#i maybe got a little carried away with this

[beloveds-embrace]

(a series in which you are a witch living in the woods, and a group of knights have decided to keep you safe and sound in exchange for kisses and charms.)

Ghost’s visits were fleeting, much like the twilight shadows that crept through the trees. They always came without warning, as if the man himself was more a part of the forest than even you, slipping between the cracks of the day unnoticed. Tonight was no different. The wards surrounding your cottage buzzed softly, recognizing his familiar energy, and you opened the door before he could knock.

His broad figure filled the frame, his skull mask catching the faint glow of the firelight spilling from within. Shadows danced across the painted bone, but you didn’t flinch.

You never did. Never felt or had to.

“I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” You said, stepping aside to let him in.

He ducked through the doorway, gloved hands reaching into his coat to retrieve a worn leather pouch. The door closed quietly on its own behind him, glimmering faintly. “Had time. Thought you could use this.”

He handed you the pouch, and the faint scent of crushed lavender and sage wafted from it. Behind you, empty bottles clinked and tapped their way into a neat row on the counter.

“Perfect for cleansing rituals,” you said, smiling as you took it. “Thank you, Simon.”

At the sound of his name, he stilled- even though he had told you to call him that himself, so long ago. The moment passed, and he watched in silence as you began sorting the herbs, your hands deft and practiced and your magic humming in the air.

“You haven’t been visiting as much,” you noted, glancing up briefly to flash him another smile. “Been busy?”

“Always.” He replied simply, leaning against the wall. His eyes tracked your movements, the fluidity and familiarity with with you did everything. It was comforting.

“You should sit.”

“I’m fine standing.”

You shook your head but didn’t argue, instead reaching for a small carved charm resting on your workbench. The rune, etched into a piece of bone, pulsed faintly with a soft, protective glow- magic you had infused into it over several nights. It was a good thing he came by when he did.

“This is for you,” you said, stepping closer and holding it out. “It’s for the nightmares. To keep them at bay.”

Ghost hesitated for a moment before taking it, his fingers brushing yours. He studied the charm, turning it over in his hands. The silence stretched, but it was never uncomfortable with him.

“Thank you.” He said finally, quiet but no less sincere.

“You’ve been sleeping poorly again, even aside from the nightmares.” You observed gently, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

He didn’t answer directly, but the slight tightening of his posture was answer enough.

“I’ll make you something stronger,” you offered, already moving toward the shelves where you kept your jars of herbs and oils. “A dream salve to help you find peace.”

“You do too much, witch.” He muttered, rough and yet carrying an undertone of warmth.

“This is how I protect you,” you replied, grinding dried lavender and valerian root in a mortar. “You all keep me safe in ways I could never repay, Simon. This is the least I can do.”

He stayed quiet, watching as you lit a candle and whispered an incantation over the mixture. The flame flickered unnaturally for a moment, the salve glowing faintly before settling into a calm, soothing scent.

When you handed him the small jar, he tucked it into his pocket alongside the charm. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

“You’ve got a way of making this place feel untouched,” he huffed at last. “Like the world out there doesn’t exist.”

“It’s the wards,” you grinned, pride flickering. “And maybe a little bit of you all, too.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and he glanced toward the door. “Speaking of the world out there…”

You followed his gaze, the faint hum of unease settling in your chest and chasing away the pride. “What is it?”

“Had to deal with something on my way here,” he admitted, grumbling darkly. “The crown’s men were sniffing around the edge of the forest. Heard rumors of a ‘witch’ living out here.”

Your stomach dropped, and you gripped the edge of your workbench. “How close did they get?”

“Not close enough,” Ghost said firmly. “I made sure they wouldn’t come any nearer. A few whispers about cursed woods and unnatural shadows should keep them away for now, and they have no reason to doubt me.”

He didn’t elaborate, but you could imagine it: the sight of him emerging from the trees, his skull mask illuminated by the dying light of day, his voice low and threatening. He didn’t need magic to make men tremble- his presence alone was enough. Especially for those who heard about him.

“Thank you, Simon.” You breathed out softly, your voice laced with genuine gratitude. Your heart began to calm down from the way it’d started thudding before.

“I’ll keep them off your trail,” he continued, tone leaving no room for doubt. Carefully, he reached to hold your cheek in his hand for just a few seconds that felt much longer. “Price has a system in place, but if anyone gets too curious, I’ll handle it.”

You stepped closer, reaching up to brush your fingers against the edge of his mask. “I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”

“You’ll never have to find out.”

Before he left, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the edge of his mask. The cold material brushed your lips, and for a moment, he softened.

“Be safe out there, Simon.” You whispered.

He nodded, stepping into the shadows beyond your door. As the forest swallowed him, the wards around your home shimmered faintly, strengthened by the presence of the man who had once again ensured your safety.

You returned inside, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air, and whispered a quiet spell of thanks- one more layer of protection for the man who guarded your hidden sanctuary.

Witch of the Woods Masterlist | John Price

[sloaneispunk]

“it’s all fun & games”

frontman!in-ho x you

a certain sweetheart in the game knows in-ho’s real identity, but will she care when in-ho feels the same way about her?

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒.

“let’s go one round and introduce ourselves, it’s lame calling everyone by their numbers.” you chipped in excitedly, hand rest on the palm of your hands as you eyed in-ho.

he knew the game you were playing, you just wanted to see how long he could keep his identity concealed.

“i’m jung-bae.”

“i’m dae-ho.”

“my name’s jun-hee.”

“and i’m seong gi-hun.”

“i’m y/n and i guess that just leaves you.” you pointed to in-ho who was nervously looking down at the floor.

“i-i’m… young-il.” he said in a low voice.

“young-il!” you giggled, “hey, that matches your number! i wonder if it’s a coincidence!”

“ah, she’s right! 0-1, young-il!” junb-bae clapped his hands as the team laughed.

but in-ho couldn’t care less, he gave you a glare as you tirled a few strands of your hair between your fingers.

this was going to be fun.

even as big of a compromise as you were to his plan, in-ho found himself liking it. not only was it a challenge, but he got to see the cheeky, not-so innocent side of you that no one else could.

by now, he was almost a hundred percent positive that you knew exactly who he was, the frontman. but did he care? no. it was all fun and games, just a little tiny ruse of yours to keep him on his toes.

that night when everyone was tucked into their beds, getting ready to sleep, in-ho sneakily walked up to the side of your bed.

“can i help you?” you chirped, eyes doe-wided as you smiled at him. but he saw right through, you wsnted this to happen.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he gritted out, sitting down beside your bed.

“trying to sleep but some bozo won’t let me.” you scoffed playfully, laughung at your own joke while in-ho didn’t even crack a smile. “what do you want?”

“what do i want? i want you to stop whatever games you’re playing here.” he said sternly, “i don’t know how you figured it out, but they don’t know so keep it down!”

“can’t a girl have some fun?” you looked at him with a pout on your lips. “isn’t it more exciting for you this way, i know you like the thrill as much as i do.”

in-ho took a hold of your jacket, giving you no choice but to lean down towards him, face centermeters away from him as you felt his breath on your cheek.

“look, i don’t care that you have anything to do with the game, i really don’t!” you lifted your arms up subtly in surrender. “but i gotta say, you’re pretty hot for the frontman.”

“yeah? is this what you wanted? you just couldn’t help yourself, huh? you needed my attention?”

“maybe.” you shrugged, causing him to shake his head, chuckling in disbelief.

“you’re something else, y’know?”

“all for you.”

after that, you both went to bed. your mind was racing. was this really going to end well? maybe it was just a stupid crush you had on him, it didn’t really matter. but in-ho had other plans, he’s never met someone so sweet yet cunning at the same time. you had awoken a flame inside of him that he swore was already gone.

during breakfast the next day, you sat close to in-ho legs and arms touching as you got comfortable beside him.

“so what’s your real name?” you whispered to him as the others carried on with their conversation.

“you gonna tell anyone, you minx?” he teased, smiling down at you.

“i promise i won’t.”

“it’s in-ho.”

“in-ho, huh? that goes pretty well with y/n.”

he laughed out loud at your obvious flirting, making the others stop to look at you both.

“sorry.” you apologised to the team as they resumed their talk.

when it came to the ‘six-legged pentathlon’ game, you were paired with in-ho, gi-hun, jung-bae and dae-ho.

“oh, inh-i mean young-il, which game do you think you’ll be good at?” you asked, purposefully slipping up to get a rise out of him once more.

in-ho clenched his fist, he knew it was intentional.

“uh, spinning top, i suppose.” he replied.

“great!” you cheered as the game began.

when it came to your turn, everyone was at the brink of either puking or shitting themselves. yet somehow, you remained composed. in-ho took glances of you many times but he couldn’t figure out how you of all people were so calm.

little did he know, you already knew there was no way you would be able to fail these games. for god’s sake, you had the frontman here with you. and if you would’ve guessed? he wasn’t going to stand there and watch you get shot doen by the guards, you knew you already meant more to him than that.

as an act of revenge for your little ‘slip-up’ earlier, in-ho ensured to fail multiple times at his game, making the team even more so uneasy than they already were. he had to admit, it was satisfying to finally see some hints lf fear in your eyes as he failed.

but eventually, the team had made it out alive at the very last second. you let out a deep breath that you were subconsciously holding in.

“scared now?” a voice came from behind.

you whipped your head around, but was only met with the mischievous grin of in-ho.

“are you fuckin’ crazy?!” you practically yelled at him.

in-ho pulled you into the bathroom as the team continued to make their way to the room without you.

“will you shut up?” he scolded, holding you against the wall.

“you’re telling me you did that on purpose?!”

“wasn’t it ‘exciting’?” he mocked you from earlier, causing you to roll your eyes. “and you’re not so innocent too, calling me by my real name in front of everyone like that?”

“it’s my way of flirting.” you joked, snorting a laugh as he gently put you down.

“flirting?”

“yeah, can’t you tell?” you questioned. “and i think it’s starting to rub off on you too.”

you weren’t wrong. in-ho didn’t only find himself liking your cocky remarks more, but he started to copy them too.

“you’re a minx you know that?” he said.

“i know, and you love it.”

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒.

a/n: this is a lil twist on the sweetheart!reader x in-ho trope and i think it’s pretty cute! i’m still a sucker for lee byung hum, send help.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 34 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Maverick makes time to have a conversation with Bradley, but you've already lost faith in him. Your words hurt him more than anything else could. 

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

When the mattress dipped and you felt the bedding shift around your legs, you opened your eyes to find Bradley climbing out of bed. The room was still dark, but his face was illuminated by his phone screen. The baby was thumping against your tender insides, making you wince, and your husband was playing around on his phone in the middle of the night. Or texting someone.

"What are you doing?" you croaked. Bradley's gaze snapped toward your face, and he leaned down to pull the covers to your shoulder.

"Uh, I need to head to base a little early," he whispered, tracing your cheek with his thumb. "To meet with Mav."

"What time is it?" you asked, rolling toward him to see his phone.

"Almost six," he replied, kissing your forehead as he tipped his screen away. "I love you. Try to get some more sleep."

You swallowed hard, rolling away from him as he started pulling his uniform from the closet. The rustle of fabric set your nerves on edge, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he got dressed. Maybe he thought you fell asleep again, because he didn't say another word before he left the room. But you were pretty sure you heard him stop in Rose's nursery before leaving the house.

Now you were wide awake and alone. Your phone told you it was 5:28 which was completely absurd. Neither you nor Bradley ever got to base before 8:00 unless you were working your ass off on a project.

He used Maverick as his excuse which seemed ridiculous. Bradley wasn't in the middle of training for a special mission which would require extra hours before daylight. And he had to know Maverick would only cover for him for so long.

You sat up and laughed miserably. Your husband was lying to you. And you thought you knew what he was lying about. Tears filled your eyes as your hand rested on your belly where your younger daughter was moving around. Why was Bradley doing this to the three of you? 

It wasn't like you couldn't tell how bad you looked at the moment. You knew it. You were bloated and chunky and broken out, but it was at least half his fault you were pregnant again in the first place. And you would make it a priority to get in shape after she was born. You would.

Your fingers were curled around the sheets, trying to keep yourself on your side of the bed, but you crawled toward Bradley's nightstand anyway. The lamp was too bright, taking your eyes a beat to adjust. You yanked the drawer open which offered almost no insight to anything except his Nugget Notebook with the pink and blue striped cover. But then you saw something underneath it.

You grabbed the second notebook, this one bright pink, and pulled it from the drawer. Only the first few pages were covered in his writing, but you soaked the words up greedily.

To my second daughter, you are the third love of my life. I realize that sounds a little unfair, like you're coming in third place, but I promise that's not that case. It's only because I met your mom and your sister first. You're not even here yet, but I already know I love you just as much as I love them. And I can't wait to meet you, too.

Before I get carried away, let me introduce myself. I'm your dad. It's my job to love you and take care of you. I'm not perfect, but I love you so much, I'll always try my best to be here for anything you need. To be honest, I never expected to have a family at all. And to be extra honest, you were a bit of a surprise. But a very good surprise. My favorite kind of surprise. I can't wait to teach you everything I know, which isn't much, but I do know how to love my three girls. 

"How?" you gasped, dropping the notebook back into the drawer. You sobbed into Bradley's pillow, unable to make sense of this. How was the man who wrote notebook passages to his children the same man who was sneaking around behind your back. With Indigo. It simply did not make sense, but both versions of him seemed to exist at the same time. And somehow you were the one who was more at odds with yourself than he was with himself.

You could feel the love he had for his daughters. It was so obvious. He was so good with Rose, and he seemed excited about having two kids.

You weren't sure if you'd be able to kick him out. You didn't know if you could leave him. If push came to shove, you didn't know if you could be that strong. You wished he wasn't making you consider it at all. 

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

"Oh, God."

Bradley was awake as soon as Maverick replied to his text at five in the morning. He'd barely been able to sleep anyway, but when Maverick told Bradley he was heading to Lemoore in a few hours for a meeting, he begged his godfather to meet with him first.

Now Bradley was sitting in his office in a silent building waiting for any help he could get. As far as he had worked out, Indigo had been devouring his extra attention for weeks for a less savory reason than he originally thought. All the times she invited him out for a drink left him shaking his head while he stared at the wedding photo perched in his desk. 

He never tried to hide the fact that he was married. He fucking flaunted it. You were perfect; why wouldn't he? If someone else thought they had a gorgeous wife? Ha, Bradley could lay it down in spades. Someone else claimed their wife was smart? Well, his was a goddamn genius. Someone wanted to brag about their kids? All he had to do was pull up a photo of Rose, and he had everyone around him swooning.

He found it easier to make small talk about his family than anything else these days, and he was sure Indigo knew he was married before he even left Texas to fly back to San Diego. It still seemed unlikely she wanted to sleep with him, but he wasn't going to deny that Nat was usually right about these things.

"Oh, God," Bradley groaned for probably the tenth time since he woke up. He wanted to rewind and go back to Texas and never select Indigo in the first place. 

But would that have been fair? To leave her behind when she was the best? When she was clearly one of the pilots who should be moving forward with new programs? It wasn't like she ever touched him. Other than persistently inviting him for drinks and showing up for all of his office hours, she never made an advance. But now he was uncomfortable. There was something about the way she always looked at him that.....yeah, Nat was right.

But if Bradley couldn't handle his first assignment in his new position, how was he supposed to prove he could do this going forward?

There was a knock on his already open door, and Maverick stood there looking perplexed. "Bradley? What did you need that couldn't wait until later this week?"

Bradley groaned again as he stood. "Can you shut the door?"

"Sure."

Maverick let it slip from his fingers, and Bradley waited until the echo of the door closing gave way to silence. He could feel his godfather's gaze on his face as his eyes closed. He swallowed hard, not wanting to waste the other man's time, but now that he was here, he felt so stupid. 

"I need your help," Bradley rasped, voice hoarse as his eyes opened. "It's work related."

"Okay," Maverick replied, voice between a statement and a question. "What can I do?"

Bradley's fingers curled around the edge of his desk as he looked down at his phone sitting there. "Uh...Mav, this is embarrassing."

When Maverick took a step closer, he reached across the desk to cuff Bradley on the shoulder. "Just hit me with it."

Bradley took a long breath and let it out slowly. "There's another officer who... well, it's been brought to my attention that she..." He let go of his desk and rubbed his fingertips against his eyes. "There's a chance my wife thinks something's going on between me and another officer on base. One who reports to me."

Maverick's expression gave nothing away, but he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before taking a step away from Bradley. "To be clear, Bradley, are you asking me to help you hide an indiscretion from your wife?"

Bradley's head tilted slightly. "Huh?" he grunted, thoughts already swirling around his mind so rapidly, it took him a few seconds to catch up. "What the fuck, Mav? No!" he gasped. "An indiscretion?" He could barely even say the word as he shook his head. "No. God, no! Nothing happened! Nothing is ever going to happen!"

He realized he was shouting when Maverick's hands flew into the air in surrender. "Okay. Alright. I hear you loud and clear. I just needed to be sure I understand what we're dealing with here. Why don't you have a seat and explain everything to me?"

Bradley was raking his fingers through his hair as he dropped down into his chair. "It's Lieutenant Jeffries. Indigo." Her intense blue eyes filled his mind as he shook his head. "Phoenix and Hangman pointed out that she..." He paused and glanced at the ceiling. "This is so embarrassing, Mav, but they said it seems like she wants to sleep with me."

"Hmm."

When Maverick hummed and went silent, Bradley said, "I know how ridiculous it sounds."

"It doesn't," his godfather replied immediately. "This sort of thing happens sometimes. You said nothing happened? You should keep your distance moving forward, and if she contacts you outside of work or does anything inappropriate, we can write it up."

Bradley groaned miserably, unlocked his phone, and pushed it across the desk with his messages open. "She did text me outside of work."

While Maverick reached for the phone, he said, "Did you give her your number?"

"No. Why would I do that?" he replied. "But honestly, it's not hard to get access to that kind of information. I didn't think much of it the first time."

Maverick shrugged. "Well, what did she text-" His eyes grew wide when he looked down at the phone, his cheeks turning pink as he was surely looking at the photo that had been in Bradley's messages for less than twelve hours.

"Yeah," Bradley croaked. "She sent that last night."

"But she texted you before that. When you never explicitly gave her your number." Maverick looked up at him, shaking his head. "Bradley, what were you thinking? She seems to have some sort of agenda. You should have come to me immediately after the first message."

Bradley stood, stomach lurching. His marriage, career, and reputation were somehow all on the line, and he hadn't even done anything. He couldn't help but think of his parents and the fact that his dad probably never put his mom through this kind of shit when she was seven months postpartum.

"An agenda?" Bradley whispered. "Shit, Mav. This is the kind of thing that happens on carriers. Not on base. I thought this was something men did way more than women when they wanted to cheat."

Maverick handed his phone back across the desk with the photo of Indigo open. Bradley swiped out of the text thread immediately, sick to his stomach. 

"You work in a high stakes field where women routinely outperform men. They are capable of anything you are."

"I know that!" Bradley snapped. "But I'm married! I'm not looking for that shit. I never let on that I was."

"Oh, you sweet summer child," Maverick sighed, checking his watch. "Literally," he added as he dug his own phone from his pocket. "If Lieutenant Jeffries is sending you photos and playing coy, she doesn't care about your wife."

Bradley winced. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Maverick grunted, taking a few steps toward the door. "And your wife is pregnant and vulnerable, and now I'm going to have to tell Admiral Simpson that I'll be late getting to Lemoore. Follow me. And bring your phone."

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

Bradley was late getting home. This was happening almost every night now, and you were hanging on by a thread as Rose screamed in your arms. She was fed, but she always seemed to prefer the way Bradley burped her over your technique.

"He's not here," you said through gritted teeth. "I don't know where he is or when he'll be back. I just need you to burp so you can go to sleep."

Your texts had gone unanswered. You weren't sure if Bradley had been in the cafeteria at lunchtime, because you hid in your office. Dinnertime had come and gone, and his cold plate of food was currently sitting on the kitchen counter.

"I don't know where he is," you repeated to your daughter while her younger sister did somersaults against your bladder. Rose's sobs finally started to taper off as you rubbed your hand firmly against her back. She finally burped, and that seemed to do the trick. Her fists curled up next to her face as she yawned. You barely had enough time to change her into a clean diaper and pajamas before her eyes were closed.

You were mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. You stood in her nursery, watching her sleep while you decided you needed to say something to your husband tonight. There was no way you could keep punishing yourself for not being enough. If he wanted someone else, you deserved to have him say it to your face.

But when you heard him open the front door thirty minutes later, your heart lurched into your stomach at the sight of him. You'd known how handsome he was since the day you met him, and he only seemed to get better looking with age. Each year added more silver to his hair and laugh lines to his face, but he was undeniably sexy.

Today, however, he looked exhausted, and your brain went wild with awful ideas. What had he gotten up to? Why was he so late? The top buttons of his uniform were undone, and his hair was mussed. He was staring down at his phone in his hand while you stood silently at the end of the hallway, terrified of what he was looking at.

Suddenly everything you'd been holding inside for weeks was bubbling up to the surface, and you were done holding it back. You cleared your throat, and his gaze snapped up to your face, phone hanging in his hand by his side.

"Hey, Sweetheart. Is Rosie already asleep?"

You nodded, taking each step slowly until you were standing right in front of him. When he reached for you, his fingers skimmed your shoulder before you pushed his hand away. Those beautiful, brown eyes you loved so much went wide, but he didn't look surprised. Not at all.

"Why are you so late?" you snapped. "And don't feed me some bullshit about office hours, because I know your schedule. Or, at least, I know what they are supposed to be."

Bradley licked his lips, gesturing between the two of you with his phone. "I had to take care of something important with Maverick."

You wanted to laugh in his face. "You're really going to use the same excuse as this morning? Another meeting with Maverick? What, one was at the crack of dawn and the other was after dinnertime? I've been texting you for hours, Bradley."

You watched his Adam's apple bob. "I didn't have my phone with me for part of the day."

"You have it now!" you laughed sardonically, pointing at his hand just in time to see his phone light up. 

It was her. You saw her name there. Indigo. She was texting your husband well after work hours, and you could already feel the tears stinging your eyes.

You grabbed his phone before he seemed to realize what was happening. Your fingers shook as you entered his passcode to find it was still your birthday. He wasn't even trying to hide this from you. He wasn't trying to take his phone back. As you braced yourself for what you were about to see, you whispered, "What the fuck is going on with her?"

His brown eyes were so sincere, and once again, you couldn't understand how this was the same man who wrote journals for his unborn children. "Nothing," he replied, voice taking on a tone of defeated exhaustion. "There's nothing going on."

Your eyes dipped down to his phone to find not one, but two flirtatious selfies. One new one, and one that was sent last night while he was working out in the garage. Indigo's eyes stared back at you from the screen, mocking you, making a fool of your family.

You were crying. You didn't want Bradley to see you cry right now, but you couldn't stop. "This doesn't look like nothing. And you didn't tell her to stop."

Now he looked panicked, eyes wide as he saw the photo on his phone in your hand. "Okay, I know this looks bad, but I reported it, I swear! I've never been alone with her behind closed doors. You can call Mav!"

Violent sobs shook your body, and when Bradley slowly let his hand settle on your arm, you shook him free. "You expect me to believe nothing is going on? When you get home late every day? When she told me that it's no wonder you prefer her since I let myself go?" you gasped, swiping at your tears.

"What?" Bradley barked as you blindly handed his offending phone back to him. "She said that to you?"

You nodded miserably, taking a step away from him. "I don't want to know if you said that to her, or if she formed her own opinion after spending time with you. And I don't want to know if you're fucking her or just considering it. But I want you out of the house."

Bradley looked like you just slapped him. His mouth was hanging open, brow creased while you sobbed. "You want me out?" he whispered, hand going up to rake his fingers through his hair.

"Yes," you squeaked, trying to stay strong not just for yourself, but for your daughters as well. Every word hurt as you forced them out of your mouth, but you had to say them. "Go. Until I can talk to my parents about canceling the sale of their house. I'll transfer to Annapolis. Take the girls with me."

Bradley closed the distance to you, tears already pooling in his eyes as he dropped to his knees. His lips found your belly, and you sobbed harder as he wrapped his hands around your hips. "No. You can't," he said so softly, you could barely hear him. When he looked up at your face, you almost believed he would never be capable of hurting you. "Baby Girl, you can't leave me. I need you. I need my girls."

When you stepped out of his grasp, his arms fell limply to his sides. You'd never seen him look so miserable before, and you had to stand firm instead of reaching for his hands.

"Find somewhere else to sleep."

The implications of your own words stung your heart, and you had to watch him slowly get to his feet. He kissed your forehead, and your eyes blurred with fresh tears when he went down the hallway to Rose's room. Less than a minute passed, but each second felt like a day. You had plenty of time to tell him the truth. That you didn't want him to leave. That you couldn't blame him for wanting someone else, and you still needed him as much as he said he needed you.

When he reappeared, you pressed your lips together even as he kissed your damp cheek. "I love you," he rasped. "I'm never going to stop loving you. I'll figure out some way to make you believe me."

You watched him retreat to the front door with his keys, shoulders sagging as he gave you one last lingering look before slipping out into the darkness.

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

Ouch. Ouch. Okay. I want BG to believe Roo beyond any doubt, and I think I know how to make that happen. Please stay tuned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

@glenpowellluver

[phielows]

Bruce being a pretty face that he is, would of course gain lots of attention. Besides having tons and loads of money and having a surname known in the entirety of Gotham.

Every event and gala that he'd casually walk in, there's already maybe 2-3 people hovering over him, trying to swoon him over and seduce him.

maybe about 2 meters away, 4 people are already eyeing him. Seeing how they'd win him over, how they would capture their prey.

Meanwhile at the manor, the Wayne kids are the ones who have to deal with the bombardment that these suitors are doing towards their father.

Dick: Okay so some weird mf just sent a whole ass bouquet in front of the manor's gates...

Jason: Yeah lemme guess is it carnations?

Dick: no, it's peonies.

Jason: Oh okay, so that's fron that one CEO from the outskirts of Gotham.

Dick: Wait you got them all memorized?

Tim: well I mean yeah, some of us here even got some bet going on from how long will it take for each and everyone of then to stop sending shit.

Duke: no kidding tho, some fucker decided to drove a whole ass drone with it carrying a package and before it could even reach the boundary of the manor, i exploded it to pieces.

Steph: one time I thought i was gonna be cornered while i was going home, but then turns out it wss one of them suitors, asking me to give Bruce his gifts. I just nodded, he went away then I threw the whole thing to the trash bin.

Cass: A car stopped in front of me on my way home and it even gave me a lift. Then before I could got off of the car, the guy beside me asked if I could give Bruce the perfume he has sent for him. I gave it to the homeless man.

Dick: Why would you, a trained assissin and a vigilante would just randomly accept an offer from a stranger????

Cass: my legs are tired from walking.

Dick: ??????EVEN CHILDREN KNEW BETTER THAN ACCEPTING A STRANGER'S OFFER?

_________________________

Meanwhile

Damian whispering while observing the surroundings: You got the thing?

Clark: Yeah got it here. (Hands over Krypto)

Damian, trying not to coo on the spot: okay. So, all I need to do is convince Father,right? Saturday night, at the daily planet tower, 10 pm sharp?

Clark: Yep! And could you hand him over this? (Hands over a little gift)

Damian: you need an added payment.

Clark: fine, 2 week visits to the farm, with free access to every animals.

Damian: deal. I'll make sure Father won't be able to resist this. Pleasure doing business with you.

[crssvjb]

Secrets Revealed - Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Sumarry: After a painful breakup, you discover you are pregnant, but keep the secret out of fear and hurt.

The morning started like any other: a ray of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant sound of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. But the pregnancy test in her hands changed everything.

Two lines.

You felt your heart race. It wasn't possible. He read the leaflet again, checked the test three more times, but the result did not change. You were pregnant with Charles.

She sat on the bathroom floor, her back against the cold wall. His mind went back to the last moment they had together, weeks ago.

—"You think you're always right!" — You shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of emotions.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, irritated. — "And you think everything has to be your way! I can't deal with this right now."

— "Can't handle this? Maybe you can't handle me, Charles."

The silence that followed was the most painful you had ever experienced. He looked away, hesitating. When he spoke again, his voice was a little cold:

— "Maybe we were never right for each other."

You swallowed hard, the words burning like acid. Without saying anything else, he picked up his things and left, leaving behind not only his home, but also everything they had built together.

The sound of your cell phone vibrating brought you back to the present. You looked at the screen and saw messages from friends. There was a party that night and everyone was excited to go together.

But how could you face Charles now? He would probably be there. And you... you didn't know if you would have the courage to face him with the secret you carried.

The party was in full swing when Charles arrived. Dressed casually, he greeted his friends but seemed a little distracted. Since the breakup, he had tried to convince himself that the separation was better for both of them, but a part of him knew that he had messed up.

- "Hey, Charles." — Pierre caught his attention, holding out a drink. — "How are things with Y/N?"

Charles frowned, uncomfortable with the message of his name. — "I think this is over, Pierre."

Pierre looked a little surprised. — "It's over? But... what about the baby?"

The glass in Charles' hand almost fell. — "What baby?"

Pierre widened his eyes, clearly realizing his mistake. — "Ah, shit... I thought you knew. Sorry, Charles. I wasn't supposed to... forget it."

Charles didn't wait for explanations. Dropping his drink on the first surface he found, he hurriedly left the party, ignoring Pierre's calls.

— "Pierre, you big mouth." — Kika said, slapping her boyfriend's arm.

The knock on the door was unexpected. You opened it and saw Charles panting, his eyes shining with a mix of surprise and nervousness.

— "Why didn't you tell me?" — He asked, almost whispering.

— "Charles, I..."

— "You're pregnant, aren't you?" — He interrupted, his eyes searching yours urgently.

You hesitated, but you knew you couldn't deny it. - "I am."

Charles took a deep breath, clearly trying to process. — "Why didn't you tell me? I had a right to know."

— "And I had the right to be afraid." — You replied with a trembling voice. — "After what you said, how could I trust you again? How could I believe you would stay by my side?"

He looked devastated. — "I was an idiot. I got angry and said things I shouldn't have. But I never wanted to hurt you. And now... now I know that I only made everything worse."

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. — "I don't know if I can forgive so quickly, Charles. I'm hurt and I need time."

He took a step forward, hesitant but determined. — "I understand. And I'll wait as long as it takes. But know that I'm here. For you. For the baby. For us."

His words were sincere, but you knew it wouldn't be easy. The road to rebuilding trust was long. But maybe there was a chance for you. Over time.

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁵

[httpwintersoldier]

『sweet little thing p.2 | b. barnes x reader』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's real long okay, it even has a third part! summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 1 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

"I don't think the text was for me, darlin', but for the record, it looks good."

Your widened eyes stared at the text until the screen of your phone locked again due to lack of activity.

You couldn't believe you had been so stupid as to send without checking the contact beforehand! You cursed your slippery fingers, and the fact that their names started with "J". Thankfully you didn't mention any names in the text, or else you'd probably have to drop out and move elsewhere...

Once the embarrassment had washed away ever so slightly, you let his words sink in - "but for the record, it looks good". You gripped your skirt and pressed your thighs together as you imagined the man leaning closely and whispering that in your ear, telling you just how good you looked.

Another dilemma popped into your mind - now that he knew you thought it was slutty, should you really go out in it!? On one hand, Bucky told you it looked good, but on the other you'd basically admitted to knowing too much showed in that outfit...

The sound of a car honking outside broke you from your trance, and you walked over to your bedroom's window to find your ride already waiting for you. You muttered a small "fuck" under your breath gathered all of your things and stuffed them in a bag before taking one last look at the mirror.

"Oh, whatever, can't get worse than it already is." You said to yourself, grabbed a large jersey and threw it on top of the cheerleader outfit you decided to wear.

You sprayed some perfume and left the house, with your heart wanting to find Bucky right away, and your mind wanting him to stay as far as possible.

You all rode in the same car in direction to Andy's house, which meant that at least you wouldn't be alone with Bucky yet again - that alone calmed you down quite a bit. The ride was loud and full of music, but you couldn't stop thinking about your little (big) mistake.

Your friends noticed, but as far as they were aware, you had a thing for Andy, so they just brushed it off as being nervous to be around him or something of the sort.

Fortunately, Andy was the one opening the door this time, and he greeted everyone with a big, adorable smile that would have made you fall to your knees just a couple weeks ago.

"Guys, I need your help carrying the beer cases, the ice and the thermal boxes. Y/N can you and Jas go to the garage and bring the boxes? There's four of them, they're empty so you should be alright bringing two each."

You and the other girl nodded, following his instructions as to how to get to the garage. Once you got there, however, the boxes were nowhere to be seen.

"Can you go ask him where they are, Jas? I'll keep looking."

Your friend nodded and turned around, leaving you alone to look for the boxes by yourself. You tried not to make too much of a mess while searching for them, but you had looked as hard as possible without moving anything, and yet you had no luck finding what you were looking for.

"What happened to that little number I saw?"

You jumped and shrieked at the deep voice behind you. When you turned around you saw those steel blue eyes looking down at you, with a little knowing smile.

There was no point in playing dumb, you both knew what he was talking about. His eyes flew down to your hands that played with the hem of your jersey.

You felt so small under his gaze... You had never felt like this with any other guy - sure, you had been shy before, but when it came to Bucky it was like the words were caught on your throat and your whole body caught on fire. Maybe it was because he was older, maybe it was the confidence and power in the way he conducted himself - the image of a man who wasn't, for once, all bark and no bite.

He stepped forward, reaching right beside you to claim the beer he had left open on the counter that you were leaning against.

"Decided against my advice?" He took a swing of his beer, the playful, devilish smile on his face spreading wider "Andy would've liked it."

He was teasing you. He knew you were embarrassed and he was using it against you, for amusement.

"Why? Did you like it?"

The both of you were shocked at the words that left your lips - you didn't know where those words came from and Mr. Barnes wasn't waiting for something so bold to come out of you.

He chuckled and his eyes suddenly seemed to be darker, but that darkness wasn't the lack of emotion you had seen that day at the store, it was a different type... there was something sensual about his gaze rather.

"Maybe I did."

The two of you heard footsteps heading towards you. Bucky stepped away from you and faced the door just as your friend came in.

"Andy said that his dad already- oh, hello Mr. Barnes!"

"Hi there. Can I help you?" He asked Jas.

Bucky acted as if nothing had happened, as if he and you had just been having a casual conversation, as if the air was thick and tense from the sexual tension burning between your bodies.

"Andy told me and Y/N to fetch the thermal boxes, but he didn't know you had brought them out already." She explained.

"I see. Well, have fun girls." He said, looking between you and her, as you walked towards the door to leave with your friend.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your mind, a little bit of revenge for what he had just done to you. You needed to act fast, so thinking twice about the idea was out of the question, you just... did it.

"Aren't you going to watch the game, Mr. Barnes?" You asked teasingly, turning back around to face him.

Bucky scoffed, knowing exactly what you were doing calling him 'Mr. Barnes'.

"Might stop by and watch it, why sweetheart?" The man asked, with a curious look, taking another sip of his beer, something he did often to hide his smirk.

You took off the jersey you were wearing over your outfit, revealing the cheerleader getup you had just talked about, and handed him the item of clothing.

"You don't have anything to support the team! I can lend you my jersey." You said, your voice honest and innocent, as if you didn't know exactly what your words and actions meant, as if there wasn't a second meaning to what you did.

Bucky wasn't exactly subtle in the way he looked at you. His eyes were eating you up, from top to bottom, slowly taking in the view in the flesh. Eventually, he reached for the jersey and took it.

"Thanks, sweetheart, I'll make sure to give it to you when the game is over."

You mumbled a "don't mention it" and walked back into the house with your friend, so you could help everyone set up for the game.

"Dude, his dad is a real DILF." Jas whispered as you two made it to the front porch.

"I know, right?" You smugly agreed.

Whistles and compliments echoed in the room when you pulled up with the cheerleader outfit after ditching the jersey. Andy's eyes in particular stayed the longest on your body, and you felt a little guilty for nor caring about what he thought - the feedback that you truly wanted had already been received.

Bucky had joined the group not long after the game started, and you didn't miss the way his eyes stole glances at you whenever possible.

The man himself didn't know what was wrong with him. He was nearly twice your age, he could be your dad, it was a very possible scenario since his actual kid was your classmate, but for some reason, ever since you had walked into his house with that pretty little skirt and those big, shy eyes, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you.

He knew he wasn't being subtle when eating you up with his eyes, but Bucky wanted you to know, to see what you did to him.

Both of you were aware of the painfully tense and erotic situation, as you'd spread your legs and cross them more often than not, giving Bucky a good view or your exposed skin, making him yearn for more.

"Shit, we need more chips." One of the guys complained.

"I can get them." You offered, since you weren't really interested in the game, and stood up, taking the two empty bowls with you.

It seemed to be impossible to ever be in that house without being left alone with James Barnes, but that time it wasn't accidental at all. As you were opening the chips and dumping them on one of the bowls, footsteps echoed behind you.

Suddenly, Bucky placed his hands on your waist and flipped you around, pressing you against the counter and trapping you between the furniture and his body.

"What are you doing, darlin'?" He asked, looking straight into your widened eyes.

"I-I'm refilling the chips..." You responded, pointing at the bowl behind you with your thumb.

"Fuck the chips, you know exactly what I mean, pretty girl." The man said, cutting right through your act, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you to him.

One of the corners of your lips twitched upwards, discarding the innocent façade.

"I'm doing just what you are doing."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N."

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine, it rolled off of his tongue in a manner that couldn't be described in any way other than sensual.

"And you aren't?"

He chuckled, licked his lips slowly and then brushed his hair back with his hand, out of frustration. Your naive side had him going insane with desperation, but your bold side had the man wishing to fuck the brat out of you.

"You know what?" He said, taking his hand and softly placing the pads of his fingers right above your knee "I'd love to bend you over this counter and fuck you with this little skirt still on."

His hand trailed up your leg, slowly lifting your bottoms, revealing your white panties with a pink bow in the front. Bucky smirked and chuckled, a small patch of wetness was clearly visible.

"But?..." You questioned, teasing him as you slid one of your thighs between his legs.

"Y/N! How are those chips coming along, dude?" One of the boys yelled from the living room, snapping the two of you into reality.

"Yeah- coming! One second." You responded.

"I guess we'll have to finish this later, Sergeant."

You didn't give him time to respond, as you grabbed the two bowls and walked back into the living room, the wet spot between your legs now larger than ever before, seemingly.

What Bucky was feeling was wrong. He stood there in the kitchen, thinking about you, thinking about how he towered over you and how you looked at him with those eyes that switched back and forth from innocent to fierce, to tease him, to lure him even further.

His pants were tight and his head was filled with thoughts of your body, leaving over and pressing against every surface of that house, with him inside of you.

It was torture, he couldn't handle it anymore, and he couldn't go back into the living room with such and obvious problem - and with the source of the problem sitting so close.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mr. Barnes going up the stairs, with a serious face and a quick pace. No one else seemed to notice, however, as they were too focused on the game.

"I'm going to the bathroom, anyone need anything from the kitchen?" You lied, looking for an excuse to leave the room as quickly as possible without being suspicious.

You had just come back from the kitchen with the chips, so everyone shook their head or mumbled a "no", so you stood up and followed up the stairs, looking out for any noise to find out which door Bucky had gone into.

As you walked down the hallway, you could hear faint grunts that grew closer with each step. Eventually you found the door of what you assumed was his bedroom, and your whole body froze. There was only one door between you, and the thing that you had fantasized for so long.

"Fuck..." You heard him groan from the inside.

Your hand grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, as the heat between your legs was too much to bear. You opened the door, just enough to be able to see him sitting on the bed, back against the wall and head leaning back, as his hand stroked his cock.

"Are you enjoying the show?" He asked, continuously jerking his shaft as he lowered his head and looked straight at you, his hair falling beautifully over his face.

Your face was burning up and your heart was racing, but your nerves were nothing compared to the pure hunger and desperation you felt for the man. You stepped into the room, carefully, as if stepping into a wolf's cage, and closed the door behind you.

Bucky watched as you walked over to him, eyes shifting between his hand's movements and his face.

His free hand flew to your hip, slowly guiding you down until you were sitting on his lap, your wet, clothed pussy applying pressure on his cock.

You stared at each other's lips for a very long time. Bucky's hand cupped your cheek and, slowly but surely, brought you closer, until there was no space left between you.

What started out slowly very quickly progressed, and the second your lips connected, his hands were all over your body, gripping you ass and toying with the little skirt he loved so much. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it ever so often as his tongue got bolder.

The two of you pulled apart, your lips were swollen and your eyes were glazed, obviously displaying how much the two of you needed more.

His eyes fell to your lips and he kissed you softly once more before looking up at your eyes.

"We shouldn't do this..." His mouth said something, but the curious fingers that played with the waistband of your panties told you a completely different story.

"Why?" You asked softly, placing small, wet kisses on his neck, causing him to close his eyes and groan.

"My son... Fuck- Andy likes you." Bucky said finally, gripping you tightly as soon as those words left his mouth, as if he thought you'd slip away at the confession.

You kept on kissing his neck, as that confession didn't faze you - if it was something that you would've been over the moon about just a month ago, it was now irrelevant. Bucky came into your life and took over your mind completely, you felt as if every release would feel subpar, unless he was the one helping you reach it.

"You really wanna stop? Hm?" You asked teasingly, as your hips began grinding against his, your wet panties rubbing on his cock.

The conflict on his face was brief, as he eventually threw his head back and let out a low groan. The male gripped your ass cheeks and flipped the two of you over as he attacked your neck.

His hands expertly slid your underwear down your legs, and the male began kissing down your neck, your chest, and your stomach, until he reached your pussy. Bucky teased you for a second, kissing your inner thighs, but he was just as desperate to taste you as you were to feel him.

As his tongue begins licking your cunt and circling your clit, your right hand covers your mouth, while the other grips his hair.

"Aren't you a sweet little thing?..." He whispers, after tasting you.

You almost came at those words, the pure filth of the whole situation leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

The man's cock throbbed against the mattress, but he was too drunk in your taste to let go - Bucky wanted to taste as much of you as possible. His tongue slipped in and out of you as he took a break from teasing your clit, and he didn't stop until your back arched, as Bucky wanted to make you cum with his cock.

Bucky's lips met yours once more, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. That kiss was meant to muffle your sinful sounds as he slipped inside of you and slowly pushed himself fully into you. His girth stretched you out in the most satisfying way, and, somehow, the thing you had fantasized about for so long was even better than you had imagined.

He started out slowly, looking into your eyes as if testing the waters, and picked up the pace when he saw you were comfortable enough. Thankfully the TV was loud enough to drown out the echo from the skin slapping sounds, but they wouldn't drown out much more.

Bucky covered your mouth with his hand as his hips snapped against yours at a feral pace - he wanted to make you scream in a way that you wouldn't be heard.

"Want to be a whore? Hm? Parading yourself in front of me with those pretty little skirts thinking I wasn't gonna fuck the shit out of you?"

Your tits bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts, and you thanked for the hand covering your mouth, allowing you to be as mouthy and as loud as you wanted to.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you looking pretty like this, sweetheart." He said, between pants.

Bucky wouldn't last long, as your ever-tightening walls and the erotic look on your face rendered him weak, but thankfully you were also near your climax - he could tell from the way your back arched slightly more by the second.

"Wanna cum for me, baby?" Bucky questioned, removing his hand so you could answer.

"Y-yeah, please, Sir."

He chuckled and smirked at the nickname that, to your credit, did have a nice ring when you were begging under him.

One of Bucky's hands slid between your bodies and circled your clit, until your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your toes curled. You had to bite your lip harshly, to stop yourself from moaning out Bucky's name. The latter pulled out and buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning and panting as he climaxed, spilling all over your stomach.

Knock, knock.

"Hey dad did you see Y/N?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, she had a bit of an accident." Hinting that you had gotten your period "She was embarrassed and didn't want to tell everyone so I told her to just go home."

"Oh... Okay." Andy's voice seemed sad, and you heard

Bucky looked into your eyes before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"Guess you don't gotta go back down... Plenty of time for another round. Or two."

'minors do not interact' banner credit: @cafekitsune

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

A Cut Above

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader AU: Butcher Simon

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, nervous Simon, reader loves food, domestic vibes, minor language. Authors Note: I loved adding more heartfelt details to this one! Thank you for inspiring such a sweet story. 💜 Masterlist Part 2 MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The little bell above the shop door jingled softly, its cheerful chime breaking the stillness of the late afternoon. Simon Riley instinctively glanced up from the butcher counter, a habit he’d developed over years of working behind it. But the moment he saw you step inside, his heart did something it rarely did—flutter.

You were a sight for sore eyes, as usual. Bundled in your favorite coat, a knitted scarf loosely draped around your neck, you brought a warmth into the shop that rivaled the heating system.

“Afternoon, Simon,” you greeted, your voice soft yet sunny.

“Afternoon,” Simon replied, his usual gruff tone carrying a faint gentleness he reserved just for you.

You made your way to the counter, your eyes scanning the neatly displayed cuts of meat. “You’ve outdone yourself with the arrangement again,” you teased, pointing to the precisely stacked rows of steaks and chops.

Simon huffed a quiet chuckle. “Gotta make it look good for the customers.”

“Oh, come on,” you said with a grin. “You know I’m not just any customer.”

Simon swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away for a moment. You had no idea how true that was.

“What can I get you today?” he asked, focusing on the task at hand to steady himself.

“I feel like trying something different,” you mused, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “What do you recommend?”

Simon considered your question, his brows furrowing slightly as he pondered. “Got some lamb chops in this morning. Fresh, tender. Thought about taking a couple home myself.”

“Sold,” you said, your smile lighting up the room. “I’ll take two.”

As Simon wrapped them carefully, his large hands moved with practiced precision. He found himself lingering over the task, not quite ready for your visit to end.

When you handed him the cash, your fingers brushed his—a fleeting touch that sent warmth spreading up his arm. You didn’t seem to notice, but Simon? He was certain he’d never forget it.

Simon couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started, but you’d become the highlight of his week. He’d catch himself glancing at the clock in the late afternoons, hoping for the telltale jingle of the bell that meant you’d arrived.

He started setting aside little things he thought you might like—an extra-thick cut of steak, a special seasoning blend, even a handwritten recipe for the perfect roast. Each offering was met with your delighted smile and effusive thanks, and each time, Simon felt his resolve to keep his feelings to himself falter just a little more.

Until one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shop stood quiet save for the hum of the fridge, Simon decided to take a chance.

“You’ve got a knack for cooking,” he said, his voice steady despite the nervous energy coiled tight in his chest.

“Thanks,” you replied, your surprise evident but not unkind. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Why do you ask?”

Simon cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Thought maybe… you’d let me cook for you sometime. If you’d like.”

For a moment, the shop felt impossibly still. Simon’s heart pounded in his ears, every second of your silence stretching into an eternity.

Then, you smiled. Not just any smile—the kind that crinkled the corners of your eyes and made his chest ache in the best way.

“I’d love that, Simon,” you said, your voice warm and sincere.

----

When you arrived at Simon’s flat, you were met with a comforting warmth and the rich, savory scent of cooking. Simon greeted you at the door, his usual black apron swapped for a crisp button-down that suited him more than he realized.

“Come in,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Hope you’re hungry.”

The dining nook was modest but charming, a small table set with candles and a simple bouquet of fresh flowers.

“This is beautiful,” you said, touched by the effort.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his ears. “Figured you deserved somethin’ nice.”

In the kitchen, Simon moved with quiet confidence, his hands deftly handling the stovetop as he plated braised lamb chops and roasted vegetables. He poured you a glass of wine, his hand brushing yours as he set it down.

Dinner was nothing short of incredible. Each bite was a revelation, the flavors perfectly balanced and cooked with care.

“This is amazing, Simon,” you said between bites. “You’ve got serious talent.”

“Just glad you like it,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer than usual.

The conversation flowed as easily as the wine, Simon opening up in ways he never had before. He told you about his childhood, his dry humor catching you off guard and making you laugh until your cheeks ached.

When the meal was over, Simon disappeared into the kitchen and returned with dessert—shortbread cookies he’d baked himself.

“These are perfect,” you said, savoring the buttery sweetness. “You remembered I mentioned these, didn’t you?”

Simon shrugged, his blush returning. “Might’ve stuck in my head.”

As the night stretched on, the two of you found yourselves on the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you talked for hours. For the first time in a long while, Simon felt a deep, unshakable contentment.

When it was time to say goodbye, he walked you to your car, his hand lingering on yours as you climbed inside.

“Thank you for tonight, Simon,” you said, your voice soft. “It was perfect.”

“Goodnight, love,” he murmured, his heart full as he watched you drive away.

As he turned back toward his flat, Simon couldn’t help but smile. He’d taken a chance, and it had been worth every nerve-wracking second.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

Part 2

[beautifulgaggedgirls]

She was ready to go out with her friends, but one of them decided to upgrade her outfit a little bit… by gagging her with a ball gag, but then got carried away a little bit, and she eventually ending up being hogtied… and for the last hour she is trying to get out of this, and wants to go party tonight… but since her friends aren’t untying her and are ready to leave…. Saying to her: “looks like you need to practice some more with that escape… I would already have been escaped… maybe you should try a little harder … and then we’ll meet you at the club…”

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 2 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter two!!!! in writing this chapter, i realized that this little fic has taken on a complete life of its own that i never anticipated, and will have many, many more chapters to come, so if you want to be added to a tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

as always, if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,270 chapter one chapter three masterlist ao3 link

You slept. And you slept. And you slept.

But, Simon held tight to his promise to you. He didn’t leave your side for any longer than necessary, and necessary held a very… loose definition to Simon as you laid on his bed, all but comatose. In the three days since you had shown up at his door, Simon had left the bed maybe five times to relieve himself, and a handful of other times just to growl somebody away from the door who had missed the memo that Simon and you would be out of commission for the foreseeable future. The rest of the time, he just laid next to you, curled up like a guard dog. Sometimes he talked to you, but most of the time, he was just watching your chest as it rose up and down, his fingers resting delicately over your wrist to ensure your heart was still beating. That you were still here.

It had been three days. And you still hadn’t woken up. The worry in Simon’s heart was becoming hard to keep down, and the neglect of his own body was starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t done any work, hadn’t showered, and had barely eaten the food that the team had left at the door. He was going insane with panic, with fear, at the thought that he lost you. That he had killed you.

He never knew what he had had until it was gone.

Simon was spiraling. He sat in the corner of the bed, making sure to keep his thigh pressed against you, but his head was in his hands as his fingers tugged relentlessly at his dirty blond strands. It was his fault. All of this was. He didn’t know how to be a good alpha, let alone any sort of partner that he knew you needed him to be. He was so completely lost in his own tortured mind that he didn’t even hear Soap as he slipped into the room.

It wasn’t until the tray full of food that Soap was carrying clattered to the ground that Simon even noticed he was in there. Simon’s head snapped up, his hackles rising as a vicious growl ripped through his throat. The sound was a clear warning to get the fuck away from him and his mate, but all Soap did was roll his eyes in complete exasperation and take a step closer to your sleeping form.

Simon’s growl intensified at the intrusion, his muscles rippling in preparation to fight. It didn’t matter that this was Johnny, one of the few people on this earth that Simon trusted wholeheartedly. His mate was dying, and Simon’s alpha was tearing itself apart, identifying anything and anyone that got too close to you as a threat. But, the other alpha ignored him. The only sign that Simon got that Soap even heard his posturing was the low, return growl that left Soap’s lips as they curled up to reveal his alpha fangs.

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap grumbled in reply as his hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently over the joint. Soap’s focus was entirely on you, completely ignoring the massive bulk of Simon just on the other side of you. Soap and you had always been friends, and you had sought comfort in him over the last few months of Simon’s neglect. Guilt gnawed at him that he wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t help prevent the bond sickness from stealing you away, but that guilt was far overshadowed by the rage he felt towards Simon.

“How could ye ever do this to ‘er, huh?” Soap muttered, the words low and dangerous as he finally glanced up at Simon. “She was good. More tha’ good. She was a great fuckin’ medic, better teammate, and now look at ‘er.”

Simon’s alpha growled in response. He knew he had fucked up, destroyed you in ways he was only beginning to comprehend. He would take you yelling at him, telling him how shit he was, but hearing it from Soap, another alpha, was a whole new level of shame and guilt. Simon wasn’t built to hold this much emotion, never taught how to properly deal with his feelings, and he was at his breaking point. His rage was rising, like water that had been left on the stove too long without proper supervision, the bubbles breaking free over the steely confines of the walls he had built around his heart.

The very same confines that had kept him from you.

Simon’s eyes zeroed in on Soap’s hand on your shoulder, and he lost it. He scrambled off of the bed, his movements uncoordinated due to the lack of sleep and sustenance, but still full of the undeniable power that lived within the massive bulk of the alpha. He slapped Soap’s hand away, and grabbed at the straps of his tactical vest. Simon picked the smaller alpha up and spun to press him against the wall, Soap’s head cracking off the drywall. But, it wasn’t enough. Simon hated himself. Hated Soap. Hated everything that he could even remotely tie in as a factor to your comatose state on his bed. Simon gnashed his teeth in Soap’s face, pure, unbridled alpha rage pouring off of him.

Soap just smirked, completely unfazed.

“Oh, I see. Now you can be all protective over ‘er when she’s dying, aye? When it’s yer fuckin’ fault that she wasted away like this? You should’ve been better!” Soap was close to yelling now, his own hands coming up to Simon’s throat. Soap wasn’t going to kill him, no, the only thing that that would accomplish right now is causing more harm to you. But, dammit, if he wasn’t close.

Soap squeezed at Simon’s throat, his alpha claws digging into the mating bite on the side of the larger alpha’s throat. “I should rip that fuckin’ bite right off of ye, ye know that right?”

Simon roared, jerking his neck around to get Soap’s claws as far away as possible from the scent gland that held the imprint of your smaller omega fangs - the last thing truly tying him to you. He was far too gone with his rage, his alpha bursting against the confines of his skin, to even begin to formulate a response. All he could see was the red-hot haze of his rage, of his grief, the anguish that had settled so permanently into his bones over the last three days.

Soap grinned, a mean, sadistic thing that did little more than show off his alpha fangs. It was a challenge, an expression eerily similar to what a predator does when defending their territory. But you were not Soap’s territory. He knew that. He wasn’t trying to vye for your affection or to stake claim on you. His goal was single-minded: get Simon pissed enough to finally admit that he needs you, that he’ll fight for you, for your health, and that he’ll never abandon you this way again.

And if he wouldn’t? Well, Soap wasn’t looking for an omega of his own. Mainly just saw you as a constant in his life, in his pack, but he would single-handedly rip out that mating bite that glared, swollen and red from the strain of the bond, on the edge of Simon’s throat with his own claws and claim you as his own, if it meant fixing you, giving you some sort of stability.

“Ye did this to ‘er! Yer neglect, yer fuckin’ issues, made ‘er this way! All because your head was so far up your goddamned arse you couldn’t see it! She deserves better! She deserves an alpha who will take care of ‘er, not someone who will abandon her for months on end in hopes of getting blown to pieces!”

“I know!” Simon roared in response as he lifted Soap away from the wall again and slammed him back into it. “I know!” His grip on Soap started to falter as tears welled up in his eyes. He let go of Soap with one hand, the smaller alpha falling back to his feet on the ground as Simon scraped his hand across his face to prevent the tears from falling.

“I… I just… I don’t know how to do this, Johnny. It’s not like I grew up with a…” Simon trailed off, his voice thick with tears and regret as he completely let go of Soap to run his hands through his hair in anguish. “My father was an awful man. A horrendous example of an alpha. He… the things he did, Johnny, to me, to Tommy, to my poor fuckin’ mum… the only promise I made to myself when I left that place and let it burn to the ground was to never be like him. And that meant keeping myself as far away from any omega as I possibly could. I never wanted this! And then the brass gave that ultimatum, and shoved us together, and… and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna be the reason that she got kicked out of the place that she worked tooth and nail to get to! I didn’t know how to be an alpha! I didn’t know how to protect her, and I had no one to ask! I just… I… I just didn’t know…”

Soap stood against the wall, mouth agape as he looked down at the massive, trembling form of the man he considered his best friend. Somewhere in his monologue, Simon had completely collapsed onto his knees, his head back in his hands, but Soap was too busy listening to the raw, honest truth falling from Simon’s tear-stained lips to even begin to try and guess when it had happened. Soap was in shock. But, he was at even more of a loss at how to comfort the other alpha.

Soap crouched down beside Simon, his hand awkwardly, yet gently, patting his shoulder as Simon’s hulking form shook from the force of his silent tears, his agony. Soap sighed as he rubbed his other hand over the back of his own neck. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

“Ghost, I… I think you need to go talk to Price. Maybe get in with the base therapist.”

Simon stiffened under Soap’s touch as those words left his mouth. He didn’t want to go talk to Price, even if he was his captain and a part of his pack. He didn’t want to have to admit to his failures to the same person who gave him orders, signed off on his paychecks. And a therapist? Yeah, he talked to a therapist, he’d just about be signing off on his own discharge forms.

Soap felt it. How his words affected Simon. He sighed again, a low rumble reverberating from his chest in an attempt to provide some comfort to the larger alpha. It was normally a move reserved for comforting a pup, or a distressed omega, but Soap was truly at a loss of what to do here. He had never seen Simon break down like this.

“Ghost, Price can help. He’s been with his bonnie lass for years, and they’re happy with pups runnin’ ‘round. Just… you can’t keep doin’ this to ‘er. And if that means you need direction, need to see how to be an alpha… at least talk to Price. She deserves an alpha who can be there for her, at the very least.”

Simon nodded slowly, wiping his hand across his face again. He felt weak, like a failure, but he knew he had to try.

You never knew what you had until it was gone.

Yeah, well, he knew now. And he wasn’t ever going to let it go again.

Simon lifted his head, his watery brown eyes meeting Soap’s determined baby blues. There was still anger in Soap’s eyes, but he was shoving it away. No point in kicking his friend while he was already down.

“I… I can’t just leave her here.”

“I’ll stay with her,” came Soap’s immediate response. You had sought solace in him over the last few months, and as another alpha from your pack, you would probably be the most comfortable with him around, even if your alpha was gone.

Hearing Soap’s immediate reply made something in Ghost’s alpha twist with distress, aching at the idea of another alpha taking care of his omega, even if it was another member of his pack. A low growl born of his alpha’s displeasure of the situation rumbled out of his throat for a moment before he quickly cut it off by clearing it. Simon knew this needed to be done, and sooner rather than later. He had to fix his ways, to see what it meant to truly be the type of alpha that you needed, that you deserved. But, before he agreed, he had to know one thing.

“Do you love her?”

Soap froze, his head rearing back slightly in shock. Did he love you? “What?”

“You heard me. Do you love her?”

“Simon, she’s a part of our pack. She always has been, even before you and her mated. So, yes, I love her, but not… not like that.”

Simon nodded slowly, his joints aching as he stood up to his full height again. Everything hurt. His muscles were sore from lack of movement, sleep, and nutrition, and his heart and soul felt as if they had been ripped to shreds. Your end of the bond felt like it had been shrouded in impenetrable inky blackness, which just made him feel even more empty. Gods, it used to annoy him to no end to feel your neverending presence in his mind, but now he would give anything, his own life, just to feel it again.

Soap breathed out a silent sigh of relief as he saw the acceptance in Simon’s nod. His best friend was going to be okay, both of you would be. He had to believe it. And, in classic Soap fashion, he couldn’t help but try to chip away the sour, somber mood in the room by cracking a joke.

“But, ye fuck it up again, and I really will rip that mating bite right out of ye, ye can bet on tha’.”

Simon glared at him, but it was the first bit of normalcy he had felt in… months. He shoved at Soap’s shoulder, but all it did was make the smaller alpha’s cocky smirk widen.

“Fuck off, Johnny,” Simon mumbled half-heartedly as he pulled off the tank top he had slipped on after you had fallen asleep, and he tucked it gently next to your head to ensure you still had his scent while he was gone. He ran a gentle, almost reverent finger down your cheek, smoothing an errant piece of your hair back behind your ear. He sighed softly, his guilt threatening to break free again, but he quickly stepped back from you and tugged on a sweatshirt. He glanced at Soap, his gaze glinting with a possessive protectiveness.

Soap, knowing exactly what was running through his mind, put his hands up in a placating manner.

“I won’ touch ‘er. Just don’ be gone too long, aye?”

Simon grumbled something under his breath but nodded, grabbing his keys and shoving them in his pocket before he opened the door. He paused in the open doorway with one last, longing glance back at you filled with all of the pain and regret and guilt swirling through his veins before he finally stepped through and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

—

He didn’t want to be here. To be doing this but he would, if it meant fixing you. He stood in front of Price’s office door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to muster up enough courage to knock. The light was on, so Simon knew Price was in there. Hopefully he was just doing paperwork, and not anything… else.

Simon sighed loudly, scraping a hand down his face before he shook out his arms. He just needed to open the door. And, you know, pour his heart and soul out to the Captain, but that would come after. However, he didn’t get the chance.

“You gonna stand out there all day or are you comin’ in?”

Shit. Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he took a deep breath. He could do this. For you, he could. He had to. He shouldered open the door, but he kept his gaze on the ratty red carpet of Captain Price’s office. Mmm, low-pile. Probably feel really scratchy on his face when Price inevitably-

“Ah, Simon. I’ve been expecting you.”

Fuck. Simon felt untethered, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t get a read on Price’s expression as the older, greying alpha moved his glasses off of the bridge of his nose and carefully folded the arms in to set them on the giant wooden desk in front of him. Simon made a point to keep his gaze away from the gouged out claw marks on the surface of the desk. Simon swallowed thickly and looked back down at the carpet in front of him. He had never had to ask for help before, at least, not like this. Not anything that meant showing his weakness, his losing hand, the fact that he’s a shit ass alpha.

“Uh, yeah. I… um, sir, I need… help.” Gods, kill him now.

“Yeah,” Price breathed out harshly as he stretched his arms back around his head. “Yeah, I’d say you do.”

Simon winced at Price’s words. He sounded like a disappointed father, or, at least, what Simon imagined a disappointed father would sound like, and he felt like he had been brought into the principal’s office after painting graffiti on the side of the building during recess. He finally brought his gaze up to the older Alpha, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Captain, listen, I-”

Price cut him off with a raise of his hand as he stood up. Simon watched with wide eyes as Price grabbed a cigar out of the humidor that had always laid on his desk. Price grabbed his lighter, and placed the cigar between his lips before he turned away from Simon and looked out the window in the back of his office. A few moments later, and Simon heard the shink of the lighter catching, and he watched as a thick plume of dark grey smoke rose above Price’s form.

“You should’ve come to me for help sooner.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Price questioned, looking back at Simon over his shoulder.

“You’ve been running for years, Simon. Even before she came into the picture. And I let you. I shouldn’t have, but I kept hoping you would figure it out. And then, well, you didn’t. And then I watched you continue to close yourself off, to keep your distance. I watched as you brushed her off over, and over, and over again. And, I admit, as the pack leader, I should have stepped in. Should have forced you to stay on base and figure your shit out, but, tactically, it would’ve been a mistake to keep you here. So, we’re here now. What’s happened has happened. How are you going to fix it?”

Simon stood there, slack jawed and wide eyed as Captain John Price just essentially ripped down every single one of his defenses, his excuses, in one fell swoop. He wrung his hands in front of him, feeling exactly like he had been flayed open, all of his weaknesses and failures laid out in the open like intestines.

“I… I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I was looking for… pointers, I guess. Of how to be a better alpha- fuck, how to just be a good alpha. How to treat an omega. I wasn’t ever… I didn’t have good role models for that shit, and I just- well, Johnny said-”

“Will you actually listen?”

“What?”

Price took a deep inhale of the thick, grey smoke and held it as he turned to look at Simon face-on, studying Simon’s shaking form, the wild, lost look in his eyes, before he exhaled. Price kept his face schooled in a neutral expression, but he really did feel for Simon. He had once been a lost alpha like him, confused on how to even begin to take on the responsibility of an omega, how to take care of them. “If we have this conversation, will you actually take what I say into consideration? Or are you going to attempt for a few days, get frustrated, and then give up?”

Simon winced as Price continued to lay into him with that same cold, calculating gaze he used when discussing potential battle plans. Simon sighed softly, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he rolled his shoulders and looked at Price. “I have to fix this.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Price grinned around his cigar and sat back down at the desk, his fingers tracing idly over the claw marks in the surface of the wood. He gestured his arm out, inviting Simon to sit across from him. Simon squeezed into the chair, his large bulk making the chair creak in protest. He leaned back, trying to feign a confident, or at the very least, unaffected air, but all of his thoughts just kept coming back to you, his knee bouncing in a very distracting fashion as he fought every urge to just run back to his quarters, just to check on you.

Price smirked and steepled his hands in front of him, resting his chin on his thumbs. “You’re scared, ain’t ya?”

Simon nodded, biting down on his plush lower lip.

“Good. Means ya care. You’re just shit at showing it.”

Simon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but what could he do? He couldn’t protest the truth. He was already flayed open, might as well attempt to dissect and treat the diseased portions where he has been keeping all of his shit coping mechanisms.

“Did you ever court her?” Price asked, watching Simon skeptically. He could guess at the answer, as the relationship between you and Simon was far from traditional.

“No, I… Price, the brass gave us an ultimatum, you know that. I didn’t have time!”

“Not before, you didn’t, but what about after? You still could have courted her. Maybe then you would’ve trusted each other more, and we wouldn’t all be in this situation. Do you even know her favorite food? Flower? Song to dance to at 3 am in the kitchen? Color?”

With each question, Simon sank further and further into himself. He felt like the worst alpha on the planet. And, honestly, he probably was, or else you wouldn’t be still laying in his bed practically comatose.

Captain Price sighed and rubbed his thumb over the deep-set lines in his forehead. “Alright, well, those are good places to start, I guess, but… being an alpha isn’t all about gift giving and protecting. You have to listen to her. And I don’t just mean the words out of her mouth - although those are still very important - I also mean her pheromones. Her body language. Her microexpressions. All of the things she doesn’t say.”

“What!? How am I-”

Price put his hand up again to stop the tirade that he knew was about to come pouring out of Simon. “You pay attention. That’s it. It ain’t rocket science, Simon. You’ve led how many teams through how many missions? I’m sure you can figure out if one omega prefers dark or milk chocolate.”

Simon sighed loudly, the sound trailing off into a growl. He felt so stupid. He had been too focused on himself, on his own trauma and his own issues that he had completely neglected the bare minimum for you. He had so much to make up for. He slammed his forehead down into the desk in frustration, the force making the pens on the desk jump. “I should’ve just allowed the brass to kick me out. At least then she could’ve been forced to mate someone who could actually provide for her.”

Price shrugged, leaning back in his own chair as he puffed on his cigar. “No point in thinkin’ like that. You guys are mates, and that bond stayed together for a lot longer than I ever thought it would. That means somethin’, you know. So, you’ve really only got one option. You’ve gotta fix it. Listen to her. Pay attention. Make her feel cared for.”

Simon nodded, his forehead still pressed against the cold wood of the desk, but something Price said kept sticking in his brain, ruminating like a dog trying to lick peanut butter off of the roof of its mouth.

“That means something?” Simon asked, looking up at Price, skeptically looking for clarification.

Price just grinned and pretended to zip his mouth shut before waving Simon off. “Go back to your girl. If you still haven’t figured it out in a few weeks, come talk to me. But remember, court her. Especially after all of this. Show her you care. That you can be a good alpha.”

Simon furrowed his brow, not thrilled about not getting an answer about what Price meant, but got up from his seat. He had been dismissed, and all he wanted to do was get back to you.

Courting. Courting. Right. He could do that. Right?

tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 3) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

Leila isn't trying to make it a whole thing, but that date with William? That man took her to this cute little restaurant tucked away in a corner of Paris where nobody would recognize him, ordered wine that probably cost more than her rent, and spent the whole night actually listening to her talk about her family back in Georgia. Not once did he make her feel like she was just some thick girl he was trying to get with – instead he treated her like she was actually interesting, like her stories about her mama's cooking adventures were the most fascinating thing he'd ever heard.

And when she found out he was half Cameroonian? Maybe Yolanda had a point about her having a type because these West African men were really out here testing her resolve. The way his accent got thicker when he talked about his family, the way he understood exactly what she meant about certain cultural things without her having to explain... it was nice. Really nice.

He didn't try to kiss her at the end of the night, even though she maybe (definitely) wanted him to. Just kissed her hand (which should be corny but somehow wasn't) and said he'd love to do it again soon. She'd gone to bed thinking maybe this could be something.

But then Sunday morning happened and somehow everything else felt small in comparison.

"Avant de commencer l'entraînement," ("Before we start training,") Didier's voice carried across the morning meeting room, "J'ai une annonce à faire." ("I have an announcement to make.")

The room went quiet – well, as quiet as a room full of French footballers can get, which means Marcus was still whispering something to Mike that had them both stifling laughs.

"En l'absence de Kylian," ("In Kylian's absence,") Didier continued, holding up the captain's armband, "nous avons besoin d'un nouveau capitaine." ("we need a new captain.") "Aurélien Tchouaméni."

The room erupted. Leila's never seen someone look so surprised and honored at the same time, like Aurélien couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Notre nouveau capitaine!" ("Our new captain!") Marcus shouted, starting an impromptu chant.

"MON CAPITAINE!" Jules was the first to reach him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Tu l'as mérité, mon frère." ("You earned it, my brother.")

"Finalement, quelqu'un va peut-être réussir à le faire sourire," ("Finally, someone might succeed in making him smile,") Cama teased, doing an exaggerated salute. "Oui, Capitaine!"

The whole team picked up the salute, turning it into this ridiculous ceremony that had even Didier trying not to laugh.

"Je suis honoré," ("I'm honored,") Aurélien finally managed to say, voice thick with emotion as Didier handed him the armband. "Je ne sais pas quoi dire..." ("I don't know what to say...")

"Dis-nous qu'on va défoncer Israël!" ("Tell us we're gonna destroy Israel!") Mike called out.

"Et qu'on peut manger la cuisine de Leila ce soir!" ("And that we can eat Leila's cooking tonight!") Marcus added, which started a whole new round of cheering.

Leila couldn't help but clap and cheer with them all – because this was huge. This was her boss becoming captain of the French national team at twenty-four. This was history.

***************************

The Bridge's studio setup is way more casual than Leila expected, all warm lights and comfy chairs arranged in a circle like it's just bros hanging out – which, technically, it is.

"Ma puce, mon café?" Aurélien calls out as she's setting up his notes, and she pretends not to notice how Sébastien raises his eyebrows at the pet name.

"You have two hands that work perfectly fine," she responds, but she's already heading to get his coffee because she knows exactly how he gets without his caffeine fix before filming. Two sugars, splash of cream – the man drinks coffee like he's trying to hide the fact it's coffee.

"Ah, c'est comme ça maintenant?" ("So that's how it is now?") Jules grins as he walks in, followed by Ousmane and Thomas.

"Elle fait la grève," ("She's on strike,") Ousmane adds with a knowing smile.

"Can y'all not?" Leila mutters, but of course they can't because they live for chaos.

"What’s going on?" Thomas asks, settling into his chair while the makeup artist touches up his face.

"Nothing–" Aurélien starts, but Jules is already diving in.

"She's dating Wilo."

"I am not–"

"Wilo?" Sébastien perks up like he's just been handed gossip gold. "As in Saliba? Mon dieu, this is better than what I planned for the show."

"Speaking of the show," Leila cuts in desperately, "maybe we should focus on your actual topics? Like the Champions League? The national team? Literally anything else?"

"But this is much more interesting," Sébastien grins. "Tell me, how does our new captain feel about his PA dating his teammate?"

"We are NOT discussing my dating life on YouTube," Leila says firmly, handing Aurélien his coffee with maybe a little more force than necessary. Some splashes onto his notes and she automatically reaches to wipe it, just as he does the same. Their hands brush and she pulls back like she's been burned.

"Ooh, as-tu vu ça?" Thomas stage-whispers to Ousmane. "La tension!"

"I'm about to show y'all some tension with these coffee cups," Leila threatens, making them laugh harder.

"Non, non," Ousmane agrees solemnly. "We'll just discuss how our captain gets jealous every time someone looks at his PA. Like yesterday at training when Giroud asked her about American football..."

"I was not jealous," Aurélien protests. "I was concerned about her getting distracted from her duties."

"Her duties of watching you run laps?" Jules asks innocently.

"Her duties of maintaining my schedule–"

"The schedule she has memorized?" Ousmane adds.

"Y'all really want me to poison your dinner tonight, huh?" Leila threatens, but they just laugh harder.

"See? This is why I need my own Leila," Sébastien says. "Where do I find a PA who cooks?"

"You don't," Aurélien's voice carries that edge again. "She's one of a kind."

The room goes quiet for a moment, and Leila busies herself with absolutely nothing important on her tablet.

"Okay!" The producer calls out. "Five minutes! Let's talk about the actual show content?"

"Oui, oui," Sébastien nods, suddenly professional. "First segment about then national team dynamics with our new captain, maybe some stuff about Jules and his fashion sense…."

"Maybe one about a certain PA?" Thomas asks hopefully.

"Including nothing about any PAs," Leila cuts in. "Unless y'all want to explain to Didier why half his starting lineup got food poisoning before a match."

"She wouldn't really..." Thomas starts.

"She absolutely would," Aurélien, Jules, and Ousmane answer in unison.

"Ma puce," Aurélien calls softly, and she looks up to find him watching her with that expression that makes her stomach do stupid things. "My notes?"

She hands them over, careful not to let their fingers brush. "Try not to start any international incidents this time."

"Une fois," ("One time,") he protests. "I say one thing about Premier League defenders..."

"You said they tackle like they learned football from YouTube tutorials," she reminds him.

"Was I wrong though?"

"That's not the point! Twitter was a nightmare for days."

"This is why you're my favorite," he says, and something in his voice makes her look up. "You keep me in line."

"Someone has to," she manages to say, stepping back as the cameras start rolling.

She watches from behind the scenes as they dive into football talk, the banter shifting into serious discussion about tactics and pressure and what it means to wear the captain's armband. Watches how Aurélien leads the conversation with natural grace, how he makes everyone feel heard while still keeping things moving.

"Et maintenant," ("And now,") Sébastien grins near the end, "Les fans veulent savoir - est notre nouveau capitaine single?" ("the fans want to know – is our new captain single")

Leila's head snaps up from her tablet.

"Non," Thomas jumps in before Aurélien can answer. "Son cœur appartient à son P–"

The water bottle that flies across the room and hits Thomas square in the chest is definitely not thrown by Leila.

"Cut!" The producer calls after they wrap the final segment, and Leila releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. They managed to get through the whole episode with only minimal chaos, though Thomas kept trying to sneak in comments about "certain PAs" until she started keeping a steady supply of projectiles within reach.

"That was fun," Sébastien grins, stretching as they all stand. "We should do this again. Maybe next time with Wilo as a guest?"

"Don't you have a dinner to prepare?" Jules asks quickly, shooting her a look that clearly says 'get out while you can'.

"Oui, about that dinner," Thomas perks up. "What exactly are you making?"

"If one more person asks me about dinner," Leila cuts in, gathering her things, "I'm making y'all eat protein shakes instead."

"You wouldn't," Ousmane gasps dramatically.

"Try me."

"Ma puce," Aurélien's voice is softer now that the cameras are off. "Need a ride to the store?"

And that's... new. He hasn't offered to drive her anywhere since The Comment™️.

"I can take her," Jules offers with fake innocence. "Since you probably have captain duties and all."

"I can drive my PA to the store."

"Your PA?" Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Just okay PA or...?"

The second water bottle that hits him is definitely from Aurélien this time.

"I'll wait in the car," he tells her, ignoring the knowing looks from everyone else.

As soon as he's out of earshot, the chaos erupts:

"Girl, if you don't get in that car–" Ousmane starts.

"But what about Wilo?" Thomas asks.

"Capitaine is clearly in his feelings–" Sébastien adds.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Jules announces. "Let her breathe."

Leila takes a deep breath, gathering her professional dignity around her like armor. "I have a dinner to cook for twenty something grown men who act like children. I don't have time for... whatever this is."

"This," Sébastien gestures vaguely, "is prime content. The captain and his PA?"

"There is no 'captain and his PA'," she insists. "There's just a PA who's about to feed half of the French Football Federation because she makes poor life choices."

"Speaking of poor life choices," Jules grins, "your man's waiting."

"He's not my–"

A horn honks outside. Twice.

"La patience de cet homme," Thomas laughs. "Vraiment incroyable."

"I hate all of you," Leila announces, heading for the door.

"But you'll still feed us?" Ousmane calls after her.

She doesn't dignify that with a response.

The car ride is... weird. Not tense exactly, but full of something she can't name. Aurélien keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, then closing it again. She pretends to be very interested in her grocery list.

Two hours and way too many bags later (because apparently she's feeding an army now), they're back at Clairefontaine and the kitchen is already buzzing with energy and she directs her very enthusiastic sous chefs – Michael and Cama, plus some actual kitchen staff who keep looking at her like she's either genius or crazy for attempting this.

"This is not 'season to taste'," she swats Cama's hand away from the seasoning. "This is 'season to kill'."

"But it needs more–"

"If you say 'spice' I'm demoting you to dish duty."

The thing about cooking while Chief Keef is blasting through Clairefontaine's halls is that it really sets a specific type of mood. Leila can hear Marcus and Mike singing "Don't Like" at the top of their lungs, probably driving everyone crazy, but she's too focused on making sure Cama doesn't turn her greens into chemical warfare.

Michael, who’s undoubtedly the sous chef MVP, is quietly following her instructions to the letter. There's something zen about the way he moves through the kitchen, precise and focused like he's preparing for a match instead of helping prep chicken.

"You're good at this," she tells him, and his answering smile is small but genuine.

"My grandmother," he says simply. "She taught me that cooking is meditation."

"YOUR GRANDMOTHER DIDN'T HAVE TO COOK FOR HANGRY FOOTBALLERS!" Marcus's voice carries through the door, followed by the opening beats of "Love Sosa."

"The meditation is about to turn into medication if they don't calm down," Leila mutters, but Michael just laughs softly.

The kitchen staff has gone from skeptical to impressed, watching her coordinate this whole production like she's done it her whole life. Which, honestly, she has – just usually for family reunions, not professional athletes who probably cost more than her entire hometown.

"It's almost ready?" Mike pokes his head in, looking like a hopeful puppy. "Because we're dying out here."

"You've eaten today," she points out. "Multiple times."

"But not your cooking," Marcus appears behind him. "And now the whole place smells like heaven and we're suffering."

"You're not suffering," she rolls her eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"I AM suffering," Mike insists. "Look at me, I'm wasting away."

"You literally had lunch two hours ago."

"That was before we could smell the mac and cheese," Marcus argues. "Now we're starving."

She's about to throw something at them when Michael quietly says, "The chicken's ready for the second batch."

"See?" She points at Michael. "This is why he's my favorite. He actually helps instead of just complaining."

"Favorites?" Marcus clutches his chest. "That's cold, Lei. Ice cold."

"You know what else is getting cold? This food, if y'all don't let me cook in peace."

"But–"

"OUT!"

They retreat, but not before Mike tries one last time to steal a piece of chicken. She catches him with her wooden spoon – years of defending food from hungry cousins have honed her reflexes.

"The quiet ones always got jokes," Cama laughs as Mike runs away clutching his hand dramatically, then yelps when she catches him trying to sneak a taste of the greens. "How do you even see everything?"

"I have eyes in the back of my head," she says seriously. "My mama installed them when I started cooking."

"They're getting restless," Michael notes as another song starts shaking the walls. She's pretty sure she can hear Jules trying to teach Marcus and Mike the words, which is... a choice.

"Let them be restless," she says, putting the finishing touches on the mac and cheese (extra cheese on top because she ain't playing). "Good food takes time."

The kitchen settles into a rhythm after that, just the sounds of cooking and the distant bass of whatever song Marcus and Mike have moved onto now. Even Cama calms down enough to actually be helpful, following her instructions with only minimal attempts at creative seasoning.

"This is nice," Michael says after a while, quiet enough that only she can hear. "Reminds me of home."

"Yeah," she smiles, understanding exactly what he means. There's something about cooking with people who get it, who understand that food is more than just fuel. It's love, it's family, it's...

"FANCULO!"

The Italian curse makes them all jump as Cama nearly drops an entire tray of cornbread.

"What happened?" Leila spins around, heart racing.

"The cornbread!" he looks devastated. "I almost... it almost..."

"But you didn't," she soothes, trying not to laugh at how genuinely distressed he looks. "The cornbread is safe."

"I would've had to leave France," he says seriously. "Change my name. Start a new life."

"Because of cornbread?"

"Have you met my teammates? They would never let me live it down."

He's not wrong. She can already imagine the chaos if anything happened to the cornbread. These grown men really out here ready to riot over some baked goods.

"Speaking of teammates," Michael says casually, too casually, "our captain's been pacing outside the door for the last ten minutes."

"He what?" She turns so fast she almost knocks over the hot sauce.

"Mhm," Michael hums, that knowing look back in his eyes. "Every time someone walks by he pretends he's on his phone."

"That's..." she doesn't even know how to finish that sentence.

"Interesting?" Cama suggests with a grin.

"Complicated," she corrects. "Now focus on not dropping any more cornbread."

"I didn't drop it!" Cama whined.

"Almost dropped it."

"So," Michael says after a moment, quiet enough that only she can hear, "we're really not going to talk about it?"

"About what?"

His knowing look rivals Jules', but he just goes back to prepping chicken.

"Nothing," he says. "Just thinking our new captain might need to work on his game off the field too."

She chooses to ignore that, focusing instead on finishing up everything. The food looks good – really good. Soul food isn't meant to be fancy, but there's something beautiful about it anyway. Something honest.

"Time to feed the children," she announces, and both Michael and Cama snort at her description of their teammates.

"They're going to lose their minds," Cama predicts as they start plating everything.

He's not wrong. She can already hear the excitement building in the cafeteria, the mix of French and English and various other languages all carrying the same message: finally.

"Ready?" Michael asks as they prepare to head out.

She looks at their work – all this food made with love and patience (and only minimal threats of violence).

"Ready."

The whole team is there, plus coaching staff, plus what feels like half the FFF. They've pushed tables together family-style, and someone (probably Marcus) starts a chant of "Speech! Speech!" that gets picked up by everyone else.

"Y'all are doing too much," she laughs, but Michael gently pushes her forward.

"I'll translate," he says, and she sends up a prayer of thanks for this man's whole existence.

"Okay, okay," she holds up her hands and the room quiets down. "Listen. Where I'm from, food is how we show love. It's how we celebrate victories and comfort each other through losses. It's how we welcome family – blood or chosen."

Michael translates as she speaks, his French making her simple words sound almost poetic.

"Today we're celebrating our new captain," she continues, and the cheers that go up nearly shake the windows. Aurélien, sitting at the center of the longest table, ducks his head but she catches his smile. "And tomorrow we're gonna beat Israel's whole ass."

The roar that goes up at that almost drowns out Michael's slightly more diplomatic translation.

"Everything is Halal," she adds, "and yes, there's dessert – banana pudding with vanilla ice cream because I'm not a monster."

She nods to the servers who start bringing out the dishes, and the way these elite athletes' eyes light up at the sight of proper soul food would be funny if it wasn't so endearing.

"Bon appétit, mes amis," she finishes, and immediately gets swept up in a group hug from Marcus and Mike that nearly takes her off her feet.

"An angel," Marcus declares as he squeezes her. "A motherfucking angel."

The room fills with the sound of comfortable chaos that reminds her of Sunday dinners back home. She catches William's eye across the room and he gives her a warm smile that makes her cheeks warm.

But then she feels it – that familiar weight of attention – and finds Aurélien watching her with an expression that makes her breath catch. He's looking like something out of her most inappropriate dreams, and...

"Your plate," Michael appears at her elbow with food he's made up for her. "Can't let the chef go hungry."

She tears her eyes away from Aurélien, forcing herself to focus on her food and not on how their new captain keeps glancing her way like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

For the first few minutes, the cafeteria vibrates of pure, unadulterated appreciation – the kind that makes a cook's heart sing. These professional athletes, who probably have personal chefs on speed dial, are absolutely demolishing their plates. Bradley's over there drowning his chicken in hot sauce like he's trying to prove something, while others are just making these little sounds of joy between bites.

"I'm going to marry you," Brice announces suddenly through a mouthful of mac and cheese, breaking the reverent silence like a hammer through stained glass.

The table erupts in hoots and hollers, and Leila definitely doesn't miss how Aurélien's fork freezes halfway to his mouth.

"It's a joke," Brice adds quickly, though his eyes are twinkling. "But this food? Magnifique."

"You can't just propose like that," Khephren shakes his head with mock solemnity. "There's a process. Parents first."

"Exactly," Ousmane nods with all the wisdom of someone who's been in this position before. "Gotta do it properly."

"And don't forget the bride price," Ibou adds, which sets off a wave of groans like he's just announced extra training.

"They don't do that in America, bro," someone calls out, which starts a whole debate about marriage customs in different countries.

"Speaking of America," Mike cuts through the chaos with surprising grace, "you're from Georgia, right?" At Leila's nod, he continues, "Do you know where your peoples from? Like which country in the motherland?"

"You can't just ask her that," Jules protests.

"Why not?" Mike shrugs, all innocence. "I'm just curious."

"Slavery happened," Michael says quietly, taking a casual sip of water.

"I know that happened," Mike responds, "but you know some Black people in the US do one of those ancestry.com tests. You know, to find their roots."

"I did one," Leila interjects, and suddenly she has the undivided attention of some of the most expensive athletes in Europe, all of them looking at her like she's about to reveal the secret to scoring hat-tricks.

"And?" Marcus prompts, gesturing with a chicken wing that probably violates several of their nutritionist's rules.

"You guys really want to know?"

The chorus of "yes" comes in various accents and volumes, but the enthusiasm is unanimous, and they're ready to put their food on pause – and considering how they've been eating, that's saying something.

Laughing, she pulls up her phone, scrolling through her gallery for that screenshot from her college days. "Okay, this is from my Cultural History & Heritage class, so... I'm 65% Ghanaian..."

The applause that breaks out would make you think someone just scored a World Cup winner. Ousmane's practically glowing with vindication.

"I knew you were Ghanaian! You're feisty," he declares.

"And that forehead," Ibou adds, making her touch it self-consciously.

"What's wrong with my forehead?"

"You got that West African forehead," Marcus explains through a grin. "It's still cute though!" he adds quickly, like he's just remembered his mama raised him right.

She's doing her best impression of a confused goldfish when she continues, "10% Western Bantu Peoples, 14% Beninese." Her eyes flick to Jules, who's wearing the kind of smile that suggests he's already plotting something.

"You and JK are cousins!" Cama announces with the excitement of someone connecting invisible dots. "The family reunion's gonna be lit!"

"9% French Guiana," she pushes on, "8% English, and the rest is Dutch."

The reaction to the English and Dutch parts hits like they've just heard she's part alien. Eyebrows shooting up across the table like they're trying to escape.

"Slavery," Michael says again, and the word lands like a weight, heavy with centuries of history.

"Right, right," comes the collective murmur, before Marcus breaks the moment by declaring he needs thirds "to honor all those ancestors."

"More cornbread, ma puce?"

She turns to find Aurélien holding out the basket, something soft in his expression that makes her heart do stupid things.

"I'm good," she manages to say.

"You sure? You've barely eaten."

"Just happy everyone else is enjoying it."

His response is cut off by Marcus starting a debate about whether Ghana or Benin has better jollof rice, and suddenly the whole table is taking sides in what's apparently a long-standing West African rivalry.

"Ghana obviously has the better jollof," she says quietly, just to watch Aurélien's eyes narrow in betrayal.

"Et tu, ma puce?" He shakes his head like she's personally wounded him. "Non, non. Cameroon's jollof is superior. This is just facts."

"Please," Ousmane cuts in with the confidence of someone about to start a war, "Nigerian jollof clears both. This isn't even a debate."

"Bullshit," Marcus declares. "Ghana invented jollof. You can't beat the original."

"Being first doesn't mean being best," Aurélien argues, and suddenly it's like they're discussing tactical formations instead of rice. "Cameroonians perfected it."

"The delusion," Ousmane sighs dramatically. "This is why you need a Nigerian wife. To show you what real jollof tastes like."

Leila tries not to think too hard about why that comment makes something twist in her chest, but then Aurélien's saying, "I don't need a Nigerian wife when I have–" before cutting himself off abruptly.

The table goes quiet enough to hear a fork drop.

"When you have what?" Jules prompts teasingly.

"When I have... more important things to focus on," Aurélien finishes lamely. "Like tomorrow's match."

"Mhm," Michael hums into his water glass, sharing a look with Jules that speaks volumes.

The conversation shifts to safer topics after that, but Leila can't quite shake the weight of that unfinished sentence. Can't quite ignore how Aurélien keeps sneaking glances at her like he's trying to read something written in a language he doesn't understand, but that's a problem for another day.

Match day arrives bright and crisp, the kind of weather that makes footballers' eyes light up. The usual pre-match routines take on extra weight today – this isn't just any game, it's Aurélien's first as captain, and you can feel it in the air at breakfast. Even Marcus and Mike are quieter than usual, energy focused instead of scattered.

But before they can get to the match, there's the small matter of getting to Budapest. The morning after her soul food extravaganza has these grown men acting like they've discovered the secret to eternal happiness.

"I swear," Marcus is saying as they wait in the private terminal, "I haven't slept that good since I was in the womb."

"That's called the itis," Leila explains, watching their confused faces with amusement. "When good food puts you in a food coma? Yeah that’s what it is."

"Whatever it was, we need it before every match," Mike declares, and several others nod enthusiastically.

"That's too much to ask," Aurélien cuts in, that protective edge creeping into his voice.

"I'll help cook again!" Cama volunteers immediately.

"NO!" comes the unanimous response, making him pout.

"After what you tried to do to those greens?" Michael adds quietly. "I think not."

The conversation halts as they board their plane, and Leila thought she knew what luxury was, but this private Airbus is on another level. It's all cream leather and polished wood, with business class seats that look more like individual living rooms. Each pod has its own entertainment system and enough space to lie flat, making her regular flight experiences look like public transit.

"First time on the team plane?" William's voice is warm as he slides into the seat next to her, flashing that smile that still makes her stomach flip.

"That obvious?"

"You're looking around like you just discovered Narnia."

She catches Aurélien watching them from across the aisle, his jaw doing that thing it does when he's thinking too hard.

"You should come to London after the break," William continues smoothly, either not noticing or choosing to ignore their captain's attention, "There's this amazing Nigerian restaurant I want to show you."

"Oh?" she tries for casual. "Just for the food?"

His smile turns soft. "Among other things."

Someone – definitely Jules – clears their throat loudly, and Leila suddenly finds the safety card fascinating.

"The restaurant's near Emirates," William adds. "I could show you around, catch a match..."

"You trying to convert her to Arsenal?" Bradley calls from behind them. "Nah, she needs to see a PSG match instead."

"Please," Mike scoffs. "Milan is clearly superior."

And just like that, they're all arguing about their clubs like they weren't just praising her cooking five minutes ago.

"Think about it?" William asks quietly while the others debate club merits.

She's about to answer when Aurélien's voice cuts through: "Leila, I need you to review the post-match schedules."

"Now? We just took off."

"Oui. Now."

William just shakes his head but his smile is knowing. "We'll talk later?"

She nods, gathering her tablet and trying not to analyze why their captain suddenly needs to review schedules he definitely already knows by heart.

**********************

The Puskás Aréna is something else entirely when they arrive – all modern glass and steel but somehow still intimidating as hell. Leila's back in her element, running through pre-match routines she's got down to a science by now. Water bottles positioned just so (because Michael swears the angle affects his performance), extra shin guards for Marcus (who she's convinced loses them on purpose at this point just to watch her scramble), and that specific pre-wrap that Mike treats like it's made of gold.

Aurélien's different today – you can see it in how he carries himself, that armband not just a piece of fabric but a crown. He moves through the locker room like he's been doing this his whole life, stopping at each player with exactly what they need: a quiet word with Jules, some complicated handshake with Cama that looks more like interpretive dance, a firm nod to William that carries weight she can't quite read.

The match itself? Pure poetry. Whatever that soul food did to them, it's working overtime because they're moving like they've got cheat codes enabled. Aurélien's commanding the midfield like he was born to it, every tackle clean enough to eat off of, every pass finding feet like he's got GPS in his boots.

Six minutes in and Cama's already making statements, finding the back of the net with the kind of finish that makes you question physics. Before Israel can even process what hit them, Nkunku's doubling the lead in the 26th minute, celebration looking suspiciously like a TikTok dance she's definitely seen Marcus teaching everyone.

Israel manages to pull one back, but these boys aren't about to let their captain's first match be anything less than spectacular. The last five minutes turn into a highlight reel – a goal in the 87th with a strike that probably broke the sound barrier, and then Bradley putting the final nail in the coffin just two minutes later, making it 4-1 with the kind of casual elegance that shouldn't be legal.

The final whistle just confirms what everyone already knew – this French team, with their new captain and apparently their new pre-match soul food ritual, is something special.

4-1. Four different scorers. And one very proud PA trying not to look too obvious about it.

*******************************

The rowdy chaos outside her hotel room tells Leila exactly what's about to go down. Post-match celebration means clubs, means someone's definitely about to drop stupid money on bottles, means Marcus will absolutely end up shirtless at some point, and means these boys are headed out to dance a little and find someone who's down to fuck. Instagram models will materialize like they've got professional athlete radar, the elevators about to get more action than a fashion week runway.

Her mind cannot handle the aura Aurélien has right now especially after winning his first match as captain; she knew what type time he was on and it wasn't going to be anything saintly. He loves a win more than anything and the only other thing that can top that is going out with the boys and bedding some girl.

Thank goodness she never heard him getting busy - that may scar her to the point of needing therapy but she read some things on gossip blogs (she didn't know if it was true or false) and the way they talked about him having humongous dick energy not to mention the stamina—

A knock on her hotel room door pulled her out of her thoughts and she hurriedly fixed her bonnet and glasses before looking at the peep hole and to her surprise it was Jules.

The hell?

"I know you know it's me," he says and Leila let out a groan silently debating on whether or not she should let him in. He knocked again, this time harder.

"Okay, relax." She said then opened the door. Jules eyes scanned over her body.

"That's how you going to the club, Leila? A bonnet and muumuu?"

And she squinted at him like he had three heads. "Huh?"

"You're coming to the club."

"I most certainly am not," she says, already trying to close the door, but Jules is faster, wedging his foot in the way.

"You really gonna let Wilo go to the club without supervision?" he asks with that smirk that means trouble. "When there's gonna be all those Hungarian baddies there?"

"Wilo is a grown man who can do whatever he wants," she says, but something must show in her face because Jules' grin gets wider.

"Mhm. And I'm sure Auré has nothing to do with you hiding in your room?"

"I'm not hiding, I'm being professional."

"Professional?" Jules actually laughs. "Ma puce, you're our age. You think the FFF expects you to sit in your room in a bonnet while we celebrate?"

"The FFF expects me to—"

"To what? Pretend you're not twenty-four? Come on. Get dressed. The car leaves in twenty."

"Jules—"

"Either you come willingly or I'm sending Marcus and Mike to get you. Your choice."

The threat of those two showing up at her door is enough to make her pause. They'd probably live-stream the whole thing, and then she'd have to explain to her mama why she's trending on French Twitter.

"Fine," she sighs. "But I'm not staying long."

"Sure," Jules says in a tone that suggests he doesn't believe her at all. "Wear that black dress you brought."

She narrows her eyes. "How do you know what's in my suitcase?"

"I don't. But you're a Black woman on a work trip – you definitely packed a just-in-case outfit."

"I hate that you know that."

His grin is entirely too satisfied. "Twenty minutes. And Lei?" He pauses at the door. "Aren't you curious what your captain's going to say when he sees you in something other than work clothes?"

Before she can throw something at him, he's gone, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

She looks at her reflection in the hotel mirror, bonnet and all, and lets out a deep sigh.

"Lord," she mutters, already reaching for her suitcase, "give me strength."

Because Jules isn't wrong – she definitely packed that black dress. Just in case.

The black halterneck dress has been sitting in her suitcase like it's been waiting for this moment, all dangerous intentions and "maybe I will act up tonight" energy. She holds it up, already questioning herself because this hem is definitely living its best thigh-high life. But then again, if she's about to get dragged to a club by a bunch of football players, she might as well look like she meant to be there.

The over-the-knee boots are her compromise with herself – wedge heels because she refuses to die tonight trying to channel her inner Instagram baddie in stilettos. Her silk press is still hanging on by a prayer and whatever magic Theresa put in that heat protectant, so at least that's one less thing to worry about.

One last glance in the mirror has her reaching for her silver metallic Diesel mini purse (her one designer splurge that she justified as a "work expense" because technically she does need to look put together around these millionaires).

A knock at the door has her rolling her eyes. "It has not been twenty minutes—" she starts, yanking it open, ready to tell Jules exactly where he can put his timeline.

Except it's not Jules.

William's standing there looking like every bad decision she's ever wanted to make, already dressed for the club in a fitted black Amiri shirt that's doing criminal things to his shoulders.

"Oh," she manages, suddenly very aware that this dress is doing exactly what it was designed to do. William's eyes do a slow sweep from her boots all the way up, and listen – she might need to text Theresa a thank you for this silk press because the way he's looking at her right now?

"Jules said you needed an escort to the club," he says, voice a little rougher than usual. "But I'm thinking maybe we should skip it."

She tries to remember how to form words like a professional. "Skip it?"

"There's this rooftop bar..." he starts, then stops as voices carry down the hallway – she catches Aurélien's distinct tone among them and something in William's expression shifts.

"The rooftop bar?" she prompts, pretending she doesn't hear the footsteps getting closer.

William steps closer, just inside her doorway. "Much quieter than the club. Better view. And we could actually..." he pauses as the voices get louder, "talk."

The way he says 'talk' definitely isn't suggesting conversation about the weather.

But before she can respond, another voice cuts through:

"Ma pu—" Aurélien's voice cuts off abruptly, and Leila watches something complicated pass across his face as he takes in the scene – William in her doorway, her in this dress that's definitely not PA-appropriate, the energy crackling between them that definitely isn't professional.

He's already dressed for the club too, looking like he stepped out of a GQ spread in all black everything, that captain's confidence still radiating off him. For a moment, nobody moves.

"Capitaine," William says easily, not moving from his spot. "We were just discussing alternate plans for tonight."

"Alternate plans?" Jules appears behind Aurélien, taking in the situation with raised eyebrows. "Non, non. The team celebrates together. You know this."

"I was thinking—" William starts, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"The van's leaving. Now." There's something in his voice that doesn't invite argument. "Both of you."

Leila catches Jules hiding a smile behind his hand, and she really might have to fight him later.

"After you," William says to her, finally stepping back, but his hand finds her lower back as they head toward the elevator and she swears she hears something that sounds suspiciously like a growl from behind them.

The rented van's already bumping with French trap music when she climbs in, Marcus and Mike immediately letting out wolf whistles that would absolutely get them slapped by their mamas.

"OH? Okay Lei! I see how you coming tonight!" Cama's eyes go wide. "This is not PA behavior!"

"Nah for real though," Marcus grins, "who told you to show up looking this good? We trying to play it cool tonight!"

"Cool?" Mike winks at her. "Ain't nothing cool about this. Now we know why Jules was so pressed about you coming out."

Bradley's already pouring shots in the back, passing them around like they didn't just play 90 minutes of professional football. "To the baddest in the van!"

"Hold up though," Khephren raises his glass with a smirk. "You really just been hiding all this under them work clothes? That's foul, Lei."

William's hand is still somehow finding reasons to brush against her knee, while Aurélien's watching the whole scene from the front like he's plotting multiple homicides. The bass is hitting hard enough to cover whatever Jules is saying to him, but judging by their captain's face, it's nothing he wants to hear.

"Another round?" Bradley calls out as Gazo's latest hit has everyone trying to rap along.

"No, I’m good. Thanks," she says.

The club is exactly what you'd expect when rolling with the French national team – all VIP treatment and bottle girls already lined up like they got a notification that fine athletes were incoming. Security parts the crowd, leading them straight to the section.

"You good?" William asks as she slides into the booth next to him, his hand finding that spot on her lower back again. Before she can answer, Marcus is already ordering bottles like he's trying to buy out the whole club.

"Dom, Clase Azul, and whatever our PA wants because she blessed us with that soul food!" he shouts over the music.

"And that dress," Mike adds, earning himself a look from Aurélien that could freeze hell.

The first bottle of Dom arrives with sparklers because of course it does – these men don't know how to do anything lowkey. Bradley's already got his phone out, documenting everything for his Close Friends story while Cama starts pouring shots like it's his job.

"To our captain!" Someone calls out, and more bottles appear, more sparklers, more everything.

"And to our angel," Khephren adds with a wink in her direction. "Feeding us like kings!"

She catches Aurélien's expression in the strobe lights, something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watches William lean in to whisper something in her ear. The music's too loud to hear what Jules says to him, but whatever it is makes their captain knock back his entire drink in one go.

"Dance with me," William says as Rema's voice fills the club, and Leila immediately starts shaking her head, pushing her glasses up her nose like they'll shield her from his request.

"Oh no, I don't—"

But then he does that thing with his tongue, running it across his lips in a way that should be illegal, and her brain short-circuits for a second.

"Come on," he grins, already standing and holding out his hand. "One dance."

Before she can protest again, he's leading her down from their VIP section to where the dance floor is pulsing with Afrobeats. She catches Aurélien's expression as they pass – something dangerous flickering in his eyes as he watches William's hand on her waist.

"I really don't dance," she tries one last time, but William's already pulling her closer, moving to the beat like he was born doing this.

"Everyone dances to Afrobeats," he says in her ear, his accent wrapping around the words. "Just feel it."

And maybe it's the shots, or maybe it's the way his hands feel on her hips, but she finds herself starting to move. The rhythm catches her, William's smile grows wider, and suddenly she remembers – she does know how to dance. She just usually doesn't do it in front of half the French national team.

But tonight? Tonight feels different.

The thing about dancing with a professional athlete is that they know exactly how to move. William's got this natural rhythm that makes it easy to follow his lead, his hands steady on her hips as she finds her groove. The beat switches to "Calm Down" and suddenly they're moving like they've been dancing together forever.

"Look who can dance after all," he murmurs in her ear, pulling her a little closer as she rolls her hips. The shots are definitely helping with her confidence, but it's the way he's looking at her that's really doing it – like she's the only girl in this packed club.

She catches glimpses of the other boys joining the dance floor – Marcus already shirtless (called it), Mike with some girl who looks like she models for Fashion Nova, Cama doing some complicated dance routine that has everyone making space. But she keeps feeling that weight of attention from above, knows without looking that Aurélien's watching every move, every time William's hands slide a little lower, every time she moves a little closer.

"You've been holding out on us," he says against her ear. "All this time in training and we never knew you could move like this."

A particularly bold turn has her back pressed fully against him, and oh – apparently footballers really do have incredible stamina because that's definitely not his phone in his pocket. His thumb traces her jawline, tilting her face up to his, and the look in his eyes makes her mouth go dry.

"I think," he says, voice rough in a way that sends heat straight through her, "we should get out of here."

The reasonable part of her brain, the part that remembers she's technically working, tries to speak up. But then his lips brush her ear and that part of her brain short circuits completely.

"I've got a suite," he continues. "Much quieter than here. Better view of the city."

She knows what he's really saying. Knows exactly what that invitation means. Knows that tomorrow she'll either have the best story for Yolanda or the biggest regret of her career.

From somewhere behind them, she hears Mike shout something that sounds suspiciously like "GET IT, LEI!" She's going to have to fight him later.

William's still waiting for an answer, his body moving against hers in a way that's making thinking very difficult. His hand slides up her spine, leaving fire in its wake, and really – what's the worst that could happen?

Besides losing her job, her dignity, and whatever's left of her heart that isn't already tied up in another footballer who thinks she's just okay.

The music shifts to something slower, something that has William pulling her even closer, and she's about to say yes to everything he's suggesting when someone bumps them hard enough to break their bubble.

"Désolé," Aurélien's voice cuts through the music as he moves past them toward the bar, not sounding sorry at all. Bradley is right behind him, shooting them an apologetic look that seems more amused than anything.

But William's not letting this moment slip. His fingers turned her attention back to him like their captain didn't just try to body check them on the dance floor. "So? That view I mentioned..."

Maybe it's the shots. Maybe it's the way he's looking at her. Maybe it's how Aurélien didn't even acknowledge her when he passed. Maybe it's all of it, mixing with the bass and the heat and the way William's fingers are drawing promises on her skin.

"Show me," she says, and his smile turns dangerous in the best way.

He leads her through the crowd, hand firm on her lower back. They pass the VIP section where Mike lets out another wolf whistle (she's definitely fighting him tomorrow), where Marcus is too busy with his own conquest to notice, where Cama's eyes go wide before he bumps Jules' shoulder with a knowing look.

She catches one last glimpse of Aurélien at the bar as they head for the exit, watches him knock back what looks like straight whiskey while Bradley says something in his ear. His eyes meet hers for just a moment, dark and intense and full of something she can't name.

But then William's guiding her toward the door, and she decides that's tomorrow's problem.

Tonight belongs to different choices.

**************************

The Uber ride is charged with enough electricity to power all of Budapest. William's got his hand on her thigh, thumb tracing circles that are making her brain malfunction, and listen – she might need to text God an apology real quick because the thoughts she's having right now are absolutely not church-appropriate.

He's definitely feeling those shots, all loose limbs and heated looks, but she's right there with him – everything's got that soft-focus feeling that makes bad decisions feel like destiny. The way he's looking at her like she's something to be devoured is doing things to her heart rate that can't be healthy.

But underneath all that liquid courage, panic is starting to set in. Because this man definitely thinks he's about to get the kind of experience his usual conquests provide, and she's over here having never gone past first base. Her virgin self is really about to try to play in the Champions League with no practice, and that's not even counting the fact that this man is built like he was carved from marble.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs, leaning in close enough that she can smell his cologne mixed with expensive liquor. His lips brush her ear and – oh. OH. Maybe this is how she dies. At least it's a good way to go.

The hotel appears way too quickly and not quick enough. William helps her out of the car like the gentleman he is, but his eyes are pure sin as they head for the elevator.

Her heart's doing double-time now, a mix of want and worry that has her pressing her thighs together. Because she wants this – wants him – but also? She's seen the gossip blogs. She knows what these football players are working with. And her inexperienced self is really about to—

The elevator doors close and William presses the button for his floor, and suddenly everything feels very, very real.

Lord help her.

It took no time before William got her pressed against the mirrored wall, one hand braced beside her head while the other plays with the ends of her hair. They haven't even kissed yet but the anticipation is thick enough to cut.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, eyes tracking over her face like he's memorizing it. "You know that?"

The elevator dings at his floor and suddenly they're playing this game of trying to walk down the hallway while staying as close as possible. His key card takes three tries to work because he's too busy pressing soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth that's trying not to smile too wide.

Then they're through his door and everything shifts. His hands find her waist, pulling her close as he backs her against the door. The first press of his lips against hers is gentle, questioning, like he's asking permission yet when she sighs into it, fingers curling into his shirt, gentle goes out the window.

Listen. LISTEN. William Saliba can KISS. She's got her back against his hotel room door, his hands cupping her face like she's precious while simultaneously trying to steal her soul through her mouth. Everything's hazy with want and Clase Azul when his lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her knees weak. One of his hands slides down to her hip, thumb finding skin where her dress has ridden up, and the noise she makes should be embarrassing but he groans in response like she's driving him crazy.

His mouth is doing ungodly things to her neck, the kind of things that make her understand why people write songs about moments like this, when reality crashes back in.

"Wait," she manages to breathe out. "I should... I need to tell you something."

He pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and intense in a way that makes her forget how to breathe. His thumb traces her bottom lip and for a moment she forgets what she was going to say.

"What's wrong?" His voice is rough in a way that does things to her insides, accent thicker than usual.

They've somehow migrated from the door to the middle of his suite, the city lights of Budapest twinkling behind them through floor-to-ceiling windows. His hands are still on her waist, thumbs drawing circles on her hips that make it hard to think straight.

"I've never..." she starts, then stops, trying to find the words while his mouth is doing devastating things to her collarbone. "I haven't..."

He pulls back again, and this time understanding dawns on his face slowly, his eyes widening. One hand comes up to cup her cheek, and she leans into it despite herself.

"Wait. You're...?"

She nods, warmth rushing to her cheeks that has nothing to do with his kisses or the shots still buzzing through her system.

"But you're twenty-four," he says like he's trying to solve a complicated math problem. His other hand is still on her waist, thumb still moving in those maddening circles. "And you look like... I mean, how has nobody...?"

She shrugs, suddenly finding his gold chain very interesting. "Just never happened. Never felt right with anyone."

His fingers catch her chin, tilting her face back up to his. The heat in his eyes has been replaced by something softer, something that makes her heart do different kinds of flips.

"We can wait," he says, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Until you're ready. No pressure."

"You sure?"

His answering kiss is gentle now, all sweet promise instead of consuming fire. "Some things are worth waiting for."

They end up on his couch, trading lazy kisses that slowly build and ebb like waves. His hands stay respectfully above clothes even when hers wander a bit (because listen, those footballer abs are a gift and she's only human). They talk about nothing and everything – about growing up in France, about her friends in Georgia, about how nervous she was her first day as a PA.

It's nice. More than nice. The kind of nice that makes her wonder if maybe...

But it's getting late, and her willpower is seriously testing its limits with the way he keeps looking at her like she's something precious. She should go. She needs to go.

"I should head back," she murmurs against his lips.

"Mhm," he agrees, but kisses her again anyway.

Ten minutes and several more "I should really go" kisses later, she finally makes it to his door. He pulls her in for one last kiss that nearly changes her mind about leaving.

"Think about what I said," he says. "About London."

"I will."

She's still floating on cloud nine when she rounds the corner and nearly collides with them – Aurélien and what looks like this evening's conquest. The girl's exactly his type – all curves and confidence, the kind of ass that probably has its own Instagram following. They're wrapped around each other like they can't wait to get behind closed doors, and the sight hits her like a bucket of ice water.

Their eyes meet over the girl's shoulder, and something in his expression makes her stomach drop. She tries to slip past quietly, already planning how many miles she'll need to run tomorrow to forget this moment.

"Good night, Leila."

She freezes mid-step, the sound of her actual name falling from his lips feeling like a slap. Not 'ma puce'. Not his usual pet name that makes her heart flutter. Just Leila.

His hotel room door clicks shut, and she stands there in the hallway like someone just pressed pause on her whole world. In the eight months she's known him, through every up and down, every early morning and late night, every moment of casual intimacy and professional distance, he's never once called her just Leila.

Never once until now, when she's standing in a hallway wearing another man's kisses while he takes another woman to his bed.

The universe really does have a sense of humor.

A cruel one.

………….tbd

[colossrat]

How Captain Marvel Discovers Batman's Secret Identity

Batman give so much of him for his acts, in bruce wayne or in batman, he is a fabulous actor. his posture, voice, microexpressions idk, everything humanly possible and impossible, he did to keep people as far away as possible from connecting his masks.

but there wasn't a 100% guarantee that no one would notice… well, he was very careful with the most obvious and even the least obvious things, but he wasn't such an idiot to think that no one would ever, under any circumstances, would find out about him. This has happened before, my god, Tim found out in the most unlikely way he could think of at the time. still, he was in shock. He was in the meeting room with some other heroes waiting for the time to start, and there he was facing Captain Marvel…

"What did you just say?" batman asks, he wanted to hang himself right there when he realized that there was a tremor in the back of his voice.

The captain's eyes widen, almost panicked.

"oh... i didnt mean nothing by that! its just... I don't want to offend you! I just couldn't help but notice that you have lip fillers… like, relax! It's super discreet. I only noticed it probably because I can see the needles' holes, even though it's half healed. and-- Is that why you didn't come to the last meeting? It's recent, right? I know you weren't like this the last time I saw you. but like, zero judgement! I know how society judges men in these scenarios, I think it's super cool that your masculinity is strong and resistant to criticism- Not that you will receive criticism! again, it's SUPER discreet, I only noticed because I notice things like this occasionally… I think."

he was falling over himself with his words, clearly nervous because he commented on what he noticed without meaning to, perhaps out loud… batman swears it felt like he wasn't even talking to him, whispering to himself "lip fillers?" Batman doesn't know that this was little Billy, confused by the information that Solomon dropped into his mind.

Batman didn't try to stop the babble of words that came from the other hero's mouth, still in shock from the fact that he had noticed that he had had a cosmetic procedure. Well, it's not like he could appear like Bruce Wayne out there with his face all crumpled up from taking so much beating, he needed the procedures to continue with a playboy face… he just never expected anyone to recognize such a minimal change. since he only carried out the procedures in a super subtle way... but marvel noticed and not just that.

The captain's eyes squinted, now falling on the bat's chin and jaw.

"Is that botox…?"

They look at each other in pure silence. Marvel adjusted his posture, uncomfortable with the eye contact.

"I'm going to keep my mouth shut, sir, Batman sir, don't worry. No one will notice anything. It's really cool, by the way, you're like a jewel, a very polished and.. jovial one" and he then walked away to sit on the chair more as far away as possible.

Well, it wasn't the end of the world yet… Batman tried to ignore it. He tried not to die of paranoia over the fact that someone had noticed such a small detail. Everything was going to be fine, the chances of the captain also knowing that Bruce Wayne recently had lip fillers and some botox were minimal… but not zero.

He really tried not to be so paranoid… but it was difficult, and he ended up distracted during a gala and got kidnapped, because of course he was. and of course that for some reason it was doctor sivana working with lex luthor, of course then captain marvel got involved in the rescue. OF COURSE.

He tried to avoid eye contact immensely, giving all his attention to Superman, who was also there. Clark was confused, he thought maybe it was because he hadn't revealed his identity to Marvel yet. But he really needed to go if he wanted to get information for his article later, so he left Bruce Wayne in Captain Marvel's hands with an apologetic expression.

Bruce tried to be positive, and it screamed a lot of things. He tried to think that there he was a playboy and it was super common for him to also have some cosmetic procedures on his face, maybe Marvel wouldn't assimilate him and Batman like that out of nowhere… but then he soon remembered that Marvel could see the needle holes, the microscopic, healed holes from the needles… it didn't take two seconds of looking into each other's faces for the captain to turn white paper pale.

His mouth opened like a dead fish's, and Batman knew he saw it. fuck.

they stared at each other for a few minutes. silent and harrowing minutes. They were literally frozen in that moment for so long that Superman came back with the information he wanted, with a super worried expression because he didn't understand what happened there.

The captain, noticing the new presence, realized that he had been in shock for too long already.

"ahm… so, bruce-- sir, bruce wayne… sir… sir wayne. mister…? ah-- um… I'm going home… in silence… and I I'll keep silent… ok? again, it's super discreet and you don't have to worry, ok? Maybe a little, but relax. Superman, sir. bye..."

and he flies away in a beam of shame, perhaps. Superman looks at Bruce with palpable confusion.

bruce then takes a deep breath and looks at clark

"can you tell I have lip fillers…?"

and clark goes pale.

"no…" "just a little bit…?"

Bruce snorts in displeasure. the kids will never let him forget it if they ever find out. They can't find out...

But they probably will because Damian has a strange friendship with Captain Marvel's Tiger, of course.

[airybcby]

also for the new event ~ 🍊 & 🍰 with kunigami please!

hi! of course!

a kunigami rensuke orange cake :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° fall out of line

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event!

♡ content — kunigami rensuke x gn! reader, ex! kunigami, ex! reader, mutual pining, established relationship (past) , kunigami wanting to focus on soccer, cuddling, second chance romance

♡ synopsis — all kunigami rensuke had wanted was to go pro in soccer, but at the cost of losing you? maybe this secind chance was everything he'd been waiting for.

You hadn’t seen Kunigami Rensuke in over a year. Not since the day he ended things.

“I need to focus on soccer,” he had said, standing in your doorway, his tone heavy with determination and regret. “I can’t give you the time or attention you deserve.”

You’d nodded, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. Kunigami’s dream of going pro had always been a driving force in his life, something you’d admired about him. You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was doing this for you—but knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The first few months after the breakup were a blur of trying to fill the space he’d left behind. The late-night texts, the movie marathons, the quiet comfort of his presence—they were all gone. And now, over a year later, you were standing in a shared apartment with him again, thanks to the school’s brilliant marriage simulation program.

Of course, out of all the people in your class, it had to be him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, as if carrying the weight of unspoken things.

“Hi,” you replied, gripping the strap of your bag tightly.

He shifted his weight awkwardly, his golden eyes darting to meet yours for a brief second before flicking away. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you said, your throat dry. “It has.”

The silence that followed was heavy, both of you acutely aware of the space between you.

Living together again was… surreal.

Kunigami was still the same in so many ways, and yet there was a new edge to him. He was quieter, more reserved, as if he were keeping something locked away.

He took on the role of caretaker almost immediately, cooking meals and cleaning without a word. When you offered to help, he’d shake his head and say, “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

It was the same thoughtfulness you remembered, but now it felt tinged with guilt, like he was trying to make up for something.

The first week passed with polite conversations and carefully maintained boundaries. But as the days turned into weeks, the awkwardness began to thaw—just a little.

One evening, after dinner, you suggested watching a movie.

He hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” you said, giving him a small smile. “It’s not like there’s much else to do.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. But you pick.”

Settling onto the couch felt strangely familiar, like slipping into an old routine. He sat at one end, keeping a respectful distance, but as the movie played, you noticed the tension in his shoulders easing.

“That was… not bad,” he admitted as the credits rolled, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“See?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Told you it’d be fun.”

He chuckled softly, the sound stirring something in your chest. For the first time in a long time, it felt like you were seeing glimpses of the Kunigami you used to know.

The next week, you convinced him to watch another movie.

Halfway through, you both fell asleep on the couch.

When you woke up, it was to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth against your side. Blinking groggily, you realized you were leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder. His arm was draped loosely around you, his steady breathing brushing against your hair.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the scene.

Kunigami stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When he registered the situation, he tensed immediately, pulling away as if burned.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his face flushing red. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off even as your cheeks burned. “Really.”

But the tension lingered, heavy and unspoken.

The shared moments began to pile up, each one pulling you back toward the memories of what you used to have.

One night, while you were working on an assignment at the kitchen table, you caught him watching you out of the corner of your eye.

“What?” you asked, looking up.

He blinked, as if snapped out of a trance. “Nothing,” he said, turning back to the dishes.

But the softness in his expression lingered, making your chest ache.

You thought about all the nights you used to spend like this—curled up together on the couch, laughing over something silly, sharing quiet conversations about your dreams and fears. It felt impossible to ignore how much you’d missed it.

As the program neared its end, the apartment felt heavier with each passing day.

The night before you were set to leave, you suggested watching one last movie. He agreed, though his expression was hard to read.

This time, you both stayed awake.

When the credits rolled, neither of you moved to turn off the TV.

“I’m going to miss this,” you said quietly, not looking at him.

Kunigami stiffened. “Yeah.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the way his jaw was clenched, his hands balled into fists on his lap.

“Hey,” you said softly. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained. “I thought… ending things would be better for you. That I was doing the right thing.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening.

“But now, being here with you…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong.”

Your heart raced, hope and fear warring within you.

“Kunigami,” you said, your voice trembling. “If you think there’s a chance for us—”

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he interrupted, his golden eyes meeting yours. “I can’t promise I’ll get it right this time.”

“You don’t have to promise anything,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. “I just want to try.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his hand tightened around yours.

“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” he said, a faint smile breaking through.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, your voice shaky with relief.

And as he pulled you into a tentative embrace, you felt a spark of hope—like maybe, just maybe, you could build something new together.

ughh kunigami my love

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[jeansmartswhxre]

𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔏𝔲𝔰𝔱 | Vampire!Emily Prentiss

emily prentiss x f!reader 18+, MDNI warnings: language, smutsmutsmut!!, mentions of blood, blood kink, feeding, teasing in public (others can't hear), dirty talk, petnames, strap-on (r!receiving), dom/sub dynamics, some aftercare, usual vampire stuff, feeder!reader (youre for em and em only) 2.5k words (i got carried away) This is my first fic about Em!! Lemme know if y'all want more Vampire AU stuff!! I'm currently writing vamp au's for Emily Spencer, Hotch, and Blake (JJ and other BAU members coming soon...) I hope to god there aren't typos lmfao... ENJOY!

You had been stuck in the bullpen all day finishing up paperwork and sitting through those boring budget meetings you always hated. One of those rare days where you weren’t flying across the country to catch unsubs. This however, was horrible for you. It was horrible because it meant you were at the every whim your vampire girlfriend. Days like these were the days you sometimes wished she wasn’t a vampire. Sometimes. The mind reading thing could be sexy, but she would sometimes be such a menace. 

For instance, during one of the budget meetings, your mind wandered. While Strauss was talking, all you could think about was the last time Emily fed, her fangs sinking into your tummy near your ribs. Moments later you could feel Emily’s eyes on you, her sitting across from you at the conference table. You turned to look at her, her eyebrow quirking up as your eyes met, you looked back at Strauss, her gaze too much for you to hold. Then she got in your head, “You naughty girl darling. You forget I can read your mind.” Fuck. “Where do you want me to feed next baby? I know you love it when I suck your neck. Or maybe I try something different like your thighs.” You turn to look her, giving her a warning look before looking back at Strauss. “You’re so cute when you think you’re in charge.” Emily smirked a little when she saw your eyes close briefly, trying so hard to ignore her. “Oh don’t worry baby. I have other plans for you. Just wait until tonight sweetness.”

It was taking every thing in you to control yourself, a wave of heat washing over your core. The rest of the meeting she drove you insane, she loved doing it. Watching you squirm while no one else knew what was going on in your head. When the meeting was over, you both walked out next to each other, her passing by you swiftly. Her scent entered your nostrils, a hint of tobacco lingering with a scent that was so Em. She could hear your heart speeding up as she walked past, a smirk gracing her lips as she sat at her desk.

This was a game she played all day, she always loved how needy you could get for her, and watching it build was admittedly a guilty pleasure of hers, torturing you. You were so grateful when Hotch came out his office and called it a night, telling the team we had been there long enough, the rest of the paperwork can wait for tomorrow. We all packed up our things saying our goodbyes, JJ and Spencer staying back a little to talk as Em came over to your desk. You couldn’t help but look at her form, her legs clad with black slacks, a black and silver belt on her hips, the buckle off center, because she knew it drove you crazy every time you saw it. Her top was red and ribbed, a boatneck, exposing her collarbones. She now wore a leather jacket, to act as protection against the cool fall air (even though she didn’t need it. But hey, she had to keep up appearances), a pair of big black sunglasses in her hair as she waited for you to pack your bag. She slung her purse over her shoulder, her top riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of her stomach, where you saw the beginnings of a mark you had left from the night before. “You ready to go sweetness.” She smirked. You nodded as you put back on your blazer, your bag hanging from your shoulder.

***

The car ride home was full of tension, you were so desperate to find out what Emily was planning for you. “Don’t be so nervous darling, I think you’ll like my little surprise” She smiles, glancing at you before bringing her eyes back to the road. Now that… that scared you. A fucking menace. 

When you finally pulled up your shared house, your heart definitely picked up. “God you’re so sexy when I can hear your blood pumping through your veins, all of it just for me.” She said before she left the car, leaving you groaning in the passenger seat before finally opening the door to catch up to her as she unlocked the front door.

As you walked through your front door, the both of you sat your bags on the table in your hallway, slipping off your shoes and hanging up your jackets. The second you were done Emily’s hand was on your wrist, pulling you into her, her lips automatically connecting with your neck. You couldn’t help but bring your hands to her hair, tugging slightly (something she loved), a groan escaping your lips as her teeth nipped along the skin there. “Em, please” you whimpered, you couldn’t take it anymore. You were already ruined from all the teasing at work, you truly couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What is it sweetness? Are you that desperate. I might have to tease you a little longer if you’re gonna be impatient.” Your head immediately shook. That was the last thing you wanted her to do. “No please Emmy, please… i cant take it.”  she couldn’t help but smirk, her fangs sheathing. jesus christ. It got you every time. No matter how many times you had seen them or how many times she fed, your knees always buckled when you saw them.

She ran her fangs along the exposed part of your neck, never piercing skin, but enough to make you wince. She was all hands, tugging your pencil skirt and white turtleneck off of you as you walked to your bedroom. You were left in your bra and panties, distracted by the feeling of Emily’s hands and lips all over you. She moved you toward the bed until the back of your legs hit it, causing you to fall backwards with her on top of you. She continued her journey down your body, kissing your tummy, stopping at the mark from last night, kissing it gently before running her tongue over it in gentle circles. You couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your throat. She was so close to where you wanted, yet so far. With her on top of you, you couldn’t help but notice she was still fully clothed. Your hands slid down her sides, stopping at the hem of her shirt, gently tugging it up. “Emmy,” you whined, “You have too many clothes on baby.” You whimpered, needing to feel her beneath your fingertips. You watched as she looked up at you from your stomach, her fangs exposed, a sexy smile on her lips. 

“Alright baby, hang on… you’re lucky I need to taste you, or else I’d be edging you until the sun came up.” She smirked, leaving a kiss just above your belly button, before removing herself from on top of you. You watched as she took off her shirt and bra, her breasts jiggling slightly from their release, her hands sliding her slacks down her beautiful legs. “I’ll be right back sweetness, why don’t you take the rest of that off.” she says bending down to place a kiss on your lips, biting down on your bottom lip, before releasing it with a gentle tug walking to the bathroom in your room. Your eyes closed at the sensation, before falling off the bed, tugging your panties down your legs and your bra off your chest, throwing them god knows where. You laid on the bed patiently waiting for her to return, your body practically shaking in anticipation. Your thighs rubbing together to give yourself any semblance of friction.

You heard her footsteps, your head lolling to the side to watch her. Your eyes immediately fell to the harness across her hips, the dark red dildo jutting from it. “God baby, I could smell you all the way from the bathroom. All that for me? Fuck I bet your panties are ruined.” She said walking toward the bed. You, however, were in disbelief. The image of Em in the strap, her fangs jutting from her gums and her breasts on full display... you were practically drooling at the sight of her. She had never used the strap during your feeding before being that it was all still a little new. 

“Jesus Em.” You breathed. The smirk that played on her lips as she joined you on the bed could have made you cum right there. Your hand placed itself on her thigh, stroking it gently as she straddled your waist. 

“Baby, why don’t you get it wet for me, so I can fuck you while I feed.” Your eyes darkened at the idea. This woman was going to be the death of you. You nodded slowly as she moved a little closer to your mouth, you sitting up on your elbows to reach. Emily watched as your mouth wrapped around the dark red appendage, sucking just the tip, before sliding down further, eventually taking the full dildo in your mouth, your nose brushing against her tummy. She watched with her mouth agape, moaning when the base of it nudged against her clit. Her hands falling to your hair to move the strands from your face. “Fuck sweetness, you take me so well. I could watch you like this all night.” You did this for only a minute longer, before Emily’s hunger got too much for her to bear. She pulled you gently from her cock by your hair, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Fuck she looked so hot above you with those fangs. 

“I heard that baby,” she smirked. She leaned down to kiss your messy lips. Your hand moved to her chest, kneading her breasts, her moaning into your mouth as you tweaked her sensitive nipples with your fingers. You felt as her legs settled between yours, her cock nudging against your core. You couldn’t help but kiss down her jaw to her neck, moving down to her breasts, your tongue circling around her sensitive buds. She whimpered above you, you always loved when you could make her do that.

You didn’t want to stop but she pulled away from you, kneeling between your legs. Her fingers trailed up your thighs and she scooted closer to your core, the tip nudging your entrance. “Fuck baby, you look so pretty like this.” She murmured, before pushing into you. Your head fell back as she let you adjust to her size. “Nuh-uh baby, none of that, keep those pretty little eyes on me, I wanna see you before I feed.” She said, her hand coming to your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as she began to move. Her pace was slow and gentle, her hands grasping your neck quickly before running itself between the valley of your breasts, down to your tummy, her hand splayed out, pressing down gently which caused you to moan. “God you look so beautiful sweetness. Ok, I’m gonna start feeding now. Just trust me baby.” She moaned, the base of the strap hitting her just right as her hips kept moving. You nodded quickly, words unable to form at the image in front of you. 

Emily leaned down, her lips leaving gentle kisses on the side of your neck, it turning into wet kisses before you felt her fangs sink into your skin slowly. “Fuck.” You stuttered, the feeling of her fangs piercing your skin, and her hips moving into you driving you insane. You could already feel your head getting woozy from the combined sensations. You could feel Em moaning against your neck as she picked up her pace, her hips starting to snap into you as she fed, the taste of you driving her crazy. The feeling of the base of her cock pushing against her clit combined with the taste of you, was almost too much for her. You could feel her hips start to falter as she continued her feed, your orgasm building like walls around you, ready to crumble at any moment. “E-Emmy, t-too much. H-head getting woozy.” You moaned, your hand gripping at her waist as if to almost push her away. “F-fuck Em, p-please.” She finally released you, licking the blood that dripped from your neck before sitting up again. When she came back up, you watched as blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, falling down her chest as her hips picked up their pace, you could tell she was chasing her impending orgasm. You had never seen a sexier sight, Emily’s boobs swaying as she snapped her hips into you, blood dripping down them, her mouth a bloodied, baring her fangs. You sat up with all the strength you had, your tongue licking the blood that had trickled down her breast, the sight breaking Emily above you.

“F-Fuck baby, c’mon cum with me.” You didn’t need to be told twice. You were already so close and the taste of Emily mixed with the coppery taste of your own blood sent you over the edge. You couldn’t help the noises that escaped your lips as you came, Emily fucking you through both of your orgasms. 

When her hips finally stopped, she fell on top of you, her lips softly kissing her feed mark. “You did so fucking good for me sweetness, such a good girl” she whispered against your skin as she laid there for a minute. Your limbs were practically jelly. You were fucked out and woozy, exactly how Emily liked you. You whimpered as she removed her strap, the sudden emptiness almost too much for you. You watched through hazy eyes as she took it off, throwing it toward the bathroom for proper cleaning later. She moved back to you, pulling you into her, you head laying on her bare chest. “I can feel your heart darling, it’s pumping so fast.” She breathed against the top of your head, kissing it gently. Her hands gently roamed your body. “Thank you baby. You did so good for me baby, you tasted as sweet as ever. Next time I’m gonna have to feed while you cum, it’ll probably be even sweeter.” She whispered. You just nodded, your body still fucked out. “Use your words sweetness.”

“You’re welcome Emmy.” You rasped, a smirk appeared on her lips before she kissed her way from the top of your head to your lips, her hand holding your chin as she placed a gentle kiss there. You laid in her arms for a while as you waited for the wooziness to go away. Once that happened, she began the aftercare routine the both of you had perfected after a feed. She ran a warm bath for you, settling behind you to help you bathe, leaving little kisses and praises in her wake. This was always one of your favorite parts. 

After the bath, she would help you put on your body butters and oils before helping you get dressed, and in bed as she brought you small snacks and water. You took a couple nibbles of the protein bar she had brought and a couple of sips of water before laying back on her, wanting nothing than to be in her arms. 

“Seriously, thank you baby.”

“Anything for you Emmy.” You smiled, placing a quick peck to her cheek before completely settling on her chest, your heartbeats synching as the both of you fell asleep, tangled in each other's limbs.

[ikeupied]

breaking the silence ░⃘᰷᰷𝅘𝅥𝅮

᎐⠀಄〫 synopsis: y/n has always been content living in the background, keeping to herself and focusing on her studies. But when her grades start to slip, her life feels like it's spiraling out of control. Enter Lee Heeseung—the confident, kindhearted basketball captain whose sudden interest in her leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. As the two grow closer, Y/N learns that sometimes, letting others in is the first step to finding herself.

❀:.. pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

❀:.. genre: strangers to friends to ???, fluff ? (I'm not sure ab the genre of this).

❀:.. wc: 14,374.

❀:.. warnings: heeseung is 20yo!! one kiss, mention of other idols, mentions of anxiety/anxiety attack, this is fiction and doesn't reflect the idols in real life!

❀:.. note: I'm sorry if it's bad, I actually like it but maybe it's not the best, also sorry bc it's too long, I got carried away lol. I'm not sure if the title is fitting but when I was writing this I liked it. and lastly sorry bc I feel like it feels rushed (? when you read it, idk, feedback is always welcome!

"Y/N, are you listening to me?"

My eyes focused on the person standing in front of me—Minjeong, my best friend. I quickly shook my head. "Sorry, can you repeat what you were saying?" I furrowed my brows in concentration. Minjeong laughed at my expression and grabbed my arm, pulling me along as we walked.

"I was saying that Professor Kim has been asking about you all morning. She told me to let you know to go to her office when you have the chance."

A sigh escaped my lips as I nodded.

----

Minjeong accompanied me to Professor Kim's office, promising to wait outside. "Good luck," she whispered with her trademark little smile, which I returned. I closed the door behind me, greeted the professor with a small bow, and walked over to stand in front of her desk.

"Y/N." Her voice was firm, even a little intimidating if you overthought it. "I’m really disappointed in you. Your grades have dropped drastically lately."

My breath hitched at her words. I knew I wasn’t doing well this semester, but hearing Professor Kim say she was disappointed in me struck a painful chord in my chest.

"If you don’t improve your grades in the upcoming exams, I’ll have no choice but to report you to the administration. This could affect your academic future. You know the requirements for keeping your scholarship."

I simply nodded in response. Professor Kim dismissed me, and I quickly left, avoiding Minjeong as I headed to the courtyard. The tears welling up in my eyes threatened to spill at any moment. My legs trembled, and I had to sit down on a bench to avoid collapsing.

Just then, I heard a soft voice behind me. "Are you okay?" At first, I thought it was my imagination, but when I heard it again, I lifted my face and turned around to see the owner of that voice: Lee Heeseung, the captain of the basketball team.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. My eyes locked onto his, unable to say a single word. It must have been embarrassing, but I couldn’t think about that. My mind was blank, and the only thing I could do was take in the sight of the boy standing in front of me.

He was tall, with a slim yet athletic build, a soft face, almond-shaped eyes, slightly messy black hair, and an aura of tranquility that seemed to radiate from him.

I blinked a few times, realizing I was staring too much. He chuckled lightly and spoke again. "Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just saw you crying and wondered if something was wrong..."

He sat down beside me, keeping a respectful distance. My shyness got the better of me, and I lowered my gaze, focusing on my hands resting on my lap.

"I’m Heeseung, by the way," he said.

I nodded and finally managed to speak. "I know."

He chuckled softly at my comment. "Your name?" he asked with genuine interest.

"Sorry, I’m Y/N," I replied.

"Y/N... That’s a lovely name."

I smiled faintly and whispered, "Thank you." Just then, I heard someone running up behind us. We both turned to see who it was.

"I’ve been looking for you everywhere!" Minjeong exclaimed as she approached. Heeseung got up from his seat and said goodbye before leaving.

Minjeong sat down next to me and pulled me into a hug. "I was so worried! Are you okay?"

We broke the hug, and she took my hands, concern evident on her face.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave like that. I just... needed a moment alone," I said. She nodded, listening carefully.

"Hey, but why were you talking to Lee Heeseung?" Minjeong raised her eyebrows curiously.

I shrugged. "Honestly... I don’t know. He just came up to me."

Minjeong smirked. "Mmm, and?"

My eyebrows rose at her question. "And what? I don’t even know him."

She burst out laughing and stood up, tugging at my arm to make me do the same. "Oh, Y/N, sometimes you’re just so innocent."

I looked at her in confusion as we started walking, her laughter still echoing around us.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The sun was beginning to set behind the library windows, painting the study tables with shades of orange. I was trying to focus on my notes, though the words seemed to dance in front of my eyes. My mind kept replaying everything that had happened with Professor Kim.

I sighed, letting my pencil fall onto the notebook. Minjeong had insisted I take the rest of the day easy, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that if I didn’t improve, my scholarship was at risk.

"Studying late?"

The voice startled me. I quickly looked up, and there he was—Lee Heeseung, standing in front of my table. He was wearing the basketball team jacket, unzipped over a plain white shirt, and his relaxed expression contrasted entirely with my nervousness.

“Heeseung?” My voice came out weaker than I intended.

He smiled, as if amused by my reaction. "So you remember my name. That’s a good start."

I felt my face heat up, and I lowered my gaze to my notebook, pretending to focus on the lines already written. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a book for history class," he replied casually, dropping a couple of books onto the table. "But then I saw someone sighing like the world was ending, so I stopped by."

I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. What do you even say when someone like him, who seems to live in a completely different world from yours, suddenly talks to you?

"Having trouble?" he pressed, gesturing toward my notebook.

"Uh… no, I’m fine." My voice was barely a whisper, and I turned my attention back to my notes, hoping that would end the conversation.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat down across from me, propping one elbow on the table. "If you need help, I can give you a hand. I’m not a genius, but I manage pretty well with schoolwork."

"Why…?" I started to ask, but stopped myself, biting my lip. I didn’t want to sound rude, but I also couldn’t understand why he would want to help me.

"Why what?" he asked, his smile calm and patient.

"Never mind," I murmured quickly, staring hard at my notebook.

He let out a small laugh. "Look, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, but if you need help, just say so. There’s nothing wrong with asking."

I looked at him for a second, his words echoing in my mind. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to accept his offer—at least to dig myself out of the hole I was in.

"Alright," I whispered at last, pointing to the book in front of me. "If you can explain this… then maybe I’ll believe you."

"Deal," he said, leaning over my notes with a confident smile.

And though my chest still felt heavy from everything that had happened, I couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved.

----

It became a habit for us to meet in the library to study. I still felt a bit nervous every time I had to talk to him, but little by little, I started to loosen up.

Minjeong swore she’d never seen me this relaxed with anyone other than her and Jimin. “I’m telling you, Y/N, Heeseung likes you,” Jimin said one day in the cafeteria after I told them about how Heeseung had been helping me study.

“What are you talking about? He’s just being nice because he feels bad for me. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Professor Kim told him to help me,” I said with a small laugh, furrowing my brows as I looked at my friends.

Minjeong gave my arm a light smack. “Don’t be ridiculous. And even if Ms. Kim did ask him to help, that doesn’t mean he can’t like you.”

Jimin nodded in agreement. “Also, you know Sunghoon is my friend, right?” I nodded and waited for her to continue. “He told me Heeseung hasn’t stopped talking about some girl, but he won’t say who it is.”

I rolled my eyes, giving her a skeptical look. “Sure, he’s probably talking about Heejin or one of the cheerleaders. Honestly, who wouldn’t? Have you seen them? They’re gorgeous.”

Minjeong’s expression turned serious, and I swallowed hard. “Y/N, stop it. You know you’re pretty too. Anyone on campus could have a crush on you, and people have told you that before! You just refuse to believe it. Let yourself be loved, for God’s sake!”

She didn’t raise her voice or sound angry—Minjeong never did with me. But she was firm, and she always told me the truth to my face.

I stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

Jimin slid a piece of melon from her plate onto mine, smiling softly. “Minjeong’s right, but take your time, okay?” She looked at both of us and sighed, then quickly changed the topic.

At that moment, the basketball team entered the cafeteria, Heeseung included, of course.

He was talking to someone I recognized as Jaeyun when he looked in my direction. At first, I didn’t notice because I was chatting with my friends, but he started walking toward our table and stopped right in front of me.

“How’d your history exam go?” He smiled his usual confident smile.

I stared at him, frozen, unable to say a word until Minjeong gently tapped my hand. That’s when I realized I had been staring too long. “Oh… I did well,” I said, smiling faintly, feeling a bit awkward about the situation.

“I knew you could do it.” He ruffled my hair affectionately, leaving me completely frozen at the gesture. “See you later.”

And just like that, he left. I was still processing everything, staring blankly at my friends, who were both laughing.

“So? Do you still think he couldn’t possibly like you?” Minjeong asked, her mischievous smile growing wider.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Winter break had finally arrived, the moment we’d all been waiting for. I always spent the holidays on campus with Minjeong and Jimin, enjoying the quiet atmosphere while everyone else left for home.

Apparently, Heeseung was staying on campus for the break as well—information that Jimin had uncovered during one of her “investigations.”

“We should take a trip, just the three of us,” Minjeong suggested enthusiastically as we strolled through a park near the university.

“I heard some of the students staying on campus are planning a beach trip,” Jimin added, glancing at us. “We could join them if you’re interested.”

“That actually sounds great,” I said with a small smile. “Staying cooped up on campus is getting boring.”

Both of them nodded in agreement. Jimin quickly pulled out her phone. “Perfect. I’ll text Sunghoon and ask if he can give us a ride.”

Excitement buzzed in the air as we hurried back to campus. Each of us headed to our rooms to pack our bags, ready for an adventure to break the monotony of campus life.

----

The trip to the beach had taken longer than expected, but we finally arrived just as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The air was cold, much colder than I had imagined, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed through the quiet surroundings.

Minjeong was the first to jump out of the car, wrapped in her thick coat, running toward the sand as if the cold didn’t exist. “Come on, girls! It’s beautiful!” she shouted, stretching her arms out as the wind tossed her hair.

Jimin, of course, was more focused on taking pictures. “This is perfect for Instagram,” she murmured, aiming her camera at the horizon. I lingered near the car for a moment, pulling my coat tighter around my neck as I watched my friends.

“Frozen in place?” A familiar voice startled me. I hadn’t noticed Heeseung until he appeared, carrying a small backpack over his shoulder and wearing a thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, more surprised than annoyed.

He gave me that carefree smile that seemed to be his trademark. “Sunghoon told me you were all coming. I thought it might be fun to tag along.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded, feeling a bit nervous at the thought of spending the rest of the day with him around.

“Come on,” he said, motioning toward the beach where Minjeong was busy writing something in the sand. “You’ll be warmer moving around than standing here freezing.”

I sighed but followed his lead onto the sand, where Jimin had already set up a large blanket for us to sit on. Heeseung plopped down right beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence, which did nothing to calm my nerves.

“I thought the beach might be a little warmer,” he commented as he stared out at the water. “But it’s pretty in winter, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, looking at the waves sliding gently onto the shore. Despite the cold, there was something calming about the view, as if, for a moment, I could forget everything else.

“We could take a walk by the water,” Heeseung suggested, tilting his head slightly to look at me. “If you don’t mind freezing a bit more.”

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious, but before I could respond, Minjeong called out from a few meters away. “Y/N! Come look at this!”

Grateful for the distraction, I quickly got to my feet, but not before catching the smile forming on Heeseung’s lips. I didn’t know what it was about that smile, but it always made me feel things I didn’t know how to handle.

----

Later that evening, we all gathered in a cozy, albeit small, cabin that, according to Jimin, belonged to Sunghoon’s parents.

Minjeong and I were in the kitchen cooking while the rest prepared the table.

Despite being in a setting I wasn’t usually comfortable in—surrounded by people I didn’t know very well—I felt oddly at ease. Besides Minjeong, Jimin, Sunghoon, Heeseung, and me, Jaeyun, Minju, and Yeonjun had also joined us.

“Don’t forget to make ramen. Heeseung’s obsessed,” Sunghoon said as he pointed to a shelf packed with various ramen packages. Minjeong and I exchanged amused glances and nodded, laughing softly.

Once everything was ready, we brought the food to the table and finally sat down to eat. The air was filled with the aroma of warm dishes and the sound of lighthearted conversation. We talked about everything and nothing at the same time, the kind of chatter that made the evening feel even cozier.

For a moment, as I looked around at the smiling faces and felt the warmth of the cabin, I thought that maybe these winter holidays wouldn’t be so bad after all.

After dinner, we all agreed to share rooms for everyone’s comfort: the girls in one room, the boys in another. Once everyone settled in, we met outside again, gathering around a crackling bonfire.

The night passed with laughter, games, and stories. I mostly stayed quiet, simply observing and listening. I didn’t mind, though—it was comforting in its own way.

---

The other girls fell asleep almost instantly, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn’t come. So, I bundled up in my warmest coat and decided to take a walk along the beach.

The night was stunning. The sky was clear, stars shining brightly like tiny scattered diamonds. The cold wind nipped at my cheeks but wasn’t unbearable, and the sound of the waves created a soothing rhythm. I could have stayed there for hours.

I stopped at one point, gazing out at the sea, getting lost in the soft roar of the waves meeting the shore.

“It’s a beautiful night,” a familiar, soft voice said behind me. I couldn’t help but smile as I turned around to see him.

“It really is,” I replied, shifting my gaze back to the water, watching the way it danced gently under the moonlight.

“I noticed you didn’t talk much earlier. Are you okay?” Heeseung’s voice carried a surprising warmth, tinged with genuine concern. He always caught me off guard. For someone as naturally popular as he was, he also seemed so observant.

“I’m fine,” I answered softly, glancing at him. “I just like listening to others.”

He nodded at my response, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. It sounded... sweet.

“I like that about you,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost shy. My heart skipped a beat at his words. I froze, staring at him.

“What?” I managed to ask, the surprise clear in my voice. He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I like how you observe, how you’re always so attentive. It’s... calming,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket like he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

I didn’t know how to respond. All I could do was stare at him.

“You know,” he continued, his gaze now fixed on the ocean, “you caught my attention the moment you stepped onto campus.”

My lips parted in shock, but no words came out.

“My friends thought I was staring at Minjeong or Jimin, and I couldn’t believe they didn’t notice you.” His tone was steady, sincere, and it sent my heart into a frenzy.

“That day I saw you crying…” His voice softened, and he paused, as if carefully choosing his words. “I don’t know how to explain it, but something hurt in my chest. I could feel your pain.”

He exhaled deeply, his breath visible in the chilly air. “I didn’t just want to make sure you were okay. I also saw it as my chance to finally learn your name.”

He turned to face me then, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“Heeseung…” I whispered, unsure of what to say or how to process the weight of his words.

"Can I kiss you?" he finally asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as if he was afraid to shatter the fragile balance of the moment.

Without thinking much, I nodded, my eyes locked on his, feeling as though the entire world had come to a halt.

Heeseung took a step closer, closing the space between us. I could feel the warmth of his presence despite the cold of the night, and my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

Slowly, he raised a hand, his fingers lightly grazing my cheek. His touch was warm, and without saying a word, he leaned in closer.

The first touch was hesitant, like we were both exploring unfamiliar territory. But then, as our lips truly met, it was as if all the winter cold melted away.

His lips were soft, and the kiss, though brief, was filled with a tenderness that made me feel like I was floating. When he pulled back just a fraction, his eyes met mine, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"I’ve always wanted to do that," he confessed in a whisper, his fingers still caressing my face.

I could barely speak, my mind still reeling from what had just happened. "What took you so long then?" I managed to say, my voice trembling with a mix of nerves and the happiness I couldn’t contain.

His smile grew wider. "I guess I was waiting for the perfect moment."

Before I could reply, he leaned in again, his lips claiming mine in a kiss that was bolder, filled with everything words couldn’t express.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. "I really like you, Y/N," he murmured softly.

My heart seemed to stop for a moment at his words, my cheeks burning from the blush that had taken over, and nothing could have wiped the enormous smile from my face.

"I like you too, Heeseung," I replied quietly, placing my hand on his cheek and gently stroking it.

© all rights reserved to ikeupied, please don't copy.

[hearttoofull]

hushed promises with no hints of falsity.

˚ʚ🧁wanderer x reader

˚ʚ synopsis wanderer notices you’ve been acting a bit weird, to put it lightly, and decides to take matters into his own hands.

˚ʚ warning centered around bulimia / eating disorders, pls read at ur own discretion!

An untouched bento box sits in your lap, if you don’t count the few curious nibbles. (In your defense, it was impeccably packed.) Across the table you’re situated at sits Wanderer, who you think you have a good relationship with, despite the abundance of hurdles you’ve had to overcome along the way. Instead of joining you to eat, he opts for green tea in a delicate little cup with dainty pink flowers. You got it for him as a joke for his birthday last year, not actually expecting him to seriously use it.

Minutes continue to go by and you haven’t said a word besides a few mumbles when he asked you a question if the meal was to your liking, considering he’d made it himself.

“Why aren’t you eating on the table? If you drop anything you’ll make a mess, y’know” he muses while idly stirring his tea, keeping his head propped up with his palm. His words make you flit your gaze away from the bento and into his eyes.

Eat on the table? Seriously? And make it even more obvious that the thought had crossed my mind despite the promises I’d made to myself to not do so? Yeah right… is what you want to say, but you find the words itching at your throat, begging to be released. “I dunno, I just…”, the sentence dying at the tip of your tongue, “don’t feel like it”, sounding more like a question instead of a statement.

Wanderer stands up abruptly, the sound of the chair scooting against karmaphala floors louder than usual, given the uncharacteristic quietness of the room. He walks up behind you to gently grip your shoulders, his thumbs beginning to casually rub circles as if he were giving you a massage. “Have you been eating well these days?”, he murmurs while his fingers ghost over your thinning collarbones.

What? “Duh…”, your tone sounding off as you attempted to recollect yourself from his previous words. If any other person had asked you that, there’s no doubt you would’ve stood up right then and there, maybe launching that stupid bento at them in their stupid face.

He pauses his movements on your tense shoulders. “Liar.”

It was meant to sound more like a playful remark, but it comes off as cold as the food in your lap.

What? Is happening.

You turn back in your chair to stare at him with utter disbelief evident in your eyes and a face reddening with embarrassment. At this point, with the rate at how warm your face is getting, you don’t even try to defend yourself. It’s clear that he sees right through you. “You seriously think I wouldn’t notice your little habits?”, his words carrying a softer edge than to what you were used to, making you feel a bit queasy in your seat.

Wanderer walks back over to his previous spot in short strides to bring a chair next to you, not daring to break his eye contact with you in the process.

“I’ve… noticed that you…”, he begins slowly, “don’t like to eat the food I make for you sometimes.” You can tell his words have been carefully cherry-picked in fear that he’ll screw up and hurt you. “You can tell me anything. Anything that happens between us stays between us, remember?”

“I don’t… I-“ Oh god.

You’re terrified of the sudden confrontation. Any time you’d get into petty arguments with each other, you never wanted to admit you were in the wrong. The next day, you’d both act like nothing happened. But how could you just ignore things like that? It’ll remain in your head for the rest of the day, the guilt gnawing at you and leaving you with occasional pains in your chest when you’d think about it too much.

“Come here.” Pulling you from your reverie, he gently embraces you by your waist. It was so sudden, you could’ve sworn the action was a bit needy, with the way he keeps his hands grounded against your back and allows you to bury your head into the crook of his neck. In public settings when your thoughts got to you too much, you’d excuse yourself to the restroom with the sole purpose of crying it out or attempting to purge in the toilets, most of the time it was both. It’s honestly surreal to finally come to the point of realization that there’s no need in hiding it anymore, like it’s a huge secret or something.

“I don’t— know what to do with— myself anymore”, your words are interrupted by violent hiccups akin to a child’s sobs and sniffles, hands covering the pathetic state of your face.

He wishes he can do more to help you, truly, but in all honesty, his knowledge on specific human behaviors are minimal. Sure he knew the gist of your situation, but every time he thought of a possible solution, there was a feeling of doubt lingering in the depths of his mind. He doesn’t want to worsen your condition. He doesn’t want to hurt you. So for now, all he can do is provide you with open arms and whispered words of reassurance against your hair.

“Look at me” he commands gently, urging you to take your hands off and away from your face. It takes a few tries to do so. Once you do, albeit reluctant, he takes your face in his hands to cup your cheeks warmed by tears and embarrassment. “Listen. If you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s okay,” his gaze softer than what you’ve ever seen. “I want you to know that I’ve got you, okay?” You nod hesitantly in understandance, waiting to hear those words from literally anyone.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

After calming down and tucking your pent-up emotions back into the recesses of your heart, all you want is to take a nap, or sleep forever perhaps. Not die, just peacefully rest for eternity. Speaking of, you went to sleep almost immediately after your little breakdown. Or maybe you passed out from an overdose of sadness. The memories following the climax of that afternoon are foggy with gaps. Or maybe you just choose to ignore them. All you can remember with clarity is falling asleep while Wanderer continued to whisper hushed phrases into the shells of your ears, tucking you in a little, maybe, too. You wouldn’t dare to forget that.

˚ʚ a/n hi tumblr… i think i spent like triple the amount of time designing the layout for this compared to the amount of time i took to write this. this feels pretty rushed but hey i think i did good for my first fic,,, i really wanna learn how to convey my feelings so i didn’t quite elaborate here as much as i as want to. the ending was meant to feel like reader is writing in a diary sort of? i hope that anyone who relates to this finds solace in it ♡ anyway peace out i have to do my homework now

[burntheedges]

hold me like water

Marcus Moreno x f!reader | 2.9k | 18+ | ao3

summary: Marcus is a ball of nerves, just waiting for you to come home.

a/n: this is my late submission to @wannab-urs' Dom that Middle Aged Man Campaign! Sorry again for being late. I had something different planned originally but this week it turned out what I needed was something a bit softer. Maybe you could use something a bit softer, too? Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing and Gin for taking a look. 🧡 (also yes, I'm still behind on replies, but I will catch up. love y'all)

tags/warnings: dom!reader, sub!Marcus, established relationship, established dom/sub dynamics, bathing together, acts of service?, subspace, a very intense handjob, restraining (with your body), (1) bite, referenced orgasm control, pet/dynamic names (from reader: baby, baby, my man; from Marcus: love), I named Miracle Guy Rob just for fun

...

Marcus is fidgeting again. He can’t seem to make himself stop. There’s a buzzing under his skin, a tension he can’t seem to shake.

She’s been away for 10 days, and he’s not sure how he’s going to make it to 12.

Two more days, he tells himself as he wakes up his computer and finds too many emails – and decisions – waiting for him. Barely 60 hours, he bargains as he doesn’t let himself pour a third cup of coffee, knowing it’ll just keep him awake. Only two more nights alone, he promises himself as he takes off his shoes in his empty house, too quiet with her out of town and Missy at school. 

“Less than 48 hours,” he answers when his phone rings.

“Hello to you, too, babe,” she laughs, and Marcus feels something inside of him settle at the sound of her voice. The buzzing under his skin quiets to a low hum. 

Soon.

…

You want to groan aloud as you step off the third – and final – plane, ready to be done with travel for a long while. You’re tired and all you’ve thought about since you stepped foot into the first airport this morning, hours ago, was getting home. To him.

Two weeks is far too long to go without the man you love.

You make your way to baggage claim and let your mind wander to the anticipation of being home. You picture it – walking in the front door to find Marcus waiting for you, arms open, expression soft. You smile to yourself as you step off the escalator.

When you turn, you almost freeze at the unexpected sight that greets you. A smile grows across your face as you rush forward.

Marcus is standing by the baggage claim area, grinning. He looks as handsome as ever and like home and you’ve never been so happy to see anyone in your life.

You drop your carry-on next to his feet just before you throw your arms around his shoulders. His arms wrap tightly around your waist as you fall into each other.

“Babe,” you say, smiling. “I thought you couldn’t pick me up.”

Marcus’ face is buried in your shoulder and you feel him nuzzle into your neck. He sighs. “I canceled my meetings. Couldn’t wait another minute.” He squeezes you tighter and you press a soothing kiss into his hair.

“Missed you too, babe.” You let yourself sink into his arms until you hear the announcement that the bags from your flight are arriving on the belt. You pull back slowly. “Come on – all I’ve been thinking about today is being home with you.”

When you finally meet his eyes and really look at him, though, your breath catches. That’s your Marcus, you know him better than you’ve ever known anyone. You can read him like a book. And right now he looks like he hasn’t rested or slept at all in two weeks. You haven’t seen dark circles like these since the time Missy got the flu and scared everyone, a couple of years before she went to college. Before you lived together. You think back to what he said – he couldn’t wait another minute – and you feel your heart start to beat a little faster.

“Marcus? You didn’t tell me–”

He smiles, rueful. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You step closer, mindful of the crowd moving around you. “Hey. Baby, no. You’re mine to worry about. Right?” Your voice dips a bit lower, and you see him shiver in response. 

“Right,” he agrees, and when you meet his eyes again the emotions in them tug at your chest. He sighs. “I haven’t been sleeping well. And work…” he trails off and shrugs. “Rob was out because the baby was sick, and it was a lot. And fuck, I just missed you so much.” He smiles but it looks more sad than anything and it hurts to look at. You need to get him home. All you want is to get this man home where you can take care of him. You know just what he needs, and just what you need, and the knowledge settles in your chest, warming you. You cup his face in your hand and the way he leans into it tells you just how right you are. 

When you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips you hear the low noise he makes in the back of his throat and you know. We need to hurry. 

“Come on,” you say, reaching down and lacing your fingers together as you step away. He grabs your bag and starts to walk with you. “We need to get you home, baby.”

He nods, already looking more at ease as he lets you lead him forward. “Yes, love.”

…

You keep a firm grip on Marcus’ thigh the entire drive home. He tells you more about what really happened at work while you were gone, and you can feel him opening up to you like a flower in the sun as he lets you start to take care of him. By the time you pull up at the house, the tension in his spine has started to disappear.

After you turn off the car you scan him with a careful eye. His shoulders are looser, his expression more open. Good.

“Marcus. My handsome, wonderful man. I’m going to take care of you. Alright, baby?” He nods, and you smile as you run your fingers through his hair gently. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. But you can’t hide things from me, not like this.”

He nods again, and you can see the regret in the lines of his face. “I won’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You hum, thoughtful. “This was my first long trip in a while. We’ll do better, prepare better, if it happens again. Together. Ok?”

Marcus smiles softly. “Ok.”

“Alright.” You can hear the change in your voice, and you know Marcus hears it, too, when he straightens slightly in his seat. “Now, I want you to take my bags inside and then head up to our closet. Go inside and take off those clothes and find something more comfortable. Don’t put them on yet – take your time, and meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes.”

Marcus lets out a deep breath that seems to lift the weight of the time you’ve been away off his shoulders. “Yes, love,” he breathes, and you smile as he immediately starts to do as you said.

You step out of the car and hurry to the door – you only have ten minutes.

By the time Marcus steps inside the bathroom holding his softest clothes and wearing nothing but his underwear, you’re ready for him. You’ve filled the large bath with hot water and oils in the scents you know he likes best. The lights are low, the towels are ready, and you stopped by the kitchen for water and snacks. You’re sitting on the edge of the tub, still dressed, waiting.

“Put those down, baby, and come here.”

He does, and then moves to stand in front of you. You let your eyes trail over his bare chest and legs, appreciative as always. You know he can see it in your expression when you meet his eyes again. He’s flushed, looking pleased.

You stand, slowly, and gesture him closer. “Help me undress,” you say, voice low. “I need to wash off all that travel.”

He quirks a small smile at your words, and you know he’s remembering all the times you’ve said that before, here in this room with him.

“Of course, love,” he murmurs, already moving to do as you asked. He doesn’t rush. He lets his fingertips brush against you as he slowly undresses you, and you sink into the sensation of being there with him.

Soon enough you’re standing bare before him, and his appreciation is obvious. It makes you smile, and he blushes. 

You step into the bath, Marcus’ hand immediately coming up to steady you. As soon as you’re situated against the wall, you gesture him forward. He kneels next to the tub, so quickly you feel warmth growing in your chest. You reach out to brush your fingers across his cheek and he turns into the gesture, making you smile again.

“Help me wash.”

He nods, and you can see him sinking into the familiar motions. He reaches for the soap and a cloth and begins eagerly. You have done this together so many times, you move together easily. He lifts your arm and you turn towards him, watching as he carefully and attentively washes every bit of you that he can reach. He’s so focused on his task that it becomes almost meditative, and you can see him starting to slip into that space you know he needs, held completely within your control. His body begins to forget his stress – his shoulders relax more with every movement. Every gentle pass of the cloth relaxes you, lets you sink deeper into the moment you’re building together. 

Eventually Marcus guides you to stand and, after paying the same attentiveness to your legs that he did to the rest of you, moves to drain the tub. It refills quickly, and as it does you hold out your hand to him.

“Join me,” you say, and he does. You sink into the fresh hot water again and lean against the wall of the tub. You guide him to lean back against you, between your legs. The warmth of him is so familiar, and so missed, you can’t help but wrap yourself around him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder and you feel the remaining tension start to leach out of him into the hot water that surrounds you. You nuzzle behind his ear and smile when you feel him shiver in response. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss behind his ear. “You’re so good at that.”

He stretches a bit, pleased, but you can tell he’s amused. “At bathing?”

“Yes,” you agree, sincerely, “but particularly at doing as I ask. My wonderful man.” Marcus relaxes further into you at that, and you smile again. “Now, hands on the side of the tub, please,” you say, and he immediately complies. “Rest your hands comfortably, no need to stretch. Good?” He nods and you notice his eyes have fallen closed. Good. “Keep them there, baby. Until I say.” 

“Yes, love,” he murmurs, and you hear in his voice that he has let go of everything outside of this room. He’s just yours, now, and you’ll take care of him.

You run your hands lightly down his sides and watch his sharp intake of breath. You hum as you trail your fingertips up his chest, tracing swirling designs across his skin under the hot water. “I missed you,” you say, lips brushing against his ear. His grip tightens around the edge of the tub. “I missed talking with you, and waking up next to you, and sleeping by you at night,” you continue as your hands press more firmly against his chest and arms. You can see his interest, which had flagged a bit as he washed you so attentively, start to grow again under the water. “I missed taking care of you,” you whisper, wrapping your left arm around his upper chest firmly and squeezing. “And I missed how perfectly you fall apart under my hands... My handsome man.” He moans, softly, and you slide your right hand down, smoothly, right to where you both want it. 

You wrap your hand around his cock, gently, and begin to tease at his length. He’s already hard, and you feel his breath catch at your touch.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” You pump his cock slowly as you ask.

He shakes his head before burying his face in your neck.

“No? I told you you could.” You’d known, though, that he wouldn’t.

“No,” he says, and his voice is low and soft. “I didn’t want… not without you.”

You smile and press a kiss into his hair. “My sweet man. I don’t want you to neglect yourself.”

His hips twitch forward as you move your hand smoothly down and back up, teasing around the head. Your pace is so slow it’s barely a pace at all, and you know the anticipation will send him falling steadily downwards and inwards until he’s limp in your arms.

“I wanted you,” he gasps, and you wrap your arm tighter around his chest. “It’s always better with you.” You admire the strength in his arms and his back as he wrestles against himself, keeping his hands firmly in place on the sides of the bath. It’s beautiful.

You file away a thought about how to handle this, if you have another long trip – phone sex, probably. And the thought sends a tingle of anticipation down your spine.

“I always want you, baby,” you murmur, squeezing a bit tighter and moving just a bit faster. He twitches gratifyingly in your grip. “Now let me take care of you, hmm? You can let go, now. I’ve got you.”

Marcus sighs and somehow curls even more snugly into your arms. You start a slow and steady pace and feel his heart rate increase in his chest. 

“That’s it,” you whisper into his ear, pressing a kiss just in front of it. “My handsome man, relax for me, hmm?” You move just a bit faster and feel his hips thrust forward. “You’re so beautiful like this, baby. So perfect for me.” When you twist your hand around the head of his cock, Marcus whines, softly, and you smile. “You love me so well, Marcus,” you say, softly, and he gasps. “You’re so good, baby. So good for me.”

You move your hand faster, grip his cock tighter, and the sound he lets out is almost like a sob. He has a vice-like grip on the sides of the tub and you wrap your legs around his, holding him down and in place. Marcus’ chest begins to rise and fall more swiftly with his unsteady breaths and the water of the bath moves choppily around you. 

You press a soft line of kisses up his neck. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, baby,” you say, voice firm. “Now.” You bite down on his shoulder, and with a sharp exhale, he does.

Marcus’ body goes tense as he moans your name, and you feel his release overcome him completely. You pump your fist two, three more times, and then he goes completely boneless in your arms.

You release his cock, wrapping both arms around his chest, pressing soft kisses all along his neck and shoulders. “Yes, Marcus,” you praise, “that was so beautiful, baby. You did so well.”

He says your name again, softly, and you tighten your arms around him. You know he’ll need a few minutes to come back, to swim back upwards through the pleasure and relaxation and release. “I’ve got you, baby.” Your voice is low, meant just for him. “Take your time.”

You whisper and murmur soft praises to him as he drifts, and you feel his arms twitch as he starts to come back to himself. The water is still warm, but you know you’ll need to get out soon. Slowly, you release your hold on him and smooth your hands along his arms. You carefully encourage his hands to let go of the sides of the tub, gently massaging his palms as he does. 

When he sits up slightly and turns to look at you, you smile. “Hello there,” you greet him, and he smiles back.

This Marcus is so different from the one who met you at the airport. He looks well-rested, with all the cares of the world lifted from his shoulders. His brow is soft, his eyes warm as he looks at you. The soft smile that plays at his mouth is so handsome it takes your breath away.

“Hello, love,” he says, and leans in to kiss you. “Welcome home,” he murmurs against your lips, and you smile.

“Thank you,” you say between kisses. “Next time, we won’t let it get that bad, hmm? And you’ll talk to me. And tell me the truth.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, love. I promise. I got so lost in my own head. All I could do was wait for you to come back.”

You run your hand through his hair gently, before bringing it down to rest against his cheek. “We’ll talk about it later, alright? But I think I know how I want you to show me just how sorry you are.” You let a bit of teasing enter your voice, but you know he knows you’re serious.

He leans into your hand. “Anything, love,” he breathes, and his desperation to please you makes you smile again.

“Well, baby,” you tighten your grip on his hair and smile when he gasps and leans into it. “I’m going to go lay on the bed, and you’re going to dry off and meet me there.” You kiss him and nip softly at his bottom lip. “And then you’re going to make me come with your mouth as many times as I want until I tell you to stop.”

He shudders in expectation and smiles. “Yes, love,” he breathes. He watches, wide eyes tracking your every move as you stand from the tub. “Please.”You smile and lead him towards the bedroom. My perfect man.

...

a/n: thoughts? lol