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purplereina11 · 18 hours ago

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In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 8 Other Parts

Word Count: 7.5K

You knew it was coming but it didn’t hurt any less when the list dropped. You saw the names. Scanned slowly, as if your own would appear if you blinked enough times, but it didn’t.

Not selected for this England camp.

Your phone buzzes with the group chat a stream of heart emojis and for the first time in years, you don’t have a reply, because you’re not going. Not even close.

You’re at home, sat on the corner of your bed, thumb resting on your screen like it might undo the post if you hold it long enough. You’d known something was wrong weeks ago.

Your club coach hadn’t looked at you the same since the injury. Since the press focused more on your recovery than the team after a must win game the team won. The minutes dried up, then the starts, then the glances.

You kept your head down, you trained harder, you didn’t say a word, you worked to prove every day you were recovered fit and ready to go.

But now because you weren't playing for club, you’ve been benched into invisibility.

You lock your phone. Stare ahead. Try not to let it sting more than it already does, but the spiral is already happening not fast, but deep. Your body’s healthy, but your mind was slipping, because if you’re not on the pitch… who are you?

You had no idea, and the comments of your move to Germany was career suicide were all coming back and proving themselves right.

The list isn’t haunting your inbox. It’s haunting your silence.

You think about training the way the coaches don’t speak to you unless it’s procedural. The way they praise others. The way your name never leaves their mouth, unless it’s followed by 'off the pace; or 'needs to be sharper', despite in your opinion you were doing a lot of drills better than some that were getting on the bench if not starting.

You think about your body. How it’s fine now, fully fit. Working hard. You’ve done everything right. And still nothing. The frustration sits hot in your ribs. Your jaw clenches. You want to scream. You want to cry. You do neither. You just sit. And the spiral deepens.

Am I not good enough anymore?

Did the injury change how they see me?

Or did it just make it easier for them to forget me?

You rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. They burn, the ache behind your cheekbone old bruising still echoes in your face like a shadow of that night. The night you won, and bled, and mattered.

You haven’t felt like that player since.

Your phone buzzes once. You don’t check it. Then again. And again. You still don’t look.

Because it might be Georgia. Or Beth. Or Sarina, with something generic and clinical like 'Keep working hard, we’re watching.' And you’re not sure which would hurt more, their concern, or their silence.

So you lie back on your bed. Eyes on the ceiling, and let yourself feel nothing, because that’s worse than anger and right now, it’s all you’ve got.

The buzz comes again not a notification from socials, not news, not group chat noise.

Just one name.

Alexia

You stare at the screen. It’s not a meme. Not a casual thinking of you. Not a selfie she wants to know if was ok for an Instagram dump she was doing.

It’s a message that makes your chest pull tight.

You haven’t said anything about the call-up list.

You read it once. Twice.

The simplicity of it hits harder than anything else, because she knows you would have said something, because she’s read your silence perfectly.

Then, another one, quickly after:

I’m not asking if you’re okay. I know you’re not. Do you want to talk or do you want me to distract you?

You don’t answer right away. You just stare at the messages, fingers hovering over the screen, throat tight, because it’s not pity. It’s just her. Knowing the exact right way to stand next to you when everything feels like it’s slipping.

Your reply takes a minute to type, but you send it.

I don’t know what I want. I just feel like I’m disappearing.

Her typing bubble appears almost immediately.

You’re not. I see you. Even from here.

You stare at those words. Let them sink in. Let yourself feel them and for the first time all day, the spiral pauses.

The call comes less than a minute after her last message. Your screen lights up with her name and you hesitate for half a breath then answer.

“Hola,” she says gently. “Hi.” You don’t speak right away. She fills the space, soft and steady. “I’ve booked you a flight.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ve booked you a flight,” she repeats, firmer now. “To Barcelona. Two nights, maybe three. Before I leave for camp.”

You sit up slowly on the edge of the bed, one hand against your temple. “Alexia…”

“Not taking no for an answer,” she says, cutting off your protest before it starts. “No plans. No expectations. Just you, me, and my sofa.”

You exhale, heavy. “I can’t just leave Teddy—”

“He has a ticket.”

You freeze. “What?”

“I booked him a pet fare,” she says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Cabin-approved. I looked it up.”

Your lips part, silence stretching between you. “You’re serious,” you finally murmur.

“Of course I am.”

You run a hand down your face. “You didn’t even ask—”

“You wouldn’t have said yes.”

You lean forward, forehead against your knee. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately.

The line goes quiet for a second, your heart stutters, then she adds, softer now “And I’m not letting you spiral alone.”

You wipe at your eye nothing’s fallen yet, but the pressure is building. You whisper, “When?”

“Morning. 10:15. Pack comfortable things. Teddy’s allowed a blanket and treats.”

You let out a breathless, broken laugh. “Of course you looked up dog policy.”

“You needed something to hold onto,” she replies. “So I made the space.”

You swallow hard. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Her voice breaks just a little when she says, “Maybe I’m just finally showing you what not being alone looks like.”

You nod, even though she can’t see. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

⚽️

You wake to your alarm barely slept, eyes gritty, the weight of yesterday still clinging to your ribs, but something is different.

There’s movement. A tail thumping.

Teddy’s already pacing by the door, ears alert, head cocked like he knows. Like Alexia texted him the plan.

You stretch gently, wincing just a little, and mutter, “You’re too smart.”

He just wags harder. You pack slow only what you need. Soft clothes. A hoodie that smells like your flat. His lead. His travel harness. You pause once, staring at the mirror. You decide to pack a few nice outfits just incase Alexia does an impromptu lunch again.

At the airport, everything is controlled chaos.

Teddy is beside you, full of tail wags and leash tangles, drawing smiles from half the check-in staff as he tries to lick the counter agent’s sleeve.

"He's a beautiful dog,” the woman behind the desk says with a warm smile, watching you fumble with his paperwork.

You open your mouth, then close it. Smile, soft. “Yeah. He is.”

Security is a mess, Teddy insists on sniffing everything, whines none stop when his emotional support elephant plush toy had to go through the scanner and lays dramatically on the scanner floor when asked to wait but eventually, you're through.

On the plane, he lies quietly at your feet, head on your shoes, gaze flicking up at you every few minutes like he’s checking you’re still here.

You reach down, fingers brushing his fur, the plane hums, clouds roll past the window, Teddy is the best of boys and your heart picks up, because you’re almost there and she’ll be waiting.

⚽️

You stand just inside the arrivals hall, trying not to look like you’re searching, even though you are.

You’re holding Teddy’s lead in one hand, your travel bag looped over your shoulder, hoodie pulled up slightly despite the warmth of the Spanish afternoon light filtering through the glass walls.

Teddy pants beside you calm, tail swaying, already earning smiles from strangers. You don’t notice. You’re too busy scanning faces.

Your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag, heart thudding, that soft, fragile voice inside your head asking, What if she’s not here yet? What if this was too much?.

Down the corridor, behind the sea of people, moving toward you with that familiar, grounded walk, calm, steady, head high.

No hoodie this time. No low-key disguise. Just Alexia. In soft denim, white tee, hair tied back in a low twist, sunglasses pushed up into it like she forgot they were there and the moment her eyes land on you, everything else slows.

No smile yet just her gaze, fixed. Sure. Certain.

You don’t move, because you can’t, but Teddy does.

The second he sees her, he lunges forward with the full weight of 35 kilos of devotion, dragging you a step before you catch him, breathless “Teddy!”

But Alexia laughs. Full, bright, and relieved.

She drops into a crouch as she reaches you, arms open without hesitation, Teddy barrels into her, tail thumping, nose pressing into her shoulder like she’s his, too and she takes it. All of it.

Then she looks up at you from where she kneels hair half-loose now, eyes shining and says, softly “Bon Dia.”

Your breath catches “Hi,” you whisper back.

She rises slowly, one hand steadying Teddy, the other brushing against yours as she stands.

You should say something clever. Something casual. But all you manage is “You came.”

And she just smiles. “No,” she says. “You did.”

⚽️

The trunk closes with a soft thud.

Teddy’s curled in the backseat already, head resting against the window like he owns the car. His breath fogs the glass in soft huffs. He’s content. He always is.

You slide into the passenger seat just as Alexia settles behind the wheel, adjusting her sunglasses and glancing your way.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She starts the car, shifts smoothly into gear. “Hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’ll make something.”

You glance out the window. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she says. She always says it like that simple, no weight. Just truth. The first few minutes on the road pass in easy quiet.

Barcelona blurs past the windows palm trees, red-tiled rooftops, the hum of city midday. The kind of sun you forgot existed when you’d been stuck inside so long. Her music plays through the speakers mellow, not English. Soft vocals and layered guitar. You don’t know the song, but you don’t want to ask. You just want to listen.

At a red light, she glances sideways. “You didn’t pack much.”

You shrug, eyes still on the road ahead. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

She nods slowly, as if that answer is good enough. Maybe it is. “I’m glad you came,” she says, finally.

You rest your head against the window, let the cool glass anchor you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

The sun shifts on your skin as the car turns, her hand stays on the wheel, yours rests in your lap and there’s nothing else to say.

Not yet, not when being here, next to her, finally feels like the most normal thing you’ve done in weeks.

The city softens as you leave the airport zone the buildings lower, the roads narrower, every other corner bursting with flowering trees and motorbikes tucked in at angles only locals understand.

Alexia slows at a small plaza. There’s a corner shop old, sun-faded signage, a line of crates outside stacked with oranges and glossy tomatoes. “I’m stopping here,” she says.

You glance sideways. “Need something?”

She eases the car to the curb, cuts the engine. “You’ll want snacks later. I’m not risking you staring at me in hunger like I’m your next meal.”

You huff a tired laugh. “No faith.”

She unclips her seatbelt but doesn’t move right away. “I’ll be two minutes. You good?”

You nod. “Teddy’ll protect me.”

Her mouth curves, amused. “He’ll sell you out for a breadstick.”

You lean your head back as she steps out. The door closes gently, and through the window, you watch her walking in that quiet, purposeful way she always does. Not hurrying, not hiding.

Inside the shop, she grabs a basket, you can see her from the car, not watching you. Just knowing you’re there.

You glance at the backseat Teddy asleep, one paw twitching like he’s chasing something in his dreams. The car smells like warm air, her cologne, a bit of dog fur.

You sink into your seat, let yourself breathe. A few minutes later, she returns. One small bag. Two bottles of something fizzy. A box of those pretzels you always get when you travel.

She gets back in, hands you the bag wordlessly. You peek in, your favourite chocolate is there too.

You look at her, “You remembered?”

She doesn’t answer, just starts the car again and says softly, “I never forgot.”

⚽️

The car crunches up the short gravel drive, your legs are stiff Teddy’s tail is already thumping, his nose pressed against the window as if he can’t wait to get out and explore.

Alexia hops out first, moving fluidly. She’s already pushing open the door as you round the car, unclipping Teddy’s harness before you even reach the door.

“Wait, wait—” you mutter, but it’s too late.

She opens the front door and Teddy is gone. A streak of gold. His paws thunder across the smooth tile, nails clicking like a percussion line as he slides around the corner and out through the wide living space, paws thundering on the tile like a small horse who’s just discovered freedom.

“Wait— Teddy—” you half-yell, already regretting unclipping his lead too early, but he’s gone.

“Jesús,” Alexia laughs, stepping in behind you. “He’s been here two minutes.”

Teddy’s zooming around through the hall, into the open-plan living room, and straight for the glass bi-folding doors Alexia’s just finished sliding open to the backyard.

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look back. “TED—”

He launches. Golden limbs splayed. Tongue out and then SPLASH. Water erupts from the pool like he just landed a cannonball in a silent library. Your stomach drops. Face flushes hot. You blink hard, hands rising like you might somehow rewind time.

“Oh my god, I’m— Alexia, I’m so—” She just laughs. Not politely, not politely at your expense. It’s real. Full. Bright.

“¿Pero qué…?” she manages through her laughter, hand to her chest as she watches him resurface and immediately start paddling laps with the grace of a floating rug.

You’re frozen, halfway into her house, shoes still on, mouth open in mortification. “I swear he’s not usually like this. He’s— he’s never jumped in a pool before. He’s not even— he’s not allowed on furniture when we go to peoples houses he knows that, I don’t— I’m so sorry—”

Alexia holds up a hand, eyes still on Teddy, who is now trying to climb out the shallow end and failing gloriously. “You think this is the worst thing that’s happened in this house?” she says, grinning. You blink. She nods toward the soaked paw prints already tracking along the tile. “He’s fine. The pool’s fine. The floor’s waterproof. Breathe.”

You exhale shakily, rubbing a hand over your face. “He does this now?” you mumble.

“I like that he feels comfortable.”

You glance at her the way she’s still smiling, watching Teddy with something closer to fondness than frustration. “You’re… weirdly chill about this.”

She shrugs. “You came here. You brought him. He likes the pool who wouldn’t”

You shake your head. “You’re too calm. I’m panicking.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s cute.” You groan, half-turning away. She walks past you, grabbing a towel off the laundry rack near the garden door. “Come on. Let’s get your idiot son out of the pool before he drinks it dry.”

You’re still red in the face when she hands you the towel, but her hand brushes yours, steady, warm and when your eyes meet, the embarrassment softens.

Because somehow she’s not laughing at you, she’s welcoming all of it. Even the soggy, soaking, zoom-prone parts.

⚽️

She didn’t make it a thing, just started chopping. Tomatoes. A bit of fresh bread. Cheese. Olive oil. Nothing complicated but it smells like someone meant it.

You hover near the edge of the kitchen, Teddy’s passed out across the tiled floor, tongue out, legs twitching. You don’t speak for a while, neither does she. The quiet isn’t awkward.

Finally, you push your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and ask, “Did you know I wasn’t called up before I said it?”

Alexia doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

You nod slowly. “Thought so.”

“I saw the list. Checked it twice.”

“Right.”

She finishes arranging the food on two small plates, then sets them gently on the island before finally looking at you. “I waited to see if you’d tell me.”

You nod again, “I didn’t know how. Saying it out loud makes it feel real.. yanno?”

She moves around the counter and sits on one of the stools, keeping the other one beside her empty. Not pushing. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to,” she says.

You swallow. “I wasn’t picked. Not even a standby.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve been benched at club. Barely starting. I don’t think I’ve even had a full match since the injury. Not one.” She nods. “It’s like…” you exhale, leaning your hip against the counter, “I’m healthy. I’m trying. I’m still me. But nobody’s looking.”

Her voice is soft. Steady. “I am.”

You blink down at the wood grain of the countertop. “I don’t even know why it’s hitting me this hard. I’ve had setbacks before. I’ve been dropped. It’s part of the job.”

Alexia watches you. Quiet. Hands resting lightly on the rim of her plate.

“But this time,” you continue, “it feels like I got hurt and they were… relieved. Like it was the excuse they were waiting for to justify not playing me.”

Alexia nods once. Then finally speaks, “I’ve felt that too.”

You look at her sharply, surprised.

“I know what it’s like to be the golden one until you’re not useful. Until your body doesn’t move the way they need it to. Until they stop calling. Stop asking.”

You sit slowly, not saying a word. She presses her thumb to the edge of her plate.

“But you know what matters?”

You meet her eyes. She smiles, just a little.

“That you’re still trying. That you showed up everyday anyway”

Your throat catches. You don’t speak and then, like it’s nothing at all, she nudges your plate toward you.

“Now eat something. You can spiral again after lunch.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, pick up a slice of tomato, still quiet, but steadier. Not fixed. But held.

You take a bite, not because you’re hungry, because she asked, because she listened. It tastes better than you expected. Tomato sweet. Cheese soft. Bread with a crisp edge. All so ordinary. And maybe that’s why it makes you feel like crying.

She watches you gently. Not pressing. Just present. You chew slowly, eyes down. Then, without looking at her “Did you ever think you wouldn’t come back?”

A breath, “Yes.”

You look up. She nods, no hesitation.

“After the surgery,” she says, voice steady, “I couldn’t imagine myself moving the same. Playing the same. Being the same.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, leaning into it, “What did you do with that?”

“I let it break me. Quietly.” Her voice doesn’t waver. “Then I got bored of being broken. And remembered how much i love playing football and i wasn’t about to give up on it so easily”

You blink.

She half-smiles. “So I let myself change instead.”

You sit with that. Let it land and then your voice comes low. “I’m scared it’s not a phase.” She nods. Doesn’t interrupt. “That this isn’t temporary. That the version of me I keep waiting to feel again… just isn’t coming back.”

You meet her eyes, finally and she gets it. Not with a pep talk. Not with stats or promises, just with her gaze. “Maybe you don’t need her back.”

You freeze. “What?”

She says it again, slower. “Maybe you don’t need the old version. Maybe this one now, hurting, rebuilding, here is the version who gets to decide who she becomes.”

You don’t know what to say. Not right away, but your chest eases just slightly and after a pause, you whisper, “I want to believe that.”

Alexia tilts her head, watching you with such soft certainty it burns. “I already do.” The silence after that isn’t heavy, itholds you both, then she nudges your plate again.

“Finish that. You need fuel for reinvention.”

You smirk faintly. “You sound like a self-help podcast.”

She grins. “I’m bilingual.”

And just like that the weight doesn’t vanish but it shifts.

⚽️

The sun’s slanting warm across the tiled floor when Alexia tugs her training top over her head. Hair pulled into a braid, she moves around the house with the quiet focus of someone who’s done this a thousand times but she still glances over at you twice in five minutes.

You’re leaning against the doorframe with Teddy at your feet watching curiously, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves shoved up.

“You sure you’re okay with Alba picking you up again?” she asks, slipping her watch onto her wrist.

You nod. “I liked her. She didn’t make me feel like a guest.”

Alexia looks up at that and smiles, just a little. “You’re not.” A moment later, the gate buzzer sounds. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You follow her down the short path to the front door Teddy trots beside you like he belongs here and maybe he does.

Alexia opens the door and there she is Alba, leaning against her car, sunglasses on, already waving when she sees you.

She beams when you come down the steps. “Hola! Look at you, and look at this guy,” she adds, crouching immediately to give Teddy a proper greeting, which he accepts like she’s his long-lost best friend.

Alexia watches the reunion for a second before turning back to you, “You good?” You nod, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Text me when you get there,” she says.

“I will.”

She leans in, no hesitation, and kisses you once, quick and warm, just a little longer than necessary and then she’s jogging toward her car uncharacteristically late for her own game, braid swinging, focused now.

You slide into Alba’s passenger seat, after taking Teddy back inside and giving him a treat to distract him.

As you pull away, Alba glances over, her voice light. “You’re not nervous this time.”

You shrug, watching the road ahead. “No,” you say softly. “We've done this before, I'm not nervous”

She smiles. “Good.”

The city slips past the windows in shades of soft yellow and sun-dusted stone. Warm air filters through the cracked window, Alba drives with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses still perched high, her elbow resting against the edge of the window.

Music plays low Spanish indie-pop you don’t know, but don’t mind. She glances over once you’re clear of the tighter city roads, “You’ve been quieter than last time.”

You huff a faint laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“No. Just different.”

You nod slowly, watching a couple cross a narrow street holding cones of ice cream. “I guess I feel different,” you admit.

She doesn’t respond right away. Just lets it hang for a few blocks. You like that about her the patience. Then, softly, “Alexia said you weren’t called up.”

You glance at her not sharply, but it still surprises you. “She told you?”

“She didn’t need to,” Alba says. “I’ve known her long enough to know when she’s holding someone a little closer than usual.” You look back to the window. Alba adds gently, “And I’ve seen her try to hold herself together after an injury. She wasn’t okay then, either.” You swallow. The words settle deep. “You don’t have to say anything,” she continues. “But I figured I’d say I see it too, your quite obviously sad, but if you want to off load, you can to me to”

You nod. Quiet. A bit glassy-eyed now. “Thanks,” you say after a second. “I’m not great at talking about stuff.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” She smiles. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance over at her again, and this time, your smile breaks through. “So, what, are you the secret emotional support sibling?”

Alba grins. “God, no. That would require emotional growth.” You both laugh. “I just care about people who care about my sister.”

You sit back, letting it hold you.

Alba chuckles. “You’re going to be alright, you know.”

You nod because you know it was just a set back and you had heard and witnessed people come back from a lot worse than a coach who didn't particularly like them.

The car eases into the reserved lot, and Alba navigates the back entrance, there’s a warmth in the familiarity not VIP treatment, not arrogance, just belonging.

Alba nudges your elbow, “Come on, star guest. You’ve got a front-row view and zero excuses.”

She leads you through the short hallways, the buzz of the stadium starting to build just outside crowd noise like the sea. Distant but growing.

The players' families and friends section is fuller than last time you were here, you settle in beside Alba until she nudges you again, subtle this time, tilting her head toward the pair approaching from the left aisle.

Lucía, graceful, sharp eyes and warm smile waves gently as she walks up, her son in tow.

“Hola,” she greets, reaching for a hug Alba returns easily. Then she turns to you.

“I’m Lucía. I’ve heard… a little about you.”

There’s a playful tone in her voice. Enough to make you blush. Enough to make you laugh too. “Hopefully the good parts,” you say.

“Oh no, just the dramatic parts,” she teases.

Then Mateo maybe three, maybe four peeks around her side, wide-eyed and shy at first.

You crouch slightly, resting your hands on your knees. “Hey, bud,” you say. “I like your boots.” They’re bright green, one lace already untied.

He squints at you. “Are you the football player who’s friends with Ale?”

You blink. “Yes,” you say slowly. “That’s… exactly right.”

“Good,” he says, and without another word, plops into the empty seat beside you like he’s claimed it for himself.

Lucía sighs fondly. “I guess you’ve been approved.”

You glance sideways. Mateo’s already tugging lightly at your sleeve. “She says you have a doggy” he asks, very serious.

Your lips twitch. “I do"

He suddenly looks away and points instantly at the pitch. “Thats my mami”

You follow his finger, and there she is Irene jogging across the pitch, all ready to go. You smile, soft and full, even before you realise you’re doing it. “Yeah,” you say. “Your mami makes my job a lot harder when I've played against her”

He nods, satisfied, Lucía sits beside her son, folding her hands with a glance toward the pitch.

The anthem fades. The whistle blows, and football begins. Not chaos. Not frenzy. Just the steady rhythm of the ball and the crowd and the heat of the early evening pressing into the concrete stands.

You’ve got your legs crossed, and Mateo beside you, his feet barely reaching the edge of the seat, arms crossed dramatically. Alba returns from the small concession line, slipping past Lucía with practiced ease.

She hands you a drink first something cold and fizzy then grins and produces a tiny tub of chocolate ice cream with a plastic spoon.

You lift an eyebrow. “We said no churros.”

“This isn’t churros,” she replies, smug. “It’s Ice cream.”

Mateo’s eyes are locked on the tub before it’s even fully in your hand. “I like ice cream,” he says gravely.

You glance at Lucía just a quick, discreet check. She gives you a soft nod. “One bite won’t kill him.”

Mateo immediately shuffles closer, then closer, then just leans, his shoulder bumping gently against your thigh as you peel the lid back.

You hand him the first spoonful.

He eats it with the exaggerated focus only a child can summon, one slow blink, a moment of stillness, then immediately declares, “That’s the best one.”

You smile, keeping your voice light. “Best flavour?”

“Chocolate,” he says. “Then strawberry. Then chocolate again.”

You hum thoughtfully, scooping a small bite for yourself before offering him another. “Strong list.”

He accepts the spoon, tilting his head dramatically as he eats it like a critic.

Alba leans closer from the other side. “You’re spoiling him.”

You grin without looking away from the pitch. “You bought it.”

“And you’re letting him lean on you like a puppy.”

You glance down, Mateo is half-resting against your hip now, eyes still fixed on the game.

You look at Lucía, half-apologetic, but she just smiles soft, real. “He’s comfortable with you.”

That hits you somewhere deep, because this isn’t a press conference. It’s not a stat line or a minutes report. It’s a child, trusting you. It’s this moment, so simple, earned.

You offer him another bite, and when he takes it, he sighs like he’s lived a life already. On the field, Alexia touches the ball for the first time clean, calm, confident.

Mateo points. “Auntie Ale kicked it really far”

You nod. “Yeah,” you murmur. “She’s something else.”

⚽️

The crowd has thinned. The sun’s dipped low behind the buildings, but the air’s still warm, humming with leftover energy the kind that lingers long after the final whistle.

You’re standing by Alba’s car, chatting lazily, Mateo propped on your hip. His cheek rests against your shoulder now, but his mouth is still going, hands gesturing like a proper little pundit.

“And then she kicked it so fast,” he says, wide-eyed. “Did you see that?”

“I saw,” you say with a laugh. “She does that sometimes.”

Lucía’s beside you, sipping a bottle of water, half-listening. Alba leans back against the car, sunglasses perched on her head, watching the whole thing like it’s better than any post-match analysis.

“Will you come play at my house sometime?,” Mateo adds suddenly.

You smile at him as he went a little shy, "Mr Paredes are you asking me on a play date?"

"I have super cool toys.. I promise"

"Well when you put it like that" you smile, "I'm not here for very long, maybe next time I come to barcelona?"

"Where do you live?"

"Munich"

"Munich?" Mateo's brows furrowed testing the word

"Yeah it's in Germany" You pull your phone out and show him on a map, "We're here, and I live all... the way over here"

"Wow" Mateo looks as Lucia takes a step closer, "I asked coco on a play date.. she said not now but another time"

“That’s because you were perfect,” Lucía replies, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair.

“I think she’s perfect,” Mateo announces, looking at you with all the sincerity in the world.

You blink. “Me?”

He nods seriously.

“Oh no,” Alba says, hands on her hips, turning just in time, “Irene,” she calls, spotting her and Alexia stepping out of the players exit, bags slung over their shoulders. “Your son just asked someone on a date.”

Irene lifts a brow. “¿Perdón?”

Lucía laughs, catching Irene’s eye. “He asked Y/N over for a play date” You and Irene smile politely at each other, you were not very aware you'd barely said a word to the defender and you were holding her son being invited into her home.

You glance up at movement and there Alexia is, hair damp from her post-match shower, sleeves rolled to her elbows, boots in hand. She slows when she spots you.

You don’t miss it. That little flicker in her expression, her eyes go to Mateo, then to your arms around him, then back to your face. "Did you her that Alexia? Mateo asked Y/N on a date"

It’s subtle, the shift in her jaw, the way her eyebrows pull ever so slightly together, the bite at the inside of her cheek. Jealousy, of a child. Soft. Undeniable. Ridiculous, but real.

You almost laugh but you’re too delighted, you offer her a perfectly neutral smile. Keep one arm snug around Mateo and say absolutely nothing.

Alexia recovers quickly, switching on a pleasant nod as she looks to the group and Mateo. Irene scoops Mateo from your arms, he grumbles but goes, eventually.

Alexia gives you a brief once-over. “You good?” she asks.

You nod, lips twitching. “Perfect,” you say, because you’ve seen it now and she’s never living this down.

⚽️

The house is quiet when you step through the door. Still warm with leftover sun. Teddy stretches on the cool tile as soon as he’s woken up, immediately rolling onto his back like the day hasn’t been long enough getting belly scratches from you.

Alexia walks ahead of you, keys jingling once before she tosses them into the bowl by the door. She says nothing as she slips off her shoes, sets her boots by the mat. Still cool. Still collected, nut you’ve seen it.

You’ve absolutely seen it and now that the front door clicks shut, you turn slowly, leaning your shoulder against the wall.

“Mateo asked me on a date.”

Alexia doesn’t look up right away. Just slides her fingers through her hair, tying it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. “I heard.”

You hum, watching her carefully. “Said he had super cool toys. He promised.” A pause, still no reaction. You push just a little more “Really sweet, actually. Polite. Just adorably cute.”

Alexia lifts a brow. “He’s three.”

“He’s got good instincts.”

She meets your eyes now level, unreadable. But you see it: the way her jaw ticks, just once, the faintest narrowing of her gaze. “And are you… tempted?”

You grin. “Little bit.”

That does it, she closes the distance in two slow steps. Not urgent but purposeful. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmurs.

You tilt your head. “I must be. I’m very popular lately.”

She narrows her eyes, eyes dropping to your mouth for a heartbeat too long, and then soft, sharp, teasing right back “Maybe I should’ve asked first.”

You hummed pressing your finger to your lips, "Maybe you should have, but I'm a one person kind of girl, so maybe next time" You blink. “Are you jealous of a three year old?”

“No.” Beat. “I’m jealous he got to lean on you like that.”

The words land like heat across your collarbone. You stare at her, caught just enough off guard to go quiet for a second.

Then, softly “You could’ve.”

Alexia shrugs one shoulder. “I was sweaty.”

You laugh, breathless. She grins. You move toward her now, not fast, not heavy, just there. Your hand brushing her waist as you pass her into the kitchen. She turns with you, following. You open the freezer, still smiling to yourself. “Ice cream?” you ask.

“You’re not seriously going to let him win.”

“I mean…” You glance over your shoulder. “He made a pretty good case.”

Alexia shakes her head, stepping close enough that her voice is practically in your ear. “I’ll make a better one.”

You blink. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

She places a hand on each side of your waist spinning you to face her “Both.”

You’re standing a little too close now, her in front of you, hands resting on the counters edge either side like she’s keeping you in place. Not trapping. Just… there. Present. Intentional.

She doesn’t step back. Instead, Alexia watches you carefully, her eyes darkening in the dim kitchen light cautious but certain. Waiting.

“You’re not usually this forward,” you tease softly, one finger brushing the hem of her T-shirt.

She holds your gaze, her voice low. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be.”

That hits you low and warm. You shift ever so slightly, a deliberate tilt of your head. “Then don’t.”

She exhales slowly, shaky, barely controlled and that’s all you need.

She moves first, hands finding your waist, gentle at first, then firmer. Your breath hitches again as she presses you slowly backward until your back meets the cool edge of the countertop. It grounds you, the contrast sharp against the warmth of her body.

Her mouth finds yours careful at first. Testing. Soft and slow, until you shift closer, your hand sliding into her hair, pulling her gently deeper. The kiss goes hotter, heavier, the weeks of careful tension breaking open in a heartbeat.

Her fingers slip beneath your hoodie, tracing carefully along your waist, respectful of the lingering tenderness but barely. She’s warm, sure, and somehow exactly what you need.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about doing that since the airport.”

You grin, breathless. “Not since Mateo asked me on a date?”

She groans softly, her head dropping forward onto your shoulder. “You’re really going to ruin this moment?”

“I’m improving it,” you whisper back, your thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw.

She lifts her head, eyes meeting yours with a kind of soft intensity that makes your stomach flip. “Just kiss me again.”

You smile, gentle, teasing, even as your chest tightens. “Ask nicely.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow but she’s already leaning in again, mouth brushing yours. “Please.”

And you do. Slow, deep, your body melting into hers, losing track of time, space everything except the feeling of her hands sliding along your waist, hips pressing yours into the counter.

It’s too much. And it’s perfect.

Then Teddy chooses exactly this moment to pad into the kitchen big paws clicking on the tiles, pausing to sit with an exaggerated sigh right next to you both, staring upward like he’s waiting patiently for an explanation.

Alexia breaks the kiss with a quiet laugh, leaning her forehead against yours. “He has your timing.”

You grin, lips brushing hers lightly once more. “Consider it payback”

She smiles into your mouth, stepping back just slightly, one hand still lingering at your side not daring to ask what the payback was for.

You breathe out slowly, your heartbeat eases, but the warmth lingers. Neither of you moves. Neither needs to. She hasn’t moved far just one step back, enough space to breathe but not enough to forget what just happened.

Teddy is sitting between you both now, looking from one of you to the other like he’s waiting for someone to acknowledge that he, too, is emotionally involved in all of this. You smile down at Teddy, "You're so clever Ted, you know it's time for your walk"

Alexia breaks the silence first between you both, nudging your hip lightly with hers. “Are you always this smug when you win?”

You glance over at her. “Only when I know you hated losing.”

She scoffs, but her smile betrays her. “He’s three.”

“He’s got vision.”

“He ate all your ice cream”

“And still had a better chance with me than anyone else tonight.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, steps in close again, and taps your lower lip with her thumb. “You’re getting cocky.”

You smirk. “You started it.”

She huffs a quiet laugh and presses a final kiss to your mouth slower this time. Not playful. Just certain. Her hand rests on your waist, fingers curling through your hoodie fabric. You lean into it, eyes slipping shut, letting the moment stretch.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours again. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Sit down.”

“I’m going to—”

“Let me walk Teddy.”

You blink. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she says simply.

You glance down. He’s still staring up at her like he’s been waiting for just one of you to go towards his lead by the door, “He likes you.”

She shrugs, smiling. “He has good taste.” You groan into her shoulder, and she laughs. “I’ll be fifteen minutes,” she says, already moving toward the lead. “Sit on the sofa. Be a good girl.”

You call after her, teasing, “You’re very bossy for someone who was just kissing me against a counter.”

She stops in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. “You liked it.”

You grin. “That’s the problem.”

She disappears around the corner, and Teddy follows obediently tail wagging, as if the evening hadn’t just shifted something real between you.

You’re left standing in the kitchen, breath still a little unsteady, pulse still slow and deep, but you’re smiling, because she kissed you like she meant it and walked your dog.

Alexia’s steps are slow. Not lazy. Just unhurried.

The leash hangs loose in her hand, her fingers brushing the woven thread absently as Teddy trots a half-step ahead tail swaying, head occasionally turning like he’s checking she’s still following.

She rounds a corner, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, the night air clinging warm to her skin. There's a breeze now, just enough to brush loose strands of hair across her cheek. She doesn't fix it.

“Alright,” she says aloud, glancing at the dog beside her. “So... what do we think?”

Teddy huffs, not stopping.

She chuckles, gaze drifting over shuttered windows and balconies heavy with vines. “She likes simple things. But also… she’s dramatic. Low-key dramatic, if that’s a thing.”

Teddy glances up at her like everything is a thing if you say it like that.

“Something yellow?” she wonders, tilting her head. “Or maybe white.”

They keep walking. She hasn’t meant to go this far. Not really, but her feet led her here and when she glances up again, there it is.

A little flower shop.

The bell above the door rings softly as she pushes it open.

Warm air greets her earthy and full of cut stems and something citrus-sharp. Inside, the space is narrow but layered: vases on every surface, bundles of flowers waiting to be wrapped, the faint hum of a small radio playing quietly in the corner.

Teddy pauses in the doorway, looking up like he knows this isn’t exactly his kind of place.

Alexia glances down at him. “Behave.”

The florist an older woman with silver-streaked hair in a loose bun and hands stained green at the fingertips smiles from behind the counter.

“Still open?” Alexia asks softly, motioning toward the door.

“For you? Sure,” the woman replies with a wink. “But I’ll be closing soon.”

Alexia offers a soft smile, nods her thanks, then moves slowly through the small space eyes flicking over blooms without touching them. Her fingers brush her own wrist, thumb running circles like she’s thinking too much and trying not to.

Teddy follows, nose twitching near a bucket of baby’s breath before deciding it’s not edible and sitting with a huff.

“Looking for something special?” the woman asks from behind the counter.

Alexia doesn’t answer right away.

She stops in front of a low wooden shelf lined with single stems in narrow glass jars. Her gaze lands on a cluster of pale butter-yellow ranunculus, soft and round like layered silk.

She nods slowly to herself.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “But not loud. Something… kind.”

The florist doesn’t ask more questions. She just starts pulling blooms together with quiet expertise.

Ranunculus. Small sprigs of waxflower. A few pieces of soft eucalyptus, pale green and curling at the edges. A single white freesia tucked into the middle simple, elegant, unassuming.

Alexia watches it come together, arms crossed lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching up just once.

“She’s been having a hard time,” she offers quietly.

The florist ties the stems gently, like the arrangement’s not just for decoration like it’s a message.

“She’s lucky to have someone who notices.”

Alexia doesn’t answer. She just nods, as the bouquet is wrapped in brown paper and tied with a loose ribbon, she glances down at Teddy. He thumps his tail exactly once.

“You’re making me look good,” she tells him.

He yawns dramatically, the florist hands the bouquet over with a smile that doesn’t pry.

“Here,” she says. “Take care of her.”

Alexia takes it carefully, fingers closing around the paper. “I’m trying.”

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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silens-oro · 2 days ago

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Well Enough Alone: Part IX

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V Part VI Slowly We Unfurl (companion piece) Hold on to the Thread (companion piece) But I'll Always Remember (pre-WEA companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist GirlDad!Pope Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Everything comes to a head. Word Count: 5.9k Content Warning: typical animal kingdom warnings, heavy angst, mention of miscarriage, murder, Baz & Hawk straight up beefin'. AN: Don't ask me how I wrote this entire thing today because I do not have an answer for you. Here's a lil Friday treat since you all have been so kind. Also, "treat" is used very loosely here because this one is going to hurt 🤭 please comment & reblog :)

Pope didn’t come home at all that night and Hawk didn’t wait up for him. She set an alarm before falling asleep in the vast emptiness of her bed so she could wake up with enough time to make Lena some breakfast before school, and then promptly passed out at 4:30 that morning. Pope usually handled anything early in the morning since he was up anyway, but in his on and off absence the last couple of weeks, Hawk took the reins just like she did this morning. She fell back into the routine she had with J when he was Lena’s age, and she came to the realization that she truly missed those years.

Nicky helped carry Lena out to the car for Hawk since her ribs were still giving her trouble, and Lena only cracked her eyes open for a moment when Hawk was buckling her into the backseat.

“I get to go with you and Uncle Pope tonight?” Her tiny voice mumbled out.

“Of course you do, sweetpea.” Hawk replied sweetly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this tonight. To make up for it, how about some pancakes in the morning before school? I’ll even do some with chocolate chips. Sound good?”

“With the smiley faces?”

“Absolutely. Can’t have chocolate chip pancakes without smiley faces. That’s just not right.” Hawk joked with a grin. Lena sleepily smiled back and nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she lost the uphill battle with the sandman. Hawk gently closed the door before meeting Pope at the driver's side with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Thank you for coming to get her.”

“You know me –someone calls my phone and I answer.”

“Hawk-”

“-It’s just weird how you answered J’s call, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of you all day, Pope.” Hawk was exhausted, mentally and physically and he could see it. Hawk’s eyes burned and her body ached, and that headache she tried to hold off was barreling its way forward behind her eyes every time she blinked. “Apparently you didn’t learn the last time -I’m not doing this again, Andy. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m in pain. This family is driving me up the fucking wall and I can’t worry about when you’ll turn up again when you decide to fall off the face of the fucking Earth while also worrying about Lena.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need an apology, Pope. I just need you to be present. I have no idea what the hell Baz is doing, but Lena could’ve been killed tonight for his negligence –do you understand that? And he’s bringing Lucy here after Smurf is suddenly arrested?” Hawk shook her head, looking around the trashed driveway. “Something isn’t adding up with any of this, Pope. I don’t know what Baz did to get her locked up, but you, Deran, and Craig need to be careful. He’s never been trustworthy. I know you love him like a brother, but my gut has never been wrong. I may not always listen to it, but it is never wrong. I need you to trust me on that.” He nodded, looking past her through the windshield to Lena’s sleeping figure that was slumped over in the backseat. “Smurf is a lot of things, but she isn’t stupid. We both know that. She does stupid things, but she’s calculated. She didn’t want Lucy in this family’s business for a reason.” Pope stepped forward, hesitating before pulling Hawk to him in a hug. He kissed the crown of her head and her arms draped themselves loosely around his waist. God, he needed her. Her touch, her warmth, her love. Everything about her, he would take and take and take until she refused to give.

Selfish

Selfish, his brain chanted.

“I’ll be home later, after I’m done dealing with this.” He spoke softly into her ear as he let his head fall into the crook of her neck. His lips found their home just behind her ear and he felt her breathe against him.

“Yeah.” Hawk sighed with a subtle shake of her head as she pulled away from Pope before turning to get in the driver’s seat. Pope thought back to the gun he held in his hands right before J called him, and how ready he was to end everything at that lifeguard stand on the beach. All he could think about was Cath, about the conversation he had with that detective, about the fact that she didn’t flip on them. He thought about how he was the source of Hawk’s problems as of late, whether she knew they stemmed from him or not. He ended one woman’s life that he cared about, and was actively ruining another’s that he loved.

And Lena…all of her problems, present and future, were because of a choice he made.

“Hawk,” Pope called out to her, his voice cracking as he looked at her with an infinite sadness that penetrated her heart. He cleared his throat when she held the door open, waiting for him to continue. “I love you. Both of you. Let me know when you get home, alright? So I know you’re safe.” Hawk nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Pope's behavior was off, way more off than his usual scale of what he dealt with -what she was used to. This Pope…this Pope was desolate, starved, trapped. He was drowning in a way she couldn’t recognize nor comprehend, but he refused to let her in for any kind of solace. She knew he needed it, but how can you save someone who didn’t think they deserved to breathe in the first place?

“I love you, too, Andy.” Hawk whispered. “Don’t stay out too late.”

Hawk recalled a conversation she had with Pope about kids of their own, and her chest tightened as she thought about doing all of this while pregnant. The stress alone would probably make her miscarry, and she had to bite her lip to stop from outwardly crying as she mixed the batter for the pancakes she promised Lena. The idea of bringing an infant into this dynamic -a dynamic that was only eroding by the day, made a deep rooted dread pool in the pit of her stomach because while she didn’t deserve to deal with the mess that was happening, and a baby sure as hell didn’t either.

The sound of the front door opening and closing with a click broke Hawk out of her thoughts. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she puttered around the kitchen to keep herself busy. Pope didn’t know what to say to Hawk as he approached the noise coming from the kitchen. He didn’t know what there was to say.

“Can you wake Lena up? I’m about to start some pancakes.” Hawk didn’t look at him as she turned the stove on, grabbing a pan from the drawer underneath the stove.

“J has power of attorney over Smurf’s assets.” Pope muttered as he stood out of Hawk’s way. He saw her brows scrunch together as she ladled small dollops of batter onto the griddle pan. She let them cook for a few moments, letting them start to bubble on top before she added chocolate chips in a smiley face design. “Do you know anything about that?” Pope’s tone wasn’t accusatory. He didn’t think she’d keep something like that from him, but he still had to ask.

And it still irked Hawk that he did.

“Why would I know anything about that? Why would I know anything about Smurf’s business?” She snapped at him, spatula in hand as she turned to face him.

“Baz framed her for killing Javi.” Hawk scoffed, flipping the pancakes over.

“Didn’t she?” Hawk asked sarcastically as she put the pancakes on a plate before adding more batter to the griddle. That whole situation was another mess. Hawk told Pope to let her know when it was done, and she let it rest after that. No questions, no explanations. Done was done.

“Smurf paid Javi’s own guy to do it so she wouldn’t be tied to it. Baz knew where the body was, and tied her to the scene by planting all the evidence and called it in.”

“What did I tell you? What did I tell you.” Hawk said with a shake of her head. “Were any of your brothers in on it?”

“No,” Pope sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "And neither was J."

“Can’t say I’m surprised he finally bit Smurf in the ass. The whole ‘snake eating itself’ thing -can't say it isn't jingling my jimmies. She was smart to move things over to J before Baz knew what was coming. I’m guessing it happened when you guys pulled your little coup against her because God forbid her darling boys not follow her word as scripture. I’m more surprised that Baz didn’t think he’d be punished for it. Lord knows she’s done worse to you guys for less. I’m sure Baz had a very stable reaction to that news when he found out.”

“He’s pissed, and it put a target on J’s back.” Hawk hummed in response.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I think she was right to take Baz off of the accounts. She’s not just punishing Baz -she’s punishing all of us. She knows J isn’t going to let go of anything without her saying so while she’s locked up. He wanted to sell everything and split it.”

"And you don't?"

"No. If he's lucky, she stays in there until she's dead. But Baz isn't lucky."

"No he is not." Hawk added her two cents. “Baz shouldn’t have crossed mommy dearest.” She said with a shrug. “If J signed those papers, then he’s well aware of the consequences that may pop up -and I’m sure Smurf told him as much. If he thinks he can handle doing the shit you guys do, then I can’t stop him.” Hawk plated the first set of little pancakes along with some cut strawberries for Lena. “Now can you please wake Lena up before her food gets cold?” Pope was thrown by her nonchalance, especially towards J. He watched her move around the kitchen for a moment, but did as she asked, trying to not rock the boat that was slowly taking on water once again.

A couple days had passed and Pope was still tiptoeing around Hawk. She wasn’t unwelcoming or rude, but she let him know loud and clear that she was frustrated with him. She didn’t let it show while Lena was in the room with them, but when it was just the two of them, it was abundantly clear.

Pope wanted to touch her, to hold her, to be held by her. He knew she was still having nightmares, that she wasn’t sleeping at night like she used to. He saw it on her face day in and day out that she was struggling, but she wouldn’t talk to him about it because she felt like she couldn’t talk to him about it. He was emotionally unavailable as of recent and she felt like she was adrift out at sea without so much as a goddamn paddle.

Hawk would busy herself at the shop when she wasn’t with Lena. That was the place she haunted when she would have normally been home because there was nothing there for her while Pope was MIA and Lena was with Baz or at school. Making arrangements and bouquets, re-potting houseplants and getting plants ready in the greenhouse to move up front to the storefront kept her mind and hands busy in a way she desperately craved as an escape from reality.

She’d have to catch herself on days she leaned a little too hard into being mean -not just to Pope either. This funk Hawk had been in was pushing her into a decline she was starting to see for herself and she didn’t like it for a single second, but there was only so much a person could bend before they broke. She gave, and gave, and gave, and gave, but sometimes it felt good to not give -not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.

Hawk knew she needed to speak with someone about all of this -a therapist preferably, but how could she frame the mess that was her life without giving the real context of what it was?

Pope and Hawk dropped off Lena that morning at school, then headed to Smurf’s. Hawk didn’t have a good feeling about whatever they were going to walk into with this family meeting, but Pope asked her to be there. He knew she didn’t want any involvement in the politics of the family, and she hadn’t been part of a family meeting since Pope got arrested, but he had seen first hand what was going on with Baz -that he was up to something- and he needed her there with him.

Now as she sat on the red sofa in the den next to Pope (purposefully not thinking about what she had seen happen on the cushion she occupied during that house party), his hand rested on her thigh, she would’ve rather not been involved at all. Her eyes caught J’s and she nodded to let him know that she knew. He gave a nod back, his eyes meeting Baz’s when he stepped between them.

“What’s she doing here?” Baz motioned to Nicky.

“Weird question." Hawk spoke up before J could answer. "What’s she doing here?” Hawk gestured to Lucy with an incredulous laugh, who only looked at Hawk with a smug tilt to her lips. Hawk only grew more irritable as the days passed and she had no tolerance for whatever Baz was about to pull.

“I asked her to be here.” Baz replied simply.

“Interesting.” Hawk said, keeping her eyes on Lucy.

“I invited Hawk. I’m sure J invited Nicky.” Pope shrugged as he spoke.

“I did.” J confirmed, silently thanking Pope for speaking up.

“Fine.” Baz paced the den between Hawk and J. “Smurf gave J her power of attorney, so now J controls all the properties, the investments, the bank accounts, this house, the titles to our cars, everything. Everything that we earned that she stole from us.” Hawk’s eyes glanced at Pope, but he was watching J. “She gave it to J because she doesn’t trust us-”

“-She doesn’t trust you.” J spoke up, his words clear. Hawk felt pride when he looked Baz directly in the eye as he spoke without a single stutter. Hawk didn’t miss the look Baz shot at him as he tried to continue to manipulate the situation back in his favor. He was trying to turn the brothers against J, Hawk realized.

“Didn’t trust us to keep it safe for her. She thinks it’s all hers, not ours. What do you plan on doing with it, J? Hm? Everything that we earned —sweated over, bled for— hmm? Planning on selling it, like we all wanna do?”

“Like you want to do.” J corrected Baz. Hawk could see the veins in Baz’s neck starting to bulge with every push back that J gave him, and that his brothers weren’t stepping in didn't help either. Everyone was curious to see how this was going to play out. For all of Deran and Craig's flaws, they weren’t completely stupid -Deran least of all. He could see the forest through the trees, and Hawk could see that he was miffed that Baz didn’t include any of them on this. And if Deran wasn’t on board, then neither was Craig because where one went, the other inevitably followed.

“Oh, is it just me? Am I the only one who wants to sell it?” Baz circled the room. “Pope? Deran? Craig?” Hawk couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her, as hard as she tried. Pope’s hand squeezed her thigh in warning, but the second Baz spun to confront Hawk, she placed a hand on Pope’s flexing forearm.

“Something funny?” Baz directed his irritation to Hawk.

“I mean, yeah.” Hawk outwardly chuckled this time, not holding it in. “I’m laughing because you really thought you out-manipulated the master of manipulation, Baz.” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest as she sat back, her grin never faltering because she knew it would make him unravel. “Smurf will always be five steps ahead of you because she knows you think you’re smarter than you actually are. This dog and pony show-” She motioned with her hand, “-will only get you so far when you’re not looking at the whole picture. Even I know that.” Baz’s eyes turned into slits as he glared at Hawk.

“Were you in on this with them?” Hawk shook her head, her grin fracturing the facade he put up because she knew exactly what to do to get a rise out of him and it seemed that J had picked up on it too in her absence.

“I didn’t need to be. And I also don’t need to be a goddamn genius to know that Smurf is like a roach. Unless you take her out for good, you’ll never ever get a leg up on her." She held her hands up, "But what do I know?”

“You think you’re so goddamn smart, huh?” She shrugged, leaning into Pope’s side as she crossed her legs.

“I’d say I’m smart enough to not put my bloody feet in a piranha tank, yeah, but some people just don’t learn their lesson when it comes to getting bit, do they Baz?” Pope squeezed her leg again, but he still didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to speak for her or defend her honor, they all knew that. She always held her own when she needed to when it came to the boys of this family -it was Smurf who made her shrink back down to size.

“Well you keep finding yourself back in this fucking house, Hawk, so I’d have to agree with you.” Baz spat. He was fuming and everyone in the room could see it. Hawk leaned forward, still smiling at him knowingly.

“Whether I’m inside of this house or not, my life doesn't start or end because of Smurf, Baz. You, as you've just learned, can’t say the same.” Hawk felt Pope pull her back into his side and she let him.

“Why didn’t you tell us about what you were planning to do with Smurf?” Craig broke through their bickering. Hawk was right -they were upset he didn’t include them, but it went deeper than that. If Baz was holding out on something as important as this, then he’d hold out on other things too -that's what it all came down to with them.

“I didn’t think you were strong enough to go through with it.” Baz tried to sound like he cared, that he did it for their own good, but that bit had been thrown out the window. Deran scoffed.

“Strong enough? Screw you, Baz.” He spoke up, picking at the label of the beer bottle he was holding. Hawk could see Baz’s hackles rise as he continued to get pushback from around the room when he was expecting everyone to fall in line.

“Yeah, strong enough.” Hawk couldn’t help but feel vindicated as Baz started to bicker with Deran and Craig. Her knowing look when she caught J’s eyes gave him a boost of confidence that he’d hold onto. “Little Deran running away every time mommy hurts his feelings.” Baz taunted.

“Careful, Baz. Pissing off the only people who were in your corner might not be the way out of this.” Hawk teased, enjoying the show. Lucy watched her with understanding in her eyes as she realized that Hawk had more power with this family than she initially realized. Especially if she had Pope in her corner.

“Enough.” Pope muttered into Hawk’s ear. Her hand met his and she gave the top of it a squeeze.

“And you,” Baz motioned to Craig, still going on his tirade. “Smurf looks at you sideways and you snort ten grand up your nose.”

“Where’s the rest of what I helped you steal from that storage unit?” J spoke up again, pushing Baz further into the proverbial corner. Bingo, Hawk thought with a brow raised. Her eyes darted from J to Baz, with her interest piqued.

This also got the attention of Pope, Deran, and Craig.

Baz you stupid, stupid bastard, she thought.

“It’s safe, don’t worry about it.” Baz tried to play it off, but J wasn't going to let him get away with what he was trying to do.

“But what was in those safes, huh? There were five of them.” Pope, Craig, and Deran were not aware of the other safes and that was very clear on their faces. Oh, J was good, Hawk thought.

“What, you think I’m holding out on you?” Baz scoffed, challenging J to continue. J could feel Hawk’s eyes on him, egging him to keep pushing. J was smart, Hawk already knew this, but he seemed to have picked up the manipulation tactics that Baz thought he had.

“Yeah, I do.” That accusation, especially because it was said in front of everyone, was enough to push Baz over the edge. Baz knew he had lost what little support he had in the room, and if there was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate, it was being outsmarted by a kid.

“Who the hell do you think you are, you little shit,” Baz pushed J and J stood up to confront Baz face to face.

“She didn’t trust you, but she trusted me. And was she wrong? She’s in prison because of you, Baz!” Baz scoffed, then immediately went to hit J. Hawk flew off the sofa, but was quickly wrangled by Pope wrapping his arm around her waist. Her legs were fully off the ground, kicking as he pulled her down onto his lap with a grunt, his other arm caged around hers to keep them down at her sides so she didn’t start swinging.

If Pope let Hawk loose, he knew she’d kill Baz with her bare hands.

“Keep your hands off of him!” Hawk spat at Baz while Deran and Craig got in the middle of J and Baz. “Let go of me!” She shouted back at Pope, but his muscular arms didn’t sway from their purpose.

“Calm down. Now.” He growled in Hawk’s ear. Once Baz was pulled away from J, she settled down in his hold. “Enough!” His voice broke the fight up as everyone caught their breaths. Hawk pushed her way off of Pope and went to check on J as he sat back where he was originally, shouldering Baz on her way over.

“Enough!” Pope repeated as he stood up, eyeing Baz, then landing on Hawk. He walked straight past her and out of the den shaking his head. Hawk touched the top of J’s head before following after Pope.

He stalked through the house and out the front door with Hawk trailing behind him.

“I didn’t ask you to come so you could stir the pot.” Pope fished the keys to his truck out of his pocket, pressing the unlock button as he turned to face Hawk.

“Then why did you ask me to come?” She asked, arms wide.

“Because I knew she’d be here.” Pope’s face held frustration, redness creeping up his neck and over the points of his ears. “Whatever he’s doing, she’s behind it.”

“Well yeah, anyone with two functioning eyeballs can see that much.” Pope just stared at Hawk, his jaw clenching in irritation before he just shook his head and climbed into the truck. Hawk took a deep breath before walking to the passenger side and hoisting herself up.

Hawk awoke the next morning to Pope standing in front of the bedroom slider, naked as the day he was born as he watched the ocean in the early morning hours. He turned to glance over his shoulder when he heard the rustling of the comforter, but turned back when he saw Hawk had no intention of getting out of bed just yet.

“Come back to bed,” She beckoned him, scooting over and lifting the covers so he could slide in front of her. It was an invitation he didn’t think he’d get from her, not after the way he’d acted recently. Still, she was trying. Pope sighed, and his feet were moving before he realized it. He climbed into the bed, rolling over so his back was to Hawk. She wrapped her arm over his torso and his hand grabbed hers. He loved to be held, and she loved to hold him. This was comfort. Their legs tangled together and Hawk laid tender kisses on his neck and shoulder, connecting each freckle together as she went.

“We’re both struggling right now, but we’ll work through it. We always do.” Poe’s eyes clenched shut as Hawk spoke. He bit his lip to stop any sound from coming out as she continued to kiss his bare skin. God, Hawk didn’t know how wrong she was.

The buzzing of Pope’s phone from his bedside table woke the couple up later that morning. They had rotators over to Pope’s side at some point in the morning and Pope was now spooning Hawk. She groaned as he reached over her to pick up the phone, pushing her face into his pillow so she could get a few more minutes of sleep. She could hear the automated call of an inmate that she was all too familiar with and assumed it was Smurf calling.

Hawk felt Pope tense behind her, his words mumbled as he spoke. He ended the call without a goodbye and got out of bed in a hurry.

“What happened?” He went into the closet and threw clothes on. Hawk hopped out of bed, throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of discarded shorts -forgoing a bra or underwear so she didn’t lose track of him as he moved from room to room. “Andy!” All Pope could do was try to get himself out of this house and away from Hawk.

Baz knows, Pope. His entire world was about to crash around him after he heard those three words from Smurf, and he wanted to be as far away from Hawk and this house as he could be so he didn’t leave the mental scars behind that he knew would result in what was about to happen.

“What the hell is going on with you lately?” Pope ignored Hawk’s question, sidestepping her to go back into their bedroom. She followed closely behind him as he went into the closet again, rifling through a duffle bag that he kept on the top shelf in the back of the closet, before he pulled out a pistol. “What the fuck is that and why is it in my house, Andrew?!” Hawk pulled Pope’s shoulder, twisting him around to look at her. His eyes were freaked out, scared, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.

“Don’t do that.” Hawk shook her head. “You promised me you’d talk to me when something happened! What did Smurf say to you?” Pope swallowed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he got any words out.

“This isn’t something I can talk to you about.” Pope ground out, pushing past Hawk to exit the bedroom. “I need you to trust me on this.”

“All I do is trust you, Andy!” She followed once more, jogging to catch up with him. “If something’s wrong, I need to know!”

“You don’t get it! You will never speak to me again, Hawk. You’ll never look at me again. You’ll never touch me again.” He pushed his feet into his boots, tying the laces quickly, before he grabbed the keys to his truck. He tried to shut the front door between them, but Hawk’s reach was quicker. She ran out of the house barefoot to stop him from leaving.

“Andrew!” He shook his head when Hawk threw herself between him and the door to the truck. “Stop!” She screamed as she put her hands up to his chest, pushing him away from the pickup. His sunglasses were forgotten inside and Hawk saw the absolute anguish and agony that stormed within his eyes as he looked down at her, mouth trembling as he barely held himself together. Her hands cupped his face sternly, not letting him escape without having to physically pry her off.

“I’ve done something.” His chest was heaving and Hawk could see his foundation crumbling before her. “I’ve done something so unforgivable that I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you. And now I’m facing the consequences of it -as I should.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“You were always better off without me. Always. I wanted you so bad, Hawk, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but I didn’t want to ruin you. You have to understand that.” His voice was thick with unshed tears and raw emotion that he had been holding back for god knows how long.

“That’s not true. You’re not ruining me-” Hawk reassured him, her voice shaking as she pulled his forehead down to hers. She felt him tremble, losing control of himself in her grasp.

“It is true!” He shouted through clenched teeth. Hawk flinched, but didn’t retreat from him. “Everything I touch turns to poison, Hawk. Everything. You’re not an exception because I was born bad and will always be bad.”

“Stop!” Her eyes looked into his as he tried to pull himself away, but her grasp on him was unrelenting. Her nails left little crescent shapes in his cheek and he only pushed himself further into them because he needed the physical pain to keep him present. “Look at me! You need to tell me what the fuck is happening, Andy. What did you do?” He shook his head, eyes clenched shut.

“I have no right to ask you for anything, Hawk, but if something happens to me-”

“-Andy-”

“-if something happens to me,” He spoke louder, “-will you look after Lena?” His breathing was labored and Hawk feared he was going to pass out if he kept this up.

“Pope-”

“Please!” He shouted again, eyes shifting manically. “Please, I need to hear you say it, Hawk. Will you look after her if something happens to me? We’re all she has…”

“Of-of course I will. You know I will. What is going to happen to you?!” The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway broke Pope and Hawk apart. Pope physically shoved her towards the front door, her feet stumbling over each other from the force of it. Hawk looked at Pope like he struck her. Pope never put his hands on her like that and Hawk was almost about to fight back when he turned to her.

“Go inside now!” Pope demanded. “No matter what you hear out here, you don’t open the door, do you understand me?” He was scared, for her or himself she couldn’t tell, but his eyes begged her to not argue and to just listen. “I love you.” His voice cracked. “I’ve always loved you, Hawk. Always.”

“Andy-”

“Get inside. Now.” His voice boomed just as Baz hastily parked his Jeep and jumped out, leaving the door wide open with his sights on Pope, gun pulled out and pointed at him. “Now, Hawk!” Hawk felt like she was going to throw up. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, but she didn’t know what they were telling her to do. Pope turned his back to Hawk, facing Baz head on.

“Go inside, Hawk!” Baz yelled at her, his dark eyes were clouded with anger and destruction. His gun was at the ready with the intent to kill and Hawk stupidly took slow steps back down the walkway towards Baz and Pope.

“Baz, put it down.” Her voice shook as she held a hand out.

“Did you know?” Baz yelled at her, his eyes narrowed, but never taken off of Pope.

“She doesn’t know.” Pope whispered, shaking his head. “Go inside, Hawk, please.” He begged, looking over his shoulder desperately. Hawk saw the shine of tears that lined his cheek, the red of his bloodshot eye that was visible to her, the way his jaw trembled. “We’ll do this, but not in front of her, Baz. Please.”

“Put the gun down, Baz!” Hawk begged, trying to diffuse the situation.

“He killed Cathy, Hawk.” It felt like the air was knocked out of Hawk. Her jaw fell as she looked between Baz and Pope. Her brain and her heart denied what Baz was saying, but with every second that passed that Pope didn’t deny the accusation, her eyes settled on Pope’s back in horror.

“She didn’t suffer.” Hawk collapsed onto the raised stone barrier that lined her walkway when Pope spoke. She knew Cath was dead, in her heart of hearts she knew she was, but Hawk didn’t think it was because of Pope. She wouldn’t put it past Smurf, but Pope? Her Pope? “We thought she was…talking to the cops.” He explained weakly.

No, no, no, no, Hawk’s ears rang. No, no, no, no-

This man who she knew her whole life, who she let into her home, into her heart and her life -who she would’ve defended to the death in a heartbeat- had betrayed her.

He betrayed Catherine.

He betrayed Baz.

He betrayed Lena.

The pieces of this fucked up puzzle were starting to fall into place as memory after memory punched its way to the forefront of Hawk’s mind. From Pope’s disappearances early on, to pushing her away, to his sudden attachment to Lena. His detachment the last couple of weeks came to mind, and Hawk’s heart shattered as she put the timeline together.

“Pope-” A devastating sound broke free from Hawk, her brain shorting out as it tried to process what was happening. Pope’s chin was tucked into his chest, his eyes clenched shut.

“Cathy didn’t deserve any of this. I cared about her. You knew that and you still took her from me.” Hawk’s heart clenched as she listened even though her mind was telling her, screaming at her to go inside. She had no idea that Pope and Cath were involved in any capacity, but there were long spans of time where she wasn’t present in any of their lives. This happened to be one of them. “You took Cath to punish Smurf because Smurf didn’t want you to have Lucy, but you punished me too! You would’ve taken Hawk if she gave you the time of day because that’s what you do. You never thought about me!” Pope shouted, voice raw. “Not one of you ever thought about me!” Pope turned, pointing to Hawk, “Except for her.” Hawk’s head shook in disbelief, tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Smurf said she was talking to the cops,” Pope sobbed, turning back to Baz. Any fight he had left in him vacated his body in that moment. His confession had taken the weight of the universe off of his shoulders and for the first time in a very long time, he was ready to pay for what he did. “-but she wasn’t. Smurf said she was, but Cath didn’t say anything to them!”

Hawk’s encounter with the cops who came by her shop rammed into the front of her mind like a head on collision. Had Smurf caught wind of that, would she be in the same boat as Cath? Hawk brought a trembling hand over her mouth.

For the first time since Hawk met Pope, she felt fear when she looked at him -at what he was capable of. If Smurf told him back then to get rid of her because she was a danger to them, would he? Hawk didn’t think he’d do it now -not after everything they’ve been through, but back then…her stomach clenched and bile climbed up her throat.

“So do it.” Pope begged Baz. “I want you to do it. Please.” He had given up entirely, the immense amount of guilt he harbored had eaten away at the structure that held him together as a person and he was just done. “Please. I’ve lost everything already.” He whispered. Hawk couldn’t take it anymore. She lifted herself up and stumbled her way to the front door in a daze, chest heaving as she tried to breathe through the agony that wrenched itself around her chest and squeezed. She didn’t make a sound as she shut the door behind her, twisting the deadbolt behind her and sliding down the door on the inside, sobbing for Cath with everything she had.

I'm starting a Baz is a Bastard club if anyone wants to join.

#pope cody #pope cody fic #andrew pope cody #Andrew Pope Cody fic #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfiction #animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom imagine #shawn hatosy #well enough alone universe #angst

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ssvnriise · 3 days ago

Text

imagine pornstar!satoru finally convincing his shy girlfriend to show up in one of his videos!!! 🤭

the soft hum of the camera filled the cozy bedroom, a single warm lamp casting golden light over the sheets and your bare skin. the atmosphere was intimate—just the two of you and the gentle blinking of satoru’s streaming setup. he had promised something low-key: no crew, no lights, just the two of you at home. still, the nerves buzzed through you, your heart pounding as the livestream timer ticked on.

your back pressed against his firm chest, his skin warm against yours. his strong arms caged you in, one hand resting possessively on your inner thigh. he coaxed your legs open slowly, gently, like peeling back the layers of your shyness with every inch. his other hand—confident, skilled—moved to your clit, drawing slow, deliberate circles that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered low into your ear, his voice smooth like velvet, like sin. “look at them—they already love you.”

you bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan bubbling in your throat as your eyes darted to the screen. The live chat was flying—hearts, fire emojis, compliments. “she’s gorgeous.” “damn, satoru really got a gem.” “she’s so shy, it’s cute as hell.”

your cheeks flushed, and you turned your face away from the camera, burying it into the crook of his neck as he chuckled.

“don’t hide from them, sweetheart,” he said, teasing and tender all at once. “they’re here for you now. for us. you’re the star tonight.”

he kissed the side of your head, then added in a low, rasping whisper just for you, “let them see how good I make you feel… how perfect you are for me.”

his fingers didn’t stop, working your body like he knew every secret, every sweet spot. and even through your nerves, a small part of you started to believe him—maybe you could do this, as long as it was with him.

your breath hitched as his fingers kept those slow, tantalizing circles steady, never too much, never too little. he knew your rhythm better than you did. the tension in your body fought with the growing pleasure, your instincts warring between curling into yourself and melting against him completely.

“you’re shaking,” satoru murmured against your temple, the smile in his voice unmistakable. “Is it the camera… or is it me?”

his thumb slid just a bit lower, pressing down in that way that always made your hips twitch—and they did, drawing a deep groan from his chest as he tightened the arm wrapped around your waist.

you whimpered softly, almost inaudible to anyone but him.

“there she is…” he breathed, kissing just behind your ear. “let them hear you, baby. don’t be shy now—you’re already driving them wild.”

the chat was chaos. lines upon lines of eager comments streamed past your blurred vision:

“her little sounds—fuck.”

“this is better than any of his pro vids.”

“can we keep her?”

satoru grinned at that one. he shifted just slightly, tilting your hips more firmly against him so the camera had the perfect view. his voice dipped, husky and coaxing.

“look up for me, just a second. let them see those pretty eyes.”

your fingers curled into the sheets, hesitating—but you did it. you glanced at the camera, just briefly, your lips parted as a quiet moan finally slipped free. your body trembled again, helpless under his touch, under his gaze, under the heat of all those invisible eyes watching.

“that’s it,” he praised, his fingers never faltering. “you’re doing perfect. you were made for this, sweetheart.”

his tone shifted subtly—still sweet, but heavier now, soaked with promise. his free hand slid up your stomach, grazing your chest, grounding you.

“I think it’s time I really show them how good you are,” he whispered. “what do you think?”

your reply came only in the form of a broken gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers finally dipped lower, parting your folds with practiced ease. the teasing was over. he slid two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling just enough to make your back arch involuntarily against his chest.

“fuck, listen to you,” satoru murmured, lips brushing your cheek as he pumped his fingers inside you, deliberately slow, letting the wet sounds echo into the mic. “so wet, so ready—and we’ve barely started.”

your legs tried to close instinctively, but his hand kept them wide, firm and unrelenting. the camera caught everything: the soft tremble of your thighs, the way your fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt, the glassy look in your eyes as he worked you open.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low, coaxing, just shy of taunting. “all that blushing, all that shy little hesitation—and now look at you.”

you whimpered again, louder this time, your hips starting to move with him, grinding back against the hard line of his cock through his sweatpants. he was so hard against you, twitching with restraint, but making no move to rush. this was about you—about showing you off, letting the world watch as you fell apart in his arms.

“I should let them see what you look like when you cum,” he whispered against your ear, nibbling the lobe before he nuzzled into your neck. “they’d love that. i’d love that.”

his thumb returned to your clit, circling it in tandem with the thrust of his fingers. every movement was designed to unravel you, to make you forget the camera, the audience, your own nerves. just you, him, and the slick, aching heat growing fast in your belly.

“tell me when you’re close,” he said, his voice strained now, barely holding back. “I want them to hear it. I want you to give them everything.”

your hips bucked and your breath hitched into desperate, pleading little moans. his free hand reached up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in sync with the rhythm of his other hand. the dual sensation made your back arch, thighs twitching as you felt your orgasm coil hot and tight in your belly.

“look at you,” satoru growled softly, his mouth hot against your neck, breath ragged as his fingers fucked you deeper, faster now. “so fucking tight around my fingers. you hear that, baby? that’s you—dripping for me like a perfect little mess.”

your whimpers turned into broken moans, louder now, spilling from your lips before you could stop them. the camera, the audience—forgotten. all you could focus on was the slick glide of his fingers, the obscene wet sounds echoing from between your thighs, and the pressure building with every precise swirl of his thumb over your clit.

“shit—you’re so close, aren’t you?” he rasped, his voice dark and hungry. “I can feel you squeezing me. you gonna cum just from my fingers, in front of everyone?”

you couldn’t speak—you could barely breathe. your hips bucked helplessly against his hand, chasing every stroke, every grind.

“they’re all watching you fall apart,” he murmured with a crooked grin, his eyes flicking to the chat. “they’re fucking obsessed, baby. and they haven’t even seen what you look like when you come. give it to me. show them.”

you nodded shakily, your voice a quiet plea: “please…”

“say it louder,” he teased, fingers unrelenting as he brought you closer with each stroke. “let them hear how desperate you are.”

“please, satoru,” you moaned, louder this time, barely holding back the wave crashing through you. “I’m so close, please…”

his hand didn’t stop. “cum for me, baby. right here, in front of all of them. show them who you belong to.”

that was it—the words, the pressure, the heat. your moan ripped from your throat, long and trembling, your thighs shaking as you came around his fingers, clenching tight with wet pulses. your head fell back, mouth parted, eyes fluttering closed as wave after wave crashed through you, your voice finally breaking free and echoing into the mic.

the moan that finally spilled out was loud, unfiltered, and pure. satoru groaned quietly behind you, clearly affected by the way your body shuddered in his arms, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“fuck, that’s it, baby,” he breathed, still working you through it. “so fucking perfect. let them see how good I make you cum. that’s my girl.”

the chat exploded. you didn’t even have to look—you felt it, a wave of electric approval washing over you like a second high.

and satoru? he kissed your jaw, slow and sweet, still smiling.

“think they’ll be begging for a sequel?”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader smut #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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batsovergotham · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 3 PART 2

you called it “a one-time thing” and then did it again immediately

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

summary - you were supposed to form an alliance. instead you slept with him three days in and now you have no idea what’s happening.

content notice: 18+ SMUT (fingering, blowjobs, cunnilingus, 69, voyeurism, biting (?), squirting, overstimulation, mean mark (not really he's just jealous), mentions of SA

a/n: thank you for all of your lovely asks and comments <3 also sorry for any mistakes its currently 3am for me

Before anyone can say more, the door chime sounds.

A moment later, Ursaal steps inside, her expression as carefully neutral as ever, but there’s something a little softer in her gaze when she looks at Marky sprawled across the cushions, his legs kicked up and his tablet held triumphantly in both hands.

“Dinner,” she says simply. “Cafeteria rotation started ten minutes ago. You’re late.”

Marky flops back like he’s just been issued a death sentence. “But I’m in the zone.”

“You’ll still be in the zone after dinner,” she replies dryly. “Let’s go.”

Marky groans but climbs to his feet anyway, dragging the tablet with him. “Can I show it to Terra later?”

“After you eat.”

“Can I tell her about the fish man?”

You and Mark both speak at the same time.

“No.”

Ursaal raises a brow at you both. “Should I ask?”

“No,” Mark says again. “Definitely not.”

Marky salutes dramatically and stomps toward the door. “Alright. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, the soup won.”

Ursaal sighs and follows him out, casting one last glance at the two of you. It’s not judgmental. Not quite curious either. Just... aware.

The door hisses shut.

And you’re alone again.

Mark exhales and leans back against the cushions, head tipping against the wall.

You glance at him, quiet.

He’s still watching the door.

Like he’s not sure what kind of peace this is.

Or how long it’ll last.

The two of you sit side by side on the edge of the couch, shoulders brushing, the room dimly lit now that the artificial sun has dipped into shipboard evening. The soft glow of Marky’s drawing tablet flickers on the table where he left it, his art, still open on the screen, catching little movements of light as if the moment hasn��t finished breathing yet.

Mark tilts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes for a second. You watch the slow rise and fall of his chest. The way his fingers curl lightly against his thigh. The scar on his hairline you hadn’t noticed before this angle.

You don’t speak.

But you’re not waiting, either.

Then, he turns.

Looks at you.

He doesn’t say a word. Just studies your face for a long beat. Like he’s trying to memorize something. Like he knows this version of you, this quiet, post-storm version, won’t last forever.

You meet his eyes and hold his gaze.

No fear.

No game.

Just you.

Mark shifts toward you, slow, deliberate, and lifts a hand to your face. His thumb brushes lightly beneath your eye, like he’s checking for something invisible. His palm cradles the curve of your jaw.

And then, he leans in.

Not fast.

Not urgent.

He gives you time to pull away.

You don’t.

His mouth brushes yours like he’s still deciding if this is real.

But then he kisses you again.

Fuller. Firmer. Like he’s stopped asking the question.

It’s not like the kiss from two nights ago, frantic and tangled and full of heat. This one is slow. Anchored. It tastes like gravity. Like a decision.

He pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips.

And says, quietly, like a vow.

“You don’t have to say anything yet.”

His hand doesn’t leave your face.

“But I’m not letting anyone take you.”

Your heart stutters.

You swallow, barely moving.

He keeps his eyes on you. Unblinking. Steady. Not a challenge.

A truth.

You reach up slowly and cover his hand with yours.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper.

He leans his forehead against yours, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“Then stay.”

Your fingers tighten around his.

“I’m scared,” you admit.

“So am I,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean we’re wrong.”

His hand is still on your waist, steady but restrained, like he's barely holding himself in check. His lips ghost the edge of your jaw, just enough to make your breath hitch. When he speaks, it’s quieter than you expect, but no less direct, that dry edge of sarcasm bleeding through, just enough to make it sound like Mark.

“So. Mer-man.”

His mouth brushes the curve just under your ear, and you feel the small smile in his voice before he says it.

“Your dad is really trying to pawn you off to Aquarius’ discount cousin?”

You let out a laugh, short and sharp, biting back your answer even as heat curls low in your gut. “He thinks it’ll keep the oceans neutral. Apparently my uterus has political weight.”

Mark pulls back enough to look at you, brows raised. “That’s… horrifying,” he mutters, then adds, “Also, bullshit.”

His expression darkens, not angry, not really. More like frustrated. Conflicted. His eyes drop to your neck, and when he leans in again, it’s slower. Focused. His mouth finds the place where the skin is just starting to smooth from before. The way he kisses it, soft at first, then deeper, firmer, you know he’s not just remembering where he touched you.

He’s reminding you who did.

“You heal fast,” he murmurs. “But I still see it. Right here.” His tongue brushes the faint mark, then his lips press in again, harder this time. You feel the pull, the suction, a warmth blooming beneath your skin as he sinks a little deeper into the moment. Then he mutters, almost to himself, “Not fast enough, apparently.”

You reach up, your fingers curling in the fabric over his chest. “You’re mad.”

He huffs against your neck. “Not mad. I just—” He cuts himself off. His hand curls around your waist a little tighter, like it’ll help him finish the sentence. “It’s been two days. It’s fast. I know that. But the idea of you leaving, of you going to him?”

He finally looks at you, eyes sharp but uncertain, flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again. “I don’t want you to go.”

There’s no drama in the way he says it. No pretense. Just that calm, blunt honesty you’ve started to recognize as uniquely him, even when it carries the weight of something unsaid.

You open your mouth to answer, but he’s already moving again, his mouth dragging down your neck, retracing those half-healed bruises with tongue and teeth.

“I know we’re not anything,” he mutters against your skin, the words low, tense. “But I don’t want to watch you end up being someone’s elses. Some man your dad picks to keep things quiet.”

His mouth seals around the base of your neck, sucking hard enough to make you gasp. His teeth follow, enough to hurt, just a little. The sting flickers, then fades into heat, and you clutch tighter to him.

“I’m not going,” you say, voice low, breath shaky. “I told them no.”

Mark stills.

Then he pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes again. The relief is quiet, not dramatic, but it’s there. You see it in the way his shoulders shift, in the way he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it since the moment he overheard the call.

“Good,” he says, voice quiet, and this time his mouth finds yours again, deeper now. Less hesitant.

“Because I really don’t feel like letting you.”

His lips are still on yours when you murmur it, breath slipping between the spaces of the kiss like you’re not sure you want to say it, but you do.

Your hand rests on his chest, the slow thump of his heart steady beneath your palm, but your voice betrays the war inside you, the tug-of-war between responsibility and the sheer gravitational pull of him.

“Mark,” you whisper, breath brushing his cheek, “we really should be getting back to Marky…”

The name hangs in the air like a small weight, but Mark doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He stays where he is, gaze fixed on yours, his eyes darkened by something deeper than just desire, something almost conflicted. But it lasts only a breath.

Then he exhales, slow, deliberate, and leans in closer, the corner of his mouth curving into something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite a plea.

“He’ll understand,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “Just this once.”

He kisses you again before you can protest, and this time it’s not soft.

It’s not asking.

It’s answering.

His lips press hard to yours, sure and searching, and the sound you make, half gasp, half moan, rattles loose from your throat as your body surges up to meet him. He’s so warm, solid above you, and his hand moves to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair as he angles you just right, deepening the kiss.

You mean to resist, to pull back, to remind him of the promise you made to Marky. But your hands betray you. They slide up his sides, feeling the ridges of strength beneath his uniform, the way his muscles shift with every breath, every restrained movement. He groans softly into your mouth when your nails drag down his ribs, and it shakes something loose in him.

The dam breaks.

His hand slips beneath your dress again, but this time there’s no patience, just need. His palm slides up your bare stomach, fingers splaying wide, rough calluses brushing your skin as he pushes the fabric higher and higher. You arch into him without thinking, your body betraying every logical part of you, craving the heat and pressure of him.

You gasp his name again, but this time it’s not a warning. It’s not a protest.

It’s permission.

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you harder, tongue sliding against yours as he pulls your dress up and over your head in one swift movement, breaking contact only long enough to strip it off. He stares down at you, chest rising and falling, and his eyes, God, his eyes, burn with something raw and reverent.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he says, voice low, almost like he hates admitting it. “It’s only been two days.”

You reach for him, fingers curling into the hem of his uniform. “Then don’t.”

He rips the top off, not bothering with finesse, and your breath catches at the sight of him, lean, scarred, strong in a way that speaks of battles hard-fought and survived. You drink him in, your hands roaming his chest, his shoulders, the heat of his skin branding your palms. He shudders when you touch him, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before he opens them again and devours you with that look.

Then he lowers himself over you, kissing your throat, your collarbone, the upper swell of your chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. When he reaches the fading bruises near your neck, the ones he left before, he pauses. Kisses it. Sucks slow and deep, right over the healing skin, until you moan and clutch at his back.

“You should’ve healed faster,” he murmurs, voice rough with something like guilt, like desire laced with regret. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to look at the fresh mark blooming under his mouth. His thumb brushes over it, possessive, needy.

“When they see you, I want them thinking of me.”

You don’t answer with words. You grab his face, pull him back into a kiss so desperate, so needy, it makes him groan low in his throat. His hands move again, finding your hips, gripping you with restrained force as he rolls his body against yours. You feel every line of him, his hardness, the tension in his arms, the heat he’s been swallowing down since the second he saw you in that hallway.

You lift your hips instinctively, seeking more of him, and he exhales a curse against your lips.

He lifts you again, not quite tossing you, more like he claims you, sweeping you further up the bed so you’re laid out beneath him completely, your legs tangled with his, your breath shallow, chest heaving.

“You can still say no,” he says again, even now, even with his body humming with need and his hands trembling as they slide along your thighs. “But if you don’t—if you stay—”

You cut him off, voice low and sure. “Then make me stay.”

His mouth crashes onto yours again, and this time, there's no turning back.

Your hands are already moving, restless, certain. No more hesitation. No more second-guessing. The feel of him beneath your palms, the way his breath stutters as you slide your hands down his chest, it spurs something primal, something impatient. You push him back just enough to sit up, knees straddling his hips, your fingers already at the waistband of his uniform pants.

Mark watches you, chest rising and falling like he’s been holding his breath for hours, not seconds. His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles, but he doesn’t stop you. His gaze follows your hands as you strip him, his pants sliding over those long, powerful legs, and the tension in his jaw tells you exactly what this is costing him, to let you take control. To let you see him like this.

Vulnerable. Wanting.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, voice rough, reverent.

You meet his gaze. “Completely.”

His eyes burn into you, like you’re oxygen in a world that’s been choking him. Then you’re moving again. Your hands slide up his thighs, slow and teasing, before you lean down, mouth brushing across his hipbone, warm breath skating over bare skin. He’s hard already, straining, and when your lips graze just beside the base of him, he curses under his breath, fingers tightening around your legs.

You look up at him, your voice a whisper against his stomach. “I want you. All of you.”

Then your mouth lowers again.

You kiss along the ridges of his abdomen, soft and slow, feeling the way he tenses beneath your touch. Your lips explore every line of muscle, every faint scar, mapping the history etched into his skin. You follow the deep line that carves down the center of his body with your tongue, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of his skin, the sharp hitch of his breath.

He groans when your mouth finds the hollow just above his cock, head falling back against the pillow as his hands slide up your sides. His control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his hips shift beneath you, the way his fingers dig into your waist, like he wants to drag you up and take you right there, but doesn’t. Not yet.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, half-laugh, half-moan.

You smile against his skin. “Not yet.”

And then you kiss lower.

You flatten your tongue and lick a long, deliberate line across the crease of his pelvis. He lets out a sound, guttural, raw, and his fingers tangle in your hair without pulling, just holding, grounding himself. He’s watching you now, eyes half-lidded but burning, jaw tight, throat working around words he isn’t saying.

You glance up at him through your lashes, your lips brushing along the very top of his cock without touching where he wants you most. He’s thick, flushed, and hard, completely, achingly hard, and the way he pulses against your breath makes you ache in turn.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, voice silken.

Mark exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “So are you.”

You smile. “Guess we’re both in trouble then.”

And then you take him into your mouth.

Not all at once, no, you want to feel this, make it count. Your lips wrap around the tip first, teasing, your tongue swirling lazily along the sensitive ridge, tasting him, relishing the salt-tinged heat. His reaction is immediate. A soft, strangled groan rumbles in his chest, and his hand in your hair tightens just a little, not guiding, not controlling, just needing.

You sink lower, slow and steady, inch by inch, feeling him stretch your mouth, fill it. The sounds he makes, low and unguarded, are better than you imagined. You can feel the effort it takes for him to stay still beneath you, hips locked, thighs tense, every muscle tight like a man barely holding onto control.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice roughened with awe, “you’re… perfect. That mouth—shit…”

You hum around him, and the vibration sends a shiver through his body. You begin to move, finding a rhythm, slow, deep, then shallow again, letting your lips glide along him with purpose, tongue tracing the underside of his cock on every pull back. Saliva coats him, slick and warm, and you hear it, wet, obscene sounds mixing with his ragged breathing and the soft creak of the bed beneath you both.

Mark looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more devastating in his life. “You don’t have to—”

You pull back just long enough to whisper, “I want to.”

Then you take him deeper.

He groans, head falling back, hand fisting in the sheets now. He’s trying not to buck into your mouth, trying not to lose that iron grip on himself. But he’s close, you feel it in the way he twitches on your tongue, in the low growl building in his throat.

You reach down, sliding your hand between your own thighs, desperate and throbbing from the sheer heat of him, the taste, the way he groans your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

When you feel his hips tense and his breath catch, you pull back slightly, letting your hand replace your mouth, stroking him while you kiss and suck at the sensitive tip.

He chokes on your name. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”

You lick up the vein along his length, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

Mark sits up so fast it startles you, and in the next moment, he’s on you, hands gripping your waist, dragging you forward and up, mouth crashing against yours. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other slides between your thighs, finding you soaked and throbbing.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, fingers slipping between your folds, teasing but not entering yet. “You were touching yourself while your mouth was on me? Fuck…”

You gasp against his lips, nodding. “Couldn’t help it.”

His fingers press inside you suddenly, two, thick and sure, and you cry out, your hips rolling into the thrust, greedy for more. You’re unraveling under his touch, his breath hot on your throat, his voice a low murmur you feel more than hear.

“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

His fingers thrust into you deeper, slow at first, stretching, curling, pressing into that devastating spot that makes your legs tremble. You gasp, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging in without shame. He kisses you hard then, swallowing your moans, the rhythm of his hand syncing to the wet, loud sounds echoing in the room.

"God, Mark—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, less finesse now, more heat, more want. His mouth moves down your neck, open-mouthed kisses dragging along the pulse at your throat, down your collarbone as his fingers keep working inside you. His thumb finds your clit and circles it, slow and deliberate, making your hips jerk against him.

“I’m not letting you go,” He breathes the words into you, voice unsteady, like he means every inch of it. “I don’t care how long it’s been. I’m not losing this. I’m not losing you.”

You whimper as his thumb presses harder, the slick friction sending electric heat through your core. Your body arches off the bed, thighs trembling around his hips. He leans in again, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips, his free hand cradling the back of your neck with a gentleness that nearly breaks you.

“You’re mine now,” he says, and there’s no performance in it, no possessive growl or brute dominance, just certainty. Like he’s stating something he already knows to be true. “Stay with me. Let me keep you safe. Let me have you.”

You grind into his hand, panting, clinging to him like the air itself is slipping away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He groans at that, his pace quickening. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper, gasping as his fingers curl inside you again, hitting that spot that makes your vision white out at the edges. “I’m yours, Mark.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, and his fingers drive into you harder, faster, the slick heat between your thighs growing unbearable. You moan into the kiss, a broken, needy sound, your body unraveling against him, dripping, shaking.

His fingers slide deeper inside you, curling just right, intimate, practiced, like he’s learning you by feel alone and already becoming fluent. The wet sound of your arousal slicks between you, shameless and loud, filling the room with a rhythm that matches your staggered breathing. You arch beneath him, thighs tightening around his hips as he strokes you from the inside, every movement slow but precise, devastatingly controlled.

You gasp, breaking the kiss as your head falls back, neck arched, lips parted in raw need.

He doesn’t stop.

“You feel this?” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and desperate. “How wet you are? You’re soaking my fucking fingers.”

You nod, whimpering. “I can’t—fuck—Mark…”

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your throat, pausing at your pulse, hot breath fanning over your skin. “You’re gonna come for me. Like this. Just like this.”

He bites down gently, enough to make your breath catch, then sucks hard enough to bloom another mark. You feel it echo all the way down to where his fingers are plunging into you, slow at first, then faster. You’re dripping now, hips grinding helplessly against his hand, your moans filling the room with every thrust.

He withdraws his fingers slightly, just enough to thrust back in harder. Deeper. His palm presses flat against your mound, thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate pulses. Your body bucks, everything tightening, clenching around him.

“You stay here,” he bites out into your neck, breath shuddering. “You stay with me. With Marky. With us. I won’t lose you to that—fucking fish.” He thrusts harder at that, punctuating the words, voice fraying into something desperate and raw.

You cry out, loud, helpless, as the wave crests, sharp and sudden.

“I’m yours,” you gasp, legs trembling. “Mark, I’m yours, I swear—”

And that’s all it takes.

He buries his mouth against your throat, groaning as you come hard around his fingers, your body pulsing, soaking him as your walls tighten and convulse. Your back arches, stars bursting behind your eyes, every nerve raw and alive as your orgasm tears through you. You feel yourself dripping down his hand, every muscle trembling under the weight of release.

“Fuck yes,” he mutters against your skin, kissing you hard, holding you through the shuddering aftershocks. His fingers stay buried deep, still stroking gently as you twitch and whimper beneath him. “That’s it. That’s mine. You’re mine.”

You clutch him close, your lips seeking his as you crash back down to earth, breathless and burning.

Mark’s hand is still inside you, fingers soaked, your thighs trembling around his hips. His mouth grazes your jaw, lips brushing the sheen of sweat along your skin as he slows his movements, easing you through the last ripples of your orgasm. Your body’s still pulsing around him, raw, sensitive, wrecked in the best possible way, and he looks down at you like he’s not entirely sure how to stop touching you.

And he doesn’t want to.

His fingers slide free slowly, and you bite your lip at the lingering ache, the warm wet stretch still tingling between your legs. He brings his hand to his mouth, eyes locked to yours, and sucks your arousal off his fingers with a quiet groan. It’s obscene, unhurried, almost reverent.

“Christ,” he murmurs. “You taste like you were made for me.”

You’re about to pull him down on top of you, to wrap your legs around his waist and drag him back into the heat, but then.

Knock. Knock.

Both of you freeze.

A pause. Then a voice, flat, unimpressed, and very Viltrumite.

“Emperor, Marky’s been waiting.”

It’s Ursaal.

You scramble upright, pulling the sheets over your bare chest like it might somehow erase the dripping, breathless state you’re in. Mark blinks at the door, the fire in his eyes flickering, replaced first by disbelief, then a long-suffering groan that sounds like it came from the center of his soul.

“For how long?” he calls back, voice cracking slightly as he reaches for his discarded clothes.

Ursaal’s answer is dry and dagger-sharp. “Long enough to ask if you two forgot he exists.”

You bury your face in your hands, half-laughing, half-mortified. Mark yanks on his top, muttering under his breath, “Goddamn timing…”

“She doesn’t need to know what we were—” you begin, cheeks flushed.

“Oh, she knows,” Ursaal replies through the door, cutting you off. “I have enhanced hearing, Mark. So unless the ship has started springing leaks in exactly the rhythm of a woman gasping your name, I suggest you get dressed. Now.”

You groan. Mark just drags his fingers through his hair and casts you a look over his shoulder, one that’s still wanting, but now laced with something fond. Something real.

“This isn’t over,” he says, voice low, raw.

You meet his gaze, flushed, still aching, your skin humming where he touched you. You breathe, “Not even close.”

You turn away from him, trying to fix your hair in the polished reflective metal of the wall, Viltrumite architecture has no vanity mirrors, because apparently vanity itself is beneath them, but practical reflection isn’t. Your cheeks are flushed, your mouth swollen, and your neck…

Your fingers freeze.

“Mark,” you say, voice tight, “you left bruises. Again.”

"Yeah," he says from behind you, unapologetic. "I was going to leave more."

You glare over your shoulder.

He finally rises, reluctantly, dragging on his grey bottoms first. “I said he could wait. I didn’t say we had to stop.”

“Well, we did,” you snap. Then you soften a little, watching him stretch to pull his red top over his head. His hair gets mussed in the process. His stomach flexes as the fabric rolls down. The memory of his hands between your thighs rushes up so fast your knees threaten to give out.

You swallow and look away. “Ursaal’s going to kill us.”

“No, she won’t.” He finishes dressing like he’s done this before, like he’s too experienced at untangling moments like this. “She’ll just hold it over my head for the next fifty years.”

You glance down at yourself, your diplomatic skirt is inside out, your bodice still partially unlaced, and groan. “You’re the Emperor. You can’t just show up smelling like sex to your son’s dinner.”

“You think I smell like sex?” he teases. “That’s flattering.”

“I think you smell like trouble.”

“And yet,” he says, striding over, “you keep coming back.”

He tugs your dress gently, fingers brushing the laces with practiced ease. Not lewd, not rushed. Just intimate. Like he’s done this before with you. Like you’ve been doing this for years. You stare up at him, quiet now, letting him dress you like some hidden rite between lovers.

“You don’t have to make it perfect,” you murmur. “Just... enough so I don’t look like I was being ravished by the Emperor ten minutes ago.”

He smirks. “But you were.”

“Mark—”

He kisses your cheek, soft, chaste, a silent sorry-not-sorry, then pulls back with that familiar look of restrained heat still simmering under the surface. “Don’t worry,” he says, thumb brushing your lower lip as he smooths your hair. “We’ll finish this. Later.”

You pull your hand from his cape as you exit the bedroom together, trying not to think about how close you came to being taken apart on those sheets, how easily he could’ve made you come just from the weight of his voice and those goddamn fingers.

The hallway is dim, echoing with the usual hum of the ship’s internal workings. Mark moves ahead like nothing happened, like he’s just heading to dinner with his son and not walking off a half-finished high.

You trail after him, every step a reminder of what was interrupted.

By the time you reach the dining chamber, your heart has steadied but your skin still sings. Ursaal stands at the entrance with her arms folded, expression unreadable. Her eyes flick to Mark, then to you, then very pointedly to the slight discoloration peeking out from your collar.

You both stop.

You clear your throat. “I apologize. We got... caught up.”

“In what?” she asks coolly.

“Diplomatic... strategy,” you say, almost convincingly.

Mark snorts beside you.

Ursaal doesn’t break. “Marky has already started eating. I told him you were in a meeting.”

Mark nods. “Thanks.”

“And what message should I give him next time?” she asks, gaze sharpening. “When he hears his father moaning across the ship?”

Your mouth falls open.

Mark groans under his breath and rakes a hand through his hair. “Okay, noted.”

You’re too embarrassed to meet her eyes. But then she just sighs and waves you both inside. “I’ll give you this,” she says as you pass. “At least he’s not being insufferable anymore.”

The dining hall is brightly lit, overly ornate for a ship this size, but Marky is already at the long table, kicking his feet and reading from a tablet. He looks up when you enter.

“Hey!” he beams. “You’re late. I ate the pickled glopfruit.”

You blink. “That’s okay. I wasn’t planning to—”

“She loves glopfruit,” Mark interrupts smoothly. “She’ll survive.”

You shoot him a look. He smiles like he’s trying very hard not to look like a man who was almost just blown again in his bedroom.

Dinner resumes awkwardly.

You try not to fidget under the table, try not to react when Mark’s hand brushes your thigh beneath the cloth. You look down at your plate. He leans in close to offer you the salt, his voice low in your ear.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

You stiffen. “Mark—”

“I meant what I said. You’re not leaving.”

You glance at Marky, who’s telling you a story about space lizards and some new planet he’s learning about. His voice is bright, full of laughter.

You inhale slowly. “I already told you. I turned down the match.”

His gaze is steady, too serious for the dinner table. “I know. But I want to hear you say it again. After this.”

You say nothing, but under the table, your hand finds his.

And he lets you hold it. Warm and steady. Just enough to keep you grounded. Just enough to say everything he’s not ready to say out loud.

The Emperor eats with you and his son. But under it all, his grip on you never wavers.

And even though you’re sitting in a perfectly lit room, eating an oddly sweet purple fruit while Ursaal pretends not to be eavesdropping two seats down, you can still feel the echo of his voice in your ear.

We’ll finish this.

Later.

You’re slicing through a soft, steaming root vegetable, something tangy and violet, a local Viltrumite hybrid that you're trying not to compare to Eternian rations, when Marky speaks up, casual in tone but precise in timing.

“Can we go to Earth? I want to see Terra.”

Your hand stills.

Across the table, Mark goes rigid. Not visibly. Not obviously. Just… still, in that way you’ve come to recognize. That quiet bracing he does when the past creeps up on him faster than he was prepared for.

Marky keeps going, oblivious. “I haven’t seen her since her birthday. And that was here. On the ship. It’s her turn now.”

Mark’s voice comes out low, not quite tight but far from easy. “You miss her?”

Marky nods. “Yeah. She’s fun. She said she made a club in the woods. A real one. With passwords and a flag.”

Mark doesn’t answer.

“She wants me to visit. She said there’s a tree we can climb that shakes when it rains. I want to go there.”

You glance at Mark. His jaw’s set, but his eyes are distant. Not angry. Just far away.

“She still talks to you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Marky says. “Sometimes. Eve helps her get on the callpad.”

You can feel the silence start to thicken between bites. The kind of silence that isn't empty, it’s loaded. Heavy. Full of all the things not being said.

Mark leans back slowly. “I haven’t really been back there.”

Marky frowns. “To Earth?”

Mark nods once. “Not since I left.”

The table goes quiet.

“You mean… you’ve never gone back?” Marky asks, wide-eyed.

Mark’s hand flexes against his knee. “Not for more than a landing. A pickup. Nothing longer than a few hours. And never where anyone could see me.”

“Not even to see Terra?” Marky asks, confused.

“She always comes here,” Mark replies, voice quiet. “Or we meet somewhere in-between. It’s just… easier.”

Marky’s brow furrows. “That’s not fair. Her stuff’s there. Her friends. Her fort.”

Mark doesn’t argue. He just breathes.

“Plus,” Marky says, not finished, “Grandma’s there too, right?”

That lands like a crack in a window.

You look at Mark just as his expression shifts. Barely. But enough.

“I guess,” Marky adds, “you haven’t seen her either?”

Mark shakes his head. “No. Not in a while.”

“Why?”

Mark shrugs. It’s an empty gesture. He doesn’t even try to lie. “Because I keep telling myself I will. When things settle. When I have time. But it never happens.”

Marky looks down at his plate. “You think she misses you?”

Mark doesn’t speak for a long beat. Then, soft as a confession. “Yeah.”

You reach beneath the table, brushing your fingers against his hand. You don’t say anything. But he doesn’t pull away.

Marky glances up again. “So... can I go?”

Mark swallows. Then, finally. “Yeah.”

It’s not a confident yes. Not the kind he gives on a battlefield or in front of his advisors. It’s hesitant. Raw. But it’s real.

Marky lights up. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” Mark says again, more firmly this time. “You can go see her. I’ll arrange it.”

The boy practically vibrates in his chair. “We’re gonna climb trees and eat crispy flowers and maybe dig for worms.”

“Wow,” you say dryly. “Truly diplomatic.”

“She said she’d make me a crown,” Marky adds.

Mark actually laughs at that. It’s small, but genuine. “Of course she did.”

Dinner continues a little more relaxed. Marky tells you about Terra’s plan to build a rocket that runs on lemon juice. You and Mark nod through every impossible detail, letting his joy carry the tone.

When Marky finally runs off to his room, dessert still in hand, Mark lingers in the corridor beside you.

He leans against the wall like he needs it. Eyes closed. Shoulders heavier than they were ten minutes ago.

“I meant to go back,” he says. “Just never knew how to start.”

You study him quietly. “You don’t have to go now. But you should. Eventually. For him. For her. For your mom.”

“I know.”

He turns his head, finally meeting your gaze.

“I was a different person when I left. Angry. Torn up. I didn’t know how to be a dad. I barely knew how to be me.”

“And now?”

He breathes. “Now I think I’m scared to go back and find out they’re all doing better without me.”

You step forward, placing your hand gently against his chest. “They’re not. They’ve just been surviving without you. That’s not the same.”

Mark catches your wrist, just for a second. Not to stop you. Just to hold something.

“You’ll come with me?” he asks.

You don’t hesitate. “Always.”

He closes his eyes again. Like hearing it actually hurts. Like it soothes something raw and aching at the same time.

Then he says it again, softly.

“You remember what I said?”

“We’ll finish this,” you whisper back.

His mouth finds yours slowly. No hunger, no rush. Just closeness. Just warmth. A kiss that says thank you. A kiss that means soon.

And when he pulls back, forehead pressed to yours, he exhales like he’s finally letting some of it go.

“I should’ve told her,” he murmurs. “That I miss her too.”

“You still can.”

Mark doesn’t answer right away.

But he holds your hand a little tighter. And you know he’s already thinking about the call. About what he’ll say.

About finally going home.

The corridor is quiet now. Dimly lit, humming with the gentle pulse of the ship’s power systems, familiar and cold and clean. You’re still standing close to him, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. He hasn’t moved since he whispered that he misses his mom.

Neither have you.

The silence doesn’t feel empty. It feels like something is being built. Carefully. Like he’s finally letting you see the parts of him that aren’t holding it all together.

Then a sound interrupts it.

A shuffle of small feet. The whisper-swish of soft fabric and a door sliding open.

You pull apart just slightly, just enough to turn, and see Marky standing at the corner of the corridor, half-hiding against the wall.

He’s clutching his blanket under one arm, the edge of it dragging slightly against the floor. His eyes are big in the low light, bright with something uncertain. Not fear. Not even sadness. Something quieter.

Hope. A child's kind of hope. Fragile. Brave.

Mark straightens up a little when he sees him.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, voice soft. “I thought Ursaal was taking you to bed.”

“I was,” Marky murmurs. “But I heard you talking.”

You glance at Mark, but he doesn’t look panicked. Just tired. Open.

Marky pads forward a little, then hesitates.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, looking between the two of you. “That I can go?”

Mark nods slowly. “Yeah. I meant it.”

Marky’s shoulders drop with visible relief. But he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t run off like he did before. Instead, he turns fully toward you.

“Can she come too?”

The question is quiet. Honest. And it lands like something bigger than it sounds.

You blink. “Me?”

Marky nods, stepping closer now. “You’re always nice. And you don’t treat me like I’m going to break things. And Terra likes you. And you make Dad less grumpy.”

You choke on a laugh and look at Mark. He raises a brow. “Grumpy?”

Marky shrugs. “You are. Like, a lot.”

Mark doesn’t argue. Just leans back against the wall again, eyes flicking to you. Waiting.

Marky tugs lightly at your arm now. His hand is warm. Small. “I want you to come too.”

There’s a beat. A kind of silence that changes the shape of the air between all three of you.

Because it’s not just a child asking a question. It’s a child choosing sides.

It’s Marky saying this feels like family now.

You kneel to his height, gently brushing the edge of his blanket where it’s slipped from his grip.

“You sure you want me there?” you ask, soft.

He nods, serious. “You’re not like the others. You’re not mean when I’m loud. Or when I forget stuff. You don’t look at me like I’m gonna go bad just because I’m strong.”

Your throat tightens.

“I like how you talk to Dad,” he adds, more quietly. “Like he’s not just the Emperor.”

Behind you, Mark doesn’t speak. But you can feel the weight of his attention. The way he’s watching you like he’s afraid to blink.

You reach out and smooth a strand of Marky’s hair behind his ear. “If your dad says it’s okay... I’ll go.”

Marky looks up at his father. “Please?”

Mark pushes off the wall. Walks slowly toward both of you. He crouches beside Marky and lays a hand on his shoulder. “It was never a question.”

You glance up at him, eyes meeting his.

“I’d want her there too.”

Marky beams.

You rise slowly to your feet, and Marky immediately hugs your waist. He buries his face into your side like he’s done it a hundred times, like it’s home.

You look down, your hand resting gently on his hair, and for a moment you forget what it felt like to be foreign on this ship.

“You okay now?” you ask him softly.

He nods into your side. “Yeah.”

Mark steps closer behind you, his hand brushing the small of your back, grounding and real. You can feel the way he watches you, something silent and intense behind it. Gratitude. Maybe awe.

“I’ll set it up,” he says. “We’ll go soon.”

You glance back at him. “You sure?”

“No,” he admits. “But I want to be.”

Marky’s grip on you doesn’t ease. Not even a little.

You look at Mark, and your voice comes out low. “You’re not doing this alone anymore.”

Mark doesn’t smile. But his eyes do.

And when he places his hand over Marky’s back, his son held against your side, the three of you quiet in the corridor there’s something steady in him for the first time all night. Peace.

The hallway is still. The only sound is the gentle pulse of the ship’s systems, the quiet exhale of air cycling through the walls. Marky’s head is still pressed against your side, his breathing slowing now that he’s settled. It’s late. He should be asleep. But you don’t say anything.

Neither does Mark.

He stays close, his hand resting lightly on Marky’s back, his other brushing your waist. The contact is light but constant. Like if he lets go, it’ll all dissolve.

Your fingers smooth down Marky’s hair, but your eyes are on Mark. Watching him. Taking in the way he’s looking at the two of you, like he still doesn’t know if this is something he’s allowed to have.

The question’s been burning since dinner. Since Earth. Since Terra.

You speak softly. “Do you still love her?”

Mark’s eyes lift. Not with surprise. Not with panic. Just… stillness.

He doesn’t answer right away.

You wait.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he says after a long pause, his voice low. “It’s not like a switch flipped. It’s not like we stopped caring.”

You nod slowly. “That’s not what I asked.”

He looks at you fully then. Really looks. There’s no flinch in his gaze, no defensiveness. Just honesty.

“I’ll always love her,” he says. “In some way.”

The words sting. But not the way you expected.

Because they’re true. And gentle. And more than that, they don’t sound like a warning. They sound like a man who’s been trying to hold two truths at once.

“She’s the mother of my daughter. She’s been part of my life since I was a teenager. We grew up together. Saved people together. Lost things together. It’s impossible not to love someone like that.”

You nod once. It’s not jealousy you feel. Not really. It’s something older. Something quieter.

“But?” you ask.

Mark breathes out, tired. “But we weren’t good for each other anymore. And I think… we both knew that before we admitted it.”

He’s not justifying. He’s mourning. You hear it in the way his voice catches just slightly on before. Like he’s still unpacking the exact moment things started to drift.

“She deserved someone who could give her more than guilt and had no time for her,” he continues. “And I think I just kept trying to make it work because… it was easier than saying goodbye.”

You study him.

“You think she still loves you?” you ask.

Mark’s expression changes. His brow tightens. His jaw shifts.

“I think she’ll always care about me,” he says. “But no. I don’t think she’s in love with me. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then. “Are you?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate this time. “No.”

That lands.

He says it without hesitation, but not without weight. Like he had to walk a long road to get to that clarity. And now that he’s there, it’s solid. Not cruel. Just final.

“I’ll always wish we could’ve given Terra something easier,” he adds. “But I’m not in love with Eve. Not the way I used to be. Not in the way she needs.”

You reach up, brushing a hand gently along his chest. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not trying to.” He glances down at where Marky’s still clinging to you, already dozing. “But I think you deserve to know that you’re not a replacement. You’re not filling a space.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He steps closer. Not touching. Just standing near enough that you feel the shift in the air.

“You’re yours,” he says. “Not hers. Not anyone else’s shadow. And if I feel anything for you… it’s not because I miss her. It’s because I see you.”

The silence between you stretches again. This time warm. This time full.

“You feel something for me?” you ask, quietly. Not teasing.

He meets your gaze. His voice comes out steady.

“I think about you when I’m alone. I think about you when I make decisions. When I look at Marky, and wonder who I’m becoming, I think about how different I am when you’re here.”

You don’t move.

“Whatever this is,” he says, voice softer now, “it’s real. And it’s not a comparison.”

Your heart aches in a way that’s strangely good.

Marky murmurs something incoherent against your side. You look down, his arms are still wrapped around you, his face smushed into your stomach, clearly half-asleep now.

You smile.

Mark’s voice drops again, low and reverent.

“You’re already part of his life,” he says. “And… if you want to be part of mine, I want that.”

You lift your gaze to meet his. There’s something unspoken passing between you. Not a declaration. Not yet.

But the beginning of something undeniable.

“Then take me with you,” you whisper. “When you’re ready.”

“I will,” he says. “I promise.”

You reach out, gently threading your fingers through his. Marky still clings to you. Mark holds on.

And there, in the quiet corridor of a Viltrumite ship far from Earth, you realize something simple and terrifying and deeply human.

You’re not standing in someone else’s place.

You’re standing exactly where you were always meant to be.

Marky is completely asleep now. Arms tucked around your waist, cheek pressed soft against your side, warm and trusting. He’s gone boneless in that way only young children can, his breathing steady and deep, the kind of sleep that only comes when a child feels safe.

Mark hasn’t let go of your hand.

His thumb moves slowly across the back of it, more like he’s feeling for reassurance than offering it. You stand there in the quiet, still leaning against the corridor wall. Not talking. Just being. Just letting the gravity of the evening settle.

He hasn’t brought it up again. Not since before dinner.

But you know it’s still on his mind. The conversation he overheard with your father. The way his posture had changed the moment you walked into the dining chamber. The silence that had followed it. The way he’d tried to pretend it didn’t bother him, even though it clearly did.

You tilt your head, voice low. “You’re still thinking about it.”

Mark doesn’t pretend he isn’t. He just exhales through his nose and says, “Not thinking. Just… letting it replay.”

You glance up at him. “You already heard everything.”

“Not from you.”

You shift slightly, careful not to jostle Marky as he dozes. “You didn’t exactly give me a lot of time to explain. You started undressing me before I could finish a sentence.”

Mark’s mouth twitches. “Wasn’t trying to interrupt the part where you said no to Mer-Man.”

You smile, then soften. “Adam was speaking to me like I wouldn’t notice it was a set-up.”

Mark’s voice is dry. “I noticed.”

“I could tell.”

You shift your weight slightly, leaning more into him without meaning to.

“I won’t marry Mer-Man,” you say simply. “No matter how many times he asks. Even if my father makes it political. Even if it costs me something.”

His hand tightens around yours.

There’s a flicker of emotion that passes over Mark’s face, sharp, restrained, but unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to bring it up again tonight,” you say, “but you’ve been quiet since you heard it. I know you, Mark. You think I didn’t notice you barely touched your food?”

“I touched it.”

“You rearranged it.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath. But there’s no real amusement in it.

“You’re angry.”

“No,” he says, softly. “I’m not angry. I’m… afraid.”

That word lands heavier than any bitterness could have.

You turn to face him more fully. “Of what?”

“Of watching someone else get handed a future with you. Just because they came with a flag and a treaty.”

You stare at him.

Mark swallows hard, his eyes azure. “I’ve lost things before because I didn’t say what I wanted. Because I thought it would make me selfish. Or possessive. Or like my feelings weren’t enough to change the outcome.”

You don’t breathe.

“I don’t want to make that mistake with you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if I don’t have the right to stop you. Even if this whole thing with us is still new.”

You let the silence stretch. Not because you don’t know how to respond.

But because it’s sacred now.

Then you step closer.

“You’ve never been selfish with me,” you say. “Not once. Even when you wanted to be.”

He watches you, breath shallow. Waiting.

You glance down at Marky, still curled into your side, safe and warm, then back up at Mark.

“You think I’d let someone like Mer-Man tie me to a throne I don’t want, when this is what I’ve chosen instead?”

Mark stares at you like you’ve just disarmed him. Like you’ve slipped a blade between his armor and he doesn’t mind bleeding for it.

“You’ve already made your choice?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You nod.

“It’s not a title. Or a promise. Not yet. But I already wake up wondering if you’ve eaten. I already look at your son and think about what kind of peace he’ll need to become the man he’s meant to be. And I already know I’d burn ten alliances to the ground to stay here.”

Mark exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since before dinner.

And then he steps in, slow, careful, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I want you to stay,” he says. “Not for him. Not for the Empire. For me.”

You nod against him. “I already am.”

And when he kisses you, it’s not restrained this time. It’s quiet, but sure. Like something decided.

Like something won.

Marky shifts between you but doesn’t wake. His little arms still wrapped tight around your waist.

And you know, without a crown, without an oath, that this is the future you chose.

And it’s already yours.

Mark’s mouth lingers on yours a moment longer, heat and promise still warm in the space between your lips when he pulls back. His breath is shallow. His hand still rests at your hip. His forehead presses lightly to yours.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

The quiet says enough.

“Ugh,” comes a sleepy little groan from your waist. “Stop kissing her, Dad.”

You both freeze.

Marky’s voice is thick with sleep, slurred and muffled, but unmistakably smug in the way only half-asleep children can be. He doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t even open his eyes. But he shifts in your arms, burrowing closer to your side like he knows he’s being carried and intends to exploit the warmth for as long as possible.

Mark laughs softly under his breath. “You’re awake?”

“Kinda,” Marky mumbles, lips barely moving. “You’re loud.”

You stifle a smile. “You’re dramatic.”

“Still gross,” Marky mutters, curling further into you. “Tell him to stop.”

Mark raises a brow. “You didn’t complain about it this morning.”

“You didn’t do it this morning,” Marky counters, yawning through the words. “You were grumpy then.”

You and Mark both huff soft laughter. It’s so normal, this teasing. So ordinary. Domestic, even.

Marky hums as he starts to drift again, his limbs going heavy, his breathing slowing. He tugs your arm more securely over himself.

And then, half asleep, soft as a prayer, he murmurs, “’Night… Mommy…”

The world stops.

Not loudly. Not all at once. Just a subtle, suffocating stillness.

You go rigid.

So does Mark.

Marky doesn’t notice. His breathing evens out again immediately, completely unaware of what he’s said. Dreaming now. Safe. Small.

You look up at Mark.

He is stone.

Not cold.

Not angry.

But hollow. Closed. His eyes aren’t wide. They’re blank. His jaw has gone slack. His hand at your waist falls away, like it doesn’t belong there anymore.

You step back just slightly. “Mark…”

He doesn’t answer.

His eyes are still fixed somewhere that isn’t here. Not at you. Not even at Marky.

Just past.

You take a slow breath. “You know he didn’t mean it. He’s dreaming. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying.”

Mark’s silence is deafening.

“I’m not—” You pause. “I’m not trying to replace her. Whoever she was.”

That’s when he flinches. Just barely.

A flash of something, sharp, dark, buried deep.

Your heart tugs in your chest. “Mark…”

He shakes his head once, fast. Not violently, but with finality.

“It’s fine,” he says. Voice flat. “He’s tired. Doesn’t mean anything.”

You search his face. “It means something.”

His gaze finally meets yours. And it hits you like a punch.

That isn’t fear of losing you.

That isn’t softness.

It’s grief. It's shame.

And suddenly you know, this isn’t about you at all.

You step forward gently. “Mark, whatever this is, whatever you’re not saying, I’m not going to push. But you don’t have to shut me out like this.”

He closes his eyes.

“I just need a minute,” he mutters.

You nod, even though every part of you wants to stay close.

Marky shifts again, murmuring something incoherent, head heavy on your shoulder.

Mark reaches for him, and you gently pass him over.

As soon as Mark’s arms wrap around his son, something tightens in his chest. You can see it, his jaw set, his body still too carefully, like he’s afraid he might break apart if he moves too naturally.

You watch him.

You feel it.

He’s not overwhelmed by love right now. He’s not afraid of stepping too far too soon.

He’s drowning in something he hasn’t told you.

“I’ll take him to bed,” he says again, not looking at you now.

You nod.

But you don’t move.

“Mark,” you say softly. “You don’t have to say anything. But just… look at me.”

He hesitates. Then finally lifts his eyes to yours.

There’s too much in them. Nothing like what was there minutes ago.

You reach out, brushing your fingers along his arm.

“I’m still here,” you whisper. “Even if you can’t say it.”

He nods, almost imperceptibly.

Then he turns, carrying Marky in his arms, shoulders high, spine rigid.

And as he walks down the corridor, you trail slightly behind, you realize the distance isn’t in his body.

It’s in his past. It’s in her. And you have no idea who she is. But you know now, whoever Marky’s mother was...She broke him in a way he never let heal.

The walk to Marky’s room is quiet.

Mark doesn’t speak, and you don’t try to fill the silence. You just stay close, your steps in rhythm with his. Marky is still fast asleep, limp in his father's arms, head tucked against Mark’s collarbone like he belongs there, which he does. But the warmth from earlier is gone. Mark carries his son like he’s protecting something fragile. Something that might vanish if he lets himself feel too much.

You watch him from the corner of your eye. The strong set of his jaw. The tight grip around Marky's back. The distance behind his gaze.

It’s not rejection. Not exactly.

But he’s behind glass now.

The doors to Marky's room hiss open and Mark walks in like he’s done this a thousand times. He has. You stay just outside the threshold as he settles the boy into the bed, shifting him gently onto the mattress. Marky rolls once in his sleep but doesn’t wake. He burrows into the pillow, fingers still clutching a corner of the blanket.

Mark kneels beside him, smoothing the covers. Then he stays there, crouched, staring down at his son for a long, quiet moment.

You don’t interrupt.

When he finally stands, he brushes a hand over Marky’s hair and crosses back to the door, stopping when he reaches you.

The lights dim automatically behind him.

He doesn’t speak.

You fall into step beside him, walking the long hallway toward your corridor. The ship is quiet at this hour, only the hum of life support and soft mechanical sounds echo around you. Everything about this feels suspended. Still.

It’s not until you reach your quarters that you stop.

You turn to him slowly. “You don’t have to stay long.”

He doesn’t answer.

His face is unreadable again, walls still up, even if his posture isn’t cold. Just restrained. His hands are at his sides, loose, but unmoving.

You study him for a moment. Then you take a chance.

You step in gently, resting your hands on his chest. Not pushing. Just touching. Letting him feel the weight of you there.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mark’s eyes flick down to your hands. His jaw twitches. His throat moves like he’s about to say something, something important, but it doesn’t come.

So you do something simple.

You rise onto your toes and press your lips to his.

Soft. Careful. Not demanding. Just offering.

But he doesn’t kiss you back.

Not harshly. Not like he’s disgusted or trying to push you away.

He just… doesn’t move.

And then, gently, almost apologetically, he reaches up and takes your wrists, pulling your hands away from his chest.

Your feet return to the floor.

You step back instinctively, blinking. “Mark—”

His voice is low. “Don’t.”

It’s not cruel. It’s not even sharp. But it stops you more than any shout would have.

He looks at you now. Really looks. And you can see it, that ache behind his eyes. That desperate want colliding with something heavier. Something he won’t name.

“I’m still here,” he says, like a vow. “I’m not walking away.”

“But you won’t let me in,” you say softly.

He says nothing.

Just stands there. Breathing slowly. Hands curling once at his sides.

You try again, quieter now. “Is it because of her?”

His silence is answer enough.

You swallow. “You don’t have to tell me. I won’t push. But I’m not going to pretend this doesn’t matter. That we don’t.”

His gaze drops. “You matter. You matter more than I know how to say.”

“Then let me touch you.”

He closes his eyes.

“I can’t,” he says. “Not right now.”

“Okay.”

The silence that follows is thick with all the things that want to be said but can’t be.

He doesn’t step back.

He doesn’t leave.

He just stands there, outside your door, staring at the floor. His body coiled. His hands trembling in the way only you would notice.

You step forward again. Not touching him. Not asking for more.

Just standing close enough that if he breaks, you’ll catch him.

“I’m going to bed,” you say gently. “You can stay if you want. Or not.”

He lifts his eyes slowly.

You offer him a soft look. “I won’t take it personally.”

He says nothing. But as you turn to go inside, he stays in the hallway. Not leaving.

Not ready.

Not yet.

And you close the door behind you, heart full of words he couldn’t say. But also of patience.

Because you’ve seen what grief looks like when it wears his face.

You don’t expect him to follow.

But he does.

The door hisses shut behind you both, and the air in your quarters shifts, quieter, heavier. Mark doesn’t speak right away. He lingers near the entrance like he’s deciding if he has the right to stay.

You give him space. You move through your nightly routine gently, without fanfare, slipping off your boots, unfastening your collar. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t move.

When your fingers reach the hem of your top, you pause.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” you murmur.

Mark’s voice comes low. “You don’t have to.”

You glance over.

He’s not trying to make it anything. His face is serious, tired, still shut tight, but not cold. Just… present.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you say.

“You don’t.”

That’s all. But it’s enough.

You nod once, and finish undressing in the room. Not to provoke. Not to seduce. Just to show him that you’re not afraid of his silence, or his pain. You change into soft sleepwear. He watches all of it without comment, but something in his posture loosen, just barely.

When you sit on the edge of the bed, he follows. You both stay quiet for a few moments.

Then he speaks.

“We need to talk.”

You glance at him, but don’t interrupt.

He looks down at his hands, knuckles flexing, as if trying to find the words somewhere in his palms.

“I haven’t told you much about Marky’s mom.”

You nod slowly. “No.”

He breathes in deep, lets it out slower.

You change without looking at him.

Not because you’re avoiding him, but because you know he needs the space. The quiet. The gentle pace of a moment that doesn’t demand anything from him. The low light softens the edges of your quarters. Your hands are steady, even as your chest aches.

He’s still sitting where you left him, at the edge of the bed, hunched forward slightly, elbows on his knees, like the weight of everything is finally pressing down hard enough to buckle him.

You wait.

You reach for his hand.

This time, he doesn’t flinch. He lets you take it, and his fingers wrap around yours like they’re trying to anchor themselves to something real.

Mark doesn’t move for a long time.

Just sits there, hands clasped between his knees, gaze fixed on the floor like the words are buried somewhere in the floor. You stay beside him, silent, letting the space hold him until he’s ready.

And eventually, he speaks.

“Eve had just left me.”

You blink. Your stomach tightens.

“I was gone for months,” he says. “She had enough.”

You wait. Let him keep going.

You watch his face. He’s not smiling. Just… remembering. Carefully. Like it hurts.

“I was broken,” he says. “Not just tired. Broken. Eve didn’t want me around. I can’t blame her. I wasn’t what she needed. But hearing her say it—after everything—”

His voice catches. You don’t interrupt.

“I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t want to leave, not really. But I couldn’t stay. So I flew.”

He breathes in through his nose. Slow. Controlled. Like he's bracing.

“And then… she was there.”

You don’t have to ask who.

“Marky’s mother, Anissa,” he says quietly. “I didn’t hear her land. I didn’t feel her coming. She was just there.”

His fists tighten, knuckles pale.

“She didn’t explain. Didn’t ask. Just said I was strong. That I should understand what that meant.”

He finally looks up at you, and the pain in his eyes is bottomless.

“ I tried to fight her at first, but later I didn’t stop her. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I couldn’t move. I was so tired, so far gone I thought maybe this was just… one more thing to survive.”

He exhales through his teeth. “Afterward, I told people who asked that it was nothing. I told that lie so many times it started sounding like the truth.”

You reach for his other hand.

He lets you take it. No hesitation this time.

“I told Eve eventually,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to. I was crying, shaking. I said her name and Eve just… sat with me. She didn’t press. She just held me while I broke.”

Your heart aches.

“I think she already knew something was wrong,” he says. “She said we’d get through it together.”

“And your parents?” you ask, softly.

Mark nods. “My dad found out later. I lied to him at first too. Said it was nothing. He didn’t believe me.”

You stay still.

“I had slammed her against a wall because I was angry. He looked at me, and I think he saw everything. Every part of it I couldn’t say. Things I didn’t say.”

Mark's jaw tightens.

“When we saw her again, he had her in a chokehold. He would’ve killed her if I hadn’t told him to stop.”

You nod. “Good.”

Mark looks at you, startled.

“I’m glad he was furious,” you say. “I’m glad someone knew what it was and didn’t pretend it was complicated.”

Mark looks down again. “I still told everyone else nothing happened.”

“Because you were protecting yourself,” you say. “Because you were trying to survive.”

His voice is hoarse now. “That’s the part I can’t let go of.”

“You don’t have to yet.”

You shift closer. Let your shoulder press into his. Let your hand stay wrapped around his.

He leans his head forward until your foreheads rest together. His eyes are closed, but his breath stumbles.

“When Marky called you that,” he says, barely audible, “I felt like I was back there again. Useless. Frozen. Like I didn’t deserve anything good.”

Your throat tightens. “You do.”

He doesn’t speak.

You say it again. “You do, Mark.”

And slowly, you feel the tension leave his hand. Not all of it. But enough to know he’s listening.

You stay like that. Silent. Close. Breathing the same air.

He doesn’t cry.

But he lets himself be held.

You lie on your side, facing each other, bodies barely an arm’s length apart.

The lights have dimmed to a soft gold glow. It doesn’t feel like a battlefield here. It doesn’t feel like a throne room or a ship or the cold silence between stars.

It feels like a secret. One that neither of you wants to break.

Mark speaks first.

“Did you always want to be a warrior?”

You don’t answer right away. Your fingers curl slightly against the blanket between you. You breathe in. Let it out slowly.

“No.”

Mark’s brows rise a little.

You meet his gaze. “I was chosen.”

He goes still. Not because he doesn’t believe you but because he does.

“The Sword of Protection chose me before I understood what it meant,” you continue. “Before I’d ever seen real blood. Before I knew what it felt like to kill.”

Mark’s eyes don’t leave yours.

“My brother, Adam… he was chosen too. By the Sword of Power. We both carry pieces of something ancient. Something we never asked for. Something that doesn’t care if you’re tired. Or scared.”

Mark is quiet. Listening like it’s holy.

“I didn’t ask for this body. This strength. I didn’t want to be the one people bowed to in war councils before I knew how to hold eye contact.”

Your throat tightens, but you keep your voice steady.

“I wanted to ride horses and sneak sweets from the kitchen and learn the names of the constellations that aren’t on maps.”

He’s so close you can feel his breath against your cheek.

“Instead, I learned how to break bones before I learned how to dance.”

Mark’s voice is quiet now. “You never had a choice.”

You shake your head. “None of us did. Not me. Not Adam. Not even the Sorceress. That castle doesn’t pick warriors because they’re ready. It picks them because they’re needed.”

He shifts a little closer. Not touching. Just near. “But you stayed.”

“I stayed because the sword didn’t go quiet after I drew it. Because people kept pointing me at problems and expecting me to survive them.”

Mark breathes in like the air just turned heavier.

“And now?” he asks. “Do you still want it?”

You’re quiet a moment.

“I don’t know who I’d be without it.”

Mark’s expression softens in a way you haven’t seen before. Not just sympathy. Not admiration. Something else.

Recognition.

He says, “You were made into something powerful. But no one stopped to ask if you wanted to be it.”

You nod. “Exactly.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Just breathes beside you.

“You’re not what they made you.”

You blink. “No?”

“You’re what you chose to become after.”

The quiet between you isn’t empty now. It’s full. Of unsaid things. Of mutual understanding.

Mark shifts closer again, his voice softer now. “I want to know more.”

“About me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Not just your title. You.”

You smile. “Okay.”

You talk a little longer. He tells you about the first time he flew so fast he passed out in the sky. You tell him about the first time Castle Grayskull showed you a vision in your dreams and you woke up crying.

He shifts to face you more fully.

“Was there anyone for you?” he asks. “Even once?”

You smile faintly, surprised by how gentle the question feels in his mouth. Like he’s not jealous. Just curious.

“There was a man,” you say, voice low. “When I was younger. Before the sword chose me. His name was Bow.”

Mark raises a brow. “Bow?”

You nod, amused. “Yes. He was… bright. Kind. A bit dramatic. Had a tendency to take his shirt off when it wasn’t necessary.”

Mark snorts quietly. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“I had a baby crush,” you admit. “I didn’t understand it at the time. It just felt like gravity.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” you say. “The sword came. Grayskull whispered, and I stopped seeing him as a boy with kind eyes and started seeing everyone as someone I might have to bury one day.”

Mark looks at you carefully.

Mark exhales like it hits deeper than he expected.

You lie there in silence after that. Breathing. Not asleep. Just being.

Not a warrior.

Not the Emperor.

Just two people, lying side by side in the quiet, trying to remember what it feels like to be known without fear as you two begin to sleep.

✮♛ ♚✮⋆˙

taglist is OPEN. drop a comment in the replies if you wanna be tagged in future updates.

@saturnalya / @liliesclouds / @maki-ki / @isnt-itstrange / @camilo-uwu / @noxiousness-obnay / @ketsuekiakane / @nympheagain / @verysynical / @gvre / @cookiemonsterboss / @weirdstartshere / @wifeofmarkgrayson / @pixviee / @sugawoonie / @uselesstutor09 / @monaekelis / @tr3nzit444s / @mikevi / @the-good-kooshe / @moraxussy / @ladynoirx321 / @just-a-harmless-patato / @whenicaniwont / @faephoria / @teriyakiitae / @qxuanii / @nwestra / @xoyumiqls /

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violetscar656 · 2 days ago

Text

"New Beginning" - Aftermath Part 5 (Last part)

Summary: Y/N is sister to Rhys and Cassian, but what is she to Azriel?

Warnings: 18+ Fluff with smut (somewhere between loving and fucking),

Authors Note: Last part, finally here, and it's like a dual POV. And I have officially realised that writing smut is a challenge. Comments are open to any suggestions, ENJOY!

Y/N POV

“I don’t know about this one” I said, looking at my reflection wearing a one-shoulder maroon A-line dress. The dress was pretty, but not what I wanted

A sigh reached me “This is the 6th dress you have tried” Mor said, sitting on one of the chairs in the trial room of the shop. I rolled my eyes

After that kiss, I didn’t trust myself staying in the same house as Azriel. I knew sooner than later I’d somehow end up in his bed. So, I went to The Town House, it’s not like I didn’t try to make other excuses for why I wanted to stay there, but Mor and Feyre cornered me, and well, the truth came out

“I knew it” Feyre screamed “You two are thing now, right?” I just shrugged and looked at Mor

She smiled at me, shaking her head, her eyes were apologetic, though, for all those years when she strung Azriel along. I just hugged her, letting her know what happened, happened

Somehow, telling them, and whatever happened in these past couple of weeks, made me feel freer

“Do you even know where he is taking you?” Ferye asked, handing me an emerald green dress

“He just told me to be ready by 8, I don’t have a clue where we’ll be going” I bit my lip,

The dress was beautiful, equal parts of elegant and sexy, something that said You better fuck me tonight. Well, I didn’t tell the other thing to the girls, it somehow seemed wrong to. Seeing the sweetheart neckline of the dress, I knew it’ll show the deeper scar mark. I’m used the mark showing until my collarbone but-

“Okay, go try this one” Mor ordered, I turned towards her, “Whatever your mind is thinking” Mor narrowed her eyes “It won’t matter to him, you and I both know what kind of male Az is”

Mor was the only one who knew about the extent of the scar; she got suspicious after seeing me wearing an outfit completely out of my element to Rita’s. I suck in a breath, Azriel of all the fae in the world will not be horrified from scar marks; mustering up the courage and go try the dress

As I emerge from the curtains wearing the green dress, a gasp rippled out from Feyre, and Mor just looks at me, mouth wide open “WOW” that’s all the high lady said

I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes going to the angry scar; a hand went towards the middle of my chest, even with the Illyrian healing, the scar stayed, an angry shade of pink and brown mixed

“It's funny how you see the scar first” Feyre says, looking at me “But we see how beautiful you look in that dress”

The dress was more than beautiful, the neckline, the slight shimmer on the dress, which made it shine on different angles according to the light, and the way it hugged my curves, but was also flowy.

“I bet by the night he ends ripping it off you” Mor says, grinning

My face went red. It’s not like I didn’t want Azriel; hell, I needed him. But he wanted to take it slow, and understanding that I agreed to it

A sigh left me “I don’t think there is going to be any Ripping tonight” I replied

Mor and Feyre start laughing, I look at them raising my eyebrow “Y/N, you have too much faith in Azriel’s control” Feyre says midst laughing “When it comes to you” she adds, teasing

“Oh shut up”

Arziel POV

I couldn’t wait for tonight, finally sorting my feelings out. The pining after Mor, and then an attachment with Elain; all because my mind couldn’t process the fact that there was a female who was interested in me, even after knowing my darkest sides.

In a way, I was glad that Y/N wasn’t there in the house when I woke up. I didn’t trust myself around her anymore; it fucking took 500 years of self-control to leave her room after that kiss, well I had to pump myself 3 times before I got any hint of sleep.

I kept thinking about how she would feel, tugging on her silky hair, her mouth on my cock, the taste of her pus-

I heard footsteps outside “Who is it?” I said before anybody knocked

Rhys entered grinning, working like an ice bath over my thoughts “Hello brother” he said

“Hey” I replied, sitting on my bed, and staring at my open closet

“I came here to check up on” he said, and I raised up an eyebrow “Well, Feyre, Mor and Y/N are out and” he pauses “I just wanted to make sure you are not a mess”

I chuckle “Well, it’s a date, Rhys” I pause “With my best friend, with everything on the line” The confession left me without me thinking

Rhys looked shocked, then he chuckled, “Brother, I know you two” He gave me a knowing look “It’ll be more than fine” he walked toward the door, he paused “Just don’t wear your leathers” He teased me and shut the door

Y/N POV

I looked beautiful, I had to admit, somehow, I looked feminine, with the makeup and dress. Mor was a magician when it came to my hair. I did tie it up in braid before, first knowing it’ll just get in my way while flying, and second, I didn’t know how to manage it,

“A braid belongs on the training field and not on a date” Mor said, finishing the last section “We should head down, your lover boy should be here soon” I laughed at the lover boy nickname

“Thank you, Mor” I told her, standing up, my hand reaching to the to mark

“You look beautiful, Y/N” Mor reassured

“Thank you”- “You need to teach me how to do hairstyles Mor. These curls look great” I tell her

I reached the end of the stairs and froze, warm honey eyes looking into mine. His eyes travel up and down the length of me

“Hi” Azriel said, taking 2 long strides to reach in front of me

I was at a loss of words, Azriel was wearing a white shirt with dark grey pants. I rarely saw the male in anything but black

He reached out “These are for you” I look at the bouquet of dark purple tulips, and just blinked

“You're not wearing black” My mouth uttered the first thing before thinking; I bit my tongue

He chuckles and gestures to the flowers in his hand “Oh, thank you” I said, our gaze locks again. My breath hitched at the contact of our hands, heat already creeping its way

“You look like a goddess”- “It should be a crime to look this beautiful” Azriel whispered

I couldn’t help but blush “You're one to talk, shadowsinger” I tell him

“I’ll take these” Mor chimed in, taking the bouquet “You two need to leave before a make-out session begins right here”

My face heated, turning crimson

Azriel offered me his hand “Shall we?” I nod

Azriel POV

After dinner, we landed on the hillside top in Velaris, a place I usually visited alone, but I wanted to show her this

“Azriel!” Y/N exclaimed “This place is beautiful” she told me looking at the city lights below us

“When did you find this?” those hazel-green eyes were looking towards mine

I huffed, walking towards her “You’ll be surprised at the places you find flying around the city” I reply, sitting near the edge of the grassy ground

She narrowed her eyes to me “Well thank you for the obvious statement” moving to next to me

My hands moved before she sat, and I placed her on my lap, her cheeks turning pink

“Dove?” I look towards her, voice husky “When did you know?” – “That I was not a friend to you” A question that was burning up inside me

Y/N let out a sigh, looking at the lights “I always knew”- “I tried to see you differently” she shook her head “But I couldn’t, I also couldn’t act on it cause I thought you saw me as a sister” She huffed out a laugh

“I never did” I wrapped my hands around her waist, looking into her eyes “You were always my best friend, never a sister” –“But my mind- it never comprehended that someone could show interest in me”

I reach out to her scar mark, pausing, looking up to her, and Y/N slightly dips her head. My finger traces her mark, and Y/N stiffens; the urge to kill those bastards again consumes me. We sat in silence for a while, looking into each other.

“This is the second place my mind is quite” I confessed

“Second?” Y/N asked

I took a breath, knowing it’ll be now or never “First is always next to you” My eyes graced upon the scar again “I did not know before, but I know now” I look into her eyes again

I took her hand and placed it on my heart, and I did the same with mine. Y/N’s breath hitched

“That I loved you before, I love you now, and I’ll love you for my whole existence and beyond” The confession left me, 2 heartbeats pass by

I saw it then, the golden light, the string that bonded us; my eyes widened and my body froze, then I felt a tug towards her

I choked on my breath “How long have you known?”

“When Rhys walked in with your limp body” She threw grass strands on my face “You luckied out, you felt the snap when your mate is on your lap, not bleeding out” Every vein in my body was on fire

I moved, kissing her, placing a hand on the nape of her neck to get her closer, trying to simmer down this need. Y/N opened herself instantly for me

She shifted in my lap, and her body touched my already hard cock, I growled in the kiss. She started grinding herself, our kiss turning from passionate to devouring. Her need hit me like a drug. I moved away from her mouth, kissing her neck

“Azriel” Y/N moaned, rolling herself on me, and a curse left my mouth

I don't know whether it was the mating bond, just us, or how she moaned my name. A part of me was ready to fuck her right here. Another, had to stop this madness before I cum in my pants without touching her.

“Let’s go from here” Y/N said “Or this place is going to turn into something else” She bared her teeth, her need as potent as mine. I tried to reach towards a sane part of me, winnowed us away

Y/N POV

I was wrapped up around Azriel’s waist, our mouths in an open kiss, teeth clashing, my hands were already unbuttoning his shirt when we landed. My body, working on its own, grinding on his hard length. A thud sound was the only indication of finally being where we are supposed to be

“Dove” He growled, placing me on the edge of the bed

I bite down on my lower lip, and start unzipping my dress. While watching my mate remove his shirt, his eyes nearly black

Azriel pushes me on the bed and pins my hands “So impatient little dove” he says voice full of silk

His eyes roaming over me, wearing a lacy black underwear, his finger flicks my already hard nipples, I moan and arch my back at his touch, Azriel hums his approval “Your body is so responsive to my touch”

That finger travels down the length of my scar, and then he stops “Azriel” I whimper his name, moving my hips

Biting his lip, he rubs my core through the barrier “You are drenched” He growls

I moan his name, tired of this game, wanting, no needing him “Mine” I snarl

A growl sound was the only response before Azriel ripped my underwear and kissed me hard. His mouth travelled down me, placing kisses; he stopped at my breast licking a sucking one and kneading the other. My nails digging on his back, careful of the wings, he nibbled my nipple, and pleasure zigged in me.

“Azriel” I moaned out his name, he pinched my other breast. I could feel my already drenched core getting wetter

I gently tugged on his hair, a slight command, he obliged me, kissing his way down my centre

I moaned at the painfully slow lick down my core, he did it again

“You taste exquisite my love” Azriel’s voice low, I whimpered

He sucked on the bundle of nerves and my back arched more, I was at his mercy. He inserted a finger down me, and I gasped at the sensation, my focus on that single finger

He added a second one, my eyes flew open, looking towards him to find him staring at me, as if waiting for the movement, he curled those digits.

Pleasure gathered down my spine, as his mouth sucked at clit again “Azriel” – “I’m I’m gonna” words fail me as white hot pleasure fills me wave after wave

I come down from my high, panting, my eyes go towards my mates, and he slowly licks does finger clean. Blood pumps in my veins at the sight of him, I get up and tug on his belt, noticing his hardness that’s caged

He lets himself free, my mouth waters at the sight of him, I was gonna devour him. I moved forward “Later” his voice came, barely leashed

He moved us back, and slowly he guided himself in, stretching me to the sweet point of pain and pleasure. He moaned, and the sound that came out of me was not of this world. He filled me so deliciously, letting me adjust to his size

He was inside to the hilt “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfect, Az, now please move”

He started moving at slow pace “You feel heavenly, so tight love” he hissed

“Az, harder” I said between pants

“Are you sure it’s our first time”

“HARDER” I commanded, moving my hips

I wrapped my legs above him for emphasis, and he sped up, setting a punishing pace. I met his each thrust with my own. He shifted, hitting the spot, and my eyes rolled back

“There” I cried out “Just like that”, pleasure gathered again

His pace didn’t falter, hard and brutal. The sound of our moans and slapping of skin on skin filling the room

“Azriel Azriel Azriel” his name was like a prayer on my lips

I felt my walls tightening, but I wasn’t ready to let this end

“Let go dove” Azriel panted his thrust losing their rhythm “Cum on my cock Y/N”

I cried out his name, shattering, compelled by his words

“Y/N” he roared, filling me

He lay on top of me, panting, still seated inside me, the thread between us shimmered. We looked at each other and chuckled, slowly, he pulled out of me

“I’ll be right back” He came back with a towel, and moved my legs apart

I blushed “Az I can do it” and said trying to take the cloth, he held my hand and smiled

“Let me take care of you” He smiled “My mate”

Lying on the bed all cuddled up “I love you” I looked in those hazel eyes

“You are mine and I’m yours, dove” Azriel says, wrapping his arms tighter around me

I bit my lip “I know things are busy for me and you both” I pause “But I, I want to accept the bond Az”

His head jerks up eyes widening, “Not now” you say, tapping his chest

His soft eyes look into mine “Would you like a ceremony?” He asked, I shook my head

“A week alone would be good” I tell him, my face heating up

He furrows his brows “Just a week?” He says teasing

I gape at him, and he smirks

“I bet it’ll be a fun conversation with Rhys” Azriel teases “Brother I need at least a month off to accept my bond” He mocks me

My eyes widen “A month??” Shocked, I look at the male

He bites my lip “With all the things I want to do to you” he traces my scar, and my core heats “A whole lifetime is not enough” his voice was full of shadows

Few Months Later

Slamming a stack full of documents in the living room, I let out a sigh, and turn “That’s it we are moving from here” I tell my brother

“You tell this every time” Cassian just grins “A little scent bothering you, sweets?”- “You should be used to it by now”

The training sessions began in the House of Wind with one additional member in the house, Nesta. I were not sure about the female at first, but as the days went by, she was improving, we bonded over our mutual love for books. But the house smelled of sex, and my brother smelled of her; the thought of that made me want to puke

“Oh c’mon now” – “You and Az were worse” Cassian yelled

Well we have been worse, but we barely got time after we accepted the mating bond. Azriel had left for his spymaster work, and I helped with the females' training lessons. Ruby, Lucy and Sarah joined along with 2 more.

Rhys did offer us to stay at the River House, but with Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta looking for the dead trove, someone had to stay. There was also the fear of losing Rhys and Feyre, in short things we fucked up

“I can’t fucking sit in the library cause of the memory of you two clawing each other there, and don’t get me started with the dining room” I yell back

Cassian starts laughing, I glare at my brother

4 Months Later

I was walking behind Azriel “Okay, okay, but where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise” Azriel said smiling at me

We were near the hillside, of Velaris, Azriel stopped and turned his head to the small house building there,

My eyes widen “Az you didn’t” I gape at my mate “So all the What's your dream house questions you asked”

Azriel grinned “It’ll be ready soon my love” he leaned forward and kissed me gently

“Decorate it as you wish” A tear slips from my eyes

“This is gonna be our home” I say, Azriel hugs me from behind and places one hand on my stomach

“A family home” he whispered

Note: I’M finally done with this series, and I know they being mates is cliché, but I wanted a happy ending. I hope you guys enjoyed it and well I think imma either take a break from writing or just write another drabble. I don’t know, but thank you to everyone.

My Taglist <3: @the-onlyy-angie @lreadsstuff @xadenswhore @willowpains @secretsicanthideanymore @a-chegwidden @tele86 @i-am-infinite

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jikooklove9795 · 1 day ago

Note

Hi! I recently saw a post about a live Jimin did for his birthday. In this live he had a cake that said “you are my Park filter” writing on it. Jungkook said he made the cake for Jimin. But Jimin had previously said the cake was giving to him by the staff. Do you know if the cake was actually from Jungkook?

Hi! 😊

That live was truly something, so much to unpack! It was interesting (very), revealing and undeniably telling.

I'm sure most of you already know all the details of this live, but let's go over it again because it never gets old.

The first thing that caught my eye during this live was the decorations in the background

Compared to the other member's birthday setups that year, Jimin's definitely stood out

The other members mostly had simple decorations with photos and writing. The only exception was Seokjin, whose setup was special because it also celebrated the release of "Super Tuna" which dropped on his birthday. Otherwise, his too would have been like the other five. Even though, Seokjin's setup was a bit more elaborate than the other five, it still didnt compare to Jimin's.

Jimin's had so much going on. The balloons, the color coordination, the writing and a birthday banner.

I thought about it and the only reason that makes sense is that it wasn't just done by the staff like the others. In Jimin's case it was all arranged by Jungkook.

Let's break it down one by one.

First, the JM balloons which resemble the JM tattoo on Jungkook's hand. Even with that same gap. And yes, JM is definitely Jimin. Jungkook said so during Run BTS when he pluck out the J and M balloons out of the PAJAMA PARTY, stuck them on his chest, went up to Jimin and said "JM, Jimin". Jungkook got his tattoo in Sept 2019. This episode aired in March 2020 but it was shot in 2019. Most probably in Aug 2019. Anyway it was before Jungkook got his tattoos.

Next, there's the yellow and purple color coordination. Jimin and Jungkook's representative colors. The yellow JM balloons were placed over purple heart balloons and there were yellow and purple hearts placed side by side. Talk about obvious! Not to mention the red heart balloons added a sweet touch.

Then there was the "Cutie, Sexy, Lovely. Happy Birthday Jimin"

Back to the live, Jimin mentioned that the decorations and cake were prepared by the staff. I'll leave that there for now and share my thoughts on it at the end. For now let's keep going.

I think he read a comment asking about the members and he replied like this:

But then he did something which caught my attention. He spun in that chair, moved toward the decorations and pointed at them with both hands

To me it felt like he was hinting that a "certain member" did this for him. Otherwise why would he do that right after talking about the members and saying he wished just "one" of them was with him?

He then talks about his daily routine. A few minutes later he reached for his phone, seemed to be contemplating and finally made the call to Jungkook, asking him to join the live and keep him company.

So, Jimin made the call to the "one" he truly wanted there with him. It's always Jungkook for Jimin and here he is proving it again. I'm sure Hoseok would have come too if Jimin had asked, but it wasn't Hoseok who he needed. It was Jungkook.

Just one minute. 60 secs. That's all it took for Jungkook to show up at the studio. What is he??? Superman?!

He was working out with two others when Jimin called, but he dropped everything and rushed over because he knew his bf wanted company for the live. In the process he even spoiled his new haircut which he wanted to surprise ARMY with. But priorities are priorities and for him Jimin always comes first.

Then we are treated to some adorable Jikook moments.

Jungkook says he's leaving and he's out the door when Jimin asks him to fetch water for him. He not only brings water but also Soju. He's about to leave again when they hear a knock. Jungkook opens the door and it's Hoseok. And Jungkook stays back too to chat a bit with both of them.

Let’s pause and talk about something interesting. Notice how Hoseok knocked for someone to open the door, while Jungkook just walked right in? Before Jungkook entered, you can hear the sound of the machine granting entry. That’s the first clue that the studio belongs to Jungkook (if it wasn't already clear from the decor). HYBE’s studio rooms have face and fingerprint scans that only allow access to the assigned member. That’s why Jungkook could enter freely, while Hoseok had to knock.

This live clearly proves what I'm saying. From the 59 min mark you can see Hoseok scanning his face and fingerprints to enter his studio:

youtube

Then what about Jimin? We will know about it soon.

Let's continue again.

Hoseok mentions a strong smell in the room, like spicy garlic fried chicken. Jungkook immediately says he wants it, and Jimin agrees. Jungkook suggests ordering it, but Jimin reminds him that his mom is already cooking for him (or maybe for both of them?).

Jimin and Jungkook getting busted by Hoseok in 3... 2... 1!

Jimin's expression nearly slipped but he caught himself.

By now, Hoseok knew exactly what was going on. He wasn’t done yet and went in for the final blow:

And Jimin was left completely speechless. Reminds me of this:

And also Hoseok's Tokyo 2016 live.

When Hoseok teased Jimin about continuing the live in his studio, Jungkook quickly tried to change the subject by bringing up the 3J Butter version, a bit too obviously 😅

youtube

They drank soju, and Jimin left with Jungkook and Hoseok from Jungkook's studio. He lingered outside for nearly a minute, making me wonder if he was complaining, whining to Hoseok about spilling the beans. Moments later, the machine sounds granting entry into the studio and Jimin walks in. So, now its clear that Jungkook's studio allows access to Jimin too.

And even if the studio has a password system still the point is that others have to knock while Jimin can enter by unlocking it himself.

Now to answer your question about the cake, yes, I think Jungkook was the one who arranged it. Jimin probably chose not to share that with us, just like he did with the decorations. The wordings on the cake and the decorations on the wall felt too personal like something which comes from your significant other instead of from a fellow band member. So, he likely decided to say they were from the staff.

What we see and hear about their relationship is probably just 25% of the full picture.

Take their companion enlistment, for example. They got confirmation regarding it on 6th Sept 2023. But to make that happen, they must have started discussing about it in early 2023. Yet we only found out when it was officially announced.

The same goes for the hickey situation. During the Jinjikook live in December 2016, Jungkook used a pic of himself to make Jimin stay in the live. When he posted the pic we speculated the hickey to be from Jimin but we had no confirmation about this. Years later, in 2021, Jungkook casually walked in with a hickey and confirmed it was from Jimin.

Next is Taehyung's Osaka live in 2016. The one where Jungkook was dressed down and playing music before Tae entered. Here too we speculated that Jimin was hiding in Jungkook's room but had no confirmations. Then, during the April 2022 live, Jimin mentioned how he's usually dressed down at home and Hoseok chimed in with "And Jungkook's in charge of the music, right?" leaving Jimin momentarily speechless.

Think about all those times we speculated they were sharing hotel rooms. We've had plenty of confirmations from the other members' words and reactions, Jikook's own actions, and even that hidden cam their company set up.

Most of these confirmations came gradually over the years through OG content, the members' words, and Jikook's own actions. Now, think about a fan—not an anti—who doesn’t watch OG content, early-year footage, or only follows their own bias. Speaking from a Jikook perspective, they're unaware of many things we’ve noticed. Their lack of awareness doesn’t mean those things don’t exist. It just means they don't know about it because Jikook hasn’t shared them directly (I mean like a verbal confirmation) even though they’re clearly reflected in Jimin and Jungkook's actions.

This is exactly why some jkkrs feel insecure. Understanding Jikook is a time consuming process. You have to watch as much content as possible from all the members, see the bigger picture, read their magazine interviews over the years and read between the lines to pick up on the hints and subtleties conveyed which they leave for us to figure out on our own. Stop hating on the other members. At the end of the day they're all a family and each one of them cares deeply about the other. It also takes empathy to recognize that Jikook are a closeted couple, which means they might tone down their moments when they feel they're oversharing.

During this live Jimin mentions how he felt awkward with the cam while shooting for their behinds footages but still he acted as if he wasn't. It reminds me of their debut years. Did you realize he was playing the "macho guy" role back then? I didn’t, not until he mentioned it in the BTS documentary. It isn't him lying. It was him simply playing the role he was assigned until he found it comfortable to be himself in front of the camera and audience. Just like Seokjin who had to act the cool guy part during the debut years.

I bring this up to explain the cake and decoration situation. Its Jimin choosing not to share it with us. And this is the same Jimin who mentioned Jungkook visiting his room more than the managers and staying for hours "doing nothing." I’m pretty sure they were sharing the room, but Jimin chose not to say it outright instead choosing to only share a part of the truth.

Jungkook tones it down by saying that it's because Jimin's room is the closest. And this is the same Jungkook who, during his 2023 lives, watched hours of Jimin’s content, constantly asked Jimin to come over or asked if he could go over to Jimin's and showed just how much he missed Jimin when he was busy with work. A big part of his 2023 lives was basically him fanboying over Jimin, supporting him, cheering him on and also made it obvious to us that he misses his bf. So much for toning it down.

Sometimes, it’s the passage of time and changing circumstances that push people to make bold choices and prioritize their happiness above all else.

That’s what I realized when I heard about their military enlistment news. That’s what I felt when I saw Jikook in AYS. It was them choosing their love and happiness above everything else—despite all the critical eyes and opinions.

This conversation:

This goes out to both antis and insecure jkkrs. When you bring up things like Jungkook not knowing about Jimin's tattoo or Jimin not knowing Jungkook's schedule and a bunch of other nonsense, I can’t help but laugh. They probably do know. They're just choosing not to share it. Or pretending not to know, like Hoseok did here. Maybe they feel it’s not their place to share it or they don’t want to overshare or because they want to keep certain things in their relationship to themselves. Privacy! Both of them value that a lot. And it's important that people keep certain matters private in order to protect their relationship. They’re not obligated to report every detail they know about each other to us. However, for 10 years, they’ve shown us more than enough about what they mean to each other. Which in itself is a huge deal. For them it's all about balance.

A healthy relationship strikes the perfect balance between celebrating love openly and cherishing private moments. Publicly, it's beautiful to express love, share happy moments, and show appreciation for each other. It solidifies the bond and lets others witness that joy.

However, the real strength often lies in the private moments. Those quiet conversations, unspoken understandings, and personal challenges faced together. Protecting those sacred spaces from outside noise allows the relationship to grow stronger without external pressures.

This balance isn't about hiding. It's about choosing what to share and what to hold close to your heart. It’s like saying "We are happy, and that's ours to protect".

And Jikook are doing an amazing job practicing this balance despite their surroundings and circumstances.

When I began answering this, I planned to keep it brief, but here we are! Thanks for the ask, anon. I really enjoyed answering it.

Take care 👋🏻

Credits to the owner of the video

#jikook #kookmin #jungkook #jimin #ask

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mashounen2003 · 16 hours ago

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I found a more detailed explanation, specifically for the "Superman-Blue and Superman-Red" arc.

Here's the source: https://www.reddit.com/r/dccomicscirclejerk/comments/122nbrb/comment/jdtnfue/ and https://www.reddit.com/r/dccomicscirclejerk/comments/122nbrb/comment/jdw24hn/

"BryceWasHere" replied to a comment asking for a serious explanation:

Lore-wise, I don’t know. My understanding is that, at the time, there were legal disputes about who owned Superman: DC or the families of the creators of the character. So the creators' families made a list of what makes Superman Superman: he wears a blue-and-red outfit, he's got the S on the chest, heat vision, super strength, speed, and so on. In response, DC turned him into that Electric Blue Superman, who didn't fall under those rules.

"niteowl1987" added:

I think this is just fan speculation, unless there's a source that confirms otherwise. According to Wiki, the Siegel family served a termination notice about a month after the release of Superman #123 (the first appearance of his new suit), and the storyline had already been building for a few months. The termination wouldn't even go into effect theoretically until 1999, and the negotiations continued until 2001, but all of this was well after DC had already restored Superman to his original costume and powers in early 1998, so the timeline of the legal stuff doesn't exactly sync with what was happening in the comics. Interviews from the creators indicate they were just going for status quo shake-ups to challenge Superman after killing him and bringing him back, as was the common trend in the 90s. The intent was always to eventually build to the Superman Red & Superman Blue revisit and bring back classic Superman. https://comicbook.com/dc/amp/news/20-years-later-how-did-electric-superman-happen/ In-story (I'm working from memory here), Superman lost his powers in the Final Night crossover when the Sun-Eater extinguished the sun. His powers didn't return after the sun came back, but his body started converting to an energy form that he was unable to control, and he was... like... blowing up in the middle of Metropolis. To save him, STAR Labs –and LexCorp, I think– made a containment suit that allowed him to maintain a tangible form and harness his new abilities to sort of replicate his old ones. So, instead of flying, he zapped across the sky like lightning; instead of bullets bouncing off his chest, he absorbed their kinetic energy and stopped them in motion; instead of lifting heavy stuff with his own strength, he manipulated their EM fields or something to move them, etcetera. Some time later, after Superman had gotten more experienced with his new powers, Cyborg Superman captured him and tried to stuff him in a glass tube to do whatever crazy shit he was trying to do, and it accidentally split Superman into the Red and Blue variants, which bore different aspects of his personality. Later, the two Supermen sacrificed themselves to save the world against the Millennium Giants, and Kismet (?) revived him as one being again and restored him to his original form as a "reward".

#Comics #Comic books #Superhero comics #Superheroes #DC #DC comics #Superman #Justice League of America #JLA #Grant Morrison #Superman Blue #Superman Red #Superman Red and Blue #Superhero comic books #Justice League #Comics history #Comic book history

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breakmeoff · 17 hours ago

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The Boy Next Door │6

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v, suggestive dialogue, fluff fluff fluff, swearing, mentions of nudity, intimacy, i think that's it? MDNI, 18+ only

word count: 2.7k

synopsis: you and chris make the most out of the 24 hours you have together; physically and emotionally

note: i've gotten over 800 notes on this series collectively so far, and i'm so so grateful you are all enjoying this story. thx as always for reading :)

Masterlist

Neither of you had left the apartment after Chris arrived that day. Knowing the time he was going to be with you was limited, you decided to not let a moment go to waste.

Most of the day was spent curled up together on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. There were half-assed attempts at watching movies, though they didn’t last long before you were all over each other.

The afternoon found you on your knees, between Chris’ legs, worshiping his body with your hands, lips and tongue, bringing him to a writhing, begging mess before you. Shortly thereafter, he took his time, laying you back gently on the couch to return the favor, savoring every inch of you he could.

You ate take out food together on the floor, hair disheveled and clothes strewn around the room. Blankets were laid down beneath you as Chris lazily rocked his hips against yours, his cock buried in the soft warmth of you, quiet moans filling the space around you between passionate kisses.

Later in the evening, the steam from the bubbly water inside the large clawfoot tub and aromatic calming scent of lavender wafted through the quiet master bathroom. Chris was seated behind you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest, relaxing into the heat of him.

Against your ear, he laughed softly. “You know… I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first bathtub you’ve ever seen me in…”

“Oh my God,” you replied, smacking him lightly in the thigh beneath the water before you ran a hand down your face at his cringey comment. “Don’t be gross, I know for sure I never had to give you a bath before. Lucas? Yes. You, no.”

He placed a soft kiss to the side of your neck and teased, “maybe not... but you can give me a bath anytime you want now,” playfully growling in your ear.

“Ok, you’ve ruined the moment, I’m getting out now…” you replied with a smirk, fake attempting to climb out of the tub before he pulled you back down onto his lap.

A short while later, both dried off and clean from the bath, you snuggled together between the sheets of your king sized bed. Like two teenagers who couldn’t get enough of each other, it didn’t take long before you were trembling underneath Chris again, teetering on the edge of another climax from his skilled touches and fervor.

Both coming down from your respective highs, your bodies spent, boneless, and satisfied, embracing each other once more. Breath softening, hearts melting, falling asleep in each other's arms.

—--------------------------------

The next morning, Chris was the first to stir. Slowly blinking his eyes open, it took a few seconds to refamiliarize himself with his surroundings.

The faint grey morning light filtered in through the wispy sheer curtains in your bedroom, swathing you in an ethereal haze. A gentle pattering of raindrops tapped the window, producing a soothing white noise for an otherwise perfect, comfortable silence.

Curled up behind you with an arm draped lazily across your stomach, he leaned in to nuzzle your hair, breathing you in as his grip around you tightened briefly, savoring the moment. Not wanting to wake you, he gingerly pulled his arm away and cautiously climbed out of the bed.

Pulling on a pair of grey sweatpants and a long sleeved black tee, he paused at the edge of the bed for a moment, watching you sleep. He’d genuinely not remembered the last time he felt this sense of peace.

Creeping out of your bedroom, Chris made his way into the kitchen.

Not long after, he shuffled his way back in with a tray between his hands. After placing it on the bench at the foot of your bed, he moved back to the mattress and crawled to his previous spot right behind you.

“Sunday morning, rain is falling…” he sang breathily, quietly, brushing some of your hair away from the side of your face.

“Steal some covers, share some skin…” he continued, shifting the comforter from your bare shoulder to place delicate kisses on your soft skin. “Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable… you twist to fit the mold that I am in.”

With a quiet grumble, you squinted your eyes shut just a little tighter, instinctively not wanting to wake up just yet.

Though, registering the lilt to his melodic voice and the soft words being sung against your flesh, a small smile spread over your lips and you shifted to nestle back against his warm body.

Chris snuggled right back into you, curling around your petite frame, wrapping both of his arms around you comfortingly as you turned to face him.

“Good morning beautiful,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

“Hi,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of his nose before nuzzling into the crook of his neck, tangling your legs with his.

Running your foot up the side of his shin, you furrowed your brows and tipped your head back to look at him with a pout. “...you have clothes on.”

Chris chuckled softly, looking at your unhappy expression. “Very astute…”

“...and it smells like maple syrup,” you said, halfway sitting up and looking dubiously around the dimly lit room.

“Yes, it does!” He agreed, sitting up and shifting around to grab the tray he brought in before handing it over to you.

Leaning back against the headboard, you pulled the sheets up just enough to cover your bare chest, accepting the tray of food he presented you. Your eyes flitted from the breakfast laid out before you and back up to his face, still in a bit of disbelief.

“...and you actually made me pancakes,” your voice was soft, eyes now roaming over the plate of heart shaped pancakes, perfectly fanned orange slices curving along the edge of the plate, two cups of black coffee and a mini pitcher of creamer.

The thing that made your breath catch though was the single red rose laying across the back of the tray.

“Well technically I made us pancakes,” Chris smirked, pointing to the two forks and two napkins laid out beside the cups of coffee.

“Hmm…” you nodded, sighing for dramatic effect. “Well, I have a thing about eating in bed. More like, a rule than a thing…”

Chris froze, kneeling on the edge of the bed, waiting to hear what he had done wrong. The most adorable look of disappointment gracing his features. He was positive you were going to say you found it disgusting, that the idea of crumbs in the sheets horrified you, something.

“Yeah... only naked people are allowed to eat in bed.” You said matter-of-factly, dragging your eyes intentionally up and down his clothed body.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he laughed, jumping up quickly, his shirt having fallen to the floor before his feet even touched the ground. After kicking off his sweats, he pulled the sheets back and scooted up right next to you, letting the soft fabric rest over his lap.

Once he was exactly where you wanted him, the bare skin of his muscular thigh resting against yours, you handed him one of the cups of coffee before picking up the other.

Letting the silence of the moment sink in, you looked up to his warm brown eyes and tapped the edge of your mug to his. “Thank you for this,” you mumbled before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his plush lips.

Against your mouth, he murmured “maybe wait to thank me after you’ve tasted everything, it might still be awful,” Chris laughed, kissing you once more before taking a sip of his coffee.

_____________________

A little more than a half an hour later, your bellies both full and the tray redeposited back on the bench off the bed, you were tangled up together once again.

Soft grazes of fingertips trailing over skin, gentle kisses being placed wherever they could easily reach, feet entwined at the end of the bed.

With your nose nuzzled into his neck again, your eyes closed, hand idly running slowly down his spine, you whispered “...what time did you say your flight was again?”

A low groan slipped past Chris’ lips in a near pout. “Not until this afternoon, but let’s not talk about that yet,” he pleaded, his arms tightening around you.

“I know, I know…” you mumbled, “trust me, I’m not ready for this to be over yet either. But…” you said, shifting back enough to look at his facial expressions.

“No, no buts…” he almost whimpered, peppering little kisses all over your lips, cheeks, eyes, jaw.

“But…” you exhaled, eyes closed, melting into his sweet touches. “we need to talk about what is happening here…”

Chris sighed heavily, resting his forehead against yours, pinching his eyes shut. “Can’t we just enjoy this? Each other? Not worry about the future?”

“I just don’t want either of us to get hurt,” you admitted quietly. “Our lives could not be more different… or far apart.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, he whispered “they have these amazing inventions called airplanes…”

You lightly swatted at his chest, inching back further again, trying to impress upon your concern. “Chris, you know what I’m trying to say…”

Reluctantly letting you go, he shifted to prop himself up on the fluffed pillows, moving his eyes to look over at you sincerely. “To some extent, I agree with you. Logistically this isn’t ideal, but nothing is perfect. And I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to do either.”

Sitting up straighter, he reached for your hand, linking his fingers between your own. “The only thing I know for sure is that I haven’t felt this calm or at ease in a long time. Having you back in my life has brought me such a sense of comfort that I cannot even try to explain, and if I can hang on to that feeling then I want to do whatever I can to make it last.”

Bringing your hand up, he placed his lips delicately against each of your knuckles, eyes locked in to yours. Chris’ tenderness was causing your hesitation to waver. With each reverent touch and sincere word whispered, your walls were beginning to crumble down, brick by brick.

Still sensing your uncertainty, he continued. “I’m not saying we have to decide anything right now or have all of the answers, but please just give this, us, a chance.”

Scooting closer to him, you wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulder and pulled him to you, a soft kiss lingering against his lips. “Okay…” you breathed, eyes closed, relishing the closeness of him.

“Okay,” he murmured in reply, holding you tightly to him once again. “All I ask is that we just remember how this feels. Not worrying about anything or anyone else outside of this.”

“Okay,” you repeated, fingers threading into the hair at the base of his neck.

“‘Cause it’s safe when it’s just you and me…” he whispered.

Hesitating a moment, he let go of you and abruptly shifted to the side of the bed to grab his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching him in surprise by his hasty actions.

“I gotta write this down before I forget… might have a new lyric…” he said over his shoulder, leaning far enough forward that the sheets were sliding down his hips.

With more of him being exposed to you, appreciatively your eyes dragged the expanse of his muscular shoulders, strong back, over the curve of his waist and down over his perfectly rounded, firm ass.

A quiet moan of longing slipped past your lips as you (had he turned around to see) were ogling his god-like form. Unable to help yourself, you reached forward and smacked his ass. Hard.

Yelping in surprise, Chris turned over his shoulder and looked at you like you had lost your mind, laughing as the shock at your audacity.

“Did… did you just... spank me?”

“I’m sorry, you have the best ass and it was staring me in the face and I couldn’t help myself…” you admitted, biting your lower lip innocently.

“Ohhh, now you’ve done it,” he chuckled deviantly, setting his phone back down before rolling back over to you.

A fit of laughter, tickles, kisses, and roaming hands soon turned into another round of sensual touches and passion. Each movement deliberate, intimate, and unhurried. Neither of them able to get close enough to curb their growing cravings for each other.

_____________________

“I think I’m going to keep this,” you said, pulling at the fabric of the oversized white t-shirt hanging loosely on your frame.

“You’ve got expensive taste,” Chris teased, referring to the Givenchy name stretched across the front of the shirt.

“It’s not my fault that the French know what they’re doing.”

Standing up straight after zipping his overnight bag, he came to stand in front of you, reaching down to the hem of the shirt you commandeered. Pressing his large hand against the curve of your bare ass, he grabbed a handful, causing you to squeal and lean into him.

“That’s alright, you look fucking hot in my clothes,” he murmured lowly, holding you against him as he kissed you slowly.

“Careful,” you said against his mouth, “I might steal more of your stuff.”

“Thief,” he replied, kissing you once more.

Chris’ phone buzzed in his hand, causing him to pull away long enough to look at the message. “My car is outside,” he sighed.

“K…” you mumbled, inching back to let him gather his belongings and slip his shoes on.

Pausing by the door with his bag draped over a shoulder, he looked over at you, a sad look spreading over his features.

“Hey, no pouting,” you smiled, closing the distance once again. “We’ll figure something out to see each other soon. Put your game face back on and go prepare yourself to whip those boys back into shape. They’re probably running amok without you to keep them in line.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he whined playfully, pulling you into a crushing embrace. “I’ll call you later when I land.”

“Sounds good,” you replied, kissing him sweetly, forcing yourself to put a brave face on for him. “Thank you for showing up unannounced.”

“Thanks for not turning me away.”

“Never.”

Bringing his hand up to cradle your cheek, Chris’ lips found yours, savoring every last second of you he could. Pulling you in impossibly closer, he kissed you with such intensity it was obvious that he was trying to make you feel it, and make it linger until you’d be in his arms again.

“Ok, get out of here before they come looking for you,” you teased, one hand against his chest to push him away reluctantly.

Twisting the door handle, he pulled it open and hesitated in the doorway for another second. Grabbing your hand, he tugged you to him, his lips crashing against yours once more.

A moment later, he let you go and turned to walk down the hallway before he could stop himself again.

You waited until he was in the elevator, headed downstairs before you shut the door quietly behind you. Quickly making your way to the picture windows facing the street out front, you pulled the curtain back enough to sit on the ledge, just in time to watch him walk out onto the sidewalk and to the waiting vehicle.

Before Chris moved to sit down in the backseat, he glanced up to your third story window, not expecting to see you lingering there. The corners of his lips curled upwards slightly, as you lifted your hand to give him a small wave.

Pressing his fingertips briefly to his lips, he blew you one final kiss, and climbed into the car.

in case y'all wanted to listen to the song chris woke her up to 😊

tag list (🫶🏼): @angel-writes-skz-here @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl

let me know if you'd like to be added :)

Masterlist

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