see up close before lowering his head, meeting her lips with his own again.

© vanteguccir

[gorgeys]

secret admirers ★ jackieshauna x fem!reader

jackie learns she's not the only one with a hopeless crush on you

warnings: jackieshauna being girlfails (what's new??)

word count: 1350

a/n: based on the lake scene from s1 bc they both look so fucking good omg

jackie lies comfortably on a towel on the rocky shore of the lake.  mari is talking to her about... something, but it's all been a blur since you pulled your shirt over your head and carelessly threw it beside her.

her eyes feast on the curves of your body as you step further into the lake, your mismatch brown bra and pink underwear the only fabrics covering your body.  she feels like a perv for looking so intently, but she can't help but notice how low the waistband of your panties sits on your hips and the slight flexion of your toned thighs with each step you take deeper into the water.

she could watch you for hours, she thinks, leaning back onto her elbow.  her eyes follow you as you prance over to lottie and dunk your head under the surface.  when you emerge, throwing your hair behind you and slicking it back with your hands, jackie forgets how to breathe.  she thinks that wrapping her arms around you from behind and leaving wet kisses on your shoulder might save her.

jackie is pulled from her fantasies when she catches shauna in her line of sight a few yards farther out than you.  although it appeared at first glance that shauna was looking at her, jackie soon notices shauna's eyes lingering on you.

shauna looks so focused, like you're some kind of animal she's studying and she's thinking long and hard about what to do with you next.  she barely moves at all as she watches you, one of her brows furrowed in concentration and her lips tightly pressed together.  when you spin in a circle, splashing and giggling, her lips barely part and jackie barely catches it.  her big brown eyes seem to grow even bigger and, if jackie was closer, she would see shauna's pupils dilating.

jackie's confused for a moment.  she knows that look in shauna's eyes.  it means shauna hates you.  or she...

"fuck," jackie mumbles under her breath.

"what was that?" mari asks, confused.

"oh, nothing," jackie reassures her with the nonchalant wave of her hand.  she looks over at mari for a second before she continues and jackie's eyes immediately return to the situation in front of her.

shauna likes you.  in the same way that she likes you.

she feels so stupid.  how could she not have realized this earlier?

jackie had been harboring her crush on you for a while, but only confessed it to shauna a month ago when she just couldn't hold it in any longer.  she was terrified of shauna's reaction, but after the words left jackie's lips like word vomit, all shauna could say was "oh."

at the time, jackie just thought shauna was surprised by the fact jackie liked girls, but now, that "oh" had a completely different meaning.  now, when jackie replayed the moment in her head, shauna's "oh" sounded less shocked and more disappointed.  how long had shauna been crushing on you?  and why hadn't shauna told her?

all the times she had seen the two of you together came rushing back to jackie, from the deep conversations at parties where your thighs pressed together on the couch, to walking into the locker room together with shoulders bumping.  it was no coincidence that every time you weren't by her side, you were with shauna.

she remembers watching the two of you from across the room and seeing shauna's barely evident smile every time you laughed.  jackie just thought she was being nice.

she remembers rambling to shauna about you and all your cute little quirks.  she remembers how uncomfortable and stiff shauna had been as soon as your name was mentioned.  like she had something to hide.

that fucking bitch, jackie thinks, glaring daggers through shauna's face.  you were hers.   shauna should know that better than anyone.  but jackie did know that shauna liked to steal things right out from under her.  apparently you were no different.

shauna, feeling eyes on her, lets her own eyes stray from you and finds jackie already staring at her.

knowing jackie like the back of her hand, shauna instantly knows she's caught.  the frown on jackie's face is unmistakable and anger pours out of her hooded eyes.

"fuck," shauna whispers to herself, immediately closing her parted lips.  jackie looks like she's going to eat her alive and shauna has no response other than looking slightly ashamed.

but it's not her fault that you're...you, she thinks.  it's not her fault that your smile lights up a room and that her skin burns wherever you touch her.  you're not a want, but an insatiable need.

shauna knows jackie feels the same thing.  after all, jackie's crush on you was so much more obvious than shauna's.  jackie was always touching you, whether it was bumping her hip against yours to get your attention or clutching onto your arm anywhere and everywhere.  jackie always laughed extra hard at your jokes and wore a stupid smile all day when you complimented her.  she was basically throwing herself at you, so much so that some of the other girls had started to notice; shauna observed the way they exchanged glances when jackie praised you a little too much to be friendly.  it was a wonder you didn't know yet.

on the other hand, shauna liked to applaud herself for being more subtle and perhaps more intellectual than jackie.  she gazed at you from across the room unbeknownst you, admiring each of your little habits.  she saved you a seat at team dinners and remembered your favorite drink to buy it for you after practice.  she overheard you talking to tai about a movie you wanted to see and then casually asked if you wanted to go watch it with her that friday night, trying to act surprised by your excitement.

that was another thing: jackie always raved to shauna about the one-on-one time she spent with you, whether it was study dates or midnight snacks at the local diner.  it made shauna's stomach bubble with jealousy.

on the other hand, shauna was secretive about the time the two of you spent together.

shauna quietly wondered if you looked up from your notebook at jackie the same way you glanced at her at the movies.  or if your hand brushed jackie's over the diner table the same way your fingers grazed hers on the armrest.

if only jackie hadn't complicated things by telling shauna about her little massive crush on you.  jackie was never one to make things simple for shauna.

shauna knows jackie wants to keep her subdued, always lurking in her shadow.  so whether consciously or subconsciously, jackie's crush on you is another way for jackie to assert her dominance in their friendship.

because shauna was crushing on you first, right? so technically, you were hers first.

or did jackie's crush come first?  the timeline is unclear.

their staring contest ends when shauna turns her back on jackie, feeling too small under her gaze.  shauna looks toward the horizon for a moment before she sneaks another glance at you.

jackie's hands dig into the sand, grasping at the grains with pure frustration.  she eases slightly when she finds you peacefully floating on your back, completely oblivious to the tension between your two admirers.

it was almost pathetic how they each laid claim to you in their own heads, but neither had the courage to show their feelings in a way that wasn't playful flirting or longing gazes.  so both watched on, savoring you with their eyes.

they each secretly hoped for reassurance.  a sign of some sort that you wanted them too.  that's all it would take before they were muffling your words with a kiss and throwing themselves at your feet.

but now things were more complicated: who exactly did you want?

can you guys tell that all i want is for hot girls to be obsessed w me

[oceantornadoo]

ch6 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: dirty talk and fingering

masterlist | next

The following week, you learn John Price’s meaning of “friends.”

It means no repeats of the library incident, as you’ve dubbed it. It means no more handfed breakfast. It means no hourlong cuddle sessions.

It does mean waking up tangled together, even though you went to bed on opposite sides. It includes five, and no more, minutes of breathing in each other’s presence, pretending to be asleep while knowing the other person’s awake. It proceeds to mean you staying in bed while John gets up at an ungodly hour, watching him get ready through half-lidded eyes. He always wears some kind of workout set, shorts that show off his unfairly thick and hairy thighs and a tight shirt that you can see his defined pecs through. Even if he’s going to the gym, he tucks his Glock into the back of his shorts. He comes back an hour later (you’ve timed it to be sure) and while he’s careful not to wake you, your body simply doesn’t allow more sleep. 

If you’re lucky, he’ll take off his shirt before walking into the bathroom. He’ll shed it with ease, swiping it down his face as he calms his breathing. This routine of his is addicting, as if a higher power is forcing you to watch how sweat drips down his upper half. Then he’ll shower, sometimes with the sound of skin slapping against skin, and don one of his many suits. Always with a black button-up, never white. Sometimes a tie, sometimes not on the days he seems more agitated than usual, like he can’t be bothered putting on his mask of professionalism. When he’s ready to leave, after he tucks his gun back in, he approaches you in bed. That’s when you play your game of false-sleep, eyelids stone-still as he finds your hand and kisses the top of it.

When he leaves, you don’t see him until he crawls in late at night.

This bed of yours, your new gilded cage, is in the master bedroom of John’s Eaton Square apartment. Apartment is in an inadequate word, a building for normal people who aren’t filthy rich. John’s apartment is a palace, complete with a sitting room and courtyard garden. After the library incident, where you were shuffled back your Ritz hotel room and passed out on the bed from sheer embarrassment, you woke up in the morning with Gaz of all people in the corner chair of your room.

“Finally, she wakes.” You blink rapidly, trying to process the scene before you. The bed is cold, no John to be found. Morning light streams through the windows, turning Gaz into something like an angel with a golden halo. He looks positively affronted at your lie-in, frowning as you stay silent. “Aren’t ya s’pposed t’ be a mouthy brat?” Instead of replying, you fumble around the bed until you can find the decorative pillow that was digging into your back all night. You grip it tight and aim true, clocking Gaz in the chest as he smirks. “There she is. Welcome back t’ the land of the livin’, Mrs. Price.” You groan at his words, smothering yourself in blankets. “I’ll be outside when y’r ready, don’t have all day.”

When you emerge from the room, he looks slightly mollified, probably due to the biscuit in his hand. “You didn’t get one for me?” He scoffs, then hits the button to call the elevator. “If you’d waken ‘fore noon, you would’ve gotten a whole feast.” You wonder if you would have seen your husband as well. His presence, or lack thereof, is the elephant in the room. Well, elevator.

“Where’s…” He raises an eyebrow with intrigue. “Wha’, don’t say y’r gettin’ attached!” You roll your eyes, scooting away from him so you’re on opposite sides of this metal torture machine. “E’s workin’. I’ll be takin’ ya t’ the Castle.” He sounds positively miffed at this being his day’s work. “A castle? I thought he lived in London.” Gaz smiles ruefully. “We call it the Castle, real behemoth it is. Don’t worry, it’s in Eaton Square.” You knew he was rich, but wow. Did he even need this marriage if he has all this money? It seems like his bank account is big enough to buy out the Riley family outright.

Once the elevator opens to the lobby, Gaz guides you to a sleek black car waiting at the curb. It’s a silent car ride, only punctuated by Gaz’s occasional short phone call. When you arrive at the Castle, you feel a sudden kinship with Cinderella, feeling like a peasant in rags compared to the riches before you.

It looks a bit like the American White House, with columns of marble on each level of the ‘apartment’. The outside is all white, a testament to how clean this part of the city is. When Gaz guides you out of the car and through the gated entrance, you note how the two guards at the entrance nod at him with respect on their eyes. Before stepping into the house, you turn and find men stationed throughout the small park across the street. They seem like casual city-goers to the untrained eye, but you know too well the stiffness of a mafia man.

The entrance feels like you’re back at the Ritz, with its marble flooring and manicured potted plants. Gaz takes on the role of real estate agent, guiding you through a floral dining room and modern kitchen, giving you time to glimpse one of the bedrooms before turning you to the gardens. As you walk, you note a chef in the kitchen and a few men at the dining room table. They nod in greeting but not much else, seeming to be absorbed in the laptops in front of them. They lower their eyes in deference to you, like they’ll turn to stone if they glimpse at you for more than a few seconds. Gaz seems at ease with all of this, pointing out decor and architecture like you’re not at the base of London’s prime criminal headquarters. 

Once you enter the gardens, a sense of peace settles between you two, an acknowledgement of the garden’s natural beauty. “As y’know, Price has a lot of time on his hands t’ garden.” You can’t help but giggle at the joke, smiling at the gardener who’s watering some of the white flowers. There’s outside furniture, couches and tables, and you can’t help but imagine reading here on a balmy summer night. 

Instead of walking through to the other side, Gaz walks you out the way you came in. “Price’s study’s on th’ other side, so we’ve turned tha’ an’ th’ two bedrooms to a security area an’ supply room. Nothin’ you’ll be interested in.” Actually, you’re extremely interested in what Price’s business is, but you bite your tongue as Gaz walks upstairs and into a beautiful sitting room. “Christ, this house is more for a Victorian lady than John.” There’s a sense of winning in your stomach as Gaz barks out a laugh at your joke, nodding along. The sitting room has walls miles high, decorated by rigid furniture and old paintings. It doesn’t look used, seeming to be designed to keep people from overstaying their welcome with its lack of warmth. You absentmindly wonder how lonely John was before this marriage.

Finally, Gaz takes you to the master bedroom. There’s a guard stationed outside of it, a younger-looking man who’s probably been given the job with the least amount of responsibility - guarding a room when it’s not in use. The decor of the bedroom is more modern than the rest of the house, clean lines and beige walls. Unsurprisingly, it’s very organized, a glimpse into the closet revealing Price’s suits hanging next to each other. What is surprising is recognizing your own clothes next to his, tops and bottoms hanging in color-coordinated order. The closet is wall-to-wall, with a room between the bedroom and bathroom, dedicated just for changing. 

“Right, well, tha’s the tour.” You’re back in the bedroom, standing awkwardly. He slips you a business card: Kyle Garrick - Security Professional. You snort. “Don’t knock networkin’, princess. Tha’s got my number if ya need it, but only use me as a last resort. Price’ll hav’ my head if you call me before him.” You tuck it into the pocket of your jeans, then scratch your arm out of nervous habit. “What am I supposed to do now?” He shrugs, clearly unequipped to handle this discussion of your future. 

“Reckon you get comfortable. Lot of shit’s goin’ down now, so don’t expect Cap t’ be home at 5.”

“Cap?”

“‘S what we call Price. Runs this ship tight as a captain.”“So without him, you’ll sink?” Gaz nods seriously. “Y’ve got no idea.” Clearly wanting to get back to his actual work, and uncomfortable in his boss’s bedroom, he makes a quick goodbye, leaving you alone. Something to get used to.

Your usual solution to combat the feeling is to call your brother. He picks up on the second ring, concern etched into the vowels of his speech. “Alright, love?” You nod, then remember he’s not here. “Yeah, just bored, I guess. I just got to Price’s apartment, it’s a mansion, Si,-” “‘m sorry, kid, I’m dead busy right now. Let’s plan a call on the weekend, yeah?” Oh. Stupid, you should have remembered he has a life outside of you. If it were a regular day you’d have one too, opening your bookstore for your late Monday hours. “Right, sorry. Let’s call later.” He grunts, clearly distracted. “Olrigh’, talk soon. Love ya, kid.” “Love you too, Simon.” He hangs up right after your goodbye, not even a second of breathing between you. You’re really on your own. Guess it’s time to explore.

The thrill of exploring lost its sheen five days in. Five days of John leaving in the morning, five days of hand kisses and nothing else. You explore a room a day, forcing yourself to flip through every dusty book or memorize every old painting. You tried talking to the staff, but it’s clear they’re only there when necessary, wrapped up in their own duties. The Friday after your wedding, only a week after the club incident, you finally get to talk to another human.

She happens upon you in the dining room, eating a late breakfast.

“Kate Laswell, solicitor.” A hand appears in front of your cereal bowl, stopping your spoon from reaching your mouth. Deciding to be courteous, you put it down instead of spilling milk on her hand. “Mrs. Price, ghost of the Castle.” She gives you a small smile like it’s a concession. You shake her hand firmly, noting callouses unusual of the prim and spoiled lawyers you’re used to. She doesn’t say anything, so you take a second to analyze her while she does the same.

Kate’s dressed in a sharp suit, pinstriped and tailored well. Blonde hair in a bun, with chic bangs on her forehead. What’s more intriguing is her accent. “You’re American?” She nods, sitting down at the table with you. There’s a stack of folders in her hands, laid carefully on the sleek table. “Dad’s British, old friend of Price’s father.” She lets you fill in the blanks, assuming she grew up in America with her mother. Every word of hers is thought out, leaning towards calculated but not quite. It’s silent for a moment as you continue eating your cereal, neither of you in much of a rush.

“Well, I’m quite flattered, but I’m assuming this isn’t a social call since the last time I saw you, you were negotiating this blooming marriage.” She nods, opening the first folder of her stack. It’s a…real estate report? She passes it your way and you note the pictures of various storefronts, mainly old retail stores. “Available Price businesses. Mainly purchased for tax reasons. This report details location, average foot traffic, measurements, etc. Questions?” The report is ten pages long, thick with ink and possibility.

“Is this for my…?” The thoroughness of the research impresses you. She takes out more stapled papers, detailing market value in the area and payment plans. “Bookstore? It took a bit to gather the paperwork, some of these places haven’t been looked at in a long time. I thought this might be more interesting than haunting the Castle.” Your hands nearly shake with excitement. You’ve been positively bored, nothing to do and no one to talk to. “Do you have somewhere to be after this?” You ask, almost timidly. She checks her watch, then shakes her head. “Not until lunch.” You grin. “Let’s talk.”

You talk for nearly two hours. Business plans, target market, the walking patterns of Londoners. She tells you more about the city than you could ever find online. She points out up-and-coming neighbors versus those slowing down. It’s refreshing to talk to a woman and not a man calling you nicknames and making your head spin. She’s smart and sharp, joking less than Gaz but greeting your own with rare smiles.

The two of you decide on a storefront on Carnaby Street, surrounded by boutiques and small businesses. It’s different from the vibe of your Manchester store, but a new challenge is all you need. You have enough money from the profits of your bookstore plus some your father left you, enough to buy the property in full from John. You have a feeling Laswell, as she’s asked you to call her, is underselling you, but you’re not going to blame her for saving you a few thousand. A few calls get made to respective bankers, and Laswell promises a contract and detailed payment plan by next week. 

“Laswell?” She tips her chin in acknowledgement as she packs up the folders. “Thank you for visiting. You’re welcome anytime, for lawyer stuff or not.” Laswell gives you a half-smile, then slips her business card onto the table. “Here’s my info, lawyer stuff or not.” She winks, then bids you goodbye using your first name. It’s a relief to be acknowledged. The whole interaction gets you out of your week-long funk, riling you up.

When’s she gone, you reach for your phone, calling one of your newest contacts. “Price.” You scoff at his greeting. “Jeez, not even a hello?” There’s a pause, like he took the phone away from his face then put it back. “Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t check the caller ID. You okay?” He hasn’t talked to you all week, so the petname’s a shot to the heart. “I think Laswell lowballed me, but I officially own one of your properties.” He chuckles, low and soft in your ear. Friends. Frenemies. Stay solid. “Tha’ righ’?” God, admitting this victory is like handing him your beating heart. “Yes.” It comes out stern and he stops laughing, mistaking your tone for anger. “Can’t promise dinner but I’ll be there ‘fore lights out, yeah?” The topic change throws you off. You nod, swallowing an embarrassing notion of asking about his dinner plans. “See you then. And, John?” He’s quiet, waiting on you. “I’m going into the city for dinner, taking a guard so don’t worry. Bye!” That leaves him sputtering, scales tipping towards balance again. “Wait, don’t-” Beep! He doesn’t get to finish the thought as you hang up.

You find a spare guard in the hallway, who tells you his name is Terrance. “Ma’am, I don’t think the Captain’ll be ok with this.” Another American. “Well, I’m leaving with or without you, Terrance. Let me know what you think he’ll be more okay with.” That gets him going, talking into his ear piece before moving to shadow you. You walk swiftly without direction, turning left down the street in search for a cab. Terrance clears his throat behind you. “Center of the city is the other way, ma’am. Let me call a driver, the cabs’ll cheat you.” You concede, the raging hunger in your stomach your main motivator. He probably wouldn’t have let you take a cab anyways, safety protocols and all that. You brush the small revolver in your purse for comfort and think of the small knife strapped to your upper calf. It’s not the best placement, but you’re overly cautious with your first venture into the city. You tap your foot impatiently as Terrance calls a driver. You didn’t eat lunch after meeting Laswell, too eager to explore.

After a short ride, Terrance sitting up front with the driver, you arrive to your destination: your new storefront. It’s a bit rundown but the street is busy even at this early dinner hour, a good sign for business. Huge glass windows frame either side, and you try to peak through to get a look inwards. It seems dusty but well kept, no signs of natural damage. A perfect clean slate.

Satisfied, you turn to look for a cafe, since the restaurants aren’t open just yet. Settling on a quaint one down the street, you order a sandwich and find a seat. It’s nice to spend time surrounded by others, lives flashing by yours in a flash as you sit by a window, picking at your food. You invite Terrance to sit with you twice but he refuses, content to stand near your seat at the window, eyes on both the inside and outside. You brought a notebook with you, so the hours fly by as you plan your bookstore. You force yourself to stay past dinner, only conceding to a ride back when Terrance looks dead on his feet and the cafe workers are clearly closing.

When you get home, John isn’t there.

Your veins go cold but you shake it off, reciting reasons why you shouldn’t care: just friends, childhood enemy, influenced the breakup of your family, forced you into a marriage, practical stranger. Then the other side of your brain responds: the honeymoon period, agreed to negotiations, doesn’t pressure you into sex, gifted you a library, holds you tight every morning, takes care of you when drunk. It’s a tie, like your cartoon devil and angel can’t even decide. Typical.

You decide on a long shower, shutting yourself away in the bathroom. Body scrubs, haircare routine, shaving, the works. The excitement of the day hits you and you smile to yourself, thoughts of your new bookstore drifting through your mind. Maybe you need some stress relief. Maybe you’ll give yourself what John won’t.

You drag a hand down your wet body, pinching your nipples. A scene from the library appears in your mind, the memory of being completely exposed under John’s view. How he brushed the lace of your underwear, testing the wetness of your folds. Your other hand starts to circle your clit, faster and faster as you imagine what would have happened had the clock not struck twelve. How he would have stuffed a finger, maybe two, into your hole, exploring the limits of your body. How he would’ve called you sweetheart in that rough voice. Your core tightens unreasonably fast, careening towards the edge of your orgasm when it just stops. You groan in frustration, then reach for the detachable showerhead. 

This time is rougher, torturing your poor cunt with harsh water pressure. You find yourself on the edge again, clenching with anticipation before it escapes you again. That’s enough of a sign that it’s not going to happen for you tonight. Defeated, you end your shower quickly, speeding through the rest of your night routine.

You exit the bathroom clothed in pajamas, sweating from exasperation and effort. Two failed orgasms is enough to break any woman’s heart. This thought is what keeps you from immediately realizing John’s sitting up in bed, reading glasses on, shirt off. It stops you in your tracks.

“Nice shower?” He asks, not looking up from the reports in his hands. You stutter, long enough for him to look up in confusion. “You good, sweetheart?” You shake your head, wiping your hands on your pajamas. “Sorry, lost my train of thought. Think the hot water fried some of my brain cells.” He chuckles, a sound that goes straight to your core. He looks so damn delicious, better than your shower fantasies. The glasses make him look like a frazzled professor instead of the head of a criminal organization. The fantasy is a bit broken by the Glock on his bedside table, but you shrug it off. You make your way to the bed, shutting off your bedside lamp as soon as you get in. His eyes bore a hole into the side of your head, like he can tell you tried getting off to the thought of him for half an hour and failed.

“Laswell tol’ me ‘bout your meetin’.” He says after a few minutes. You flip to face him, tugging the covers up to your chin. “I love her. She’s like who I want to be when I grow up.” Instead of reminding you that you are, indeed, grown up, he nods like he understands. You hate it. “She has tha’ effect. She’d make a mean school principal.” You laugh and he turns to hit you with the full force of his smile. “Like that lady from Matilda. But without the corporal punishment.” He nods. “Like a calm Trunchbull. Instead of yellin’, she’d jus’ stare.” You both laugh at the image, breaking the ice of his abandonment during the week. John turns out the light, disappointingly taking off his glasses and putting away his reports. You both get comfortable, facing opposite directions on your respective sides of the beds.

“‘M sorry for this week. Wasn’t real friend behavior.” Did he just apologize? You clear your throat, forcing yourself not to turn to face him. “It’s okay, I get it. I’ll be busy soon, too.” He’s quiet for a while. 

“I wish we had a longer honeymoon.” It physically hurts you to say. You quickly try to take it back. “You know, to spend in the library.” You mutter. “‘S ok, sweetheart. I would’ve liked more time too.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Right, well, goodnight, John.” What else can you say? I wish you’d stay longer in the mornings? I wish we had dinner together? I wish this was under different circumstances and our families weren’t entwined? “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Except sleep doesn’t take you. The memory of your shower is too recent, your core fluttering with the memory of your failed orgasms. You shift against the pillows, the scrape of the bedsheets torture against your skin. For a madness-induced second, you dip your hand down your pajamas, but you quickly pull it back when you remember John is a foot away. After fifteen minutes of squirming, he finally says something.

“You alrigh’?” You huff, still moving to get comfortable. “Sorry, I’m just hot.” He tugs the covers off you and towards him. “Can keep the covers off?” But now you’re shivering without their warmth. He moves closer to put them back, his face inches away as he tucks you in. “What’s wrong?” It’s low and sweet, like how he was on the phone. It makes you cave.

“I couldn’t get off.” He doesn’t react, like he was expecting you to say that. Which would be crazy. Right?

“Tha’ righ’?” You nod in the darkness, almost pouting in pain. “I tried in the shower and it didn’t work. Sorry, I can sleep in the sitting room if it makes you uncomfortable.” You feel him shaking his head, the whooshing of air surrounding the two of you. 

“You want help?” He can’t be serious. “You’re joking.” Instead of responding, his hand brushes your face, much closer than you originally thought. You inhale at the sudden rush of his scent, hips canting in the air in a biological response. He’s leaning over you, too out of reach.

“Christ, you’re gaggin’ fer it.” Your mouth drops, a perfect opportunity for him to brush the rounded O of your lips. He dips his middle finger into your mouth and, against your better judgement, you suck. “Look at tha’, so sweet fer me.” It’s encouragement to suck harder, rewarded with one of his groans. The moonlight catches the blue of his eyes, alight with hunger. You moan, and he evilly tugs his finger out of your mouth and into his own. Its a brutal show of spit swapping, leaving you panting. “John, please.” He gets the memo, sliding the finger under your pajama shorts. And then he just explores. Manipulates your folds this way and that, missing your clit by miles. 

“This a gyno exam that I didn’t-,” but he cuts you off with a rough kiss, his thumb pressing on your clit as he finally pushes a finger into your messy hole. It’s as possessive as your kiss at the wedding. He sucks on your top lip, then pulls away before you enjoy it too much. “So fuckin’ wet. This all fer me?” You nod desperately, hips moving to join the rhythm of his fingers. He finds your G-spot with ease, stroking you with a ‘come here’ motion as you rock against him. “Missed you, baby. Y’r cunny miss me?” And all you can do is plead, chests brushing against each other as he kisses his way down your neck, sloppy and unrestrained. “Yes, yes, missed you.” He grunts his approval.

His other hand moves to stablize his weight, forearm digging into the bed as his fingers curl around the crown of your head. Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging him back to your lips when he gets too far. A second finger, his ring one, meets his middle. You haven’t sex in a while, the only explanation for how full you feel. 

“Gonna hav’ t’ work ya open ‘fore you take my cock.” He whispers like it’s a note for him to remember, not meant for your ears. “Someone’s, oh fuck,” he circles your clit harder, tightening the coil in your belly. “Someone’s confident.” Is what you finally bite out, panting hard. He chuckles, nosing at your neck before kissing you again on the lips. “You opposed t’ future orgasms, baby?” You shake your head, babbling nonsense as he fucks you deeper on his fingers. Your cunt is begging for release, squeezing so hard you can’t breathe.

“Gonna come.” He nods, licking the sweat behind your ear before nipping at your jaw. “Let it out, sweetheart,” and you do, spasming on his fingers. He works you through it, slowing his motions with practiced ease. You breathe a sigh of relief, the tension in your body having disappeared. John captures your lips, allowing you to tug him closer so he’s inbetween your legs. You rub your sweat-soaked body against his, whimpering at the sensitivity of your skin. He shushes you, petting you with hairy paws as your breathing calms. “What a good girl fer me.” He whispers, almost condescendingly. You mewl at his tone, cat-like in his arms.

“I hate you.” You lie. All he does is kiss your forehead, then your nose. “Sure ya do, sweetheart. Feel better?” It turns you to butter. All you can do is nod, bashful at his tone. “Maybe.” He kisses your cheek, then rolls to the side, tugging you into him. “Sleep.” He commands.

It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten all week.

-

This is John’s mansion: https://search.savills.com/property-detail/gbsshsslh240021

Disclaimer that i have no clue how to write the differences between Gaz and Price’s accents so your patience and possible suggestions are much appreciated. 

🚨

i have no more room on my tag list. pls turn on notifications. if you’re not tagged, that’s why!

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@thriving-n-jiving

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@grayskel

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@hisuccubus

@lumi-kalyke

@gimmeabreak1

[ssorenz]

everybody knows that im a good girl officers!

pairing: . ݁₊ ⊹ .: sukuna ryomen n’ toji fushiguro

synopsis : . ݁₊ ⊹ baking gone wrong! (or maybe right in your case?)

contains: sexual content MDNI, spanking, degradation, full nelson position, double penetration, blah blah blaaaah.. wc: im honestly not even sure

header from: . ݁₊ ⊹: lady k and the sick man

a/n :BABE WAKE UP, DSIIRES FINALLY POSTED 🗣️‼️ but all jokes aside, hii loveliess im back 😊!! i decided to finally post something, and since this was sitting in my drafts, why not post it? i do admit the ending is kind of rushed, so please forgive me🙇🏽‍♀️ but i hope you all enjoy, comments and requests are gladly appreciated! <3

sweet, sugary, scents of vanilla and cinnamon danced throughout the air as sunlight streamed in through your lace curtains, casting warm, golden hues upon your kitchen countertops.

baking flour dusted your cheeks as a determined glint shined in your eyes, precisely measuring the ingredients for the cake you were baking. it was your best friends birthday, after all. what better way to surprise her than with a home-baked cake?

once the cake pans were safely in the oven, you let out a sigh of relief. this morning had been dedicated to baking, and you were longing for a moment of relaxation. retrieving your cellphone, you settled onto the couch, letting your mind wander as you scrolled away through the screen to pass the time for a few minutes.

but minutes turned into moments, and the once familiar, sweet aroma began to fade away. a faint whiff of something burning wafted into your nose, snapping you out of your current reverie.

panicked, you rushed to the oven, heart pounding in your chest. smoke billowed from the oven, tendrils curling ominously towards the ceiling.

with a gasp, you yanked open the oven door, greeted by a charred mess where your sweets once stood. panicking, you frantically reached for your phone and dialed the fire department.

standing anxiously outside your house, you clutched her phone tightly, desperately awaiting for the distant sound of sirens to signal the arrival of the fire department.

soon enough, the welcoming wail of an approaching engine filled your ears—and within moments, the fire truck came to a brief halt in front of your home. two firefighters emerged from the truck, and as they stepped onto the pavement, their imposing figures caught your attention.

the first firefighter, with a rugged build and striking pinkish hair, exuded confidence as he surveyed the scene. beside him, stood his colleague, tall and commanding with dark black hair, his presence radiating confidence as well as cockiness.

the males strode up to you, their boots echoing against the pavement. the salmon-haired one with distinct facial tattoos— who’s badge read S. RYŌMEN, glared at you with annoyance while his counterpart surveyed the area.

"alright, what's the deal here? we got a call about some sorta emergency, but I'm not seeing any flames. don't tell me we rushed over here for nothin’.” he spoke, his deep voice carrying an air of authority.

the raven-haired officer's— who’s badge read T. FUSHIGURŌ—eyebrows knitted together, his deep, husky, voice tinged with irritation. "are we being pranked here, girl?" he questioned snarkily, his skepticism evident as he glanced around the seemingly ordinary surroundings. however, as you apologized and ushered them inside, their expressions softened slightly, replaced by a mix of curiosity and concern.

as they stepped into the kitchen— their boots leaving faint imprints on the linoleum floor— a wave of smoke greeted them, swirling lazily in the air. the acrid smell of burnt pastries hung heavy, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. ryōmen coughed lightly, his hand instinctively reaching for the collar of his uniform to cover his nose.

fushigurō sighed heavily as his gaze fixed on the charred remnants of what was once a baking sheet. "well, would you look at that? someone tried playing chef but ended up setting the kitchen on fire," the black-haired officer he muttered, his annoyance palpable in the air as he casually observed the smoke-filled chaos before him.

“i'm so sorry for the false alarm," you apologized, your voice filled with genuine remorse. "I was trying to bake a cake and—well—things got a bit…out of hand…”

the pair exchanged glances, then moved swiftly, their practiced efficiency a stark contrast to the mess you had inadvertently created. they quickly ventilated the room, opening windows and turning on fans to dispel the lingering smoke. as they moved, they checked for any remaining embers or hotspots, ensuring that the fire was completely out and that there was no risk of it reigniting.

as the firefighters continued their work, you couldnt help but stare. their tall, bulked figures were much larger compared to your own. the way you could hear their subtle grunts as they finished up their job…

lets just say, your mind definitely started to wander elsewhere..

ryōmen kneeled down and inspected the oven, his brow furrowing deeper. "looks like yer’ cake batter overflowed and caught fire," he remarked, his voice tinged with frustration. "next time, keep an eye on the oven temperature."

yet of course, you werent paying him any attention listening, too deep in the wet daydream that was playing idly in your mind. the pink-haired officer stood up and cleared his throat, “miss?”

you jumped, his voice snapping you out of the “daydream” you were having. you nodded vigorously, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush your cheeks. "i will—i promise. thank you both so much for coming so quickly."

you hurried to your cupboard to get them some water. rummaging through your cabinets, you managed to find a couple of clean glasses, and filled them with cool water from the tap. when you returned, they were just finishing up, their equipment neatly packed away.

"here," you said, offering the glasses. "please, have some water. it's the least i can do."

fushigurō took a glass with a nod of thanks, while his partner accepted the other with a grin. "thanks," he said, "surprised ya’ didnt burn the water this time…”

you couldn't help but chuckle softly, the tension of the situation easing slightly with the joke. "i try my best," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. "but m’ really sorry for the trouble. is there any way i can make it up to you both?"you offered, hoping to ease the tension in the room and show your gratitude for their prompt response.

ryōmen glanced at his partner before responding, his expression twisting mischievously.

he placed his glass down as he leaned back on the kitchen table, his tall figure towering over you darkly.

“you said you’re really sorry, hm?” he spoke lowly, his crimson eyes now lowering, gazing onto you.

you nodded eagerly, unsure of what he was implying. “um, well— yes of course-“

the officers lust-laced voice spoke words you doubted you would ever hear…

"then prove it."

so here you were— half-naked in your living room, in a standing full nelson position, sandwiched between the two men that were once standing in your kitchen—now both pounding you silly.

your helpless mewls mixing with the lewd squelches your cunt made filled the empty silence in the room. fushigurō’s long, thickness was so prominent as it kneaded itself against your g-spot, making you fall into a cock-drunk daze.

"that feel good, huh'?", toji muttered, gazing lasciviously into your eyes while supporting your legs high. it was so intimate— but so naughty too, the way he was so filthy..

you nodded in reply, clearly too overstimulated to speak properly. luckily, sukuna was quick to amend your actions—sending a swift, sharp, strike against your ass.

"didn't he ask you a question? say it properly, slut, don't make us waste our breath like you did our time now," he snarled behind you. his strokes were so rugged and mean, much meaner than tojis (which was unsurprisingly fitting for the man), making you whimper breathlessly from the pleasure.

"f-feels s'good tojiiiii—“ you whined out the name in reply, hiccuping. it was true, the way they both grinded against each other, inside of you, leaving you trembling, aching with pleasure. this position requiring them hit harder, deeper, inside of your soaked, throbbing slit— it was too much.

"good fuckin' girl, look at ya'— squeezin' us so tight. yer takin' us so well," fushiguro commented, leaning in for a kiss. his scarred lips passionately met your own, letting out a soft, suppressed groan. he went deeper into the kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth.

his hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him as he continued thrusting into you from the front. meanwhile, his counterpart pounded away at your stuffed cunt relentlessly; each stroke sending shockwaves of pleasure through every nerve ending in both your bodies.

you found yourself lost in this sensual haze of double penetration bliss— moaning uncontrollably into toji’s mouth while feeling your hole being stretched to its limits by these two. your entire world consisted of nothing but the rhythmic movement between your legs and the taste of salty sweat on fushigurō's lips as ryōmen whispered dirty nothings into your ear that only fueled your desire even more.

sukuna’s hands gripped tightly onto your hips as he pounded into you harder than before, his breathing becoming ragged in your ear with each passing second. toji followed suit by grabbing one of your legs and lifting it up high enough for him to hit a new angle inside of you— sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout every inch of your being.

“filthy whore— paying your debt with—ngh.. dick,” sukuna began, still thrusting into you, but at a much irregular pace now. “who knew such a seemingly innocent thing like you could be so dirty.. starin’ us, shit, up and down like slabs of meat..”

as the intensity of their movements increased, so did the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your body. you felt like you were on the brink of orgasm yourself— and apparently so did ryōmen and fushigurō. both men let out loud grunts, no longer holding back, and began to thrust deeper. it was painfully clear that they were close to reaching their climaxes.

“damn, m’so fuckin’ close— ya gonna let us cum inside? knock up this— fuck, tight ass cunt of yers’?” toji grunted.

"please," you begged between gasps for air, "cum inside me...need it..so badly.” your voice was hoarse from the countless moans and whines that ehshshsh. your whiny, raspy pleas and helpless cries were enough to send both men over the edge. so, with one final push from fushigurō and a deep moan from ryōmen, both men came inside of you simultaneously - painting every crevice with their warming, sticky ropes of essence.

as they both released inside of you, your body was hit with an overwhelming wave of pleasure unlike anything you had ever experienced. your cunt clenched tightly around their cocks as they emptied themselves into you, milking every last drop from their swollen, pulsating shafts.

your eyes rolled back into your head— a mixture of pain and ecstasy that left you breathless moments afterward. tears streamed down your face from the sheer intensity of the orgasm that coursed through every inch of your limp body.

the room was silent for a moment as the three of you caught your breath. you could feel their cum slowly dripping out of you as the two men pulled out, leaving behind a sticky mess beneath them.

looking up, toji’s lust-filled stare met your own, a small scar-ridden smirk decorating his face. “that was fuckin’ incredible, god,” he said before ryōmen spoke teasingly behind you..

“but you know, theres better ways to get fucked then damn near burning your house down..”

[aangelinakii]

TO YOUR SHOULDERS.

— you always looked better with your hair down.

summary : despite always wearing your hair up, jason thinks it looks better down.

note : yes this is totally ripped off from a scene in dexter s4,, and also reader is described with long hair but not explicitly fem ??? so just a heads up for that

it had never been a question of if you looked nice, it was just that it worked better for you in every way.

your trusty, dusty claw clip.

having your hair out of your face helps you think, helps you concentrate. you don't need to worry about fly-aways when you're eating, nor food getting stuck in the ends. it goes with every outfit, your claw clip.

whoever invented this thing needs everything they deserve and more, wherever they are.

that morning, as you dressed for work, you'd been standing in the bathroom mirror, clip lodged between your teeth as you gathered your hair at the back of your head.

jason's reflection emerged through the door, and he stepped up to the toilet next to you, lifting the seat up with the back of his knuckle — something he preferred doing to avoid getting germs on his fingers, which he'd wash off anyway.

but he paused, looking at you, and you could feel his gaze, as well as see it in the mirror if you tilted your head just a little.

your movements never ceased, and you reached to the front of your face, fingers closing around your clip.

"hey," jason piped up, almost urgent in a way that caused you to drop your hair and spin to look at him. his eyebrows were raised, but lowered in an instant, and his eyes were calm, kind.

after touching the toilet, he didn't want to reach up and ruin your hair, but he ghosted a hand over the front of your locks. "have i ever told you how good you look with your hair down?"

no, he hadn't, but now he has.

instinctively, you pulled away with a bashful grin threatening to poke out from pulled-up cheeks, soft like fresh bread. "really?" you breathed out, a small laugh like a song to your voice.

"really," he smiled with a nod.

"okay, i'll keep it down today." as you leaned forward into him, placing a hand on his toned chest, your smile still lingered as you kissed him, and you could feel the muscles in his face doing the same.

however, you hadn't kept your promise — not that it was a promise at all, but it was a compliment and it had made you feel warm and fuzzy.

but it's a force of habit, putting your hair up.

so when the work you were doing got a little bit more stressful, a little bit more things for you to rush around and do, the claw clip you'd kept safe in your bag just in case came out and clamped itself in your hair, keeping it up and out of your face.

by the time you'd closed the front door behind you and kicked your shoes off, jason was rounding the corner into the hallway to welcome you home.

your bag slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor as he appeared, and your arms stretched out for him. there was a slight pause in his actions, but it was barely anything noticeable in the exhaust of your head.

his wide frame slotted between your open arms, strong biceps holding you within his own. whilst your hands lay half-limp on his back, jason's embrace was tight, a hand coming to position on the nape of your exposed neck.

soft kisses tickled your temple.

"missed me?" you chuckled, voice muffled by the fabric of jason's grey t-shirt.

to which he only hummed in return, pulling his head away from where he'd been kissing to burrow in the crook of your shoulder. and then he said something, but you couldn't make it out, for his words had got lost in the threads of your clothes.

"speak up?" you offered, carefully twitching your head away so he'd look up.

when his face finally emerged, you found his black hair messed with affection and his eyes soft like the fur of a labrador. his lips thinned with a similar shyness you'd felt that morning.

"you put your hair up," jason finally mustered himself up to say, pads of his fingers dancing along the curls that had fallen down at the back after a busy day.

with a sharp inhale, you brought a hand to feel the clip, as if just realising it was there. "oh! sorry, it's been a long day."

you felt jason's hand rise to the clip too, and you moved yours away, settling it around the base of his neck, where your other hand met it.

"it's okay." his voice was soft and soothing, like a cup of chamomile and honey on a horridly rainy day; the scent of lavender when you're trying to get to sleep.

suddenly the tension at the back of your head was lost.

jason's other hand came around, brushing through the hair released from its clip, coming up to the top of your head to style it to frame your face. his eyes never looked at the hair, only you.

"perfect."

and the styling hand rested upon your cheek, thumb absently skimming across the skin.

with a gentle pull on his neck, you leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut, to meet him in the middle. if you were perfect, he was heaven-sent.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

WANTED

You find the advert face down on the table. You’re picking up after your grandma. She insists her mind is sharp as a tack but her empty tea cups and loose handkerchiefs and day-old newspapers litter every surface. You scan the paper, and a part of you is sure there aren’t any more jobs like this.

The paper is yesterday’s paper and the various jobs match LinkedIn. Nannying and dog walker and kitchen staff. The advert, the one, is stark against the others. You read the tiny printed words over and over, always getting stuck on the word WANTED.

Your friends told you not to go: what kind of job asks you to meet in the middle of the woods? What kind of jobs has no website or contact info? What kind of jobs were advertised in the goddamn paper? You friends wouldn’t get it.

Anastasia, your best friend since third class, tells you to keep your “Find My Phone” on and call when you get there. She really wouldn’t get it. Your grandma tells you that this is the world, the other version of it, and you are her granddaughter. So go.

You walk the three and a half miles in your high heels. This job probably wouldn’t even expect high heels, but old habits die hard. You were once convinced in college your girlfriend cast a curse on you, the sleepless nights and a relentless rash proved it. Now that you’re an adult, an adult-adult, you don't think so anymore. If anything was a witch’s spell, it was LinkedIn. Hours and hours of youth wasted on the same go-around.

5 years of experience and 3 different references and no street parking but the bus is only a block away. You can walk, right? Unpaid overtime and shaving your legs to go sit for an hour in an uncomfortable plastic chair. That’s an unusual last name, is it a family one? Ah. I see.

You can walk for a long while. Your heels slup, slup, slup in the soupy ground and it takes you longer than you’d like to look around. The street lights dwindle. The trees gather. The path disappears. The woods are thick and unfamiliar and an iron fence rises in the distance. Despite the late summer heat, the air smells of frost. Maybe Anastasia was right–whether you are your grandmother’s descendent or not.

She comes out of the woods on rail-thin chicken legs. Her skirt is short, cut at a horizontal angle, and she looks like where the punk scene from the 80s went to die. She has a studded leather jacket and bleach-blonde asymmetrical hair. You shove your hands in your stupid suit jacket and check the skies. Half-moon, just risen, you’re right on time.

“You here for the advert?”

“It’s half-moon, isn’t it?” You say back and flash her a tight smile. You have a sudden sinking feeling about her ability to write you a paycheck. 

She looks you up and down. “Spirit?”

“Ghoul.” You shrug. “Yaga?” She sticks out one of her stalky chicken legs. “Servant of one. Two gens back. On my father’s side.” Your strained smile gentles. “I’m Katie. You?” Her smile sharpens in response. “Stephanie. Come on, let’s take a walk.” “Was that a real advert, Stephanie?” You saddle up beside her despite yourself. “Cause if you’re just here to pull my leg, know that I'm pretty hard to put down.” She lets out a harsh laugh that sounds like it hurts. “I’m counting on it.” She winks. “Now, not sure I know your line so well, what’s the difference between a ghoul and a spirit?” What is a spirit or ghoul? What was a gig worker or a salaried one? Perhaps a whole length away. Stephanie pushes a bush aside to reveal a hole in the iron fence and leads you through. The grass turns from wild heather to manicured green and you emerge into a field of rolling hills. Your skin prickles. You might be hard to kill, but maybe not to capture. You stay low to the ground.

“Can I be paid upfront?” Her breath smells of winter frost and fresh-turned soil. “You down that bad?”

You survey the trimmed grasses and gentle slopes, the unnatural prickle spreads through your skin to your bone. A house rises in the far-distance, and you swallow thickly. “Is this some Scooby Doo shit?”

“Come on.” She pushes your shoulder. “I’ll pay upfront. The only real question is if you’ve got a pair of lungs on you.” You toss your ponytail back. “For as long as you like. But, I gotta ask, are there really not any free banshees right now?” Stephanie’s smile falters for the first time. “Old world is dying,” she snorts. “Or just buried deep enough to feel that way.” “We’re still here.” “Still here.” She slips you two hundred and takes you to the side of a small lake. The water is murky and the edges form an unnatural drop. She hands you a lightweight dress, gauzy and impossibly white, and you wrinkle your nose. You looked back and forth between the far-distant house and the lake.

It took you the whole walk to place the gate and the house and the land: The Turnpikes. Built almost seven generations back and larger than ever. You couldn’t imagine. The old world was dying, but you supposed it was also just right there. You put the dress on and kick your heels off. Gathering your stuff, Stephanie gives you a big thumbs up and backs away. You take a deep breath, you don't need many, but you had a feeling it would count.

A light in the far-distant window turns on. You see your grandma in your mind’s eye, her tangled green hair and wicked little smiles. All this for two hundred? But ghoul isn't a banshee. You jump in feet first.

The wet and the cold and the dank water with no memory swallows you. You submerge in the tiny manmade lake, and when you come out, you come out screaming.

The fear of ghouls is an ancient one–something hard to kill. That can walk forever, fight forever, go Without forever. And you think, as you toss your head back, drip water, and let your lungs rattle in your chest, that you might scream forever too.

For two hundred bucks, a ghoul can be a banshee and a world can be made old and new and when you scream, you can scream until you’re made real again.

FIN

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

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[neptuneiris]

Cruel Summer (01/10)

Sunset's Bay

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader

summary: There are two sides to the city of Sunset's Bay, the rich who live in 'Crown's' and the poor who live in 'Black Waves'. What happens when a rich guy and a poor girl meet and inevitably fall in love? In the city where they live and with their status, that can't be possible.

words: 5.8k

series masterlist • next part

I wasn't sure about posting this but if you like the story I will continue with it, it all depends on how you receive it😬

in case you like it, I want to advance that the story will be a kind of forbidden love by the fact of rich and poor hehe and I have a lot prepared, basically everything is already written, I just need to structure it in a better way

this has only been an introduction to the world of Sunset's Bay, so I hope you enjoy it and the warnings will be added as I post the chapters if you like it🤗

so enjoy!

Sunset's Bay.

The hidden but mostly inhabited beach on the California Coast, with golden and white sands that slide into crystal clear waters of such a deep blue that it seems infinite.

According to Google, it is one of the most beautiful beaches in Northern California and where teenagers living in surrounding cities yearn to come every time a new summer begins.

Sunset and sunrise on these waters are beautiful, as they transform the horizon into a palette of vibrant colors, from warm shades of gold and pink to soft purple and the deep blue of night.

Every summer, the beach comes alive with exciting surfing tournaments, as well as Sunset's Pier, the midpoint of the beach where everyone mingles, transforms into charity events with live music, fireworks and lamp shows that illuminate the night with a mesmerizing light show.

Boat and yacht rides add a touch of sophistication to the coastal scene. This allows tourists to explore the waters beyond the beach, visit small islands up close and enjoy the serenity of the open sea.

But on top of all that, everything is meticulously maintained, most of it, like the clean, spacious beaches, adorned by palm trees swaying gently in the sea breeze.

And your favorite section, the volcanic stone cliffs that are distributed in specific locations on the beach, offering rocky walls as you sit on the seashore behind you and all around, emerging as natural guardians of the beach.

And from their heights, you can take in panoramic views of all the beauty of the landscape, encompassing the vast endless ocean and coastline to the endless horizon.

You always looked forward to coming here as a child when a new term at school ended and your mother was always willing to come and spend the vacations with your relatives, the Blackwoods.

They always welcomed you and your mother and together with your cousin Alysanne, you had an amazing summer.

Ever since you were little, you have always been tattooed with the memory of the sand on your feet, the salt air in your nostrils, the water enveloping you completely and the sun in full sunset caressing your whole face as you watched it on the horizon starting to descend on the shore of the beach with the cliffs behind you.

And now, that's all you know, a life in Sunset's and your frequent days at the beach.

Living with your aunt and uncle and Alysanne in a house big enough to also make room for you on the beach shore, this has been your home for exactly a year now.

And now summer has begun.

"Sam has sent a message."

You raise your gaze to Alysanne as you finish cleaning one of the tables.

"He says to meet him at the beach with the others in the evening. Do you want to go?"

You place a small smile on your lips.

"Sure."

"Table nine!"

You both turn your heads toward your boss, who looks at both of you as if he wants to kill you at any moment, and you quickly rush to serve the food, briefly wiping the sweat from your brow to keep working.

"Hurry up, Blackwood," Mr. Frey tells you reluctantly as you begin to pick up the orders on the tray.

You let out a long breath and glance at the clock briefly before going to serve, realizing that you will have to put up with this for four more hours and for the rest of the summer as well.

Unfortunately you and Alysanne have to work, as it has been for some months now at a seafood restaurant where the 'rich' people from this side of the city come to enjoy the delicious food.

And because of the summer, the work has increased. But that doesn't stop them both from having fun now that summer has begun.

So as soon as you and Alysanne finish your shift, you head home as soon as possible and start getting ready to meet your friends at the beach.

Previously going out and having fun was a problem for Alysanne's parents, your aunt and uncle were not the liberal type, but as soon as you both started working and helping them with the household expenses with what you could, they started to be more permissive and understanding.

And this is your home, the less ostentatious side of the city, but still genuine.

Once you join Sam and all the boys on the beach, you head for the small boat floating near the shore.

It is not a luxurious boat, much less can it be compared to a boat or yacht of the latest model, but it is a modest boat that has seen many summer seasons.

And it has taken them all to many spots on the beach and you have shared many anecdotes on it.

And as the boat glides through the calm waters, you and Alysanne enjoy the laughter and stories shared by the boys from the neighborhood, Sam, Daniel and Chase.

The three of them have been childhood friends of Alysanne's and when you came to live with her officially, she introduced you to them and now you all have formed a group of friends where you enjoy afternoons like these with Sam's boat and where you also go swimming and surfing all together.

The sea breeze caresses your faces and the sun slowly begins to descend as it paints the sky in warm golden tones, until the afternoon turns into night.

And on the beach, with a campfire in the center, the starry sky above and all together in a circle, you start burning marshmallows and drinking beer.

"And tell us..." speaks Daniel, watching you both curiously, "How about the slave life for the rich people?"

You and your cousin let out a small laugh.

"Slaves?" you repeat amused.

"Well yeah, come on, you said your boss... what's his name? Grey? Payne?"

"Frey," Alysanne corrects him.

"Yeah, that," he points to her, "He's a jerk or not?"

"And no concept of patience and prudence," you add.

"I imagine the ones who eat there are worse, no?" asks Chase.

Daniel snaps his fingers at him.

"Lannister?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. Jason Lannister has that vibe."

"I put him in the top one of the most hated, along with the Baratheons. And I have a feeling the Arryns do too, I don't know why," Daniel again looks at you both, "Right?"

"You work for them," Alysanne tells him amused, "Don't you know that?"

"Well, it's not like they can tell me much for cleaning their boats and yachts but... no–they're extremely nice, though..." he holds up his finger with a thoughtful expression, "Though I think there must be something wrong with them."

Alysanne lets out a snort.

"They're rich and live at Crown's, practically owning all the establishments on the beach just like the Lannisters, Baratheons, Tyrells and others leaving nothing for us, the poor ones, because they despise us," she says with an ironic but true tone "Of course there must be something wrong with them."

"One time one of them didn't leave me a tip," you say, remembering, "The Tyrell's."

Sam looks at you amused.

"Tips are not obligatory."

"Oh come on," you retort, with a touch of irony, "They're rich, they can have yachts and mansions, but can't they at least give me a five percent tip?"

"Yet it's not obligatory."

Everyone lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, it's not the nicest place to work and the customers aren't necessarily nice but the pay is good, after all," Alysanne says as she shrugs.

And that's true.

Even though it's not a good work environment, the necessity is what makes you not quit and endure as much as you can. Even though your aunt and uncle are taking care of you and taking responsibility for you, you know you can't continue that way forever.

You want to be independent, pay for your own things, especially you want to pay for college, but to do that, you have to work and now this is the job.

Besides it's useless to find work elsewhere when the owners are still the same; rich and arrogant. And you can't find work on your side of the city because the pay won't be much or maybe they won't even hire because they can't afford it.

But right now, being here enjoying the summer with your friends and your cousin, you allow yourself not to think about it and just continue to criticize the rich people.

And after many cans of beer, Chase picks up his guitar and you all together start singing in the most off-key and horrible way possible, laughing amongst everyone with the jokes filling the air, just like the heat of the flames and the aroma of roasting marshmallows.

"You had a party and didn't invite me!?"

Almost everyone together turns their heads unexpectedly toward the approaching outside voice laden with amusement and mild reproach.

And then they all see Cregan Stark with a huge grin and a bottle of beer in hand.

The guys soon start showing off at the mere sight of him, making jokes and greeting him with great enthusiasm, as Cregan greets them.

And you just watch Alysanne with a sly smile, amused by Cregan's sudden appearance, but of course, she quickly hides all traces of whatever her reaction is to seeing him, adjusting her expression to one of neutrality as she tries to appear disinterested.

But you know.

And you're amused at how she acts as if you don't know her.

Cregan Stark is the spoiled son of one of the wealthiest families in Sunset's, living in one of the most exclusive areas on the Crown's side.

His appearance reflects his status; brand name clothes, really expensive accessories, late model car and an attitude that denotes familiarity with luxury. However, despite his wealth, Cregan has proven to be different from other boys in his social environment.

Although he has access to all the luxuries, he does not carry with him the air of superiority and arrogance that many would expect from someone like him and that those of his class usually display.

In fact, Cregan became friends with Chase, who works for his family in the ports.

And it was Chase who introduced him to the group and although at first no one felt confident with him, Cregan instead of imposing his status, imposed a genuine and friendly demeanor that won the friendship of everyone in the circle.

Later everyone understood that he doesn't really enjoy being with people from the same environment as himself. The wealthy teenagers he usually hung out with, for the most part, were overly judgmental and arrogant.

So thanks to Chase, he found company with all of you, the guys from across the city who don't have a mansion and all the money in the world, but who are genuine and free of pretense.

Despite the looks people give Cregan for not understanding his choice of company, he deliberately ignores them. His parents don't say anything to him either, although he says they clearly prefer that he stop interact with you.

"I am deeply, intensely and extremely offended," he says expressing mock indignation, holding a hand to his chest, watching you incredulously but amused.

"Come on, man, don't get dramatic," Chase tells him giving him a friendly tap on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we're just getting warmed up," Sam encourages him.

"Besides..." says Daniel, in an exaggerated tone, "We can't send messages across the beach, us poor people have to use carrier pigeons like the olden days to get anything to you, but guess what... we're so poor we can't even afford pigeons."

Everyone lets out a laugh, enjoying Daniel's humor in implying the differences between the poor and the rich on the beach.

"Stop, seriously, why didn't you guys tell me you were doing this?" Cregan asks, taking a seat on the logs.

"I heard there's a party on your side of the beach and I figured you'd be heading over there," Chase tells him, "Which you did, didn't you?" he points to the beer in his hand.

He lets out a long breath.

"Yeah but it was pretty fucking boring."

"Boring?" you repeat incredulously, "A party with a DJ, champagne and yachts I highly doubt is boring."

"Well, not that it wasn't fun," he says looking around and observing everyone, "But I wanted this, to be with you guys, the atmosphere."

"And how did you know we were here?" asks Alysanne curious.

"I didn't exactly know," he smiles at her, "So I just decided to come and try my luck."

"Oh man, stop it or you'll make me cry," Daniel jokes, holding a hand to his heart.

"He loves us, doesn't he?" asks Sam, with a smirk.

"Yeah, he definitely loves us."

Everyone laughs and you watch discreetly as he and Alysanne start throwing their little looks at each other.

"Party with DJ and yachts? Man, if I were you, I'd be enjoying that," Sam confesses, shaking his head in a gesture of incomprehension.

"It's not big deal and people are hateful, believe me."

No one argues with him about that but you too sometimes wish you could have fun like that, have the experience of going to a beach party like the rich kids in the movies, just once.

But the time will come, someday, there are still many summers left to enjoy.

The conversation flows as the boys settle around the campfire, the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cool night breeze blowing in from the sea.

The atmosphere is filled with laughter and banter, and the relaxed beach setting becomes the perfect backdrop for a night of genuine camaraderie.

Cregan, with his carefree and genuine attitude, seems to fit right in with all fo you and that he values sincere company over superficial luxury.

And you don't know exactly how much more time passes or how many beers that Daniel brings back the theme of the rich party on the other side of the beach.

"Hey, Cregan," he says, leaning forward with a mischievous expression, "Since you're here, why don't you take us to that party? I'm sure it's not as bad as you say."

Cregan raises an eyebrow, amused but surprised.

"What?"

Something about Daniel's words clicks in everyone's head, even yours, so you quickly exchange glances with Alysanne. And Cregan notices how everyone starts to truly consider it.

"Do you guys really want to go to that party?"

"And why not?" asks Alysanne, with an grin, "I'm sure we can have fun, even if we're not part of the rich circle."

"Yeah, and besides..." adds Sam, with a persuasive tone, "It would be interesting to see what the other side of the city is like from the inside. We've never been to a party like this."

Cregan seems to think about it for a moment, looking at the boys with a mixture of doubt and amusement.

"Seriously you guys are telling me this? The rich haters?"

You shrug.

"The rich hate us too."

"And that's precisely why we want to go," Sam says, gesturing animatedly, "We want to try something different. And who knows, maybe we'll give you a good reason to have a little more fun at that party. Right, Chase?"

Everyone looks at Chase, who shrugs.

"I guess that wouldn't be bad."

"But you haven't thought this through," Cregan insists, "As soon as they see you all, they'll know you're not like them."

Everyone looks at themselves and well... he's right.

The rich, especially those who are the same age as you, have a radar to recognize someone who is just like them... or not.

But you don't blame them, since you have them too, the difference is that you don't make disgusted faces or criticize in whispers as soon as you notice.

You notice your two-piece bikini top is wrinkled and is clearly second hand, besides your worn-out sandals. Alysanne is also in the same condition as you and the boys... well, they're worse.

Sam's shirt is torn, Chase's is torn, and the clothes are visibly secondhand.

"We have better clothes at home," you tell Alysanne and she nods.

"And we take our shirts off and stay in shorts," Daniel says, in solution, "Are we at the beach or not?"

"And if something goes wrong, we can always run out and come back here," Alysanne suggests.

Everyone nods and basically watches Cregan with puppy dog eyes, hopeful that he will take you to his kind of people.

"What do you think, Cregan?"

Cregan is silent for a few seconds, his gaze sweeping over the group around him, analyzing and thinking about all the things that could go wrong. And he doesn't pass up the abandoned cat look that Daniel and Sam throw at him.

And finally, he lets out a laugh and a resigned sigh.

"All right, all right. I'll take you. But if we have a bad time, don't say I didn't warn you."

"That's what I like to hear!" exclaims Sam, raising his arms in victory.

"We won't regret it."

"We may not but the rich will."

"Thanks, Cregan," says Alysanne, patting him on the back.

You frown as you watch her gesture and also notice Cregan's confused look for a moment, but go back to watching the boys.

"Well, then let's go before I change my mind."

You put out the campfire, pick up the trash and with laughter they all very animatedly walk away from your spot on the beach, heading first towards the trash cans and then towards Cregan's car.

"You do know Cregan likes you, don't you?" you say to Alysanne, walking a little further away from the guys.

She gives you an incredulous look.

"What?"

"Oh come on and you like him too, don't deny it."

"Of course I don't."

"Of course you do."

"You're crazy."

"And you won't stand a chance if you keep treating him like just a dude."

"Oh yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

You let out a laugh, understanding that it will be difficult for her to accept and share it with you, so you give her time. The guys behind you laugh too, with the echo fading into the salty air, leaving the sea breeze and the sound of the waves behind.

The difference in locations is completely noticeable.

You leave behind the small wooden houses, the unkempt streets, the establishments where you and your friends can shop, the bicycles and old cars, to move to large neighborhoods with green grass, trees and bushes on every corner with huge luxurious houses, almost mansions with modern cars and expensive decorations.

The guys are excited and so are you, as you have never explored these sections of the beach before, which are completely exclusive and with access for the rich people.

Obviously there are entrances with booths and security guards, so Cregan's appearance alone proves he's a Stark and he's allowed in without objection.

And soon enough, you arrive at the party.

"Oh my goodness, look at this," exclaims Alysanne, wide-eyed as she takes in the scene.

"That's a Prestige F4?" asks Sam in surprise, eyeing the luxurious yacht in the distance.

"Seriously, how much money do these people have?" mutters Daniel, in shock.

"More than you'll ever have," Alysanne tells him with a smirk as you all walk onto the beach illuminated by the party lights.

"You don't know that," Chase replies to her, pretending to be offended, "Maybe someday I'll get rich and buy one of those," he points to the yachts.

"I'm very offended that you didn't invite us to your parties sooner," Daniel says to Cregan, putting a hand to his chest as if he were badly wounded, "How could you hide all this from us?"

"Don't draw too much attention to yourselves, guys," Cregan asks with a mixture of concern and amusement in his voice.

"We won't," says Sam, "We'll just enjoy ourselves apart from the others but inside, you get it?"

The music starts to get louder and soon enough, we are inside the party.

Blue and purple neon lights illuminate the white sand, creating a dazzling contrast against the night sky. Waves break gently on the shore, almost muted by the music vibrating through the air.

There is indeed a DJ from a raised platform and most of the people here dance in the center to the music, some with cocktails in hand, bottles of champagne or recording the moment on their phones.

Near the dock, several luxurious yachts are docked, all decorated with lights flashing to the rhythm of the music. There are people inside them, enjoying the party from right there.

Some people get off the yachts to join the party on the beach, while others stay on board, enjoying the view and the exclusivity it offers.

If not beer, there is a bar offering a variety of exotic drinks and gourmet appetizers, such as sushi, caviar and canapés.

And throughout the party, groups of people are spread out, chatting animatedly, laughing, toasting and dancing. There are also party games, such as beer pong and spin the bottle.

While others gather around improvised campfires farther away near the sea, where the atmosphere is more relaxed, watching the spectacle around them.

The air is permeated with the smell of sea salt mixed with expensive perfumes and the sound of laughter and music all along the beach.

It is a party that clearly reflects the wealth and status of their hosts, as well as the people present; pure spoiled kids with rich parents.

"Are we going to have fun or what!?" exclaims Sam excitedly, fully entering the party and everyone follows.

Chase convinces Cregan to be worrying since most of the people here are in their own world and he doubts drunkenly checking to see if they have the latest model Iphone or what.

And honestly you relax too as everyone here is having fun and you along with Alysanne look more presentable in nice bikinis.

They are second hand still but they are more cared for than the others you have.

Sam quickly orders drinks, surprised and excited to have gotten a bottle of champagne, then Cregan and the others take him and you and Alysanne to a more secluded spot.

You make a space for yourselves on the sand, a bit secluded from everyone, having the view of the huge luxurious houses, the cliffs in the distance and also the illuminated yachts on the dock behind you.

Pretty soon you have your beer and start enjoying yourselves just like everyone else, not worrying too much and just pretending you are one of them all.

Mingling with the rich at Sunset's pier is one thing, since the pier is the center of the entire beach and there are no prejudices there, but now pretending to be one is completely different.

You find yourself watching everyone around you when Alysanne nudges you slightly and points her gaze to a specific spot.

"Look at that."

You follow her gaze and see a group of girls.

"That bracelet is from Pandora, I saw it on Instagram."

From here you can see how their gold and silver necklaces and bracelets sparkle. Also the bikinis they have on are beautiful, certainly brand name. There is also a girl with a Guess bag and they all have the latest Iphone model in their hand.

And you turn to Alysanne with a shrug.

"Why are we judging when it should be the other way around?"

"We're not judging, we're just noticing the differences between girls like them and girls like us."

You both let out a laugh.

"You definitely want that Pandora bracelet, don't you?" you look at her amused.

"And you don't?"

The two of you continue to observe or rather admire all those rich girls who have fancy accessories when suddenly you hear a specific boast behind you.

You turn your head and see the dock, noticing how some impeccably dressed people are boarding one of the larger yachts docked near the shore.

And there they are.

You think as you make out those distinctive black, red and silver hair.

Of course they couldn't miss a party like this, the sons of the most influential families in the city, the Lannister's, Baratheon's and Targaryen's, practically the elite of Sunset's.

You've seen Cerelle, Tyshara and Loreon Lannister before on the Sunset's Pier, their red hair gives away who they are instantly. They always brag about their luxurious yachts, cars, jewelry stores and everything else they own.

Their father, Jason Lannister, has built an empire based on shipbuilding and port development.

From what you understand, his company designs and manufactures some of the most advanced and exclusive ships for the world's elite.

In addition to this, Lannister also owns a network of ports and shipyards on several coasts, allowing him to maintain a steady flow of wealth through port fees and contracts with global corporations.

This influence has given him a prominent place among the city's powerful and his family has inherited not only his fortune, but also his imposing and domineering character.

So it is no surprise that the Lannister's are typical spoiled children with clearly very wealthy parents, as are the others, especially the Baratheon's, Cassandra, Maris and Floris.

Known as much for their tanned skin and peculiar dark hair as for their arrogant attitude, they always seek to be the center of attention at any such social event.

Cassandra, the eldest, has a dominant bearing and never misses an opportunity to show off her status. She is also the best known of the daughters to go out every now and then with a boy from an important family either from the city or abroad.

Next, there is Maris, the quietest of the three and the most reserved, but still, as you have heard, just as spoiled and boastful as her older sister.

And finally, Floris, Cerelle's best friend and supposedly the most arrogant, capricious, shallow and boastful of the three.

She is the one who seems the sweetest at first glance, but her spoiled nature soon becomes evident when something doesn't go her way.

You also know that there are two other children, a daughter and a son, Ellyn and Royce, but apparently Ellyn prefers to stay at home and Royce does not live here.

Her father, Borros Baratheon, is a most important and influential shipping magnate and merchant in the region, known for his connections with outside businessmen.

He owns one of the largest commercial fleets operating along the entire Pacific coast. You don't know exactly what it's about but the guys have talked about how his company specializes in logistics and shipping goods across the ocean or something like that.

And finally, the sons of the most powerful family in the entire city and the entire country, the Targaryen's.

Viserys Targaryen is known as the most powerful man in the entire country and by extension his entire family as well. He owns one of the largest and most influential corporations in the region.

Your uncle Ben always had a kind of admiration for him, though your aunt always expressed her dislike of him, as well as the other families, for simply being other greedy money-rotters who drive up the costs of the city for all that they invest to elevate their status and leave you poor people increasingly difficult to make a living.

You honestly couldn't agree with her more, but the Targaryen's have been forging their main empire here in Sunset's for a very long time now and there is nothing that can really be done about it.

The Targaryen business empire focuses on multiple sectors, but they are best known for owning a very prestigious bank, where they serve wealthy elites and large corporations, as well as financing large scale projects, such as real estate developments, technology or even public infrastructure.

You understand that he has built and manages shopping malls, corporate skyscrapers and exclusive developments in major cities across the country, as well as high profile tourist destinations like Sunset's.

So basically all of them and him especially have total control over the financial resources of the region, as well as infrastructure and development in the most luxurious sectors.

Although Viserys and his wife Alicent are no longer seen as much at events this side of Crown's and on the pier, their influence still shapes everything that happens here.

"Hey."

Sam snaps you out of your thoughts when you feel him tap you on the shoulder and you turn your head towards him, confused and attentive.

"Hm?"

"What are you looking at?" he asks you amused, sitting down next to you and offering you a new bottle of beer.

"Oh, no, nothing, just..." you shake your head, taking the beer and not paying attention to the son's and daughter's of rich parents.

But Sam had followed your gaze before.

"I know, they're beautiful, aren't they?"

You immediately watch him intently.

"Who?"

"The yachts," he tells you as if it's obvious, "Imagine spending a whole weekend on one, just doing this..." he points to the beer and all the partying, "In the middle of the ocean."

You let out a small laugh.

"That's your biggest dream, isn't it?"

"And for the yacht to be mine, obviously," he says excitedly, turning his gaze back to the dock where they all are, "If I used to see them from afar and feel envious, now it's torture to have them so close."

You look to where he sees and he has a very good point. They could live perfectly well on one of those yachts and there would be no problem, which is also one of your dreams.

"Oh, come on Sam," you give him a friendly smack, looking at him again and you notice the gleam of longing in his eyes, "Surely your charm can make a girl from Crown's fall in love with you and let you enjoy the amazing yachts."

He looks at you incredulously.

"A Crown's girl with someone like me? Are you kidding?"

"It's not impossible," you shrug.

"Oh yeah, here at Sunset's everything is impossible if you don't live on this side of town."

And that's another good point and very true.

Daniel joins you and Sam's little group and you stop paying attention the moment you turn your gaze back towards the yachts and them specifically.

This time you focus on the Targaryen's, Helaena, Aegon and Aemond.

Surprisingly, despite being in the top tier of the wealthiest and most powerful family in the entire city and country, compared to the Lannister's, Baratheon's, Tyrell's, Arryn's, Stark's and Greyjoy's, they are not so smug, superficial and arrogant.

Although, come to think of it, the only exception is Aegon.

The eldest of the brothers, he is characteristic of his carefree and arrogant attitude. His life is summed up in parties, girls and excesses. Everyone knows him, he is the soul of the party and drives all the girls crazy.

For him, life is a game where he always wins. Sometimes he seems like the typical privileged son who has never had to strive for anything, but his power lies precisely in that.

Then there is Helaena, the only sister among the Targaryens who has a pleasant and gentle presence.

Although she is rich, the richest of them all and extremely beautiful, she doesn't abuse it, she doesn't show it off, she's not shallow or arrogant, besides she's always looking out for her siblings.

She is the kind of person who doesn't need to shout to be noticed and with just a quiet smile, she earns the respect and admiration of those around her.

You know a little about her as Chase has a little now not so secret crush on her and honestly you don't blame him, she is absolutely beautiful and even kind, which is rare due to her provenance.

And finally there's Aemond, who of all them, he's always been... different.

Where Aegon is shameless and carefree, Aemond is calculating and serious. Always impeccably dressed, with an expression that doesn't say much and keeps him at a safe distance from most.

From what you've heard, he's extremely intelligent, he's also reserved and quiet, the complete opposite of Aegon.

There is also a rumor about him about his left eye, something about an accident as a child and where he apparently wears a prosthetic.

You don't really know much about it or him but he's always been intriguing and mysterious, in a way.

You focus on him specifically, watching him from a distance, curious, as he takes a seat on the deck with an expression you can't read as it doesn't tell you much.

You watch as his short silver hair moves slightly in the wind and breeze, as well as he watches everything around him intently, to again focus on his siblings and Floris.

Floris is his girlfriend, apparently they have been dating for a few months now and have given a lot to talk about since no one expected Aemond to even date anyone.

But there they are.

You watch as Floris approaches him and takes a seat on his lap, looking radiant in a tight dress and a huge smile on her face, but he, on the other hand, remains expressionless.

Floris murmurs something in his ear, to which he responds with a slight smile, but averts his gaze to the horizon. However, she gently takes him by the jaw and leaves a soft kiss on his lips.

They begin to kiss and you look away, trying to refocus on the party and enjoying yourself here with your friends.

However, being here with all these wealthy people, especially the Targaryen's, you can't help but feel that divide about the rich and the poor at Sunset's.

You feel like you live in two different worlds, where they, the rich, live a life completely oblivious to the concerns of the people on the other side of town, in Crown's.

While you and the others work in the restaurants, clean their yachts, boats, houses and make sure their lives are comfortable.

They float above it all, the Targaryen's, Lannister's, Stark's, Baratheon's and so on, attending parties and making decisions that only benefit their own.

But you, the poor, the ones who live in Black Waters have nothing, you don't have the money, the influence or the power. Even the name of your side of town is a mockery to them, the rich, in despising even more the poor who don't have what they have.

But that's the life in Sunset's Bay.

[amaiwrites]

ITS JUST A KISS

Monoma… is broke. That is, until, he starts working part time in Recovery Girl’s office by copying her quirk. It’s all going well until a certain someone shows up with injuries that need to be healed…

inspired by this post! monoma x fem!reader, fluff <3

word count: 1.6k (!!!)

“Kirishima, Y/n— you’re up next.” 

Y/n takes in a deep breath before she steps onto the platform. Today’s class is combat practice, and students were put in pairs assigned by Mr. Aizawa. Y/n’s up against Kirishima— and he’s great! But that’s the problem. He’ll definitely be a tough opponent. 

“Whoever gets the other to step off the platform first— or to surrender, will win.” 

Kirishima gives Y/n a determined grin as he hardens his arm, and Y/n returns the favor as she powers up her own quirk. 

“And… fight!” 

Kirishima throws a punch, Y/n dodges. Y/n kicks Kirishima’s leg. Kirishima gets a hit in on Y/n’s side, then Y/n punches him right in the chest. It goes on like this, each of them landing hits one after the other. Everyone is watching the fight closely, excited to see who will win in the end. Then, a loud noise is heard, causing Y/n to turn her head. 

“I am here!” All Might exclaims, and Y/n gets a tiny bit distracted from her fight because, hello, it’s All Might! 

Wait, focus— fangirl about All Might later! She looks back over to Kirishima, and his hand flies right out to her face. She stumbles backward, and falls onto the green grass next to the platform. Right out of bounds. 

“Kirishima wins this round.” Aizawa says, “Y/n, are you okay?” 

“Yeah…” Y/n didn’t hit her head on the ground or anything, but she puts her hand on her forehead and sees that it has some blood on it. 

“Ah, shit. Sorry Y/n! I didn’t mean to hit your head like that, it wasn’t very manly of me.” Kirishima offers his hand out and helps Y/n stand up. 

“That’s okay,” she smiles, “nothing Recovery Girl can’t fix later. Good fight!” 

The cut on her head wasn’t bad enough to cause great concern, but Aizawa sent Y/n down to Recovery Girl’s office anyways. 

Dang, I really wanted to see Momo go up against Uraraka, Y/n thinks as she knocks on the door to the nurses office. 

“Come on in.” A voice— definitely not Recovery Girl’s voice, says. Y/n cautiously opens the door, only for her eyes to meet—

“Monoma?!” 

“Y/n? How delightful to see you here!” Monoma welcomes her inside, warm smile on his face, but Y/n is still skeptical. 

She crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?” 

“Recovery Girl was kind enough to let me work part time in the nurses office.” Monoma smirks, “The best part about it is that I get to see how many of you 1-A idiots end up in here injured! Not nearly as many Class B students get hurt like—“ 

“Now, now, calm down Monoma. You’re supposed to be helping.” Recovery girl says, and Y/n tries her best not to laugh. “Heal her cut for me, will you dear?” 

Monoma’s smug demeanor seems to fall, his eyes going wide as his head turns to Recovery Girl. “Heal her? But— it’s just a small cut!” 

“Wait, how would he heal me?” Y/n cuts in. 

“Well, as you know, Monoma here can copy quirks,” Recovery girl explains, “I’ve had him copy my quirk so he could heal non-emergency people. This way I can go be right on the scene of classes like yours, where bad injuries are prone to happen.” 

…Interesting. Besides his quirk, Monoma is the least suitable student to be helping out like this. From what Y/n has seen, Monoma only likes to help his classmates, and definitely notClass 1-A. 

“Speaking of, I’m off to find your class now. They’re outside on the platform left of the main building, yes?” 

Y/n nods. “Take good care of our patients, Monoma!” The door closes behind Recovery Girl as she leaves the nurses office.

And now it was just the two of them. 

Monoma sighs. “Sit.” He says, pointing towards one of the doctor’s beds in the room. 

He always has so much attitude, Y/n thinks, but she sits where he told her to anyways. She would leave, but it’s probably not the best idea to leave her cut unattended. 

Stupid Monoma. His ‘I’m-better-than-you’ attitude and that smug smirk that’s always on his face is so… ugh. If he was less of an asshole, he’d be cute. 

Wait, what am I even saying??

Monoma isn’t cute. He’s not. Y/n hasn’t thought that, not even for a second—

“Damn girl, this cut’s worse than I thought.” Y/n almost jumps at the sound of Monoma’s voice next to her. He stands in front of Y/n, placing various medical items down next to her. When he’s done with that, he frowns. “Who did this to you?” 

Y/n studies Monoma’s expression. Usually he’d be teasing her, saying that with his idiotic smirk on his face. Call her crazy, but he almost looks… worried? Weird. 

“Kirishima,” She answers, “it was an accident though! I got distracted and his hand slipped.” 

Monoma grunts in— understanding? Disapproval? Y/n doesn’t know. 

“Idiot.” Monoma mutters, and Y/n’s not sure if he’s talking about her or Kirishima. His hand taps Y/n’s thighs. “Spread out your legs.”

She gives him a suspicious look. “My cut’s on my head, dummy.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” He pushes her legs apart himself, and then he stands between them. “See? Now I can get to your cut easier. Dummy.” 

Monoma takes a wet cloth and starts to clean around the cut and he— well, he smells nice. That might seem like a random thing to say, but he is right up in Y/n’s face right now, which is being flooded with the smell of subtle cologne. He just smells nice. 

Y/n usually keeps her distance from this guy, but he isn’t that bad up close. The Monoma that Y/n sees right now isn’t the obnoxious little shit that’s always talking trash about 1-A, but a concerned… classmate? Friend? 

And, Y/n has to admit to herself, maybe he’s a little cute. Just a little bit. It’s totally the blue eyes— or the hair. Or the voice— Okay, not gonna think about that anymore. 

Monoma puts the cloth down, his eyes meeting Y/n’s. “I’m gonna kiss you.” 

“What?!” Y/n exclaims, her face quickly turning pink. Where the hell did that come from? Monoma just laughs. He gently takes Y/n’s face in his hands and kisses her forehead. 

Wait. Copying Recovery Girl’s quirk… he was just kissing me to heal my cut, that makes sense! Y/n hadn’t realized that until now. 

His quirk must’ve malfunctioned somehow, though, because that kiss didn’t make Y/n feel better. It made her heart start beating really fast, and— is it hot in here? Because Y/n definitely feels hot. 

Oh. 

Monoma’s smirk appears back on his face. “Y/n, are you blushing? Aww! Want me to kiss you again?” 

“Shut up!” Y/n’s eyes go to anywhere in the room, just not on him. Shit, she can’t like Monoma! The guy that, like, all of your friends hate? That hates you? Well, isn’t that just great. 

Monoma’s still standing where he has been, right in Y/n’s space. It’s not helping. She finally decides to look back at him, because he probably should have moved away by now. He really should, before Y/n does something that she’d regret. 

“Oh,” He says simply, taking Y/n’s left hand in his. “You’re bleeding here too.” He wipes the blood off of Y/n’s hand with a cloth, then presses his mouth to her palm. Another kiss, yet there wasn’t even a cut on her hand. That was just blood from her forehead. 

“Um… there’s no cut on my hand.” Y/n points out, and Monoma just nods. 

“Great observation, Y/n,” He teases, “I’m aware of that. I just wanted to see if your face could get any redder.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get me to blush.” She says, despite her now red face. 

“Alright then,” Monoma starts, leaning in just a little bit closer. “guess I’ll have to keep trying then.”

“I…” Before Y/n can stop herself, she glances down at Monoma’s lips. I’m about to do something stupid, aren’t I? “Y-“

“Y/n! Are you in there?” Ochako knocks on the door, startling both Y/n and Monoma. Y/n quickly stands up as she walks into the room. “…Monoma? What are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Ochako! Who won your match?” Y/n asks, partly to take the attention off of her but mostly because she’s curious. 

Ochako grins and puts her hands on her hips. “Me! Momo was quite the tough opponent though, I just barely won…” She shrugs. “Speaking of class, Aizawa sent me to find you. We should hurry back, Deku and Bakugo are up next!”

If you know Izuku and Bakugo, you know that this fight is going to be intense. It’ll definitely be entertaining to watch too, which is why Ochako grabs Y/n’s hand and starts to lead them back to class. 

Y/n tries to look over her shoulder at Monoma, but Ochako closed the door on their way out. 

“Hey, what was Monoma doing in there?” Ochako asks. 

Almost kissing me, Y/n thinks, but she probably shouldn’t say that. “He’s… working for Recovery Girl. Copied her quirk and stuff.”

“Whatt? I never would’ve imagined him as a nurse, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to help others like that…” 

Y/n nods in agreement. He didn’t seem like her type either, yet here he was making her all flustered. 

Seriously, out of all people, Neito Monoma?

You’re an idiot, Y/n. 

should I make a part 2? 🤭

[leiandroid]

yakuza au

ok fam this au is now separated from my previous inohina yakuza/bratva au. had to fly the girls back to japan and they got a whole new backstory ! big wall of text incoming ↓↓↓

-- uchiha clan

a clan that was once powerful but was slowly eating itself from the inside. rife with internal conflict and distrust, key figures sought to strengthen the clan and each had an idea of how to bring about that change, though no two could come to an agreement on a single method. tensions amongst the ranks began to fracture the uchiha.

taking advantage of the power struggle, madara, with the hopes of seizing total control, ignites a spark that quickly turns into a bloodbath. many low level thugs employed by the uchiha flee the compound as each key figure and their loyal followers battle it out until so few are left standing it could barely be called a clan anymore.

the power vacuum left behind by the dissolution of the uchiha has created an extremely volatile environment in the crime world as different yakuza families seek to claim the uchiha’s previously held operations and territory.

-- hebi

sick of the endless politics and weakening bonds amongst the clan, sasuke left to forge his own path. as punishment for leaving the clan itachi takes his eye.

he had never expected that the power struggles within the uchiha would lead to a massacre. so when he heard about the bloodbath occurring inside the uchiha compound, he rushed home to save his parents from a grim fate. but was too late when he witnessed itachi kill them by his own blade.

sasuke quickly enacted revenge by killing itachi and when the dust settled and madara emerged as victor, sasuke turned his blade on him too and snuffed out the flame of the uchiha forever.

karin is an ex-cop that was the uchiha's informant within the police. she brokers deals and negotiations on behalf of sasuke. she is his mouthpiece, so to speak.

sasuke is also seeking two who were once allies/friends. suigetsu who had always dreamed to join the seven swordsmen's guild, and juugo a talented and brutal fighter who dominates the underground fighting scene.

together he hopes to form a small mercenary group for hire.

-- inoshikacho alliance / inoshikacho rengo

one of the first yakuza family alliances ever made going back generations. inoshin yamanaka, chosuke akimichi and shikanazai nara where the first of each clan to join the families into an alliance that has since become one of the strongest and long-lasting alliances in yakuza history.

at the age of 25 each member of the alliance is to have at least two children to ensure the next generation of the inoshikacho alliance grow up together and are trained to take on the mantle for the sake of the alliance's future. this also ensures that at least 3 generations are alive at any one time (if they don't meet an early grave that is).

the yamanaka run brothels, which act as a communication and information network. every girl is hand picked by ino or by trusted subordinates and trained in the art of seduction and information gathering. the yamanaka have large underground garden operations that cultivate plants for poisons with all kinds of effects and traceability, from the quick and painless to the slow and destructive.

akimichi control entertainment districts, money laundering operations and run the largest underground fighting scene. money flowing in and out of casinos and other avenues are fully controlled by the akimichi.

the nara are drug traffickers that control market price and distribution.

-- hyuuga clan / hyuuga kai

the strongest and most notorious yakuza in all of japan. their efficiency in all that they do make them a fierce clan. when the clanhead was found dead, many other groups thought this was finally the crack in the hyuuga shield and made moves to try and see if they could challenge their authority. but the second daughter stepped into place and ordered everyone in within a certain radius of the hyuuga estate dead.

if they thought hyuuga hiashi was a ruthless leader, hanabi, in one day alone, managed to put herself up as one of the deadliest and horrifying yakuza leaders in recent history.

their efficiency in the business and economics sector, as well as having ties within governmental and political bodies, makes them a very powerful clan with many branching factions reaching far and wide across the country.

someone, somewhere, always answers to a hyuuga.

-- neji hyuuga (tian)

after hizashi failed to protect the hyuuga leader's eldest daughter, he had to pay with his life in front of his only son.

watching his father commit seppuku and then swiftly beheaded by hiashi in front of the elders and close family, stuck with neji his whole life. he made a silent vow to exact revenge on hiashi. the bitterness in his heart made living amongst the hyuuga a slow acting poison. his hate for hiashi became stronger than his love for his father and he could never look upon a picture of hizashi anymore because his face was the face of his enemy.

neji bided his time for years and years until one fateful night he murdered hiashi in cold blood and fled the hyuuga estate. he made his way towards mainland china with some aid from a contact in the chinese triads. he disappeared for many years living amongst a guild of killers and started going by the name tian.

his next order of business was to find the abducted daughter that caused the death of his father and kill her himself.

-- hinata hyuuga (makoto)

the abducted hyuuga heir, taken from the hyuuga clan at a very young age. makoto lives her life as a simple woman, adopted by an elderly couple in the countryside, unaware of who she is or where she comes from.

when a 'chinese' man that bears an uncanny resemblance to her shows up at her cottage one day, calling her a name that does not belong to her, her life is flipped on its head and she finds herself plunged into the underbelly of society.

-- chinese triads / pirates

tenten is a weapons smuggler. though she is affiliated with the chinese triads, she smuggles and trades weapons for anyone that buys them, as her true loyalty is to money.

tenten's operations are done by sea and she has control over a small fleet of boats that answer to her. other than a port owned by the triads, she has claimed a small remote island as her home and base of operations.

she was also neji's contact that helped him sail the seas to mainland china after he murdered hiashi.

-- korean mafia

kiba is an animal trafficker. he acquires exotic animals for their ivory/fur/leather as well as selling them alive to the wealthy for their collections and keeps.

he has sold exotic birds to the yamanaka for their gardens. gathered all manner of cervidae antlers from around the world for the nara's collection. has captured the most venomous snakes known to mankind for several organisations, including certain individuals of the uchiha family. has also sold a number of species of animals for tenten for her island.

he is generally in good graces with all kinds of people/groups due to his connections and ability to acquire the even the most endangered and rare species in the world.

-- suna siblings

kankuro and temari own a small medical clinic. kankuro is a general family doctor. people come to him for check-ups and simple treatments and minor operations. temari handles all the logistics, and appears as the clinic's secretary. they have 3 nurses: matsuri, yukata, mikoshi.

kankuro is also a certified surgeon and operates on all sorts of gang members in the hidden basement operation room. matsuri has been trusted to help kankuro with these operations when needed. their practice offers complete discretion and the clinic has become off-bounds for any gang violence, even if rivalling groups happen to meet each other on the premises. they enter a truce for as long as they are within a certain radius of the clinic.

the brother and sister duo are a respected, unaffiliated group, and they also use their operations to get clues on their brother's whereabouts.

gaara was kidnapped at a young age and was tortured to the point that psychosis was induced. he is held in the same place as juugo and both are used in fights that many come to pay dearly to watch and bet on.

-- police

with his parents killed and taken from his home, naruto was raised by a gang who kidnaps boys to beat and torture, and train them into savage fighters. he dreamed for a life where he could see the sun and the sea, to eat a hot bowl of ramen once again.

when a police investigation finally bore fruit, naruto was rescued from the place. he was taken in by iruka, one of the cops, and eventually followed in his footsteps. he made a promise that he would find and save the redhead that had once clung to him down in those dark cells.

tsunade is chief of police. sai is a detective. lee is a chinese detective commissioned by the chinese police to go to japan to work alongside the tokyo metropolitan police dept to follow the chinese triads operations in japan. (or is it the hosting country that commissions?? anyway) a number of jonin from naruto are also police including: kakashi, yamato, genma, anko, etc etc.

-- sakura

sakura is the head of a large hospital that was once tied up with the uchiha who used her as an in for smuggling medical supplies. she was called upon as their emergency doctor to treat key figures when needed.

upon hearing about their massacre she felt total relief that the family threatening her life were finally gone. she thought she was free from them when a certain uchiha and 2 others showed up at her door demanding treatment.

she can't say she was happy to be back in such a predicament but it seemed that this uchiha didn't have a penchant for threatening her life as his family did. and for selfish reasons, she was okay with this arrangement.

-- the aburame

a family of assassins. their efficiency and untraceable methods make them a highly coveted group of hitmen whose services are sold to the highest bidder. the aburame have close ties with the yamanaka of the inashikacho alliance as they outsource some of their poisons from the yamanaka gardens.

even though the yamanaka, akimichi, and nara families formed an alliance generations ago, this agreement between the yamanaka and aburame remains a secret from the rest of the alliance.

the aburame are a completely neutral party and the yamanaka understands this. to pay for their secrecy and treachery towards their sworn brothers, the yamanaka accept that if a hit were ordered against their own, it wouldn't affect their business with the aburame.

if u read all this many hugs and kisses mwah